#and a more herculean effort than i have the strength for

[thesherrinfordfacility]

i was rewatching s1 yesterday and i had a thought that is bothering me a bit.

thing is, as much as i love the flashbacks (i dare say sometimes they are my fav part of the episodes), i think they are messing up a bit with the storyline. i love that they show us how their relationship developed over time, but i think sometimes they’re going a bit too far considering the point we find them in different points of history.

you’re gonna tell me that the same aziraphale that went through everything they went through in the land of uz then could bot possibly think of helping crowley with the arrangement? that the same aziraphale that looked like that at crowley in 1941 then was like “heaven will win and it’ll all be rather lovely” when talking about the final war between heaven and hell?

if you think of the events in chronological order, they just, don’t make much sense.

oooooh anon i like where your head's at!!!✨

now, below the cut is a disgustingly long spiel going through each flashback and minisode, that tbh was just simply self-indulgent - a lot of it leans into philosophy and ethics (for which i also apologise but it's a Special Interest) and i realise that that may not have been - at all - what you were looking for in a response.

so, to give a tl;dr - i personally think the way that aziraphale parries back and forth in his character development makes perfect sense. it does seem very much like one step forward, two steps back, at times - that i grant you - but i don't think it was ever meant to be strictly linear as time has gone on. more that it's a delve into how and why aziraphale makes the decisions that he does, what factors might be influencing him to make those decisions/behave the way he does, and what this says to us about his reluctance behind the apocalypse and the events of s2.

pre-fall:

so to my mind, we immediately learn some crucial things about aziraphale, right from the get-go. he's polite, and kind - even without having really gotten a formative impression of the angel who crowley was (AWCW). but once he does (and develops his little crush), he becomes astutely interested in what AWCW's doing, asking questions about his work and its purpose. he shares information about his own work, not realising ahead of time that a) AWCW wouldn't have known the plan for his creation, b) how upset he would be once learning it. he's very cautious when AWCW starts getting lairy about it, intimating that he's prepared to challenge god (however innocuously he meant it) on her plan, and evidently feels - expresses - some kind of fear that it would lead to reprisal.

garden of eden (4004BC):

this is an aziraphale that seems very much to be proven right, when you take the above pre-fall context into account. the fall has happened, and aziraphale now is even more aware of the consequences of stepping out of line. but aziraphale is naturally someone who dances that line, when you consider that he gave away his sword - which he suspects to have been the wrong thing to do. so when confronted with crawly, this person that he used to know as an angel, it only hammers home that aziraphale has to behave, and be in fear of the worst possible outcome, which has now been actualised. the punishment - arguably the worst punishment possible for an angel - has happened, it's irrefutable, and there's nothing to say it can't happen again.

so aziraphale valiantly tries to remain the devout, loyal, upstanding angel - and at this point genuinely believes heaven to be the side of good and light, even if he panics when he acts in a way that shows his own true colours... ones that are arguably not very angelic at all (grey). he counters crawley with heavenly rhetoric when it's clear that he at least thinks crawly has a good point, he even laughs with him over a joke that could literally mean his own ruin, and abruptly catches himself, stops laughing. to me, he's scared and, by all accounts, has good reason to be.

mesopotamia (3004BC):

so here we come to aziraphale in the thick of attempting to be a true agent for heaven; we immediately open with him acting somewhat with unease at the proceedings, even before crawly appears (hands, shifting on his feet). once he has to explain to crawly what's going on, he shares the rumour (rumour, because the line is "from what i hear, god's a bit tetchy...") that god is wiping out the local population. crawly is obviously aghast, especially when aziraphale confirms the children too - but aziraphale is equally, albeit more taciturnly, repulsed by it. his meek, bracing, tight-lipped '...mhm!' pays testament to that.

but aziraphale, once again, cannot speak out against god and heaven - he simply can't, the risk is too great. plus... well, he has to have faith in god, that she is good and just, and this is all the right thing to do; what could it possibly mean if god is awful? aziraphale isn't awful, we know he's (by large) a naturally kind and gentle person - so if god is not that, and aziraphale loses faith, what does that mean for aziraphale? doesn't that make him bad? evil? so no, he has to rationalise for god, and heaven, and ultimately himself that this is all for a greater purpose - god isnt wiping out all the locals! she's going to put up a rainbow! promise not to do it again!

uz (2500BC):

okay big section (op note: first of many to come, as it turns out) here. for ease, im going to be writing the following with the below metas in mind:

that god doesn't actually intend/want to hurt the children, but to honour free will will not get involved (X)

an oddly poetic ditty on the lies in job, and seeing through them (X)

slightly unrelated but i think worth bearing in mind: i personally think the s2 minisodes are recounted from crowley's pov (X)

so aziraphale seems to have arrived in order to stop crawly getting up to some mischief, and is countered that crawly (on behalf of satan) has essentially been granted some kind of diplomatic immunity to carry out the destruction, namely, of job's goats, and his children. obviously crawly is going to do no such thing, but places the blame for the whole thing squarely on god. aziraphale, however, does not think that that is in fact what god wants (and tbh, re: the first linked meta, i think he's half-right). so, whilst still thinking that crawly is there to actually do harm, he tries to cajole crawly into doing the right thing. they then work out that, for all intents and purposes, they are actually on the same side by nature of sharing a common agenda. crawly tests him again in the mansion, but aziraphale has seen through him, and they remain united.

where it gets tricky is the ox-rib scene. aziraphale doesn't initially recognise the free will that crawly is acting upon; he's not on hell's side, so ergo he must be on heaven's side. the concept of being on your own side evidently is shocking to aziraphale - above all, it just sounds lonely. aziraphale asserts specifically that he is on god's side (which i think, tbh, is a pretty telling thing in and of itself - he doesn't say 'heaven'). and still believes he is acting by god's true will; however, crawly counters that he's talking about the god that wants him to hurt the children. aziraphale hesitantly agreed that yes, that is the same god he's talking about... "but-".

now, idk how aziraphale was going to end that sentence, but id like to think that he still disagrees with crawly's conclusion - to agree would void everything that he said before, right? everything he said with tentative conviction. so, at best, aziraphale would have argued back that crawly is wrong, and that's not what god wants... but i do think aziraphale sees god's lack of intervention as troubling, at the very least... because if god didn't want it to happen, why didn't she stop the storm above them destroying the house? i think he's now put back in a position of being very uncertain as to what god wants... in which case, how can he possibly argue against crawly's assessment? he can't, because he's literally just borne witness that god hasnt intervened on any of it. ultimately, aziraphale still doesn't quite understand the concept of free will, and how he's just as capable of it as anyone else - in helping to save the children, he wasn't acting in accordance with what he thought god's will was, but instead based on what he himself considers to be the right thing to do.

and then we come to the last couple of job scenes; he helps crawly in the trick to bring back the children to job and sitis, and, on the cusp of their subterfuge being revealed, lies to the archangels under immense pressure, under the weight of the knowledge, even in that moment, that he will fall for it. his fear, stemming all the way back from eden (and arguably before, even if only a fear of consequence), has been brought to its reckoning. at the rock, he is adamant that he's going to fall - he "lied, to thwart the will of god" - and has resigned himself to it. crawly obviously states he's not going to deliver aziraphale to hell (and presumably the fall has some physicality to it; ie. aziraphale doesn't feel like he's fallen anyway). but then crawly reveals that aziraphale might just - just - be more on his own (their? not yet?) side than he previously thought. and frankly, i think that scares the fuck out of aziraphale; he's not crawly, he's not confident/headstrong/convicted enough to do that, and besides - hell seems to be fine with crawly doing his own thing as long as his work is done ("i go along with hell as far as i can")... heaven presumably wouldn't at all let that slide. aziraphale can't afford his own side; there's too much to lose.

golgotha (33AD)

immediately we're confronted with not only a more cynical crowley, but almost - i think - a more cynical aziraphale, and the way they act definitely makes sense to me in a post-job context. crowley immediately jabs at aziraphale, thinking that aziraphale would act righteous in seeing jesus on the cross - and yet, aziraphale counters that he's "not consulted on policy decisions"... which begs the question of what aziraphale would have said or done, if he were. we know he tried arguing back in job against gabriel and michael about what the plan was for job, and i don't think this would have been any different... if he had been given the chance.

this exchange though, i think, is one of the best bits of dialogue in all of s1, and potentially gives really interesting insight into where aziraphale stands at this point:

because... well, jesus is not only the son; he was a good and kind person, attempting to teach others to do the same. isn't that what god and heaven stands for? but no - the policy decision, god's plan - is that her son must die... brutally, and in tremendous pain and suffering. that surely can't be something aziraphale can reconcile easily - and yet, with job in mind, he absolutely can. i think he knows its wrong, that it's not right, but it is - this time - absolutely god's plan. and what happened the last time that he intervened? that fear still lives in aziraphale here, i think; and plays a major part in not only aziraphale having to quash what he thinks is the right thing to do, but also forces him to accept that what god is doing must be right and good. it must be for a reason, that god is allowing this one, and aziraphale is still in a place where he fears acting against god could have dire consequences.

rome (41AD):

tbh i don't think there's too much to say on this; it's clearly a more personal scene than the heavier ones that have come before it. i do think that aziraphale being keen on seeing crowley again does speak to crawly's line about how having your own side can be lonely, and aziraphale is readily seeking companionship from the person who knows how that feels? maybe? to add to that, the callback to tempting crowley into the oysters - all feels very acutely like the events in the job minisode might have been on his mind. we know from the script book that aziraphale is there on a heavenly assignment too (tutoring nero), which might play into the loneliness even more. so whilst aziraphale may not be entirely comfortable with having his own side, i'd like to think this scene certainly indicates he's made some personal reflection on the concept.

wessex (537AD):

another (we presume) heavenly assignment of fomenting peace - and i don't think aziraphale and crowley have seen much of each other since rome (going by aziraphale's slip, yet again, in his name). but what transpires is the realisation that their respective head offices essentially have them cancelling out the other's actions, resulting in crowley putting forward the idea of the arrangement. aziraphale isn't immediately opposed to it, not outwardly - but he does poke holes in the viability of it. he initially baulks at the prospect of lying to his superiors (given job, it's fair that he'd be pretty reluctant to chance doing that again), and then finds out that the surveillance that heaven seems to keep on him is not a risk that crowley feels from hell; "...as long as they get the paperwork."

so immediately, we're shown that the chance of discovery is higher with aziraphale, and the associated risk of that will again drum into him that he needs to toe the line very carefully. i don't think the arrangement necessarily offends him on a personal level - im sure that the logic appeals to him, as well as the chance to slack off - but that crowley would... almost tempt him into it? or at least try to talk around his concerns, and still try to push him? at the very least, it scares him off. though, frankly, i think it did work; not only by 1601 does it transpire that they have in fact done favours for each other since this scene, but even the dialogue... the below screams to me somewhat 'lady doth protest too much':

globe (1601):

a few things are apparent in this; that aziraphale is pleased to see crowley again, that they are meant to be meeting in clandestine/crowded settings to avoid detection, and the arrangement has been in effect - in all but name - for some time. the latter is interesting; aziraphale clearly doesn't have an issue personally with the premise of doing favours for each other, but he draws the line at making it an official thing. if heaven ever asked why aziraphale was doing what he was, he presumably knew he could at least attempt to talk his way out of it, retain some semblance of plausible deniability, but if it were acknowledged that he and crowley have a formal arrangement, that increases the risk.

but it's no longer just the risk associated with heaven; it's the risk associated with hell. compared to 537AD when aziraphale indicates that his reluctance is complete to do with the potential repercussions from heaven, this time he seems more preoccupied with the repercussions crowley could face from hell. now, it could be that aziraphale is using it as an excuse - a cover for his true concerns that lie with his own safety - but i don't think so; over a millennium has passed since wessex, and they've clearly met "dozens of times" since then. i think aziraphale's concern does shift over to what would happen to crowley should they be found out. again, he looks happy to see him, and it's crowley that first remarks that the globe was meant to be busy. if crowley presumably is the one more worried about detection, aziraphale would understandably take that to be a reason for concern (despite what crowley says, "[they] don't actually care how things get done, they just want to know they can cross it off the list"), but nonetheless he agrees to the arrangement.

paris (1793):

this time, we learn that aziraphale is actually being monitored relatively closely; heaven is keeping an eye on his miracle usage, claiming that a sufficient number of them are frivolous to warrant a strongly-worded note from the supreme archangel himself. it therefore stands to reason that whilst he still absolutely could miracle himself out of this situation, he attempts to talk his way out of it first. but it also, once again, reinstates that discovery of the arrangement, and their affiliation, is very possible.

crowley turns up, freezes the guard, and 'rescues' aziraphale, who then learns that crowley is taking advantage of humanity coming up with their own atrocities, and claiming credit for it (and initially - and mistakenly - taking that to mean that the reign of terror must be crowley's doing) - but when that's been cleared up, and he thanks crowley for the 'rescue', crowley counters that expressing that specific thing out loud could lead to consequences from his bosses (ie the arrangement doesn't matter because the job gets done, but actively helping the opposition on a personal level? big no-no... which makes me wonder how crowley is possibly able to separate the two... by doing blessings etc., surely he is helping the opposition?). both of them vocalise very clearly that they're aware of the risks - both expressed and subtext - of them interacting with each other closely, but equally they both have no intentions of stopping it, or holding off until things have died down. they're both under scrutiny, and yet still proceed to play with fire by going to lunch.

in terms of what this means for aziraphale's own character development, i personally think it indicates how his feelings for crowley have been emerging since around 1601; the threat of discovery is real, but the friendship, companionship, and the feeling of being understood and known is more and more compelling. but aziraphale isn't stupid, he still knows that there is danger involved with the two of them associating so closely, but i think at times he loses a grasp on how very real that danger is, because of the feeling that crowley gives to him instead (maybe not love, on either part, just yet - but certainly a sense that crowley is very important to him).

edinburgh (1827):

i'll readily admit that i found this minisode a really difficult conundrum when trying to reconcile its events with aziraphale's character development so far, but i think ive at least gotten part of the way there? maybe? (and a small reminder of my... hesitancy... in whether or not this minisode is from aziraphale's perspective).

so aziraphale seems to still be very much set in the black-and-white perspective, right? more than that, he's stating that angels and demons do not have the free will to choose to be anything other than what they're meant to be - good and evil respectively - whereas humanity gets to choose. and stating the obvious, but aziraphale doesn't understand that the reality of being human (poverty, in this case) means that morality doesn't always have a place in survival, and therefore free will gets slightly skewed in that you end choosing to do something you perhaps wouldn't otherwise do, if you felt you had a true choice.

you could argue that this is a regression from the previous history that we've already looked at - and initially i would agree... but i think we have to consider that throughout all of this, aziraphale considers himself - and tbh, he is - a good person. so far, his actions have proven that, bearing in mind the overarching 'threat' (however far you want to extend the scope of that) of heaven, and he extends his empathy to those that are also good on their own merit (including crowley!). but what aziraphale is now having to contend with is what happens when circumstances mean you don't have much room to be a good person; does that condemn them? does that make them worthy of punishment? how can it, when everyone just doing their best with what they have?

when we get to the conversation with dalrymple, the surgeon explains the reason why the bodies are needed in the first place. what i think is also interesting about aziraphale's rationalisation of this whole quandary is the following:

because aziraphale has a point. he's understanding where dalrymple is coming from, acknowledges it, but it's the exploitation angle here that he's now unable to reconcile. sure, fine, you need the bodies for medical advancement, but you're using people who will do anything to earn money to survive, encouraging them to put themselves at risk - both physically and spiritually (from aziraphale's unique perspective) - to do so? that's wrong! ...but dalrymple also has a point; wouldnt it distract him, a surgeon, from the greater good? bodysnatching is at best quasi-legal, and faces sentences up to and meeting execution; why would he risk getting himself so directly involved? and by-the-by; isn't this something that aziraphale, in his own situation with heaven, could empathise with?

aziraphale then learns why the bodies are the in-demand commodity that they are - he's confronted with the consequence of insufficient medical education, and that actually the work may be, whilst through immoral action, working towards a greater good. before, it was just simply for the purpose of better understanding the human anatomy, but the tumour puts in perspective the bigger picture; that a series of objectively immoral actions leads to arguably the greatest moral achievement possible: eradication of preventable and needless suffering. i think that this is where it starts to really resonate that morality is not absolute, and that right and wrong are intrinsically linked by nature of the context* and consequence upon which you judge them. (something something about stepping away from the deontological and instead towards the more consequentialist - perhaps even utilitarianism?*).

***

slight tangent but: if we look at this very thing*, for a moment, with two other scenarios in mind, we know that aziraphale still struggles with separating morality in terms of action and consequence... or is it just simply very intricate? he did struggle in job; he felt he was condemned to fall because he sinned in lying to the archangels - an immoral action - but ended up choosing to lie because it would mean preventing three needless murders, of children no less - ie. a moral consequence. at surface level, a very consequentialist decision.

then, in 2019 with the antichrist; crowley tries to persuade aziraphale into killing warlock in order to stop the apocalypse; in this instance, *the action poses a significantly more serious and graver moral dilemma, even if the end result would be to save the entirety of humanity - the context is very different. in this, aziraphale doesn't budge, and consistently rebuffs crowley's attempts to get him to do it, even when he acknowledges the greater good killing the child could bring. this is more deontological. now, it could be a question of whether aziraphale is reluctant because it would disobey heaven's orders, or because of his own personal moral code, or perhaps even both - but regardless, aziraphale strives instead to find a way around avoiding killing warlock/adam, and come up with a different solution that would bring about the same outcome.

***

but back to the resurrectionists; aziraphale then arrives at rather a misguided conclusion - when he returns to elspeth and morag to offer his assistance, he says:

suffice to say, that is absolutely not what elspeth's angle is here - so again, aziraphale seems to fumble the point entirely. i have toyed with the contrary idea that aziraphale in fact does now understand elspeth's motivation, and does now understand what crowley was saying to him earlier, but has to 'pretend' somewhat that the only reason he wants to help is because of the 'alleviating human suffering' thing (so that essentially if heaven asked why he was encouraging immorality, he could explain it away as being for the greater good), but idk how far i see that... it's possible, but when they move to the graveyard, and crowley points out the advantage that those with money and privilege have in preventing the interrment of their bodies (and the poor "just have to lump it"), he asks aziraphale pointedly if he's alright with this. aziraphale evidently isn't, his face says that enough, but he doesn't voice it.

but then morag gets blasted; she's not even meant to be there, but is just so they can get the job done easier and quicker, and out of love for elspeth - because elspeth asked her to. aziraphale's penultimate moral quandary lies in whether he saves her or not; by his own admission, it's against 'the rules', so to speak, but he can't stand to see something so preventable happen because he chose to follow those rules - not to act. harking back to immoral action leading to moral consequence, that dilemma is put in a very personal context to aziraphale; sure, disobeying the rules might be wrong, but if the consequence of the obedience is far worse? i won't confidently say that he fully learns from the experience, but i do think it sticks with him.

what i feel is worth noting about aziraphale, when they come back to the mausoleum, is that it seems that aziraphale is the first to spot the laudanum on the tomb. not only that, but he can't barely keep his eyes off of it. (*suicide tw*) the interaction that follows immediately feels that aziraphale enters the role of negotiator; his tone is level and calm, he positions himself very warmly and openly, but slowly edges closer to her, and keeps her talking. crowley similarly edges around the room, trusting aziraphale to keep her distracted, so he can swipe the laudanum for himself. obviously crowley then controls the rest of the scene, and used a more dramatic approach in deterring elspeth from taking her own life.

part of that however is by getting aziraphale to give elspeth the contents of his wallet, so she can immediately find herself in a better position in order to make better choices; had she been turned back out onto the streets, and without morag, it probably would result - as crowley said - in her continue to risk her life to earn money, or killing herself before she even gets that far. (*end suicide tw*) aziraphale looks suitably chastened at carrying a substantial amount of money all this time, i think in part recognising the privileged position that must place him in in elspeth's eyes, and shakily hesitates about giving it to her. i do think he knows that the argument he gave at the beginning of the minisode has crumbled somewhat (now that he has seen the full consequences of being in that position), and he looks to crowley in askance to reinstate the holes in that logic as crowley previously said them - and he doesn't argue any further.

elspeth promises to do good, and aziraphale hands it over. it harks back to one of my beginning points; having the free will to choose to do good is only really possible when there isn't an external factor that prevents you from doing so. alleviate, or remove, that hardship - as the 90 guineas did - and there's no reason to think that elspeth won't, in fact, choose to do the good and right thing. before, she was considerably compelled to do bad things - but now she truly is in a position where she can choose. ultimately, aziraphale and crowley have no guarantee on her promise, there's no threat of repercussions if she lied or ends up going back on her word, but ultimately that is free will; the best they can do is put her in a position where she is able to make a choice. that is the right thing to do.

1862:

and so we're back to another dilemma, this time of the more personal kind; crowley asks aziraphale for holy water. ive entertained multiple theories on whether crowley has been in hell since 1827, whether he's been pulled into hell on multiple occasions since 1827, or something entirely different has happened, but all have the same result - crowley is paranoid, he's standoffish, and he's asking for something that he says won't be used to destroy himself, but instead as 'insurance' (which tbh, despite what he said, reads very much like it could be used against other demons or himself). furthermore, aziraphale is cold and distant; marking that something potentially has happened between the two of them, or that aziraphale is aware that they are very much out in the open, and he has to watch how familiar he is with crowley.

the holy water seems to be very much a line that aziraphale is unwilling to cross; and his first reason to not do so is because of the risk it poses to crowley. i don't think it can be denied at this point that even if it's not romantic love - not completely, anyhow - they definitely care for each other. aziraphale is positively vehement that he won't be responsible for crowley's destruction, deliberate or otherwise, and i think a lot of his reaction comes from the fact that crowley would even ask this of him in the first place (and this is of course presuming that aziraphale knows nothing of what prompts crowley to ask for it in the first place).

when crowley retorts that that's not his plan for it, aziraphale is still resistant, and instead adds the further risk that it poses to him personally - that if heaven got wind of it, their arrangement and relationship (of whatever nature it is) would be discovered. it is, doubtless, a substantial risk to aziraphale, but given that he manages to get his hands on it in 1967 without much trouble (at least, that's the impression given), i think that the first reason he gives - that concerning crowley's safety - is probably the truest one.

regardless, it's definitely a line that aziraphale is unwilling to cross, so much so that it descends into them throwing words that evidently hurt the other, and seem to lead them to not even speaking to each other for nearly 80 years. and this time it's not even because the action itself is immoral - aziraphale doesn't indicate that gaining holy water itself is forbidden or difficult - after all, you can visit your local church and odds are that you can nab some pretty easily - but because the potential consequence would be losing crowley forever.

i don't know how far i take this particular interaction to be one deeply concerned with aziraphale's general ethics or sense of morality; more that he just simply cares for crowley a great deal. maybe that informs on his moral alignment more than im giving credit for, idk. we could look at it that aziraphale should absolutely trust crowley - trust his word that he isn't intending to use it on himself - and that perhaps is true, but the sheer fact that aziraphale would be giving crowley something so inherently dangerous to his own person is a very valid reason not to do it, morally or sentimentally - especially as it appears to be a very sudden request without much explanation behind it, to make aziraphale understand why it would be necessary.

1941:

starting with the s1 snippet of 1941, we learn that aziraphale is double-crossing the nazi operatives. to give a rundown of the events that i think likely led to the church scene, aziraphale would have initially denied (or stalled) the nazis' request to find and deliver the books, despite the offer of quite a lot of money (which, let's face it, we know is frankly inconsequential to aziraphale; even without the element of being a celestial being that can miracle up money, we know he's a landlord of some tasty real estate in soho - he's hardly strapped for cash); aziraphale is not stupid, nazis are the bad guys. but because he denied/stalled them, they send in greta posing as a british MI agent to encourage aziraphale to do as the nazis asked - as she likely put it to aziraphale - so that 'british authorities' could take it as an opportunity to apprehend them.

i don't think the above is a stretch - why else would greta have been involved, posing as a home agent, if aziraphale wasn't initially reluctant? - and gives a clear situation in which aziraphale would simply not do something that could help the axis effort. he's not avaricious, and certainly doesn't need wealth, so money holds no sway for him in this; but regardless, he likely stands personally, morally, opposed to the nazis entirely, without hesitation. furthermore, to aziraphale's mind, they are the antithesis of everything that heaven also stands for; he lives in the heart of london, and (as s2 shows quite literally) is surrounded by the destruction caused by the blitz campaign.

moving on to when crowley arrives in the church, i know it's a point of contention that aziraphale assumes that crowley must be involved with the nazis' set up, and that's a fair point. i too find it hard to reconcile, especially given the parallel assumption during 1793 was shot down immediately. however, if we presume that aziraphale and crowley haven't seen each other since 1862, it could be aziraphale still reacting very personally as a result of their argument (i daresay that, for these two, 80 years isn't really that long a time to hold a petty grudge)... but to be honest? crowley still takes assignments from hell, and if there is anything - to aziraphale - that seems like a hellish creation, it's the nazis. as hell's earthly representative, it's not an illogical conclusion to arrive at. but, of course, as crowley rightly says - some of the worst things are purely humanity; free will is a double-edged sword, and humanity has capacity for great evil as well as great good. and aziraphale does know crowley; if crowley had confirmed that he was involved, i think aziraphale's reaction would have been that much more visceral.

then we get the Epiphany that is aziraphale realising he's in love with crowley, and - i'll say it repeatedly - i think he possibly realises that crowley feels something for him too... which sets the whole tone for the continuation of 1941 in s2. i don't think (my brain is like soup at this point, so im sure anyone reading will correct me here) we get much more in 1941 that speaks to aziraphale's moral code until we get to the end, when they're back in the bookshop:

because it's a culmination of everything that they've been through so far, right? that doing the right thing and doing the wrong thing, that good and bad, are interwoven with each other, that one can sometimes define, necessitate, and validate the other, and that everyone - including them - are capable of doing both good and bad things. looking back over their history to date, it's one of their main commonalities - their respective non-conformity to the assumed attributes of their respective sides - and one that binds them together. obviously the irony lies with heaven itself hardly being 'the good place', even if it's meant to be, in the first place - but these are two beings that are unique in their experiences on earth, among humanity, which have led them to developing very complex moral codes that recognises (to varying degrees) that good and bad are not absolutes.

which ultimately leaves us a little confused when we get to 2008, right? as you said, anon - how do we reconcile this aziraphale with the one that is hesitant to stop the apocalypse? well, i think it's almost certain that we've got a missing scene here, one that will be answered in s3; but even looking at s2 - aziraphale's assessment of hell being the bad guys has been cemented in 1941. not only are they in cahoots with the nazis (as far as aziraphale sees it), but they have posed a danger to crowley personally. aziraphale saves the day, but all his concerns about the arrangement have been supported by this one event in the dressing room.

so whilst the black-and-white conversation seems to leave 1941 off on a happy note, take into account any possible imaginings of what happened afterwards, and we'll probably end up with not only the reason why aziraphale chooses to acquiesce to crowley's request for holy water... but also why it appears that they have somewhat cooled off in their association with each other right up until 2008. the risk - originally completely hypothetical - of being caught out in the arrangement has now been made manifest by hell, and there is likely a remaining associated risk with heaven also catching wind. as such, it's not inconceivable that aziraphale retreats back to being incredibly hesitant to cross the company line, hesitant to once again get caught up in this little bliss that has started to emerge (ahhh, love), and instead puts his stock back in at least acting like he is a scrupulous angel of heaven.

1967:

tbh, ive kind of covered that above; there has to be something that develops out of s2-1941 that would cause the tonal shift from the candlelit bookshop, to the alienation in 1967. aziraphale is curt, and short, with crowley - after hearing that crowley has chosen to source holy water by some other means - but is convinced enough to get it for him, and prevent any accidents in crowley acquiring it himself. personal theories aside, i think something must happen that hammers home to aziraphale that having a weapon with which to defend himself, even if there's the further risk to crowley by possessing it, is more important than allowing the risk of crowley being dragged to hell by demons to await whatever Bad Thing/s happened whilst he was there (either in 1827, or at some other point between then and 1967).

so against his clearly-set boundary, aziraphale gives it to crowley. he has to trust that crowley isn't going to use it on himself, or be reckless with it - even going so far as to hand him a flask in his own goddamn tartan pattern* - and still firmly draws the line that whilst maybe one day in the future they'll be able to interact with each other, be together (however romantically-intended or not you want to read that), they can't right now. at the moment, the main reasons that im reading into 'you go too fast for me' is a combination of aziraphale being concerned for crowley's wellbeing (and the risk their association places on that, if we consider 1941), but also because aziraphale himself isn't ready to fully step away from heaven. bear in mind that a lot aziraphale's identity is wrapped around being an angel, and being good - if he were to shirk all of that off, stick it to heaven... where does that leave him? what does that make him? what consequences would that have? in this respect, amongst others, aziraphale is still very much trapped in that same fear as he had in job - but now there's the added context that he's actually in love with crowley, only serving to raise the stakes of all that he has to lose.

*i cannot for the life of me remember where i saw the meta; but someone made the connection that giving someone your tartan, or dressing them in it, is essentially to say that they are your family/clan - uniting in a side - and that they are important to you. it's particularly eye-opening when you take into consideration that aziraphale starts wearing the tartan - as far as we see - after 1827, and when you look at instances of when aziraphale further bestows the tartan on crowley (the bike rack, the jacket collar). perhaps it wasn't ever intended to have that connotation, and it's purely hc, but as a way of aziraphale, potentially, wordlessly telling crowley that he recognises that they are on their side, that devotion and care is still there, even if they now can't risk being seen together? magnificent

modern day (2008-2023):

i promise im getting near the end of this

so the end of 1967 brings us up to present-ish day, and whilst im sure crowley and aziraphale have met up since 1967, i honestly don't think it's been incredibly often, not judging by their first interactions with each other in 2008 as we're introduced to them. but the first major issue - as you pointed out, anon - is that aziraphale is reluctant to stop the apocalypse happening. he hangs on to it being god's plan, and that he can't interfere with it. it does seem, on the surface, to be a regression of his character development, but tbh i don't see it that way at all.

aziraphale is still dancing a very thin line where he has to not only go along with heaven as far as he can, but also has cling to the idea that heaven represents good and light. he hasn't broken away from this yet, and honestly - how could he? what would it mean for him, what could he stand to lose, if he accepted that god and heaven may not be wholly good? what does that make him? it's a safety blanket that, sure, we can observe is one he should have abandoned long ago, so what is stopping him? imo, it's a combination of his self-identity being wrapped up in his being an angel, but also i think a good helping of fear of what could happen if he walked away (nod to omelas); the fear of the unknown is often more frightening than the known.

aziraphale might suspect that the archangels are the corrosive influence in heaven, but he still clings to belief that heaven in the first place was always intended to be good and right. but was it? heaven was once just... heaven. it wasn't good, it wasn't bad, it wasn't really anything - the creation of the fallen, and their descent into their domain (conjecture here; we still don't know what actually happened in the fall), was the element that defines that divide... the fallen challenged/abandoned god, and continue to corrupt her creation, and so they must be the Bad Guys. doesn't that therefore make... heaven the good? it's easy to see where aziraphale arrives at this conclusion - how all of the host arrives at this conclusion, frankly - but angels, i don't think, were ever good in the first place, nor was/is god. they just... are. but produce the concept of an opposite, in every way conceivable, and naturally it becomes a split between good and evil, too. aziraphale is an angel; he is good. crowley is a demon; he is bad. aziraphale is an angel who is just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing. crowley is a demon who is, at heart - just a little bit - a good person. to aziraphale, they may subvert the expectations that their kind would indicate, but it is still who they are at their core.

but back to 2008; aziraphale starts off asserting that heaven - "we" - will win, and it'll all be "rather lovely". i don't think aziraphale has any choice but to believe this, even if he knows what he stands to lose if it happens; crowley waxes on about everything that aziraphale enjoys and will disappear with the apocalypse, but it doesn't convince him. (there's a split second where he seems to have a Moment at the mention of the bookshop, which - yeah, he loves the bookshop and his books, but also everything that the bookshop has represented? hm.) crowley continues on as they approach the bentley, and aziraphale is clearly dithering, almost like it's wearing him down (bc, of course, crowley is right) and making him considerably uncomfortable (and fearful?), to the point that he snaps at crowley to stop.

once they're in the bookshop, aziraphale's guard comes down, and you can tell that he's lamentable about losing aspects of earth/what he can expect from eternity in heaven as crowley points them out. aziraphale becomes a little more candid; "even if i wanted to help, i couldn't. i can't interfere with the 'divine plan'." now look, read into the first bit that aziraphale doesn't actually want to stop armageddon, but... on a personal level, he absolutely does? he doesn't want to lose everything that crowley is pointing out to him, and certainly doesn't want to be subjected to the sound of music on repeat for all eternity - aziraphale absolutely does want armageddon to not-happen, but equally wants to keep his nose clean where heaven and god are concerned. and frankly, when crowley gives him a plausible excuse of chalking aziraphale's efforts to prevent the apocalypse up to it being a ruse to thwart The Demon Crowley... aziraphale practically crumbles like a wet paper bag.

im going to stop at 2008 because honestly this response is obscenely long as it is, and i think how his character develops through s1 and s2 is a lot more apparent (i also think ive talked about it in other asks somewhere, too). but ultimately my personal assessment of aziraphale through the flashbacks/minisodes is that whilst he hasn't had a huge overhaul of his character, his ethical and moral identity has developed and deepened, and remains very complex. there are also, imo, a lot of extenuating factors that influence what he considers to be right and wrong: the threat of heaven, and of hell, the fear of falling and/or losing the identity that he has (and fearing what would happen if he adios'd that entirely), his faith in god, his evolving sentiment and love for crowley, and his fondness of humanity. he may not have made great leaps and strides, resulting in becoming a completely different person, but i don't think that the moral dilemmas posed in the flashbacks wee necessarily meant to do that? more that they are an exploration of the intricate moral code that aziraphale possesses, and how each of these experiences inform on how he chooses to act - or not act - in others as time goes on.

#i hate this response sm it was so unnecessary (again really sorry for the length anon) but i got halfway through and had to Carry On #so yeah enjoy the essay that you didnt ask for and has so many holes in it - unpicking aziraphale would take a dissertation #and a more herculean effort than i have the strength for #good omens #ask #aziraphale meta #flashback meta #1941 spec #sorry forgot the tw!!!! #tw: suicide

[cyberwhumper]

Roderich drags the unconscious man to the closest support pillar. An overabundance of caution was completely warranted, given the strangeness of the predicament they currently found themselves in. Securing Whiskey's arms to the structure makes his body slide down under its own weight, coating the bare concrete in the deep reds of fresh blood from newly minted injuries.

All things considered, it would have been more merciful to just let Baxter kill him and spare him the agonizing months that would certainly follow, but a job is a job. If the boss says mend this fucker so he will survive the torture, you do so unquestioningly. And while Roderich was certainly no stranger to taking a life, something seemed off about the prospect of keeping a man captive solely out of principle, with no political or financial benefits to be gained from the act. In fact... there seemed to be no benefit at all to this entire operation.

His mind puzzles over the situation while tightening the gag around the circumference of the pillar, being brought back to the present when he feels a sharp tug on it.

Ah, he's awake. Just need to put a bit more force, make the gag tighter, prevent him from biting. It'll be fine.

Whiskey groans. The extent of his powerlessness becomes clear once his panicked mind focuses on the present. With his arms and head bound to the concrete structure behind him and his body so thoroughly exhausted from beating after beating, he had barely any strength to move once the adrenaline wore off. He startles when Roderich enters his field of vision.

"Hey." He smiles. The captive's eyes follow his every movement. "I'm gonna patch you up." Roderich pulls closer his suitcase with equipment and produces a syringe with clear liquid from it. He pushes one leg of the man's underwear up to find a vein on the thigh, and summoning all of his efforts in what felt like a herculean task, Whiskey attempts to kick him off. Roderich has no reaction. Dealing with unruly patients is part of his training, but considering the less-than-ideal setup his options were severely limited. His response is to tug on the bolt firmly lodged into the bone in a thrashing motion, getting a scream so loud from the captive he had sworn he had passed out again from the pain. Whiskey stops fighting.

"This will help with the pain, I promise. Please don't make this more difficult than it has to be." As the powerful drugs are pushed in, Whiskey's body tenses under Roderich's hand. He's scared. A helping hand attempts to comfort him by petting his hair. "Sorry there's not much else I can do on such short notice."

Was that really true?

It would have been more merciful to just let Baxter kill him.

Tag list: @whumpsday // @demondamage // @squidlife-crisis // @whumpedydump // @cyborg0109 // @whumpfish // @astrowhump // @the-scrapegoat // @whatwhumpcomments // @dustbunnywhump // @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question // @dokidokisadness // @moss-tombstone // @kinderlamb // @maracujatangerine // @pinkraindropsfell // @writereleaserepeat // @blood-and-regrets // @littlespacecastle // @snakebites-and-ink // @unforgiven235 //

If you’re interested in being added to the tag list, please let me know!

#blood #bruises #broken bones #needles #whump #whumpblr #whumpee #caretaker #whump art #oc #original character #original story #tokimeki art #Whiskey #Roderich #the hippocratic oath has been hereby thrown out the window #you WILL calm the fuck down and accept help

[abiiors]

Can we get some sick Matty fluff? Coming from a gal fighting a sinus infraction rn 😢

A sinus infection sounds horrible :( I hope you feel better soon x

Also here you go, I hope you like it! There’s some nudity in this one but it’s absolutely non-sexual.

If you want a swapped version of this, go here!

Sick Day

A string of sneezes echoes around the house followed by a wet cough. 

You wince at how bad he sounds today. Despite the check-up he’s had yesterday, his cough only sounds worse. You try to hurry up in the kitchen, beg the soup to finish cooking as soon as possible. When it takes too much time, you put the flame on a low heat and make your way to your shared bedroom. 

You can see a mop of curly hair peeking out from under three different blankets. Even when he’s so bundled up, you can see a shiver wrack his body every now and then.

He’s not allowed to speak, he’s not allowed to sing and he has no strength to get out of bed. In short, what you have on your hands today is a big, irritable baby. You try to caress his cheek but his face only scrunches up in pain at even the smallest of touches. That’s how you know that the congestion is terrible. 

When he feels the bed dip under your weight, he turns around with great effort and buries his face in your lap. His eyes are red-rimmed and the bags under them are so pronounced—it breaks your heart to see him like this. But there’s only so much you can do for him apart from sitting with him and stroking his hair.

‘Have you taken your medicine, love?’ you ask as you continue to stroke his head. It’s warm, so much warmer than it normally is that you mentally try to remember the last time you checked his temperature.

He opens the Notes App on his phone with some difficulty and starts typing.

I don’t think I can swallow anything :( 

‘Matty…’ you scold gently but only because you’re worried about him. ‘Baby, you need to take them.’

Another :( is his only response. 

‘How about I bring you some soup, yeah? That might ease up your throat?’

He contemplates that for a bit and then barely nods his head. It takes another two minutes for him to actually get his head off your lap but you let him be as clingy as he wants to. 

You waste no time getting back to the kitchen and bringing him a bowl of steaming soup. Getting him to sit up, however, proves to be a bit of a herculean task. He tries not to put all his weight on you but you end up having to prop him up against the pillows anyway. He holds up his phone and frowns.

I feel like an invalid.  

A small laugh escapes you at that. He’s managed to make you laugh even when he feels like death warmed up and he clearly looks proud about it. 

‘Come on now,’ you hand him the bowl, ‘or should we pretend it’s an airplane?’

He rolls his eyes but ends up cracking a smile anyway. He even manages to finish the entire bowl of soup. But then his mood sours again when you hold up the two round pills in front of him. 

‘Don’t make this into a battle of wills. You know I’ll win,’ you quickly warm him just as he’s in the middle of making a face. But in the end, he obliges. 

The muscles of his throat move, trying to reject the pill but he swallows again and gulps down some more water. Then he picks up his phone again. 

Will you stay?

‘Of course, I will,’ you say. In fact, you’re already getting comfy in the bed and pulling his head on your lap. 

He cracks a small smile when he feels your fingers running through his hair and then mouths a “thank you”. A combination of the medicine and his exhaustion—it doesn’t take long before his breathing evens out.

Sometime in the second hour of his nap, he begins to kick off the blankets one by one. You run over a hand over his forehead, his cheek and notice that the collar of his jumper is slowly turning damp with sweat. 

‘Matty,’ you shake him as gently as possible. ‘You need to wake up, love. I think your fever is breaking.’

He groans a bit but then cracks an eye open. 

‘Do you think you can take a bath?’ 

Only if you can take one with me,

he types out. Despite the illness, you like this clingy version of him, how he wants you to be there for every little thing he does. 

***

He sways a bit at first but manages to hold himself upright while you get him out of his clothes. The bath is almost full by now—you’ve made sure to add some oils in there too and now your entire bathroom smells like peppermint and eucalyptus. 

The bath is big enough for the two of you but when you get in after him, he instantly scoots closer; closes his eyes as you lather shampoo on his scalp. His face is still paler than usual but he looks much more alert now. Much less ready to keel over. 

The water will go cold in a bit, you know it will. For now, you just let him indulge as much as he wants to.

#matty healy imagine #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 #matty healy drabble #drabble #asks #fluff #matty x reader #tour bus naps #soft matty healy #sick day #sicfic

[astorytotellyourfriends]

2023 fic roundup

(last year's post)

completed:

1.01 need to make you mine (chrissy/eddie, rated m, 4k)

Everybody knows about what happens when you kiss someone at midnight on New Year's Eve, but Eddie's not exactly in his right mind when he kisses Chrissy.

1.02 hold me like you'll never let me go (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 17.8k)

Having the middle seat on a long flight is never easy, but having a handsome stranger next to you certainly makes it better.

1.14 just say i do (chrissy/eddie, rated t, 2.8k)

The day Eddie proposes starts out like any other normal Thursday.

1.15 you can have more than one (chrissy/eddie/steve, rated e, 7.6k)

She could play it off, just say she was thinking about nothing at all or make up some random thing to tell them. Or she could tell the truth and maybe get what she's been wanting, been craving.

1.15 always have & i always will (chrissy/eddie, rated t, 1.7k)

Even on days when the fog lifts, when the grief doesn't weigh his bones down so much that just breathing takes a herculean effort, the pain remains. An ache he can't escape. A phantom limb that he wishes he could get back more than anything else in the world.

1.18 under control ('til you're in front of me) (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 8.1k)

The day they've both been waiting for is finally here.

1.29 in my defense (i have none) (chrissy/eddie, rated t, 6.6k)

Lucas and Dustin hatch a plan to help Eddie ask Chrissy to the spring formal ... but they're never gonna get anywhere if Eddie doesn't actually try.

2.05 the trigger (chrissy/eddie, rated e,  2.4k)

Eddie knows that fucking smell. He'd know it anywhere.

2.09 maybe next time (chrissy/eddie, rated m, 2.5k)

All Callahan wants on his night off is a little peace and quiet, but instead he finds Eddie and Chrissy.

2.14 something else when i see you (chrissy/eddie, rated m, 4.1k)

On the red carpet for the Golden Globes, there's no telling what might happen.

2.15 in plain sight (chrissy/eddie, rated t, 11.1k)

Chrissy and Eddie meet in a random Omegle chat one night over winter break and hit it off, but neither of them are comfortable giving out their public Twitters, so instead they make private ones just for the two of them. Five months later, they're still chatting every night and have no idea they go to the same school... until prom rolls around.

2.16 oh, but you're good to me, baby (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 4.5k)

Chrissy's just helping Eddie study, it's not a date. As long as he keeps telling himself it's not a date, he'll be fine.

2.28 if we don't leave this town (we might n ever make it out) (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 52.3k)

Chrissy finally finds the strength to leave a terrible situation, only for her getaway car to break down just over the Illinois border. Now she's stranded, as well as broke, and has to rely on the kindness of strangers. The mysterious mechanic who takes pity on her may look mean and scary with his wild hair, calloused hands, and grease stains, but Chrissy quickly discovers that underneath all of that, he may as well be a teddy bear.

3.21 just the thing (chrissy/eddie, rated t, 3.2k)

They were alive, they'd made it. Eddie wouldn't have called them friends before that, not really, but the way Steve clung to him that night made Eddie rethink a lot of things he thought he knew about Steve Harrington.

4.05 gentlemen don't ask questions (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 15k)

The first time Eddie runs into Chrissy at a metal show, he thinks he must be seeing things.

4.06 if you go down, i'm goin' down too (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 1.5k)

cunnninghams asked: because i’ve wanted to write it but i’m too lazy — hellcheer getting either drunk and/or stoned and having a competition of who can go the longest without touching the other. 😇

4.14 imagine being loved by me (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 7.6k)

She could play innocent. She could just forget all about it. Or she could stay right where she is and watch.

4.24 i think you have a type (and it's not me) (chrissy/eddie, rated m, 33.4k)

Eddie tries to help Steve woo Chrissy, even though he's been in love with her since they were kids. or ... a HellCheer Cyrano de Bergerac AU.

5.01 play me better (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 15.5k)

Chrissy wants to get better at talking about sex, and Tammy knows just the person to help.

5.10 roll for orgasms (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 17.8k)

"So… the dice do everything?" / Eddie laughs. "Yeah, kinda. I mean, they decide everything, more or less."

5.17 savor the moment (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 1.9k)

I can't wait to memorize this day / Oh, a picture could not contain the way it feels

5.20 the dark caress (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 2k)

Chrissy can't sleep until she gets what she needs.

6.08 you know better, babe (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 36.7k)

Chrissy moves to Hawkins just after her sixteenth birthday, having only ever kissed one boy. Before school even starts she falls head over heels for Eddie, who falls just as hard but he has some reservations about their relationship.

6.29 she's gonna save me (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 12.3k)

Eddie can think of a billion things he'd rather be doing than spending his Saturday night in the emergency room, but after meeting Chrissy while they're waiting, that list quickly dwindles down to just one.

7.12 a better fighter than her fear (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 6.6k)

Chrissy takes refuge in the drama room while running away from her ex-boyfriend, thinking she'll just give him the slip and be able to go home in peace soon enough. But nothing ever goes according to plan.

7.21 you can buy love (from a payphone) (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 9.8k)

Calling up a phone sex hotline instead of finding some random stranger at a bar to go home with seems like a good idea when Eddie's struggling not to ask out Chrissy before she's ready for a new relationship, but he'll be damned before ever admitting it to his friends.

8.13 you still have my heart (chrissy/eddie, rated t, 3.1k)

Chrissy hates the night shift.

8.29 a tender age (chrissy/eddie), rated e, 16.2k)

There's no fanfare. No fireworks. No heavenly beacon of light shining down as soon as she opens her eyes. The morning of Chrissy's eighteenth birthday feels like every other morning before it, but she knows the moment she goes downstairs is the moment her life is going to change.

9.01 let me put my lips to something (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 9k)

Chrissy can't seem to find the nerve to tell Eddie that she wants more, so she hatches a plan to steal one of his porno mags for some research.

9.12 when we begin again (chrissy/eddie, rated g, 1.2k)

A few months past where If We Don't Leave This Town (We Might Never Make It Out) left off, Eddie surprises Chrissy with a gift.

9.13 the only proof that i need is you (chrissy/eddie, rated g, 2.1k)

Eddie is supposed to have a solo interview with Vogue but it turns into a family affair.

9.16 as i get older, i get more afraid (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 19.1k)

"Hello, Chrissy!" She pulls up a chair close to the examination table and taps Chrissy's chart. "What brings you in today?" / Chrissy draws in a deep breath. This is it, she thinks. Now or never. / "I want to have a baby."

10.10 livestream: stardew valley co-op! (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 5.2k)

Eddie has not one, not two, but three surprises for Chrissy on the day they play Stardew Valley live on stream, but two of them are for after the camera is turned off.

10.13 so pure, so electric (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 13.5k)

Chrissy's happy with Jason. Sure, things could be a little more exciting. They're in college, it's the perfect time to try new things! Learn new skills, meet all sorts of different people! They both should want these things, but it seems like only Chrissy's willing to (or, at the very least, wants to) actually try. But... she's happy with Jason, right?

10.19 be there in five (hyperbolically) (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 3.6k)

A perfectly normal conversation about Halloween costumes devolves into Eddie and Chrissy playing hooky. (They just can't help it.)

11.24 a king beside you, somehow (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 5.2k)

Chrissy finally convinces Eddie to come to a basketball game to see her cheer and rewards him handsomely afterwards in the girl's locker room.

12.15 before i bury you (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 43.5k)

When two counselors turn up dead at Camp Hawk and the camp leaders are forced to leave to get help from the police, it's up to the remaining counselors to try and keep both the campers and themselves alive.

12.24 never thought you'd happen to me (chrissy/eddie, rated t, 6.8k)

Eddie's watch beeps at the same time every day so he can be sure to catch a glimpse of his pink princess walking by the shop windows, none the wiser that she works right next door until one fateful day…

wips:

01.16 if the fates allow (chrissy/eddie, nancy/steve, rated e, 13.5k)

The best way to spend Christmas is 3000 miles away from home, right?

2.23 lost boys like me are free (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 16.2k)

Chrissy stows away on a pirate ship to reclaim the family heirlooms that Captain Eddie Munson stole from her, but she soon discovers that maybe going back home isn't what she wants at all.

09.04 i lied to you (but i never needed to) (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 18.3k)

After an accident that almost cost him his life, Eddie needs to heal a lot more than just his broken bones. He needs to face the demons he's been hiding from for years, keeping them at bay with drugs and alcohol. When Chrissy signs on to be his physical therapist, she knows from the get-go that this isn't going to be easy, but she's determined not to let Eddie give anything less than 100%. What neither of them expect is for Eddie to help her heal, too.

12.06 last night's clothes & tomorrow's dreams (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 27.9k)

Eddie's no stranger to the life of a rockstar and all that goes with it, including having his pick of pretty much any woman he wants for a night. Chrissy, on the other hand, has no idea what she's getting herself into when she joins her friend backstage at a Corroded Coffin gig.

12.19 love is just a currency (chrissy/eddie, rated e, 103k)

When she graduated high school, Chrissy Cunningham thought she knew how her life was going to turn out: college, marriage, the whole nine yards. But now it's five years later and nothing in her life went according to plan. Least of all running into Eddie Munson in a way she definitely never saw coming. or ... a HellCheer OnlyFans AU.

total fics: 43

total number of words: 608,877 (according to AO3 stats, but really it's 539,937 if i subtract the chapters of WIPs i posted in 2022)

going through the list this year made me realize just how much i'd actually posted!! thank you so much for supporting my silly little ideas through another year 💛 next year i hope to FINISH MY WIPS FOR REAL and maybe get a little better at balancing my schedule so none fall to the wayside like they did this year 🥲 but here's to another year in the books!!

#fic roundup #about my fic #hellcheer #eddissy #chrissy x eddie #hellcheerington #stranger things #this is me telling myself not to post anything new for the rest of the year

[ravencromwell]

Current Shades Of Magic question haunting me: was Maxim Maresh working a deal with the Danes to make something comparable to an Inheritor for Rhy? (And by "working", I mean: he thought he was being real savvy while the Danes lied through their teeth for years and kept the credulous arnesian king on a fish-hook while they figured out how to rip a hole through time and space.)We know Tieren flatly refused to help him make one, and that Makt is highly skilled in binding magic. And Maxim's entire White London dynamic, especially in Darker Shade, never made a bit of fucking sense to me. Take, as exhibit 1: "Holland delivered a letter yesterday," explained the king. "But couldn't stay to collect the response. I told him I would send it back with you. Kell frowned. "All is well, I hope," he said carefully. He rarely knew the contents of the royal messages he carried, but he could usually glean the tone—the correspondences with Grey London had devolved to mere formality, the cities having little in common, while the dialogue with White was constant and involved and left a furrow in the king's brow." In scrupulous fairness, Schwab does give us an explanation for the involved nature of the letters, saying that the Red Crown was haunted by its decision to seal the doors between Red and White; that they wanted to provide magical advice as a kind of recompense and reparations. But we're also provided a very plausible explanation for how Vitari helps Lila move through the worlds, which gets very undermined by Lila as Antari. And living in the midst of the most nakedly imperial power of our modern age, I'm incredulous at best and scoffingly dubious at worst. With some very! rare exceptions, large, prosperous countries give small struggling ones shit either to look good, or because they want something out of the exchange.

Was it being _haunted that made Maxim Maresh send twelve-year-old Kell into the middle of a very violent country? Or was it _knowing by that time that Rhy most likely wouldn't be manifesting any magic. Kell says to Vortalis that this will be the beginning of "re-opening relations". Which makes sense, seeing as Antari are a dying breed, and Arnes hasn't had one for a while and Makt for even longer. It's not Maxim's bad parenting in sending Kell to White so young that has my antennae raising, but the bad diplomacy. Maxim's Kell flaw, after all, is that he sees him more as a political and propaganda tool than a person. And he's letting him go to Makt at twelve? When Kell could die, and a large reason Faro and Vesk are in line right then is because they believe Kell is integral to Arnes strength. I don't believe Maxim Maresh, who had the political cool to immediately think of how Faro and Vesk would react and demand secrecy about Rhy's near-death in Conjuring while everyone else is in knots of grief and he must be pushing down his own feelings with herculean effort decided to resume communications to salve his conscience. It just doesn't fit with the rest of who he is as king.

But, as several people wonder when Tieren chastises Maxim over the Inheritor: what wouldn't a father do for his son? Put his other son in jeopardy, if he thought he could make an attractive enough offer to get a (probably) ruthless king of a ruthless people to make him something? It would certainly line up with what he does throughout the series.

Finally: Maxim is adamant that "The Danes will pay" before he learns they're dead. Except seriously? How, Maxim? You planning to send the Antari who they already used as a pawn back as a one man army? Because no one else is going through.

Maxim Maresh, for all his faults, is too good a soldier to send Kell into that battle. So, either he's just blowing off steam and the threat has no teeth, or the threat has vicious teeth. Because the Crown has been sending the Danes advice: maybe instructions on relatively—to Arnesian thinking—small elemental magics like minor water redirection that have become integral to Makt's irrigation under the Danes, or something else entirely. There are a million little ways the Crown could've been helping; the question is _why. Why, in Darker, did Maxim, a a busy man, concoct a thick response within a day and send his best weapon into a violent place _after _dark when it could have waited till morning. Feels to me like a man hurriedly running after something the Danes are always "close to finishing" and that he wants, very, very much.

#I mean. I understand that the Doylist reason is: we need Kell in WL so the Danes plot can happen #but Watsonian me is just like: nuh-uh. Maxim Maresh. who won't even let Kell travel! to a foreign elements game *ever* even though they're #the biggest symbol of inter-empire cooperation. is not sending Kell to White for *morals* #adsom #shades of magic #Maxim Maresh #White London #A Darker Shade of Magic

[weirdowithaquill]

Who's the Best Mentor for Ivo Hugh?

Seeing as I just finished my ERS 'Ivo Hugh the Young Engine' fic, I think it's about time I ask the serious question of who exactly would be the best mentor for Ivo Hugh.

This will focus only on the Skarloey Railway engines - I am not going to consider the mainline engines because I both don't have the patience or the mental strength to try and figure out just how bad that would go. I will also only be considering Railway Series characters; I don't think Mighty Mac would even have a chance! Please note that this is all entirely my opinion, and while you are free to add your own suggestions, please do not hate me for favouring one character over another.

Skarloey:

Initially, I thought Skarloey would be an ideal candidate. He's got a wealth of experience, and he acts like the stern, elder leader of the fleet. He also knows how to handle wayward engines, as seen in 'Gallant Old Engine' when he teaches Duncan a lesson.

However, Skarloey has had no actual experience teaching a new engine. Rusty arrived before Skarloey returned, so Skarloey had no hand in their education. In fact, every engine prior to Ivo Hugh has already been taught in some capacity how to do the basics of handling trucks and coaches and listening to their driver, if not much more. Ivo Hugh very much hasn't. Furthermore, Skarloey has a temper that would severely limit his ability to mentor. His role in the series - if you look close enough - is often just scolding the others. He scolds Nancy for cleaning him, Duncan for stopping with his passengers on the viaduct, Sir Handel a number of times, the coaches for being difficult - the list goes on!

And that's before mentioning young Skarloey! Skarloey has blown smoke at his manager and insulted Rheneas and bounced his manager into a bush - and that was before the railway even opened! As a mentor, Skarloey just doesn't sit right with me. Skarloey certainly has his part to play - but he's just not quite right.

Rheneas:

So, if Skarloey isn't ideal, how about Rheneas? He's very similar to Skarloey, only not quite as stern and certainly a lot more mature from the get-go. He's persistent, as seen by his determination in Speedkiller. He quite literally is the 'Gallant Old Engine' who is very much a hero of the railway! So far, a much better fit.

Unfortunately, much like Skarloey, Rheneas has also never taught a brand-new engine before. Rheneas arrived back from his overhaul after Sir Handel, Peter Sam, Rusty and Duncan had all settled into life on the SKR - Rheneas himself just slotted into his spot. We also don't see much of Rheneas in the series at all. For an engine with a book named after him, he doesn't do an awful lot in said book. He appears in one of the four stories, and that's mostly told in flashback!

And that particular story also points to my one major concern about Rheneas: he pushes himself too far. Rheneas jams his cylinder trying to take on the work of two engines. Rheneas takes on a herculean effort to try and keep the railway running, but doesn't seem to have the ability to stop pushing himself. It is strongly implied that his breakdown in 'Gallant Old Engine' was not a one-off event. My worry is that he'll manage to teach that sort of mentality to Ivo Hugh. It's unlikely - but not impossible. Add this to the fact that he's never taught an engine before, and while he's definitely a better choice than Skarloey, he is not the best candidate to mentor Ivo Hugh.

Sir Handel:

No. Just no. Sir Handel has insulted the coaches, damaged himself, purposefully derailed himself, knocked his firebars loose, gotten into a fight with a steamroller and insulted Skarloey - just to name a few incidents!

Sir Handel hasn't shown many signs of maturing by the time Ivo Hugh was built either, seeing as that firebar story comes from the same book Ivo Hugh was introduced in. Sir Handel is probably the second worst candidate on the entire railway.

Peter Sam:

Now, Peter Sam is an interesting choice. He's by no means the same engine he was when he started on the SKR, and he may have had a hand in teaching Rusty - though that's unlikely, seeing as Rusty just sort of arrives and knows what to do - but he has also shown that he may not be the right candidate.

He's naive for one thing - Henry managed to trick Peter Sam into panicking about being late, causing Peter Sam to forget the refreshment lady; which suggests that he can also be forgetful. He's also shown to be cheeky in 'You Can't Win!' and both over-confident and stubborn in 'Peter Sam's Prickly Problem'. Now, none of this is to the detriment of Peter Sam, just as none of this is to the detriment of any of the characters - but it's also not the best base for a mentor.

I wouldn't say he's a bad choice - Peter Sam is a good candidate. He may be stubborn, but he's also persistent and determined, as well as kind and polite. But I think there are better candidates, and he has no experience with teaching other engines.

Rusty:

Rusty also shows a lot of the strengths that Peter Sam, Skarloey and Rheneas show - Rusty's intelligent, hard-working, kind and level-headed, going as far as to warn Duncan about some bad track in 'Rock 'n' Roll'. However, it's that same story that might just be Rusty's undoing.

Rusty leaves Duncan to find his own coaches - furthering Duncan's animosity towards Rusty and making him late, and then Rusty refuses to go to Duncan's aid until Skarloey scolds him. While this may be a biproduct of Rusty's young age, the fact we don't see much of the little diesel in the series either before or after this really doesn't help us get an idea of their character. It's the same issue that I have with Rheneas: we just don't know enough about them to make a judgement.

And one final thought: Rusty grumbles about Fred not doing his job in 'Speedkiller'; and Fred is the other track maintenance diesel on the railway. When Fred arrived, Rusty was most likely the engine who taught him how things worked... and didn't manage to succeed.

Duncan:

Duncan matures a lot over the series. When introduced, he's rude, loud, brash, dismissive - the list goes on. However, by the time we reach 'Pop-Special', he's changed drastically. Duncan is a very different engine in this story, going out of his way to help the scouts during the hot weather. He's grown a substantial amount!

However, I wouldn't say he's changed entirely. He is seen being abrasive and brash as late as 'Bulldog', arguing with Peter Sam over his interpretation of a 'Duke'. His change may also have been spurred on more by vaguely disguised threats than anything, seeing his reaction to Culdee's story in 'Bad Lookout':

Duncan is not the worst candidate for a mentor figure for Ivo Hugh - however he is quite low on the list, as his bad language, biting remarks and abrasive personality would not make for the most ideal learning environment.

Fred:

Look, we know nothing about Fred. He does not appear in any illustrations, have any speaking roles or even have an effect on the series. All we do know about him is that he shirks off his job as the weedkilling engine and Rusty is forced to do it. So I'd say based on this single incident, Fred is the worst candidate for a mentor for Ivo Hugh.

Duke:

And after all of them, there is only one left. Duke. Now, old Granpuff does have his faults - but he also is the only one of this entire group to have experience teaching engines. He raised Peter Sam (Stuart) and Sir Handel (Falcon) on his own - and by all accounts, while they were on the MSR they were really useful, polite, friendly and helpful. It isn't until their stint at the Aluminium Works that they gain their current personalities.

So, Duke has the experience - which suggests that he probably has a decent temperament for teaching and a wealth of knowledge to pass down, all tested on previous students. He's also surprisingly relaxed about his role. In 'You Can't Win!', Duke actively plans and takes part in a prank against Stuart as retaliation for rude comments. His ability to roll with the punches and also have fun is extremely useful in a teaching environment.

Duke also has the same determination and drive as Rheneas, handling his entire railway alone successfully for generations. Unlike Rheneas however, Duke doesn't drive himself to failure.

Duke also has the instincts. In 'Bulldog', Duke double-heads a train with Falcon - who spends the entire journey belittling and taunting the old engine. However, when Falcon derails and dangles over a cliff, Duke does not hesitate for even a moment, going into parental instinct instantly and not stopping until Falcon is safe, going so far as to bark orders at his crew and the passengers. This is an actual human reaction too, known as maternal instinct - this is an instantaneous reaction a mother will have if their child is in danger.

He acts more like Stanley is a problem than an opportunity, which could be due to Stanley's attitude or Duke's stubbornness - either way, the depiction of Stanley in 'Granpuff' is both very disturbing and very open-ended. Was Stanley that bad? Was Duke negligent? Was it actually the fault of management, and Duke is desperately trying to ensure that Stuart and Falcon don't go the same way? If it is the last one, then that's another positive for Duke as a mentor. Otherwise, not such a great sign. Duke can also be a bit... boring. He drones on about 'His Grace' so often that Stuart and Falcon get sick of it. Duke is also remarkably stubborn, being unable to deviate from his own beliefs in several cases. He also has a temper of his own, snapping back at Stuart and Falcon several times - though this was after considerably more provocation than Skarloey.

Despite these flaws, Duke does manage to balance them out far better than the others in a parental aspect. What really sets him apart is that parental instinct - it's a real game-changer, and he's one of only two engines in the entire series to be explicitly shown as having it. The other is Edward, who put himself in massive danger to save a runaway James, but even then, it's not quite the same. Edward's said to be the only other engine in the yard, and James is in nowhere near as much danger as Falcon was. Falcon is in perhaps the most danger any engine has ever been in the entire railway series in this moment:

Based on all this, I think Duke is the best choice to be the primary mentor for Ivo Hugh. There is just more instances of him being a proper mentor in the series, which makes it easier to spot how good he is at this role. Were we to see Rusty's early days, or even that Ivo Hugh book we all wanted, we'd probably have a much better idea of who is the actual best candidate. As it is, I stand by my choice of Duke, with Rheneas, Peter Sam, Rusty and Skarloey also having a large influence. After all, it takes a village to raise a child and a railway to raise an engine!

As usual, none of these images belong to me, and are the property of their respective owners.

#railway series #ao3 stuff #thomas the tank engine #fanfiction writer #railways #ttte au #ttte ivo hugh #ttte skarloey #ttte rheneas #ttte sir handel #ttte peter sam #ttte rusty #ttte duncan #ttte fred #ttte duke #ttte edward #ao3 link #mentor #personality #analysis #ttte analysis #long reads #weirdowithaquill

[eveandtheturtles]

Through Fire and Smoke Part 1

Ship: Leo x Named!F!Reader

Summary: A chance encounter during fire causes you to discover that some urban legends are true. Set in SWAK universe about same time of chapter 6/7.

Tag: @madammuffins @thelaundrybitch @turtle-babe83 @leosgirl82 @sharpwindow @dilucsflame33 @m1dnyt3-w0lf @scholastic-dragon @tinkabelle19

The inferno was ravaging the building and you knew you had very little time to find the two kids that were still stuck there.

"Over here!!!" A yell got your attention.

It came from a room to your left. You rushed there. It was just a second but you paused, wondering if some of the CO got to you. There was a creature, a turtle man. He was holding up a burning wooden beam over his shell. He was stuck. At the same time you noticed two kids - a boy and a girl - huddled under him, with cloths over their mouths.

"Take them!" He shouted snapping you out of your daze.

"Simmons, I need you here stat!" You shouted to your intercom. Then you hurried to the kids. "Hey there, let me get you out of here." You told the two children.

"I'm he-! Holy fuck what is that!?" You heard Simmons.

"No time!" You handed him the boy.

You were about to leave, but the girl pulled your hand. "We can't leave Leo!" She protested.

Leo?

You looked up at the turtle, struggling.

"Sanchez?" Simmons called to you. With a curse, you pushed the girl at him.

"I'll get him out." You promised her. You hoped your coworker got them both out and that you won't die helping the creature. He didn't look too good. There were burns on his arms. He must have been dehydrated as well with the heat.

"Okay, big guy, on three together!" You crawled under him bracing your feet and then PULLED.

He wheezed but with one last ditch effort he used the last of his strength. Together you managed to pull at least the upper torso enough for you to wrap the straps around him.

The inferno continued to burn around you. The whole building quivered, ready to come down on you both at any moment.

You readied yourself to drag Leo out by yourself.

"Come on big guy, one more time," you said and he nodded.

With a last, truly Herculean effort you freed the turtle man. You helped him up, noticing his legs were wounded but it seemed he could still move them.

"Lean on me!" You ordered him and managed to carry most of his weight.

You knew going to the front door was out of the question. You tried to drag Leo as quickly as possible to the lower levels. Your plan wasn't the gentlest but it was better than exposing this guy to half of New York.

"Hope your shell is hard enough," you told him.

He looked at you and you noticed how blue his eyes were.

"I can take it," he said, understanding somehow your plan.

Aiming him with his shell to the window you pushed him out the second floor into the back alley. You looked outside and saw him pick himself up, immediately joined by three other large turtles.

That was your cue! You ran as fast as possible out of the building. You weren't expecting to meet Leo again. Maybe that would be for the best.

You didn’t talk much with Simmons after that. Just merely confirmed that the turtle was safely evacuated out of the building. 

It was about a week after the event when you noticed someone was following you. A large deformed shadow. It unnerved and ticked you off. You decided you had no interest of playing along. You took a step into the alley and looked up.

“Alright, what do you want?” You honestly didn’t know what you were going to do but there was a pepper spray in your pocket, a taser, and years of working as a firefighter. You definitely had a chance.

It was a tense moment before you heard the movement over the fire escapes.

“Sorry,” Leo spoke out showing up on the stairs. He then jumped down. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

You noted burn scars on his arms. You also took note of two katanas on his back. You wondered what was up with that.

“No problem, just part of my job,” you replied, relaxing only just a little. He was really tall, beefier than any of your coworkers. It was intimidating, even if he was acting a lil sheepish.

Leo nodded. “Uh… Name’s Leonardo.” He introduced himself. “Um, friends and family call me Leo.”

“What about your enemies?” You crossed your arms, raising your eyebrows and tilting your head.

“Uuuh, turtle…menace, or… turtle menace? I think?” He replied and you snorted.

“Amelia Sanches,” you introduced yourself and offered him your hand. “You can call me Amelia.”

He shook it and smiled. He had a cute smile. “Nice to meet you, Amelia.”

“Likewise.” You smiled back. The tension left your body. His hand was a bit like yours - calloused, battle-worn, but warm and so large. You looked up into his eyes. So blue. He 

You kept shaking his hand. Until both of you noticed. You awkwardly quickly pulled your hand back. 

“So, um… I’ll see you around, yeah?” You put your hands into your pockets.

“Sure. yeah,” he replied. He ran a hand over his bald head. “You live here, right?” He gestured to the building.

“Yeah. It’s cheap and close to the station,” you confirmed.

“Cool.” He nodded. “I’ll be going. Before my brothers wonder where I went.”

“I think I remember them,” you recalled the three figures back from the fire.

“Yeah, 3 of them, they are a handful but you know, you don’t choose family,” he chuckled. “Do you have them too?”

“What?”

“Brothers.”

“Oh! No, I have sisters. Also a handful.”

“Nice.” He swayed on his feet. “I mean not nice they’re handful but-”

“Yeah.” You agreed. You should move, you told yourself. “You healed pretty fast.”

He looked at his arm. “Oh, yeah. It’s a bonus of what I am.”

“What are you?” You asked before you could think about it.

Leo looked at you with a little smirk. “Well… I’m a turtle. A mutant turtle. It’s a long story. I could tell you about it on another date?”

You frowned amused. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“I mean, only if you want it to be one?” He cleared his throat and you snorted. 

“I’ll think about it. Is there even a place we could go to?” 

“I know a Chinese restaurant,” he said.

“Sounds good, I like Chinese.” You nodded in approval and pulled out your phone. “What’s your number?” You assumed he had a phone.

“Yeah.” He fished out a smartphone that you couldn’t quite recognize. He told you his phone number and you quickly typed it in. You send him a signal and he smiled.

“Got it.”

“Good,” you put it away and turned around. “I’ll be waiting for the address!”

“I’ll text you!”

“You better!” You glanced back and left the alley. You could feel your cheeks burning but damn, there was a spring in your step now. 

Your phone vibrated.

[Leo] You didn’t tell me when.

You snorted. [You] Next Wednasday is good. at 6pm?

[Leo] 👍 

#leonardo x reader #leonardo x you #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt 2016 #tmnt #bayverse turtles #tmnt bayverse #eve scribbles #tmnt 2014 #bayverse leonardo

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Ghost Story - Chapter 42

Pairing: Rooster x Female OC

Word Count: 1709

Warnings: Mention of death, swearing

Summary: No one will miss a ghost. It'd been a running joke for as long as anyone could remember, something Ghost herself started, and she always said it with a smile on her face or with mirth in her voice. The untouchable stealth pilot in every sense of the word, no one could've predicted the depth of her turmoil over recent events, nor the extremes she would go to in order to protect the man she loved, not even those closest to her. Now, all that was left of the young aviator for Maverick, Hangman, and Rooster were the memories of the past, which would slowly fade with time. She'd come into their lives and made an unforgettable impression, and then, like a ghost, she was gone... Then again, ghosts can't die a second time.

Notes: None

Chapter Songs: H.O.L.Y God, Your Mama, and Me

****

Maverick

Rooster woke up not long after his surgery. The first thing he tried to do was stand while mumbling about needing to find Ghost, and although still heavily drugged, it took a Herculean effort between Maverick and Hangman to force the giant back onto the bed. Affronted, Rooster glowered at the two men and demanded, "What the hell are you two doing? Where's Ghost?"

"You just got out of surgery, Bradley," Maverick explained gently. "Your leg was broken, and you have a compressed spine that will thankfully heal without surgery. Along with some cuts and bruises, it's a wonder you don't have more injuries, let alone serious ones."

"I don't care about me. Where's Ghost? Is she-"

"Alive but in surgery. She was in worse shape than you."

Rooster's wan demeanor blanched, causing the bruises on his face to stand out even more prominently. Maverick thought his son may pass out. "Sh-she made it through? I thought she died after-"

She has already. Maverick thought, reliving the moment he heard there'd been a code blue in her operating room. Miraculously she pulled through, but he'd been even more on edge since it happened. Still, he couldn't bring himself to tell that to Rooster, so he said, "Yeah. From what I know so far, she has a concussion, compressed spine, broken ribs, punctured lung, and a broken wrist."

"I knew her ribs were bothering her," Rooster groaned, slamming his head back into the pillow. 

"Easy. You need to be careful with your neck."

"What happened out there?" Hangman asked, uncharacteristically devoid of his usual strength. 

"I don't know how it happened, but she collided with an enemy fighter. Her wing sliced through it. Never saw her eject, so I feared the worst," Rooster replied, sinking into his sheets. His fight evaporated, and Maverick could see his godson struggling to stay awake. "I found her crash site, thought she'd died in it until I saw a parachute in the distance and went to investigate. She was unconscious when I reached her, although she came to pretty quickly. Ghost was furious I was down there. Kind of reminded me of your reaction, Mav."

Rooster chuckled softly. Maverick smiled. "It's the only appropriate response."

"Then what happened?" Hangman prodded.

"We headed in the direction where we'd seen an enemy fighter land. Trekked through the snow and the trees, and my ankle or leg was already fucked up, but only where it caused me to limp. When we got to the base, I tripped in a hole and made it ten times worse. Probably broke it or fractured it at that point."

"How would you even have walked if that's the case?"

"One, I was more concerned about the literal terrorists surrounding us while we casually strode onto the base like we belonged. Telling you, if Ghost and I can't fly again, then we need to go into acting. Two-" Rooster held up three fingers, frowned, and put one down- "adrenaline is a hell of a drug, Seresin."

"How did you steal the plane?"

"We have you to thank for that. I think Ghost might've been planning to set fire to something, but when the air raid siren went off, we managed to take a plane without much issue, although, really, we have Ghost's bilingualness to thank for that."

Hangman cocked his head. "Ghost is bilingual? What's her second language? Spectral?"

"Russian!"

"Russian? She speaks Russian? Since when?!"

"Do I look like I know that? She did yell at a guy trying to climb into a plane, and it was kind of terrifying but also kind of hot and-"

"Captain Mitchell," Cyclone interrupted, garnering everyone's attention immediately. Maverick stood, anxiously awaiting the news. "Ghost is out of surgery, but she's still in critical condition. They had a few close calls in the operating room, and she did flatline once."

Hangman sagged against the foot of Rooster's bed. "Do they know if she'll pull through? I know critical-"

"They can't tell, unfortunately. They're not entirely sure how Ghost survived it in the first place. For all intents and purposes, she should've died after that second ejection because they believe her lung had already been punctured at least slightly from the first one. These next few hours will determine if she'll live through it."

"Will Ghost be able to fly again?" Maverick asked, knowing that would be the second question out of her mouth once she had an answer on Rooster.

"That, I'm unable to tell. Ghost won't need surgery on her spine, incredibly. Her wrist fracture wasn't horrifically severe, not as bad as Bradshaw's leg here," Cyclone said, nodding to Rooster. "How's he doing?"

"He's-" Maverick turned around to find his son passed out and snoring softly- "exhausted. Mainly worried about Ghost. You just missed him. He was up and talking."

Hangman and Maverick explained to Cyclone what Rooster had conveyed to them only moments before. The admiral listened intently, his mouth pursed into a grim, thin line. When they finished the brief overview, the admiral sighed. "Thank you. I'll need both of them to give statements about what happened. When Rooster's awake, coherent, and able to move, have him come to my office. When you're ready, you can go see Ghost."

Maverick wanted to bolt to her room, grab her hand, and plead with his daughter to wake up so he could tell her the truth, that she wasn't alone in this world like she thought she was, that she had family, that she had him. However, he refrained. Turning to Hangman, he said, "Do you want to see her first?"

"I don't want to go alone, sir..." Hangman confessed, shoving his hands into his pockets. Understanding where the aviator came from, Maverick moved to join him on the walk there, but not before shooting one last glance over his shoulder to check on Rooster. His son still slept soundly.

Upon entering Ghost's room, Maverick's breath caught in his throat. The sight of her hooked up to all the machines was too reminiscent of Carole being in the hospital. Had the steady beating of Ghost's heart monitor not been there, Maverick would've believed her already dead. Rooster had been wan, but Ghost... she might as well have been one, for the seasoned pilot had never seen anyone that shade of white before. No living person, at least.

"Shit," Hangman breathed, turning deathly pale. He sank onto the foot of her bed, hesitantly placing a gentle hand on her leg. Meanwhile, Maverick moved to her side, taking her good hand in his. It was cold to the touch. 

Charlie, Ice, Goose, Carole- if any of you are listening, help her pull through. Maverick prayed, his hand shaking in Ghost's. We're not ready to lose her. Please don't make her the first wingman Hangman loses. Don't make Rooster lose another person he loves. Don't make me lose my daughter before I've gotten the chance to know her as such. Please don't take her from us now.

"If she doesn't pull out of this..." Hangman began quietly, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. "How did you do it? After Goose died, how did you keep flying?"

"I almost didn't," Maverick admitted, his mind involuntarily flashing back and comparing the events of today to those of the past and coming to a gut-wrenching realization that the past had a tendency to repeat itself in a sickening manner. Before, it had been a Mitchell holding a Bradshaw. This time, it'd been a Bradshaw holding a Mitchell. The only difference was that Ghost managed to cling to life, albeit barely. 

"What kept you going?" Hangman asked, his green eyes piercing Maverick's.

"I temporarily quit Top Gun, but Viper, Charlie, and Carole all had a part in convincing me to go back. Carole, Bradley, and Ice, in particular, helped me for the next few years after. Carole and Bradley, by providing a family I could come home to, and Ice, a friend who could ground me when I got reckless. They also reminded me that Goose wouldn't have wanted me to stop flying because of his death." Maverick sniffed, taking the opportunity to push down the rising lump in his throat. "He's with me every time I'm up in the air. He'll be with me to the day I die."

"I know we all lose a wingman at some point, but I don't want Ghost to be my Goose... I don't want to lose any of my wingmen, but her-"

"I know," Maverick said understandingly. 

A clattering in the doorway caused both men to jump. They whirled around to find Rooster barely standing and using the doorframe to support himself, his crutches sprawled on the floor. Noticing his son's sickly shade of green, Maverick rushed for the trash bin and put it in front of Rooster just before he hurled the little contents of his stomach.

"Damn it, Bradshaw," Hangman snapped, hurriedly grabbing a chair for the newcomer to sit in. He and Maverick lowered Rooster into it so he wouldn't hurt his back by collapsing down. "You shouldn't have gotten out of bed."

"You almost sound like you care, Seresin," Rooster jested weakly. He waved their worried hands away, eyes settling on Ghost. His joking demeanor evaporated instantly. "How is she?"

"Not good," Hangman said truthfully, sitting back down in his chair. "She's in critical condition. These next few hours will determine whether or not she's going to live."

"Bradley, you should be resting," Maverick said gently. "You should be back in bed. You're not helping her by over-exerting yourself."

Rooster hung his head, mumbling, "She won't want me here when she wakes up anyway. I'll leave."

He struggled to stand, and Hangman and Maverick both moved to assist him. Hangman slung Rooster's arm over his shoulders and said, "I'll take care of Bradshaw. Keep an eye on her. I-I can't right now."

Although Maverick hated to have Bradley out of his site, he hated the idea of leaving Ghost even more due to her state. "Thanks, Jake."

"You too, Pops."

Maverick smiled at the nickname, one he only allowed Hangman to call him. Then he settled into his chair and prepared for a long night watching over his daughter.

****

Tags: @supernaturaldawning @shanimallina87 @polikszena @lgg5989 @callsign-milano @bradshawsandbridgetons @harper1666 @shadeops21 @double-j @copaceticwriter @rotating-obsessions @sharkprestige @thedarkinmansfield @lapilark @mickeyluvs @starshipfantasy @bennypears00 @avabobava @the-navistar-carol @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @carmellasworld @0hb0llocks @nicangelinee @summ3rlotus @3picklesinajar @magentamistress @the-other-hawkeye @elisha-chloe @emilymarie105 @persephone11110 @luckyladycreator2 @boogdleyboo @k0k3 @bibissparkles @lilmonstrjedi @stinkyrat09 @cocoag19 @suburbzchick @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @goodstuff28 @georgiasimpson95 @horselovers2016 @tanithpriad125 @davidshawnsown @sowolfstudentme @agagafafa @callmemana @sec17 @brxklyn15 @h0ppy0the0sheep @tomanybandstolove @abigailannz @mini-bee-bee @super-btstrash-posts

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#top gun #top gun maverick #fanfiction #fanfic #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #tg #maverick #rooster #hangman #phoenix #bob #coyote #fanboy #payback #halo #fritz #omaha #harvard #yale #charlie #ghost #ghost story #winchester #bradley bradshaw #top gun 2 #iceman #penny #penny benjamin #grief

[williamkjar-said-kyy-ar]

The Ocean

a/n: Theoretical scene from my four-book series "Worldwalker." Sam has come very very far in his journey to save earth from an invasion of titanic sea creatures, and is finally close to the end, with an angry, vengeful alien as his only companion.

“Do you think I have a family? Does anyone miss me?” Sam asked mildly, interrupting the voice in his ear. Zekoa, for once, stopped talking. The silence dragged on, and Sam kept walking. No reason to stop.

“All this time, all the things I’ve said, these are the first words you say to me?” There was a sneer to the tone, but Sam didn’t mind. He didn’t reply either. Finally Zekoa sighed.

“Maybe. How should I know? I don’t care. You’re here to do what I tell you. That’s the only way we win.”

“Okay,” Sam said. There was a pause.

“Why now?” Zekoa asked at last, and Sam stopped walking. His limbs were heavy. He couldn’t exactly recall the last time he’d sat down, only that it had been long before this desolate place.

He sat down.

“Why are you talking now?” Zekoa asked again. “I was beginning to think you didn’t know how.”

“I remembered something,” Sam said absently. “Then I forgot it again, but I still remembered that what I forgot was a memory of something good. Family. And I started to wonder about mine.”

“And you want to save them, correct?” Zekoa’s tone came alive again, seeing an opportunity to goad Sam to action or anger. Sam shrugged.

“Yes. But I want to save everyone, and I can't remember my family. So I don’t feel more for them than anyone else.”

“You won’t save anyone sitting on the ground,” Zekoa said. “Get up. Keep walking. If you destroy the core, all those monsters die with it. Put a stop to this.”

Sam rose to his feet. The fog clung dense around him, like a physical weight, but somehow it had stopped pulling at all. He felt lighter now. His steps dragged less. He might have been able to fly.

“Hey. Get up.”

He blinked, and he was still on the ground. The fog still dragged at him. Worse now, if anything. The image of himself walking vanished like vapor, and he couldn’t summon enough strength to bring it back, much less actually stand.

“What do you think this place looks like without the fog?” he asked. With Herculean effort he dragged his knees to his chest and hugged them. Zekoa’s impatience thrummed in the air around him, nearly audible.

“Who cares?” The voice was snapping with rage. “You’re quitting. You’re not allowed to quit, these monsters took everything from me…from us! If I am to be nothing more than a voice in your head for the rest of my miserable life, I want to see vengeance. Stop giving up.”

“I’m not giving up,” Sam replied patiently. “Your…people. They all died because of this, it must be hard for you. You were their guardian after all. Would you have preferred I left you to die with them? I was trying to be kind by saving you.”

“You can’t begin to understand what the Mind meant to me,” Zekoa spat. “I was tasked with their wellbeing, they were my responsibility, my people. For hundreds of years I heard their voices, their every need, always in my head. All I hear now is SILENCE. You wouldn’t even talk to me. Now that you are, I don’t want to hear it. I lost my colony, I lost my home. I don’t even have the dignity of a body anymore, I’m just an entity in a tiny chip in the helmet of this stupid suit keeping you alive. Every second you spend sitting here is a second you’re robbing me of justice.”

“Do you think your colony will know we won? Will it matter that you got your justice?” Sam asked, looking up at the dense ceiling of blue fog that sat perfectly motionless an inch above his nose. It was so thick he would have lost his hand if he’d held it out in front of himself. It was easy to ignore Zekoa’s growing hostility. The creature had every right to be angry after all, and Sam didn’t mind.

“Why are you asking all these stupid, unimportant questions?” Zekoa asked, his rage boiling over as his voice rose to a screech that hurt Sam’s ears. Sam winced.

“I dunno. I just…” Sam took a breath in, the words bouncing against the glass of his helmet and fading with the promise that only he and Zekoa could hear them. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

Dead silence followed. Sam let out the breath he’d been holding, the weight lifting as he finally said it out loud.

“Wow. That feels better. I think I’m good to keep goi-”

“You don’t die,” Zekoa said, and now he was quiet.

“Well, sure I do. I’m human after all, I’ll die someday.”

“Yet you’ve made it so far, against impossible odds. You’ve defeated monsters bigger than planets. I found you on an island of their corpses drifting through space, or do you not remember that? Even now I suspect any other of your species would have succumbed to this realm’s poisons long ago. You’ve been foretold, you must fulfill that prophecy.”

“Yeah, well.” Sam pushed himself to his feet, refusing to let himself stagger. “I can't fight air. I don’t think this poison is treating me well.”

“Is this why you’re talking now?” Zekoa asked.

“Maybe. I don’t really know. Maybe I’m imagining all this. It seemed easier to break the silence when I’m not really sure what’s real anyway.” Sam forced himself to walk again, ever deeper into the choking fog. The air tasted bad.

“I won’t let you die,” Zekoa said.

“I miss my home,” Sam said, ignoring Zekoa. “I don’t even remember anything about it. It seems blue to me though. That's a good color.”

“You’re from Earth,” Zekoa replied. “I think that planet is traditionally green.”

“Hmm. That’s alright too. See this place, it’s just blue fog and flat rock, I can’t put a color to it.”

“I believe you just did.”

“No, no, it’s not actually blue though. This place is colorless inside. Not like earth. Earth had every shade of blue, and every texture too, now that I’m thinking about it. It’s like…water. So much water. Beautiful. Do you think I’ll see it again before I die? Earth I mean. Like, my life flashing before my eyes?”

“I won’t let you die,” Zekoa repeated firmly.

“I reckon everything might come back, all my memories,” Sam said, almost wistfully. “Right before I go.”

“Shut up! I won’t let you die. You’re not leaving me all alone like this,” Zekoa snarled. “We’re finding the source of all the madness, and you’re killing it, and then you’re staying alive. Do you hear me?”

Sam did not hear him. For just a moment, the world around him was replaced by a memory. The poisonous taste in the air fell back under a new, stronger sense, cleansed by salt and brine. A deep, slow rumble and hiss rose and fell, slowly surrounding him in its soothing embrace. It cooled his pain, washing away the exhaustion and renewing him. He took a breath, and opened his eyes without realizing he’d closed them. A vast, glittering blue stretched out ahead of him, waves rising and falling playfully as if beckoning to him. Foam flicked through the air in showers of white froth that flashed in rainbow as the light caught it and playfully tossed it back. Foam frosted each wave in webs of fractals that faded into the deepest sapphire, turquoise, emerald, amaranthine. Light danced and dazzled, sparking up and over and in constant motion with the living thing in front of him. He stepped into it, the waves rising to his waist, to his chest, until it swallowed him whole, letting him kick away the last of his own weight and drift at the whim of the water. The light sparked across the surface above him and now all he heard was the thundering breath and heartbeat of this loving creature. He closed his eyes as hundreds of tiny bubbles swirled to meet him and tickle his bare skin. All fell still, silent, and perfectly peaceful, marine colors coalescing into one pure memory of the only place he’d ever found true peace. The ocean.

Sam smiled, opened his eyes to the land of poison fog, and didn’t speak again.

#writing #booklr #original story #sea creatures #apocalypse #the ocean #this is major spoilers but whatever man #science fiction #science fantasy #fantasy #please read #its the only way my work will ever be seen realistically I have the commitment of a ping pong ball #acearo #Sam's ace aro #Zekoa's #gay #whump #kinda I guess this is whump #emotional whump #ok bye now

[marlinsandthetrout]

I’m starting to wonder if MS might be a possible explanation for a lot of my symptoms. I have a diagnosis of NF1, but NF1 doesn’t really explain a lot of the endless list of symptoms I experience, across every system in my body. symptoms including, but not limited to:

 - scoliosis! really bad scoliosis! i got my first spinal fusion when i was eight years old. another at 12. another at 22. i now have half my vertabrae fused, my entire thoracic spine, with rods and screws. nf1 can explain this one, it causes bone deformities.

- white flashes in my vision. i’ve started to develop this symptom over the past several weeks. i will get what looks like random flashes of bright white light behind my eyelids, at unpredictable and inconsistent times. at first, i thought this was my electricity or my overhead lights being weird, but then it began happening both inside and outside my house, and in different light conditions.

- numbness and tingling in my hands and feet. for the past year, more often than not, i wake up with a pins-and-needles or numb feeling in my feet and/or hands. this feeling seems to travel up into the forearm or calf, and it gradually goes away over the course of my morning. but sometimes the numbness comes out of anywhere! it’s especially likely to happen when i’m typing, holding my phone, or drawing.

- random hand spasms. this happens sometimes where i’ll be gripping an object and one of two things will happen: my hand will spasm and the object will go flying, or it will suddenly seem like i’ve lost all strength in my hand and the object will slip from my fingers and fall to the floor. this doesn’t happen very often, but i am trying to keep a closer eye on when it does

- pain pain pain fucking everywhere all the time. my hair hurts my toes hurt my gums hurt my chin hurts my fingernails hurt my stomach hurts my stomach always always always hurts...

-i’m so tired all the time, like a bone-deep fatigue that’s sometimes so severe that walking to the corner store is exhausting, sometimes just brushing my teeth seems like such a herculean effort of strength that i skip it. everything that seems so easy for everyone else is such an endless struggle of fatigue and confusion for me. on my bad days it feels like i’m carrying a backpack full of rocks up a mountain.

- gastrointestinal problems so severe i’ve had to start drinking meal replacement drinks because my body has decided that it doesn’t want to digest solid food. i’ve had a colonoscopy, endoscopy, gastric emptying study, barium study, blood tests, and imaging done to find the cause of my dietary issues and nothing. ever. comes. up. getting endometriosis surgery solved a chunk of my GI problems, but I’m still suffering from being underweight and malnourished and Ensures are the only things keeping me alive.

-memory problems that are so bad, i often can’t recall conversations or outings with friends, and sometimes i have trouble recalling daily events. i’ll get to a store and i can’t remember how i got there or what i need to buy.

- not-seizures, “episodes” that i’ve never known how to properly describe to doctors or anyone, which have been confirmed via EEGs to not be epileptic in nature. during these “episodes”, i’ll be having a conversation or doing normal tasks, and my eyes will get stuck on a particular point or object in the distance. my eyes get wide and unfocused, and my vision gets soft and blurry around the edges. sometimes my eyes feel warm and tingly. my body feels like it’s humming, or sometimes it feels kinda numb, but there is a bodily change in sensation. i’m aware of what’s going on, and sometimes i can continue responding to a conversation, but i can’t pull my eyes off this one point in the distance. they’re stuck. sometimes i go quiet and stop responding. my brain feels like it’s buffering, like i’m looking at the world through a shower door fogged up by steam. this lasts for 10-30 seconds, and then it just stops and i go back to what i was doing before. i’ve been trying to get these evaluated for years, and have never found an explanation.

-white spots on my MRI scans, which has lead two different neurologists to suggest i get workup for MS. white spots are relatively common in NF1 patients, too, but with the amount of symptoms I have that don’t really align with Nf1, I just don’t know. I’m going to try to find a specialist to give me a “workup” and see what happens from there...

#chronic illness #multiple sclerosis #neurofibromatosis #nf1 #disability blogging #dysautonomia #ms #advice #feel free to respond w/ any input or similar experiences #trying to figure this stuff out :(

[cottonthumb]

❦ The land drifted serenely, as it always did, climbing sky ward in lazy curls as the gale tugged it upon the cottony backs of Lornean dandelions, clumped together into soft colonies, raising each shattered hillside closer to the clouds.

For generations, the verdant pastures of Turffield have been made airborne, gently hovering in on account of the tightly knit colonies of dandelions beneath them. They never drifted far - at least, none of the bigger chunks did - and life carried on much as it always did... somewhat. The sheep still grazed over the lush greenery, their light wool elevating their bodies to float in a peaceful gallop through the air, from island to island, until they had their fill for the day. They had barns to return to and caregivers to tend them, most of which had to be well versed with a rope and lasso to bring in the more unruly lambs. Wildlife was always closely watching; it wasn’t unusual for a daring eagle to clutch clumpfuls of pelt in its claws and carry away a careless grazer. Most such animals prefered not to prey on the sheep whenever the wide brim of the sky farmer’s sunhat was visible.

Most folks who worked here were nimble, light on their feet, quickly scampering up various footholds and floating chunks to quickly make way to their flock. This fellow though was short, stocky, and had all the strength of a bull. His approach to shepherding was altogether different from the norm, though just as effective. With sturdy steps up the side of the hill he was traversing, the farmer looked over his flock and where it grazed most frequently. The grasses seemed a little shallower for all their eating. An expansion was needed.

So the farmer went a little further, tugging from his belt a rope that seemed far too heavy for any man to weild easily. It was weighted at one end with a sturdy branch, whittled into the shape of a ram’s head. He looked over the edge, a little uneasy at being so close to the catastrophic plummet earthward, but still duty bound as always. There was another clump of land nearby; a rather formidable tree rooted at it’s edge. The farmer took aim, reeled his arm back, spun the weighted rope a bit, and flung it deftly. It sailed in a graceful arc, the wooden weight snagging the inbetween of the tree’s branches. Taking an experimental tug to test how secure the catch was, soon the farmer had dug his heels into the ground, taking a deep breath, and slowly reeled in the land itself.

The chunks came together, the dandelions recognizing their siblings joined their colonies, and the grazing grounds were now a little larger.

Despite the herculean effort, the farmer merely removed his sunhat and dried the sweat off his brow with a scarf he kept snug around his neck. This was Milo, and here he farmed peacefully. Predators didn’t much care risking coming within the range of a man who could yank them out of the sky, so his flock frolicked with a bit more freedom than most. I say a bit... because there’s always one lamb who’s always bound to think the grass is greener at some other spot. Today was no different.

“Where’d that rascal go...” Milo hummed to himself, still scanning the horizon for his stray sheep. In a littany of clouds, a little white speck is hard to spot. And here he thought attaching the bell would’ve been helpful.

@kingsblaze

#ic rp #fantasy au #((a special au delivery uvu #hope you like this dear!))

[isloveworthdyingfor]

Caged Bird with Iron Wings

(Esther Nicholette Sullivan) The mirror doesn’t lie – my reflection beams back at me, a vision of strength and resilience. The snug workout attire hugs my curves, a testament to years of dedication and perseverance in the gym. Gone are the remnants of baby weight, replaced by toned muscles sculpted through sheer determination.

Returning from my thoughts, I stride into the kitchen. James is engrossed in his video game, his attention barely flickering towards me. He remains an enigma, my husband – tall, dark, and handsome. He was once a captivating soccer star but is now lost in a virtual world that offers him escape but demands nothing real. His charm still lingers, yet his presence feels distant as he navigates this digital realm with more fervor than he does our shared reality.

And then there’s Aaron, our son, who embodies a time when love felt boundless. With his tousled, dirty blonde hair and deep cerulean eyes, he stands as a beacon of dreams and unwavering loyalty. He carries fragments of James and me – my tenacity intertwined with James’s charisma, all encapsulated in a tender-hearted soul that yearns to explore beyond earthly confines.

“Mommy, look what I built!” Aaron’s voice pulls me back, and I smile at the Lego spaceship in his hands. “It’s amazing, tiger,” I say, brushing a kiss on his forehead.

“Remember, you promised we’d look at the stars tonight,” he reminds me, his wide-eyed excitement soothes my frayed nerves.

“I wouldn’t forget,” I assure him, even as I know the telescope will gather dust for another night. It’s a promise made in good faith but feels increasingly hollow as the distance between James and me grows.

“Can I come with you, Mom?” Caleb’s voice slices through the humdrum of clinking plates and the low buzz of the refrigerator. My hands freeze over the zipper of my gym bag, an involuntary pause as his question hangs in the air like a hovering dragonfly.

My gaze shifts to him, Caleb, the vibrant embodiment of vivacious boyhood with his unruly strawberry blonde hair, was a pocket-sized dynamo. His bright green eyes, constantly alight with curiosity and mischief, held a spark rivaling the most vivid emerald. These striking features were set against a backdrop of fair Irish skin, dotted here and there with freckles like someone had playfully flicked a paintbrush across his face.

At nine years old, Caleb was an inexhaustible whirlwind of energy - always on the move, whether darting around playing imaginary video games or flipping through books with an insatiable thirst for knowledge. His mind was like a sponge, absorbing facts and figures at an alarming rate, which made him nothing less than a walking encyclopedia.

“Honey, there’s nothing for you to do there,” I reply, tugging the corners of my mouth into what I hope resembles a smile. The effort feels Herculean. I kneel before him, my hand rising to ruffle his hair, soft and unruly under my fingertips. His shoulders slump ever so slightly, a silent testament to the disappointment my words have sown.

“Besides, those tacos will turn into science experiments if you don’t finish them.” I attempt lightness, though it comes out strained, like a note held too long by a faltering violin.

He nods, acquiescing, yet a shadow dims the usual sparkle in his eyes as he turns back to his half-eaten dinner. The sight twists a knot in my stomach. For a moment, I’m catapulted into the past – a time when laughter filled our home more frequently than the ghostly silence of disconnection.

I stand, shouldering my gym bag, the seams straining against the weight of my gear... and my escapist dreams. There’s only so much of myself to give and bit by bit, I sense my essence being whittled away.

As I stroll past the hallway mirror, my reflection arrests my attention; it’s a stark irony to the recollections flashing in my mind. Reflected in the glass stands a woman reborn—her physique chiseled from relentless determination and unwavering effort. Yet beneath this physical fortitude rages an internal tempest of doubts and hypotheticals.

“Will it be worth it?” I murmur to my reflection—to the woman who gazes back with eyes pleading for affirmation. James grumbled something about his game under his breath, annoyance lacing his tone. Clenching my teeth together, I internally cursed video games—my personal adversary. The throbbing lights, monotonous sound effects, and their ability to consume him entirely left me feeling spectral in our shared space.

I pressed a silent apology into each boy’s forehead with a kiss before leaving them behind in our tension-filled home. As I exited, I glanced back at James, already further sinking into the couch’s embrace with the game controller clutched tightly within his grasp. “Don’t forget about dishes,” I reminded him through gritted teeth as fatigue weighed heavily on my words.

It was becoming a familiar routine—the dirty dishes would inevitably wait another night, adding to the mounting list of grievances slowly corroding our seemingly idyllic existence. I slammed the door shut behind me and turned up the Jeep’s music till it thrummed against my ribcage—an attempt to drown out the persistent disquiet gnawing at my core.

Turning the key in the ignition, I let the engine roar drown out the chaos of my thoughts. It’s a temporary reprieve, but it’s all I have for now – the road ahead and the battle within.

#fitnessjourney #strongwomen #workoutmotivation #gymlife #fitmom #womensfitness #motherhood #momlife #familydynamics #marriage #loveandloss #parenting #selfreflection #innerstrength #findingmyself #mentalhealth #mindset #womensempowerment

[joeys-piano]

Hi Joey, happy STS! What's been your most challenging story to write and why?

Happy Storyteller Saturday, peep. The day has been too long, too tiring, but the writing gets done. Somehow.

My most challenging (technical) work was a 15k+ short story titled Damn, You're Reckless. It took me around 2.5 months to complete, from conception to final draft, and is my most ambitious project to date. It pitted my writing weaknesses against my strengths, and essentially pushed to play with a concept I've always thought about but didn't think I was good enough to write. And it was only after I finished, did I realize I was more than capable of handling the concept and learned a ton on how I could do something similar with a better approach if I tried this again.

The challenges in writing this were many, to say the least, but this was the rundown:

This story was told through 12 different narrators, each claiming they know the real story when that's not really the case. This was intentional on my part - I was playing with the theme of perspective and how we learn a lot about ourselves in how we perceive others. And honestly, it was kind of crazy how I managed to write for 12 distinct narrative voices that felt whole and gave the readers a great view of every character, despite how brief some of the perspectives where. That's where I personally shine as a writer, like give me a background bit character and I'll make you feel things about them you didn't expect when you start reading!

It was my first time writing a fight scene, and I decided to make it a gang fight with five main action beats. And very quickly, I had to figure out some striking ways to write about a bunch of guys beating the shit out of each other and have it be interesting. Because I don't know if you know, but punches and kicks and knives and dodges get boring very quickly when you have to describe it like that. So - I really had to stretch my visual writing skills and learn how to write fights that incorporated not only the movement, but the rush and the pain and the fear and adrenaline. And it was crazy.

This was a big story. My longest short story, actually. It was a marathon and a herculean effort for how I managed to pull this together. I rarely write stories that are 10k+, so this was an endurance challenge as much as it was a technical one. At the same as I was writing this, I was graduating from university, had a minor surgery, and was preparing to join the workforce. I had a hard deadline in trying to finish this before I started work, and somehow I managed with a few days to spare.

And finally, as I mentioned earlier, I was writing a concept I've thought about for a long time but didn't feel like I had the writing chops to do it right. Which can sound silly, but it's such a real and stressful worry because it often feels like you have to be at certain levels before you can finally do something. When in actuality, the attempt of doing helps you so much more than waiting it out until you think you're ready. So, it was very much a mind game of trusting my own processes and how I work and acknowledging I am still a beginner in a lot of ways. But I'm trying with every work. I like to give myself some sort of challenge to try something new because I find that's the only way I get with better things and weaken that voice in my head that says I can't do something that I want to do.

So yep, that is my most challenging story.

#joey speaks

[nearmidnightannex]

Viola Davis, EGOT

Viola Davis achieves EGOT with Grammy win for her audiobook By Joe Sutton and Zoe Sottile, CNN Published 5:28 PM EST, Sun February 5, 2023

After winning a Grammy Award, Viola Davis has officially completed the holy grail of entertainment awards. 

Davis’ Sunday win for the audiobook of her memoir “Finding Me” completes her EGOT collection. She previously won an Emmy for her role in “How to Get Away with Murder,” an Oscar for “Fences,” and two Tony awards for “King Hedley III” and “Fences.”

Davis, 57, won the award for “Best Audio Book, Narration, and Storytelling Recording,” according to a tweet from the Recording Academy, which hosts the Grammys.

In her acceptance speech, the multi-hyphenate performer paid tribute to her younger self.

“I wrote this book to honor the 6-year-old Viola,” she said. “To honor her life, her joy, her trauma, everything. And, it has just been such a journey – I just EGOT!”

Davis’ career has been studded with awards and firsts. In 2015, she became the first Black woman to win an Emmy for best actress in a drama and in 2017, she became the first Black woman to score three Academy Award nominations.

INTERVIEW: Meet The First-Time GRAMMY Nominee: Viola Davis On Sharing Her Life To Help People Change Theirs & Her Potential EGOT LIOR PHILLIPS | GRAMMYS/JAN 30, 2023 - 10:36 AM

"There are not enough words and pages to quantify one's life," Viola Davis says with a warm, stern certainty — despite having delivered a memoir that carries a remarkable weight and beauty.

Living through difficult experiences takes incredible strength. Living through them again to write a memoir and  then read them aloud as an audiobook must be a herculean feat. But it should come as no surprise that Davis has proven herself more than capable of meeting that challenge.

The acclaimed actor’s memoir, Finding Me, reaches back to her difficult childhood, to trauma and struggle, and continues through on her journey of healing and artistic achievement — and Davis delivers it with an uncanny blend of fragility and strength. Davis, a first-time GRAMMY nominee, has been lauded for her efforts, with Finding Me receiving a nod for Best Audio Book, Narration, and Storytelling Recording at the 2023 GRAMMYs.

And now the audiobook extends the possibility to add a GRAMMY Award to her awards shelf alongside an Emmy, an Oscar, and two Tonys, potentially making her the 18th person to complete the EGOT. While joining those ranks would be an undeniable honor, Davis’ vision of achievement and impact remains much simpler: helping others find the hope and healing that she discovered. "When you begin to connect with yourself, to unpack your life and make peace with it, it's easier to connect to the world — and I want other people to do the same," she says.

GRAMMY.com caught up with Davis to talk about how reading Finding Me differed from her usual style of performance, finding her calling in life, and what joining the ranks of EGOT winners would mean to her....

#Viola Davis #egot #egot status #oscar #emmy #tonys #grammy

[primofate]

The Ruthless Prince (Part 9) Scaramouche x fem!reader [Genshin Royal AU]

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: you might feel overwhelmed by this chapter but give it a chance and I promise I’ll cut you some slack in the next one hahahahahhaha, seems yandere but it really isn’t, secrets will be revealed in the next chapter so sit tight (any speculation or theories tho?), does not follow genshin lore, mentions of murder and killing.

Word Count: 2.6k words

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts: (Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

“You didn’t answer my question,” was the first thing you said when he walks in. For someone who had just been struck in the chest with an arrow, with poison still running in her veins, you were feisty as ever. 

He raised an eyebrow at you, watching as you struggled to heave yourself up by your elbows just to look him in the eye. “What question?” he counters.

“I asked if you were fine,”

“And I answered, what do you mean?”

Forget about support, he was already getting pissed. That spunky attitude of yours was coming out despite your condition, even more when you rolled your eyes. The wince that followed a second after didn’t earn you any sympathy from him. Your elbows caved and you ended up lying on your back again. 

“I meant, are you hurt?” Once again, you try sitting up, the maid nearby finally helps you as you do so and props a pillow behind your back. You mutter a quick thanks before turning your head back to Scaramouche, who looked intensely vexed. 

“You’re asking ME if I’m hurt? Have you looked at yourself?” He was actually, seriously angry and you couldn’t understand why he was barking at you despite your concern. 

“Well, prince, if I was going to die I’d like to at least think I died for something.” Sarcasm was evident in your tone.

“You’re not a hero, stop talking like one!” His glare intensifies, donning his signature look. 

“Not a hero? I—cough—literally pushed you out of death’s way,” your voice croaked by the end of it, marking the start of a fit of coughs. The screaming and shouting competition was temporarily on hold.

Scaramouche walks closer to your bed and waves at the maid, dismissing her and leaving the two of you alone in the room once again. “That’s what you get for talking too much, shut the hell up for a minute and lay back down,” he says while pouring you a glass of water for the second time that day, sitting on the edge of the mattress, waiting for your coughing fits to die down before he passed it off to you.

But it didn’t die down. 

You kept heaving and coughing and you could feel your chest giving out, so tired of the constant battering your lungs was taking. The coughs were so severe, sounding as if you were trying to dislodge something from your throat, though there was nothing there. You panicked at some point, you just couldn’t take a proper breath in between those coughs, and Scaramouche was starting to get restless, not sure what to do.

‘What’s happening?’ he thought to himself.

“Scara–cough–” You hack out a choked cough and gasp for momentary air, it was getting hard to breath, and in a herculean effort to hold on to something, anything that tethered you to this world, something to give you the illusion that you were going to make it through, you pushed forward with whatever strength you had left and latched on to him.

The glass of water in his hand swished, droplets of it wetting his fingers. Your hands clutched at his cloak, your head pressed against his shoulder, eyes shut tight. 

You’d never been this close to him before, neither had you been so close to death.

“I don’t want to die–cough–” Fear was instilled in your every vein just as the poison was. The horror that dawned on you when you realized you were sicker than you thought. 

What was there after death? Were there stars? Was there anything to be felt at all? Pain? Happiness? Fear? Was it just floating along in the darkness forever?

You didn’t want to know. Not yet. And it was terrifying to think about. Despite how hard it had been for you the past few months, there were still so many things you wanted to experience.

“Not like this–” and you heaved another gasp. Unaware that you were being treated for poison, you were confused as to why an arrow to the chest hurt this much. Your whole being was on fire, every breath you took was like swallowing a handful of lava and the coughs were knocking your breath away. 

“I don’t want to be alone when I go I–I want to see my parents, please,” 

He could hear the labour in your voice, the raspy breaths that sounded shattered. 

“I want to see them–just one last time, please,”

You were convinced that this was it for you. Your mind was not ready to go, yet you could feel the strength in your body dissipate. Tears escape your closed lids, making your breathing much more laboured than it already was.

And then, you felt a hand press on your head. 

Months of not having anyone comfort you, provide you with a touch that was reassuring had you freeze up for a moment before you realized what was happening.

Scaramouche was holding you. 

Connecting with you in a way that was unspoken yet spoke loud enough to soothe your heart and break it all at the same time. 

It’d been so long without someone else.

“Stop crying, you’re making it worse,” He’d put the glass down and used that hand to awkwardly touch your head, wondering if this was the right way to do it. When he felt that it hadn’t done any harm, he relaxed, and let his hand do tiny, barely discernable pats. It felt as if only his thumb was moving, but he was already trying his best.

“And you’re not seeing your parents, you want them to see you all pathetic like this?” he scoffed, looking at your concealed face, hidden on his shoulder. 

You gasped again, this time a mix of a sob and desperate breath of air. You were an utter mess. 

“You just need your antidote. Take deeper breaths so you stop hacking all over me and so you can take it,” he commanded, but neither of you moved. His hand still rested behind your head and you still held on to him for dear life. You did, however, listen to the advice of breathing deeper. 

‘Will the antidote really fix things though?’ Scaramouche is reminded of the doctor’s words. No guarantee.

Your throat was so raspy that every time you breathed in you were sent into a scratchy cough, but it was slowly getting better. 

A comfortable kind of silence wrapped around the two of you when your breathing finally evened out. Though, it seemed to have taken forever. Your hands eventually loosened its hold on his cloak and sleeve, and you finally moved away from your hiding position, eyes turned downwards to look at your hands, somewhat embarrassed at your earlier panic-stricken display.

Your face was tear-stained. On the crinkles of your eyes, on your cheeks, your chin. It quite literally was like water was sprayed on your face. Even your hair was disheveled. 

“Water and this,” he once again commanded and finally handed you the glass along with a small vial. You drank from both of it and returned it to him wordlessly. You’d pieced together what happened. You weren’t stupid. Antidote simply meant that you were poisoned, and when else could that have happened except for when the arrow entered your chest?

“Get back to sleep,” he said, giving out another order as if you were a knight instead of someone sick. His eyes, however, followed your demeanor closely. Watching if anything was amiss aside from your panicked frenzy earlier. 

You sank back down to bed, eyes already heavy and mind wavering, wanting to go back to a state of sleep. Scaramouche merely watched your eyes droop and close, but there’s a mumble on your lips. 

In your mind, you had already drifted away into your dreams. It felt so much better to close your eyes and rest, to not think about things too much, mind in a foggy state. “Are you leaving…?”

Scaramouche strains his ears to hear it, and still he couldn’t make out what you were saying. So, he leans closer to you and asks in his usual gruff way, “What?”

“ ‘r you leavin’” your eyes flutter open a split second, before it slowly caves in on itself again.

Scaramouche stays silent. Perhaps you’ll fall asleep and he wouldn’t have to answer, but curiosity got the better of him. “...Do you want me to leave?”

Your face scrunches up, but your eyes remain closed. On the verge of dreams and far from reality, without the usual insecurities and worries that one had while awake, it was safe to say that the censors you put on yourself were mostly gone. You answer quite truthfully, “no.”

His fist suddenly clenches the bed covers, there’s a warmth in his chest that hits him all too suddenly and without warning. 

She wants me here?

Are you still awake? He asks himself, would it be a stretch to ask you now? “Do you know who you’re talking to?” He blurts out, unable to really comprehend what you said. Perhaps you were imagining that he was someone else. 

Now it was your turn to be silent. Though, unlike him, it was mostly because you were already falling asleep, things were taking longer to process, but your head does a tiny nod and you mumble an easy and muffled “my grumpy husband,”

There was nothing much to it, just the truth. But why did such a simple statement of fact suddenly sound so…satisfying? Was it because you uttered it? Or was it the way you said it?

Scaramouche is certain that you’ve finally fallen asleep, and he sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair, sweeping it back and staring at the ceiling. 

When did things become so complicated? She’s just an accessory…

He wasn’t going to change. He knew that and you knew that. You knew exactly what you were getting into, and agreed into a loveless marriage because of the benefits it brought to your family. To your sick mother, specifically. And yet…thinking about the lifetime that Kuni talked of, it would certainly be a very long time.

Try as Scaramouche might to change his so-called “grumpy” ways, it was part of him, and it was just how he communicated, but still…there must be some sort of middle ground where the two of you could meet.

Not to make you or him feel better. Not because he sympathized with you, but it would probably be easier for him if you weren’t so emotional or unwilling to communicate–yes, he really thought you were the one who was difficult to understand, despite watching you easily socialize with the other nobles. 

He went to bed with those thoughts that night. Barely getting any sleep, mostly because he had decided on what to do, yet he wasn’t confident that this was the best action to take.  

It’s too late for her to turn back...

He woke up to a routine that he fell into ever since you got injured: Check your room, then go to breakfast. 

He was surprised to see that you were awake and standing at that, though the maid was trying to coax you back into bed. Looks like he came in at the right time. 

“What’re you doing?” he narrowed his eyes at you and you blinked at him innocently. 

“Going to breakfast, I’m really hungry,” Scaramouche breathes out an exasperated sigh. “You’re not going anywhere, they’ll bring breakfast to you,” and the maid takes that as a cue to leave and to do as he says.

You purse your lips a little, “I’ve been in bed for days, I can walk...”

Scaramouche doesn’t know if he imagines it or if it really happens, but his eye twitches. “This coming from someone who had a coughing fit yesterday? You really think you’re well enough?”

You open your mouth to say something back, but close it again when you realize he’s right. You might feel energetic now, but that could quickly change in a second. You were overestimating your body a little too much. You plop back down on your bed with a simple, “Fine,” like a teen who just lost a bet. 

“I almost forgot how hard-headed you are,” Scaramouche mumbles.

“You’re one to talk…” 

Silence falls over the two of you, just waiting for the maids to come back with your food. You were lost in thought for a moment, finally feeling that your mind was clearing up and your body was healing itself after days knocked out and bed-ridden. It was here that you were able to truly think about what transpired. 

The attack, the arrow, the suddenness of it. 

“...So…What really happened?” You manage to ask, and Scaramouche instantly knows what you’re enquiring about.

“It’s as you said, you played hero and took an arrow that was meant for me,” there’s an obvious condescending tone to his words, but you ignore it and instead continue your line of questions.

“Who was it? And why?” There must have been something bigger in play here, killing a prince was a huge offense, and it would lead to execution of the perpetrator. You see Scaramouche tense up at the question. Shoulders stiffening as if it was cold. 

“...We don’t know...” He simply answers and trails off, his tone indicating that he wasn’t done talking. “...but I have my guesses,” 

“So you know who it is?” you prod.

“No, it’s just speculation,”

With you sitting on the bed and him standing a few steps away from you, you see his head turn away, eyes upon the wide, clear-glass balcony doors. It’s not often you see a thoughtful look on his face. He seemed to be seriously considering something. His brows furrow and though he seems to be staring into space, you had a feeling he was just processing certain information in his mind, and you let him. 

It feels like a long while before he starts talking again.

“There’s…” something about the way he softly whispers his next words draws your full attention towards him. He was always easily heard. Not loud, but always enough to be audible. So when he whispered, it was rather unusual. “There’s something you need to know…”

This isn’t a love confession. You see it in the way he stiffly turns his gaze towards you, the way his face holds a darker expression than usual. He looks at you as if he’s looking at your very soul.

Trying to lighten up the atmosphere a little, you give a small smile and a nonchalant shrug. “Sure?” 

There’s every bit of confidence in you that it isn’t actually something too bad. After all, you’re married to a heartless prince, you’ve been struck by an arrow, you’ve been poisoned. How could it go down from there? 

There’s a heavy stillness. For some reason, you hold your breath as he starts speaking. 

His lips move. 

You expect it to be something about an enemy, something about a war between two kingdoms. You expect him to say that he knows who it is because it had happened before, or something at least to point out who the perpetrator was. 

Instead, the confession he makes is about himself.

“I’ve taken people’s lives,” Scaramouche doesn’t break eye contact with you. You’re not sure what hits you first, the shiver that runs up your spine, or the split second of fear that clenches your chest. 

“...What?” This isn’t good for your body, it feels as if you’re panicking again.

“...Which part do you not understand…?” His whole being changes. Where before, despite his anger and his frustrations, you felt as if he wasn’t much of a real threat. He was just an incredibly insensitive man.

But now, as he walks towards you, his gait is almost intimidating. “...I’ve killed people,” he stops, just an arm’s length away from you. “...Do you wanna know how?”

The maids--oblivious to the conversation that had just transpired--knock on the door and open it as you continue to dazedly stare up at Scaramouche’s face. The cogs in your mind are struggling to work, but it tries to get to a conclusion:

You’re married to a cold-blooded man.

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MASTERLIST

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

#scaramouche x reader #scaramouche royal au #scaramouche #genshin royal au #scaramouche fanfiction #genshin impact #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfiction #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche angst

[wolfeyedwitch]

This will be a new series! I shall give it a title and a masterlist once there are a few more entries. And I wrote this so the ending will be a twist but the tags will be spoilers so... do what you will I suppose. Enjoy!

Update: now a series! It's called "With Bloody Outstretched Hands". Masterlist is here.

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They limped through back alleys, their heart jumping frantically in their throat any time they heard footsteps nearby. They couldn’t be caught, not now, not when they were so close.

Just a little further…

There.

They always thought a hero headquarters would look more… something. Would look more. This, though? It was just a building, just another concrete and metal box among so many others. It didn’t show any signs of what lay inside, other than the sign reading “Heroes League” above the door.

They didn’t dare use the front door. It was too exposed, too in view. Anyone could see them knocking there. No, they had to find another entrance. There had to be one; heroes wouldn’t stay somewhere that had just one entrance and exit.

They leaned heavily against the alley wall as they made their way around. They had to stop, once to wait for the throbbing in their leg to subside, and another time to cough blood into their elbow.

They were making such a mess.

They were such a mess.

Finally, they found another door. It was a plain metal one set into a side wall, with a small “Authorized Entry Only” sign on it and a heavy-duty lock.

They took a deep breath to fortify themself, only to wince and cough as it jarred their broken ribs. Bad idea. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea… All of this was a bad idea.

They didn’t have a better one.

They raised a fist and managed to thump it weakly against the door twice before their strength failed. They leaned against the wall and focused on breathing.

The wet rattle on the inhale was probably a bad sign.

That would only matter if this worked, though. If it didn’t? Well. They wouldn’t live long enough to have to worry about things like that.

They opened their eyes as the door swung open with a loud squeak. When had they closed their eyes? Even that small movement felt like a herculean effort.

There was a whole team of heroes in front of them. Some had weapons raised; others had their powers readied. All were ready to do whatever it took to protect their base.

They flinched hard. All of them were so angry, faces carved from stone in the portrait of righteous fury.

They raised their hands, trying to show they weren’t here to cause trouble. The effort made them lose their precarious balance against the wall, and they gasped and choked as their legs gave way underneath them. The impact of their knees against the hard ground sent white-hot spikes of pain radiating up their legs.

The villain ended up in a heap on the ground in front of the heroes, arms cradling their head protectively.

“Please,” they said, then paused to cough out another mouthful of blood. “Please, please, arrest me, take me prisoner, make me your slave, your pet, anything, just please get me away from them.”

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Written with inspiration from these prompts by @whumpwillow!

Tagging some people I think might be interested; let me know if you want to be added or removed. I'm tagging the people from "And Still" because this is in the same world as that series and will mention some events that happened, though it's not necessary to read that series first. (Though I would be glad if you did!)

@heathenville @nonbinary-disaster @kim-poce @whump-world @dolls-circus @pickleking8 @appleejuice @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @temporary-whump-sideblog

#whump writing #villain whump #hero villain whump #unnamed new series #with bloody outstretched hands