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mysoftboybensolo · 3 years

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The Alienist and the Soprano

Chapter 13: The Holidays

A/N: This was inspired by Laszlo’s love of opera and my thought on what if he fell for an opera singer. Multi chapter. Canon divergence, there is no Mary Palmer here (I loved Mary and Laszlo, so I don’t feel like I could have her here and have him be with another woman). A mix of show and book canons. No Y/N, OC named Evelina Lind.

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029150

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Fem OC!

Summary: The last thing Laszlo Kreizler ever expected while investigating the death of children was to fall in love, and with an opera singer no less!

Warnings: Age gap, Victorian Christmas, mentions of past abuse, but much fluff! I had done my research on what Christmas was like back then, as well as the Hanukah dates and it seems 1897 was a big year; “Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus” was published in September of 1897, electric Christmas lights were growing in popularity and the unification of the boroughs in New York was official on New Years. And there is your history lesson of the day.

The air grew colder as Laszlo and Evelina’s relationship grew warmer. Evelina was spending more time with the team, just as Laszlo was becoming more and more acquainted with Evelina’s opera friends. Compared, they were a more rambunctious group, and she knew that Laszlo had his limits, but admired him for trying so hard. Maria often helped Laszlo along when Evelina was not by his side and he felt immensely grateful to her for guiding him through the corral. At first, her opera friends hadn’t been sure of Laszlo, unsure of this man who makes a living in psychoanalyzing people, who didn’t seem to fit in anywhere, but they always caught the spark of joy in his eyes when Evelina came beside him, the way he tried so hard for her. Even if he couldn’t keep up with them, they still saw the utter devotion between the pair and that was enough for them to approve the relationship.

It was a time for the singers to rest themselves for The Nutcracker to be performed, and a real treat for them all. It had done so well last Christmas that the opera house had decided to do it again, and who knows, perhaps it will become a Christmas tradition.

As November closed in, Evelina had been helping Sara scout out locations for her new agency, hoping that she’ll find it before the weather turned too cold to be out scouting. As they looked around a space, Evelina asked Sara a few questions. “What will you require of your workers to do?”

“Just as any other detective agency will have, secretaries, detectives. Roosevelt has agreed to let the officers help us whenever we need it, which must mean he bears no ill will towards my leaving. Hmm, no, too small. I need at least four rooms; this will not do.” They stepped out into the cool air, leaving them both to shiver. “Winter certainly is coming, there is no doubt.”

“Yes, that shall mean Christmas!” Evelina replied excitedly. “It’s my favorite time of year. Everything looks so magical with the snow and the good cheer, and of course the music.”

“Well, then you might convince Laszlo to have a party this year. He doesn’t celebrate it, at least, from what I have known of him. I wonder if it comes from an unhappy memory,” Sara mused.

“Then I shall make it my duty to give him a Christmas full of happiness. The opera will be performing The Nutcracker, perhaps I will invite him to a performance then have a party. It’ll only be a small affair, you, John, and the Isaacson Brothers.”

Sara looked at her strangely then asked, “You are aware that they are Jewish, don’t you?”

“I am more than aware, in fact, I know that it starts on the nineteenth of December and ends on the twenty-seventh. And it doesn’t have to necessarily be a Christmas party, but a holiday party. A celebration of simply being together and friends. Surely, Laszlo couldn’t object to that.”

Wrapping her arm around Evelina’s, Sara couldn’t help but to smile. “Not when you put it that way, he wouldn’t.”

Laszlo visited just shortly after the ladies returned home, feeling too frozen to go any further. “And how has the property hunting been going for you?”

Sara groaned, “Don’t mention it. It feels as if I am never going to find the perfect place. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to get myself a good stiff drink,” she huffed as she went off to the kitchen, leaving Evelina and Laszlo alone in the den.”

Now was the perfect time for her to ask the question. “Laszlo, Christmas is coming soon, and I was wondering what it is that you do for the holidays?”

“Well, Christmas Eve, I spend it with the children who are left behind at the institute, watch them open their gifts in the morning then return home for a quiet day in.”

“Oh, Laszlo,” she said, “I love that you take care of your children, but what about yourself? Doesn’t it get to be a bit lonely?”

He pursed his lips in thought then said, “Well, yes, I suppose, but it was better than what I used to have when I was younger. Those were the better days. We hosted a fine Christmas party, my father was at his best and my mother wore her finest, and the house looked like a picture book. But” he said, with matter-of-fact tone, “When the party was over, it wasn’t so picturesque.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” she softly affirmed.

“No, I want to, and we promised, no secrets.” It was true, after the absolute confusion that came from not sharing their feelings and the disaster that followed, they had agreed that nothing would be held back. “Santa was not something told in my household, but rather the fear of God. He’d make me read the bible which involved the birth of Christ, but any little flaw, hesitation or stutter and he’d beat me while calling me a blasphemer for ruining the scripture.”

She wanted to ask how that was better than the usual days, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that. “My mum died just a week before Christmas, and to celebrate it without her was awful. Winston was not manageable during those times,” she paused after the mention of her brother, and Laszlo saw a flash of pain in her eyes. “When he was locked up, that first Christmas, my father broke down, he felt he had broken his promise to my mother in keeping the family together. Even though I told him that he was not to blame for Winston’s actions, every year after, I could see the echo of pain in his eyes. This will be my first Christmas without any of them.”

Laszlo lifted his hand, unsure if he ought to reach out and comfort her, and knowing that she’d not only appreciate it, but that he’d have to get used being open with another, he placed a hand on top of hers, which rested on her lap. It was the right move to do, as it had made her smile and lean in to rest her head against his shoulder. Laszlo felt a small surge of pride in himself, he was doing better in showing intimacy and he liked it.

Having a party to plan helped to fill Evelina’s free time from the opera, but most importantly, it allowed her the chance to make a surprise for Laszlo. Thanks to her covert cleverness, she found out which children will be spending Christmas at the institute and with the permission of the staff, she managed to pull them together to work on a surprise for him. They nearly got caught once, Laszlo came back from a meeting a bit sooner than Evelina expected, but she managed to play it off well, saying that she had been bored and wanted to play the piano for the children.

Stevie proved to be rather helpful in preparing Christmas at Laszlo’s home and was more than happy to be commissioned by Evelina to help with the planning. He scoured out the best decorations and the best tree to have standing in Laszlo’s den, and when he was finished with it, even he could admit he did a rather fine job. There was one thing that Laszlo had a hand in the decorations, and it was the purchase of these new electric string lights, meant to replace candles, and it was a smart choice, and in Evelina’s words, magical. As Stevie was busy with the decorations, Evelina was off to work with the invites and the Isaacson Brothers were surprised to say the least but were still very pleased to be invited to such a party, knowing how much it meant to her. Sara had been the first unofficial guest invited and John most certainly was not one to pass up a party.

Christmas Eve arrived and Evelina dressed herself in her green and red velvet walking gown, truly getting into the spirit and went to the institute to see Laszlo. Many of the parents came to take their children home for the holidays and as much as it was a wonderful sight to see parents not forsake their little ones, it was doubly heartbreaking to see those few whose parents never came. It was Laszlo and Evelina’s special mission to make sure that they still received the experience that they would have had if they were home, even carrying on the duty of decorating the tree and great hall for the children to enjoy. Most of the staff could go home to spend it with their family, but there were a few who did not have a family of their own who stayed and happily joined in the festivities with the children.

Daylight had gone when was a surprise waiting at the front door, and who would have guessed that Santa would come and see the children of the Kreizler Institute? Watching John all dressed up as Santa was a delight, especially when the younger children climbed on his lap and gave “Santa” a hug and wished him a Merry Christmas. It didn’t take much convincing, for John thought it a wonderful idea and he could not say no to Evelina’s sweet intentions, even if it made him look a bit silly. Sara was the unofficial Mrs. Claus, dressed in her lovely green evening gown and many of the children loved going up to her and asking questions of the North Pole, truly convinced that she was indeed the wife of Santa. She watched John take in the children’s excitement with great stride and enjoyment and thought it the finest thing she had ever seen, and her heart swelled at the thought of him doing this for the children.

When John and Sara left, it was time to show off Evelina’s surprise. Gathering the children up, she sat at the piano and began to play. Laszlo watched with wonder and love as Evelina led the children in a most heavenly rendition of Ding Dong Merrily On High, the children looked so happy to be a part of something. He wasn’t even bothered by the religious overtones of the song; he just enjoyed the sweet voices that sang in perfect harmony and was touched to see that his love put so much effort into surprising him.

Soon, it got to be bedtime and the children were escorted back their rooms, eagerly awaiting Santa’s arrival and the staff to their rooms. Usually, Laszlo was the only one to take up the duty of stuffing the stockings and providing the children with gift, making sure each one got an equal amount from Santa. Evelina stayed with him and happily helped to stuff the stockings, despite her own sleepiness. It was an endearing sight, the pair of them on the floor, helping to stuff stockings and wrap presents.

“How long have you done this?”

“Ever since the institute was opened. It was quite sad to see those children left behind to have nothing, so I made sure to carry on the tradition of Santa. You may think that I do not agree with the idea of telling fantastical stories to children, but I think it is important in the development of a child. It stimulates their creativity as well as teaches them lessons.”

Evelina smiled and started with, “Don’t laugh, but I still believe in Santa. Oh, I don’t mean that there is an actual person who goes about in a flying sleigh and gives presents to all children around the world, but the idea of him. Do you remember back in September there was that article answering a little girl’s question of if there was a Santa? That article was a wonderful summation of how I feel about Santa. How there is someone who can be full of good cheer and selflessness and the possibility that we could be just like him. Like this, right now. The fact that you go out of your way to make sure these children have a merry Christmas, to never make them feel left out, it is very Kris Kringle of you. And I am sure you’d look dashing in red.” His deep blush only proved her right.

It was nearing midnight when they had finished and left the institute and despite the chill, they walked through the snowy streets, enjoying the calm and winter beauty. “I am sorry if this wasn’t what you had imagined you’d spend your Christmas Eve.”

“Indeed, it was far better than I could hope. To help give children a good time, to create magic and now walking home with you, it is wonderful.” The church bells tolled, and they stopped to listen to the lovely knells as it chimed Christmas day. “Merry Christmas, my darling.”

Laszlo smiled, knowing that she gave him at last an endearment. “Frohe Weihnachten, meine liebe.”

Laszlo came to pick up Evelina early on Christmas day so she could be at the institute before the children woke and watch with Laszlo as they opened their gifts from Santa as well as from Laszlo himself. She loved the glimmer in his eyes when looking at the children enjoying themselves, forgetting their woes and problems, glad to see that they would have a normal childhood that he never had. Once he was sure that the children were taken care of, the pair went off to enjoy Christmas themselves. It had been purely coincidental, but Laszlo wore his dashing green vest and tie while Evelina wore her lovely red satin dress, looking as if they had coordinated with the holiday and each other, anyone who didn’t know them would have been certain they were husband and wife.

The party was beginning at noon, giving time to everyone that was coming to enjoy their morning and get ready to spend it together. Sara had been the first to arrive, no surprise, the Isaacson Brothers came, Marcus brought along his dear Esther and her daughter, and then John. Laszlo had almost thought that all the guest had arrived, when Stevie entered and said, “We’ve got two more guests!”

Laszlo looked perplexed, for who else could come, and Evelina watched in amusement as his mouth fell agape as Cyrus walked in with his niece, Joanna, looking rather fine in their Sunday best. Laszlo jumped up from his seat and went to his old employee and friend. “Cyrus! How are you? I didn’t know you were coming.”

“No, but Miss Lind did. Stevie brought Miss Lind to my work and she had personally invited me to the party, as well as Joanna. It was wonderful of her to come to me personally.”

Evelina stood and warmly greeted Cyrus and Joanna. “I am so glad you came. Laszlo told me so much of you and I just had to properly get to know his dear friend.”

“And I am honored to know the woman who could convince him to throw such a party,” Cyrus laughed heartily.

Evelina had been a wonderful hostess, making sure everyone had been attended to, even making sure Stevie felt welcomed in the celebrations and had helped Lucius feel a bit more at ease with the help of Joanna, of which the pair seemed quite intrigued by each other. Laszlo watched in wonder of how she could manage to move around with grace, kindness and energy when he still had difficulty to be as open to those of whom he feels are his friends. He admired her and was honored to be the man of whom she loved above others.

The afternoon was spent playing games, Blind Man’s Bluff, Yes and No, and Charades. Laszlo had sat out of Blind Man’s Bluff, but allowed himself to be dragged into Charades and Yes and No. He was afraid of appearing to look ridiculous, but Evelina argued that everyone was doing the same, so they all looked the same amount of ridiculousness. The luncheon was informal, people made their own plates and sat around Laszlo’s den, like they all were old friends, and it was a kind of homey feeling that Laszlo had never felt before, it was warm, safe, good.

It would not be a good party without a mistletoe, at least according to John, who hung it over his friend’s head and teased that someone ought to kiss him or else he will. Evelina more than happily rose to the challenge, making it the second kiss that the pair had shared. She challenged John to hang it over his head and get a kiss, or else he’ll have to kiss the lizard at the institute, and just as she hoped, Sara decided to help him out by placing a chaste kiss to his cheek, but he turned on accident and the pair had kissed on the lips. The blush on their faces told so much and Evelina buried her face in Laszlo’s chest to try and stop her smile from being noticed, but she spotted something beyond him. Moving towards it, she couldn’t help but to admire the beautiful piano. Laszlo came up beside her and said, “You may play on it whenever you wish. It’ll be nice to see that old thing getting some use. I haven’t played in so long.”

“You played?” She had never known that Laszlo used to play, at least before the incident.

“Yes. I was quite good.”

“Better than good,” Sara interjected, coming in the conversation, hoping to escape her situation. “His name was in all the papers; he could have been a great pianist.”

“Why don’t we do gifts?” Evelina suggested, hoping to prevent Laszlo from falling into his darker thoughts, and she excitedly handed out her gifts. They weren’t expensive gifts, but they were heartfelt and personal to each, and that meant more than anything in the world, even Stevie, who hadn’t expected to get a gift and didn’t usually like to be sentimental, but even he couldn’t refuse the copy of An Anarchic Adventure by Jules Verne, his favorite author. Laszlo had received a copy of The Psychology of Emotions by Théodule-Armand Ribot, of whom Laszlo had been fascinated with.

Laszlo made himself go last, giving everyone incredible gifts; Stevie getting his very first shaving kit as he was now a young man, Esther and her daughter fine new dresses, to name a few, and lastly went to Evelina, giving her a box. When she opened it, it was a beautiful toiletry box, made of a dark wood and lined with pink velvet. Opening one of the drawers, she noticed two large and full bottles of her perfume, ‘Fantasia de Fleurs’. “Oh, Laszlo! This is too much! And on top of that, two bottles of my perfume?”

“It is not too much,” he countered, “And besides, it is for selfish reasons too, for I love your scent, perhaps a bit too much,” he admits with a blush across his cheeks. “No one else should buy this for you but myself.”

It was true; when she did first receive this, it was meant to be a bribe gift from one of the patrons at the opera, but she loved the scent too much to toss it away. To have Laszlo buy it for her not only was sweet, but intimate, and she liked that he felt way, wanting no other to buy her perfumes. Sara had been the one to inform which perfume it was and told Laszlo that she had mentioned about getting a box of her own, and he made sure to get the finest box with the two largest bottles so she wouldn’t have to.

The Isaacson Brothers had left with their guests and just before everyone was to go off on their own, Evelina made sure to have a few carols played and sung. John and Sara had quite nice voices which blended very well together, Cyrus deep and warm, and Joanna and Stevie wholeheartedly sang. Laszlo’s voice was not deep or powerful, but it was soft and comforting, and it sounded wonderful to hear him sing Silent Night in German, a request that Evelina had asked, and he did only for her. When he sang, all stopped and listened, and all Laszlo could see or know was Evelina, playing the piano, with a grace and power that reminded him of his youth. Instead of painful memories, it made him smile and happy.

Cyrus and his niece left to have dinner with their family, John to his grandmother’s, leaving Sara and Stevie to join Evelina and Laszlo to the opera for The Nutcracker. This had been Stevie’s first time to the opera and the wonder in his eyes was so enduring and how he watched as the story enfolded before his eyes. In the dark of the auditorium, Evelina had reached her hand over to Laszlo’s, and held it. He looked over at her and wordlessly, he thanked her for a wonderful Christmas.

The good cheer from Christmas continued to carry on for the next few days as New Year’s was approaching and for good reason. The New York government had made the decision to unite the five boroughs of the city to create what would be nicknamed “Greater New York” and it was a wonderful reason to celebrate.

It was a momentous occasion, one that Evelina wished to see and thanks to Laszlo’s influence, they managed to watch it all happen close by and safe away from the mad crowd and the pouring rain. As the New Year rang, everyone watched in wonder as fireworks blasted in the sky, cannons fired, steamboats blowing their horns and brass bands played their hearts out, for when the new year rang, the new flag had unfurled over city proclaiming it’s celebration, the birth of the City of New York.

“Oh, darling,” Evelina gasped, “Just think, we are lucky to have seen this happen. To see a city come together as one, it’s beautiful!”

Laszlo wrapped his arms around Evelina’s waist and placed his head in the crook of her neck as they watched the city celebrate outside, “1898 shall be a happy year. I am sure of it.” She turned her head and shared their third kiss but first kiss of their new year and turned back to watch the merriment.

It then struck him right then and there, something that he thought would never be possible, something he’d never have, and yet it was here in his arms, and he would not let it go so easily. Now, it was just the matter of asking the question.

Tagging: @monsieurbruhl @cazzyimagines, @scuttle-buttle, @violetmuses @flutterskies @sokoviandelights @rumblelibrary @fictionlandslanddreams @somethingthatsaysbubbles @alindeluce and @barnesxnobles

#the alienist #laszlo kreizler #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl #fanfiction

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lucywritesreid · 4 years

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My Whole Life Waiting For You

Summary: I’m feeling fluffy. Spencer seems unusually quiet at a dinner and you worry you’ve done something to offend him, but it’s quite the opposite…

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: None

“Spence, honey, we’re going to be late!” You shouted across the bedroom as you frantically searched for your missing earring. Sure, it was ironic for you to be telling him off about lateness when you’d been the one spending half an hour curling your hair.

Puzzled, you walked into the front room and tried to retrace your steps from the last time you’d worn the silver hoops Spencer had bought you for Christmas. “Aha!” An idea struck. You remembered a particularly enjoyable evening where you’d barely made it through the front door before your activities had started. You crouched down on the floor and stretched a hand out under the sofa until it reached the cool metal. “There you are!” you exclaimed, pushing yourself up to stand as you fastened the missing earring securely in place.

You almost gasped to see Spencer stood right behind you. He had an eerie way of walking around your apartment undetected, never making a sound. “God honey you scared the crap out of me,” you laughed, raising one eyebrow. Spencer didn’t react, slipping a hand into the pocket of his tweed jacket. That was odd. He normally loved teasing you when he scared you, and nearly always refers to that time you spilled a whole glass of juice all over your face when he jumped up from behind the sofa wearing a scream mask.

The silence was not like him at all.

“Are you ready to go?” he said softly. There was a hint of nervousness in his voice that only you would be able to detect. You couldn’t figure out why, but didn’t want to bring it up if he wasn’t going to.

Nodding, you reached out to grab your leather jacket from the back of the sofa and slipped it over your shoulders before following him out of your front door. Spencer always drove to these group dinners, mainly because he preferred to stay sober and you normally tried to drink Prentiss under the table whenever you were together. Of course, she always outdrank you.

The car ride was oddly silent. Your favourite radio station was playing and you hummed along to some of the songs. It was really hard not to stare at Spencer, not to ask him if there was any issues. You looked across at him in the driving seat a few times but his eyes were firmly fixed on the road ahead. There were no quips or comments about street names, car types, or any of the usual things he would talk to you about when you went driving. You noticed his hands were firmly gripped on the steering wheel and his face was flushed. Something was up, you just didn’t know what.

When you arrived at Rossi’s, you noticed that all the other cars were already outside. The air was chilly as you stepped out of the car and an involuntary shudder moved through your body. Spencer was quick by your side and wrapped his arm around your shoulder as you went up to knock on the door.

It was Penelope who answered, a grin beaming from ear to ear as she saw who it was. “My sweet genius lovebirds! C’mon in. Emily’s convinced Dave to open the good stuff,” She winked and stepped aside.

You quickly hung up your jacket and walked into the dining space where all your friends gathered. Sure enough, everyone was being handed a glass of red wine. You didn’t even want to know what year the bottle was from, or how much it had cost. Spencer placed a delicate hand on the small of your back and leaned in to speak to you. “Just going to speak to Rossi for a bit, save me a seat at dinner?” Before you had chance to reply he’d made his way across the room. You watched curiously as Dave nodded at him, as if knowing what he wanted, and they both disappeared into the kitchen and shut the door behind them.

It took you a second of confusion before you were able to engage with the people in front of you. You walked over to where Emily and JJ were stood caressing their glasses and smiling. JJ passed you a glass as you walked over, and you took a sip as you joined in their conversation.

“Where’s the dashing Reid tonight, y/n?” Emily asked. You quickly glanced around the room but saw he hadn’t come back.

“I don’t know, he’s been acting kinda funny today,” you shrugged, taking another sip of your drink. JJ reached out and put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, y/n. You know Spencer. He’s always thinking.”

You nodded and bit your lower lip. “You’re probably right,” you sighed, still not sure of yourself. Still, you’d come to have a good time with your friends. You hadn’t had any arguments or disagreements with Spencer, so maybe JJ was right and there was something else bothering him.

Spencer and Rossi returned from the kitchen a few minutes later. You watched as Rossi shook his hand and gave him a smile, before Spencer made his way over to where Morgan and Garcia were flirting in the corner and struck up a conversation with them instead of coming back to you.

“Dinner is served!” Rossi declared. The grumble in your stomach told you just how much you were looking forward to it.

You all took your places at the dinner table. You had Emily on your right and sure enough, Spencer took the seat on your left. He still didn’t attempt conversation or make eye contact with you. By dessert, he’d barely said a word to you, except to ask you to pass him a napkin. Tears began to sting the corner of your eye but you wiped it away. Stop being dramatic. There’s nothing wrong. He’s probably just worried about something. After dinner, you all sat back after opening another bottle of wine, laughing at Morgan’s crude tales of hook-ups and Rossi’s detailed instructions of how he made the beautiful pasta you’d all enjoyed. You listened intently, chiming in to some of the stories, but your mind was firmly fixed on why your boyfriend seemed so distracted.

More wine followed, and then coffee. The coffee was just what you needed to perk up. There was something about red wine that made you sleepy, or perhaps it was because you were so full. As soon as people started to excuse themselves and say their farewells, you automatically looked around the room to find Spencer. This time you saw him leave the kitchen, again, closely followed by Morgan. Derek turned to face him and brought him in for a hug. That was weird too. What on earth was Spencer saying in these private conversations?

He walked over to you before you managed to look away and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Shall we head home, y/n?” He smiled softly and you nodded. It took a whole twenty minutes to say goodbye to everyone, mainly because a slightly intoxicated Garcia was intent on stroking your hair and telling you just how pretty you were.

“Goodnight my sweet geniuses. Tell me when you get home. Well, you don’t need to, I have the GPS location of your phones…” she hiccupped and stepped backwards.

“Speak to you tomorrow P,” you kissed her forehead and gave everyone a wave before stepping out into the cool night.

Ten minutes into your journey home and Spencer hadn’t said a word. The anxiousness was burning up inside you. Why was he acting so strangely? And what were those weird, private chats all about? Just as you were about to air your concerns, Spencer indicated at a turning that was unfamiliar to you. He turned the car into an alleyway and put it into neutral.

You could see he was breathing deeply. He took his hands from the steering wheel and turned to face you. “I wanted to do this at dinner but I got too nervous. So I thought I’d wait until we got home, but I can’t hold this in any longer…”

“Spence, what is the matter…” But all your questions were answered in an instant. He took hold of your hand and rubbed your palm with his thumb. With his free hand, he reached into his jacket pocket, and brought out a little black box.

He set the box into your open palm and carefully opened it. Inside, was a gorgeous ring. The centre was a diamond and on either side were two little rectangular emeralds. Tears filled your eyes and you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. You stared down at the ring in wonder for what felt like a lifetime before he opened his mouth to speak.

“I’ve wanted to ask you this question for so long now, y/n. But I’ve found it hard to put into words just how much you mean to me. And I always have the words for everything,” you both giggled. “I want to marry you y/n. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. You are my best friend, my soulmate, my first and last thought of every single day. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” His fingers traced over the edge of the box, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the tears trickle down your face. “Y-yes. Yes of course I will!” You held out your left hand and could see it shaking. There was no better feeling in the world. Spencer reached into the box, unable to control the smile that was now beaming on his face. The ring fit perfectly, and you held it up to the window to admire just how beautiful it was.

“You know why I chose emeralds?” he asked, now running his hand up your arm.

You had an idea, but didn’t want to be wrong, so turned and faced him waiting for his explanation.

“Your favourite book is The Great Gatsby. And Gatsby stands on the dock staring at the green light across the bay every night while he looks out for Daisy. That’s what I feel like when I’m not with you. I’m always looking for my light across the bay. The light of my life.”

It was just as you thought, but even more perfect hearing the words come out of his mouth. You’d barely said anything and still couldn’t, so reached across and held his face with your hand. “I love you Spencer. I’ve spent my whole life waiting for you,” you peppered kisses across his cheeks, his closed eyelids, and finally his lips. “Now, can we go back to our friends and give them the good news?”

He laughed and turned the ignition back on. “I was hoping you’d say that, future Mrs Reid.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #dr reid #spencer x y/n #spencer x you #spencer x reader #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction

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kayr0ss · 4 years

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So... Is It Her First Day? (Diakko)

[LWA, Fluff, a lot of Fluff, Established Relationship, Pls Help Diana, slight Hamanda]

Summary: Diana found herself sneaking out of Luna Nova past curfew to visit a convenience store. Why was she even here?

Oh right. Her girlfriend was cranky, on her period, and driving her absolutely insane.

Diana stood at the hallway, unsure of how to process the fact that Akko had just very gently ushered her out of the Red Team's dormitory, shoving her textbooks into her arms while she told her, quote, “not to come anywhere near me with homework within the next twenty-four hours, Diana, I swear to Beatrix—”

Then silence. Because Akko closed the door.

At her face.

Diana blinked towards the heavy slab of wood that stood between herself and Akko. What could she have possibly done wrong?

“Cavendish.”

She whipped her head towards her left. To her surprise, enlightenment on the situation was about to come from Sucy of all people.

“You do not want to go in there right now,” she grabbed Diana by the sleeve.

“Surely there’s no need to drag me across the hallway—”

“Yes, there is.” The purple-haired witch spoke with the authority of experience. “It’s Akko’s first day and that is a shitstorm if I ever saw one.”

“First… day?” Diana had an idea what the other witch meant, but it paid to be thorough.

“Of her period.” Sucy glared back. “Don’t you have those? Also, you live with two other women in the dorm.”

“I just wanted to be sure.” Diana said in a clipped voice before pulling her sleeve free of Sucy’s grip and matching her pace down the hallway. “And what might you suggest I do?”

“Why would you have to do anything? Just leave her alo—” Then Sucy paused, smirking. “Right. I almost forgot. You’re her girlfriend now.”

It still made her blush whenever she explicitly remembered it, although she would have preferred not to look so flustered in front of Sucy.

Akko was her girlfriend for all of fourteen days by now.

The newest development in their relationship was something of a serendipitous moment. A pleasant surprise, so to speak—even if it seemed the two of them were the only ones surprised at the news. Were we that dense? Diana frowned, recalling how Hannah and Barbara sighed in relief rather than shock when she told them.

“Food.” Sucy had blurted out.

Diana looked at her inquisitively, and then she realized the pair of them were on the way to the… kitchens?

“Food is our go-to.” The other woman supplied. “Lotte will already be at the kitchens. Doesn’t fix her shitty mood completely, but it helps.”

“That’s… quite thoughtful of you, Sucy.”

The purple-haired witch shot her a massive eyeroll. “Don’t give me that look. Do you have any idea how much of a pain in the ass Akko is when she’s like that? It’s exasperating.”

---

All it took was one crate labeled ‘exotic ingredients’ for Sucy to lose track of the purpose of their kitchen visit.

“Diana’s her girlfriend.” Sucy had told Lotte, already trailing the goblins due to deliver the ingredients to the potions lab, “I’m out—this is her job now as far as I’m concerned.”

Lotte smiled apologetically, scratching at the back of her head while she opened the door into the kitchens and inviting Diana to come inside.

“This is really sweet of you,” the bespectacled woman said.

Suddenly she felt self-conscious, growing hot under the collar. Beatrix. How long was it going to take before the mere thought that she and Akko were dating would stop making her blush?

But at the same time—it made her smile. Lotte had always been observant, so the way she knowingly smiled back could only mean she knew what she was smiling oh-so-softly about. She briefly wondered if the butterflies in her stomach were glaringly obvious as well.

Diana’s eyes widened in surprise when she stepped through the door.

The kitchens were much bigger than she imagined. The walls were thick, aged stone, with pillars that shot up into the high ceiling, connected by arches for support. It looked a bit like a smithy with all the stone, smoke, and fire—but she realized that it wasn’t sweltering at all. There were metal air vents that ran above the kitchen, looking out-of-place but keeping the area well-ventilated with modern technology. And the aromas! She was hit by a delectable sensory over-load that made her (already fluttering) stomach grumble.

“Heya, Lotte!”

A friendly-looking goblin with a lopsided smile trudged towards them, landing a heavy slap on Lotte’s shoulder (“Ouch!”).

“Barry!” Lotte whined, rubbing at where he had greeted her.

“Sorry!” Barry scratched his head. He had bushy brows and fangs that stuck out of his lower lip, and yet despite it all he managed to look so… friendly. Perhaps the apron had something to do with it? “We just get excited when you guys visit.” Large eyes flitted towards Diana and then widened in recognition.

“Hello.” She cleared her throat, unused to being scrutinized. “I’m Diana Caven—”

“Hey guys!” Barry had called over his shoulder, grinning. “It’s Comrade Akko’s girlfriend!”

Comrade?

She looked back towards the staff who were busy with work, several of them turning towards her and waving. There were even some cheers. But they quickly fell back to cooking, which made sense—dinner time was coming soon. Oh. Perhaps now was not the best time to be bothering them with the concerns of a teenager who hadn’t the slightest inkling how to woo a cranky significant other.

“So we finally get to meet’cha!” Two burly troll hands settled heavily on her shoulder. “Why didn’t you guys bring her in sooner, Lotte?”

“You know how it goes,” Lotte chuckled mirthfully, still rubbing the sore spot on her shoulder. “School gets busy!”

“Good thing you’ve got us to keep those rumblin’ bellies full, amirite Jean?”

Coming up from behind him was another troll (Jean, she supposed?). He was a bit taller and leaner, with an expression that reminded her of snobbish pastry chefs she’s met when vacationing abroad. Except, troll-like.

“I can’t believe Comrade Akko had chosen a member of the oppressive bourgeoise for a fling!”

Diana blanched along with Lotte. Bourgeoise? That she could forgive. But—a fling?

“We’re very much in a serious relationship.” Diana found herself seizing up the taller troll, cheeks flushing in indignation at the thought that they were just a fling.

“C’mon, buddy. If she’s okay in Lotte and Comrade Akko’s book, then she’s good with the kitchen trolls!” Barry smiled brightly.

“Speaking of Akko,” Lotte interjected. “It’s that time of the month.”

Barry and Jean were struck with urgency and realization.

“First day?” Jean said quickly, brushing his manicured moustache.

“Yup.”

“Alright. Follow me, ladies.”

---

“I’m quite sure this is against regulation.” Diana set her hand on Lotte’s shoulder, allowing magic to soothe the inevitable bruising that would have come from Barry’s slap.

“Don’t let the trolls hear you say that!” Lotte said quietly. “They love her. Oh, but thanks for healing that—it’s… not like any of the magic they do at the infirmary.”

“It’s a Cavendish skill.”

Her mother had taught it to her at a very young age—to soothe a toothache here, or a pulled muscle there.

They were in a small separated room connected to the kitchens which might have been used to house treasure back when Luna Nova was a proper medieval castle. These days it was used more or less similarly, except the ‘treasure’ was a collection of candied applies, tarts, an impressive meat selection, and various types of bread.

“So this is where she goes whenever she sneaks out for snacks past curfew. I can’t believe the trolls condone this.”

“It’s Akko.” Lotte deadpanned.

She was right. This was entirely unsurprising—something to do with having fought for fair labor practices, she supposed.

“You know,” the other woman started, looking over a selection of sweets which Akko might like. “I’m really glad you two are finally together!”

Diana smiled in appreciation, looking down towards several baguettes while a light dusting of pink fell on her cheeks. “Thank you.”

“It’s really cute! And took no small amount of Akko going crazy about her feelings for you for months on end.”

“She did?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Lotte seemed to shudder at the memory. “It drove us crazy too.”

Diana blinked, feeling the odd need to apologize. “Well she does have the tendency to vent her frustrations in a more… outward manner.”

“Yeah,” Lotte giggled. “Screaming into pillows, banging her head into the wall while wailing about your “perfect freaking hair”, and don’t even get me started about that whole week she dedicated to practicing her grand monologue of professing her feelings to you!”

“Oh, she told me about that.”

“It was a disaster wasn’t it?”

“She tripped on her words.” Diana fondly recalled. “And then—”

“—said ‘I fucking like you!’.” Lotte completed, apparently having heard the story from the source itself. She groaned at her usage of such an expletive.

Then they sputtered into quiet, friendly laughter.

Diana never got to spend much time with Lotte, much less alone, but she was one of Akko’s closest friends and she had no plans of denying how enjoyable their conversation had been thus far.

“I feel like I should get to you know more, both you and Sucy.” The blonde said with a little bit of shyness.

“You sure about Sucy?” Lotte grinned.

Diana laughed mirthfully, “Akko said the Red Team was inseparable—take it or leave it.”

“Glad to see our friend is in good hands, then!”

“I…” she began slowly, “Plan to do this—being together, that is—as best as I possibly can.” Diana admitted, sighing wistfully. “I’ll take all the good and the bad that comes with her.”

She blinked up at the other woman, conscious of the lack of response to her sudden admission. Lotte was… swooning with what looked like hearts in her eyes?

“Oh my god!” She squealed. “That’s so romantic!”

---

Half an hour later, Diana was once again in front of the Red Team’s dormitory. Her hand flexed nervously around the handle of a food basket and she rolled her eyes at herself. Why was she nervous? All she was doing was giving Akko food!

She raised her hand confidently to rap at the door—

—and then pulled it back, running her fingers through her hair in frustration.

“By Jennifer,” she muttered to herself in annoyance. “How hard should it be to knock on someone’s door?”

But then said door opened, and red eyes were blinking at her.

“Diana?” Akko murmured. “I heard shuffling from the outside, I wanted to check it out but didn’t expect it was you.”

She looked disheveled, with her hair all over the place and her pajamas askew. She was holding a bag of warm compress and Diana felt worry shoot up at the thought that something was ailing her enough to skip dinner.

“Akko,” she started, stepping forward to lay her hand on her arm. “Is everything alright?”

“Nope,” the brunette wailed, stepping forward and dropping her head on Diana’s shoulder. “My uterus wants to kill me and this weather is making it worse! But I’m sorry about earlier.” She mumbled into her sleeve. “I didn’t mean to be so pushy. I got super stressed thinking about taking that Runes exam tomorrow while feeling this way—just seeing your books wanted to make me cry!” She rambled on. “Oh—what’s that?”

She pulled away, staring at the basket in Diana’s hand.

“I’ve brought you dinner.” Diana said softly, pleased that Akko was feeling better and even more so at how she sparkled at the thought of ‘food.’ This girl could be so simple, it made the blonde smile.

“Mou—I don’t deserve you!” She wailed, eagerly opening the cloth wrap in the basket right there at the doorway.

And then Akko groaned. She looked like she was going to cry. Why did she look like she was going to cry? Beatrix, help me. Diana swallowed.

“I’m so tired of potatoes!” Akko threw her hands upwards, lip trembling. “Does this school not order anything else?”

She stomped back to her bed, grumbling about starch and rice and ‘Okaa-san’s stew!’ before face-planting into the pillows.

Diana stood cluelessly at the doorway. Should she come on in or… just give her space?

But then Akko suddenly sprang back upward, running towards Diana before taking a fistful of her collar, pulling her in and—

Kissing her.

Very deeply.

She had never been so pleasantly confused in her life.

“I’m so sorry!” Akko pouted. “That was so ungrateful of me. Thank you! I’m starving!” She grabbed the basket. “I hate it when I’m like this—Kami-sama—I’ll be better tomorrow, I promise. You don’t have to deal with this and I’ll make it up to you okay? And-I-love-you!”

“I—I love you t—”

And then the door was back.

At her face.

For the second time today.

Was it acceptable to scream in the hallways at dinner time?

---

Feeling desperate and increasingly frustrated after dinner, she walked towards the Green Team’s dormitory, seeking the advice of someone she never wanted to ask: the only other witch in their group who had a girlfriend and experience with this matter.

Amanda.

Hannah wasn’t nearly as temperamental as Akko during that time of the month, but she wasn’t easy to get along with either. To her credit, it seemed the American witch was actually managing it quite well.

“Diana Cavendish.” Amanda smirked once she opened the door. “In the flesh. How can we help you?”

She flushed despite herself and gave a soft nod towards Jasminka and Constanze who waived at her from inside.

“I would like to seek your opinion on a matter.”

Amanda actually looked surprised. “Never thought I’d hear that from you.”

“Akko is…” Diana gestured aimlessly, trying to find the right words. “On her period.”

“Oh.”

Why was O’Neill looking at her that way? “Well?”

“So you’re having trouble dealing with the… ya know?”

“I don’t.” Diana pursed her lips. She was so tired at this point. “I don’t know.”

“No fucking way.” Amanda gawked. “I can’t believe you’re asking me about this.”

“What is it that’s so hard to believe about me wanting to be a good partner?” Diana fumed, her patience wearing thing. Wasn’t that what she was supposed to do? Make Akko feel better when in a foul mood?

Amanda whistled. “I mean… can’t you deal with it on your own?”

“On my own?”

“Yeah!” Amanda nodded enthusiastically. “The urge, I meant. Even I don’t push Hannah when it’s her red season. We just wait it out. Being intimate can get really messy when there’s bloo—”

She slammed the door shut so hard it might have hit Amanda’s nose.

---

Her attempt to learn more from the Green Team was a spectacularly embarrassing failure, and so Diana resigned herself to leaving Akko with space and shutting herself in her dorm.

“Trouble in paradise?” Hannah piped in, noticing the forlorn expression on her usually impassive face. “And why are you looking at me like that?”

Forget about what Amanda said, forget about what Amanda said.

“You could say that.” Diana admitted, not in the mood to hide anything. They were her best friends anyway.

Barbara watched with interested as Diana walked over to her desk and seated herself, catching her head in her hands with a sigh.

“So what happened?” The raven-haired witch leaned forward.

“Akko’s in a mood.” The blonde replied in a muffled voice. “I can’t make heads-or-tails of what to do about it.”

“Is she jealous?” Hannah guessed.

Diana shook her head.

“Injured?”

She shook her head again.

“On her period?”

“First day.” Diana confirmed.

It was met with a synchronized “Ooooh.”

“She hexed Amanda one time she bugged her on her period right?”

“Yeah.” Hannah tried not to snicker. “Burned her skirt. Never knew Akko could pull that spell off.”

Diana rubbed at her temples. “Why is that everyone else seems to know about her apparently infamous temperament and I don’t?”

“Because,” Barbara started, “she made it a point to steer clear of you so she doesn’t snap up or, and I quote “burden you”. And some people really do have it worse than others. My cousin had cramps so bad she would have to miss classes sometimes. I think Akko’s got something similar.”

Diana vaguely recalled days when Akko seemed more reserved than usual. She also had her fair share of spending the day at the infirmary every few months.

“She told you this?”

“Lotte did.” She said off-handedly. “Night-fall convention.”

“You talk about Akko and me during a—”

“We’re romantics!” She said defensively. “And we were right about you two. But anyway, what are you going to do about it?”

“I’ve been trying to do something about it. I brought her food.”

“And?”

“She’s tired of potatoes.”

Hannah sighed. “We all are. Even you—don’t deny it! I see the face you make whenever it’s potatoes for dinner again.”

She made a face?

“She’s probably craving for comfort food.” Hannah hummed to herself. “Tough luck, Japan is half-way across the world.

“Oh.” Barbara perked up, glancing over to Hannah. “What about that place Amanda sneaks out to get you snacks from?”

Hannah glanced warily over to Diana, who was raising her eyebrow in question. “Oh, fine. Don’t tell on her okay? She’s just trying to be sweet.”

“I won’t.” Diana sighed. “But I’m not Amanda. I’m not going to sneak out into the town past curfew just to buy Akko snacks.”

---

She was sneaking out into the town past curfew just to buy Akko snacks.

Beatrix, she mulled over to herself, pulling up the collar of the her capelet coat. What has become of me?

It was a warm night, unsurprising given the sizzling afternoon sun they suffered through earlier that day. She’d have to thank Professor Ursula for giving her a pass. Glastonbury, while still a bit of an ‘old town’, was beginning to modernize with the advent of the new magical age. More students enrolling at Luna Nova meant more business for the nearby towns, and the influx of children from non-magical families brought with it a union of old tradition and contemporary establishments.

One of which was the ‘Convenience Store.’ As per Hannah’s explanation, this type of establishment was open all hours through the day and night, and typically sold snacks and refreshments to address one’s cravings.

Unfortunately, said Convenience Store was a fifteen-minute broom ride away from school, and she hated having to sneak about. Not very convenient, if she could say so herself. She found it shorty after her arrival to town—it was hard to miss with its bright, off-white lights that glowed through Glastonbury’s dark and dreary streets. She tentatively pushed the glass door open. There was a young man snoozing behind the cash register.

She rolled her eyes, feeling painfully out of place in a store that screamed ‘twenty-first century.’ Why was she here again?

Right. Her girlfriend had cramps and was likely craving.

“Excuse me.”

He didn’t stir.

She cleared her throat, deliberately louder. “Excuse me.”

When he finally awoke, he regarded her with a groggy stare. “Yeah?”

“Do you have any snacks?”

“Help yourself,” he drawled lazily, gesturing towards the rows upon rows of brightly-colored chocolates, candies, and chips. There were coolers at back end of the store with a multitude of energy drinks and juices. Towards the left of the counter was freezer. “That one has ice cream.”

Where was she even going to start? By the nine, there so many choices! Feeling the need to vent, she had blurted out: “I have a cranky girlfriend on her period and I’m so very near my wits end.”

“Oh.” His eyes widened in sympathy. “I got you. Friend of O’Neill’s?”

“So to speak.”

“First time?”

She nodded.

“Alright kid, my name is Marty and I think you and I are gonna be good friends.”

Five minutes into their conversation, Diana realized that Marty was… quite interesting and not at all unpleasant.

“So we’ve narrowed it down to chocolates, and ice cream.”

“She’s quite fond of chocolates. You said these were imported from Asia?”

“Japan!” He grinned proudly.

Perfect.

“I’ll… get one in every flavor.”

“Go hard or go home, amirite?” Marty laughed.

“And…” she glanced over the ice cream cooler. “One pint of each flavor you have.”

Marty blinked.

Costs didn’t matter. Might as well make the most of being part of the ‘oppressive’ bourgeois.

---

“I had a feeling you’d still be up.” Diana whispered softly through the opening of Akko’s dorm. “Please don’t shut the door at my face again.”

“I’m sorry about that!” Akko cried out, but Diana held up her finger in a gesture to keep her quiet.

“Sucy and Lotte might wake up.”

“What’s going on?” Akko inquired. “It’s really late now, Dia.”

“M—May I come in?”

They slipped into the Red Team’s dormitory with hushed voices and the sound of shuffling feet. Diana should have asked Akko’s roommates before inviting herself to stay the night, but she’d rather not wake them and she could leave first thing in the morning.

Akko’s bright red eyes glistened in wonder at the plastic bag Diana was carrying. “W—Where did you get these?”

“In town,” she supplied cryptically.

“You snuck out.” Akko gawked.

“The method is unimportant.” Diana replied. And then her voice and gaze softened. “What matters is… do you like them?”

“I would have screamed in joy if you haven’t been trying to keep me quiet!” Akko said under her breath, pulling on Diana’s arm to sit beside her at her bed. “L—Let me take your coat.”

“That’s not necessary,” Diana whispered back, slipping out of her coat herself and hanging it at the edge of Akko’s bedpost. “I’d rather you just lean back and not exert yourself.”

She had changed into something more casual before leaving, and was glad she wouldn’t have to spend all night in their stuffy uniform. Akko was fiddling with her thumbs and biting her lip.

“Is something wrong?”

“No—no!” Akko reassured. “Well… I’m still sorry for how I’ve been today. I guess I should have told you, but I get really bad cramps on my period and it makes me want to like… break things.”

Diana softly reached over to hold Akko’s hand. “Barbara tells me you didn’t tell me about this?”

“Yeah.” Akko scratched at her cheek, looking away.

Diana scooted over to lean against the headboard of Akko’s bed, quietly inviting the brunette to rest against her. If instinct told her right, Akko would appreciate being held. Sure enough, the smaller witch followed the invitation, situating herself to lean against Diana’s chest. While she wrapped her arms around Akko’s torso, the only thing the blonde could think about was how much she missed holding her today.

She held onto Akko a little tighter, pulling her just a bit nearer. But then Akko began to tense, curling up into herself with a sharp breath.

“Cramps?” Diana spoke gently, laced with worry.

“Yeah. Jennifer’ tits this sucks.”

“What do they give for you at the infirmary?”

“The potion they give me knocks me out cold and I hate how I feel when I wake up in the morning.” She sulked. “Today wasn’t so bad though, so I just wanted to sleep.”

Diana frowned. The way she was gripping on her forearm told her the cramps probably haven’t gone away, so on a whim she wondered if…

“May I try something?”

Akko blinked up at her, a strained expression on her face. “It’s good, this is the worst of it. I really will be fine tomorrow.”

“But may I?” She insisted.

“O—Okay.”

Slowly, she breathed in, setting her hand above Akko’s stomach while she remembered the feeling of magic and… love.

“It’s warm.” Akko whispered, noticeably relaxing.

“It’s a spell from my family. Is this better?”

“So much better.” Akko laced her hands with Diana’s, gratitude evident in the breathlessness of her voice. “Thank you, Dia.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“It would have been troublesome for you, so I just wait it out.” Akko admitted sheepishly.

Troublesome. Diana smiled, watching Akko relax once the pain had been soothed away. She chuckled when Akko opened the first bar of chocolate her hand had found from the nearby pile. Her surprised gasp was a wonderful thing to hear. “This is—from—”

“Home?”

“Yeah!”

“I went to the convenience store in Glastonbury.” Diana admitted.

“I really don’t deserve you!” Akko pouted, head falling back into Diana’s shoulder. “You get me chocolates, have magic healing hands, and now you’re out of your dorm past curfew and—Ugh! I told you—troublesome.”

Diana pressed her nose against Akko’s shoulder, tightening the arms around her waist. The darkness of the room was relaxing, accentuated by a moonlit glow. She breathed in deeply, enjoying their closeness and how nice Akko smelled.

“I think you’re underestimating how much trouble I’m willing to go through for you.”

That earned her a kiss on the cheek. “When did you get so cheesy?”

“Are you complaining?”

“Definitely not.”

“And this is nothing.” Diana teased. “I believe I remember a certain witch chasing me all the way into Wedinburgh just to get me back to school. She didn’t even fly.”

“Mou!” Akko huffed, snuggling into Diana’s warmth even further. “You loved it.”

Diana paused in contentment.

"I love you.”

Akko turned to face her. Her eyes were moving carefully over Diana’s features, as if to memorize how she looked. She grinned. “I can’t believe you’re real and that you feel the same way.”

Diana felt her ears flush. This time, Akko kissed her softly on the lips.

“I love you.” She kissed her again. “Thank you for these, Diana. It—It means so much.”

“So,” Diana started with a teasing lilt in her voice. “What was that about—kissing me right at your doorway earlier?”

“Mood swings are caused by hormones, you know.” Akko pouted, flushing red in the cheeks.

“So picky with food, too.” She continued to tease, earning another quiet laugh from her girlfriend. Akko looked like herself again.

They fell into a familiar banter, curled up together in bed, and she realized that she’d do it again.

From raiding the kitchen, to running around the castle, to flying out in the middle of the night.

She’d do it again, and again, and again if she had to because Akko was smiling once more and everything—everything—was worth it.

fin

A/N: Hey guys! Here's another one-shot that absolutely no one asked for but I may burst into tears because of how much I loved the idea. I was beginning to get self-conscious about how many one-shots I've made for Diakko but like IDK I LOVE THEM OKAY IDC ANYMORE I hope you enjoy, and stay safe! I also appreciate all the comments people have left in the other works, and am sorry if I don't always get to respond but will try to find the opportunity to! <3

Additionally: Haahaaha yeah I know it's not an Appt update I'm soRRY

#Diakko #Dianakko #Diana Cavendish #Akko Kagari #Atsuko Kagari #LWA #Little Witch Academia #Luna Nova #Sucy Manbavaran #lotte yanson #LWA Akko #LWA Diana #Fluff #Romance #Cute Fanfic #Hamanda #wlw

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smolawkwardkidlat · 4 years

Text

ikaw ba ulit?

in which there is zero worldbuilding and pure self-indulgent crack.

inspired by many late nights, two Spanish songs, and one Discworld book. I’ll probably never post this to AO3 for personal reasons, but this is going to remain on my Tumblr for all my desperate brethren. I gotchu fam.

fandom: Noli Me Tangere | pairing: Elias/Crisostomo Ibarra aka Elibarra | other: alternate universe, a bit crack, super self-indulgent, canonical character deaths, (i have no idea how to explain this), very fantasy-ish, somewhat supernatural character?

By the time he has reached the old balete, Elias doesn’t know what the difference is between hunger and exhaustion and agony. What he knows is that they’re eating him alive and yet that he is so terrified it barely matters. It is December—the chill in the air mingles with the heat off his feverish skin and it burns without burning.

There is a boy. He didn’t expect that. There is a boy in the tomb of Ibarra’s grandfather.

Elias doesn’t know what to do.

The boy is alive, that much is clear from the way he’s carrying on. The blood on his head has dried and his leg must be on the mend. So—wounded, but not seriously. Once he goes home and gets tended to he will be fine. The woman he’s moaning over, though…

Sisa. When the boy raises his head Elias asks, “Are you her son?”

His voice is so low and rough he doubts the boy heard him, but he gets a nod in response.

That is truly unfortunate. “What will you do?”

The boy’s eyes aren’t especially big, but they still seem to fill half his face. No child’s eyes should have that kind of sadness in them. “Bury her.”

“In the cemetery?”

“I don’t have money,” says the boy miserably. “And besides, the kura wouldn’t allow it.”

Elias resists the temptation to reach out and steady himself on the gate. He closes his eyes, opens them again halfway. “Then…?”

“If you would like to help me…”

“I’m too weak,” he says, and the moment he says it he knows it’s true. He can’t even stand up straight anymore. The boy’s eyes follow him to the earth, as if unaware of the streak of blood across his own forehead.

The words he explains with drag at his lungs and his throat. The boy’s eyes follow them as well.

It must be the older son, Elias decides, what’s-his-name, Basilio. He looks too tall to be seven years old. That means—is he nine or ten? Nine—or ten—and an orphan. Nine—or ten—and left alone with his mother’s corpse on Christmas.

Ibarra must have infected him with his bleeding heart, Elias thinks sourly.

At the very least the boy shouldn’t see another death tonight.

“Listen!” he says, and damn it, his voice falters faster than ever. Nevertheless, Basilio startles to attention and stares at him anew. “Before the day comes I will be dead too. There’s a pile of firewood twenty paces from here, on the other side of the brook. Bring it here.” Basilio starts to get up, but Elias splays his fingers and he stops. He listens to the instructions with an expression going glassy from grief and lack of sleep.

Elias is happy to see him go; he has no comfort left in him for Basilio, as much as the boy needs it. Hopefully Ibarra will understand the message he has no strength left to write.

There are stars above him and songs on the wind. There is a dawn coming and freshness on the leaves. There is a thought gnawing at his heart and he only speaks it because he is desperate.

Before the numbness reaches his lips Elias murmurs one last broken prayer, and it is not the one you think.

He says, Please, God, let me—

And he is awake.

“You should have studied at the theater,” says a familiar voice, in a tone that is not at all familiar. “You’d have been brilliant.”

Everything is blurry and feels like mist. “Ibarra?” he whispers.

“I’m afraid not,” says the voice. He didn’t know a timbre like Ibarra’s could resonate like that. There is something on his head that tingles like touch. “Take your time, your death was nasty. Infection, exhaustion, and starvation all at once—not enjoyable.”

“I’ll say,” he rasps, and coughs to clear his throat. Strange, that he still has a throat. “So I am dead.”

“Yes, you are,” says that voice that still sounds uncannily like Ibarra.

His nose catches a cool, dry, musty scent like an abandoned room, with just a hint of aged leather. Then he tastes the cold, then he hears a rustle that isn’t quite cloth but that he can’t assign to anything else. He knows these things mean something, but he doesn’t know what it is, yet. He’s dead, and that means something too.

“You are—Death.”

“Not quite, but close enough.”

It stands to reason that if he can smell and taste and hear and think, then he can see, so Elias opens his eyes. What surprises him is not so much that the figure bent over him is wearing all black with a silver brooch at their throat, but that he’s still in the forest, where he died, with the ground under his back and his head resting at the foot of the balete tree.

Now that he can think about it, it was a horrifically ironic place to die.

“Are you better now?” asks the figure.

He is, in fact, better. The ache that was eating away at his insides has faded almost completely—his head is clearer than it’s been in days. “I suppose so,” he says, and finds that his mouth isn’t quite as dry anymore.

“Good,” says the figure. “Can you sit up?”

Elias tries. For the most part it is exactly as it has always been, except for the sensation of passing through his own body, which makes his stomach squirm, despite the fact that he doesn’t have it anymore. He appears to still be wearing the dirty, bloody clothes he died in, which is somewhat humiliating. “I suppose so.”

“I’m afraid we need to wait a while,” his companion says. “You awoke almost as soon as I reaped you, but the poor woman over there will take some time.”

Ah.

That’s just as well. Even the dim lights from the town are starting to hurt his eyes now, and it is much easier to focus on the figure in black than on anything else. Easier, and more comforting.

Christmas dawns slowly, especially when waiting. His companion sits perfectly still, except for the movement of breathing, and he’s seen the way they sit before, somewhere. Around them even the forest seems to be preparing for Christmas, coming alive in striking contrast to the still, dead air beside the tomb.

Christmas dawns slowly enough that when the movement in the trees makes them raise their heads, the light is only bright enough to make it out. Just when Elias thinks he might recognize the step, Ibarra limps into view and braces himself on the gate.

The past two days have clearly not been kind to him either. He wears the two days on his grimy face heavily; his entire body slumps with their weight. But even with that, he moves like a hollow banana leaf, fraying with each unsteady step. His staring eyes burn under their hooded lids, so fierce and yet so fragile that Elias wants to look away.

He does not.

He watches as Ibarra takes in the sorry state of the two human shapes in the clearing.

He watches as Ibarra falls to his knees with a sharp rustle of grass and cloth. He watches as Ibarra wrestles himself to his feet, staggers forward, and collapses again by the side of Elias’s body.

The sky is alight now.

Ibarra looks up at it. His eyes are dry, catching fire with the clouds and blazing, blazing—his eyes are closing.

Elias turns to the figure in black. “What did you do that for?”

They shrug their shoulders. He tries to imagine what their expression might look like; what he imagines is Ibarra—chin raised high and skin stretched paper-tight over rounded bones. “He’ll have enough to do when he wakes.”

He frowns. “He startled you?”

“He did, rather.”

He can hear the curl of the mouth in the voice, and though he has no living memory of it, he remembers it regardless. The identity of his companion is dawning on him with Christmas Day. “I think, after all’s said and done, you’ll startle him quite a bit more.”

“You never know. I didn’t startle you much, did I?”

“No,” he says, and he’s only lying a little. “I don’t think you ever did, except that first time.”

“Hm? What do you—” The guide freezes, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. He doesn’t need to breathe, so he does a better impression of a statue than anyone Elias can think of. “Oh, heaven, it’s you again, isn’t it? So soon?”

He smiles lopsidedly at the hint of a whine. “I almost made it to thirty this time.”

“Almost is only almost, soldier mine, and you don’t get any consolation prizes.” The memories are getting clearer—he can just about picture the expression under the cowl. It’s stranger, somehow, now that he has a living memory to compare it to. “I said when you live past thirty, and not before.”

The word comes readily to his tongue, although he rarely said it in life and can still only vaguely remember saying it in death. “Ay, you’re cruel, querido.”

The guide snorts, and Elias imagines, vividly, an impish smirk. “And yet you’re so eager to return to me that you get yourself killed just when you’ve finished having growth spurts.”

“I don’t die quite that young,” he protests.

“Time off isn’t easy to get, you know.”

“Nowhere does it say in your contract that you’re required to wait with me.”

To his satisfaction, his companion doesn't quite have an answer. “Speaking of waiting,” he says instead, “what on earth happened to that woman? This is an absolutely terrifying amount of time to wait for a soul to awaken.”

Elias doesn’t know very much of Sisa’s story, but he tells what he does know, and the guide’s silence lapses into bleak horror when he finishes. “Well, I was almost right,” he says at last, evenly. “That’s absolutely terrible.”

“I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—I’ve heard worse, and from you, no less.” He twirls his knife thoughtfully, showing off both the sharp, shining blade and the quick, decisive hands. “Would you mind if I dealt with her alone?”

“Not at all.” Elias has always been bad at talking to the dead, despite—and perhaps because of—having so much experience with death.

The guide casts him a doubtful look.

“As long as you return for me afterwards.”

“There it is,” he laughs. “I was afraid I’d mistaken you for a moment. Don’t worry, I will—and then I’ll be all yours for nine months afterwards, if we’re lucky.” He gets to his feet. “Nearly ready now. May I have a farewell gift?”

“I have a bullet. Do you want that?” The palpable disappointment just about imagines the pout for him. “Oh, very well. Take your cowl off for a bit.”

He can feel the triumphant smile against his lips, sparkling as bright as the starlit eyes as they disappear again into shadow. “If you end up not having to take a step out of that gate,” he warns, “you’re getting this bullet too.”

“If I misjudged that badly, I deserve it!”

#nmt #noli me tangere #elias #crisostomo ibarra #elibarra #i'm sorry okay #my brain decided to hug this shit like a monkey #i had to get it out #i promise i'll write more rational things sometime #just let me have my insanity #it's a bit strange bc canon!ibarra is still there #but basically there's two ibarras here sdhfksdfs #i may or may not fill in the backstory of this later #but that's how it works out #this is mostly for en-say-mada anyway sdkskfdjs #blame her and my brain #my brain shitposts she enables lmaoo

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halictus-writer · 4 years

Text

Welcome to Seattle (Ch. 3 of 5)

Remus deleted Tinder the second the app finished downloading. He was sitting at the dining table/desk combination of his studio apartment, and, unsurprisingly it was raining just outside the window. Seattle felt so new to Remus, although it had now been months since he moved away from his previous life. It took a lot of journaling and time, but he had begun to feel like what had happened–– his ex breaking his heart an hour before his twenty-sixth birthday party–– was meant to happen. His life hadn’t been his own. It was full of so much compromise, as is necessary for a life shared by two people, but the compromises that were made did not further his growth. He was stuck in a rut in his career, he was still in his college town, and he hadn’t even written a word of the novel he told himself he would write after the next big thing––graduation, holidays, birthdays, travel–– finished.

And now, here he was. Living in a big city, alone, but doing it the way he wanted. He had a job that furthered his growth, he had supportive friends, and he had already filled entire notebooks with the ideas, character charts, and plot diagrams that would eventually become his novel. Suddenly realizing that no one was here to complain about the cold, he cracked the window open, letting some of the fresh, rain-scented air in, and shrugged on a sweater.

He was at peace with himself, and for that reason he felt he was ready to give dating another shot. He re-downloaded Tinder, chose a few random pictures of himself, and typed out the bio that Dorcas had helped him draft, cringing the entire time. He closed the app without viewing the other Tinder users within twenty-five miles and two years of his age.

As a treat for his bravery, he decided to get a margherita pizza for lunch. If he exercised self-control, he could save half for tonight’s dinner as well. It was really a matter of simple economics.

***

Remus immediately noticed that the restaurant looked a little different in the midday light, but he also immediately noticed that Sirius was not on the clock. He ordered his pizza to-go.

As he walked back to his apartment, one hand tucking the pizza close, the other brandishing an umbrella, he tried not to think about the fact that he had so far only received free–– and unsolicited–– dessert items when Sirius was working.

***

An hour later, Remus had made his first matches on Tinder. He had also accidentally “super-liked” a person named “DL Top” with a gray image as their only picture, frantically looked up how you could “un-match” with someone, read a very patronizing how-to article on basic Tinder functions, and decided to choose “block” for good measure.

One of his matches was a graduate student at the University of Washington, and Remus liked that his profile said he loved to read. They exchanged normal greeting messages, before the man asked Remus if he was “a LTR kind of guy.” Remus answered him by saying “Tolkien is an amazing writer, obviously, but I have to admit the movies were kind of long.” The man didn’t reply, and Remus figured that his opinions on the Lord of the Rings franchise must have been a deal-breaker for the other man.

Dorcas and Marlene were adamant about hearing his progress with Tinder, so he sent a group text to the two of them.

Remus: Tinder day one is a thing, I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong yet

Dorcas: Yes! Proud of you

Marlene: what’s the weirdest thing that’s happened so far!!!!???

Remus: well, someone asked me what I thought about lord of the rings on the second message, does that count?

Dorcas: haha seriously? What did they even say

Remus: “so are you an LTR kinda guy or what?”

Marlene: HAHA

Dorcas explained that LTR in this context likely stood for “long-term relationship,” with intermittent texts from Marlene such as “how in the heck even” and “you are my favorite person oh my god.”

Remus decided to give Tinder a break for the rest of the day.

***

He made a good deal of progress within his first week of online dating, especially when considering that he started so low, with the misunderstanding of slang and accidental super-liking. It was now a Friday night, and he had a real-life, in-person date set for six o’clock. On Wednesday Remus had met a different match for coffee (but only after Dorcas had cross-referenced his story, friended him from a blank Facebook profile, and found pictures of him at his high school senior prom from nearly a decade ago. “You should be arrested,” Remus had said, horrified but a little grateful). Coffee had been perfectly pleasant, but both men agreed that they would rather be friends than anything more. They even friended each other on Facebook so that Remus could be added to his book club.

Meeting new friends was a welcome side-effect, but Remus was still in the market for a boyfriend. Hence, the anxious shuffling as he waited for the clock to get closer to six. Remus wished his apartment was larger, if only for the chance to have more space to clean. He had already Swiffered the floor, cleaned the bathroom mirror, and remade the bed, and it was still only a quarter past five. The cleaning was just for something to do with his hands and nerves, he knew that his date wouldn’t be seeing the inside of his apartment tonight. As per Dorcas’s prescriptions (and his own self-preservation), Remus’s first dates with strangers met online would take place completely in public.

At 5:45, a message from his upcoming date announced that he was being held a bit late at the office, and asked to reschedule for 6:30 instead of 6. Remus, wanting to be easy-going and amicable, kindly agreed, wishing him luck with his pressing work matters. Internally, however, he was frustrated that he had already taken the garbage out, since now there was absolutely nothing left to clean.

6:30 turned into 7:00, and by 7:15 Remus had taken his shoes off and was laying on the top of his neatly-made bed. The excuses changed from finishing at work, to a friend in need, to traffic, and Remus was beginning to consider just preemptively cancelling it himself.

At 7:45, the match asked if they could just skip dinner and maybe move straight into watching a movie “and cuddling” at Remus’s place instead. It was the final nail in the coffin Remus already saw, so he wasn’t even too disappointed.

Remus sent a polite but clear no, and knew that whoever this person was, he was not someone Remus would be building his life with. His stomach growled suddenly, reminding him that he still hadn’t eaten the dinner he was supposed to have hours earlier. Instead of going to all of the trouble to devise a meal at home, Remus decided that his troubles with the cancelled date warranted a very cheesy, doughy, and effortless meal. He quickly changed from his date clothes–– button down shirt, khakis, and tan buck shoes–– into a more comfortable, eating-pizza-alone-on-a-Friday-night ensemble: cozy sweatshirt, old blue jeans, and nikes.

When he got to the restaurant, he was still moping about getting blown-off from his date. He had sent a quick text to Dorcas and Marlene to let them know that his date was cancelled (otherwise they would have been checking his location religiously every fifteen minutes), but said he was doing okay since he didn’t want to interrupt their own date night plans with his sorrows.

Truthfully, Remus was pretty upset about what had happened. So far, online dating had not been a success, and Remus found himself returning to his secret fear that he wouldn’t ever successfully date again. Maybe it was because he was just too old, or perhaps he was out-of-touch, or it was simply because he had no real experience with dating since he had only ever had to go on one first date, and everything afterwards seemed to fall into place. If Lily was right, and he needed to meet someone organically for a relationship to work, he hoped it would happen soon.

Just then, his inner wallowing was interrupted by Sirius, carrying silverware and a glass of water. Somehow, Remus had forgotten that Sirius may be here, and hadn’t had time to prepare himself for the sight of the attractive waiter. His hair was swept into a loose bun, seemingly held together with a pencil.

“Hey there, how’s your Friday night going?”

Remus almost laughed at the question. Clearly, his night was not fantastic, because if it was, he would not be sitting in the booth of an Italian restaurant, alone, at 8:30 PM. He tried to shake off his own self-pity before answering. “Fine, thanks. How about you? Has it been busy tonight?” One of Remus’s favorite tactics when avoiding conversations about himself to his friends was to get them talking about themselves instead. Or, in the case of James, talking about Lily.

“It hasn’t been too busy today, or at least not since I got here at 5. Although,” he said, smiling almost conspiratorially, “I’ve had three different tables tell me ‘you too’ after I brought them their dinners.”

Remus laughed, and filed away the knowledge that Sirius remembered their inside joke from last time to the back of his mind for unpacking later. “I’ll have to see if I can get that number any higher then.”

“Oh, but you won’t be able to if I change up my script when I bring you your small margherita pizza. I’ll just say something like ‘here it is,’ no wishes of enjoyment included.” Sirius said, with faux sincerity.

“And what if I changed up my order on you?” Remus was surprised but pleased that Sirius remembered not only their jokes from last time about customers stumbling over words when presented with their food, but also the very food that Remus had ordered.

“I hope not, since I told the kitchen to start making it right after I saw you walk in.” Sirius grinned, but then suddenly looked almost bashful. “Although if you wanted something else, you still can order something else, that would be fine, I just thought, well, since it’s kind of late, we might as well give the ovens a head start?” His voice tilted up at the end as the statement turned into a question.

Remus liked this more approachable version of Sirius. He made him feel at ease. “No, you were right, I came here specifically for that margherita pizza. Thank you for starting it early for me.”

Sirius’s nervous smile turned soft.

***

The pizza was delicious, and succeeded in making Remus feel slightly better about the cancelled date. After all, he wouldn’t have been able to eat this much on the date, hindered by an abundance of good manners.

When Sirius dropped off the check, he also let Remus know that they would be closing soon. “You’re welcome to sit as long as you like, but the kitchen did just close.”

“No worries, I’m ready to head out. Thank you!” As Remus signed the receipt, a small to-go box was placed in front of him.

“Kitchen is closed, but you may want that for the road.” Sirius smiled warmly at Remus. “Have a good night!”

As Remus left the restaurant, carrying the small box, he reflected on Sirius’s parting words. He did have a good night, all things considered. Comfort food is one for addressing his emotional turmoil, but having a light conversation with a few inside jokes with another person is another thing entirely.

He also happily noted that he would get to bring the enclosed tiramisu with him to his breakfast with Dorcas and Marlene tomorrow. Pawning off the soggy dessert on them would be good for both reducing food waste and generating karma.

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luckyspike · 5 years

Text

Spooky Halloween - A Good Omens Fanfiction

in which the line between the real world and the supernatural gets a little thinner

and the ineffables deal with it as well as they can

Everyone who knew Crowley’s true nature - these days, this included the Them, and a select few adults - assumed that Halloween would be prime time for the demon. It was, after all, the eve of the spirits, when the physical world pulled in closest with the supernatural, and the borders between the two broke down. It was the day when spooky was loved and celebrated, and surely Crowley would be all about that, wouldn’t he?

It was why Anathema was struggling particularly hard with Crowley’s outright refusal to show up at Adam’s Halloween party. “Come on, Crowley, you have to be kidding, what do you mean you don’t go out on Halloween?”

“I don’t,” he replied firmly. In the background, she could hear something that sounded suspiciously like plants being ripped out of the ground. “Stay in all day. 24 hours.”

“But it’s spooky. You love spooky.”

“Yes, but you know there is such a thing as too much of a good thing.”

“Oh?” She thought it over. “Like, too reminiscent of Hell, because I could convince him to tone down the decorations.”

“No, not that.” She heard him huff, and there came the sound of a body flopping into the grass. She had trouble not smiling, imaging the demon sprawled out on the lawn of the cottage, because she knew him and knew that was precisely what he was doing. “Me.”

“What about you?”

He groaned. “You can be really thick sometimes, you know it, Book-Girl?” She bristled, almost snapped a reply, but he had plowed on. “The boundaries between the human world and the supernatural are blurred. My corporation can only keep it together so well when that border breaks down.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, Aziraphale’s too,” he added, as an afterthought. “But he just gets sort of gimpy on that leg and has some extra eyeballs. He could - and he has - pass it off as a costume if he really needed to. Whereas me, well …” He sighed. “If I don’t just go serpent altogether I can hold a vaguely-human shape but it sort of stretches the limits of credibility to say it’s a costume or makeup or what have you.”

“Ah. Sorry I, uh, didn’t think of it that way. I think I understand now.” And she did. Crowley made some kind of non-specific noise on the other end of the line, and she went on, “Seriously, sorry.”

“Eh, don’t be. Natural assumption, really. And I have gone out on Halloween,” he added, “but because I needed to do some proper demon things. The scales and the horns really do help.”

She tried to imagine Crowley looking anything like a proper demon, and failed miserably. “I can imagine,” she said anyway. “Well, alright. I’ll tell the Them … something. Say you’re not feeling well or something.”

“Just tell them the truth. Adam’s the Antichrist, I hardly think demons doing demon things is going to be a shocking revelation.”

“Well, no, but I think if I tell them you’re spending the day cooped up because you look properly scary for once they’ll be even more disappointed you didn’t put in an appearance. You know how they are.”

“True.” He sighed. “That’s fine then, tell them whatever. And, ah, enjoy the party.”

“You’ll be alright by the weekend? I was thinking that new movie about the possessed priest -”

“Oh, yeah. Like I said, twenty-four hours, back to normal. Mostly. Might be a bit of ash around the fingertips but I’ll definitely be fine by Saturday.”

“Good,” she said, like they were discussing a brewing cold or sore throat, and not Crowley becoming an eldritch horror for a short period of time. “Alright, well, uh, good luck I guess. Hope it’s not too bad.”

“It’ll be awful, but thanks all the same.”

It always started at the stroke of midnight. Crowley and Aziraphale waited for it, knew it was coming, and took up stations where they would both be most comfortable. Aziraphale settled in n the library, books stacked high and at the ready, and an old but serviceable cane leaned up against the side table. Crowley carefully spread a few cheap old blankets over the couch and placed the iPad and his phone in easy reach. Preemptively, they both let their wings out, and Aziraphale took the time to rub some of the ache out of Crowley’s bad wing while his hands were still unfettered by eyeballs.

“We really have to look into fixing this,” he murmured, working the stiff joint of the wrist a little looser and ignoring the way it cracked, bones grinding arthritically. Crowley made a little noise of appreciation. “Even just the joint - I don’t know how we could get the feathers to grow back, but if we could get this wrist less contracted -”

“Can’t be done.” Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale let the wing go, the better to allow the demon to slump sideways into his chest. “Would’ve done it if I could.”

“I know that, dear boy.” He ran his hands down the leading edge of the wing, following the warped bone into Crowley’s shoulder and rubbing the muscle where the limb attached. Crowley sighed again, happily this time. “But I’ve never helped you look for a solution before.”

“S’pose not. Still don’t think there’s much to do about it, though. I mean, short of getting God or Raphael to fix it.” He snorted. “And fat chance of that.”

“I’ll have a look anyway. Perhaps - oh.”

The clock on the buffet chimed. One, two, three, all the way to midnight. Crowley groaned. “Here we go.”

It wasn’t a painful transformation, but both had scars from the Great War, and the aftereffects weren’t enjoyable. When all was said and done, Aziraphale was leaned back into the couch, massaging his right thigh, and Crowley was carefully extricating himself from the angel’s lap, mindful of the ash raining from his form and Aziraphale’s newly-visible multitude of eyes. Cautious of the eye now in his palm, Aziraphale grabbed the tip of Crowley’s broken halo - horns, now - and guided it away from his wing. “Careful.”

“Sorry.” They exchanged a look. Exasperated, frustrated, but most of all, tired. It wasn’t a terrible trade-off, one day each year, but neither particularly enjoyed the in-between form that Halloween forced, and it had grown old over the years. “I hate this.”

“Me too.” Aziraphale sighed, and closed most of his eyes, although a few along his wings stayed open. “Twenty-four hours.”

“Ugh.” Crowley made a vague gesture, head leaned back over the sofa, eyes closed. “Don’t even feel like doing anything.”

“Take a nap?” Aziraphale suggested. He stood, hobbling from the couch to the chair, and picked a book from the top of the pile. “I’ll be reading.”

“Mm. What book?”

“Oh? Ah.” He didn’t bother to close it again, and instead blinked open the eye on his palm to read the cover. “It’s contemporary.” This was said with the same tone as he might have informed Crowley of a particularly insistent customer in the shop. “But I suppose it was well-reviewed. It’s a signed first edition.” Crowley made an interested little noise. “‘The Da Vinci Code’ by a Dan Brown. Supposedly has a good deal of Bible lore.”

“Haven’t you read that?” The demon looked up, grinning, and Aziraphale didn’t mind the fangs. “C’mon, you can’t have missed that.”

“I didn’t. I’m just getting to it now. Have you read it?”

“Nah. Downloaded it ages ago but then everything happened with the kids and I forgot about it. Meant to, though.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “I could read aloud, if you’d like. Good a way to spend the next 24 hours as any.”

Crowley hummed. “Can’t say I disagree. If you’re going to read, though, ah, and I don’t need hands -”

“Of course, dear.” There was a relieved hiss, and after a few seconds an enormous black winged snake was draped over the couch, coils heaped on coils to fit on the now-sagging piece of furniture. Leisurely, Crowley slithered forward, off the arm of the couch and across the empty space between there and Aziraphale’s chair. “Come around,” he encouraged, while Crowley draped the front length of himself around Aziraphale’s shoulders, until the tip of his snout was tucked under the angel’s chin, and the length of himself with his wings was resting on the floor, wings splayed out lazily. “Comfortable?”

“Yesss. You?”

“Budge off my right shoulder a bit, there’s a love. Right.” He turned from the title page, and started to read: “Fact: The Priory of Scion - a European secret society founded in 1099 - is a real organization.” He stopped. Frowned.

“Wasss it? Don’t remember that one,” asked the Serpent of Eden.

“I’m fairly certain it was not,” replied the angel of the Eastern Gate. He read on, expression growing more disapproving by the word. “In 1975 Paris's Bibliotheque Nationale discovered parchments known as Les Dossiers Secrets, identifying numerous members of the Priory of Sion, including Sir Isaac Newton, Botticelli, Victor Hugo, and Leonardo da Vinci.’ Well, that’s utter tosh. Who published this pulp?”

Crowley’s forked tongue flicked the tip of his nose, and Aziraphale heard a hissing sort of laugh. “Who caressss? Go on, I want to hear thisss.”

All in all, it was not a bad way to spend 24 hours. By the midway point of chapter one, Aziraphale was so bent out of shape about the inaccuracies that he all but forgot about the ache in his leg, or that Crowley dribbled a little ash onto the rug every time he laughed. At some point, cocoa appeared, and Aziraphale pretended not to notice as Crowley sipped at it, even though the sheer size of his snout made stealth a bit difficult, considering the gentle thunk he made every time he shoved his nose into the cup. The reading went a bit slow, too, considering they had to stop roughly every five paragraphs to criticise something, or point out some inaccuracy, but the interludes were mutually enjoyable, and neither found they minded.

Ordinarily, Aziraphale would have been able to read a book of that length within 24 hours. It was the reason for the other books settled within easy reach, after all. But when the clock again chimed midnight, and the eyes faded back into the ether, Aziraphale just paused, marked his place with a finger between the pages, and took a sip of fresh, warm tea. “Well, there we are. Another Halloween.”

“Yeah.” Crowley stretched his newly-returned limbs - wings included, he was loath to put them away yet if he didn’t need to, it felt so good to let them breathe now and then - and flopped back onto the couch. “Not the worst I’ve had. Possibly top ten best, actually.”

“This book is dreadful.”

The demon patted the sofa next to him. “Well, yeah, but in a good way. C’mere, I gotta know what happens.” Aziraphale grumbled a little but he obliged, moving over to the couch once again with his usual gait, although he too left his wings out, albeit without the eyes. He settled, and Crowley slouched up against him, a tumbler of scotch suddenly in his hand. “You think they find the Grail?”

“I rather hope not, honestly.” Aziraphale scowled. “It’d be a real shame if he butchered that as well.”

“You know there’s a prequel?”

“No.”

“Honest truth. Called Angels and Demons.” Crowley waved his free hand. “Whole series, actually. Never read any of them.” He raised an eyebrow. “Might be fun?”

“You have a strange definition of fun, Crowley.” Absently, he kissed the top of Crowley’s head, ignoring the way the demon’s hair tickled his face. “Comes with being a demon, I suppose.”

“Comes with having a sense of humor. We should read them.”

“No.”

“Well not right now. Later.” He gestured vaguely. “After I get the garden cleaned up for the winter, maybe.”

“Hm. I’ll have time to read a few palate-cleansers.”

“There’s the spirit.” He snuggled in closer, right wing wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulders and the left covering himself like some kind of massive feathery blanket. “Go on, let’s see if they get the Grail.”

Aziraphale sighed, defeated and resigned, although Crowley could see the tiny movement well enough to note the little twitch at the corner of the angel’s mouth, almost a smile. “Very well.”

He turned the page, and kept on reading.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #crowley #aziraphale #the da vinci code #spooky eldritch angels and demons #dont let the text fool you #i unabashedly love the da vinci code #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much

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booksandgalore · 5 years

Text

Mirrors of Pride [Yandere!BTS]

Foreword:

Taehyung’s company is enjoyable when he isn’t contemplating about the different shades of black-and-white filters. Sure, he cares too much about the number of likes he has on social media.

And, yes, maybe you have to reject taking pictures of him everytime he hands you his phone, but true friends stay with each other no matter what. You just need to overlook his growing vanity, and ignore all the warning signs when he starts talking about someone non-existent.

Author’s Note:

It’s my first time posting (cross-posting) a story on Tumblr! Bear with me as I navigate how to link, edit my layout, etc. Though if you do have an tips and/or pointers on how I can make my blog look more appealing, haha, then I’ll take them. Do leave a comment if you enjoyed it!

[previous chapter]

The professor was changing the PowerPoint slides way too quickly, and even though you had been smashing the keys on your laptop as fast as your muscles could allow, you were left with unfinished bullet points on the topics you’d be tested on.

It seemed like your classmates shared the same sentiment as you. Looking at each other, they pursed their lips yet continued scribbling furiously in their notebooks and typing away.

However, Taehyung, who was sitting next to you, merely had his brow raised before he shook his head, his pencil moving ever so slowly.

You glanced over at his notes. He had hardly written anything! The only thing he had going for him was his outfit, you supposed. He wore a black cross earring on his right ear, and he donned this sort of sweatband on his forehead that pushed his hair out of his face. A plaid shirt was also tied around his waist even though he was sporting a jean jacket. The things he did for fashion.

Wait. You weren’t supposed to be that critical to a friend. Did you just insult him? So what if Taehyung preferred to focus on his clothing choices over something the professor lectured about? It was no big deal. For all you knew, Taehyung could be booking private rooms in the library to study in later, or he could be a photographic memory prodigy in disguise.

Gah, you really just insulted your friend, huh? Rolling your eyes at yourself, you reverted your attention back to the professor.

“And that’s all I’ll be discussing about today. Any questions?” Professor Smith said, scanning the room for any raised hands. “No? Well, that’s all, folks. You’ve got ten minutes left if you want to stay in this class, but I’ll get going now. I will post the slides by tonight.”

This was your karma seeking you out. You deserved this.

Yet shamelessly you grabbed Taehyung’s hand in order to stop him from closing his notebook. You released your grip on him when you saw his widened eyes, the dangling of his cross earring occupying your thoughts for a brief second. It suited him. Scooting closer to him nevertheless, you brought your head down to the paper and reviewed what he copied from the slides, but it wasn’t that much and Professor Smith was notorious for uploading his files a week later.

”Why does this class always make me so nervous?” you exclaimed, handing his notebook back to him. “How do you study, hmm?”

”I book a room in the library, but I usually stay late. Do you need help?”

Wow. How could you have undermined Taehyung’s intelligence just minutes before? You needed to work not on suppressing the materialistic tendencies you had left, but on being a good friend. Feeling the guilt creep up on you, you lowered your gaze while rubbing the nape of your neck. Was this why you had five close friends instead of the twenty diverse friends people seemed to have? You should buy Taehyung a surprise lunch during free hour to make it up to him...though he didn’t need to know the why.

”I’ll just wait for him to post the slides.” You had turned your head in such a way where you couldn’t see him through your peripheral vision as you shoved your laptop into your backpack. “Where are you going to be at free hour?” When your shame deemed that you had enough, you were able to face him once more.

”I’ll be at the Bio building,” Taehyung replied, standing up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Just have to turn in this paper and then I’m done. Want to come with me?”

He smiled at you and suddenly your spirits brightened up a little. You would have to buy him those tacos he liked so much.

You returned his smile back at him. “I’ll just meet up with you at the Commons.”

Taehyung’s smile faltered slightly. “You’re not coming with me? Who will you be with?”

You weren’t sure who you’d be hanging out with in the Commons. Maybe you’d see Jimin and sit next to him if there was an empty spot, considering that the Commons was literally a common campus building where students bought and ate lunch, but then again Jimin was usually with Hoseok and that other friend group. You could always move away once Taehyung texted you, though.

“I’ll be with you,” you assured him. Knowing the words that would soothe his mind, you stated, “Who else would I be with, Taehyung? I don’t have that much friends.” You crossed your arms and sighed dramatically for effect, placating Taehyung’s irrational worries. The amount of times you had to do this....but friendship was different with him.

With everyone.

With Jimin even.

People were people, and people had different personalities, thoughts, aspirations, goals and fears, so it wasn’t wrong to act like this with Taehyung...right?

“Okay,” Taehyung winked, his smile retreating back to its fullest potential, “big brother will take care of you.”

“Dude, shut up. I’m older than you by one month!” You stood up and walked to the door; holding it open for him, you said, “Ladies first.”

———

“...Jimin,” you whispered harshly, stupefied. “Is that soju I smell from your water bottle?”

“No, it’s vodka.” Jimin sipped a bit of his alcohol before offering it to you, his hand outstretched and eyes glinting with mischief. He was bold but a reckless type of bold and you were still in disbelief from the randomness of it all. Sure, Jimin could down seven shots of whatever mixture you could give him no matter how strong and still come out sober an hour later, but, damn, did the stress of finals week get to him?

You grabbed his “water bottle” and confiscated it inside your backpack. “You’re not getting this back.”

”(Name), it’s Friday. I only had one class today, and I’m done for the rest of the day. Let me live a little!” he whined, stomping his feet which was unlike him to do so. God. How much of these water bottles did he drink?

“Yes, but not on campus. You’re doing this in broad daylight and you could have gotten expelled, Jimin. Expelled!” You frowned at him and raised the level of your voice to convey the gravity of the situation. “What’s gotten into your head?”

Jimin remained silent. Then, he rested his head on your shoulder. Voice quivering, he confessed, “Eve broke up with me and I...I guess I...I mean I—“

”...Jimin,” you whispered, softly this time. “Come on, we know a girl can’t affect you that much.”

“You’re right.” Jimin removed his head from your shoulder and leaned against the wall. “I think it’s the alcohol, but why...why do I miss her so much?”

It was a miracle you guys were in a secluded area inside the Commons where people didn’t frequent as often. You wondered if on-lookers would simply walk away if they saw someone having a mental breakdown, but you speculated that college students were sympathetic with each other, and thus they would help Jimin. This thought comforted you. Jimin wasn’t alone, but Taehyung? Oh, Taehyung kept an arm’s distance from anyone he didn’t personally know. Would he be willing to receive the warmth of a stranger?

It was funny how despite Jimin’s silent tears rolling down his cheeks, you still thought of Taehyung. Perhaps it was because you knew Jimin could handle the hurt, and perhaps because you had witnessed the depth of hurt that Taehyung couldn’t handle. Likewise, the incessant vibrating of the phone in your pocket only served to remind you who needed you more. It had never stopped buzzing from when you first found Jimin in his depressed state. You couldn’t ignore him much longer.

”I’ll text Hoseok to come and get you,” you said, holding his hand. Jimin placed another hand on top of yours, though his eyes were still transfixed on the wall. You pulled away reluctantly to unlock your phone; you had ten messages from Taehyung, and half of his messages were sent on different apps. Ignoring an incoming call, you told Jimin, “Forget about Eve, okay?”

”Who’s Eve?” Jimin laughed, shoulders shaking with each chuckle. The tears on his face hadn’t stopped. “Eve who? Christmas Eve?”

”On second thought, how about I take you back to your dorm?”

“Will you carry me?”

Sighing, you sent a quick text to Hoseok telling him to come to your location. He had responded fairly fast, telling you that he was already near you guys and would be arriving in two minutes.

“You really risked it all and drank on school grounds for a girl?” You rubbed the temples of your forehead, a slight headache starting to form. “Really?”

Jimin continued staring at the wall. There was no response.

“You know better than that,” you said, hoping that this tough love would get through his head. “You’re better than this.”

He started to cry, and he didn’t stop crying even when your heart softened and you gave him a hug he desperately needed. You kept stroking his hair, rubbing his back, and murmuring sweet cheer-me-ups until Hoseok came and assessed the situation. Hoseok had hugged Jimin, and engulfed you in the process. The three of you were in this position for who knew how long, but Jimin’s tears had stopped flowing at one point, his body settling into quiet hiccups before remaining still.

“You should go, (Name). I’ll take care of him,” Hoseok urged you, voice close to your ear. If it were another scenario, you would have blushed.

You nodded, squeezing both Hoseok and Jimin’s shoulders, before heading away, to the person who needed you more.

But why did it feel like you only touched the surface level of Jimin’s troubles? Was it alright to leave? Should you have stayed? Should you have interrogated Jimin and seen if there was an underlying root cause about his sudden impulsivity to drink? Were you a bad friend?

These questions plagued your mind as you spotted Taehyung near an empty table, which was close to your university’s convenience store.

”What took you so long?” Taehyung asked, lips curved downwards. He ruffled his hair, an agitated sigh escaping his lungs. “I was waiting for you.”

”Sorry I was with Jimin. He was having a rough time.” You pulled your chair closer to him. He looked at you from the corner of his eye before resting his arm on the back of your chair. His brows remained furrowed. You figured out a long time ago that Taehyung liked it when you were next to him whenever he was in a bad mood, and since you left him hanging for thirty minutes, especially when you understood the type of person Taehyung was, he was, undoubtedly, in an unpleasant mood.

“Was it that bad?”

“Yes, it was.”

Taehyung scoffed. You glared at him. Even though he had issues which he told you about, what he did was still rude!

”How can it be that bad? Did he cry?” Crossing his leg, he clicked his tongue. “You should have at least texted me about it.”

You should breathe deeply. Friendships differed from person to person.

Understand Taehyung and where he’s coming from, you thought, because he helped you during times when you needed it the most.

“I’m sorry about that, Taehyung,” you said, looking at him in the eyes so he could feel the sincerity of your words. “I mean it.”

Taehyung’s posture appeared to relax, his tight-lipped frown dissolving. “It’s okay. Did you eat yet?”

”Not yet. Did you?”

”No,” He shook his head, “I didn’t.”

”Well, why don’t we buy some tacos from the food trucks outside Greenhill Hall? It’ll be my treat.” You bumped his shoulder in a lighthearted manner.

As you both headed towards your destination, you couldn’t help but stifle a heavy truth weighing inside your mind. You could think about it later. For now, Taehyung was the focus.

#yandere bts #v #taehyung #yandere taehyung #yandere kpop #bts #bangtan #yandere #bts taehyung #I'm slowly getting the hang of this Tumblr site #pls like and reblog if u enjoyed it bc ;))

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meldelen · 4 years

Text

The Raistlin Chronicles - A (kinda) brief review

"El joven mago hizo su ronda, administrando jarabe de adormideras a aquellos que tenían dolores, humedeciendo las frentes de los que tenían fiebre, poniendo más mantas a los que tiritaban. Su tacto era delicado y su voz tenía un timbre compasivo que llegaba a los enfermos, que les resultaba creíble. No como la voz de las personas sanas, las robustas, por muy buena intención que tuviesen. "Sé lo que es sufrir - parecía decir Raistlin -. Sé lo que es sentir dolor."

Hard to believe this character will become a heartless arcane monster willing to crush everything and everyone to become a god, but that’s how it went.

After finishing The Raistlin Chronicles, a full volume which actually includes two books (The Soulforge and Brothers In Arms), I would read, without exaggeration, two, three, ten, twenty more volumes about the Majere brothers, and when I’d be finished I’d get down on my knees and say thank you (and then ask for more). I had hardly any memories of this story and I enjoyed it like it was the first time.

The Raistlin Chronicles is the prequel that Margaret Weis - with the collaboration of her husband, Don Perrin - has dedicated to who is her best character in the Dragonlance universe, the mage Raistlin Majere, going back to the origins of his life and the main events of his childhood and youth, which until now had been merely hinted in both the Chronicles and the Legends. Although, as I said, it is a prequel and could be read as a standalone book, it really works best if you have read the end - or near end - of the character’s arc first, i.e. the Chronicles and Legends, at least (and yes I'm talking about six books). It’s much more enjoyable once you know what the character will become, going back to the origins of evil, to invite you to reflect on how someone with so many gifts could be lost in such a way, and what caused it.

You might also think that if you don't like Raistlin - clearly I don't include myself there - then this book is of no interest to you. But the wonderful thing is that even so we are facing a fascinating, moving and engaging story despite everything. There comes a time, sooner or later, when you forget that you are in a world like Dungeons & Dragons reconstructing the story of a mage and his warrior brother and it could really be the story of any orphan, rejected by society, who among poverty and loneliness tries to make his way to survive. Very daily topics are treated with the utmost love and respect, where the quality of the author is seen. Poverty, loneliness, disease, love, jealousy, hate, are elaborated in a way that would serve us for any other scenario in real life.

The Soulforge - cover art by Larry Elmore.

The first part (The Soulforge) tells us about Raistlin's life from the age of six until the moment he passed the Test of the mages in the Tower of Wayreth, when he was practically left ill and disabled for life. The author is careful to remind us that the main character has been tormented - and will always be tormented - by three inner demons: pride, jealousy, ambition; each one worse than the previous and that will be the key to his personal ruin. Therefore, far from justifying him and revealing that darkness and evil were unleashed when he nearly lost his life in the Test, Weis reminds us that the darkness was always there, and that it was fueled by a series of personal misfortunes - Test included - of which many can be blamed, but also himself. And so where darkness is there’s also light: we are reminded that he also has inner virtues; intelligence, courage, perseverance, compassion. Little lights that will play a relevant role in his final redemption.

The second part (Brothers In Arms) that she wrote together with Don Perrin is focused on the first moments of the Majere twins as mercenaries; Raistlin as a battle mage and Caramon as a soldier; after the fateful Test which was an inflection in the history of the two brothers. I have heard many readers complain: this second part is boring, why is there so much military tactics, why are they now also telling us about Kitiara and her personal military career; and finally, why so many secondary characters not fully developed. Well, because it is necessary to give consistency to the story!

Raistlin and magic, cover art by Larry Elmore

It is appreciated that as we watch the brothers enlist as mercenaries in Baron Ivor’s army, we also follow their stepsister, Kitiara, on her ascent to dragon highlord. The second part is not boring for a moment and gives us interesting perspectives on military life and war that, again, would be worth for any other story, real or imagined. Although clearly inferior compared with the first part, this second I also enjoyed.

Flaws? Well, like everything good, it ends - and a little prematurely, since I’d have liked to continue to the starting point of the Chronicles, which would follow it chronologically. Second, that being a prequel, the author cannot escape the temptation to anticipate traits or leave hints of what will end up happening to her character, following her mantra of "the darkness was always there", only, in reality, it wasn't that much. Third, there’s also the temptation to make each event have a transcendental relevance in what will happen next, something that really rarely happens in a credible story. And fourth, there are recurring cliches, such as the need to create a character that works as a substitute for Tasslehoff (the half-kender Scrounger) in the second part, because such a character seems desperately needed to contrast with the bitter mage and his witless brother. Not that it bothers me. I've learned to appreciate this kind of characters, when I hated them before. Perhaps because I’ve not been able to write them well, even if I tried.

Brothers In Arms - cover art by Daniel R. Horne

Anyway, a wonderful, rich, moving book, much better written than - surprise! - the Chronicles and sometimes the Legends, Weis's personal touch is noticeable here, more powerful than when she writes together with Hickman. After all, Raistlin has always been her creature. No one knows him like her.

Highly recommended for Dragonlance fans and especially for Raistlin fans; but also for all those who can identify with the socially marginalized, abandoned of the world, who fought to make their way and, in the fight, progressively lost their humanity.

#dragonlance #books #margaret weis #don perrin #the soulforge #brothers in arms #the raistlin chronicles #characters #raistlin majere #caramon majere #kitiara uth matar #reviews #my reviews

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luspiel · 5 years

Text

Of Sunshine and Ashes

I had originally wanted to make a good impression on anyone stopping by, but seeing as I was alone and had been alone for the past twenty minutes at my depressing fold in table centered in the gym I had decided to screw it and unleash my catharsis via a resting mean mug. Of course as the ever temperamental pendulum of fate would have it, an unsuspecting person had decided to drop off their bones right at this very moment and bear witness to my exceedingly unaesthetic scowl. At the very least, I wished I could say that I was some kind of divine reaper tasked with collecting human bones and other unwanted rotting items before their trip to judgement. Alas, I’m simply the poor sap who was roped into collecting bones (of all things) for the very cliche Halloween celebration on Friday. With very little to distract me from my misfortunes, I greeted the hooded student in front of me. Without a word, he dropped two bags onto my flimsy table with a solid clunk. I eyed the contents of the bags apprehensively. The bones in those bags looked alarmingly similar to human bones. However of course, I could not proclaim to this shady character that I knew what human bones looked like only because of a midnight grave digging expedition gone wrong. Obviously. The stranger’s face took on a nervous expression which clashed quite theatrically with his bright yellow hoodie but complimented his black hair and pale features. A walking oxymoron, charming. “Is this okay? My understanding was that the bones didn’t have to be yours.” I lifted an eyebrow gingerly as I attempted to make several concealed glances between him and the offending bags and what laid inside them. I began to wonder about the unfortunate person who had once maybe been on a lovely stroll, wholly enjoying the feeling of perambulating on their own two bony legs, before having their life snuffed out by a walking fire hazard. Really, that was the brightest shade of yellow I had ever see in my life, and I had once stared at the the sun for 47 seconds straight on a triple dog dare! “And where, pray tell, did you get these bones from? Better yet,𝙬𝙝𝙤 are those bones?” Ah yes, I just hated it when a 16th century supercilious noble took over my brain and stopped it from sending messages to my mouth. This definitely was not a side effect of reading Pride and Prejudice by lamplight 6 times in the past week. No, that possession would only take place after my 7th reading of the book. This had to be the work of a vindictive bard enlisting the help of a petty and cruel noble in exchange for a masterful piccolo performance. The stranger had by this time begun to splutter uncontrollably. Clearly since we both were utterly confounded when it came to holding simple conversations, I would have to be to the one to snap out of my enlightened daydreams and try to make sense of the situation. “Please tell me that these bones wherever they came from were not once apart of a human’s anatomy.” Finally grasping how to use his tongue he spoke, which is to say he flung his arms around haphazardly while words occasionally came from his general direction. “No, of course not!” At long last getting his arms back under control he pointed forcefully at the bag closest to me. “Um, my cousin had a bonfire.” Perhaps, the guy had seen the lurid expression on my face and realized that his previous statement had done nothing to rectify his current situation and it’s disturbing implications. Or the boy had realized using his own neurons and synapses that that sentence was only socially acceptable in a few select contexts, and that this was certainly not one of them. “I mean—what I meant was—My-my cousin had a bonfire for her two dogs. A sort of celebration of life for them. They’re all washed and clean though.” I could only be placated so much because that meant that someone had skinned his cousin’s dogs like some sick oyster. Whoever they were, I hoped they knew they were the boogers of both land and sea. Even with the first bag accounted for, there was still an air of mystery hanging over the second bag with grim persistence. I nodded towards it, “And the second set of bones?” He breathed easily for what seemed like the first time in hours. “Oh, that’s my neighbor Tim’s.” I pursued my lips, pressed my shoulders back, and tried to look as imposing as possibly when sitting in a perpetually short swivel chair and wearing flip flops. Maneuvering into my default mode of annoyed retailer talking to a customer with their boss practically breathing in their carbon dioxide, I held back a long suffering sigh tinged with my regret for having sworn of defenestration at a young age. “I understand that on the flier we wrote that we didn’t care whether or not the bones were yours, but you do understand that it is only logical that we question you on how you obtained the aforementioned bones, yes?” He nodded. “And we, the Halloween Bash Organization otherwise known as HBO by a select few—” 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦, “are extremely grateful that you decided to contribute to our cause so that we can provide you with an enjoyable celebration on Friday.” The boy stared at me dully, it was unnerving to say the least but as we had already established that we are both awkward people I decided to carry on hoping he wasn’t secretly planning his next poleax. I cleared my throat, “I’d just like your name and number just in case you’d like to troubleshoot us or want your—𝘵𝘩𝘦 bones back.” He perked up considerably most likely happy to be done with my retailer’s voice. “My name’s Rhys Frank and I wrote my number on the clipboard, but you and the rest of HBO can keep the bones for any future decorations.” “Yep, we’ll do that,” I replied plastering my best ‘God help me in the face of this serial killer’ smile on my face. The boy had gone exactly three steps towards the door (I know because I counted) before loudly exclaiming bloody murder...quite literally. “Oh, Fudge nuggets! Bloody murder! Holy potato! Blast it all to damnation! Fudge!” He spun on his heel so quickly that he almost ended up making a full 360. “Tim is a Biology teacher. The bones are fake. They’re props meant to help children learn. I did not kill anyone. I am not a murderer. And I am very thankful for you listening to my Ted Talk.” And with that Rhys Frank was gone and I was finally let off this abominable roller coaster ride.

#luspiel #one day I’ll write a story pt. 2 #writing-prompt-s #bones #writeblr #writers on tumblr #prompts #Rhys #hoodies #yellow #2 hours /yes 2/ of my life gone #why???#why not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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purecamp · 5 years

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Now I Just Made It; I Found You At Last

not submitting this to AQ bc it’s not like.... relevant but anyway have this

Justin stared blankly at the screen in front of him, willing the little clock on the right hand corner to tick by just a little faster. The week had been long, gruelling - a new project was in the planning stages and as the most qualified architect for the job, Justin was under pressure to deliver above and beyond his usual high standard. Of course, it was enjoyable work, and it paid well, but he was finding himself feeling… well, stagnant. He needed a change of scenery, a breath of fresh air.

New York wasn’t a source of fresh air, per se. It was the world of business, the world he had thrown himself into with reckless abandon and found himself all the better for it. At the age of thirty eight, he found himself in a spacious apartment, not quite a penthouse but near enough, and enough spare expenses to dote on himself any luxuries he desired.

It was a busy, bustling, comfortable life. Affordable luxuries, a good job, a nice home.

Admittedly it wasn’t the life Justin had expected to find himself in. He had been sure, when he was young, that at this point in his life he would be married, perhaps with a few children. Luxuries meant little to him - he preferred simplicity and experiences over the expensive pressed suits and cufflinks that mattered so much to the people around him. In a way, he felt like a marionette playing a part made for someone else. He had tailored his life this way, and was finally starting to feel like he had outgrown the role.

A change was needed, but the clock wasn’t ticking fast enough.

“Mr Honard? Sir? Your coffee.”

The timid intern nudged the door open with her foot, smiling shyly as she placed the cup onto the desk. A few moments passed, and she didn’t leave.

“Miss Michaels, is there something I can do for you?” Justin asked her, as politely as he could manage. The girl couldn’t have been any older than eighteen, and he still remembered the days of feeling like a useless asset to a company much bigger than him. Nowadays he was the big fish, but still held as much respect as possible for the new small fry.

“Is it true that this next deal could be multi-million dollars? The girls were talking and I…” She paused. “I’d love to be that good some day.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Miss Michaels. It is true, yes. I guess this weekend won’t be a weekend for me, so I can try and get all this planning done in time for the meeting on Monday.” Justin sighed, steeling himself for the remaining five minutes of his day. “Still, work is work.”

Miss Michaels - Kameron, Justin believed her name was - excused herself, leaving him to shut down his laptop and sink into the leather chair, his eyes closing against his will. A multi-million dollar deal lay in front of him, and would only take a weekend of precise work to consolidate. Why, then, did he feel so stale? Where was the passion? Why did he feel like he was just running in circles, getting nowhere?

His yellow cab was already waiting after his swift exit from the office, still unsure as to whether he wanted to take up the generous offer that resided in his emails, waiting to be picked up. He would be a fool not to do it, and he knew it well. But that didn’t stop the nagging feeling that something in his life needed replacing, or uprooting. He was stuck.

It was, unsurprisingly enough, a slight deviation from his usual habits that led to the chain events that would end that stagnant, stuck-in-the-mud emptiness from Justin’s life once and for all.

His first action upon hearing the telltale ‘ding!’ of the lift to his apartment was to check his mailbox. Normally, he’d wait and open everything on Monday; nothing of any urgency arrived through the mail, and it was usually work-related documents that he would prefer to handle at work, or useless promotions and menus from establishments he would never eat from.

But the day had left him feeling sullen and somewhat bored, and he subconsciously begged for something that would let him escape for a while. Maybe a brochure for a slightly discounted holiday would be stuffed within the bank statements and tax filings, and he could use that as an excuse for some sort of holiday. Croatia had been nice, as had Egypt.

He pulled the various envelopes out and unlocked the apartment, throwing himself onto the sofa to sift through them all.

Bank statement, bank statement, last month’s tax returns, a notice from the last build, an automated thank you letter from two months ago… and a blue envelope.

Hmm. A small stamp decorated the corner of the envelope, depicting a classically beautiful Aphrodite, rising in her nude glory from the depths of the ocean. In the middle, in black ink, unfamiliar handwriting had scrawled Justin Honard.

Curious but not yet hopeful enough to pin any excitement onto the contents of the envelope, he pulled out the paper inside. It was neatly folded in half, concealing the contents, although judging by its size, it seemed unlikely that it was a letter. Perhaps an invitation to a party of some kind, or a charity gala.

It is with sheer delight that this happy couple announces their engagement!

A date was printed underneath, and the name of a hotel that Justin didn’t recognise. Glancing up, he didn’t recognise the names of the bride or groom either - only first names were provided, under the assumption that whoever was receiving the invitation clearly knew the couple well enough to be certain of whose wedding they were going to be attending.

Briefly, he wondered if the invitation had come to him by mistake. Yet clear as day, his name was written on the envelope, and…

Justin’s heart skipped a beat. Beneath the unfamiliar hotel, a much more familiar location was listed, somewhere he knew he would never be able to return to in good conscience.

The island.

He held his breath. There was no way he could return, not a chance in Hell. God, he hadn’t thought about her in so long…

Well, that was a lie. She crossed his mind at the most inane of times, not always, but often enough that her presence remained always in the back of his mind, reminding him of the things he’d done. Her laughter still echoed in his ears, her tears still haunted his dreams. But he hadn’t properly relived that one awful, fateful day in decades. How could he go back there - her home - knowing how much he had hurt her?

Then his eyes darted down to the very bottom of the invitation, and he stopped breathing altogether.

Please come. -Sharon

She… She…

It made no sense.

Sharon hated him. She had made that clear.

It had been twenty years…

But no. He knew that girl - that woman. Their love affair may have been brief, but Justin knew more about her than he knew about the world around him, the career he had chosen, the life he had perfected. He knew that she smelt like vanilla and sea-salt and makeup. He knew that she liked short skirts and tight pleather and simple cotton sheets against her skin. He knew that her heart and soul were comprised of hellish fire, and for better or for worse, she felt every emotion that struck her with the intensity of a thousand lovers.

Sharon wasn’t a fool, he knew that. She would never carelessly forgive him for ruining her.

It made no sense. This was some cruel joke, a trick played by a god to punish him for daring to try and break free from his own life’s restraints. And yet… why had he sprung to his feet? Why were the rest of letters discarded on the floor, with only this invitation clutched between his trembling fingers? Why was he already heading towards the bedroom to pack his things?

Damn it all. Sharon hadn’t been part of his life for two long decades and yet she was still able to undo him at his very core and unravel everything he had built without her. What did any of it mean, anyway? His illustrious career and expensive apartment in a city he didn’t truly love - why did any of that matter? He had been searching desperately for any kind of whim that would allow him to escape once and for all.

Love him or hate him, Sharon’s name was signed at the bottom of the invite, and it took Justin mere minutes to fill his suitcase with clothing. Simple clothing - the kind one would wear to fall in love on a magical Greek island, rather than seal business deals in the industrial side of New York City. Anything else could be found on the way. Time, all of a sudden, seemed to be of the essence. Twenty years melted into nothing.

He dashed out of the door in disarray, his suitcase packed, his top-three shirt buttons undone and his hair mussed from raking his hands through it. A last-minute flight was booked to Athens and Justin knew that from array of taxicabs he could see from his window that making his way to the airport would be no trouble at all.

And somehow, just like that, Sharon Needles turned his whole life upside down once again, a whole twenty years after she’d done it the first time.

“Are you fucking kidding! Is this a joke? Is this some cosmic fucking joke?”

The man a few feet away from Justin uttered his inner sentiments perfectly as he gazed after the small red dot on the horizon.

“Hello? Fucking ferry? Come back!”

He sighed. “I need to get to that fucking island. This is fucked.”

Justin nodded in agreement. “Yeah. And the next ferry-”

“Tuesday. Bad tide or some shit like that. I can’t wait that long!” The other man complained. “I have a wedding!”

Justin’s ears pricked. “Trixie and Brian?”

“You know them?”

“No.” Justin answered truthfully. “I have an invite… I know someone on the island.”

That was as much detail as he felt comfortable providing to this total stranger. After all, how would he even begin to explain his predicament? Hi, stranger. I emailed the multi-million dollar deal company with a short email explaining that I am unavailable, turned down the biggest job of my career for a chance that I might see a girl whose heart I broke twenty years ago, and ten hours later I’m stood on a dock at the edge of mainland Greece next to you, having missed the only ferry that will take me to her, and somehow a wedding is involved in this entire convoluted mess of a story.

The other man shrugged. “Same. I’m Willam.”

“Justin.”

Willam’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he recognised the name, but he shrugged a second time and held out his hand to shake it. Two heads were better than one, and somehow they needed to find a way across a large expanse of ocean to one of the most remote islands he had ever been to.

God, he’d missed that little pocket of paradise.

“Okay, maybe we can…” Willam trailed off. “Nope, I got nothing. Like, I have a boat, but it’s on the island and that’s not fucking useful right now. I need it here.”

“A boat? I have a boat!” A third voice chimed in. The owner of said voice smiled rakishly, gesturing to what looked like a barely seaworthy vessel bobbing in the waves a few feet away from them. Both Justin and Willam grimaced at it. “Uh-”

“Kidding!” He grinned, and pointed to a much larger boat, named The Carey. “She’s served me well, this one has. Anyway, you two gentlemen look like you need a ride and I’m nothing if not a generous Samaritan.”

Call him superstitious, it felt like a sign. The man introduced himself as Jaremi, and soon enough they were loading their things onto his boat, preparing to sail across to the island he’d missed so much. It had to be fate, for everything to align so perfectly. Someone up there was making sure, one way or another, that he would make it to this island. He was sure, tucked in his pocket, the little Aphrodite stamp was winking at him. This was her doing.

“So you’re Jaremi Carey? That guy who writes about weird places?” Willam interrogated him, the wind whipping his blonde hair into his face. Justin had taken a liking to Willam in the hour that he’d known him, and was warming to Jaremi too. He spoke little as the other two chatted away, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon for any evidence that the island he had been dreaming of hadn’t been purely fictitious.

It seemed like one of those serendipitous moments in life where a common purpose united three total strangers. Jaremi, too, had an invitation to the wedding, and was equally as cagey about his association with the bride or groom. A more rational Justin would think on it, trying to conjure reasons for such a strange link between them, but he couldn’t.

Not once had he been able to think clearly when Sharon was around. She was all-consuming, her love encompassing him in ways he never knew love could. She had been self-professed innocent when he met her, but it was truly him who had been naive to what love could do to a man. In a matter of weeks he was completely changed, enthralled with this laughing goddess and her deep blue eyes. Her picture was as fresh in his mind as it had been twenty years ago.

Perhaps stupidly, he had dug out those photos of her and packed them into his suitcase, just to remind himself, selfishly, that she had loved him once. He didn’t deserve an ounce of her heart, not anymore, but it was a comfort to him knowing that, for a short time, she had loved him with everything she had. She didn’t need to know that his love for her had never died down, anyway. Justin was sure she was now perfectly happy with the man of her dreams.

But maybe…?

No. Justin stopped the fluttering hope in his chest as soon as it blossomed. She had asked him to come to the wedding, but that didn’t mean she had spent twenty years pining for his return. He was being ridiculous; a woman like Sharon would never allow herself to sink so low. She was strong, smart, resilient - and somebody as intoxicating as her would definitely have been treated right by now.

Whatever the situation, Justin told himself he didn’t care. He would get to see her again, and that was reward enough.

Oh my god, it was Sharon.

It wasn’t Sharon, but it might well have been. She was every bit Sharon, from head-to-toe she was his ex-lover, radiant and beautiful at no more than twenty years old. Standing before them, she regarded them with sparkling eyes and a nervous smile.

“Perhaps this young lady will be able to help us… Hello there! We three strangers have been invited to a wedding by Sharon, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about what’s going on, would you? I’m Jaremi.” He offered his hand for the young girl to shake, which she accepted.

When she spoke, her voice was breathless and yet - still so similar to hers. Sweeter, and higher, Justin noted. Sharon’s had more of a rasp to it, a husk that he had never been able to forget. Twenty years on, and the exact tone of her voice hadn’t escaped the depths of his memory.

“Yes, yes… Yes, we’re expecting you. You two must be Justin and Willam.”

Willam nodded and introduced himself, letting Justin go last. As each of them spoke, the young girl eyed them with a peculiar look. It seemed innocent and curious enough, but it was almost as if she was searching for something. After a few moments, she seemed to shake out of her trance and tucked a lock of her hair - golden blonde, like Sharon’s - behind her ear.

“Come with me, we have rooms for you. Well… one room. We’re a little tied up for space at the moment, with this wedding that’s happening.”

She led them, but she needn’t have bothered. Justin still remembered every step of the way, every winding path that would eventually lead to the taverna, every secret cave and cove perfect for a romantic evening or - as he tried not to dwell on for too long - a passionate embrace. It was only when they reached what used to be a rocky hill and an old wooden shack that things were new to him. The aforementioned hotel stood before them, shining white in the Greek sunshine.

She did it, Justin thought to himself, knowing he had no right to be proud and yet filled with pride all the same. She achieved her dream.

“We’ll, uh, have to go round the back of everything.” The girl told them, smiling sweetly as she took them into the lower courtyard. Her eyes seemed to be darting back and forth. “Everything’s a little hectic, so it’s easier that way.”

“Seems fair. Is Sharon around?” Justin spoke up.

God. Even saying her name was like a breath of fresh air away from his old life. It was as if at once, the stress and mundanity of his regular life dissipated. Her name on his lips had more power than he knew what to do with.

“Not at the moment, but I’m sure she will be.” She replied after a moment’s hesitation, steering them through alleys and shortcuts and clambering over boxes of hay and bottles and fresh produce. It seemed like a strange way to get to a hotel room, granted, but the three had decided unanimously not to argue with the girl. Clearly, she knew the hotel better than they did.

Maybe five or so minutes later, they arrived. All three began to settle their bags onto one of the three beds, as the girl dusted herself off to look a little more presentable for their official introduction. It had been a little bit of an arduous journey, given the morning heat, and she looked a little flustered as she smiled apologetically at them.

“Sorry if this seemed a little rushed… I’m Trixie.”

Ah. So this was the girl from the invite.

“You’re the girl getting married?”

Trixie’s face split into a beam, and she lifted her hand to reveal the silver ring on her finger. Justin’s vision tunnelled - that smile was one he had never been able to forget, practically pasted onto someone else’s face. He had known from the moment he saw her, but that smile seemed to confirm everything for him. Unknown feelings - not pleasant, but not unpleasant - bubbled in his stomach. She was talking, but Justin couldn’t understand a word of it. She… She…

“You’re Sharon’s daughter.”

Sharon had a daughter. Sharon, the love of his life, immortalised in his memory at the tender age of seventeen, had a daughter. This was undoubtedly her, stood before him. Proof that Sharon had managed to move on with her life after they had fallen apart. She had something truly marvellous to show for it.

Seemingly caught unawares, Trixie just nodded helplessly.

“I knew you looked familiar.” Justin found himself unable to stop, his mind now flooded with thoughts of her. “God, I bet she hasn’t aged a day.”

Seeing Trixie was jarring. He knew Sharon would be different now, especially given how much he had changed in their years apart, but meeting her daughter who was nothing if not the exact image of Sharon in her youth had fucked with his head. He somehow knew that Sharon would be even more beautiful than she had been before, a feat he had long thought impossible.

“I know she’s busy, but can I see her? I want to thank her for this invite-”

“No!” Trixie rushed out, her expression filling with fear. It was yet another look that Justin knew all too well; he had seen it on her mom, way back when her biggest worry was her own mother’s wrath. “I… shit. Mom didn’t send the invitations to you, I did. She doesn’t know you’re here.”

And just like that, Justin’s euphoria shattered.

“Listen.” She whispered, drawing closer. “She’s been so stressed constantly about my wedding, so I felt bad and invited you guys to cheer her up. She talks about her friends from the past all the time, I thought she’d like it.”

Friends. Friends didn’t even begin to cover what they had. Nor indeed what they had left behind. Justin was definitely something of an enemy, the way he’d broken her heart. He shouldn’t have come at all.

Trixie took a deep breath and continued. “Just… if she sees you, don’t tell her you’re here for my wedding. Make something up, a happy coincidence that you’re here. Please. She’ll freak out at having unexpected guests, I just know it, but once she gets past the stress she’ll be so happy.”

Justin sighed heavily. “I shouldn’t be here, I should go. Trixie, your mom hates me.”

Hate, too, felt like a massive understatement. He had been told in no uncertain terms exactly what she thought of his scumbag, lying self, and he had deserved every second of it. The pain it caused him bore no weight against everything that he had done to her, and he wondered if Trixie actually knew the truth about him. Surely, she wouldn’t be so kind if she knew how he had treated her mom.

“Maybe she did, twenty years ago.” Trixie countered, with that obstinate look he knew so well. “No one can hold a grudge, or any kind of feeling, for that long. You can’t just go! I want you at my wedding, all of you!”

Willam and Jaremi, slowly, began to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Though his heart felt heavy, Justin cracked a smile as Trixie’s intent dawned on him. Whatever she was planning remained a mystery, but it was clear she had gleaned her persuasive skills from her mom.

Jaremi took his hat off and grinned. “You’re a firecracker, like your mom. He’ll stay, won’t you Justin?”

He sighed. “I suppose I have to. Seems like your mom’s taught you all her old tricks. There’s no way of getting out of this, is there?”

Trixie beamed, clearly relieved. “Nope! Remember what I said - lie, lie, and lie again. She can’t know I invited you, or that you’re here for the wedding. She’ll go insane.”

She paused. “And, uh, trust me when I say insane. She’s a little crazy right now, handling all this on her own.”

God, what a fucking superstar. She’s achieved so many great things.

“I need to get going…” Trixie murmured, her expression regretful. “Thank you so much for accepting those invites.”

Justin snorted, but there was no malice in it. It felt more like resignation - one way or another, he was going to have to stay here, all because Sharon’s daughter had convinced him. “It was always impossible to say no to your mother. Twenty years, and nothing’s changed.”

#i cant add a read more UGH #higa

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peachiefics · 6 years

Text

Book Club

Pairing: Librarian!Joshua x OC

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3,147

Synopsis: A summer book club between a librarian and the most interesting girl he’s ever met may be exactly the kind of inspiration he needs to finish his novel.

Author’s Note: Happy birthday to my favorite little Sweet Potato!

Joshua had always been a particularly imaginative boy. Reading became his first love at a very young age, and shortly after, his love affair with writing began. As he grew into adulthood, he honed his skill diligently, always eager to read something new that might spark his imagination in a way it hadn’t been before. So, when he got a job at the local library, he felt like he was in Heaven. Years passed, and his mental repertoire only grew larger. But despite the vast number of stories he had collected by the time he reached age twenty-two, he never could’ve imagined falling for her.

She was a walking disaster. A five-foot-five tornado of a girl who brought with her a hectic sense of calm wherever she went. A contradiction, he was sure, but somehow, it just made sense to him in the most confusing yet intriguing way. He remembers the first time he saw her stumble into the library like it was yesterday.

He sat at the front desk, head propped on his left hand as he held open his newest read with the right. The pitter patter of rain against the windows kept him company as he sat in the empty building. His ears perked up at the sound of the bell on the front door ringing lightly. Glancing towards it, he noticed a girl, around his age, who had been drenched to the bone. She waddled over, her baggy clothes, now soaked, weighing her down a bit.

“Uh, hi,” he hesitated.

Raising her hand to lift the endearing mess of auburn curls away from her eyes, she smiled brightly at the clerk. “Hi, there!” she chirped.

Joshua took note of her features. They were a little rough, but adorable all the same. Golden taupe skin littered with terra cotta freckles and adorned by rosy cheeks whose color spread across her wideset button nose. “How can I help you today?” he asked, setting his book down.

She parted her slightly chapped lips to reply, “I’m here to return a book, actually.”

“In this weather? I admire your dedication,” he chuckled.

“Well, you see, my last three returns were tardy, and I really can’t afford another late fee,” she rambled, hand busy searching for the novel hidden somewhere at the bottom of her seemingly bottomless bag.

“Yeah, those fees do start to add u-”

“Found it!” she exclaimed, pulling it out victoriously, before quickly reaching up to cover her mouth in embarrassment. “Sorry,” she giggled nervously.

The corner of Joshua’s mouth twitched upward in something of a smile at the sound. It seemed as though the almost childlike innocence about her went beyond the pleasant roundness of her face. “It’s fine. The place is empty; has been all day,” he shrugged, taking the book and opening it to process the card in the back. He gave a quiet ‘thank you’ when she handed over her library card unprompted.

When he looked up from the computer, she was gone, but noticing the trail of water on the floor, he figured she had just gone to the back section to pick out another book. A few moments later, she returned with a stack of books that piled up above her nose.

“Quite the avid reader, aren’t you?” he laughed lightly. The same melodic sound left her throat as he watched the corners of her eyes crinkle from the smile that he couldn’t see but knew was there. She placed the books on the counter and he began to process all of them. He stopped at one particular book and smiled brightly. “Starry-Eyed. I loved this one.”

“Really? It was a good one?” she inquired, resting an elbow on the wooden countertop.

“It was amazing! It’s just…nevermind. Sorry,” he cut himself short.

“No, what is it?!”

“I just don’t want to spoil the ending for you!” he laughed.

“No such thing! Besides, I usually read the end first, anyway.” The confused expression that crossed his face prompted her to explain. “Knowing the end makes connecting the dots more fun! Besides, studies show that it makes reading more enjoyable. It’s science.”

“Well, can’t argue with science. Anthony dies in the end before he can confess his love to Julia, and that apparently upsets most of the people who read this, but I won’t tell you how he dies. You’ll just have to find that out on your own.”

“Fair enough. And I’ll come back and give you a full book report on it,” she joked. “I’m Maggy, by the way.”

The dark-haired librarian felt a grin stretch across his face as he replied, “Joshua.”

Two days later, the door forcefully swung open, the bell’s excessive ringing catching Joshua’s attention. His lips curved into a smile as his eyes landed on the auburn bush that was moving towards the counter.

“This is bullshit!” she exclaimed, placing the book in front of him. Crossing his arms in amusement, he let her continue. “He totally could’ve confessed to her if he just put his pride aside and then they would’ve lived happily ever after!”

“But where’s the fun in that?” he chuckled.

“The happily ever after is the fun part, you heartless pessimist!”

“I like to think that I’m more of a realist,” he explained nonchalantly, resting his chin in his hand as he leaned over the desk. She frowned at his response, her slight pout making her seem even cuter to him. “So, on a scale of one to ten, how much did you love the book?” he asked in a knowing tone.

“Eleven,” she sighed, resting her chin in her hand in a similarly relaxed fashion.

And that’s how their two-person book club began. He would start from the beginning. And she would start from the end. And they would meet somewhere in between. And somewhere in between the time they first met and the time she kissed him goodbye, he knew he had fallen in love with her. But we haven’t quite gotten there yet.

He can’t recall the exact moment that it happened for the life of him. Years later they’ll argue about it over glasses of champagne with their closest friends admiring their playful banter. But again, we haven’t quite gotten there yet. At this present moment, he has three guesses.

The first is Children’s Day at the library. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her sitting among the children on the floor, pretzel style, reading to them with excitement as she put on funny voices. They stared at her in awe and adoration, and to be completely honest, so did he.

As he was putting some books away in the kid’s section a few moments later, he noticed a little boy tug on her arm. Once the children dispersed to find new books to take home, she followed him to a nearby shelf. She leaned down for him to whisper something in her ear before smiling and standing upright again.

“This one?” she asked, pointing to a book on the top shelf.

He nodded with a bright grin and she reached up to grab it, having to stand on her toes in order to do so. Handing him the book, she giggled when he wrapped his arms around her legs to thank her in the form of a hug.

“You’re staring,” a tiny voice called out to Joshua from a few feet away.

The sound startled him, though he’d never admit to being frightened by a five-year-old. “What? I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he replied nervously, having trouble meeting the precocious little girl’s gaze. She was a regular there, so he remembered seeing her often.

“I’m little, but I’m still smart. You like her; it’s ovbious!” she exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips as she mispronounced the word.

He quickly shushed her, frantically placing a finger over his own mouth. “We’re in a library, remember?”

She rolled her eyes and leaned forward to whisper, though it was still rather loud, “You like her!”

Joshua’s hand flew to his forehead, his face burning in embarrassment. Was it weird that maybe he did kind of like her? Was it weird that it was apparently so obvious, a child could pick up on it? “Oh my god…. Okay, look, if you just run along and forget this, I’ll forget your last late book return, so that you can pick out a new one today.”

The pigtailed nuisance pondered the thought for a moment before replying with a nod. “Deal.”

“Great, now go pick your book and get outta here, okay?” he smiled in relief.

“You got it, Mr. Book Man!”

About an hour later, Children’s Day came to an end and Joshua had finally processed the last of the nosy little girl’s books. As Maggy approached the front desk, the child looked up at Joshua and winked as best she could before running off and exiting the library. He found the gesture peculiar but assumed that it was in reference to their little agreement.

“Hey, Josh?” his curly haired friend asked, a sly smile prominent on her face.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna explain why that little girl gave this to me?,” she giggled, reaching over the desk to hand him a folded piece of paper covered in crayon.

He deadpanned, silently taking the note and opening it, his expression changing to one of horror as he scanned the crudely written letters.

‘DO YOU LIKE MR. BOOK MAN? CURCLE YES OR NO’

“That little-” He felt more embarrassed than angry, but before he could finish his statement, she took the note back and grabbed a nearby pen. He watched her in confusion as she scribbled something on it and handed it back. Looking at her with a raised eyebrow prompted her to nod towards the note in his hand.

“Open it.”

He did so and couldn’t help but laugh.

“I had a feeling you wouldn’t say it first, but getting a five-year-old to do your bidding? That’s a bold move, Mr. Book Man,” she smirked.

“She, uh…She took the initiative on that… But I’m glad the feeling is mutual,” he smiled.

Perhaps Joshua fell for Maggy when she read the first draft of his first novel. It wasn’t finished at the time, so unfortunately for her, she had to start from the beginning.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you read this,” he muttered, watching her eyes dart across the screen of his laptop. Shifting uncomfortably, he leaned against the headboard of his bed and let his eyes drift to the beige wallpaper across the room. “It’s so embarrassing.”

With a sigh, she set down the laptop and closed it, turning to face him and crossing her legs. “Want me to tell you something embarrassing about myself to make things even?” Noticing him nod, she picked up a tasseled pillow and played with the fringe on the edges. “You may not have noticed, but I happen to be very uncoordinated.”

Without meaning to, Joshua let out a snort. Looking down ad her band-aid-clad legs, he laughed. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

With a scowl that wrinkled her nose in the least intimidating way, she threw the pillow at him, though he managed to catch it.

“You gotta gimmie something better than that.”

“Fine,” she hesitated. “My middle name is Beatrice.”

“…Beatrice?”

“Yes, Margret Beatrice Johnson. Don’t you dare laugh.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, to keep a smile from forming. “It’s very…refined.”

“Yeah, yeah. Your turn,” she murmured, moving to sit next to him against the headboard.

“I guess we’re going back and forth then, huh?” he chuckled. She nodded in response and he let out a long sigh. “Alright, uhhhhhh….Well, I don’t know if you could consider this to be embarrassing per se, but before our first date, I hadn’t been on one in over a year.”

“Any particular reason?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“I guess no one piqued my interest,” he answered, meeting her gaze.

“I suppose I can take that as a compliment,” she smiled proudly.

“I’d say you could,” he grinned. “You are by far the most…interesting girl I’ve ever met,” he added.

She rolled her eyes in response before an idea seemed to strike her. “Well, that explains the weird disconnect between the love interests in your novel; no offense.”

“None taken. I’m admittedly out of practice, which leaves me with a rather foggy point of reference,” he shrugged.

She bit her plump bottom lip lightly, a nervous habit he picked up on a few weeks prior. Eyes leaving his, she let her hand find his. “Well, now you have me,” she said in a soft tone, fingers toying with his slightly larger ones. “If anything, at least for research purposes,” she added on with a slight laugh to soften the impact.

Locking his fingers with hers, he replied, “And I think you’ll be the perfect muse.”

As she looked up, she was met with lidded eyes and fresh mint. Just as their lips were mere centimeters apart, she pulled away. “Josh, I’m leaving in a few weeks.”

Eyebrows now raised, he couldn’t help but utter, “Well, I definitely pictured that going differently.” Releasing her hand and running his own through his hair, he let out a breath he was unaware he had been holding. “Leaving?”

“I got a job offer out of state that starts in September, and I just know that long distance isn’t for everyone, not that I wouldn’t be willing to try; it’s just that there are so many girls here who’d love a chance to be with you a-” her rambling was silenced by Joshua’s lips.

“Josh…I can’t help but think that this is a bad idea, because we both know how this kind of thing ends,” she almost whispered as they pulled away.

The corner of his mouth curved upward, and he pressed his forehead against hers. “Well, a very interesting girl once told me that knowing the end makes connecting the dots more fun…It’s science,” he chortled.

“Well, can’t argue with science,” she giggled. Leaning back to rest her weight on her palm, she tilted her head to the side and asked, “Do the couple in your story get a happy ending?”

With a gentle hand under her chin, he leaned closer and gave an unsure smile. “I really hope so.”

Or maybe he realized he loved her the day he had to let her go.

Joshua hastily made his way through the crowded the airport, knowing that her flight would be leaving soon. Shrugging his messenger bag onto his shoulder, he looked around, searching for her auburn mess of curls.

“Josh, over here!” she called out to him from the food court. A grin stretched across his face as he walked over, taking in her figure, dressed in that one sweatshirt he hadn’t been able to find for the life of him. “Well, don’t you look snazzy,” she giggled, gesturing at his neatly tucked button-down and tie.

“Thanks. I uh—I wanted you to remember me as well-dressed,” he blushed lightly.

“Josh, I’m moving, not dying,” she replied, taking a sip of her Slurpee. Without a second thought, she held it out to him to offer some. “Want some?”

“No thanks,” he politely declined. “And I know,” he added with a nervous laugh, hand darting to the back of his neck. “I just wanted to look nice for you.”

That was enough to make her heart melt faster than the frozen drink in her hand. Years from now she’ll swoon over how thoughtful he always was, noting that this was the very moment she had fallen for him.

She wordlessly wrapped a gentle hand around his tie and tugged him into a chilly, chaste kiss. “You’re adorable; you know that?”

“Says the five-foot klutz with a million freckles,” he teased. Just as he was about to get lost in another kiss, he remembered the weight in his bag and pulled away. “Oh, I have something for you!”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know, but I wanted to,” he shrugged before opening the bag and pulling out a book. Watching her eyes light up as he handed it to her made him smile uncontrollably.

“Starry-Eyed,” she read the cover with a bright grin and burning cheeks. “Our first book.”

“And in this entire galaxy that exceeds my foggiest notion of existence,” he began, waiting for her to finish the quote.

“There is no place I would rather be than lost within the depths of my lover’s starry-eyed gaze. Thank you so much, Joshua. I love it.” Before she could pull him into a hug, he stopped her.

“One more thing,” he explained, reaching into the bag again as she placed her drink on a nearby table.

“Flight 29 D now boarding,” the stoic voice over the airport’s system informed, grabbing their attention.

Joshua quickly pulled out a stapled stack of paper and gave it to her. “I want you to be the first to read it.”

“Your manuscript?” She exclaimed, scanning the front with his name and the title boldly written. “I can’t wait to read this on the plane.”

“Well, I want you to read the last sentence on the last page right now...So I can see your face when you do.”

She looked at him for a second, eyebrow raised in suspicion, when the airport employee spoke again. “Flight 29 D now boarding.”

“Please, it’ll only take a second,” Joshua ask, lightly touching Maggy’s arm.

She nodded and flipped to the last page, eyes skimming downward.

‘In that moment, the uncertainties were as numerous as the terra cotta freckles adorning her cherub cheeks, but he found solace in being certain that his love for her was just as limitless.’

Her eyes met his again, and for the first time since they had met, she was speechless.

“I-I don’t know when it happened; I just know that it did…I love you… Margret Beatrice Johnson,” he breathed, tone changing from one of unsure hesitance to one of pure admiration.

She haphazardly threw her arms over his shoulders, taking him by surprise as she pulled him into a hug. “I love you, too, Josh.”

“Oh, thank God,” he sighed in relief. “Otherwise the ride home would’ve really sucked,” he laughed, pulling back to kiss her again.

“Flight 29 D now boarding.”

She begrudgingly parted from him and gave a sad smile. “I’ll call you as soon as we land.”

“You better,” he smiled back, kissing her forehead.

And with that, she grabbed her things and went off to board her flight, but not before giving him one last wave goodbye. He waved back and pulled his messenger bag back on, comforted by the fact that he knew this wasn’t the end of their love story.

It was only the beginning.

#joshua #joshua hong #seventeen #joshua seventeen #svt #kpop #kpop fanfiction #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #joshua fluff #black kpop fans #fluff #kpop fluff #seventeen joshua

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douxreviews · 6 years

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The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies (2014) Review

Bilbo Baggins: "One day I'll remember. Remember everything that happened: the good, the bad, those who survived... and those that did not."

How can something so impressive leave me feeling underwhelmed? I wanted to like this movie a whole lot more, but I'm mostly just mildly disappointed.

There was a lot to like in this movie, mostly in the first twenty minutes. Don't get me wrong, the epic battle that lasted for most of the second and third acts of the film was amazing, but it was also familiar and occasionally looked fake. The first part though? Well, that was just awesome. It should really have been the final moments of the last film, but Jackson must have thought for some reason that it was the wrong note on which to end The Desolation of Smaug.

I'm not here to rip this movie to shreds, because that's not the message I want to convey. It was a technical achievement, it was an end to a fifteen-year-long journey, it was the final nod to a franchise that has captured the imagination of the world, and it did its job in spectacular fashion. I had no major problems with the plot or the acting. I had some issues with the directing, but nothing major. But I think the pacing was off, and so was the focus. The thing that bothered me the most was the fact I had no emotional connection to this particular installment.

It's been a year since the last movie, and there was no recap. There were no significant emotional moments in the beginning of the film that connected me to the characters we've gotten to know over two movies. The entire first act was taken up by Bard and his journey. Even though I loved that segment, I feel it segregated our main characters from the action in a rather unpleasant way. Now I imagine this is also true of the book, but there were some choices that didn't make sense to me.

For as talented as Jackson is, there was an absence of his usual attention to detail and character. If this had been an action franchise movie, I probably would've been okay with the total lack of explanation and to a degree logic behind the actions of the characters. But not here, not for this franchise. I expected more. I didn't understand the motivations and the simple reasons behind one of the main characters' choices. Sure, you can simply say 'magic' and that's an explanation, but it is a piss poor one. I know I'm dancing around spoilers now, and that means I should probably just stop my current rant. So I'll leave it with this; if you are going to completely change a character, let that change at least make some sense, and don't write it off to some mystical disease that isn't really a disease! Sigh.

I guess I should probably mention the other major flaw with this movie: the effects. For the most part, this movie featured the most gorgeous battle sequences I've ever seen, with attention paid to both bigger battles and more intimate fights between the foes that have been set up since the beginning of the series. Most of these fight sequences were treated with a deliberate and attentive hand, with the highest polish on effects that couldn't be done practically.

That is, except when those effects just didn't work, and the rubbery CGI showed its ugly face. There were times where things looked so unreal that if I had come into the theater during that sequence I might have thought this was an animated feature. The worst offenses were when CGI took over the actions of the human characters, and my god, did they look wrong. To be fair, these shots were better executed than a lot of movies that have attempted the same type of visual trickery, but they were still not even remotely convincing.

I guess the overall package wasn't the issue here. It was just a few badly chosen elements that spoiled the experience for me. Perhaps the source material isn't as strong as The Lord of the Rings, or perhaps it just doesn't translate as well to a big screen. Did Jackson add too much, or take away too much in the end? I honestly can't answer that question, but I'd like to know. But no matter the answer, I am left torn and disappointed. On one hand this was a very good series that ties beautifully to The Lord of the Rings. On the other, it is a poorly paced mishmash of good ideas and iffy execution.

Bits:

Tauriel (Evangeline Lilly) wasn't quite as amazing as she was in the second movie, but she definitely stood out. At the same time her character arc felt a bit under-written, as if her big emotional discovery wasn't fully set up.

Thranduil (Lee Pace) kind of annoyed me on several occasions, but wow did he have a cool mount with amazing antlers. It just goes to show antlers are as useful as they are beautiful.

Perhaps the coolest scene outside of the opening conflict was the rescue of Gandalf. It really showed what the major powers of the realms could do, and I wish we could've seen more of that.

There was a secondary human character that kept showing up and doing shady things. I'm not sure there was a point to his character, as in, I think if they had edited him out entirely, the movie would've flowed better. Much like the human antagonists in the previous film. I assume he was a book character that fans would've been upset over being cut out.

Thranduil: "So this is the Halfling who ate my food and stole keys from my guard." Bilbo: "Yes. Sorry about that."

Despite everything I said above, this is still a very enjoyable experience that I do recommend.

3 out of 4 Epic moments of mighty heroism

J.D. Balthazar is a confirmed nerd who loves most things sci-fi or fantasy-related.

#The Hobbit #The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies #Lord of the Rings #Bilbo Baggins #Gandalf #Peter Jackson #J.R.R. Tolkien #Doux Reviews #Movie Reviews #something from the archive

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mermaidsirennikita · 6 years

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April 2018 Book Roundup

In April, I read silly books and I read books that were deadly (literally) serious. It’s possible that the most well-written book I read was Madeline Miller’s Circe, which I loved and found much more satisfying than Song of Achilles. But the most enjoyable book? It was Laura Thalassa’s Pestilence, the romance novel about a girl, an apocalypse, and a sexy horseman who spreads disease. What more could you want?

Pestilence by Laura Thalassa. 4/5. When the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse show up, all technology fails, sending the world into chaos. Then they disappear. Five years later, Pestilence has reappeared, and wherever he goes a plague kills everyone in his path. Sara, an ex-firefighter, has been sent to kill him. When that fails? She becomes his prisoner--with Pestilence claiming that he’s keeping her alive to make her suffer. Of course, that’s not what’s really going on, and yes, this is a full-blown romance novel. It’s also one of the most enjoyable books I’ve read all year thus far. Sara and Pestilence’s romance is ridiculous, engrossing, hilarious, and yes, pretty sexy. One thing I loved about this book is that while Pestilence is in his very nature a conqueror and pretty much a living plague--he’s also very boyish and inexperienced and the book makes that inexperience very sexy. Because Sara’s experienced. Sara is sarcastic, foul-mouthed, and pretty sexual; and very rarely do you come across a romance novel that lacks a serious alpha male. Like, yes, Pestilence has his dominant moments, but overall he’s more like... sorta hapless. I mean, spoiler alert, they have sex, what a shocker, and when Sara is annoyed that he’s not being more chill about it he’s like “I GAVE YOU MY ESSENCE SARA~~~~”. It’s one of those books. I loved it.

I Was Anastasia by Ariel Lawhon. 3/5. Anna Anderson was famous for pretending to be famous--after an attempted suicide, she claimed to be Anastasia Romanov, and was so convincing that people who met and were related to the grand duchess backed her. “I Was Anastasia” explores Anna’s life--backwards. Meanwhile, the story of Anastasia Romanov is told moving forward. Somewhere, they meet in the middle, as does the truth. In a basic way, this is a good historical fiction novel. It doesn’t reinvent the wheel. The thing is that if you know anything about Anastasia, you know about Anna; there aren’t any twists to be had. What kept this from being a four-star read, aside from the fact that it was a bit expected, was one thing concerning the grand duchesses that is pretty debatable from what I understand, and--I’m not sure it was necessary. But if you’re into the Romanovs, you may want to check this out.

Lady Killers: Deadly Women Throughout History by Tori Telfer. 4/5. A collection of write-ups on female serial killers. What sets this book apart is that, aside from Erszebet Bathory and Nannie Doss (as well as the Benders, vaguely) I really hadn’t heard about most of these women. Telfer steered clear of discussing extremely obvious women like Aileen Wuornos, instead focusing on cases that largely took place before the second half of the twentieth century, with one murderess dating back to the thirteenth century. Of course, this means that there was often more speculation and less hard evidence, but for most of these women I think there was a pretty good case to be made that SOMETHING was going on, even if it wasn’t as salacious as some might believe. And Telfer doesn’t just stick to typical American and European women, either--she touches about the Egyptian sisters Raya and Sakina, famous for killing a remarkable number of women, and Oum El-Hassen, a Moroccan murderess whose motives remain a mystery to this day. More than a profiling of these individuals, however, I’d call this book an analysis of how we interpret female serial killers culturally. Why don’t we take them as seriously as we do male serial killers? Why do paint them, often, as more sexual than truly frightening? Telfer doesn’t shy away from the gory details and while you might feel some empathy for these women, she doesn’t hesitate to report that some were very likely psychopaths, with no remorse--but then, that doesn’t take away from the fact that some were poor, some were abused, and some didn’t really see any better options for themselves. The Angel Makers of Nagyrev--not one murderess but a group of Hungarian village women who, over fifteen years, killed around 300 people for a variety of reasons--were particularly interesting and kind of heartbreaking. Highly recommend.

Tangerine by Christine Mangan. 2/5. In 1956, Alice goes to Tangiers with her new husband--a man she barely knows--John. Haunted by an event that happened while she was at school--an event she barely remembers--Alice struggles with anxiety and paranoia, and can’t adjust to the strange world of Morocco. However, her past catches up to her in the form of Lucy, her old school friend. This is essentially a 40s/50s film noir/psychological thriller movie a la Hitchcock in book form. Unfortunately, while I feel it would have worked as a movie of that style and era, the writing wasn’t attention-grabbing. Pretty, but a bit dull. I couldn’t tell much of a difference between the voices of Lucy and Alice, though they alternated, and the “twist”... I don’t need a twist in my thrillers--a real one, that is--but if there is going to be one it should be decent. This was fairly pedestrian. A missed opportunity, especially painful because the authorb describes Morocco so well.

Indecent by Corrine Sullivan. 3/5. Imogene has always envied the rich kids who went to elite boarding schools. Now a grown woman, she becomes a teacher’s assistant of sorts at a fancy prep school for boys--only to find herself attracted to one of the students. This is not an easy read. If anyone reads it and believes that Imogene’s victim--because horny seventeen year old boy or not, he is that--was the bad person here, nah. I don’t think Sullivan intends it that way at all. Imogene is a study of a predator who became that way through insecurity and arrested development. She thinks like a teenager. She constantly critiques herself--her body, her relative lack of sexual experience. She compares herself to teenage girls, for God’s sake, and is all impressed by a seventeen year old boy’s “experience” and “charisma”. By being in Imogene’s mind... You get how a predator becomes a predator. Some aren’t born that way, and the line between a woman in her early twenties and a boy in his late teens COULD conceivably get blurred--but it’s always the adult’s fault, and this book doesn’t shy away from that. I wouldn’t say it was a fun read, but it was interesting.

The Day of the Duchess by Sarah MacLean. 3/5. Malcolm, the Duke of Haven (yes) has a problem. He needs an heir--but to have an heir, he first needs a wife. Actually, he has one; but Seraphina, the title-chaser who “trapped” him into marriage left nearly three years ago. Now she’s shown up asking for a divorce, which isn’t all that easy to get. Malcolm makes her a deal: if she helps choose his next wife, he’ll grant her the divorce. Of course, Malcolm would far rather keep Seraphina around than have her select her replacement... so his real plan is to woo her into staying with him. This was a pleasant, enjoyable read that varied from the typical romance novel in that the hero has done a genuinely bad thing--not just a mildly upsetting thing--and there are very strong problems in the marriage. Malcolm and Sera are both pretty wounded by what they’ve done to each other and one major thing neither one of them could have really helped. The angst was real. And the sex scenes were good--lots of emphasis on female gratification in this one. But parts of the story were kind of like... too much comic relief for a novel with the kind of backstory this one has. I’m not saying it had to be a serious story AT ALL, but Sera has this chorus of sisters and I liked them at first but it become... too much. However, I’d still call it a solid historical romance.

Circe by Madeline Miller. 5/5. Known as the witch who turned Odysseus’s men into pigs before capitulating to his charms and will, Circe is a character who was present for or linked to some of the most interesting parts of Greek mythology. Here she gets her own epic, beginning with her birth as the nymph-goddess daughter of Helios. Eventually exiled to an island, far from the other gods, Circe encounters everything from sailors to fellow witches and kings, and even monsters. This is a literary fantasy, the writing as beautiful as it was in Song of Achilles, but dealing with a story much more dynamic and interesting. Circe is a character who is at times deeply caring while not losing her selfish and destructive streaks. She has reasons for her behavior, but she isn’t declawed in the least. Miller tells the more horrifying parts of her story with taste, and at times, humor; but you never lose the sense of the epic in this novel.

The Queens of Innis Lear by Tessa Gratton. 4/5. As the king of Innis Lear ages, his obsession with the stars and prophecy leave his kingdom in a perilous position. Drawing together his three daughters--the warlike Gaela, manipulative and child-starved Regan, and the favorite, Elia--Lear promises that he will name his heir. But no matter who he chooses, the sisters are prepared to go to war for the crown, and for the fate of Innis Lear. Obviously, this is a retelling of King Lear--Gratton evidently found the initial portrayal of Lear’s daughters lacking, and really takes that to task here. And to be sure, Gaela, Regan, and Elia have far more depths than the women in the original play. But the fact is that I could have done with more of them, and less of the perspective of others. When the story is with the sisters, it’s enthralling. But often, there’s the perspective of Ban, a pivotal character--an embittered bastard with remarkable power--but perhaps not the most compelling voice. Then there’s the fool’s daughter Aefa, Ban’s mother Brona, the sisters’ uncle, and more. Gratton also often delves into the past, revealing plot points but more than that developing the characters. Which is good. None of what is in this book is bad, really, but it’s held back from being as good as it could be by too much of the less important stuff. For example--Gaela and Regan have a very compelling, codependent relationship. Gaela is driven to be king, and Regan has sworn to support her no matter what and have children that will be Gaela’s heirs. The problem being, of course, that despite the fact that she’s the only one of the sisters in a loving relationship, Regan seems incapable of bearing a living child. The differing struggles of Gaela and Regan are amazing, and deserved more pagetime. With that being said, this is a super compelling story, and worth checking out.

I’ll Be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara. 4/5. Michelle McNamara, as many know, died in the middle of writing her exhaustive book on the Golden State Killer--a title she coined. Obviously, the killer has since been caught, but he wasn’t when Michelle was researching. The result is a gripping, incredibly well-done book on a monster. It reminds me somewhat of In Cold Blood, but without the closeness to the killer--less sympathy, more drive to find and punish him. McNamara was up front about her own flaws, with the book itself highlighting her obsessive nature. But ultimately, the only thing I can really critique about her work is beyond her control; it is somewhat disjointed, as friends had to piece the book together after she died. However, it’s a remarkable example of true crime lit.

#book roundup #books #book recs

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kierongillen · 7 years

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As i’ve seen this happen more than once, what goes through your mind when a big plot twist or piece of the puzzle gets unintentionally spoiled by the fans theorizing the future of the book? Does the rest of the story gets put on temporary hold to try to figure out how to write something new or is the story set in stone no matter what may happen? If someone were to spoil the ending of the entire book completely unintentionally and you were able to experience the reaction, will it change a thing?

Oh, god, no. Never change anything if someone’s guessed something. Nothing good lies in that direction.

Why?

Okay, let’s talk - with no specifics - Game of Thrones. If you go into the depths of fandom, Game of Thrones is - to some degree, in some areas - a solved problem. There’s a good selection of fan theories (some of which have come to fruition) which have so much meat on them it was clear they have to happen, or the book would break its structure and become unsatisfying.

These twists are available to anyone who wishes to google for them.

The vast majority of people don’t. So… why change the direction of the story? What’s the point of fucking over the enjoyment of the vast majority of people (i.e. making your story make less sense, as you’re abandoning the already existent thread) for playing gotcha on a tiny fraction of your audience?

(As a quick aside - compare and contrast theorising in a fanbase with actual events in the text that’s being adapted. Clearly, anyone who is watching GoT could have googled the synopsis of the book. Equally, anyone who’s read the books knows the big beats. Does the adaptation change the big beats? If surprise to everyone in your audience is all that mattered, you would. We don’t.)

It’s also worth noting that, while obviously some complain on the nature of the adaptation, most fans of a book generally complain that they wish it was more like the book. In other words, things that surprised them (i.e. differed from their knowledge of the text) were less satisfying. They wanted to see the big dramatic beats, even if they’re stripped of their surprise.

Surprise only matters the first time you read something. For me, any worthwhile piece of literature exists to be re-read, and will open up more upon re-reading. In other words, knowing the twist should add to the re-reading of the book. If it doesn’t, and renders the story less than it was, it’s probably a bad twist - which is one reason why I don’t tend to call them “Plot twists” to myself. I call them reveals. The plot doesn’t contort. It’s merely revealing something in the nature of the world the reader was unaware of.

(As an aside, this means that someone who has guessed successful the direction of the plot is actually effectively skipping to their second read of the book earlier.)

There’s the other side of this as well - not just whether a plot beat has been guessed, but the almost inevitability of a plot beat being guessed. GoT fans have had twenty years to puzzle this out. In that period, a mass communication device emerged which allowed fans to talk to one another and share ideas. This machine would have torn apart any plot.

No one individual needs to guess anything. People can make one step in a chain, and then that step is exposed to thousands of minds. If even one of them can make the intuitive leap to the next step, then it continues. No one person needs to be clever enough to see the whole thing. The internet hivemind is Miss Marple, seeing through the most contorted of machinations.

(In passing, this is one reason why Alternate Reality Games are hard to do, because the mass hive mind will figure almost anything out, almost instantly. Equally in passing, the failure to understand this is another reason why Ready Player One is bad, but that’s irrelevant.)

In other words, the reason why twists are guessable is the same reason they are satisfying. A twist that isn’t foreshadowed sufficiently to give the possibility of being guessed by someone is not a satisfying twist, as it - by definition - came out of nowhere.

To make this specific to my own work. In the case of the biggest and most intricate of my current books, WicDiv, we sell about 18k in monthlies and sell 18k in trades (in the first month of release). That’s our hardcore devoted readership. How many people of them actually read the essays in the WicDiv tags? I’d say 500 at the absolute maximum, and likely a lot less. So for a maximum of 1.3% of our readership, we’d derail a still effective twist for everyone else? No, that would be a bad call.

Especially - and this is key - the people who have chosen to engage with a fandom are aware that they may figure something out. They are trying to figure something out. Why take that pleasure away from them?

In a real way, I think, in long form narrative, pure plot twists which no-one in the world guesses are dead in the Internet age, at least when dealing with any even vaguely popular work of art. You can do them in short form narratives (like a single novel, a single movie and perhaps a streaming TV show they drop in one go) but for anything where you give a fanbase the chance to think, it’s just not going to happen. A creator should be glad their work is popular enough to have enough fans to figure it out.

Yes, I may have overthought this.

But that’s only half the question.

How do I actually feel when someone guesses something that’s going to happen? Well, this is long enough already. Let’s put the personal stuff beneath a cut…

I’d say you sigh “Oh, poop”and shrug.

And then you get over your ass, because you know all the above is true. Writers are often meglomaniacs who think they can control everyone’s response to their work. We don’t. We can’t control everything. We can barely control anything. We really have to let go. I’ve said WicDiv is a device to help me improve as a person? It would include in this area. I have to learn to let it go, and internalise all of the above. If I can make most of my readership have the vague emotional response I’m looking for, I’m winning.

I’ve mostly succeeded at this. I’m certainly better than I was 2 years ago.

(’ll probably write more about spoilers and twists and stuff down the line. I’d note that setting up twists that *are* easily guessable by the hardcore is part of the methodology. Having a nice big twist foreshadowed heavily is a good way to hide another twist behind it. “Hey - pay attention to this less subtle sleight of hand while I perform the actual sleight of hand over here.”In which case, there’s far less of an Oh Poop response and more of a cackling evil mastermind response.)

The sigh can occasionally be accompanied with a “Hmm. I wouldn’t have posted that” or - more likely - “I wouldn’t have posted that THERE.”

To stress, what follows, isn’t about my work per se, but culture generally, and very much personal. This is stuff which good friends disagree with me on.

As a fan, I never tweet my own fan theories. I only tweet joke ones. Even my crack theories I don’t tweet, as they’re normally so bizarre that if they actually DO happen, I wouldn’t want to take the thrill away from people. Even in person in conversation I make sure we’re going into a deep fan hole before sharing them, aware that they may be true.

In a real way, the more likely I think something is true, the less likely I’ll say it. As this is my job, I tend to see basic structural ways stories are heading way in advance of most people. I’m a composer. I know how music works. You have a vague sense of what way they’ll go.

(One day I’ll write down my crack theory for the end of the previous Game of Thrones season. Maybe after next season, as it’s not impossible that they may end up doing it, though it’s increasingly unlikely.)

If I had a really good theory I’ve gathered evidence for? You can guarantee I’d put it beneath a cut. That’s the stuff which bemuses me. It’s a cousin of posting major spoilers about any piece of culture the day it comes. The worst is one regular twitter trope - I’m always bemused when people do a “Calling it! XYZ will happen” tweet. Which strikes me a little like standing up in the cinema 20 minutes into a film and shouting out that you’ve guessed the ending. This ties back to the stuff I wrote above about twists being less effective in the modern age, except in a place you can control the context and conversation. People may message in movies, but they rarely message everyone in the room.

(In passing, as it’s vaguely on topic - you may remember the research from a few years ago saying people who know a twist enjoy the story more than people who don’t know a twist. Even this is true - and a single study should always get an eye-brow raise - but it strikes me as a confusion over what “enjoy” means. All pleasure isn’t equivalent, and you can only have surprise on your first time through a work of art. That’s novelty. You can have that and then gain the “Not surprise” experience second time through. If you spoil a work, it means the “novelty” experience is something you will never have. You may enjoy something more if you know the twist but you can always rewatch it to get that pleasure. If you’re spoiled, the individual specific pleasure of that first watch has been stolen.)

But that’s conversation of social mores. Really, it doesn’t change anything in terms of how we act… and sometimes, I even grin when someone gets a twist in advance. If someone gets it, great. The machine is working as intended. It’s actually kind of worrying if no-one is thinking something is up in an area you’ve set up to be iffy. And… the alternative is worse - hell, there’s buried twists and details in Young Avengers that no-one’s managed to figure out yet.

Twist ending: oh, no, I was a ghost all along.

#writer advice #WicDiv #Journey Into Mystery #young avengers

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alexmorrall · 4 years

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The Emerald Seer

Chapter One

Kaelyn woke to an empty bed, cool with morning dew. She rolled over, spraying a puff of sawdust from her mattress. Water flicked off her nose and soaked her blanket. It bled through cracks in her walls from the drip of trees above. A small price to pay for each day to begin with birdsong. Amaris was nowhere to be found. She couldn’t sleep like Kaelyn could, even wet and cold. An arrow thudded into a strawman outside. She bolted up, remembering this was her first Harvest Feast since turning sixteen. It was the last day of summer, and knights would arrive soon to pass judgment.

When her feet touched the dirt floor, she shivered. Something furry passed over her ankles. Straining her eyes, she saw Whiskerwinks dart back into the pantry. This time she rode five miles to Cyan Lake with the mouse, borrowing a horse from Remy’s stable. Leaving him in the forest, she said a solemn goodbye. Yet here he was, nibbling on bread and cheese once more. Kaelyn crossed their one room house to the pantry. Giving it a good kick, she hoped he’d come out easy. When he did not, she sighed and stepped outside.

Amaris brought an arrow to her ear. Both girls had green eyes, but little more in common. Kaelyn’s hair was silver and often tangled where her sister’s locked in red braids. Ami’s never got in the way when she swung an axe or shot a bow. Kaelyn’s was often caked in mud. Releasing the string, Ami’s arrow pierced the strawman’s heart. She knocked another arrow to her longbow, the weapon as tall as she was. Taking aim, lines in her muscles showed. Kaelyn had never seen a woman so strong. Her second arrow slid into straw beside the first.

“Enjoying the show?” Amaris gave her a wry look.

“I love to watch you shoot,” Kaelyn approached her sister.

“Too close,” Amaris brushed her away and took aim again.

“Did I break your concentration? In battle you won’t be so lucky.” Then Amaris turned, aiming the bow at Kaelyn’s feet. The girl jumped away. “Ami!”

“Want to take some shots? It’s time you hit the mark. Today could be your lucky day.”

“You know I can’t even pull the string...”

“I won’t always be here, Kae. When the knights come, what will you do?”

“They’ll not take me,” Kaelyn gave Amaris a long look. “I wouldn’t last a day in the mines. But you’d make them a fortune... I can see why you practice.”

“They won’t need to take me.”

“How come?”

“They just won’t, that’s why,” Amaris snapped. “Now, your garden looks like a weed bed. At this rate you’ll be selling dandelions this season.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

Kaelyn went about her chores. She plucked weeds from her flower and vegetable beds, removed deadheads, and checked for mold. Then she brought a bucket to the town well. Remy’s villagers came for water to wash and cook for the feast. Listening to some women, she heard Lord Ryndale hired a new knight named Godfrey. He was said to be crueler than most and drank Karnath dry in one night. Hearing this, the local tavern owner Gascoyne abruptly left line. Waddling back to the Suckling Pig, he rolled his casks safely into the cellar.

It took Kaelyn an hour to fill her bucket, then she barely got back to the house without spilling half. Amaris was still shooting strawmen.

“Do you expect an army to come up out of the hills?” Kaelyn wondered.

“No, but perhaps some knights, a few rebels or if I’m lucky… Garzians.”

“You’ll take ‘em all on yourself, eh?”

“They’re just men, and they can be killed.”

“Can’t believe you’re working today of all days. You know the knights could kill you for dodging judgement.”

“Someone’s got to.”

“Well, don’t be late for the shift that kills you,” Kaelyn sucked air between her teeth, face going scarlet. She stalked away, grabbing a copy of Wilderwood Beasts and Legends on her way out the front door.

“Mornin’, Kae,” called Luc. The old man with blue eyes and skin like worn leather, stacked wood outside her door. Her house stood in the shadow of Edgewood Lumbermill. Luc helped them build their house, with wood gathered by Amaris and the other foresters. When Amaris turned sixteen, she asked to sign up for the war. She planned on marching west to kill the Bandit King. Hearing this, Luc adopted both sisters the same day. They were only with him a year, as Amaris was desperate to live under her own roof. Kaelyn could’ve stayed longer.

“Morning, Luc,” she waved. “Wonderful day for Harvest Feast, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it’ll be a beaut’,” he nodded and grinned, going back to his stacking.

Kaelyn turned north, taking the main cart road. It wound for half a mile before leading to a meadow of bloodred poppies. As sun smiled down, she basked in Daphne’s grace. Finding her way to the river that curled around the Fairy Tree, she reclined on its bank. Warm light washed over, as fish looked up, bubbles rising to the surface. A breeze passed through the old oak, and sometimes it whispered to her. Soft, kind words eased her mind. It was a needed escape from villagers who called her “ragamuffin” and “witch” for her silver hair. It made her look old, and sometimes she felt it.

When she looked at the Fairy Tree, she thought of the Wilderwood. Its ancient groves grew tall as the sky. The Fairy Tree was much younger, but Luc told her it grew from a Wilderwood seed blown east on the wind. This made it a holy relic, and none would cut it down. Its branches spread like powerful arms to either side. Sometimes Kaelyn pressed her nose against its bark, hoping it would give her a hug. Ami had not given her one in so long. The trees, and the river, and the fish never looked at her with scorn. It was here her thoughts could wander in peace. When she cracked open her book, she found herself in the Wilderwood.

Kaelyn returned home at midday to break her fast. With a yelp, she remembered Harvest Feast was in full swing. In her excitement to leave the house, she donned a crown of daylilies but forgot to eat anything. Racing to Remy Square, a basket swung from her fingers, filled with blossoms and apples. Her pace slowed as people blocked her path. They wore their Daphne’s Day best: brightly colored tunics and dresses, hair braided or slicked with grease. Seeing Kaelyn, covered head to toe in mud, they let her pass. Slipping through, she avoided their glares, approaching the main event.

Arriving in Remy Square, Kaelyn delighted in the smells and sights of harvest’s bounty. The aroma watered her mouth and rumbled her stomach. Noise and light warmed the Suckling Pig. Gascoyne roasting a boar on the common, its flesh sizzling over hungry flames. Every man, woman, and child lined up for his famous pork, two if patience held. Children watched him cut, moving dutifully forward in line. Gascoyne handed one boy a wine-braised rib, his eyes turning big as apples. He tousled the boy’s hair, smearing it with grease, and called, “Next ‘un up!”

Nearly every villager of Remy filled the square, sauce spackling their faces. They drank ale, mulled wine, and mead, ate fresh bread with black jellies and buttery cheeses. Mashed turnips, glazed carrots, and buttered onions slipped from plates into mouths. Kaelyn offered flowers and fruit to those who had no meat and looked as poor as she. Most were too proud to accept charity, least of all from her. They slapped her offerings away. Most often her hands and hair were dirty, and today was no exception.

A mother steered her children away. “That girl’s mad,” she said, “Sleeps too much in the woods. Fairies addled her brain. Stay away now.”

Moving on, she found a hungry-looking child who might be more receptive. She offered her an apple and the girl took it, but her father’s face soured. “Oi, that’s Luc’s waif, ain’t it? Always said they live too close to th’ woods. That’s where demons’ll get ye. Drop the apple, lass. Leave it fer the worms.”

The girl dropped the apple and Kaelyn picked it back up. As they left, a dull ache throbbed in her head. It wasn’t just hunger. She wished she could tell these people they were wrong. Her brains weren’t addled, and she had no demons. Nowhere was the goddess closer than in the peaceful woods. So many forgot her way, claiming the gods turned their backs on the world. They’d never listen. None thought it wise for the sisters to live by themselves. Most were jealous they’d been taken in by Luc, the richest man in town.

Hands clapped, lutes strummed and proud songs of Larasu rose on their lips. She tapped her foot to the music and began to dance. As she moved, she caught the eyes of Laran, who also kept his distance. Wine and ale flowed like rivers, and the day passed in a haze. Villagers chose to numb their fears by singing songs of the rangers. Misha the Mouse, Sir Cadmus Featherstroke, Sheon the Silver Lady, Grian the Giantslayer, and Bloodless Barric, the Lion of Larasu. Most were still alive, yet many had begun to despise the rangers. Still, the songs were sung, and though few sought to join their ranks, many praised their deeds.

Amaris loved these songs, and never had she missed a feast day. All year the sisters looked forward to Gascoyne’s pork, Olson’s White Delcins, and the songs of Harvest Feast. More than enjoyment, Kaelyn wanted her sister here for what was to come. Soon knights would arrive for judgement. Any who failed to appear in Remy Square could be punished with death. Kaelyn would stand for judgement as she turned sixteen. It brought another jab to her belly, and she looked at the line for boar.

Last year they took children to work the Karnath Mines. Small bodies fit into tunnels and little fingers could repair tools. Few lived to twenty anyways. Their parents were paid, and the children got food and lodging for winter. Even if they came back whole, they were never the same. Their hands were claws, eyes creased, and backs bent. Light faded from eyes, and skin turned ashen gray. Just from looking, you could tell if someone had been taken, or Daphne forbid, taken more than once.

Kaelyn noticed the six robed men who inspected Remy’s three carts of grain. Stable boys hitched the collectors’ carts to horses. Each year ‘standard cartful’ seemed to grow a little larger. Going easy on them this year, the collectors climbed aboard their carts. They rolled from Remy Square, heading west back to Raven’s Hill, leaving a trail of grain. Any who went to gather the grain were bludgeoned by Remy’s bounders. Each winter a child died of hunger, and Kaelyn gave their family some flowers. These were rarely rejected.

“Line up!” bellowed Chief Olson, slamming a club on his shield. He was in a poor temper, as he usually was. Wearing leather armor, and a bronze badge of office, he and his men enforced Ryndale’s laws whenever possible. This was their proudest event of the year. With a twinkle in his blue eyes, he bellowed, “Judgement time.”

The crowd turned quiet, songs trailed off, and Gascoyne doused his cookfire. “Welp, fun’s over,” he announced. “Join me at the Pig if ye’ve seen one too many o’ these traditions.” Lumping the half-eaten boar over his shoulder, he carried it away. Most of the villagers over thirty years shuffled after him. They were exempt from being taken and refused to watch their children’s judgement.

Bounders slammed clubs on shields, barking at Remy’s younger villagers to form a line. A couple bounders were Kaelyn’s age, exempt from judgement due to their service. Under the hail of shouts, Remy’s men and women, boys and girls, age sixteen to thirty moved forward. Kaelyn joined them, pulling hair over her eyes, and smearing mud on her smock. She had no finer clothes, nor did she want to look pretty this day.

A thunder of hooves filled their ears. In years’ past, it gave Kaelyn chills. Now, it made her stomach turn in a knot. Three men in scalemail armor appeared on the cart road. A large man with a yellow mustache led the way. Dismounting before Saint Remy’s statue, a boy brought them ale. Under his helm, the mustache did little to cover pockmarks and scars that riddled his face. He gulped from a jug and dropped it to crack on the ground. The boy knelt to pick up the pieces. Heat welled in Kaelyn’s chest, despising this man already.

“I present you with Sir Godfrey,” said the bounder. “A knight from Annandale, newly entered into our lord’s service. He’s been honored with the passing of judgment this year.”

Godfrey growled, spittle flying from his cheeks as he advanced on Kaelyn and the others. Ripping off gloves, he revealed hands as rough as boulders. His mustache must have itched because it bristled as he looked them over. Kaelyn stifled a giggle, trying to ease her fear. When his roving eyes looked for her laugh, she was too short to be seen.

“First order of business: Lord Ryndale needs soldiers to keep the rebels at bay. Men, step forward,” his voice scraped like hooks on gravel. They advanced, some flexing or making fists. Godfrey walked the line, observing them in turn. “I see none. You’d not make it to sixteen in Annandale.” The men frowned, looking to each other and the ground. “You’re free to go. Blessed by your meekness. But if I see one of you at the Pig, you’d better buy me a drink.” A few men nodded and saluted. “Get out of my sight.” Most walked home or found spots to watch the finale, while a few marched to the Suckling Pig.

Godfrey paced before the women and girls now. They stood straight and tall, forgetting to breathe. Kaelyn slouched, breath catching in her throat. She was Remy’s youngest prospect, and under the dirt her face was smooth, free of blemishes. In childhood she rarely suffered flux, sweats, or pox. Most orphans were not so fortunate, and their faces bore the scars. Smearing dirt from her hair onto her face, she looked to the knight.

“Not sure how you put up with those men,” Godfrey chuckled, shaking his head. “Now ladies, I see some of you in gold or silver, trying to look your prettiest. If you’re wearing fine metals or stones leave them at the foot of Saint Remy. Then you may go.” To Kaelyn’s surprise, a handful of women came forward. She never knew such riches existed in Remy. Not that she owned any that may have helped her.

“Now,” his tone brightened. “I’ve an exciting announcement. Lord Ryndale seeks a new handmaid. All girls older than twenty may be dismissed.”

This left six girls and Kaelyn was one of them. Four of them were from good families. They trembled, tears filling their eyes. Next to her was a fellow orphan, Kendra. Raven hair fell to her shoulders and she wore a deerskin jacket and breeches. A dagger rested on each hip. Last time Kaelyn saw her, she’d been sixteen, of an age to leave the orphanage. Departing Remy, she went out into the wilderness and no one knew where she’d been the past four years. Now she returned on judgement day.

Though Kaelyn was called strange by many in town, Kendra was considered far stranger. Like Kaelyn, she suffered little in childhood. Her skin was pale as snow, from years in the orphanage library. While Kaelyn read much, she did so under the sun, listening to birds and squirrels. Kendra took to dark, cramped places, ones filled with spiders. She slept some nights in the orphanage attic, where she emerged covered in cobwebs, wasps buzzing in her hair. Not once was she caught for stealing books, though Kaelyn knew she had them. Abbot Arden deemed her the perfect disciple of Daphne and lamented her leaving town.

Godfrey marched down the row of girls. With each step, blood beat in Kaelyn’s ears. Finally, he came to stand before her and Kendra. Looking both over, he stroked his mustache.

“You,” Godfrey said, pointing at Kendra, “you’ll join me at the Pig. We’ve much to discuss.”

Kaelyn let out a breath she’d been holding for weeks. In the corner of her eye, she swore Kendra smiled. As villagers resumed festivities, she sprinted from Remy Square.

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