#two and a half years ago wot

[hobiebrownismygod]

StreetKid!Hobie x Fem!Reader

I recommend you read Part 1 HERE so you understand the story better <3

I posted these earlier on wattpad, the link is in my pinned post

~4.5k words

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Hobie's POV

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RINGGGGGGGGG

W H A C K

CRASH

Hobie opened one eye and groaned at the sight, his alarm clock shattered on the floor. 5th one this month. It wasn't his fault that he kept accidentally breaking them. The loud noises just always triggered his reflexes so this wasn't the first time he'd broken his clock on accident and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

He sat up, shaking his head and groaning, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes as he looked around, sight adjusting the bright light seeping in through the window. Well, it wasn't really a window. More of a large crack in the wall of the abandoned warehouse he was squatting in, but it functioned like a window.

He stood up right as the door opened, stretching his arms and back out before he greeted Riri Williams, his roommate and fellow superhero. "Mornin'"

She nodded at him in response, fidgeting with her watch in an attempt to show Hobie something. Suddenly, it made a beep noise and a small map appeared which she promptly shoved in Hobie's face. "Here's the route Karl said we should take."

"Huh?" Hobie looked at the map and then back at her, still half-asleep. "Wot route?"

Riri blinked. "The route? For the riot today?" Hobie blinked.

Silence.

"Oh! That riot! Yeah, sounds good Ri'" He said, smacking his forehead as he remembered what they'd planned yesterday. In his defense, he hadn't really been paying attention to what they'd been talking about. He'd been preoccupied thinking about other things. Thinking about her.

The girl he'd met exactly 9 years ago. He remembered the date perfectly. December 24rd, the day before Christmas morning. The streets had been full of people shopping and laughing, spreading Christmas spirit. At least, they spread Christmas spirit among themselves. Hobie definitely wasn't on the receiving end of this morale boost that day. Until of course, he met her.

The girl that'd given him her jacket and sent him towards F.E.A.S.T. shelter. The girl who looked like an angel and had a smile like one, with flowy hair and gorgeous eyes. The girl who helped him up, pointed him in the right direction and given him a kiss on the cheek on one of his darker days. He'd been on the brink of starvation and she'd saved his life without a second thought.

But he never saw her again.

"Dunce." Riri replied, zooming into the map. Her harsh words snapped him out of his trance and he rolled his eyes at her, peering at the watch's image. "Right then. Let's grab Karl and Kamala and figure this whole plan thing ou'"

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Two hours later - Hobie's Canal Boat/Headquarters

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"Alright gang, today is the day Osborne's right-hand-man, Captain Stacy, 's daughter comes back from her posh boarding school! They're having some sort of fancy ball in one of Osborne's mansions for it and that's where we strike!" Kamala Khan slammed down her mini figure onto the map Riri had printed out for them to use. "Sound good?" She asked, looking amongst the squad.

Karl nodded. "The rioters will start off in front of the house and after a little bit we'll let them in. Maybe even web up a couple of cops, eh Hobes?" Karl asked, nudging Hobie's side.

"Huh?" Hobie stuttered, standing up straight, his arms falling to his sides. "Uh. Yea, sure." He said quickly, biting the inside of his cheek.

"Man, what's going on with you? Something up?" Karl asked, leaning in towards him slightly, as if inspecting whether or not he was sick.

"No, no. Nothin's up."

"You gotta keep your head in the game, 'Bie." Riri shook her head at him before putting her own mini figure down onto the map. "I'll turn off the security cameras."

"I'll lead the crowd." Karl added, gently putting down his figurine.

Kamala put her elbow on top of Hobie's shoulder, which was fairly difficult considering how tall he was, and grinned at the group. "And the two of us'll deal with the insiders!"

Hobie looked down at the map and smiled, placing his own figurine down. "Kamala'll take care of the pigs doing security. I'll take care of the ones inside the ball"

"Wait." Karl looked at Kamala and Hobie curiously. "There's gonna be a lot of civilians. One of you is gonna have to take care of them too."

Kamala groaned, "All those civilians are fascists too. Besides, it's not like the riot is gonna turn violent."

"Unless Osborne gets violent first" Hobie added, a thoughtful look appearing on his face. "Y'know what? I'll take care of the civilians then. But I'm not gonna put m'whole focus on 'em, aye?"

The three nodded at him.

"So, Hobes..." Karl asked, his tone sounding slightly more somber. "You gonna be okay if those symbiotes are there?"

"Yeah..." Riri added, glancing at Hobie nervously. "I mean last time...you didn't really take them very well."

"I'll be fine." Hobie said quietly, giving them a glance that said I know what I'm doing. "Last time was a freak acciden'. Nothing more." During a riot only a few weeks ago, Hobie had been fighting Osborne's goons as per usual, when a new type of bad guy showed up. They called it a symbiote.

Hobie had known about Osborne finding some sort of weapon that he was planning on using for his military, but the gang had never expected it to be so...weird. It was like it had a mind of its own. The V.E.N.O.M., Oscorp's name for it, was a kind of gooey substance that would engulf its host, using and protecting their body while they fought.

These symbiotes were notoriously hard to kill. Hobie had run out of webs at some point during that riot and had been cornered by multiple of them, only barely escaping thanks to Kamala and her shapeshifting powers, which she'd used to pull Hobie out of the situation and shield him while he fixed his webshooters.

"Fine." Riri said, taking the map of the mansion off the table and folding it up. "Let's head out."

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Your POV

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"Harry!" You exclaimed as you practically collapsed in the young man's arms, pulling him into a hug. "Hi-" he gasped out, struggling to breathe as you squeezed him with all your might.

It'd been nearly two years since you'd seen Harry, your best friend, and four since you'd been back in London. In those couple years, you'd been at a boarding school situated in France, which many of the higher-class girls went in their teenage years in order to learn how to become 'proper ladies' as they called them.

At first, it'd felt like a waste of time to you, but over time you'd made many friends at that school and now that you were returning, you couldn't help but feel a little sad to leave. But this sadness was quickly eliminated by the sight of your best friend and the beautiful city.

Although beautiful was definitely an overstatement. In fact, the city looked to be getting progressively worse, with more and more giant consumerist signs and more and more smog filling the sky that had used to be a beautiful, clear blue. You wrinkled your nose at the smell, the air filled with smoke and dust.

"Its been a while" Harry said with a smile, looking down at you, his hands shoved in his pockets. "That it has. I'm so excited to be home!" You said with a grin, following him as he led you toward the cab, pulling your suitcases for you.

London wasn't what you remembered. Even if you disregarded the changing environment and the pollution, there was still something so different about the place. Maybe it was the abundance of crime that overtook the city after Osborne's presidency. But you couldn't say anything negative about him, especially considering the fact that Norman Osborne was your father's best friend. He'd practically raised you and when you were young, most of days of the week, he and Harry would come over for dinner to eat with you and your father.

Those were the days.

But there was something even more distinct that was different about London. You didn't realize what it was until you saw him swinging through the air in the distance, followed by a flurry of flashing cop lights. Spider-Man.

Or as the higher-ups called him, Spider-Punk. Even those in France knew about him and his strange powers and his even stranger suit. There were plenty of superheroes in London, like IronHeart, a young woman who wore a suit made out of metal, Captain Anarchy, a man with an unbreakable shield and Ms. Marvel, a girl with a very flashy suit who's limbs would elongate in a way no human's ever should.

But Spider-man was definitely a fan favorite.

With his snarky attitude, those quips he'd make around thugs, the way he fought, even his style were all very popular subjects among the inhabitants of Western Europe, his cries against the fascist dictatorship Osborne had implemented in the UK even more popular.

Most called him a hero. Some called him a vigilante.

But your family? A family full of cops and businessmen? A family built on consumerism and fascism? Spider-man was a villain.

But not to you.

No, to you, Spider-man was fascinating.

You hoped you'd get to meet him eventually.

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Later that evening

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Your POV

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"Hold still, girl!"

You sucked in your breath as the maid tightened your gown even more, making it nearly impossible to breath. "I can't brea-" She began to tie up the silky lace quickly, ignoring your pleas for air. When she finished, she ran her fingers through your hair gently, moving it over your shoulders and turning you to face the mirror. "What do you think?" She asked kindly, smiling at you.

The gown was a beautiful baby blue, coming down to your ankles in a flowy manner. The neckline was shaped like a 'V' but wasn't too deep, with fluffy straps hanging onto your shoulders. "It's beautiful." You said with a smile, looking back at her before you looked at yourself in the mirror again.

Mr. Osborne had been insisting on throwing a celebration for your return to London, stating, "my son's best friend needs a proper welcome." After all, you'd been gone nearly four years and you were sure there would be plenty of people who'd want to meet you after all this time. Although it seemed Harry was more excited for this ball than you were. 

He'd always been such a rich boy, with absolutely no regard for anything that wasn't his. It wasn't his fault he was so materialistic though, it was his father's. Mr. Osborne wanted the best for his son and although you respected him for it, he would often go overboard. He never let Harry go to anything less than a well-respected private school and wouldn't even allow him to go near any middle-class neighborhoods in fear of him joining a gang or worse.

But then of course, there was plenty in London to be afraid of. If you didn't count the thugs and criminals constantly patrolling the streets, there were also villains like the Green Goblin who were out to get you. The Goblin was a particularly nasty villain who was known for his horrific bombs and grenades.

Mr. Osborne himself could be considered a villain by many. After all, he ruled London like a dictator, with an iron fist protected by his army of super-soldiers powered by organic compounds called V.E.N.O.M., designed to protect their hosts and grant them extreme levels of endurance and strength. The V.E.N.O.M. soldiers were supposed to protect the streets of London, but really they just made everything worse.

And then there were the cops. Your own father, Captain Stacy, was a cop himself but you couldn't help but dislike the force. They were all shoved into the palm Mr. Osborne's hand, eating money out of it like filthy pigs while the rest of the civilians lived in complete oblivion. Disaster after disaster struck the streets of London and the cops did nothing but add to it.

But it wasn't all bad. London had Spider-Man to protect them, right? With his gorgeous guitar, that spiky leather jacket, and that snarky attitude, he was a proper hero. 

"Harry's here!" your maid called out to you from outside your room. You grabbed your things and quickly left the room, fixing your hair in the process. Harry was standing waiting at the bottom of the steps for you while impatiently tapping his feet, wearing a sleek black suit. When he saw you, he smiled and gestured for you to come down.

"Long time no see" You said to him with a grin.

"I saw you a half hour ago." He rolled his eyes before reaching behind his back to hand you something. He pulled out a beautiful white rose, the thorns plucked off as to not prick you. You shook your head and smiled at him, taking the rose from him. "You shouldn't have."

"You're right. I should've given it to someone prettier." he quipped, giving you his hand. You took it with a scowl and the two of you walked outside towards the car waiting for you outside. You and Harry both sat in the back while the driver got ready to take you towards the function. 

"God, it's been forever since I've been to a ball."

"Oh, father's made sure to make it as grand as possible. Honestly I think he's put more time into this return than into my own birthday." He said with a groan, looking out the window as the car began to move.

You gave him a kind smile. "I'm sure thats not true."

Harry tended to get bitter whenever his father planned something for you. It was obvious that Mr. Osborne liked you more than his own son, always being willing to host your birthday parties, buy you things and just acting more like a father to you than he did to Harry. Harry hated it. He hated being put second to someone who wasn't even related to him. Although you tried your best to play it off, it became difficult at times.

"Yeah yeah." Harry said quietly, still not making eye contact with you as he looked down at his hands, fidgeting in his lap.

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Hobie's POV

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Hobie was standing on the glass top of the room where the ball would be happening, his clunky combat boots leaving marks on what had been crystal-clear before he'd arrived. This was one of Osborne's multiple mansions, each of which he used to throw different parties and get-togethers. These parties were very exclusive, only being offered to Osborne's closest friends and business partners, and Hobie knew that by having a riot here, they'd be able to hit Osborn where it hurt. Maybe even cost him a couple partners or friends. Hobie's eyes glinted slightly as he smiled to himself, thinking about just how badly he wanted Osborne broken. He was everything that was wrong with this city.

A small crackle noise came from the earpiece embedded onto his earlobe. "Y'all ready for this?" Riri's voice could be heard from the microphone. "Protestors are gathering." Karl replied.

"I'm almost there! Just give me another second" Kamala said, her voice slightly muffled. It seemed like she was running late. "Where were you?" Hobie asked, searching around for where she would come from. "Oh...nowhere." She said quickly, brushing it off. Hobie could just barely see her coming in from the distance. She enlarged her fist to help herself swing up onto the rooftop, landing with her arms out in a t-pose before giving Hobie a cocky salute. "Reporting for duty!"

Hobie snorted and rolled his eyes at her, putting his hands on his hips. "A'right soldier. Let's get this party started." He and Kamala both began their entrance, searching around the perimeter for any way to get in without being noticed. Kamala pointed to a large vent on the outside of the wall and Hobie swung toward it, pulling it open and climbing through with Kamala behind him, closing it before she followed.

The vent led them to what seemed to be an empty dressing room. Everyone else was already out at the party, enjoying themselves. Kamala bade him goodbye as she left to go take care of the cops on the outer perimeter while Hobie launched himself onto the ceiling and began to crawl towards the ball. As he left the kitchen, he tried his best to stay inconspicuous, staying above the partygoers.

There were so many people that he knew. Mainly people that he absolutely despised. He recognized Otto Octavius, a famous scientist who, although at first had been a good, kind man, had been morphed into another one of Osborne's goons after being introduced to riches that no one but Norman could offer. That was how Osborne made allies after all. He paid them.

He also recognized none other than Captain Stacy. A man who he hated with every part of his soul. The man who'd shot at him numerous times when he was doing nothing more than peacefully protesting. The man who'd killed tens of rioters and innocent civilians while preaching that he was 'London's Protector'. Pathetic.

Hobie began to pick off the many cops standing near the doorways one by one, webbing them to ceiling to shut them up while he moved on to the next one. He badly wanted to give Captain Stacy a taste of his webbing, but he was in the middle of the crowd and Hobie wouldn't have been able to grab him without getting caught. So he stuck to the smaller officers that were farther from the rest.

"I've gotten all the one's on the outer perimeter. I'm gonna go join Karl. Let us know when you're ready" Kamala's voice could be heard on the other end of the ear piece. "Yes ma'am", Hobie replied quietly, keeping his eyes on the last cop near the doorway. He shot a web towards him, quickly pulling him up and slamming him into the ceiling, webbing him up before he could say a word, or worse, fall. 

Thats when he noticed Osborne getting ready to go stand in front of the crowd, dressed in a black suit that was noticeably nicer than everyone else's. Hobie hung down from the ceiling, watching silently as Osborne walked towards the stairs and quickly walked up them, microphone in hand. "Hello everybody!" Cheers erupted from the half-drunk people at the bottom of the makeshift stage. "I hope everyone's been having a grand time!"

Hobie moved to a more discreet area in order to watch the rest of the speech. Once this was over, he'd be able to call the rest of the gang in with the rioters. "Now I'm hoping most of you know what this whole get-together was about. We're here to embrace the return of Captain George Stacy's lovely daughter from her long period of time spent in none other than the beautiful city of Paris. Everyone welcome back, Y/N Stacy!"

Y/N Stacy? Now who could that be? Hobie searched through the crowd, wondering who one of his rival's daughter could've been. And then he saw her. Long, flowy hair, her skin perfectly complimented by that beautiful dress...and those gorgeous eyes. How...? Hobie was awestruck. Could it be? That girl he'd met all those years ago. He felt his hand subconsciously go down to touch that patch on his vest where he'd sewn a piece of that jacket she'd given him all those years ago. It was her.

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Your POV

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"Thank you everybody!" You said with a smile, nodding as Mr. Osborne handed you a glass of red wine. "I'm so glad to be back! I've had a wondrous time in Paris, and I'm so excited to share it with you all!" After you gave a quick little speech and proposed a small toast, you returned to Harry who'd been waiting for you with a sly smile. 

"Did you even prepare for that?" he asked with a laugh, eyes looking over your face as you returned. "Of course not." you replied nonchalantly, taking a sip from your glass. "Load of tosh anyways, half these people are only here for the food. I don't think I recognize more than four or five faces in that crowd."

Harry chuckled. "Well at least you're paraded around. Father doesn't mind nobody knowing who I am."

"Lets not get all gloomy now, Harry." You said, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "Enjoy the night!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm gonna go grab more bread." He said with a shake of his head before he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you behind with your glass. You were in the process of mustering up the courage to go introduce yourself to everyone when you heard a noise from behind you.

Thwip.

You turned your head around and strained your ears to see if you could hear that noise again.

Thwip.

The box a couple feet in front of you was knocked over. You looked at it in shock for a moment before you slowly began to approach it to check what'd happened. Maybe it was an animal of some sort?

Thwip.

The noise came again, farther away this time. It was coming from the balcony a few yards away from you. Curious, you began to approach the balcony cautiously, eyes scanning over your surroundings in an attempt to see what could've been making that noise.

"Hello?" You called out quietly. The balcony was empty, as everyone else was busy talking with Mr. Osborne or eating something. As you stepped onto the balcony, you glanced over the edge for a moment. It was a calm night, the breeze just barely chilly and the stars gleaming down onto you, making your skin look like it sparkled. 

Thwip

Suddenly, it felt like something passed right by your head. What looked like a string of spiderweb had shot past your right ear and landed on the edge of the balcony, right above where your arm was leaning against. "What the-" you were cut off by another thwip noise.

This time the web was shot onto your mouth. "Mmm!" You exclaimed, trying to pull it off. Then more web was shot towards you, pinning your arms to the railing. You watched in horror as a masked figure approached you, unable to escape due to the strength of the web holding you down. 

"MmmMmMm!" You said, trying to convince him to let you out of this situation, although there was no way he'd be able to understand what you were saying.

"Calm down, darling. 'mnot gonna hurt you." His voice was deep, with a cockney accent to it. Very different from the posher accent you were used to hearing. As he stepped into the light, you felt a quiet gasp leave your mouth. Spider-man.

"mmMM?" You asked, leaning back slightly as he approached you. You flinched as he reached his hand out toward your face and you watched as he hesitated for a moment before he ripped the web off. "You-you-you" you stuttered, in shock at the man in front of you.

He stayed silent for a moment, as though he was in shock himself. "Hi. I'm Spider-man." 

"I-I know." you said your eyes locked onto the white of his mask.

He stared at you for a moment longer, obviously wanting to say something. But then he shook his head slightly and looked away, hands shoved into his vest pockets. "Are you going to kill me?" You asked, eyes wide.

"Wot?" He looked back at you, taken aback. "o'course not! I wouldn't kill a peng like you."

You looked down at your tied up hands, prompting him to do the same. "Sorry about the webs, but t'was the only way for m' to make sure you didn't run away"

You nodded, still scared out of your wits. "You don't remember me, do you? Well o'course you don't remember me, I have a bloody mask on" he said quickly, turning away from you again. "dumbass" he muttered under his breath.

"excuse me?" You asked, feeling yourself calm down a little bit. He definitely wasn't acting like he was going to kill you. "Not you!" He said quickly, putting his hands in front of him. "Just uh-hi."

You raised your eyebrow at him. He shook his head, "y'know what? Lets start over."

He made a beckoning motion with his hands and approached you again. "What do you want from me?" You asked, looking up at him. He was intimidatingly tall, probably over 6 feet tall, but he was skinny, as though he rarely ate.

"Nothing. I don't want nothing." He said, looking at you. Suddenly, you heard a small crackling noise come from his ear. He placed his palm over his ear and took a step back. "Yeah, yeah I'm ready for you. Just give me another second." He said under his breath.

"Look, listen to me, a'right? Get out of here. Before you get hurt." he told you, leaning in more. "What? Why? What's happening?" You asked, a scared feeling beginning to brew in your stomach. "It doesn't matter. Just trust me and get out of here."

The same crackling noise came from his earpiece. The eyes of his mask widened slightly and he put his hand near yours. He ripped off the web holding you against the railing and took a few steps back. "Just trust me."

You were about to ask him something when he suddenly pulled himself over the railing, leaping off towards the ground. "Wait-" You started to say, but he was already gone. 

Get out of here.

That couldn't be good. You walked back towards the crowd of people, unsure what to do. Should you warn everyone? Should you tell Mr. Osborne? Should you tell Harry?

"Hey, Y/N!" you heard a voice call your name. Harry. "Where were you? I've been searching all over for you-" You grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him closer. "Harry, we need to get out of here!"

"Woah-" he put his hand on top of yours, pulling you off of him gently. "What? What's going on?" he asked, looking down at you concernedly. "Somethings going to happen and I don't know what but I know we should leave-" you started to ramble, practically begging for him to believe you.

"Alright, alright" he said, putting his hands on your shoulders to calm you down. "I'll call up a cab. We can go."

"But everyone else-" you started to say.

The entrance doors opened abruptly. Standing in the entrance was a large group of what looked like protestors, holding signs and whatnot, slowly entering. They were led by a man in a red white and blue suit, not the Spider-man suit, but one that made him look more like a soldier. Captain Anarchy. 

It was a riot.

You were about to repeat yourself to Harry when you felt him grab your arm and start pulling you towards the exit. "We gotta get out of here" he said quickly, gently gripping your hand. As the rioters poured in, the few cops left began to try to deal with them, pulling out their guns and their batons. "Oh god I can't watch" You said under your breath, looking away as you and Harry joined the group of people scrambling towards the exit.

You caught a glimpse of Mr. Osborne, calling for backup. He looked livid.

As you were pulled along with the rest of the crowd, you could hear shouting and screaming coming from behind you. The rioters and the cops were fighting furiously, the protestors being accompanied by numerous 'superheroes' and the cops being joined by the backup Osborne had called for. V.E.N.O.M. soldiers.

When you left through the exit with Harry, the last thing you saw was one of those 'soldiers' being smacked in the face with a certain guitar, catching sight of that same flash of red and blue, that same leather vest, that same mask that had had you tied against the balcony railing before.

Your not-so-friendly neighborhood Spider-man.

Tags:

@s6onder @therealloopylupin2099 @spiderrinn @l0starl @daydreaming-en-pointe @itsparis-07 @@vileviale @bubble787635 @hows-my-handwriting @puff-hugs

[butterflydm]

Hi! I just watched Dune pt 2 and was thinking about the Aiel-Fremen similarities amd was wondering if you had any thoughts about the comparison because I love the way you write about WOT?

Thank you!

Oh, yes! There are tons. Watching Dune Part 2 definitely reminded me of how much the Fremen and the Aiel have in common -- Jordan had said that any similarities are unintentional, which I'm guessing is true, because Jordan was very open about how much he used other sources as inspiration when he was building his world (given the premise of the world -- that time is a wheel and everything that happened in our world also happened in WoT, it makes a lot of sense that he would do that -- Dune is also set in the far-future of our own world as well, so they share that root in common too).

From what I've read in various places, it's more that Herbert and Jordan were drawing on some of the same real-life sets of historical societies (there's a run-down here, though unfortunately it looks like the page doesn't exist anymore outside of the wayback machine) to inspire their desert warriors, which led to a lot of their similarities.

But something that's really interesting to me are the ways in which Dune being sci-fi and Wheel of Time being fantasy had an impact on the creation and the writing of the two societies. (some of my thoughts below do contain spoilers for the later books in the Dune series!)

Dune is sci-fi -- prophecies aren't real (for the most part). So the prophecy that the Fremen believe in was actually seeded by the Bene Gesserit centuries ago as a 'surprise tool to help us later' for any Bene Gesserit who might find herself in trouble on the planet.

WoT is fantasy and prophecy is very real, though not always interpreted correctly. The old Aes Sedai who tells the Aiel their prophecy for the future was very much on the level and trying to do her best to protect and save the Aiel rather than setting them up to be manipulated centuries down the road.

The Aiel (at least the leaders of the Aiel) are also very aware that they are meant to be tools in the hands of their prophesied figure and that only "a remnant of a remnant" will survive. They have been explicitly setting up their society as a tool, I would argue, by telling their people that the Three-Fold Land's purpose was to shape them to make up for their 'sin' against the Aes Sedai. So there's a self-awareness to their choices, even in the beginning. They know that their savior is also their doom and walk into it with their eyes open.

This is also a big difference in Paul himself and Rand, in that Paul is a manufactured savior and Rand is a real one -- a large part of that lies in that Paul is a sci-fi protagonist and Rand is a fantasy one (though we could always bring up Paul's son, Leto II, who becomes monstrous in order to try to save humanity from an existential threat).

Paul is a critique of the white savior trope -- he is a complete outsider to Fremen society, takes them over using lies that exploit their religious beliefs, and uses them to further his own agenda, destroying them in the process.

Rand is half-Aiel, so that makes him more akin to Paul's children with Chani than to Paul himself in that regard, in that he does have that blood connection to the Aiel (which lets him experience their history through the glass columns), but he wasn't raised by them, so there's that distance too.

But both Paul and Rand are very aware that they are using the Fremen-Aiel as a tool for their own plans (but again, here I loop back to the intentionality -- not only do the Aiel leaders know this all along, but Rand reveals to all of the Aiel the truth about their past, which means that they immediately fracture in a way that takes the Fremen years to begin doing), so they have that in common.

In addition to the difference between sci-fi and fantasy, we also have a big difference (in the books) in how the two sets of books examine religion. Religion is a much bigger and more explicit thing in Dune than in WoT -- Paul is able to build his following by exploiting his followers' religion to turn them into fanatics. Now we do have an example of some of Rand's followers turning into fanatics, but it's not in the Aiel but in Masema and what he does on the west coast, and the Dragonsworn are mostly not focused on, especially not in Rand's actual plotlines.

But, yeah, Paul Atreides, Rand al'Thor, (and I add Anakin Skywalker) kinda all exist in this sort of venn diagram in my head that I'm going to try to plot out:

[random-thot-generator]

Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 4

(Frenemies/Tenderness AU)

FOUR: Like Heartbreaking New Friends

SIMON ‘GHOST’RILEY X FRENEMY FEM READER

Summary: You and ‘Riley’ are learning to navigate this tenuous new friendship, but he’s not going to make it easy for either of you.

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Simon is struggling, So is Reader, No Y/N

(Notes: It’s three months after the last chapter, and Simon is sandbagging and self-sabotaging as only the big man can do, but we love him anyway. This is a shorter chapter, because I had to cut the original in half. Should have another chapter up as soon as give the next part a rewrite. Hope you enjoy.) ...  [Image via GIPHY]

Word Count: 1919

Chapter: 4

-

“We tiptoed around each other like heartbreaking new friends.”

― Jack Kerouac, On the Road

You're watching the clock. It's nearing the end of your shift and you're more than ready to go home. You'd had another row with Riley the day before and your sleep was miserable last night because of it. All you want to do right now is to lie down in a dark room and take a bloody nap.

The arguing is something that has become commonplace between the two of you. He's hot and cold, pulling you close only to push you away again, but he never takes it to the extent he did that first time. He's learned his limit with you, it seems.

Even when he's angry enough to leave, he never goes far and returns to you usually after a sleepless night for the both of you. He still tries to be angry and seethes, but he's not fooling anyone; he's a spent storm, his thunder and lightning reduced to a few low grumblings and flickering eyes. Once his storm has run its course, he resets to zero, and the process starts all over again.

When Riley ‘resets’, he usually shows up with your favorite scones or some trinket he's picked up while deployed. It's his way of apologizing now. He refuses to verbally apologize to you anymore. Apparently, you forfeited that right when you let him back into the pub that night. It seems as if he's never going to forgive you for opening that door for him. More than three months on, and he's still going out of his way to test your mettle as his friend.

He pretends to be an uncomplicated man; he is anything but. He is a high-walled fortress that's riddled with pitfalls and funhouse mirrors. You have to tread lightly with him. While you're certain he would never physically lash out at you for overstepping, he will slash you with his sharp tongue without a second thought. You've learned the hard way that his bite is worse than his bark. You've got the scars on your ego to prove it.

Still, you don't give up. You’re determined to prove him wrong. So, you’ve toughened up. You’ve grown a thicker skin, and now you watch him gnaw at you in frustration because he can’t stay away. You know this, because it’s the same for you; you can’t stay away, either. So, you just keep running at each other. It’s like a convoluted game of chicken.

You glanced back up at the clock and watched another minute tick by. You were so bloody tired...

Fiona showed up for the evening shift early, and you'd never been so happy to see someone in your life. That is, until she mentioned Riley.

"He was in a bloody mood last night," she commented darkly, tying on her apron. "Poutin' all evenin’, he was.”  She waited a beat before asking, "So, what’d ya do to set ‘im off this time?" she teased, raising her brows.

You snorted. "Oh, it was terrible, what I did! I wished him a happy anniversary."

"Wot?" she laughed, frowning in confusion. “Anniversary?”

"I meant it as a joke. It was a year ago that I loaned him that first book." You peered out the window, frowning, noting the lowering, dark clouds. "We've been friends for a year. He tried to argue that it hadn’t been that long. It was just... really stupid."

Fi snorted a derisive sound. "Are ya sure yer friends?" she quipped, nudging your arm. "The way the two of ya go at it sometimes, I worry he's goin' teh pinch yer fool head off."

You groaned when you saw a few raindrops splatter against the window. Great. You'd be walking home in the rain, from the looks of it. What a perfect way to end your shite day. You gave an absent shake of your head. "You won't ever have to worry about that," you murmured, distracted, grimacing when rain drops began to pelt the pavement outside. "Riley wouldn’t lay a finger on me. I don’t think he likes touching me. Avoids it like the plague."

You didn't notice Fiona's confused expression. She opened her mouth to say something, but you glanced up at the clock, then grabbed your bag from beneath the bar. “I’m gonna go ahead and leave before the rain gets too bad. Text me later, yeah?”

“Sure, love. Be careful,” she murmured, still a little mystified by your statement.

You left through the kitchen exit, borrowing one of the rain slickers and an umbrella from the collection kept by the door. Head down, umbrella lowered, you turned in the direction of home and set out.

Simon didn’t even recognize you when he passed by and pulled up at the curb in front of the pub. Jumping out of his truck, he hurried to the door and swept inside, startling Fiona and Ollie who were still setting up for the evening. He looked between the two of them and then glanced around. “Where is she?” he grumbled, not bothering to elaborate. They both knew who he was talking about.

“She just left. Didn’t ya see her?” Fi replied.

Simon’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “No.” He whirled around and swept back out without so much as a goodbye.

Ollie huffed a laugh and shook his head. Fiona stared after him, then turned her head to her boss. “D’ya know what Dee told meh a’fore she left? She said Riley doesn’t like touchin' her. Says he avoids it like the plague.” She quirked her brow up and grinned.

Ollie scoffed. “Fer such a bright lass, she’s dumb as a box o’ rocks sometimes,” he said, shaking his head. “The only thing that eejit’s avoidin’ is the inevitable.”

Simon found you trudging along about a block away from the Dog, umbrella held low enough to hide your face. Driving ahead of you, he pulled over to the curb and rolled down the window, waiting. When you came up beside him, he barked out, “Oi! What are ya doin’?”

You startled and stepped sideways, raising the umbrella to stare at him. “Bloody hell, Riley! You scared the daylights out of me!”

He grunted. “I have that effect on people. Ya didn’t answer my question. What are ya doin’?”

“Unnh... I’m going home. Why?”

Simon dithered between two choices: ask you to let him take you home or tell you he was taking you home. He knew how you would react to each. He made his choice without a second thought.

“Get in the truck.”

Your little scowl was instant. You hated being told what to do. “No.”

He huffed a low bark of laughter. “Turn down a free ride ‘cause yer still pissed at me? Didn’t take ya for the petty type, doll.”

Your scowl deepened. “Quit calling me doll. I’m not your stupid toy.”

His brows twitched together for just an instant, but then smoothed back out. “Quit bein’ such a bloody brat about it. Anyone with a lick o’ common sense would already be sittin’ in the damn truck.” He said it like a thinly-veiled dare.

Smug bastard.

A debate raged in your brain. You wanted to tell him to fuck off but knew how childish, how ‘bratty’ that would sound. He’d give you hell for it. Growling under your breath, you stomped around and got into the truck.

Simon rolled the window up and waited for you to get settled. He let you huff and puff yourself out, that mean little scowl still bunching your brows together as you fussed around with your bag and umbrella. When you drew your seatbelt across your lap and latched it, he put the truck back into gear and pulled back out onto the street.

He glanced over at you, noting the dark smudges under your eyes, the tired expression in them. He felt pretty much the same. He hadn’t slept for shite the night before, cursing himself and you for the stupid argument the two of you had. You just wouldn’t back down and he couldn’t. Not when you looked that good, with your ire and your color up, eyes bright and focused.

On him.

It seemed like he lived to rile you up these days. He was addicted to it, to that fire, that bloody sass, your sharp little tongue. You devolved into a snarky little brat when he pissed you off, and it drove him bloody mad.

“Need t’make a stop?”

You shook your head, letting it loll on the headrest. It was hard to stay mad at a man that owned a truck with seat warmers. “’M fine. Just along for the ride,” you murmured, closing your eyes. You snuggled deeper into the seat and sighed.

It was hard for him to stay focused on the road with you looking like that. You looked so damn pretty that way, completely trusting of him, eyes closed, your body relaxed. Even your scowl had evened out, your brow now smooth and uncreased, all the anger and stress dissipated. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and wrap around that spot just above your knee. He wanted to curl his fingers into the soft flesh there, tuck them into the bend of your knee, caress it with his thumb...

He blinked when headlights flashed, drawing him out of his thoughts. Scowling, he doubled his efforts to refocus on the road. He threw an angry glance your way. Every sodding time he got around you, he ended up like this. His eyes slid back to you of their volition before he forced them back on the road, gritting his teeth. He needed a bloody distraction.

“Yer a shite date, Dee. This why yer home every night watchin’ the telly?”

He was expecting your eyes to snap open with anger sparking in them. He was expecting that mean little scowl and a hissed insult. He didn’t get any of that. Instead, your brows furrowed up over your closed eyes, and you gave a gentle scoff, flopping your arms in your lap. “Ugh... please, Ri. I’m so tired.”

And just like that, the flame inside him was tamped down, his head cooling as his chest warmed. The way you said it, not angry, just so bloody tired.

Back in control and feeling contrite, he let the tension fall out of his shoulders and settled more comfortably into his seat with a sigh. “Yeah. Alright... Dee,” he rumbled out, soft and low. “Jus’ rest.”

You both rode in silence for a long minute, and then you reached over and took his hand. He flinched, but you didn’t pull away, hanging on with a gentle hold. “I don’t mind you calling me doll, Riley. I just don’t like everyone calling me that. It’s not for them, ya know?”

Simon swallowed past the lump in his throat. It wasn’t for them. It was for him. Just him.

He squeezed your hand. “Yeah. I get it, doll.”

You nodded and closed your eyes again, letting your hand slip back to your lap. It wasn’t long before your breaths evened out and deepened.

Simon drove around Banfield for another hour, just to let you sleep.

-

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[iviarellereads]

My reasons for reading the Wheel of Time

Are you unsure about reading the Wheel of Time? Whether or not you read along with my blog project (explainer here and WOT link index here), this post may be for you!

If you don't want any spoilers before experiencing it yourself, I will just say: watch the first two seasons of the TV show, first. The adaptation changes a lot of the details, but the show is taking elements Robert Jordan wrote 30 years ago, more than a generation removed from today's sensibilities, and he changed his mind on a lot of things as he went on. Rafe Judkins is doing an incredible job of adapting to accommodate changing sensibilities/expectations, a change in medium, and the things RJ didn't decide to make part of his world until later books.

If you don't mind some light expectation-setting spoilers, I'm going to lay out why I love the Wheel of Time, some reasons to pick back up and/or keep going with the series if you ever started and fell off, as well as content notes by way of the downsides so you know what you're getting into.

I can't say whether any of my cons will be dealbreakers for you, or if the pros will make it worth the cons for any individual reader. All I can say is, knowing the bad, I still reread this series because it was worth it for me, and a lot of folks like me agree. If you don't think you can do it, full respect, hopefully I'll see you when I take breaks from this series. 🫡

My rationale

This is probably one of the dearest stories to my heart, and the one that I started refining this format with. I've been in this fandom for almost 15 years, and I wouldn't trade… well, maybe a second of it, but not much.

One of the most chunky fantasy series that exists, the Wheel of Time was begun in the late 1980s by Robert Jordan. When he passed in 2007, his wife and editor chose Brandon Sanderson to complete what they thought would be the final book (but ended up being three books) series with the help of extensive notes he left behind about his intentions for the story.

Even though it's over 30 years old, and there have been active discussion communities on just about all the social interactive platforms you can think of in that time, the Wheel of Time lacks a lot of spoiler-free resources. There are a couple of attempts to make spoiler-free wikis, but they just can't ever quite compare to the full-spoiler ones. There are Discord servers with first-time-reader channels, but not a lot of options for double checking what's safe to say at any given point for full-readers, OR ways for first-time readers to double check information, like if they think they misheard something, without asking and potentially getting spoiled by someone who misinterprets.

So, besides having keyword searchable notes for myself, my ultimate purpose in creating my notes in the first place is to help folks who haven't read the books, to have access to that sort of summary without having to search and get major later-plot spoilers. And since that led to everything else that led to this blog, I think it's only appropriate that I do, eventually, revise my notes and post them here.

I will probably be taking breaks between books. Most of the books in this series have 40, even 50+ chapters. I've already gone and entered it in my Google calendar for tracking (are you really surprised I do that?) and the first book will take me two and a half months to cover, all by itself, though the chapters only average out to ~15 pages each. We're going to be here at least 3 years, and with breaks between more like 4 or 5. Even so, I think it's right for me to do this one more time.

The Pros:

WIDE cast of characters, including women who get their own deep personalities, motivations, and arcs. Women are often in compare-and-contrast mirrors to men's similar experiences happening in parallel, and only rarely rewards or prizes to be won. (Caveat: even some people who have read the series may scoff at this one, but part of my efforts will be to help make the subtextual things a little more noticeable, because a LOT of character is in the subtext in these books because of the close-third unreliable narrator effect. It's fair to interpret them more shallowly, hell I used to, but then I started looking deeper and found so much more than I expected.)

Setup, foreshadowing, and payoff. Many plot seeds are planted, nurtured, and harvested at perfect ripeness. RJ was a conoisseur of foreshadowing in the subtext, text, and supertext of the story, and when each was most appropriate. Many of the old web rings, forums, and fan sites are long, long dead, but I can attest that this series does some absolutely incredible work with giving readers plenty of information to theorycraft widely and wildly. One particularly (in)famous mystery lasted 8 books across 17 years, and that's not even the longest one, just the easiest for us to point at.

Rarely introducing a new character where an old one will do. While there are over 2700 named characters, a lot of comparable stories would have near doubled that to tell this much story. It's really fun to see names pop back up in unexpected places, and track people who don't get POVs across the world as they say hello from different places and nudge the background plot along.

Evil is no simple thing. It's kind of a spoiler, yes, but I think it's fair when you look at the landscape in which it was written, and if we have a different standard today, it's due in no small part to the Wheel of Time's influence. The 80s and 90s in the fantasy corner of the publishing industry were not bastions of moral complexity. The Wheel of Time has the big literal supernatural capital-e Evil, and the humans who sign on to support it for their myriad reasons, but there are also multiple acknowledged human evils in opposition to it. The heroes and villains get a similar treatment of depth. Some people are nearer to the unquestioned poles of Good or Evil, but your fave is probably a war criminal at some point either way. This story goes on for 14 books plus a prequel, and that sort of simplicity doesn't inspire the sort of deep fandom these have. Nobody is as shallow as they seem at first glance, and most long-time fans have faves in the Light, the Dark, and everywhere in between.

Unreliable narration means there's a LOT more to this series than a surface reading indicates. There's a lot to the surface reading, and there's nothing wrong with it, unless you count "you don't really, fully understand a lot of the characters until you understand the discrepancies between their thoughts and their actions". My first reading was completely superficial and I still had a blast. But my second, and third? Especially after interacting with more of the fandom and honing my skills at media analysis, there's SO much more there to discover. Hopefully this read will help surface-readers get a bit more of the deep understanding, and if your surface reading previously felt unsatisfying or left you hating a lot of the characters, maybe this will help you better appreciate what's going on.

The Cons:

The sexism and gender binary. Gonna level with you, there's a lot of very heteronormative and gender essentialist vibes in here. It's cis binary genders only (with a singular terrible exception we'll deal with when we get to, but know that it's coming and it's handled pretty dreadfully even though you could give it a more charitable reading if you wanted to) and no matter the country or culture they're from, women and men each have very strange ideas about what the other gender is about. Robert Jordan was a US Southern cishet baby boomer Vietnam veteran, he almost certainly had some really unhinged ideas about gender relations. (Why it's not as much a con: two reasons. First, see unreliable narration above. Second, I think that one of the themes that really gets missed by a lot, a LOT of readers is that imposing binaries divides and weakens us. I will be exploring this whenever I remember that it's relevant to talk about and you may get real sick of it by the end. But, I think a lot of RJ's writing in this direction was intentionally drawing attention to how destructive it is. It's just never really stated out loud, it's once again in the subtext, and it doesn't always land the way I think he hoped. I promise, I will have the citations to back up my assertion by the end.)

Queerness: none good. There's one sweet sapphic relationship which is relegated to "gay until graduation" status at what amounts to a girls only boarding school, and never spoken of again except as friendship. In the encyclopedias, the characters in it are explicitly defined as straight. There are several lifelong lesbians who are explicitly one or the other of the kinds of evil. There's the one singular bad trans rep character. After the Sanderson portions start, there's one man who's said to be gay. RJ maintained in interviews that of course gay people existed, the story just wasn't any of theirs, which still burns me. (The show is making this MUCH better. I genuinely had faith in Rafe Judkins's adaptation after something he does in season 1 in this vein, and I have zero problem adding a little queer goggle view to all the interactions.)

We go six books where sexual assault is barely a concern, then get a handful of them all back to back in one book, with a few more sprinkled through afterward. There's a particularly troubling one against a male main character that a lot of the fandom doesn't even acknowledge as having happened. I'm not even gonna try to defend this, it's inexcusable, and if I'd known, I might not have read it, even if it's one of my favourite stories today. (Hashtag Please Fix It In The Show Rafe Judkins.)

The start is rough. The first book is very much a Lord of the Rings homage, where RJ hopes you'll see the places he diverges and stay along for the ride as he defies the standard fantasy outline of his day. The "come play with me in this space" of it means there are a number of potentially really interesting things that are just abandoned and never mentioned again, in alongside the things that were refined along the way. I won't always point these out because spoilers, but it's good to be prepared for some level of disappointment that the thing you want to see explored, isn't. (And hey, you can always explore it in fanfiction!)

And the series remained a work in progress to the end. RJ always thought he was just two or three books from done, ever since book 3. He wrote book 11 believing there would be just one more after it, but after his passing, his wife/editor Harriet McDougal, Brandon Sanderson, and the rest of what we call "Team Jordan" decided there was no way to fit what was in his notes into a single book, so they split it into the final three (books 12-14). So, sometimes things will feel like they're hurtling toward a destination that you know, from the rest of the stack, has to be several books off for a satisfying arc of it. Alls I can say is, at least we know the series has an end that it seems most people who reached it found fairly satisfying.

Adjacent to this, The Slog. There's a plot slowdown in the middle, not unlike the "middle of a trilogy" problem but it goes on for, at least for some readers and by some reckoning, 6 of the 14 books. Readers who like a fairly dry focus on politics and subtle character interaction more than plot will find this less painful. Readers like myself who need a plot to keep us hooked and moving forward will feel like the series drags its wheels in the mud for a couple thousand pages. This is anecdotally where a lot of readers quit the series, and they often cite this as a main reason. I can promise you the ending is worth the Slog to get there, if you're like me. But, my notes go from over 100 pages in Google Docs for book 4, to 57 for book 5, and just 12 pages for book 10, if you want a comparison of how thin the plot gets. (A lot of long-time readers will try to gaslight me about this, because they come out of the woodwork every time it comes up, and I'm telling you now: that's a great way to get blocked, because I have the receipts. I'm not saying the slog exists as a moral judgement against it or anyone who likes it. I'm literally just stating provable fact that the plot slows down and at least this reader feels it really hard.)

[miirshroom]

Wheel of Time and Elden Ring: an examination of parallel themes

As I mentioned some months ago, I felt a strange sense of connection between the themes of Elden Ring and the Wheel of Time. I know that other people get similar vibes relating to Lord of the Rings and the various works of George RR Martin - also valid. But what I want to unpack are the points of comparison between the Breaking and the Shattering, the Lord of Chaos and the Lord of Frenzy Flame, and the Shadow and...the Shadow.

Extensive spoilers ahead for both works, but I generally assume that any potential reader has played Elden Ring and has not read Wheel of Time, for purposes of adding context.

The Breaking

In the Wheel of Time, the Breaking of the World happened as a result of men falling to madness. Magic in this setting is called the One Power and is split into male and female halves, and it was only the men who set the seven seals on the Dark One's prison, so only men received the backlash. And people who channel the One Power tend to live extended lifespans, so for hundreds of years the landscape was torn apart by wild magic and civilization generally fell from a near-utopian society to a post-post apocalyptic world scattered about with relics and ruins of the high magical past. More than this, the male half of the One Power was afflicted by the Taint, which for the next 3000 years would drive to madness all future generations of men who used it.

In broad strokes this is similar to the opening narration of Elden Ring. The Ring was shattered and the taint of madness infected the demigods, resulting in a landscape shattered by warfare.

The Lord of Chaos

A few men were spared from the type of random madness associated with the taint. However, they did this by binding their fortunes to the Dark One, which is arguably an entirely deeper degree of insanity.

The 13 Forsaken are a group of men and women strong in the One Power who turned away from the Light to serve the Dark One and the Shadow. Twelve of them think that if they help the Dark One win, then they get to divide up the world and rule it in the aftermath. What they don't seem to consider is that that the Dark One - known as Father of Lies, Sightblinder, Shai'Tan, etc - is letting them believe what they want to believe.

In the Wheel of Time, the Dark One only has power so long as humans are willing to act as it's agents. It doesn't matter what all of the other Forsaken think they will get out of serving the Dark One - the most favoured of all of them is Ishamael, who is quite clear that his goal is to break the wheel and end the world. Because he wants this, the Dark One gives him power, and because he has power he is able to take steps to achieve this goal, in a feedback loop. When the Dark One says "Let the Lord of Chaos rule" at the start of book six, it's a general enough statement that the other Forsaken are willing to go along with it - it benefits them to overthrow the ruling class because they think they will eventually get positions of power. They are all deceiving themselves. Unlike Ishamael, they can't comprehend that their role in causing chaos and putting more stress on main character Rand al'Thor - the Dragon Reborn - is all towards the goal of getting the Dragon to the point of despair where he will end the world. In a line of dialogue that is easy to take metaphorically instead of literally, it is said that "the Land is One with the Dragon". To be a Lord is to impose some kind of Order - but chaos and order are opposites.

So the Lord of Chaos is no Lord at all and as Melina says "the Lord of Frenzied Flame is no Lord at all". Shabriri and Ishamael are quite similar for what they represent. Shabriri is an agent of the Three Fingers in the same way that Ishamael is working with the Dark One. They even have the body snatching thing in common (and that does also come up in the prologue of WoT book six - also titled 'Lord of Chaos' - with two of the Forsaken being placed in new bodies that were simply the first 2 that happened to be available).

So, when Shabriri says "may chaos take the world" it's not so different from "Let the Lord of Chaos rule". When we think of chaos we think of random unpredictable things continuing to happen and life continuing to exist. When Shabriri speaks of chaos, in the short term there will be chaos in the world…but the real goal is that the world burns up followed by nothingness. Heat death of the universe. The player is in the same role as Rand in this scenario. Shabriri can't destroy the world himself - he tells whatever tales he needs to convince the player to become the Lord of Frenzy Flame and destroy it all for him.

The Shadow

It was relatively recently revealed that the Shadow of the Erdtree would be taking place in the 'Shadowlands', and confirmed that Miquella has travelled to this land. The exact nature of the Shadowlands is not yet revealed, but based on past information surrounding Miquella it is hinted at being a Dreamland. This section is something of an exploration of the way that 'The Shadow' and 'The World of Dreams' are interconnected in the Wheel of Time.

The World of Dreams in the Wheel of Time is mainly the domain of dreamwalkers. It is a reflection of the waking world, only it's eerily empty of people and the sky contains a field of 'stars' representing the dreams of other people. The dreamwalkers go there to meet each other when their physical bodies are separated by long distances, or to enter the dreams of non-dreamwalkers to send information through dreams, or to gather information by scouting the landscape using fast travel methods.

And there's an entity in The Wheel of Time that serves as the series antagonist and is most commonly known as 'The Dark One'. This entity has no physical form. It sometimes uses a humanoid avatar. But mostly The Dark One works through proxies and the sum total of its followers are called 'The Shadow'. The Dark One was imprisoned by the Creator at the moment of creation. Notably there are no religious schisms in the Wheel of Time as we'd understand them. There is not really any doubt about the existence of the Creator or the Dark One, just disagreement over what level of influence the Dark One has at any given time.

The backstory of the series as revealed in book 4 is of a past utopian society that was striving to reach greater heights. They were not satisfied with the One Power being split into gendered male and female halves and so the researchers drilled a hole into what they thought would be a new power source, but what they later realized was the Dark One's prison that had been set by the Creator. This was the inciting incident for the Breaking of the World.

Where these two concepts intersect is that it is strongly implied that the Dark One's Prison was itself the World of Dreams. The influence of the Dark One is expressed through random occurrences of dream logic happening in the waking world, the Dark One's domain is an anomaly that is equally as deadly in both the waking world and the dream world, the lead researcher who drilled the hole in the prison prides herself on being the best dream walker among the Forsaken, and so on. The Shadow operates on dream logic.

And it makes sense why so many powerful and otherwise intelligent people as the Forsaken turned to the Shadow. They were enchanted by the fantasy of living their dreams and they became numbed to the damage done to the people and Land around them. People would not be people if we did not have dreams - this is why the Shadow can only ever be sealed and not destroyed - but abandoning all responsibility in favour of living out personal dreams is not a sustainable way of life in the grand scheme of things.

[rhythm-catsandwine]

Life Finds a Way

Master list

Chapters

Read on Ao3

Summary

It can be dangerous and lonely in the black. The only thing you can do is cling together and protect those you love. Reavers aren't the only thing to fear in the black.

Will life find a way? Or will they die an early and horrific death?

Notes: This is a Firefly Au with a few additions and changes of my own. They are in a polycule, but the main couples are Danny/Maynard and Justin/Adam.

I also have no clue how many chapters there will be, and if you think something is a reference to something. It probably is.

Chapter One: Inspection

 Justin opened his eyes and stretched. “Adam.” He gently shook the man sleeping next to him. Two weeks ago he had his own bunk. A tiny space on the ship to call his own. Now he slept in the captain's quarters, but he was just the pilot. “Adam, wake up.” 

Justin opened the hatch to their bunk and climbed up to the walkway that led from the galley to the bridge. The crew bunks lined the walkway. The two biggest were across from each other where the four of them slept.

Maynard smirked before stepping down into the kitchen to make breakfast. “You two still fucking like cats in heat?”

“Least I don’t fuck Danny in the engine bay. With the door open.” Adam squeezed Justin’s shoulder before heading to the bridge. 

“You're the only one on this ship who doesn’t.”

“You two should just move in together,” Danny said.

“We already did.”

“When?” Danny his way towards the gallery, stomach growling.

“Bout a week ago,” Justin answered then turned to head up to the bridge. 

“I told you they would.” Maynard held his hand out to Danny. “Come on, pay up.”

“How? Thanks to you we have one account. How would that work?” 

“Then you do laundry for a month. Cover both our turns.” 

“Why laundry?” 

“I need a break from washing your stinky socks." Maynard turned back to the pancakes cooking on the ship’s small stove. “Pancakes, Pancakes, sure do love them pancakes.” He handed the ship foodie the first plate of his sweet delicious creation. “Pancakes, pancakes, Danny loves my pancakes. “ 

“Danny! Will you wake her up? Breakfast can wait.” Adam’s voice came from the bridge. 

Danny mumbled through a mouthful,  that sounded something like “But a growing boy needs his breakfast.”

“Fine! I’ll do it.” Their captain grumbled as he passed the other two. Once in the engine bay, he ran his finger over the metal of her hull. “Time to wake up. It’s everyone’s least favorite day of the year.” He pressed the button that made the engine start spinning. “It’s only for a couple of days then we’ll find a job, and you’ll be flying through the black again.” Adam made his way back up to the bridge.

Justin flipped a few switches and started driving the ship forward. "Wot time is her appointment?" Their boat was due for her yearly inspection. So once a year every ship had to go to a moon located in the inner planets and let the feds look all over their beloved home. 

"Hour and a half," Adam answered.  He fell back into the captain's chair. Across from where his young pilot was. "When is-"

"Atmo in one hour. Go change.” The green and blue planet and its grayish mood slowly grew bigger amongst the stars. “ N braid yer hair it makes you look a bit more polished.”

“Only for you.” Adam left the bridge once more to pull the long coat that identified him as a captain out of his entirely black wardrobe. He was only captain because he owned the ship and he made some of the tough decisions as well as found jobs that put food on the table. Other than that they voted, without rank. 

They landed softly in their inspection slot. Adam walked down the cargo bay door which doubled as a ramp. 

"Registration for ship and crew?" The inspector asked. 

Adam handed over the paper sheets. "Firefly class B midbulk cargo ship. 6th model. "

"Name?" 

"Shadow."

"Crew?"

“Adam Thomas Jones - Captain. Danie Edwin Carey - Mechanic (and one half of security), Maynard James Keenan- medical ( second half of security and cook ) - Justin Gunner Walter Chancellor - Pilot. (the pretty one )”

"License?" Justin handed over the little metal rectangle. The inspector studied it and read the notes that came up on his handheld screen. His eyebrows raised and his mouth and lips curved down into a frown. He then looked at the man in front of him. Long curls and dressed in shorts and an old t-shirt. "You've got remarkably high marks. And you sure look a little young to piolet a ship by yourself."

"Mum said I was born to fly." He grinned. 

"I'll need one more person to look at this. "

Adam sighed and rolled his eyes." yeah. So he graduated top of his class and is already one of the best pilots in the verse. No need for that. How long will we be here?”

“Well, these Firefly models have quite a few hiding spaces. Common for smugglers and pirates to fly. So it will be two days. But I’ll give you extra night credits since you were early. How many do you need? 4?”

“Two.” Adam took the two plastic hotel keys from the inspector. Then walked over to the rest of the crew. Grumbling about paranoid and corrupt government.

"You're the paranoid one," Danny said just loud enough for him to hear.  

"Someone always stays on the ship."  That was the only rule Adam had. “Someone could steal her.”

"Only your paranoid ass thinks that."

"She was once!"

"Paul's fault," Maynard added.

"You mean the betrayer?" Adam hissed.

“Least it only happens once a year.” Justin tried to soothe the irritation in the air.

"So once a year we all have to be off the ship. Big deal!”  “ It's just a ship."

"Her name is "Shadow!"" The other three said together. 

They had split up. Danny and Maynard to stock up on food. Justin and Adam went to check into their room for the night. 

"Ask Miranda" was graffitied on a few walls, trash bins, benches, and signs. 

"Wot zackly happened with Miranda? I only heard rumors as a kid." Justin asked, walking next to his captain, shoulders almost touching. He was the youngest of the crew, and just a kid when the verse changed forever. 

"So I guess a Firefly like ours but the  3rd model went there. Found out the feds created the reavers. Apparently, they fucked with the atmo to make people more relaxed.  Some went too far. Didn't care about anything.  Not food. Breathing.  Just laid down and died. But a small population went the opposite way.  Went insane and became cannibalistic. And the reavers were born. Then they stuck the memories in the verse-wide broadcast channel. So everyone knows what they did. There were rebellions. Nearly started another war."

"But why ask Miranda?"

"Cus that was the planet where it happened.  And they had a government-created psychic that as it and which made them go there." Adam pulled the other closer by the hip.” More on this later. I need a distraction from all this stupid shit.”

“Strawberrie galaxy?” Justen read the name on the bottle of lube. “Again?”

“It’s basically tradition at this point.” Each time they had to stay in the hotel waiting for inspections to be over they fucked. Distractions could hold back any paranoia. And Justin was always the main part of the distraction. Normally Adam wanted to last longer than he did. Justin liked to push them both toward the edge and then jump over it, dragging Adam with him. This was different. The longer they fucked. The less everyone had to deal with the paranoia. 

“Where ya going?” Adam wrapped his arms around his pilot's bare hips. Dark hair out of their braids, hanging down in slight waves.

“Shower. Want to join?”

The huge tub had a bench built into one side of it. Perfect for Justin to sit on the bottom and Adam to reach down and wash those long curls.

“This feels good?” a content hum answered him. “We both needed this.” Last time they were there they weren’t an official thing. One night after they fucked on the bridge under the stars, that changed. On their last job, Justin nearly died and realized how much he cared for the captain. “Okay, rinse.”  Justin sunk down under the warm water, letting the suds flow out of his hair “No. let this sit.” Adam kept him from washing off the lavender-scented conditioner. 

“Why do ya, always do this?”

‘Cus I don’t want your curls to turn into a ball of frizz.”

[edosianorchids901]

New Horizons

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "Expand Through Horizons"

It took Aziraphale over a month to work up the courage, by which time the weather had shifted to the bracing chill of autumn. Thin clouds stretched across the sky, and a slight breeze rustled through the leaves on the pavement.

But after waiting for so many years, he couldn’t bear the thought of delaying this particular outing until spring. So he took a deep breath, gathering his courage, and turned to Crowley. “I-I’d like to try somewhere new for lunch today, if that’s all right with you.”

Crowley straightened up on the sofa, lifting an eyebrow. “Expanding your culinary horizons, huh? I’m game, as long as there’s alcohol.”

“Well, yes. There is, as a matter of fact.” Swallowing hard, Aziraphale reached under his desk and pulled out the basket. “I was thinking we might finally have that picnic.”

He half expected Crowley to protest that it was too cold and they ought to wait. But the demon hopped up, grinning, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Terrific. Let’s go.”

“Ah! I-I’m so glad you approve.” Basket clutched tight, Aziraphale stood as well and followed him outside to the Bentley. “I’ve been wanting to do for so long, but…”

Crowley gave a little smile and opened the door for him. “Yeah, I know. But we can do whatever we want now.”

Heart beating far too fast, Aziraphale sank into the Bentley. He gazed out the window as Crowley drove at reckless speeds. For once, the awful driving wasn’t high on his list of concerns. He was too preoccupied with the picnic.

There wasn’t any real reason to be nervous about it. He and Crowley had dined out often for millennia, after all. But there was something different about a picnic, something that always made it feel vaguely more inappropriate.

Perhaps because it would simply be the two of them. No waiters, no humans at nearby tables. No distractions.

The extremely short drive to St. James’s Park did not give him nearly enough time to settle his nerves. His hands shook, and he gripped the basket tighter.

“You all right?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale glanced sideways at his best friend. Crowley’s sunglasses were back in place, but his concern was apparent anyway. “Oh, yes. Just a tiny bit anxious, that’s all.”

“Old habits.” Crowley’s tone was fond, and so was the smile on his face. He got out and came around to open Aziraphale’s door, then extended a hand. “C’mon, angel. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

It was time to be brave. Aziraphale took his hand and climbed out, basket held tight in his other hand. “Nerves aside, I am awfully excited.”

“I am too.” Crowley drew him over to an open grassy area, then took the basket and began setting up.

Although they’d been to St. James’s Park countless times since it first opened, being here for a picnic made it feel entirely unfamiliar. But soon they were sitting on a thick tartan blanket, wine and sandwiches and shortbread all laid out. A light breeze still blew, but the sun peeked out from behind a cloud.

“That feels nice,” Crowley said, giving a languid stretch. Rather reminiscent of a cat in a sunbeam, and Aziraphale smiled. Crowley glanced to him. “Wot?”

Aziraphale reached to take his hand again, heartbeat slower now. Their fingers slotted comfortably into place, plump between slender. “I was just thinking how very content you look, my dear. I love seeing you happy, and… quite honestly, you’re rather soothing.”

Crowley grinned at that, squeezing his hand. “I dunno if ‘soothing’ is the best way to describe me.”

“But you are!” Heart aching with fondness, Aziraphale caressed his demon’s cheek. He lightly trailed his fingers from cheekbone to jaw, then repeated the stroke. “I was so very nervous about doing something new, but you’ve calmed me right now.”

“S’ okay to be nervous about new stuff, angel.” Somehow looking even more content now, Crowley leaned into his hand. “Especially when it comes to something that was dangerous not so long ago. But so far, I think picnics are pretty great.”

Aziraphale chuckled and kissed his brow. “I don’t think we’ve officially started our picnic, dear boy. We’ve just been talking.”

Rolling his eyes, Crowley grabbed a shortbread round. He held it out for Aziraphale, amusement dancing on his features. “Go on, then. Take a bite.”

“Goodness, you naughty old serpent! Tempting me into having a picnic with you.” The familiar teasing soothed Aziraphale’s nerves more, as did the delighted grin on Crowley’s face. He took a careful bite of the shortbread, then sat back and savored it for a moment.

Crowley watched him eat, still with that look of amusement, then picked up the wine. He passed one glass to Aziraphale, then raised his own in a toast. “To new horizons.”

Picnics were indeed marvelous, and so was having a devoted demon who would help him through anything. Aziraphale raised his own glass, excitement building for all the wonderful experiences ahead of them. “To new horizons.”

[sparrowsabre7]

Saw franchise thoughts wot I thunk

So I saw "Saw" (2004) (say it fast out loud like a rhyme, it's more fun that way) many years ago and while nominally I have a distate for the kind of injury detail gore that the franchise indulges in, I was quite enthralled by the story. It's no oscarbait, but in the vein of your "Fast and Furii" and Popcorn thrillers it was entertaining and kept me engaged and wanting to know what was going to happen next.

Due in part to:

1. A thread on fun twists in movies on Reddit

2. Saw X being released

3. My best friends on and off again pestering me to watch them over the course of nearly 20 years

I decided to actually watch the rest of the series, at least up to number 7, which was the original ending before "Jigsaw" and "Spiral" revived the series.

For the most part, I was pretty impressed. I felt a lot of the ideas and concepts explored were fun and interesting, managing to keep the trap plots feeling fresh while the crime plot moved the story forward. Plenty of twists worked well and I didn't see coming (though I imagine more than half an hour's thought on many would lead to many plot holes being poked in them) and I was consistently finding myself wanting to keep watching to know what happened.

Equally while some of the traps have some really nasty gore effects (props to the sfx depts) I have surprised by how much the first two films cut away or implied gore more than showed it.

All this was going along very nicely until we hit "Saw: The Final Chapter".

I honestly don't know what the fuck happened here, it's like every aspect collectively shit the bed. The traps became even more cartoonish, the cinematography took a massive drop in quality, giving it the sheen of a made for TV movie, and the acting from anyone not previously in the series was appallingly bad. It was like someone who'd not seen the previous films was given $1000 to make one, which is not the case because I believe much of the same team from 6 at least was involved, even if Leigh Whannell and James Wan are long gone. It just boggles the mind. I know some aspects are due to the dumb kowtowing to 3d, meaning the lighting is much brighter and blood pinker for some nonsense reason, but even so, no reason for the story and acting to plop into the shitter too.

[murasaki-sama]

I return after a week to announce most of my property is destroyed.

There was a fire in the storage facility I use, back at the end of August. They did not let us have access to our property until mid-November, by which time the residual water damage was severe. I lost all my furniture, about 70-90% of my 700+ books collection, including the entire WOT (twice over as I had most in both paperback and hardcover), Queen's Thief series by @meganwhalenturner, the 25-30 Discworld by Terry Pratchett books I had thus far managed to collect, and a significant collection of Anne McCaffrey books. All ruined by mold and water warping.

And in the same week I also managed to kill my second computer in a year (or year and a half). So that was horrible.

Anyway, I have spent the last week trying to save clothing/linen, one or two small pieces of furniture that maybe survived, and the like 10% of books which have no mold (one box out of 13 remained completely dry) or only a little mold - including a gold leaf covered Torah from my grandpa, who passed several years ago.

Its been exhausting, and I still have way more work to do. So yeah.

That was my week.

How'd everyone else's go?

[owlbear33]

there are of course two other books (besides 'The Path of Daggers' WoT book8) on my read pile (the pile of books on my bedside table with bookmarks in them - different from the to-be-read list - a list of books I want to get and read at some point), a lot, given at the moment I'm not finding the attention to read a lot

firstly 'The Way of the Shadow' by Brent Weeks, this is a reread, I read it first in my late teens (i think), it's about a magic assassin (or wetboy as the book puts it, an altogether too silly a term) in training, reading it has been nostalgic to some extent, but altogether it's just a bit edgy, and in the opening few chapters, though it is off-page, there's just a bit too much rape, particularly as the characters are a bunch of 10ish-year-olds at that point (the MC grows up over the course of the first book - it's the first in a trilogy), more uncomfortable to read than I remember it being when I last read it circa a decade/decade and a half ago

the other is 'The Jasmine Throne' by Tasha Suri, it's a fantasy about religion and politics in a fantasy version of medieval India, what of it I've read has been fun, but it's had difficulty holding my attention which explains why I haven't touched it in a while, though of course, this could just be my brain being funky

[jatazak]

[thewheelweevils]

The WoT Prime series as a Peter Jackson-like adaptation

A day late, but before I do my Wheel of Tim S1E6 thoughts, I need to share an “aha” moment I had form watching Brandon Sanderson talk about the show on YouTube a few days back. He made a really interesting point that kind of jarred me:

“This is a Fellowship of the Ring kind of adaptation,” he said (paraphrased). And I kind of went, “Yeah, but is it thooouuuugh? There are a lot of changes …”

But he went on and pointed out that the fandom divide online in 2001 was intense, and that a lot of that got buried in the tidal wave of public opinion and nostalgia glasses.

And I really thought about it and realized … yeah. Actually, yeah. You have this whole prologue sequence that was not in the book—it summarized information from the books, but those scenes were written, shot, etc., entirely original to the film. You have some scenes right from the book—Bilbo’s party is very close, the Council of Elrond is very close, Weathertop is reasonably close, Moria is pretty close, the Mirror of Galadriel and Amon Hen … reasonably close. But all of those scenes hugely condensed and simplified. A lot of added scenes—most everything with Saruman, for instance—a lot of scenes rewritten from the book, just little “essences” of those book moments, and massive swaths removed. Most of the first act is gone—nary a barrow down or yellow boot, no conspiracy, no decade-and-a-half gap between Bilbo’s party and Frodo leaving the Shire, no Buckland, no Fatty Bolger, and Glorfindel is written out and replaced with Arwen. When we get to The Two Towers, we have Faramir’s massive departure from the books and an entire added subplot in Osgiliath … in Return of the King, the entire Minas Tirith segment is massively different (Denethor actually has the beacons lit, for instance). Etc.

And WoT is actually similar. We get a prologue sequence that sets up a lot of backstory and context … the added Egwene scene … and then Tam and Rand on the road is much like the book. Bel Tine is much like the book, from what we see of it, and is adapted about as closely as your average Fellowship scene, with the added conflict of the Laila situation and Nynaeve vanishing. The aftermath of Bel Tine, when Rand comes into town with Tam, is almost straight out of the book, and then diverges again.

In later episodes, Shadar Logoth is just significantly condensed, not drastically altered save for Moraine being asleep. Egwene and Perrin’s story is pretty darn close to the books, just condensed and allowing for the Laila motivation for Perrin and Child Valda. Someone pointed out to me that Mat and Rand’s story was partly cut short due to COVID issues, so we didn’t get Caemlyn, but that should be in S2. I don’t even remember what Lan and Moiraine and Nynaeve were up to in the books before they reunite with Mat, Rand, Egwene, and Perrin, and I just reread that book a year ago.

All this to say, I took a step back and was like … yeah. This is kinda like how LotR was adapted. It is further from the source material, at least in this season—and to be fair, the first book was basically one long chase sequence and in my view one of the weaker books (there’s the ***minor book spoilers*** joke that Mat didn’t get a personality till The Dragon Reborn). But the same overall approach.

Anyway, that shifted how I look at the show. Episode 6 was a solid hit for me, and I’m super stoked to talk about it … when I’m more conscious

[justalittlebluetiefling]

This is an insanely long story that’s only tangentially relevant to you, fair warning, but I just saw one of your gif sets and it crossed my mind:

I started reading WoT not really cause of your blog, but that was where I first saw anything about the Amazon show coming out which is what started all this, which is to say, kind of thanks.

And with that out of the way, listening to the eye of the world audiobook has been an insane adventure. I THOUGHT I had read this book before, like, nearly 20 years ago, and so I was surprised at how vividly I remembered every scene, especially considering what a pace the story was moving at. Why, according to the runtime, I’m barely a fourth of the way through and I’ve covered almost half of the stuff I remember.

I starting getting more and more confused as I reached the halfway point. This was getting really close to that spooky city bit where they all get separated. You know, where the book ends. Always felt it was a pretty bad ending, leaving basically everything in the air and splitting everyone up for the sequel without really having any kind of catharsis at all. Probably why I never picked up the next one.

Of course, that part comes and goes, and the book, to my shock, keeps going.

You see, my copy of the book ended there. Just... ended. I thought the first book in this legendary fantasy series ended less than halfway through its page count because in 2003 - 2003! - they reissued the book as a two-book deal, and someone had given me just the first half as a birthday present.

I just learned this and have not recovered. Second half rules too. Powerfully inexorable momentum just drives all the separate stories in a really satisfying way.

Okay this is WILD I feel like I've heard about it being split at one point, but I've never actually encountered it. I love the second half of Eye of the World! This is so funny and cool, anon, thanks for sharing!

[tagsecretsanta]

From @Onereyofstarlight

to @godsliltippy

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Jelly smears onto her arm where Gordon grabs her and a ball of wrapping paper and tape is thrust into her hands.

“’t’s for you,” he says, eyes alight as she holds the pink package away from her body. 

Penelope stares at him and looks over to her father. Years of etiquette, engrained into her by nurses, nannies and governesses, never prepared her for the clumsy friendship of a five-year-old boy who showed all his teeth when he smiled.

No-one would know if she didn’t thank him. Just the two of them, and she doubts he would even notice. 

Her mother would notice. Her dead mother’s presence was everywhere, lurking in the corners of every room and watching Penelope’s every move. Her mother would tell someone and they would tell her father.

Nothing escapes Lord Creighton-Ward, especially not in his own house.

She nods slowly instead, allowing a thin smile to spread across her face. 

“Thank you, Gordon.”

There’s dirt on his nose. Her smile falters.

But Gordon is five and starry eyed and in love with the pretty girl who came to play school with his brothers and doesn’t see the lie in her eyes. 

He runs back to his mother, heedless of the way Penelope’s eyes follow him.

“Wot’s tha’ milady?”

“Nothing, Parker.”

She means it too.

The gift is never opened, discarded among the steamers and half-eaten plates of food.

Gordon never notices.

***

The next year, he gives her nothing but a cold stare.

***

Time passes and she’s no longer a haughty girl of seven, sulking in the back room of a boring Christmas Eve party, and he’s no longer the kid who follows his brothers like a lost puppy. He bounds first into every room, demanding attention and she can hardly stop herself from giving it to him. 

“Hey,” says John, looking slightly affronted at the way her eyes have slipped away from him once again. “You listening to me?”

“Yes.”

She’s lying, and she’s gotten good at that, but John still knows her tells, still knows her.

“Sure.”

It’s hard to hear him over the bright spark of laughter on the other side of the room. Gordon is surrounded, entertaining the small children stuck in the same position she was exactly twelve years ago.

A nudge pulls her from her thoughts and John nods in his direction.

“Talk to him.”

Penelope says nothing and he reads her silence as easily as his mathematical proofs. His mouth twists as he watches her, biting back platitudes that she can’t stand to hear.

“He got you a gift,” John says quietly. His eyes never leave her and she wishes desperately that she could leave. “He spent hours thinking about it, didn’t shut up about it since he drew your–”

“Don’t tell me that.”

His hands rise, open and honest and the words fall heavy between them.

She’d never been more pathetically grateful than when Gordon pulled her name for the annual Christmas round robin. She doesn’t need John to point it out to her.

There’s a dry lump in her throat and it tastes like pity.

Penelope knows she’s being a terrible host, but she allows the silence to stretch between them.

“Do you want another drink?”

She shakes her head, looking very carefully into the flickering flames. 

John sighs and collects her glass from the mantle all the same. 

“I’ll be back.”

She watches John as he strides across the dance floor, half convinced he’s about to spill the beans to Gordon, but he barely gives him a second glance. Instead, a few short words and a pointed look in her direction sends Virgil her way.

“Penelope, you’re looking wonderful.”

“What did John tell you?”

He grins and offers her his hand.

“Just thought you might appreciate a dance. Take your mind off matters.”

“He told you?”

“Never, our Johnny is a gentleman first. And a dancer last.”

On tiptoes, she spies John over his brother’s shoulder and glares at him as he ducks out of the room.

“One dance then, Mr Tracy.”

“Lady Creighton-Ward.”

In truth, Virgil is a wonderful dancer. They move like starlings in the dusk, mesmerising and perfectly choreographed as the music swells in a familiar beat. It’s easy and joyful, allowing herself to move without thinking while Virgil mutters terribly judgemental comments about the more stuck-up members of her peers.

“Stop it, Virgil,” she whispers, fighting a smile. “It’s not funny.”

He laughs and they dance, allowing the music and conversation to direct their pace and as the song swells, he twirls her, throwing her into a spin with laughter erupting from her lips, and yet it’s Gordon who catches her.

The sound dies and blood rushes to her cheeks. She drops his hand and stares, lips parted, eyes wide.

It’s embarrassing, really.

Virgil has made himself scarce, but her eyes are trained on Gordon alone. In his hands, he holds a present, its yellow bow flopping over like her father’s dog after a long walk, and he smiles, crooked and sweet in its uncertainty.

She can’t bring herself to breathe. His smile falters as his face flushes and he drops his eyes. They stand together and their eyes don’t meet. In one stilted motion, he presses the small box into her palm and turns away. 

Their hands never touch, but the gift is still warm. She traces the yellow ribbon as she watches him go.

“Thank you,” she calls out with a rush of courage. 

He glances back over his shoulder and shrugs, his smile brilliant between flaming cheeks.

“Welcome, Pen. Happy Christmas.”

And it is. 

Later that night, she stares at the neatly wrapped box and turns it over in her hands. She should open it, she knows, but she remembers John telling her how Gordon had agonised over this. He deserves more than a bleary thank you note tainted by exhausted emotion.

She puts the gift aside, ready for Christmas morning when she can take her time.

She wakes up and it’s Christmas Day.

It’s Christmas Day and her father dies.

***

She packs her childhood away and smiles with all the gracious manner he’d always expected of her. People stream through the house; some she hasn’t seen for years and some she’d seen only yesterday. Their comfort is as empty as the house she grew up in.

“We can’t put this off any longer, Penelope.”

Her aunt’s quiet voice breaks through the haze of grief and exhaustion.

“Not yet,” she whispers, watching the door.

“Not even Jeff Tracy can change an international flight plan midcourse. By the time they land, refuel and deal with the bureaucrats in order to get back here, I need to be gone. And you need to be with me.”

She exhales shakily, fighting the tears and tightness in her chest.

“Let me get my things.”

Great Aunt Sylvia nods and Penelope stands. It’s short work but she allows herself to hesitate. She knows what she’s getting into, and there won’t be time for sentimentality in her future. She looks down at the little box she’d placed on her bedside table. She should leave it behind along with her regrets. 

She pulls on the ribbon. It’s an impulse and a foolish one, and she can’t stop herself until she holds the gift unwrapped in her hands.

A laugh bubbles out of her, genuine and surprising in the dullness of the day. A pair of door knockers, moulded into the familiar shape of Sherbet, lay gleaming in the tissue paper. 

It’s ridiculous and perfect and she can’t help but love it.

“Penelope, dear? No time for dilly-dalliances.”

“I’ll be right down, Aunt Sylvia.”

Penelope collects her things, still biting back a smile. She’ll have them installed while she’s away.

***

Penelope trains in espionage. Gordon joins the military.

She completes her apprenticeship and Jeff Tracy offers her a position. He doesn’t return.

His father dies. She listens, numb, as Scott tries to get through to his superiors. No amount of money or connections will allow Gordon to resurface from his position of deep cover.

Unease settles over the family and no-one asks her to leave the island. So, she stays. She programs her favourite meals into the kitchen computer, hands tools to Brains and tells Parker to look after Mrs Tracy. Her employer is dead, but she’s not sure where else she should be.

Alan follows her around. Virgil sleeps. She doesn’t know what Scott and John are doing, locked away in the study.

Eventually, Gordon comes back. He’s lost his healthy tan and the bags under his eyes look like storm clouds. Still, he laughs as he swings Alan around in a hug, and drags Virgil out of his room, and needles at his other two brothers until they finally tell him the plan moving forward.

International Rescue will continue and Penelope no longer feels like a stranger on the island. The black despair begins to peel back and she can feel the hope and determination they all share.

It’s a gift.

***

He’s bashful.

He’s infuriating.

He’s scared.

He’s ecstatic.

He’s lost.

He’s safe.

His father is alive.

His father is alive and he’s looking at her, joy in his eyes and determination behind his smile.

He slips beneath the cool armour she forged in the wake of her father’s funeral with a kiss.

There’s no time to talk until there is.

He walks his grandmother’s son across the room and turns to her.

He reaches out and she meets him there.

*** 

It’s a fragile thing between them, still nebulous and undefined. Her breath catches as he slides an arm around her waist and tucks himself against her skin. Great Aunt Sylvia would never approve of such a blatant display. Parker certainly doesn’t. 

It’s vulnerable and honest, and so very Gordon, and she tenses as his family’s eyes land on them, bracing herself for the scrutiny to which she’s opening herself. He tugs her close, careless and unrepentant beneath the gentle ribbing and wolf whistles. She can hear the distinct bleep of money being transferred between bank accounts and shoots a glare in Virgil’s direction. 

It turns out that no-one finds them very interesting, hardly saying a word and playing with each other’s hands.

He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, until it spreads into a smile of her own beneath him. Her eyes flutter closed and she moves to clutch at the hand that cups her cheek.

“Hey,” he whispers, mouth against her skin. “Happy Birthday.”

She pulls away and stares. 

“I thought you said we would exchange gifts on Christmas. I haven’t wrapped yours yet, you should have told me and–”

“Pen,” he interrupts, laughing a little. “I said ‘Happy Birthday’. It’s not Christmas time just yet.”

“I don’t understand.”

He shrugs as he reaches behind him with a sheepish grin.

“Well, it’s just I know how it is, being born near a holiday. Gotta imagine being born the day before Christmas lends itself to that combined present crap far too easily for people.” He glances down at the parcel, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I know you said you didn’t want a fuss, but I wanted you to know I was thinking of you today.”

She loves him. The thought is no longer new or surprising but for the first time she embraces it and allows it to warm her heart instead of squirrelling the idea away in a fit of shame. He thought of her and she loves him and she doesn’t care about presents, not really, but no one had ever thought of her like he does.  

He hands her a brightly wrapped parcel and she can’t help the dopey smile that grows as she holds it in her hands.

“Thank you, Gordon,” she says, still staring in delight.

“Well, there’s more where that came from.” It’s a self-conscious laugh, tinged with uncertainty and he can’t help himself and the question spills forth. “You like it?”

“I haven’t opened it yet,” she says with a laugh of her own. “But I already love it.” 

He looks entirely too pleased with himself, but she knows how to fix that these days. Leaning forward, she kisses him herself, paying no mind to the rest of the family. 

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

[cattles-bians]

'our exes are dating' damie AU part 2

post directory

em: jamies like, sitting w her head in her hands wearing big stompy boots and flannel going god dani our exes are dating. we’re Stereotypes (danis like well. i will hold my tongue about the outfit but technically their exes are also dating)

obsetress: "what about my outfit?" "nothing baby, you look very cute”

obsetress: ok but dani and jamie finding out rebecca and vi are dating and jamie's immediately calling owen like "mate."

em: i am so thinking of making the bly manor au version of The Chart from the l word

em: owens like who haven’t u dated at this point n jamies like oi (quietly) u know i get nervous around girls

em: owen we can’t ALL be Married to hannah grose

obsetress: jamie can't stand vi most of the time like you said but she definitely had a drunken one night stand with perdita

obsetress: they were both young and lonely and had something to prove

obsetress: ok but imagine vi and rebecca are having some holiday party at their fancy ass apartment and dani and jamie are showing up and perdita is there and viola's like "dani, you remember my sister. jamie, this is–– jamie? perdi? are you okay?”

obsetress: perdita pulling vi aside later and hissing "that's her! that... jamie, that's her" "who?" "that... that girl i told you about, vi, the one who––" "the one who insisted on buying you breakfast but then never called you back?" “yes"

em: jamie......

obsetress: she wants to be so nice and so soft but then…

obsetress: also they stayed over at perdi's and she was sober enough the next morning to realize what a trust fund baby flat looks like

em: jamie viola acquaintances to enemies to. nope still enemies

jamie: dunno what the fuss was about. not like i stole anything

dani: sorry what

dani: why would you even think... did you?

jamie: what? don’t be ridiculous.

jamie: i cut that shit out years ago

obsetress: in vi and rebecca's lavishly furnished guest bedroom later that night…

dani, whispering: we could, you know

jamie, half asleep next to her: wot

dani: steal something. they wouldn't miss it

jamie: dani, we can't just––

dani: that print over there is nice though, isn't it?

dani: would look nicer at ours

em: the most illegal thing dani has done is smoke a joint so she’s READY

obsetress: she is ITCHING obsetress: anyway they absolutely take it and the next time vi and rebecca come to theirs for "a quaint, country weekend" viola doesn't even notice, but rebecca squints at it for a minute

em: sjhfjsh,afasf

obsetress: be gay, do crime -dani clayton, probably

obsetress: new crack headcanon: dani always trying to rope jamie into doing benign little gay crimes with her

obsetress: smoking a joint, stealing vi and rebecca's print, stealing owen's veggies

em: jamies like babe u know i’ve. been to prison right. i don’t really want to- and danis like no i only mean SMALL crimes

em: Funny Crimes

em: jamies like oh well actually i love fucking with viola i’m in

obsetress: the only thing that could convince jamie

obsetress: jamie's like "what if we replace viola's green tea with that silly detox green tea" and dani is just like

obsetress: "i see you trying and i love you so much for that"

em: i am wheezing at ‘what if we gave viola laxatives’

dani: she has a delicate constitution she’d know Immediately

jamie: (eating some suspiciously old leftovers) rich people are fucked

em: jamie: i’m gonna rearrange her books

obsetress: dani visibly cringes

obsetress: ”don't tell me that's gonna bother you too" "i–– nO"

em: full on greenhouse scene pphht. no?!

obsetress: flashback to: dani and viola rearranging her library for fun on a rainy day

em: jamie: i’m gonna buy cleanskin wine and put expensive labels on it

dani: now THATS funny

obsetress: full on jamie taylor bootlegging operation

[later edit: cleanskin wine is an Australian/New Zealand term for cheap unlabelled wine.]

obsetress: jamie: look, dani, you went from bootlicker to bootlegger

dani: hey!

em: relabelling garbage wine for fun and profit

em: viola does that wine sniffing thing and she’s like mm. do i detect some notes of willow. a lovely cultivar and damie are trying. so hard not to lose it

obsetress: rebecca side eying the two of them

obsetress: what is friendship if not just exes fucking with each other

em: so true bestie

obsetress: omg final thought before i ptfo on the book rearranging

obsetress: when they were together dani def suggested to vi that she organize her shelves by color and viola just stared at her in horror

obsetress: ”i know americans are illiterate dani, but really?" "and i know the british are notorious snobs, but seriously?"

obsetress: (it is not as toxic as it sounds. they're mostly just snarking at each other and end up kissing against a bookcase like half a minute later)

obsetress: and just. imagine how happy viola is when rebecca moves in with her massive collection of russian poetry volumes and automatically just starts slotting them in in alphabetical order by author's last name

obsetress: vs. at dani and jamie's where jamie just leaves books where she leaves them and lets dani take care of the rest

em: at mike don’t worry we will meaningfully flesh out ur side characters

audacity: anyway I'm slipping away from work for 1 minute to say leftist jamie and liberal vi still lives in my head rent fucking free thanks to y'all because it's literally—

audacity: i am kindly asking it to stay In My Head

em: ‘liberal vs leftist ding ding ding round one fight’ has been RUNNING around my head

em: viola saying landlords provide a valuable service wrt housing and resources and dani has to HOLD jamie back

audacity: vi: capitalism is an important aspect of our society since it provides much-needed inspiration for the working class—

obsetress: five times jamie and viola got into a fight at their standing damvibecca biweekly dinner and one time they didn’t

---[bonus:]---

em: i wanna believe jamie and viola realise they both have an incredibly niche interest in common, and jamie HATES this (violas like oh ho ho i have charmed this jamie taylor, she absolutely has not) but i can’t figure out what the fuck the interest would be

em: maybe maybe some intersection of storytelling and folklore and ghost stories but i cannot figure it out

obsetress: jamie hates it but suddenly she’s been talking to viola about rural hauntings in northern england and viola’s been talking to her about rural hauntings in southern england and two hours have gone by

em: dani: it’s nice to see you guys get along :)

jamie: ……… >:/

[lady-divine-writes]

Ineffable Holiday 2020 - “Schemes and Dreams and Kisses and Things” (Rated PG)

Summary: In the hopes of getting a first kiss from Crowley, Aziraphale hangs the largest ball of mistletoe he can find over his desk. And then ... he waits. (1514 words)

Notes: Written for the Ineffable Holiday 2020 prompt 'mistletoe'.

Read on AO3.

Aziraphale looks up.

He looks up again. 

He double-checks obsessively to see that it’s still there. 

Why wouldn’t it be? He hung it up only a few hours ago. Then he checked on it – twice. He looks, on average, three times every five minutes.

His neck is beginning to smart.

He tacked it up good and tight. There's no reason for it to fall. Besides, if it falls, it would fall right on him. No need to keep checking. 

That’s what he tells himself.

But a minute later, he checks again.

Aziraphale had waited until after the wine had been drunk, the cookies eaten, and a sated Crowley had retreated to the sofa in the bookshop's backroom before he hung the mistletoe directly above his desk chair, making sure it was in the perfect spot for Crowley to catch him sitting under it. It's the largest ball of mistletoe he could find - a massive floral bezoar wrapped in red velvet ribbon and adorned with a silver bell. Three poor birds have flown into his window already, attempting to get at the thing.

There should be no escaping this for either of them.

Aziraphale is determined.

He has every intention of sitting underneath the darned thing until Crowley gives him a kiss. On the lips, the forehead, the cheek - it doesn't matter. Just some combination of Crowley's mouth on his skin would be deemed acceptable.

Crowley and Aziraphale have been more than casual visitors in one another’s daily lives going on five months now. One might even say they’ve become closer to intendeds. In the traditional sense. Crowley drops by, they have tea, they talk, but that's the extent of it. To date, as far as securing a kiss is concerned, they haven't even come close.

Sadly, mistletoe is the best idea he’s had for getting one. 

Of course, he should probably learn to say the words, “Crowley, I really wish you would kiss me,” before relying on props like this semi-parasitic shrub. Regardless, he’s going to sit there, book in hand, and wait for Crowley to notice. Because what’s the use of mistletoe if Aziraphale points it out? He might as well go up and kiss Crowley, right? If that’s the case, he should have done it months ago.

God, Aziraphale realizes with wide-eyed intensity, I should have kissed him months ago.

Aziraphale glances up again and sighs.

Yes, he should have. But when it comes to Crowley, Aziraphale can be a bit of a coward. He's not too proud to admit that.

He’s not going to push. He’s waited 6000 years. What’s another one? Or ten? Or hundred? Now that they’re together, he’s going to let things progress at their own speed. 

Even if that speed is the excruciating crawl of another seventy-five human lifetimes.

A groan.

A mumble.

A curse.

A shuffle.

These are the sounds of a demon rising to greet the day.

Well ... the afternoon.

And Aziraphale’s brain stops working.

There had been several close calls when Aziraphale thought Crowley was getting out of bed, but he simply rolled over and fell back to sleep.

Not this time.

Aziraphale feels every step Crowley takes, the wood floor creaking as he navigates a path with eyes shut to Aziraphale's small kitchenette, putting on a pot of water for coffee. Aziraphale hears Crowley hum to himself - a mixture of an ear-worm Christmas tune and a song Aziraphale vaguely recognizes as being performed by the band Queen. 

A love song to a velocipede, he thinks?

Aziraphale taps his toe anxiously as he waits ... waits ... waits, shifting positions, trying to figure out which version of him reading Faust seems more casual. With his elbow resting on his desktop? Or him reclining back in his chair? 

Aziraphale pops bolt upright when he hears Crowley click off the stovetop and pour. He crosses his legs when Crowley's heavy footsteps head his way, then uncrosses them when Crowley finally emerges. He's dressed in the same clothes he fell asleep in - swanky black trousers and jacket, a grey silk shirt, his glasses fixed firmly onto the bridge of his nose. He miracled the wrinkles out of his clothes and his hair into a semblance of neat waves, but he still looks like he slept in the gutter outside. He walks in carrying two steaming mugs, raising one as an offering and a greeting.

“Uh, hello, my dear,” Aziraphale says, fighting with all his might not to glance upward. 

Eyes half-lidded, Crowley sets one of the mugs in front of Aziraphale. “Hey, angel. Here ya go.” 

“Oh. Thank you. That's very kind of you." Aziraphale toys with his mug, turning it left and right. The coffee is cloudy, but not with cream. A sniff tells him that Crowley topped off his mug with a generous dollop of Bailey's. Thank goodness! he thinks. Liquid courage. Even with this good fortune staring him in the face, Aziraphale doesn't lift his mug to drink. "Any plans for today, dear boy?"

"Hmm ... not really." Crowley yawns. "Thought I might just hang 'round here, bother you if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all," Aziraphale says. "It's always wonderful having you around."

"Great. Oh, by the way, your book’s upside down." 

"Uh ..." Aziraphale flips to the cover and discovers that yes, indeed, it's upside down. So much for casual. “Thank you.” 

"Don't mention it. I'm headin' back to the sofa. You should join me, read your book there."

"Should I?"

"Mm-hmm." Crowley takes a sip from his mug. "How else am I to bother you if we're in two separate rooms?"

Aziraphale nods. "Yes. I see. Well, in that case, I'll be right in."

"Fantastic."

Aziraphale sighs as Crowley passes in front of him, staring into his cup, missing the mistletoe entirely. 

That was a disaster, Aziraphale thinks. One for the record books. 

Wasn't he determined to sit under the mistletoe until Crowley kissed him? 

Yes, but he doesn't want to turn down an invitation to spend time together either. 

Maybe he can bring the mistletoe with him into the backroom, sneakily set it up in there. Crowley probably wouldn't notice if he Aziraphale hung it not so sneakily. He looks like he has one foot stuck knee-deep into unconsciousness as is. 

A step through the threshold, Crowley stops when he notices Aziraphale isn't following him. He takes a step back and looks at him - book closed around his index finger, cheeks pink, his lower lip pinched between his teeth, eyes aimed down at his feet. He looks embarrassed about something. 

And disappointed.

It can't really be because Crowley interrupted his reading. Aziraphale has read that book thousands of times. Which is probably why he was reading it upside down. More of a challenge for him.

But Crowley didn't get up for coffee. 

He got up to give Aziraphale his Christmas present.

Early.

Mostly because Crowley can't wait. 

If he doesn't give Aziraphale his present now, Crowley will think up a dozen reasons why he should wait.

A dozen bullshite reasons.

"Aziraphale?" he strolls over to his angel, waking inch by inch with every step he takes, and sets his coffee mug on the desk.

"Yes, my dear?" Aziraphale looks up. "What is ...?"

With a sleepy but mischievous smile on his lips, Crowley puts a hand behind Aziraphale's neck and kisses him, drawing out the moment before, giving his angel all the opportunity in the world to tell him to stop.

But Aziraphale says no such thing.

Crowley’s mouth is soft and warm and tastes like Bailey’s, but what Aziraphale loves about this kiss is it’s in no way urgent, the way high-romance novels make people believe all kisses should be. According to the lovely publishers at Harlequin, first kisses must be desperate to be passionate, painfully so. 

Crowley kisses Aziraphale as if he's claiming something that has always belonged to him, something he lost track of, and he wants to savor it. Crowley kisses Aziraphale as if they could stand there all morning long, all day long, and kiss, and Crowley would be perfectly content. This is where their Tuesday is going to begin and end - with Crowley kissing Aziraphale.

Crowley pulls away grinning, but Aziraphale looks dumbfounded, not a single word left in his head to express the thoughts sparking off one by one like fireworks.

"Wot?" Crowley asks, mildly self-conscious that his plan may have not gone off the way he'd hoped.

“Uh ... oh ... mistletoe?” Aziraphale asks, eyes darting up towards the obvious culprit behind this moment.

“No,” Crowley says. “I’ve wanted to do that for months now. I just never got the chance.”

"Oh."

"So ... you gonna let me bother you?" Crowley teases, and for the first time, Aziraphale catches on to the fact that bother in this context means kiss.

Perhaps more.

And yes, Aziraphale definitely wants that.

"That sounds ... lovely." He stands from his desk chair and takes Crowley's hand, leaving his ridiculous bundle of mistletoe, and their coffees, behind.