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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

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Just Breathe

A little Ever After (1998) crossover because I am a SLUT for the Renaissance Aesthetic and also for Drew Barrymore and Dougray Scott’s performances.

This one’s for you, @221bsunsettowers and @thecomfortofoldstorries

tw: mentions of past abuse, forced servitude

---

“Friends and honored guests, it gives us great pleasure, on this festive occasion, to not only honor Signore Vesemir...who seems to have disappeared; but also to tell you of a long-awaited decision,” the King began his announcement.

At the back of the party, gossamer wings spread wide behind his shoulders and sparkling blue eyes surrounded by rhinestones, Jaskier stood in terrified silence. This was the big moment. The one where he would bare his soul and his true status in life to Geralt. Hopefully his sweet, caring, introspective Prince would be able to accept him. To love him still, despite his position in life.

“Breathe,” he told himself quietly, “Just breathe.”

“It is my great privilege to announce the engagement of my son, Prince Geralt, to-”

But Geralt cut his Father off, stepping forward and away from the dais where the royal family had been standing. He rushed down the short staircase and across the red velvet carpet to where his darling Julian awaited, his hand outstretched and his breathing shallow. “My Father said you were getting married.”

“He was misinformed.”

“Then you are not engaged?” the Prince gasped, beaming. The servant in noble’s clothing shook his head and laughed wetly.

“No, I’m not.”

“I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life.”

Geralt had assumed that the watery-eyed smile Julian gave him in reply was one of happiness, or else he would have stopped right then and asked the younger man what was wrong. He would have saved them both the heartache of the following hour. The following week. The following month, even.

But the eager Prince was too absorbed in his own excitement; he didn’t stop to ask. He only saw his ethereal love, his Julian, wrapped in the white silk-and-velvet doublet. He saw the lace at the Viscount’s neck and wrists, so teasingly sweet, and the delicate pearl buttons that ran along his wrists and throat. He saw the matching white velvet breeches fastened below Jaskier’s knees, holding up a pair of fine silk stockings. On his beloved’s feet were a pair of embroidered blue-and-white dancing slippers in an old style; the style of Julian’s parents, probably.

“I’ve even invited the troubadours,” Geralt smiled, gesturing at the colorful troupe of guests off to one side.

“That’s lovely, Geralt, but I need to speak with you for a moment before anything else transpires.”

“Whatever it is, the answer is yes!”

“Wait-”

Geralt took the man he hoped to marry by one trembling hand and led him back up to the dais without letting him finish his sentence. Surely the Viscount was shaking with excitement. Surely the willowy brunette knew that Geralt intended to wed him and make him Consort. Didn’t he?

Yet when the handsome Prince looked down into the Viscount’s eyes he saw only raw terror and guilt building there. Like a terrible blue wave about to knock him off his feet. The horror hit full-bore when, a moment later, the Baroness Marx grabbed hold of Julian’s left wing and ripped it from his doublet, throwing the torn gossamer appendage to the ground and stomping on it with her expensive leather dancing shoes. Jaskier cringed; Vesemir would be heartbroken.

“Madame, contain yourself!” the Prince demanded. The Baroness wilted under his glare but only barely.

“He is an imposter, Your Highness. His name is Jaskier Pankratz and he has been a servant in my household for ten years!”

Everyone froze. Jaskier’s heart stopped beating entirely, he was sure.

“Julian,” Geralt swallowed thickly, his golden gaze turning to his one true love. “Tell them the truth. Tell them…”

“He is a devious, grasping little pretender and it is my duty to reveal his lies to you, Your Majesties,” the Baroness continued her speech, curtseying deeply, still standing atop Jaskier’s crushed wing. “I am sorry that he forced me to reveal it so publicly, but I couldn’t let you make so grievous a mistake, Your Highness.”

“Julian?” Geralt whispered. His voice was hoarse and low. Disappointed and tinged with anger. “Please?”

“It’s true,” Jaskier sniffed. A pair of twin tears made their way slowly down over his grimacing cheeks, dropping to the carpet below. “Julian de Lettenhove was my Father. I am what she says.”

“The apple,” Geralt realized. “That was you?”

“I can explain!”

The King interrupted with a growled, “Well someone had better.”

“First you’re engaged…” Geralt breathed carefully, still trying to control his boiling fury. “And now you’re a servant?”

“Geralt, please!”

A shocked gasp rippled through the crowd and the Prince’s posture tightened visibly. His body language changed entirely in the span of a second; he pulled away from Jaskier and straightened to his full height, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin to glare down the length of his nose. The younger man flinched back as if struck, the wing still attached to his doublet shuddered and shimmered in the air.

“Do not address me so informal, monsieur. I am the Prince of Kaedwen and you...you are just like them.”

Jaskier heard the impossibly loud crack of his heart shattering to pieces in his chest. He gasped sharply, feeling an ice-like stabbing sensation echo through his ribcage, and backed away from the dais slowly. His feet tangled with each other when he tried to turn around and he dropped to his hands and knees with a cry. Geralt jerked instinctively as if he was going to help him up but caught himself just in time, going still as stone.

His eyes were still narrowed and his nostrils flared with righteous fury. He couldn’t believe that Julian...that Jaskier would lie to him. The man who rescued him from troubadour bandits and spoken to him openly about philosophy and went swimming in his underclothes in the wilds of Kaedwen and debated life and love with a famous artist as easily as breathing…

The Prince watched as the thin brunette struggled back to his feet and took off at a sprint for the exit. His sobs echoed across the open-air dance floor and filled the torchlit space with the sound of pure anguish. The troubadours were looking on with open disgust written across their features. Just as Geralt was about to break down and go after Jul-Jaskier, the Baroness’s hand closed around his upper arm like the cold iron of a manacle.

“Such a sad day, Your Highness,” she sighed.

Geralt could only nod and wrench his arm away, turning and running in the opposite direction as quickly as his legs would take him. He needed a moment alone.

---

“He is your match, Geralt,” the artist argued. He gestured in the direction of the Baroness’s estate and glowered at the Prince, who sat crouched in the castle shadows, hiding from his Father’s wrath. “Do you have any idea what that boy went through to get here tonight?”

“He lied to me.”

“He came here to tell you the truth,” Vesemir snapped. Geralt looked up; he’d never heard the old man sound so angry before. His thick grey eyebrows were drawn together and his tone was thunderous and low as he spoke again, “He went through Hell to come here. He was beaten. He was whipped. He was locked in a root cellar by that horrible Marx woman and you fed him to the fucking wolves.”

“You walk on water and you make flying machines, yet you know nothing about real life,” the Prince replied. He suddenly remembered last week, when he’d tried to hug Jaskier and the boy had cried out. It wasn’t surprise; it was pain. Jaskier had been...he’d been in so much pain and Geralt had been waxing poetic about politics and love and...Jaskier had suffered to be with Geralt. And what the Prince done in return?

“I know that a life without love,” Vesemir sighed, placing Jaskier’s lost shoe in the Prince’s line of sight. “Is no life at all.”

The old man wandered away, whistling a familiar song as he went. It was the song Jaskier had composed for him in the woods that day, as they’d ridden back to the Marx estate with the rescued painting. Geralt shook his head to clear it; this wasn’t the time for reminiscing.

He had to pledge his heart to the Princess of Redania. He had to do what all Princes had to do: give up their dreams in the name of their country.

---

Geralt burst from the side of the church and ended up running directly into Jaskier’s step-sister, Margaret. “Where is he?”

“Who?” Margaret raised an eyebrow.

“Jaskier, where is he?” Geralt begged. Margaret shook her head sadly and filled the Prince in on everything that had happened over the past few days. At last the royal pulled away, his face twisted in guilt and pain, “Sold?”

“The Baroness didn’t want him around distracting you in case you came to propose to Valdo, Your Highness.”

“Speak of this to no one,” Geralt begged. “And you shall be greatly rewarded. Jaskier spoke kindly of you, Lady Margaret.”

“As well he spoke of you,” she replied. The affirmation of Jaskier’s seemingly endless trust in him only served to pierce Geralt’s heart further; he had betrayed the only man he’d ever loved. He really had fed him to the wolves. And the wolves had sold him to a fucking weasel.

---

Geralt rode up to Count DeStael’s manor and was shocked to find Jaskier already making his way through the garbage-scattered courtyard. He looked completely different than when Geralt had seen him last; or ever. The noble’s clothes were gone. The pearl-knit snood was absent. The velvet doublets and high leather boots were absent. The air of easy confidence that usually swirled around him was also gone. Making his way slowly across the dirty yard in only a tattered blue chemise and dirty brown trousers, a pair of cheap leather slippers laced around his feet and dirt smeared across his face, Jaskier looked incredibly small and fragile.

He somehow managed to shrink even further in on himself when he glanced up at last and set eyes on the Prince. “Hello,” Geralt greeted, swinging down off his horse to approach.

“Hello.”

There was a pregnant pause before Jaskier spoke again.

“What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, I came to rescue you,” the Prince admitted.

“Rescue me?” Jaskier scoffed, stepping past Geralt, “A commoner?”

“Actually I came to beg your forgiveness,” Geralt blurted. His heart leapt hopefully in his chest when the brunette man paused walking away. Slowly, Jaskier turned back to face him. “I offered you the world and at the first test of honor, I betrayed your trust. Please, Jaskier…”

“Say it again,” Jaskier demanded. Geralt could see that tears had sprung to his eyes. The blue of his irises somehow seemed darker, now.

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” the younger man shook his head emphatically. He smiled sadly and sighed, “The part where you said my name.”

Geralt huffed a laugh and stepped carefully forward. Jaskier had every right in the world to reject him right now. He could spit on the Prince’s face and run screaming into the woods and Geralt would want to follow with all his heart, but he wouldn’t. He would let Jaskier go if that was what the other man wanted. But the brunette didn’t move, so Geralt took another careful step. “Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes closed and his chest lifted with the force of his gasped breath. He had never felt so alive before this moment. Hearing Geralt say his name, his real name, even if it was just this once, was heaven.

Even...even if it was just this once.

Jaskier slowly opened his eyes again and let them settle on the Prince’s face.

Geralt pulled his missing dancing slipper from the back pouch at his belt and held it out as if in offering, “I was actually wondering if you could help me find the owner of this rather remarkable shoe.”

“Where did you find that?” Jaskier asked, his hands fluttering out to touch the rhinestone-studded material of his Father’s antique dancing slipper. He thought it had been lost to him forever in his moment of foolishness, a constant reminder of all the loss he’d ever faced. And here it was, safe and sound with Geralt.

The Prince stepped forward until their chests were nearly touching and began to speak in a low, careful tone. Jaskier heard the love in every syllable, “He is my match in every way. Please tell me I have not lost him.”

“It belongs to a peasant, Your Highness,” the servant bit his lip and turned away, stepping over to the low stone wall and leaning heavily against it. He couldn’t support his own weight; he was going to swoon. “Who only pretended to be a nobleman to save another servant’s life.”

“I know,” Geralt smiled softly. He knelt before the commoner and Jaskier gasped, his hands flying to cover his mouth. He shook his head, disbelieving. “And the name’s Geralt, if you don’t mind.”

Jaskier leapt forward and slammed their lips together, kissing his beloved Geralt for all his foolish royal ass was worth. He threw his arms around the Prince’s strong neck and melted when Geralt’s arms encircled his waist in return. Neither man was sure which one of them was holding the other closest and neither wanted to let go. Eventually the Prince stepped away and knelt again. He had to do this right.

“I kneel before you today not as a Prince, but as a man in love.” He slid the cheap, poorly-made leather boot from Jaskier’s foot and replaced it with the bejeweled silk dancing slipper. “But I would feel like a King if you, Jaskier Pankratz, would be my Consort.”

Jaskier burst into happy tears. Real happy tears this time. Tears that ran in rivers down his pink, smiling cheeks and into the dirt below. Tears that Geralt wiped away with the pads of his thumbs, as reassuring and careful as any Prince had ever been when handling great treasure.

Jaskier was overwhelmed with the love in his heart. He wanted nothing more than to bury his face in Geralt’s broad, strong chest and never come out again. He would build a castle between his lover’s arms and find no need to leave. He would, if Geralt would let him, claim the Prince as his home forever.

Never unwanted.

Never a nuisance.

Never a pebble in anyone’s shoe.

He nodded and flung his arms around his Prince once again. Jaskier allowed himself to be swept off his feet and swung through the air. Geralt was kissing him the entire time, wherever the Prince’s lips could reach. His nose, his closed eyelids, his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead, even down his neck and in his hair. Jaskier laughed and laughed, the happy sound ringing through the dark courtyard of the Count DeStael’s grim-faced manor house.

“We, my love, are going to live happily ever after,” Geralt asserted.

And they did.

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xoruffitup · 3 years

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Sexuality In Neon Genesis Evangelion: Adolescence & Violence

(I’m literally 20 years late to the party here, but if anyone still cares for NGE metas, this hasn’t left me alone...!)

It takes only a few episodes into NGE to sense there’s some form of unrest beneath its surface. A palpable sense of unease and malcontent shadows the characters, seeping into the bleak cityscapes and following Shinji’s listless drift from one battle to the next - creating the unrelenting sense that this show has no intention to coddle or comfort you. Much will not be explained, or even directly addressed. Most of that unease you’re feeling as a viewer will be left for you yourself to decipher – probably in a manner uncomfortably and bracingly personal. I would call this a mark of artistry, in that the viewing experience becomes something deeply intimate and unique from person to person.

The obvious narrative explanation for all this dark ambiguity is the evocation of Shinji’s troubled psychological state. He mopes in his dark bedroom, rides the train alone with his headphones in and no destination, and accepts the role of Eva pilot only when his refusal would make him feel yet more despised. He is utterly directionless and thus helpless – caught in a paralysis between his pathological need for external affirmation and his crippling fear of being hurt. He craves kindness and care from others, but is both unwilling and unable to forge such positive connections with others because he presupposes doing so will cause pain. Therefore, he makes few self-motivated choices and rebukes all notion of the driven, intentional protagonist.

Shinji’s rejection of the traditional mantle of the hero’s journey, and his repeated regression into unassertive self-hatred also signals an unorthodox approach to storytelling - where the narrative flows around the inhibited, apathetic characters rather than through them. We as the viewers do not become invested in the narrative progression as an extension of Shinji’s own investment. Rather, a central part of the narrative becomes the self-aware exploration of its own impact upon Shinji and the wider cast of characters. Shinji, Rei, Asuka, and to a certain degree Misato and Ritsuko, do not determine the narrative direction through their own choices and thereby set events in motion; they are instead passive, reactionary presences drawn along by the provocations of seemingly inevitable series of events. (Angels attack – characters respond; Gendo or Seele give some unexplained order – characters react; Instrumentality begins – Shinji reacts)

As the curtain is finally drawn back from the human instrumentality project in the show’s final act, we realize Shinji was not simply whiny or poorly-written: His constant struggle between the fear of pain and need for intimacy is in fact the defining tension of the show as a whole. The “Hedgehog’s Dilemma.” This dilemma saturates each character’s personal trauma, fears, and desires, and finally elevates the characters’ internal reckoning in the face of instrumentality to create the show’s climax.

The show’s indirect yet masterful depiction of Shinji’s depression and undefined malaise is, in fact, keenly intentional and central to the story’s purpose. In a show defined by endlessly rich even if agonizing ambiguities and a narrative style that reveals itself only in subtlety, no minor detail is inconsequential. And so, I repeatedly found myself trying to discern the purpose of a recurring element that could be neither accidental nor innocuous. I am referring now to the show’s consistent and blatant preoccupation with the sexualization of its (female) characters and the infusion of sexuality into inter-character relationships.

The sexualizing and/or objectifying gaze is applied far too often to be anything but an intentional layer generating narrative meaning. In a show that elegantly weaves together psychological, religious, ethical, and technological allusions to construct a cutting inspection of the human psyche, this preoccupation is not a mere trope or “fanservice.” The recurrent reference to characters’ sexuality and their depiction as sexual objects cannot be a neutral or peripheral element of narrative meaning. Beyond the impossibility of this element being unintentional or divorced from the show’s narrative purpose, we are also obliged to make ourselves aware of the gendered lens through which this depiction of sexuality is filtered, and the power balance or imbalance this depiction enforces upon the characters involved. Consistent nudity to the point of fetishism and sexual inferences to the point of defining character cease to be superficial and become something pernicious.

Below, I will explore two different frameworks through which to interpret the show’s sexual overtones. The first framework – adolescence and the fear of adulthood – aligns with my initial response to the anime, while the second framework – sexual violence –reflects my more troubled response to the End of Evangelion film.

Framework 1: Shinji’s Adolescent Fears of Adulthood and Intimacy

Lest we forget, Shinji is only the tender age of 14. His internal struggle with self-worth and identity is exacerbated by its intersection with puberty and Shinji’s fraught understanding of his own budding sexuality. Shinji’s characterization of being highly dependent on the guidance and praise of his elders highlights both his adolescence and his own inability to confront his growth to adulthood. His unwillingness to navigate the perils of adulthood (as well as its corresponding sexual relationships) is probably evoked most clearly in his Episode 18 conversation with Kaji. After Kaji opines on men and women’s inability to understand each other – let alone themselves – Shinji merely replies dismissively, “I don’t understand adults at all.”

Given his 14-year-old perception of adulthood as something impenetrably mystical, it follows that his own budding sexuality acts as both a source of anxiety and a central aspect of his journey through adolescence. The often discussed parallels between Shinji’s relationship with Asuka and Misato’s relationship with Kaji further cements sex as something firmly belonging to adulthood; just as Asuka’s eagerness to present herself as sexually mature reflects her desire to appear independent and “grown.”

Coming to terms with one’s sexuality is of course a commonplace metaphor for the development from adolescence to adulthood. However, the characters’ understanding and comfort with their own sexualities also plays a key role in their internal reckonings and decisions which occur within instrumentality.

During his moments of metaphysical introspection, Shinji’s confrontation with his deepest fears repeatedly presents itself in the form of sexual temptation. We see him translate this need for external validation into unconscious sexualization and desire for the women around him. While fused with Unit 1 in Episode 20, Shinji is questioned by imagined specters of Misato, Rei, and Asuka. He reaches his breaking point when, after admitting he only pilots the Eva in hope of earning others’ praise, he cries out for someone to take care of him. After pleading, “someone be kind to me,” all three women appear to him naked, asking repeatedly, “Don’t you want to become one with me? In body and in soul?�� In this imagined ordeal of self-examination, Shinji’s deepest, most fundamental need for approval and warmth from others is coded into the prospect of understanding and intimacy associated with sex. At a subconscious level, he perceives the offering of sexual union as the highest form of acceptance. Shinji therefore feels varying degrees of conflicted, guilt-ridden desire for the women around him, in the most primal form of his craving for acceptance.

In this scene, the offering of sexual intercourse is also a direct foreshadowing to the prospect of union with all during instrumentality, and either the acceptance or rejection of that union. In End of Evangelion, Shinji’s crucial choice during instrumentality is again presented in the same terms: Asuka, Rei, and Misato’s voices all asking “Do you want to become one with me, body and soul?” Shinji’s mix of attraction and repellence (for he fears intimacy as intensely as he craves it) when confronting this question indirectly depicts his struggle to decide between a solitary but self-defined existence, and the sacrifice of his autonomous self to total union. Thus, Shinji’s repressed desire for sexual intimacy becomes in and of itself a key facet of both his decision to ultimately reject instrumentality, and his conclusive creation of an independent and capable identity.

In line with my earlier reference to Asuka’s desire to appear sexually mature, the anime consistently uses sexuality as a means of revealing character - often probing at characters’ deepest vulnerabilities. Misato is likely the most direct example. It is through her sexual relationship with Kaji that she confronts her conflicted feelings towards her father and their profound impact on her. During instrumentality, she also admits she enjoys sex as an escape mechanism from pain and a way to prove she’s alive. She seems to perceive sex in the opposite perspective from Shinji – who on some level finds it threatening. This could be attributed firstly to Misato’s maturity in age and correlating comfort with her own sexuality. Secondly, this speaks to the show’s use of sexuality to build character in ways beyond Shinji’s troubled adolescent shame. The show’s focus on its characters’ sexuality can therefore be viewed as a means of prying into the inner conflicts they each seek to hide from the world. Note it is also through the reveal of Ritsuko’s sexual involvement with Gendo that we understand the reasons for her troubled relationship with her mother, her dedication to NERV, and her knowledge of its secrets.

Though sexuality is used as a sometimes literal, sometimes symbolic, but often effective vehicle to portray abstract concepts and internal, non-physical conflicts, this does not fully explain or justify the show’s gratuitous use of the male gaze. Though the depiction of sexuality often serves the purpose of character development, this depiction is exceedingly gendered. Though Shinji is shown naked, his nudity serves comedic effect (when he runs out from the bathroom in Misato’s apartment in Episode 2) or appears highly stylized (embracing Rei’s equally naked form in End of Evangelion). By contrast, Rei and Asuka’s bodies practically serve as set pieces. The pilot suits and contrived “camera” angles incessantly present their bodies as aesthetic objects for consumption.

Furthermore, early appearances by both female characters immediately define them as objects of sexual focus. The first time she appears, Asuka tells off Toji for looking up her skirt; Shinji ends up sprawled on top of Rei when she’s naked while first trying to get to know her in Episode 5. If we apply the interpretive framework of sexuality as a means of navigating adolescence, then it is exclusively Shinji’s journey towards adulthood with which the show shares its perspective and identification. It would therefore follow that Rei and Asuka serve merely as signposts or attractive obstacles along the path of Shinji’s development. Their bodies are exploited as tools through which to challenge and probe at Shinji’s psyche. While Shinji’s sexuality bestows him personhood and agency, Asuka and Rei’s often seem to do the opposite – instead reducing them to only the means towards Shinji’s end. Yet, even the justification that Rei and Asuka’s objectification may serve Shinji’s character development falls short, given that the girls are still depicted in a lewd and hyper-sexualized lens even when there’s nobody but us, the viewers, around to witness.

Using sexuality as a key vehicle to convey the male protagonist’s psychology creates an inherently gendered narrative – one in which a male protagonist acts out his conflict upon female bodies. This uneven and highly exploitative depiction warps what might have been an adolescent journey of self-discovery and growth into something far less constructive and much more unsettling.

Framework 2: Pervasive References to Sexual Violence

As I argued previously, Shinji’s repressed and conflicted sexuality can be viewed as a mirror of his character-defining struggle between the desire for love and the fear of pain. In this case, Shinji’s exploration and acceptance of his own sexuality becomes in and of itself a central element of his character development and, by extension, the show’s narrative resolution as a whole, given that the outcome of instrumentality rests on Shinji’s shoulders alone. It then becomes crucial that Shinji actualize his latent desire for sexual intimacy and ultimately master his own sexuality – as the chief expression of his internal development towards accepting his relationships with others and the co-dependent process of creating his own identity, self-worth, and reality.

In the abstract, this idea seems relatively healthy. However, the “Don’t you want to become one with me?” scenes and essentially all of End of Evangelion left me with a distinctly uncomfortable impression that couldn’t have been more different from that of a guileless adolescent navigating puberty. Seeing the “Don’t you want to become one with me?” question repeated to Shinji in the End of Evangelion context made me circle around one key question: Why is this imagined physical offering by the women in Shinji’s life presented as temptation? Why does the timing of this sequence reappear while Shinji is experiencing instrumentality? Or rather, why is the experience of instrumentality itself presented with the air of sexual temptation or seduction? This all culminates into the depiction of sexual desire for the female body as something needing to be tamed or conquered – given that it is only through Shinji’s repudiation of these offerings that he ultimately also rejects instrumentality. This supposition implies an adversarial relationship between Shinji and the object(s) of his sexual desire. This implicit hostility paints sexuality now as a struggle for control and/or dominance, rather than a source of self-discovery and growth.

I’ll note now that most of the observations and criticisms explored in this section speak almost exclusively to End of Evangelion. In my view, this implied hostility embedded into the exploration of sexuality is much more present in the film, whereas the show largely maintains sexuality as a means of fumbling adolescent growth and complex characterization. To frame what might be seen as an extreme interpretation, I’ll begin my closer reading of End of Evangelion with this Catharine MacKinnon quote:

“Once the veil is lifted, once relations between the sexes are seen as power relations, it becomes impossible to see as simply unintented, well-intentioned, or innocent the actions through which women are told every day what is expected and when they have crossed some line.”

The crucial dynamic supporting this darker interpretive framework – a dynamic much more palpable in End of Evangelion – is power relations. Referring back to my previous point wherein the persistent objectification of Asuka and Rei undermines their personhood to the same degree that it enhances Shinji’s – End of Evangelion takes this imbalance still further. Rei and Asuka’s sexualization not only serves Shinji’s development, but becomes the main stage upon which Shinji’s fight for self-determination plays out. This is to say that Shinji’s actions and key elements of the film’s narrative as a whole are acted out upon women’s bodies as both battleground and symbol. End of Evangelion resorts to a mode of storytelling that is explicitly gendered, portraying its conflict through a starkly male lens. Through the film’s imagery, brutality, and indulgence in the explicit, Shinji’s narrative is acted out through the depiction of women’s bodies as objects either with destructive power or being destroyed themselves; and as threats which much be conquered.

The Shinji we see in End of Evangelion experiences highs and lows far more extreme than his anime counterpart. EoE Shinji is shockingly depraved, powerless, and violent – in that order. His experiences in relation to the navigation of his sexuality take on a tone of violence and aggression. If he cannot act out his sexual impulses – if he cannot subdue the tormenting yet desired female body to the point that satisfies his desires (even if not always sexual in nature) – he resorts to violence to assert his will. During the kitchen scene within instrumentality, it is at the point when Asuka coldly rebuffs his pleading for her help that he first strangles her. Thinking back to the above quote re power relations – is this the “line” beyond accepted behavior where Asuka becomes deserving of male violence?

Violence takes many forms – all of them an embodiment of power relations. Yes, Shinji masturbating over Asuka’s stripped, unconscious form in the first scene is unequivocally an act of violence. No matter how “fucked up” and past sense Shinji may have been in that moment, he is still a man demeaning a woman and taking pleasure from the act – her inability to consent and even her comatose state all fueling male sexual gratification. Aside from the considerable shock value, this scene sets the tone of Shinji’s actions towards women throughout the film as relations of power and dominance. This scene further establishes repressed sexual desire and thwarted sexual frustration as the latent foundation of Shinji’s interactions with Asuka throughout the film; thus creating motivation and tension with the potential to drive him to further forms of violence.

In EoE, Shinji shares some type of sexual experience with all three women to whom he’s closest. First, his repulsive descent into depravity at the film’s very start. In this moment when he’s at his lowest, it is his most base and yet powerful instinct that takes over. He exacts pleasure, comfort, and distraction from Asuka’s body despite its fleetingness and her lack of consent. Second, Misato realizes that physical intimacy is the only thing that will get through to Shinji in his shell-shocked state. With a heated kiss, she delivers on the show’s hints of sexual interest between the two. Demonstrating just how well she understands Shinji, she promises him “We’ll do the rest when you get back,” knowing the promise of this ultimate physical act of approval and care is likely the only thing he will fight for. To put this in blunt terms: Shinji is promised sexual access to a woman whose praise he values, and this prospect of sexual fulfillment is what motivates him to finally enter Unit 1. While he isn’t imposing dominance over Misato here the same way he did to Asuka, this keeps with the film’s overall gendered perspective wherein Shinji’s triumphs or rare moments of purpose are marked by his access to women’s bodies.

Third, Shinji’s interactions with Rei/Rei-Lilith within instrumentality. It first must be noted that Rei is depicted naked for practically the whole movie. Sure, this might be necessary for the initiation of instrumentality, but it also serves to complete her objectification. I can by no means see it as mere coincidence that the advent of instrumentality and potential unleashing of the cataclysmic Third Impact is all represented by a giant, naked female form. What would be the greatest threat from the perspective of the male-gendered narrative? Precisely this – a female body that is overpowering, unconquerable, and unfathomable. By extension, I also don’t believe it’s coincidental that Shinji’s attainment of self-determination in his decision to reject instrumentality happens concurrently to his sexual union with Rei. She explains to him that no, he hasn’t died, “everything has just been joined into one.” This “joining” is depicted utterly literally, without any of the subtlety by which the anime presented sexuality as representative of total union within instrumentality. Thus, the resolution of Shinji’s character arc and the film’s climax as a whole occurs when Shinji finally attains fulfillment of the sexual desire he has harbored since the film’s beginning. The following shot of him and Rei naked with his head in her lap resolves the crisis of instrumentality with an unmistakable post-coital essence.

After these three encounters, we have the much-debated final scene of Shinji reuniting with Asuka after emerging from instrumentality. By this point, Shinji has taken advantage of her comatose body and strangled her, but she still has not shown herself amenable to his sexual desires as Misato and Rei have. She remains beyond his ability to either control or dominate. And so, while Rei’s giant, naked, and broken (read: conquered) body rests in pieces behind them, Shinji asserts his newfound will to attack the woman who has resisted his desire and refused the gratification he sought – both physically and emotionally.

This scene left me possibly even more disturbed than the film’s opening. To me, this ending implies that along with Shinji’s discovery of self-determination comes the male’s unfettered triumph following a struggle defined by sexual violence. In this final scene, we see the resistant woman subject to yet more violence at the hands of the protagonist – until at last, she no longer resists. In my view, this final scene was the occasion of Asuka’s capitulation. She is finally subdued to the point of acceptance and affectionate response even when being subjected to violence. She responds to Shinji’s aggression not with retaliation, but with a loving gesture. Her final words of “how disgusting” reminded me immediately of the hospital scene, and what Shinji had asked of her there: “Wake up, help me, call me an idiot like always.” Now, the man’s desire is at last satiated.

Beyond the narrative reliance on sexuality as a form of power relations, EoE also engages in gratuitous degradation of female bodies. They are either imbued with threatening, destructive power (Rei-Lilith), or experience destruction themselves (Asuka in Unit 2 and Rei-Lilith at the film’s end). Both Rei and Asuka’s bodies are subjected to extreme violence throughout the film, even while still being depicted as sexual objects. While suffering horrific, graphic injuries during her fight in Unit 2, Asuka is depicted writhing in agony in the entry plug with a disturbing sense of the erotic. After her body becomes the apocalyptic vehicle of instrumentality, Rei’s giant naked form is depicted crumbling to earth, stripped not only of her clothes but any sense of the human. Her split-open head rests beside the sea of LCL – a symbol of the male protagonist’s moral and psychological “victory.”

Framework 2: Counter-Arguments

Though I was disturbed by the rampant and dehumanizing sexualization in EoE, there were also plenty elements of the film I admired and remain deeply fascinated by. I don’t wish to seem overly disparaging, so I’ll briefly mention two counter-examples to this more critical framework.

1. Rei denying and rebuking Gendo and asserting her own will, while depicted as naked. It’s hard to overstate the enormity of Rei’s decision here. After existing as a seemingly unfeeling clone created for the purpose of realizing Gendo’s desires, Rei brings his plans to a crashing halt right at the pinnacle moment. The scene metaphorically traveled from 0-100 very quickly. It began with the insinuation of Gendo joining with Rei in a vaguely sexual sense, and his hand sinking into her breast in an unconventional bodily invasion while she showed discomfort. But then she asserts, “I am not your doll.” Her nakedness seems transformed from vulnerability to power. She is no longer the passive instrument of a man’s realization of his desires. Instead, she asserts her personhood and makes the individual decision how to employ the power within her. In so doing, she decides not only her own fate, but practically that of the whole world.

2. Shinji and Kaworu’s dynamic could be seen as refuting a binary reading of gendered power relations. Taking Shinji for bisexual has the potential to revise my interpretation from ‘Shinji subconsciously desires sexual access and control over women’ to ‘Shinji subconsciously desires sex and control’ period, without the emphasis on women as the subjects of his struggle. If this gendered binary is removed, then his growth and self-actualization need not come at the expense of the female characters around him. Extending Shinji’s repressed sexuality to encompass desire for Kaworu also alleviates the connotations of dominance and confrontation embedded within heterosexual sexuality.

Writing all this out was largely my personal means of resolving the million jumbled thoughts in my head after finally diving into this stunning masterpiece of a show. I’ll say again - what makes this show such a timeless work of brilliance is its highly personal resonance in the minds of its viewers. In the end, it isn’t a story about robots, aliens, or even sex at all – it’s a self-reflective act forcing you to wake up and confront your own role in creating the very reality in which you live. What kind of world have you made for yourself? Have you trapped yourself in confinement of your own making, or have you imagined every possible version of your world and liberated all the possibilities hidden in your creation of self? Evangelion can mean something different to every one, and no single interpretation is more correct than any others. So that said – a hearty thank you to anyone who actually read all the way here, and I’m always eager for discussion! :)

#Neon Genesis Evangelion #Evangelion #End of Evangelion #NGE #Evangelion meta #Evangelion analysis

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lokidrabbles · 4 years

Text

Hold My Hand (Loki x Reader)

Reader goes through an episode and begins to question their feelings for Loki

A/N: This is another angst ridden oneshot, which originally was intended as this super agonizing break up story, but I was able to end off in a much lighter note. Though I am not terribly ‘proud’ of this one, perhaps some of you can find some comfort in it! As always, Gender Neutral Reader! Warnings: Angst, mentions of depression, potential break up

The realization hit you like a barrage of bricks, and it was absolutely horrifying. The truth had been displayed right in front of you, and while the past year was wonderful and unbelievable, it had to be said. You had an instinct to declare it to yourself, so the tantalizing dream could finally break away.

You couldn’t be with Loki, because you didn’t love him.

Or, at least, you weren’t sure if you did.

A relationship with him was simply idealized in your head like a made up fantasy. You grew extremely close to him, and soon he became the first thing that would pop in your mind each day. It was wonderful to feel that same thrill, that same ecstatic excitement you had missed for so long. For a while, Loki had become your totem, a way to motivate yourself each and every single day. A role model who had overcome such travesty, and would help you push yourself to your fullest potential. He made you feel things you’d never imagine you could feel, both emotionally and physically. The best way you could describe it was an exquisite high, one you wished you would never run out.

It would all diminish as time passed on, and the extreme guilt overwhelmed your once content self. The same familiar cloud began to hung overhead, plaguing you with the worst intention. You had been using him as a way to replenish your long missed happiness. And it was the most selfish thing anyone could possibly do to him. You’d begin to recall the many nights you had selfishly coerced him to stay with you, an effort to avoid your loneliness and satisfy all of your physical needs. He would always comply, and you figured it was because something frothy like this with a human wasn’t as morally compelling for someone who was over a thousand years old.

But it was still using him for such a egoistic reason. And so you began to question whether the feelings you shared for him were based on something genuine, you actually being in love with him as a sole person, or because he paid attention to you, and kept you away from those debilitating memories.

The discourse in your head would soon begin to affect you, and it wouldn’t take long for Loki to begin to realize it.

Your energy around him began to dwindle, and his random pops into your home would almost be unnoticeable. It was as if your feelings or him, or anything relating to him, had completely hardened. The facade became exhausting, and soon your expression would too become hardened.

Loki, as introspective as he was, took a bit to catch onto it. He would fully come to confront you however once he saw you physically tense up at his playful hand over your waist. You had never reacted like this before, and the message was loud and clear. You did not want to be touched by him, it was just to difficult to deal with.

Your usual chipper walks back to your home were now silent and swift. You still felt some obligation to talk to him about what has been plaguing your mind, but even looking at him would cause physical discomfort. You were terrible, and you felt unworthy of even standing next to him.

An evening, one shrouded by a crescent moon and scattered night clouds, would finally provide you with the courage necessary to confront him. You recognized he was able to sense your nervousness, and began the excruciating conversation.

“What have you been hiding from me?” He asked, but you interpreted it as something more of a command.

You felt a lump form at your throat, still avoiding to look at him in the eyes. “I don’t think...we should be together anymore.”

He halted in his steps, as you continued to walk a couple ahead of him. You stopped however, remaining still, waiting for an answer.

“You’ll have to run that by me in a better way.” He said, his voice still firm.

You turned towards him, only looking at the path over his feet. “Just what I said. I don’t want us to be together anymore. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.” Your voice was hoarse, holding back the lump still.

The air became heavy, and Loki was still immobile with your words. He then scoffed, and chills ran through all of your body. “Right, of course.”

As if on response, your eyes began to fill up, the burning sensation making it difficult for you to notice. All you could do was nod. Pathetic.

“Could you, at least explain to me why?”

You weren’t really sure why, but a part of you wanted to scream out and tell him to just forget about what you said and go back to how it was. “I don’t want to be with you, that’s why.”

“Look at me, human.” He demanded again.

“Loki, I can’t-”

You felt his touch at your chin, and you flinched again. Loki stepped closer to you, and used his hand to raise up your face to finally look at him. You expected his expression to detail his rage and disappointment towards you. Indeed, you had used him like some fanciful thing to take away your insecurities and solitude. And you knew Loki was not a man who appreciated being toyed with. You braced for the worst, but was met instead with the look of a man who appeared....fearful.

Loki’s gaze darted all over your face, and you could notice the twitching at the corner of his lips. His eyes would too become glassy, shining with the dim moonlight. You had never seen him like this, but still felt disconnected from it all. You were disgusting.

“I’ve felt you pull away from me, from my touch, and I’d imagine I must have upset you in some way. But, this?” He said, a small nervous laugh escaping from his mouth. “I don’t...have I hurt you?”

You were so disgusting. “No. I’m sorry, it’s not that.” Your voice continued to linger, low and unfeeling.

“Tell me.” He said, and you noticed his jaw trembling. “Say what’s on your mind.”

You disconnected from yourself completely, wanting to avoid feeling the pain of your own words. It was better this way after all, and if it mean severing your connection from him, then so be it.

“I don’t...feel love for you. I don’t think I ever did. I’m so sorry for misleading you all this time. It’s just, I don’t think its fair to you.”

His face fell hollow. The shine is his eyes vanished, and he removed his hand from under your chin. It had been done.

“You are indeed, the worst kind of human I have ever encountered.”

You couldn’t breathe, and your body went numb. This was it, and the journey would be long and grueling. He hated you now, despised you.

Through the tormenting reality, you then felt him grip your arm harshly. You yelped, but it was soon cut off by Loki’s palm landing firmly over your forehead. He pushed your head backwards slightly, and you began to feel a warm sensation at it’s nexus. You felt your eyes roll at the back of your head and began to lose touch with your present reality, all too quickly.

Your vision became hazy, and smoky figures began to take form and shape in this new space Loki had throw you in. You began to hear murmurs of people talking, and the images and voices would become more apparent. Your memory would take its full shape, and two distinct figures fell into place in front of you.

It was you and Loki, together. You both were together in your home, sharing a warm drink across your kitchen table, squabbling about something you still couldn’t make out. Your voice would pan out, and the conversation would prick at your ears.

“If you ask me, I think you’re abilities are much more handy to have in combat than whatever Ironman’s fancy suit does.” You heard yourself say.

“If only everyone else shared your magnificent introspection of my combat ability. Alas, I am only restricted to certain things. Of course, I know exactly why, but it’s not very fun.”

“Well, I have a feeling you have a very skewed notion of fun, Mr. Mischief.”

“I think you humans have a very boring perception of fun.”

“But! We are still very charming in other ways, yes?”

You saw him roll his eyes, while swirling the hot drink in his hand. From an onlookers perspective, you saw yourself beam and giggle at his reaction. The smile forming across your face was addicting, and you had seldom seen yourself in such a way. Your hair was a mess, you wore unfitting clothes, and your face was natural and bare. It was a heavy contrast from Loki, who was wearing a well fitted suit, but it was something you did not bother to worry or feel conscious about. You knew how to be happy, that was for sure, but lately it was all amiss. You were happy during this moment however.

“Charming, in the sense that you seem to get an enjoyment out of my distress and suffering? Then yes.” He said, jestingly of course.

“Oh, I’m not that mean to you, am I? I just poke a little humor at you so you don’t feel so awkward with me.”

“I believe we are past that, aren’t we?”

You remembered how you had felt your hear flutter at his words. “What would that mean for you then, Mr. Mischief?“

“Perhaps this courtship has worked its way to my satisfaction. Or perhaps you are just fun, that is all.” He had shrugged casually, knowing he was teasing at you.

You sputtered a laugh. “Courtship? Sheesh. Let’s just call it dating and maybe we can work through that instead.”

“Dating is for children. If you’d like for me to be more bold,” You saw his hand reach over the table to hold at yours. “ This is my way of saying, that I have grown very fond of you.”

“Go on.”

He smirked. “I will admit, I was very apprehensive at first, especially considering the circumstances of our coming about. Also, I have a bad history with humans as it is.”

You saw yourself place your other hand over his, and you recalled gripping it tightly, as a way to demonstrate your own fondness over him. “It’s weird for me, to have you say that. Because I’ve come to known you for the person that you are today, and that’s why I’m always so excited to see you every day.”

“Then we share the same energy. I cannot promise you, however, that things will be...what you would consider ‘normal’. I hope you comprehend there’s a lot of baggage I carry with me still.”

“I guess I’ll have to ask you the same in regards to me.”

“I can tolerate anything you’ll throw at me dear, in that you can have my word. I’ll support you through everything.”

“Can I tell you something, that is completely vulnerable and embarrassing?”

He nodded, and you saw how you had worked up your own courage to reveal something you had long forgotten about.

“I haven’t really felt like this about anyone in such a long time. It’s scary, especially considering you’re an alien to me, but I think I can say I lo-“

“Stop. Stop it. Don’t.”

You had completely forgotten about this too. You had come to discover about Loki’s inward embarrassment for when someone would flat out mention those three little words to him. You recall how his mouth twisted, and how he averted his gaze at you, as if to hide to pinkness in his cheeks.

“Oh my god, you really can’t hear it, can you?” You had asked teasingly.

“Don’t push it. We were having such as great conversation, and then you-”

“Oh, Loki I love you sooooo much!” You exclaimed, with your own mischievous smile.

He got up from his seat in a huff, walking away into your living room while murmuring something along the lines of how much he hated you and how it was all a mistake. You skipped behind him, still saying those words in a sing song manner. You heard him raise his voice at you, but it all became muddled once more. The fixed image began to smoke and haze out, now left with puddles of memories. It began to roll off, leaving a single pinpoint of light and you felt your body transported back to the present. Your eyes rolled back into place, and you gasped heavily.

You pushed Loki off of you, causing you to stumble backwards. You attempted to catch your breath, as you began to process what exactly had happened. “What did you do to me?” You asked in between huffs. “What did you do!”

“What’s the matter?” he asked, looming over you. “Surely you’d remember something like that, or perhaps it was too painful?”

“Don’t you ever do that to me again!” You exclaimed, stepping away from him. “How fucking dare you get in my head like that!”

“No, how dare you just toss something like that to the side?” He snarled at you, but you stood your ground. “You really expect me to believe something like that?”

A rush of adrenaline hit you, furious at how he had entered your subconsciousness, and furious at how he wanted to manipulate the situation. You clenched your teeth, allowing him to release everything onto you, despite it all.

“I’ve simply demonstrated to you exactly what your mind is experiencing. Not wanting to be with me? Very unlikely.” He continued, now completely towering over your.

You couldn’t comprehend the level of arrogance he was showing. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I can’t believe how pretentious you are being about this!” You said.

“You’re acting as if you never knew this about me. However, I did hear something else in your mind.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I do know you, stupid human. You’ve been calling yourself those poisonous words again. They continue to echo inside your mind, and you didn’t bother to discuss it with me. Why?”

The distance between the both of you was smaller now, but Loki hadn’t made a move to lay a finger on you. You expected him to reach out to you, encircling his arms around you, and shushing you, telling you everything would be okay. But you had been pushing away during this whole time know, and perhaps this had been his way to respect your space. You desperately sent out a solemn thought to him, to disregard all of the foolish things you have done and to simply embrace you tightly.

“I don’t know.” You felt the tears stream down your face, as you began to tug at your hair. “I’m so sorry, please it’s not you.“

You toppled downwards on your knees, and unleashed the wave of unrelenting depression and anger. Your wails were horrendous, and they echoed all over the block. You never wanted something like this to happen, and you never wanted to hurt him in such a way.

Shortly, you felt the same familiar warmness across your shoulders and back, feeling Loki’s breath at the top of your head. Your body continued to shake violently, still adjusting to the sudden release of sentiment, but experiencing a huge sense of relief, as if a boulder had been lifted from your back.

“I’m sorry I invaded your mind like that.” He whispered to you. “But I wanted to show you that memory I hold closer and dear to me. I still feel the same, and I hope you still do as well.”

Your mind traveled back to that moment in time, now possibly forever crystallized in your head. Both you and Loki, holding each other’s hands, allowing each other to be as vulnerable as possible, while still providing each other with the utmost security and confidence, as much as any two individuals could.

“Do you still wish to end this?” He asked sternly.

You shook your head, burying your face deep into his shoulder. “No, but, I don’t feel like I should just accept it like this. I fucked up so much, I hurt you-”

“You did not hurt me.” He cut in. “I’m not a child you know. You saw me clearly telling you before, did you not? I will be with you, even at your lowest of moments.”

“I’m so sorry, I do still love you.” You said with a muffled voice.

He let out a low chuckle. “I’ll still recoil upon hearing those words. I do apologize for that, but you have nothing to apologize for. You are the most important and precious thing in the universe to me. So please, promise me that you won’t go through your anguish on your own anymore. For me?”

It had been something you were longing for throughout that night, his own special way of unraveling the mess that you concocted inside yourself. It was that utmost attention to detail which continued to draw yourself to him. He had used this piece of time, this memory which you both shared, not to manipulate or coax you into something else, but you simply remind you. You saw yourself, happy in the presence of this man, and you saw him re-experiencing the same long lost feeling.

#loki #loki angst #loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki drabble #loki drabbles #loki (mcu)#loki laufeyson

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

Note

Hey Steph! I know that I for one would love for you to post that hospital fic list! No pressure tho!

(referencing this post)

Hey Nonny!!

YAY!! Ask and ye shall receive!! <3 I have wanted to post it for awhile; I try to hold off as long as possible since every week I do get enough asks to keep me going; and when I want to post a list, I put out a *winkwinknudgenudge* and people like you indulge me hahah! <3

ANYWAY, check it out! Thank you for asking!! <3

HOSPITALS Pt. 2

See Also:

Hospital Fics

Rehab/Mental Hospital AU (Community Recs)

A Room of One's Own by whitchry9 (K+, 2,174 w., 5 Ch. || S2 Timeline, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Coma, John Whump, Worried Sherlock, POV John, Angst, Friendship/Bromance, Hospital) – When a severe head injury lands John in a coma, somehow he ends up in Sherlock's mind palace. It's actually pretty nice there, and John is entertaining the notion of staying there, rather than returning to his broken body. But Sherlock isn't taking it as well, and John can feel him breaking around him.

Reversed by whitchry9 (K+, 3,072 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Medical Anomolies, John Gets Shot) – The man pointed his gun at John's chest, right at his heart, and shot.' Wherein John is shot, and Sherlock is the one panicking.

As You Wish by PipMer (K, 3,311 w., 1 Ch. || Bromance/Pre-Slash/Epic Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump, Hospitals) – When John woke from his coma, he wasn't at all surprised to see the wrong Holmes brother sitting at his bedside. Disappointed, but not surprised.

What Did I Do Wrong? by Starlight05 (T, 7,880 w., 5 Ch. || Hurt Comfort, Angst, John Whump, Hospitalization, Worried Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil, Nightmares, Sherlock Being Dumb) - After John almost dies on a case, Sherlock disappears. So John is left to figure out what he can do to get his best friend back. Meanwhile Sherlock, guilt-ridden and willingly alone, is doing everything he can to stay away.

A Study in Linguistics by rizandace (T, 12,425 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Canon Compliant/S2 Divergence, Friendship, Slices of Life, Communication, Cranky Sherlock, Hospitals, Sherlock Whump, Pet Cat, Jealous John, Sherlock’s Violin, Anxious Sherlock, John Whump) – Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had their own language. It was a language of few words and minute facial expressions, and John had learned that it was nearly the only way to have an honest conversation with his eccentric flat mate.

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller, Switchlock, Rimming, Emotional Lovemaking, Lots of Sex, HJ/BJ’s) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #hospital fics #Anonymous

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by-virtue-fall · 4 years

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Agreeing with people was easy. There were no arguments to make. Nothing to defend. All it took was a muffled noise. A nod. A curt dip of the chin.

But for Pax, it also took a little sin. A conscious repression of guilt. A sleepless night. A confession come morning. Why was the path of least resistance always the most inconvenient in the end?

Name: Pax Waldegrave

Age: 16

Name Origin: Pax - Latin for Peace. Waldegrave: An historical noble lineage in Britain. Notorious for their support of Catholicism in Protestant England.

Hails from: Scottish Highlands

Occupation: Seminarian at St-Sulpice, Paris. He’s exiled when the Third French Revolution breaks out.

Demeanor: Quiet, sullen, introspective, haughty. Guilt-ridden & God-fearing.

Health: Suffers from consumption, magical shackles make it difficult to walk without assistance

What makes him special: His impossible birth. The pedigree of his soul.

Music Inspiration for this character: Sin in Justice

* character ref. sheet by @t-stray

#pax waldegrave #protagonist #by virtue fall #writeblr #owwieseptember #oc

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lvnce-mcclain · 4 years

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This is Totally Not a Fic, it’s only a Thought, okay, but imagine:

AU where Buck’s search for his calling didn’t lead him into the SEALs but rather the army, specifically right smack in Eddie’s squad somewhere near year two of his second tour. Miraculously Buck’s bullheadedness in being able to finish something he starts (his father’s words ring in the back of his head you won’t last a week, you’ll quit as soon as it gets too hard every time something he’s ordered to do nags at his conscience) outweighs his humanitarian nature long enough to make it to active duty.

(Fair warning I know next to nothing about the military, ok, go on)

Imagine Buck 1.0—self-satisfaction searching Buck, cocky and too-sure of himself to make up for the fact he has no fuckin’ clue what he’s gonna do with his life and he feels like he’s drowning out here in the desert, so he’s drinking every off night and hooking up with locals freely—meeting Army Sargeant Eddie. Imagine Eddie absolutely Not Having it from this dumbass kid, more ready to jump on a landmine for the heroic headline than listening to how to act as a part of a team.

Imagine Eddie—guilt ridden for leaving as soon as he found out Christopher was diagnosed and in denial he was running away, fighting with Shannon over their video calls more than he even gets updates about their son anymore—wound tighter than ever when Shannon shows up to a video alone one day, announcing she wants to separate and disconnects the call as Eddie starts to let that sink in, before he really knows what it means. Imagine Eddie stewing, finally going off on this Buckley one night about how he’s going to get someone killed with his more glory seeking behaviors because Buckley was the perfect target for all Eddie’s aggression—not like the kid didn’t have it coming, really, with his behavior and attitude and Eddie really, really needs something to hit so he’s kind of hoping it hits the wrong nerve for Buckley.

But then—then Buckley just. Doesn’t react. Well, doesn’t react in any way Eddie was expecting at least; before the sizzle of aggression begins to show in the defiant glare Buckley immediately sports—and Eddie’s thinking yes, this is what I needed—it’s fizzling out under weighted resignation. It’s like—like Buckley agrees, and just takes it, and it stops Eddie up short. He doesn’t know what to do with this Buckley that’s all soft-sunken shoulders and disappointment that’s too deep for Eddie to understand, so he leaves with adrenaline soaked bones.

The next day, Buckley still looks a little too introspective and Eddie can’t help but feel guilty at his outburst; the kid may be dumb, but he’s not a bad person. Eddie knows for a fact Buckley is the first many of their squad seeks out when hit with bad news, because he’s always quick smiles and solutions—knows that he’s also the first one to place a hand on a shoulder sunken in sorrow, and is quickly known by the local kids to be generous with sweets when placed in friendly territories.

So Eddie tucks tail and bolsters himself for an awkward apology after he finishes in the mess hall, but Buckley beats him to it; as soon as Eddie gets him alone, Buckley is all bunched shoulders and rapidfire remorse. Eddie can barely get a word in before he parses out what’s going on, and then he’s shaking his head and using the firmest tone he can muster that’s still friendly and telling Buckley that he “isn’t looking for an apology; it’s the other way ‘round, actually,” and there’s something a little too wondrous in Buckley’s expression so Eddie blurts out something like “you don’t deserve to be my emotional punching bag, ok? And you don’t need to be your own either, kid. Just take half the work you put towards being a pain in the ass and put it towards working and you’re gonna do just fine.”

After that, things get… Better. More tolerable, at least, from a work perspective. Buckley seems to put his head down and starts actually listening and the improvement is noticed even by some of Eddie’s peers, who joke over raised eyebrows about what Eddie could have done to tame the wild child of the whole company. There’s still some incidents of minor insubordination, but they’re fewer and farther between.

Buckley, meanwhile, has taken that whole talk as some sort of permission to hang around Eddie as much as possible and Eddie has to admit when he doesn’t have his head shoved up his own ass, Buckley can actually be good company. He’d never admit that out loud, of course. Buckley’s flipped some sort of switch and now he wants Eddie to tell him everything he knows about literally everything, and on the days Eddie feels the most patient it’s honestly pretty calming to just have a constant drone of information come from Buckley, whether just to reaffirm something he’d learned or looking to Eddie for approval over something new.

But then it’s a few weeks later when Eddie finally gets through to Shannon to talk about what the hell she had meant the last time they spoke, when she says she’s come to the decision to leave Christopher with Eddie’s parents so she can go take care of her sick mother. Eddie can’t believe it at first, his entire being slamming against this reality and refusing to accommodate it. He soon finds out this wasn’t a conversation but rather being informed over a decision already made, and then it’s over.

And sure enough, it’s Buckley who he seeks out first, who takes one look at Eddie and is hauling him away from prying ears and is all concern when he asks what happened. Eddie feels so tightly wound he’s going to snap if he doesn’t hit something, but there’s nothing here he can take a swing at; so instead he deflates, letting out all the hot air along with every heavy truth that has weighed in Eddie’s chest since he ran away from his son.

And Buckley… Seems to get it. (Eddie looks but doesn’t see a barely grown boy running from a distant father, looking at a new father struggling so hard to make the right decision for a son he obviously, obviously loves.) He has a more level head about it all than Eddie thought to give him credit for, quietly telling Eddie that what matters is that he stays solid for his son. That it doesn’t matter where he is, so long as Christopher knows he’s on Eddie’s mind, that’s all that’s gonna matter until he can get back stateside and be there for him. That every day will be a new step until then, and even bigger ones after, but all that matters is that Eddie tries to take them.

Buckley’s words stick with him while Eddie struggles to connect with Christopher over video, even though his parents try hard to push a connection, but the burn of that disappointment in himself grows. He vents it all to Buckley one night—the same night Buckley tells him he’s one incident away from being discharged, and there’s something a little too warm to be annoyance settling in Eddie’s chest at the news. By the time they both let themselves get riled up and pulled back down with deprecating jokes about what’s on their minds, that warmth has become a little more defined and Eddie thinks oh.

Eddie doesn’t get a chance to think too hard over the smallest flare of attraction that had been building in his chest, because by the next week Buckley is discharged for an altercation with a commanding officer and Eddie doesn’t see him again. Eddie loses a comfort he didn’t realize he’d grown into, and things are hard enough trying to focus on his family while thousands of miles away so he just doesn’t think too much more about it.

Things from there would go about the same for Eddie as canon: he gets sent home after his purple heart rescue, only this time he goes straight to his parent’s house and still struggles to get them to release their hold over Christopher (except it would be even harder for them now, with having interim custody); struggles with finding a job until applying for the fire fighters’ academy; ends up picking the LAPD with something small niggling in the back of his mind asking him to remember something about LA (but the offhand comment from Buckley one night over beers about a Plan B is too buried in Eddie’s memories to dig up).

Imagine how much s2 would change, how much of an impact it would have on Buck. I think this is enough for one Not Fic but I still have some Thoughts over this au so I might post them later. There’s just so much potential.

Pt 2 HERE Pt 3 HERE and Pt 4 HERE

#buddie #buddie fic #buddie au #my fic #i have... a lot of thoughts actually #but Do Not have the energy #or time #to start another series #so take this weird not fic #instead

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kylermalloy · 4 years

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1, 2, 6, 7, 9, 11, 14, 15, 18, 26, 30. 🥰

Thank you, Yuki! These are all great questions 😊

1. What themes would you like to write about that you feel don’t get explored very often?

I don’t know how well-explored this is, but most of the fanfics I write are, in some way, an exploration of the effect of trauma. Whether direct or indirect, it seems to get glossed over a lot in the media I consume.

2. What are some common elements of stories you are tired of seeing? What would you avoid writing about?

If we’re talking fanfic, I hate infodumps. I hate characters rushing through information the reader already knows for the sake of the characters knowing it.

Writing in general? The Big Misunderstanding.

6. What point of view do you tend to write in? Do all of your pieces use the same POV? Do you have strong opinions on the POV used in novels?

Usually third person limited. I’ll jump to third person omniscient for some pieces, but that’s hard. And it requires a strong, widespread worldview I usually don’t have when I write. I used to write in first person but we don’t talk about that.

7. Favorite description in your wip?

This is another hard one, because apparently I am not satisfied with ANY of my writing atm. Here’s a little passage that’s halfway decent:

“I’m fine,” Niklaus insisted, though his trembling voice suggested otherwise. He bowed his head, resting his chin in the crook of his elbow.

“No,” Elijah said firmly. “Let me see, brother.”

He pushed a strand of Nik’s dirty hair aside—coming loose from the braid Rebekah had made that morning—to examine the knife wound.

Niklaus kept his eyes down. His breathing stuttered even under Elijah’s gentle touch.

9. What scene was the hardest to write for you and why?

Literally every scene that’s not two people sitting still and talking lol. It’s so hard to keep track of how people are moving—even when it is just two people having a conversation!

I finished a scene for the Star Wars AU recently, an action sequence. Sam and Dean face off against an evil Inquisitor (demon) and are saved by Jack. It was long and complicated and had lots of characters moving around and doing stuff, ugh. It legit took me around a year to write, and I’m still not technically done with it!

11. Set the scene for us. What are your settings like and do you have any pictures saved that represent them? Do your characters travel and see more than one? What are their names?

My settings are very simple. I hate describing places, so if it’s not somewhere readers would be familiar with, it’s a close, plain intimate setting that doesn’t distract from the interpersonal stuff I’m really interested in.

14. If you’ve written more than one story, what traits do your protagonists tend to share?

Well, all I write are fanfics—my protagonists aren’t my own. But all the POV characters I choose tend to be deep thinkers, in tune with their emotions (but also highly repressed). Also they’re usually guilt-ridden.

15. Why physical quirks do your characters tend to have? Eyebrow raising, picking nails, biting lips, pacing, crossing arms, etc.

Everybody knits their brow! Everybody gets a twist in their stomach! Everybody touches each others’ shoulders, and everybody runs their hands through their hair.

18. What writers have inspired you with their use of language? What are some of your favorite quotes?

Honestly, I can’t think of any off the top of my head.

26. What do you feel like you need to work on as a growing writer? How can you improve?

Balancing emotion/introspection with physical descriptions. These days I feel like it’s either one or the other with me.

30. What is some of the best writing advice you’ve read or received? Why does it work for you?

I’ve read lots of writing advice and haven’t taken most of it to heart, lol. I do like the advice about “show don’t tell”—the part that says you don’t have to show us everything. Show what’s relevant. Show what’s emotionally impactful. Don’t over-describe every little detail just for the sake of painting a hyperrealistic picture. Not everything matters that much.

Send me writing asks!

#asks #beloved yuki #thanks for sending this in!#writing is hard

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livingmybestfictionallife · 4 years

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Live Wire --The Dirt--

Little something I’ve been working on due to a lack of Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx fics.

Summary: Wren Ledden, Tommy’s best friend from high school has had a rough life and she intends to keep the nitty gritty details of her suffrage to herself until the day she dies. Only Tommy has gotten her to open up about a small portion of her troubles, and it’s only Tommy who she trusts with her life. That is until her life gets turned around sneaking into a concert one night...the same night Motley Crue is born.

Since westward expansion and the Gold Rush, all anyone in the United States could think about were the promises that seemed to lie buried within the jungled streets of chaos in California. It was where everyone wanted to be—the ocean was beautiful, Hollywood was booming, the mountains up north were to die for, and the music scene was evolving before the world’s eyes. It seemed like the perfect place for anyone with a dream and the will-power to achieve it; however, for Wren Ledden, California was a cage that, since a young age, she promised herself she’d find her way out of.

Wren was smart, driven, and talented, but never seemed to be in the right place at the right time, and as everyone knows, timing is everything. School was all too easy for her and she even managed to complete all of her gen-ed courses for college while she was still a junior in high school. By the time she graduated with her high school diploma, she had her associate’s degree and a ‘the-sky’s-the-limit’ attitude toward the rest of her life. Sure, she didn’t have the money to attend a fancy college and she didn’t know what the hell she even wanted to study, but she knew two things: one, she’d worked her ass off throughout high school, and two, she deserved a break.

“Why the hell do you study so much?” Wren heard her one and only friend from high school grumble as she laid on her back and read from a Rolling Stone magazine.

“Do you even know what the hell I’m reading?” she huffed as she tossed the magazine at the lanky boy’s face.

“Rolling Stone,” he commented with an airy tone as he stole a glance away from his reflection to look at the magazine that rested beside him. “Cool. I just assumed you were being a nerd.” The all too familiar snarky laugh she had heard resonate through her friend’s lungs since middle school echoed against the walls of his room.

“Shut up, asshole.” Wren’s lips curled up into a smirk as she flipped over from her resting position on his bed to sitting cross-legged and watching her friend primp. “I still can’t believe you’re going to this concert with what’s her nuts and not me,” Wren sighed in exuberant frustration as her eyes drifted from her friend to the posters that littered the walls of his room.

“Oh, come on, Wren, give her a chance; I bet you’d like her! She’s really cool,” he whined as he turned around from the mirror and turned down the tape playing over the speakers.

“I bet,” Wren said dryly as her mind drifted from her friend’s new girlfriend to the band he was taking her to go see tonight. “I’m just pissed because I turned you on to London in the first place, Tommy.”

“And I know we always said we’d go together, but I’m trying to get her to give them a chance.”

“So you’re taking someone who may not even like the show over me, your best friend and musical connoisseur?” Wren shot Tommy a pained look and pretended to clutch her heart as she flopped backwards on his bed.

“Look, if it means that much to you, I can cancel tonight and we can go.” Tommy’s big heart was something that had drawn Wren to him in the first place. Throughout high school, she was an outcast; Wren had a different upbringing from many of her classmates, including Tommy, which led to her inability to trust others. Middle school band brought Wren the only friend she’d ever need, someone to share her interests, who was able to break down her walls, and whose family gave her what she lacked in her own familial life. Tommy’s chaotic extroversion saved Wren’s dry-humored introverted time and time again. Tommy had always been fond of Wren and he even found her cynicism humorous, albeit at first he was only interested in dating her, but as they grew closer as friends, both Wren and Tommy realized they were bonded for life.

“Go on your date, Tommy,” Wren sighed as she watched the slightest hint of disappointment cross his eyes.

“Meet me at the diner afterwards?” He asked with big, begging eyes. “I want you to meet her.” Wren considered her options: spend another night crashing in Tommy’s parents’ guest room and annoying his little sister, Athena, or meeting what would probably be another week-long girlfriend he had fallen head-over-heels for.

“Sure,” she sighed only to catch his infectious smile growing onto her lips. “But that’s only if I don’t decide to sneak into the show behind you like we did with that punk band last month.”

“Why the fuck don’t you just come with us?” Tommy asked as he jumped up from where he was sitting on the floor and spun toward where Wren was still perched on his bed.

“I’m not dressed for the strip,” she said as she tossed her arms out to the side and examined her attire. A black leather jacket hung from Wren’s shoulders as a hand-made cropped black shirt dangled around her torso, baring just a portion of her midriff as black leather pants hugged her legs and chunky boots were laced around her feet.

“Yes you are, and if we didn’t already know this,” he said and gestured between the two “would never work, I’d even say you were hot.” Tommy said as he pulled his own black leather jacked over the mustard yellow t-shirt he wore, and then stuffed his drumsticks through the loop of his studded belt.

“These are just my normal clothes; you know the slutty shit girls wear out there,” Wren continued, trying her hardest to keep from becoming a third wheel on Tommy’s day.

“I’ll even pay for you!” her friend continued to beg for her companionship.

“So you’re taking both of us out tonight?” Wren huffed with a cocky and teasing smirk on her face. As Tommy thought through his proposition, he raised his eyebrows and pointed at his best friend with a curious and playful look spreading over his face, however Wren was quick to shut his wandering thoughts down. “Just sneak off for a bit once you get there and come to that janky fucking door in the men’s room to let me in.”

“I can do that!” Tommy said as he opened his bedroom door and ushered for Wren to come with him down the hall and into the kitchen. As she paced through the halls of a home she’d come to know all too familiarly, she tried to avert her eyes from all signs that reminded her she lived there. She hated having to rely on anyone besides herself. Her own ability to provide for herself was all she had ever known. Even when she still lived at home, her parents were too self-indulged and too busy fighting one another to notice their only child. At eighteen, they threw her to the wolves, ready to be rid of her—the thing that in their eyes kept them from having the life they’d wanted—and claimed she would never make anything of herself. Thankfully, upon hearing of her misfortune nearly ten months after the fact, Tommy called bullshit on Wren’s parents and his family opened their home to her. Wren was beyond grateful for their generosity, but overwhelmingly guilty for even finding herself in the position to put someone out in such a damning way.

“You’re not a burden to my folks,” Tommy would always say. “They love you like the daughter they never had; because their real daughter is nice and sweet, and not anywhere near as fucking metal as you.”

Tommy and Wren’s friendship was an odd one—everyone who saw the pair together could see that much. He was a colorful person who expressed everything outwardly, whereas Wren was often described as dark and introspective. At shows, Tommy would be flailing his limbs around, letting the music speak to his body while Wren let the rhythm and lyrics fill her soul. She’d tap her foot and bang her head on occasion, but would never lunge herself into the mosh pit and crowd-surf among other fans as Tommy had on more than one occasion. However unlikely the friendship maybe, it was strong and, on many occasions, too strong for Tommy’s dates to handle. Girls who dated Tommy never understood how he could be so close to Wren without wanting to fuck her, and their suspicion always got the best of them. This always led to an end in the relationship after a huge fight over an ultimatum between Wren or whatever flavor of the week he was tasting.

Regardless of the Bass family’s insistence on Wren’s presence being nothing but welcome, she found herself ridden by guilt each night she ate their food and took up space in their home. Getting out of the house and going to see London with Tommy—even if they wouldn’t be together during the show—could be exactly what Wren needs to get out of the mental funk she’d been finding herself returning to for months now.

Wren was fine with the sneaking around and the ridiculous plots Tommy would find himself cooking up on how to avoid “the Wren issue” with his dates while also making sure he’d have a good time if his date abandoned him at a show. It wasn’t uncommon for many of the girls Tommy brought around to cower away from the rock scene, and as much of a people person as Tommy was, he hated being at shows by himself. Tonight wouldn’t be the first time Wren hung around at a concert waiting for her best friend’s date to bail at the sight of a fight, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. Overall, she had fun: it was fun to sneak into clubs to watch her favorite bands, it was fun knowing that she was Tommy’s ride or die—the one who he knew would always be there to keep him company—and it was a hell of a lot more fun when the stuck up bitches bailed and she got to break out of her shell a tiny bit and join Tommy in the mosh pit for a song or two. Deep down, in the pit of her stomach, as she held her arms close and tried to ignore the subtly cool breeze floating through the Los Angeles streets, she knew tonight was going to be fun too.

“Fuck, Tommy, where are you?” she grunted. Wren leaned her back against the brick wall and kicked the bathroom door with the heel of her boot, impatient as to why it was taking him so long to come and get her. She accounted for the five-minute drive to his girlfriend’s house, and the five-minute drive back, but after standing in the chilly air for over twenty minutes, she allowed herself to grow impatient at Tommy’s tardiness. She knew in reality he was probably still waiting in the long ass line out front, so she tried to suppress the temper that usually came with her impatience. Tilting her head up and gazing at the sliver of sky between the buildings surrounding her, Wren let the cool air flow over her hot cheeks. Just as she was about to step away from the wall and peer around the corner to see if she could spot Tommy’s leopard printed ass in the sea of people waiting to get in, she heard the rusty creak of the alley door open and poked her head inside.

“Finally,” she sighed as she made the small jump from the ground up through the slightly elevated bathroom floor. “I thought you forgot about me Tomm—you’re not Tommy.” The bar was always dark and dingy, and the bathrooms were even more so than the rest of the establishment, however she was always easily able to distinguish her friend from other men. A tall man, no more than three or four years older than her, stood before her with a cigarette between his lips and a lighter in his left hand as his right hand grasped what appeared to be a glass of either whiskey or bourbon on the rocks. He wore a dark leather jacket with what appeared to be a dark shirt underneath and dark leather pants. His overall demeanor seemed to be in stark contrast of Tommy, and Wren straightened her posture and tone from hunched over joking banter to straight-line intimidation standoff.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the man asked once the alley door closed. He assumed that she wouldn’t want a confrontation and that she’d retreat from the venue out of submission or intimidation, but Wren’s eyebrows quickly stitched into a skeptical glare as she stood her ground. The man before her still had his lighter flicked open and a small flame burned in his hand while his hazel eyes peered down at the young woman. He tried to stand up straighter in order to intimidate her into explaining herself, but he got a sense nothing would make her stand down. She had fierce, cold eyes that seemed to cut right through him and in an instant of impatience, he opened his mouth to repeat himself, only to have her speak over him.

“What does it look like?” she scoffed and folded her arms over her chest. The man’s narrowed eyes, tense jaw, and teased, long black hair was nothing more than an obstacle keeping her from having a good time at a show she’d been dying to see.

“Looks like you’re sneaking in,” the man said with an arrogant smirk as he cocked his head to the left and took in the woman’s appearance.

“Congratu-fucking-lations,” Wren smirked, “you regular Sherlock Holmes.” Dropping her arms to her side, Wren took a long step forward to side-step the man in front of her only for him to take a quick step to his left and puff out his chest. “Come on, man,” she sighed. “You can’t be that much of a dick!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart,” he smirked devilishly. He was certain the woman would crack and turn away to save herself the humiliation of continuing to linger in a men’s room, but the self-assured grin that traveled onto her face only caused his eyebrows to furrow in curiosity.

“You may be a dick, but you’re nothing but talk,” Wren stated and placed her hands gently on her hips, allowing herself to be in as vulnerable of a position as she could be in a situation like this in order to show how unafraid she was of the man before her. “I, on the other hand, have the balls to follow through. So, thanks for the, whatever the fuck public decency lecture that was, but I’m going to step around you now and watch what I expect to be a kick ass show that I’m, frankly, too damn broke to afford to see the ‘appropriate’ way,” Wren stated while using air quotes. “I’m also too damn broke to afford a drink, even in a hole like this, so,” without any warning, she slipped her fingers around the glass the man was holding, plucked it from his hand, and sent the burning, icy liquor down her throat in one large gulp, “thanks for the Jack, even if it is a pansy-ass whiskey if you ask me.” With nothing more than a light shoulder check, Wren took a long stride past the man standing in her way, and carried herself high as she paced past the line of men at the urinals watching the scene unfold, before she emerged into the bar.

It only took her about ten minutes to find Tommy in the masses of concert goers, and throughout the night, she managed to keep him in her sights just in case his date bailed; although at the end of the night, she was still pressed against the back of the venue, being forced to squint in order to make out which band was playing, while Miss Blondie hung close to Tommy. Wren had to hand it to the girl, she wasn’t like the other chicks Tommy brought to shows in hopes of turning them on to the rock scene. Even when the bassist of London threw a heavy hitting punch at the band’s lead singer, she didn’t run off like Wren had expected. Sure, she jumped back in awe as the rest of the crowd shouted either obscenities of shock or encouragement, but she didn’t run, and that deserved at least a little respect from Wren.

As bouncers rushed toward the stage to separate the two band members, other employees of the bar acted as ushers to escort the numerous patrons of various stages of intoxication out of the venue and into the streets to have a better chance of breaking up the fight without a brawl. Wren tried to call out for Tommy’s attention, but a slight panic came over her as she noticed a cop picking out another sleazy freeloader who had snuck in through one of the other weak points in security. Wren retreated the way she had come in—through the dank and abysmal restroom, leading into a dingy alley—and then disappeared into the crowd that dispersed along the sidewalk of the Sunset Strip.

Continue Reading: Next Chapter

#douglas booth nikki sixx #douglas booth the dirt #douglas booth!nikki sixx #the dirt douglas booth #the dirt fanfic nikki #the dirt #douglas booth!nikki sixx fic #douglas booth #the dirt fanfic #the dirt fandom #douglas booth fanfic

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rebelsofshield · 4 years

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Star Wars: Shadow Fall-Review

The second installment of Alexander Freed’s Alphabet Squadron trilogy is a character driven story of survival and personal growth that ranks among the best novels to come out of Star Wars in years.

(Review contains minor spoilers)

For the first time in the Galactic Civil War, both sides are in equal footing. With the death of the Emperor and the cataclysmic events following the Battle of Endor, The Empire has fallen into disarray and chaos. No central leadership exists and the once terrifying fascist force has split into different factions vying for survival. The New Republic fairs no better. Caught between mopping up between Imperial holdouts and trying to establish a government of its own, the former Rebellion is stumbling as well. All sides are scrambling to make sense of a new galactic order. Caught in the middle of this mess are the ragtag starfighters of Alphabet Squadron. Lead by a guilt ridden Yrica Quell, these five war weary pilots make a new desperate ploy to capture the still elusive and dangerous forces of Shadow Wing, a deadly TIE Fighter regiment that remains one of the Empire’s strongest remaining assets. However, Shadow Wing faces its own test of survival, now under control of Quell’s former mentor, Soran Keize.

Alphabet Squadron was one of the biggest and best surprise hits of last year. While Alexander Freed had already cut his teeth on writing Star Wars with the mostly underwhelming Battlefront: Twilight Company and the novelization for Rogue One, the first in his starfighter trilogy kicked off with an emotional and character driven drama that proved compelling from the getgo. Freed’s prose is dense and detailed and arguably more so than any other current prose writer working for Lucasfilm has the ability to make the world of the Galaxy Far, Far Away feel lived in. There’s an attention to on the streets storytelling. Our characters are fleshed out, flawed, and emotional characters, but they are far from the larger than life icons we see in much of Star Wars. They are part of the galactic swell of millions caught in the middle of a conflict that will change the shape of their society for decades to come.

It’s this feeling of upheaval and cultural shift that gives Shadow Fall much of its success. Freed paints the last year of the Galactic Civil War as a transitional period and while Chuck Wendig’s Aftermath trilogy may have been about the end point of this transformation, Shadow Fall concerns itself with the tough growing pains of societal metamorphosis. As Alphabet Squadron and their fellow New Republic allies attempt to liberate a planetary system orbiting a black hole, they have to contend with their own spread thin forces but also with their place as galactic liberators. They are no longer scrappy rebellious underdogs, but representatives of one government ousting another. Similarly, Soran Keize finds his leadership of Shadow Wing borrowing more and more from the Rebellion, with strategy shifting from wartime to success to the physical and mental health of the men in his charge. Freed creates a general feeling throughout of shaky footing and unease. The end point of the war is well in hand, but nobody is quite sure what it might entail and that proves to be something that drives introspection not only morally and politically, but also spiritually.

Freed’s ability to layer the Galaxy Far, Far Away with detail and nuance remains a strength, but the overall success of Alphabet Squadron proved to be its cast of compelling characters. By the end of its page length, we left the first novel of this series with a dynamic central cast, each with their own wants and weaknesses, and even a collection of memorable supporting characters. Shadow Fall continues that trend here, and while some standouts from the last novel such as Kairos and Nath Tensent (the former in particular) don’t get enough time in the spotlight, Freed digs in deeper with many of his cast than ever before. Following the likes of The Empire Strikes Back, Shadow Fall takes the middle chapter route of separating its heroes and putting them through the emotional ringer.

Yrica Quell remains the most complicated and compelling of the bunch. With her New Republic intelligence handler, Caern Adan, now aware of her secret participation in the genocidal Operation Cinder, Quell finds herself at risk with her fellow pilots. Freed fills her chapters with a sense of hesitancy, tension, and guilt ridden trauma as Quell tries to navigate the comfort of her new life with the looming atrocities of her past. Shadow Fall takes Quell on a twisting and harrowing journey and she ends the novel in an unexpected place that is sure to shake things up for the final installment likely coming next year.

In contrast, Soran Keize makes for an interesting new take on the sympathetic Imperial antagonist. It’s rare that we see a member of the Galactic Empire written with this amount of emotional depth and empathy. There’s a rightful hesitancy to paint representatives of sci-fi fascism with humanity and typically once a Stormtrooper or officer starts to show a hint of light, it means they are redemption bound. Keize makes for a fascinating inversion of this. We first met him having already deserted the Empire, trying to eke out life under a new name and purpose. Keize ended Alphabet Squadron with a decision to rejoin the Empire, but his role in Shadow Fall is far from fanatical patriotism. Instead, Keize becomes a steward for Shadow Wing, attempting to protect the men and women under his command from death and despair. It’s a more humanistic approach than we’ve seen from an Imperial before and it gives the battles at the novel’s climax an additional weight.

Other standouts prove to be Wyl Lark and Chass na Chadic. Lark made an impression and quickly became a fan favorite out of Alphabet Squadron due to his unshakeable moral character and optimism. In a series that approaches being dour in its chaos and bloodshed, Freed strongly balances out the ensemble with a character that feels as attuned to the light as Lark. Shadow Fall maneuvers him into a leadership position that he finds himself taking on maybe a bit too much responsibility and complicated even further by the intense empathy he feels for the empathy at every step. Freed paints Lark as a good man that isn’t made into a bad one by the horrors of war, but finds himself struggling to find the right thing to do at all times. It makes for compelling and hopeful conflict.

Chass na Chadic, the music spewing B-Wing pilot, was a colorful addition to Alphabet Squadron, but she more than any other character feels like she comes into her own here in Shadow Fall. The last surviving member of multiple squadrons who met their end by the hands of the Empire, Chass has never expected to live through to the end of the Galactic Civil War. She doesn’t actively wish for death, but has more so accepted a reality that her survival isn’t a part of. Combined with her own sense of sardonic humor and multi-species discography, Chass constantly feels like she’s hiding layer upon layer of emotion but remains entertaining all the same. In a smart move, Freed puts Chass in a place that challengers her nihilism in startling ways and it makes for some of the most interesting subject matter of the novel.

If anything proves a little shaky with Shadow Fall, it’s that the overall uncertainty of its world and characters bleeds a bit too much into the plot as well. Freed’s characters feel concerned with moment to moment survival and while it makes for a thrilling and at times emotional read, it’s easy to leave the second installment of Alphabet Squadron feeling a tad unmoored. It’s unclear what exactly this trilogy is building to outside of another conflict between our titular starfighter team and their elusive enemy. I will find myself picking up the next installment in order to catch up with these characters that I have become so attached to and not necessarily because I’m waiting with baited breath for the conclusion of this winding story.

As was the case with Alphabet Squadron, Freed’s prose knows how to oscillate in tempo and focus with ease. His descriptions are detailed and dynamic. His character prose is insightful and personal without feeling overbearing. His action scenes feel kinetic and explosive. It’s impressive just how thick and dense Freed’s prose can feel when it needs to, but how quickly it can shift to something quicker and more action oriented without sacrificing the detail that defines the rest of the novel. It represents a clear evolution from the sometimes leaden Twilight Company that builds upon the style but makes it much more emotionally and narratively engaging.

With Shadow Fall, Alexander Freed’s solidifies Alphabet Squadron as the new Star Wars trilogy to watch for. It’s characters are just as haunting and compelling as ever and Freed’s writing feels more lived in and organic than anything else offered by Lucasfilm Publishing at this time. Pick this book up and savor the read. I’m going to miss these lost souls over the next year.

Score: A

#Star Wars #Star Wars novels #review #reviews #Alphabet Squadron #Shadow Fall #Alexander Freed

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sasorikigai · 4 years

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Rosy Fog, Rosy Haze ( For Kuai Liang & Fujin ) Ruby Light, Opal Sky, Rosy Touch ( For Hanzo )

A series of headcanon asks to delve more in-depth with what makes the muses tick! Questions range from the obscure to the obvious so as to dig further into a muse’s life and habits. || @akari-kiyama || accepting

Ruby Light: Are they the sort to wear their heart on the sleeve? If not, why?

While Hanzo wants to be private about his own emotions, he has rather intense and explosive and strong range of emotions. He is never wary of expressing them in the moment, especially when he is around someone whom he could trust fully. He used to be one of those who coped with stress by ‘getting upset or angry and not showing it,’ but his own death, along with losing everything he used to have (his family and clan) changed all that. As Scorpion, it’s clear that he uses guilt-ridden wrath and vengeance and his emotions are never hidden or manipulated by his rationalism or logic. While he doesn’t particularly like to draw attention to his own feelings unless he trusts someone very deeply, he can’t help with the fact that he always had been in touch with his emotions. He likes to delve into his inner world and exploring his values, actions, commitments, and emotions, and spilling them with as much rawness and honesty.

Opal Sky: Do they tend to get lost in their own thoughts/daydreams?

Hanzo is equipped with powerful imagination, but he’s also firmly rooted in the here and now. While he likes to get a good grasp on his five senses and working with his hands, Hanzo does tend to delve deep into introspection quite often, as this is one of his favorite ways to spend his pastime. Even zazen (meditation) is a way of dealing with such expansive kaleidoscopic world of his thoughts, especially regarding his traumas and grief.

Rosy Touch: How do they show affection nonverbally? Are they likely to show affection with their words as well?

He is a very physical person and truly enjoy observing the beauty in the world around him. He often enjoys giving and receiving hugs, even if he doesn’t always initiate this. Hanzo enjoys feeling close to his loved ones, and might want to constantly be touching his romantic partners through intimate touches, hugs, and kisses. He enjoys physical touch as a way to express himself, and often love being close to people in this way. Also, Hanzo is extremely vocal in expressing his affection and love through his poetic words.

Rosy Fog: What are their immediate views on romantic love?

While Kuai Liang might have tad bit of a cynical side which makes them appear more practical than romantic, it isn’t necessarily all that he is. Kuai Liang is a closet romantic, with a big heart and passionate spirit. He wants to be able to experience love in all of its forms, especially the romantic kind. He just doesn’t find it easy to express these desires to those around him, since most of his innermost feelings he has will have a tendency to keep being buried. He builds up walls for fear of getting hurt or of having people misunderstand him. He doesn’t want to be judged for all of these complex inner thoughts and feelings, and so he keeps them behind the many layers he possesses. For him to be open about his romantic feelings can be a frightening thought, and so he often appears much more practical and even cynical on the outside.

Rosy Haze: Do they react well when they develop feelings for someone and if not why?

Kuai Liang isn’t necessarily viewed as an outwardly romantic person, since he often keeps things to himself, and the severe lack of experience constitutes that awkwardness. He is much more of a private person who doesn’t really feel comfortable expressing all of his feelings or romantic ideals to those around him, unless it becomes situational and there is a deep mutual trust. He can often build up walls which makes it difficult for people to truly see what he is feeling or thinking. While he might not appear romantic to people around him, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t possess the heart of a true romantic. For Kuai, these feelings are just so personal, and at times he tries to ignore them in focus of more a cynical mindset. He is a contradictory and complex person, which is why he could come across so often confusing to people who aren’t willing to look beneath what they can see.

Rosy Fog: What are their immediate views on romantic love?

Fujin is always on the lookout for a long term, committed relationship. Even as an Immortal Wind God, he views romance as a necessity and a requirement. He’s not known for playing around very much or for being casual about his relationships and he won’t accept that from his partners either once he feels that genuine gravitation. Fujin will be a dedicated support system for his romantic partner and will also need this in return, even if he does get so focused on the other person’s needs that he forgets this sometimes. Fujin loves to show his partner that he cares, usually by performing acts of service or having long and in-depth conversations about his partner’s needs and wants. He also has a very high emotional intelligence, which means they’re quite happy to share how they feel verbally with their partners.

Rosy Haze: Do they react well when they develop feelings for someone and if not why?

Fujin naturally draws potential partners to him, and his focus on finding that strong relationship he wants means that he is constantly evaluating the people around him to see if he and his prospect partner are likely to be a good match. He is also a natural caretaker, so if he develops feelings for someone, he will most likely show that he cares. If Fujin senses that others are troubled or in distress, he would want to help, and may form relationships with people he wants to save. This can lead to the other person using him and Fujin eventually getting burned out trying to save them. This is definitely not the type of relationship that Fujin, or anyone really, should be in, and they need to be aware of this tendency when they’re evaluating potential partners. All he wants is a genuine reciprocation, not a one-sided relationship.

#✗ obsessive cathartic (headcanon)#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ bone-deep chill of despair (sub-zero)#✗ unwavering wind of celestial might (fujin)#akari-kiyama

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webcricket · 5 years

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Winter’s Eye

Pairing: AU!CastielXReader Word Count: 1525 (Ch. V) Story Summary: Season 13 canon tells you how AU!Castiel’s story ends, this is how it begins. The deranged and damaged iteration of Castiel we met in the apocalypse universe - an obedient soldier to Michael’s cause barely in control of his vessel’s frayed and erratically firing nerves whose inherent kindness toward humankind appeared entirely obliterated - wasn’t always an unfeeling angelic weapon of interrogation. Once, he sympathized with the plight of humans; one, he loved. Chapter Summary: Coffee and a conversation - neither the reader or the angel suspects how a sweetly simple start will lead to heartbreaking complications.

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Castiel notices the alteration of a week’s long routine immediately upon entering the cabin; his final armload of tinder teeters when he perceives in his preliminary survey of the space he expects to see you occupying the you-sized void located beside the stove.

Every morning prior you huddled as a human pillow fort there; blanket draping your bulwark frame, despotic frown armoring your aspect, you dwelt near the heat source prepared to catch his eye as soon as he sought for yours to commence his daily plea for armistice to end that siege of silence.

The composure ruffled for a moment by the dread of a renewed isolation returns to the angel in the galvanizing sound of a heartbeat resonant somewhere within; casting his focus backward along the wall, he hones in on the owner of that soothing pulse.

On this morning, you sit at a rustic stout log-legged table constructed from the lacquered cross-section of a hundreds of years old oak not unlike the one you nearly perished under; the rings signifying the tree’s longevity multiply like ripples of a stone tossed in a stream, so tightly stacked as to be indiscernible from infinity itself. Situated beneath a square western facing window, gauzy gingham curtains pinned aside permit both a wash of light and the wintry view an entrance.

You seem lost in the vista; outward gaze unperturbed, your lips purse to cool the coffee raised to them. The dimmed gold diffusion that suffices for a sunrise these days radiates in halo effect around your profile.

Of secondary - albeit curious - concern to the relief he feels in what appears to him to be a positive and heavenly amendment of attitude in a heretofore dourly resigned disposition, a second untouched mug occupies the tabletop. Dwelling out of your easy reach, the significance of the surplus cup puzzles him.

Even more so unnerving to him is the enigma of the chair opposite you shifting suddenly asunder the table; in his distraction, he perceives the movement as occurring seemingly of its own volition rather than relating to the slide of your socked foot inviting him to fill the seat.

“I made you a cup of coffee,” is all you say, outward glance through the glass unbroken.

Balancing the heaped wood long enough to pivot and let it loose in a controlled, but raucous, roll from his arms onto the stack adjacent the door, he mostly manages to stifle the shock subverting his angelically stoic sensibilities over the scene.

When he wheels round, your focus is fixed on him; amusement hints in laugh lines skirting your mouth and a glint of mischief in your gaze.

He doesn’t drink coffee, but he’s astute enough to understand the gesture is more than just a cup of coffee - it’s an olive branch. He brushes off the bits of bark and incorporeal clumsiness clinging to his vessel and crosses the room in a brisk stride.

Sinking onto the seat, spine rigid, he clasps his fingers on the glossy ringed surface in an effort to affect an appearance of relaxation; fidgeting in their ill-feeling fitment, he ultimately relegates the difficulty of the calloused and uncalm digits into his lap and out of your sight.

“Um-” peering into the mirrored surface of the murky brown drink, bright block of window light shimmering your reflection thereon, he recalls the human proclivity for niceties in lieu of satisfying outright an inquisitiveness to know what caused your reconsideration of his charity- “thank you.”

You wince a little at that; the judder of the table undulates your image in his cup. It’s you who should be thanking him. You wouldn’t even have coffee if he hadn’t resupplied the cupboard a few days ago from God knows what resource he found in his wanderings.

All subtle trace of gaiety flees from your features; your chin bobs once under the burden of the guilt-ridden acknowledgement. Bringing the rim of the mug to your mouth, you sip, swallow hard against the throat thickening reminder of your boorish behavior, and permit a sliver of apologetic humility to emerge as a quiet murmur. “It’s the least I could do.”

Following your cue, glad to give one of his hands a useful purpose, he takes a tentative sip from his cup. The heat and acidity of the molecular explosion tickles his vessels tongue. While the impression is by no means a pleasant one, it’s one he bears out by forcing a compact semblance of gratitude into the curvature of his standard pout.

“It’s-” he clears the cough contracting his lungs- “uh-”

“It’s terrible.” You chuckle, allaying his stuttered struggle to maintain diplomacy. “Trust me, the taste improves with cream and couple pumps of cinnamon dolce and vanilla syrup, but even the Starbucks on every corner business model couldn’t survive in the present market climate.”

Your attempt at levity face plants in the slow-motion tilt of Castiel’s head and introspective tapering of his lashes that tell you he doesn’t get that particular reference.

He watches you endure another self-deprecatory gulp of the scalding stuff. “I’ll take your word for it,” he determines, although the doubt deepening his tone insinuates he’s not at all convinced.

No longer able to mince matters of caffeine with those regarding his celestial origin - the elephant in the room trumpeting caution in affront to your humanity - you set your mug and elbows before you to put his intent, once again, to the test.

Intensity shines in your irises as you lean forward on your seat, asking, “What’s really your deal anyway?”

He doesn’t so much as blink those blues at the rapid difference of direction from the realm of the mundane to more mortal concerns. He also misconstrues your meaning by offering a curt correction that, “Deals are for demons.”

You clarify. “I mean, what’s an angel doing patrolling out in the middle of no man’s land?”

The drop of his gaze and slouching of shoulders betray his discomfort, yet no immediate reason springs to his mind to evade providing an honest answer. “It’s a punishment.”

“For what?”

Pain dampens the countenance that rises to resolve on yours. “Pride.”

Your brow quirks, “Pride?”

He nods; hesitance to speak aloud for the first time about his past and how much to share stymies his tongue. He runs a broad fingertip along the outline of a blackened ring on the tabletop, relaying the outermost layers of his remorse as he absentmindedly follows the ashy line.

“When I realized angels were purposely abetting the breaking of apocalyptic seals, I rebelled. It was already too late to stop that seizure of power which was set so precipitously in motion, but I thought absolute disaster might be mitigated. Many of my brothers and sisters died because they followed me believing we had a chance to save this world for humanity. We– I- failed. And now-” He averts lashes wetly damned by sorrow to the window and all the barren ‘and now’ plainly evidenced beyond it.

You slump backward into the chair, astonished by the unguarded anguish of a being whose species as a whole you lately considered as incapable of feeling genuine emotion. “This … this isn’t what I expected.” The muffled acknowledgement of his outstripping your expectations isn’t one you necessarily meant to utter aloud.

He sniffs against the well of tears he thought long ran dry and looks once more at you. “I don’t think this is what any of us expected.” He judges the confusion contorting your forehead at his restatement as a want of further elucidation rather than his misunderstanding yet again what you’ve said. “That is to say except maybe the Apostle John, but he always was something of a catastrophic thinker. None of us could have guessed the Book of Revelation would prove so, well-” he pauses to exhale a sigh redolent of regret at not heeding the warning- “prophetic.”

“I meant you. You’re not who I expected you to be,” you add fuel to the foray of misperceived meanings hovering in the air between you. “That’s a good thing,” you reassure the fret of his brow; a small smile brews on your lips as you raise your cup. “So what happens now? I know you said angels don’t do the whole deal thing, but this seems a little unfair, you taking care of me. What do you get out of it?”

Mimicking the casualness of your sip, he picks up his mug and swirls a mouthful; there’s a subtle sweetness he could grow accustomed to underlying the molecules this time. Adams apple bobbing as the coffee trickles down his gullet, he says, “More of this, I hope.”

“Stale coffee?” you tease; sloshing the grainy dregs around the bottom of your emptied cup, the porcelain emits a hollow thud when you set it on the table.

Tone softened by a sincerity of want toward your continued company, he corrects, “Conversation.”

“I think I can do that.” You accept terms that, despite their being undemanding on his part in exchange for his invaluable protection, leave the angel feeling he’s gotten the better end of the bargain.

Next Chapter: VI

#castiel x reader #au!castiel x reader #apocalypseversecastiel #castiel x you #castielxreader #castielxyou #spn x reader #reader x castiel #you x castiel #cas x reader #cas x you #castiel reader insert #castiel #au!castiel #castiel fanfiction #cricket writes cas

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