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twokisses · 5 months

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stress relief (ficlet)

it's been a long time! here's a simple, spicy something i found in my drafts, also available to read on my ao3 @twokisses

Synopsis: It's been a shit day, but Baz knows just how he can get the release that he needs from it. (Rated M)

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Baz had had the worst fucking day of his life. Most of it he could put down to the general incompetence of his fellow group mates; and their lack of enthusiasm for anything other than parties and members of the opposite sex. Then add to that random break-downs of critically important machinery—the printer in the library, the vending machine, his car—and the universe had found the perfect combination of things that could send him into a raging fit. He never got into fits. They were beneath him.

Snow knew about everything by the time Baz got on the tube (horrifying), and was doing his best at soothing him, alternating between righteous anger on his behalf—“what a bunch of arseholes. u rly deserve better baz”—and hopefully placating promises—“we can order food when u get back & put smth on the telly”.

Largely, it was working. But Baz had had a fire growing in his belly since noon. A vibrating tension that had spread to his shoulders and fingers by the time they were wrapped—as loosely as possible—around one of the tube’s handholds. He was practically singing with it. At first he considered finding a remote clearing in a wood somewhere and casting a whole fucking Shakespeare play—anything to get rid of his excess energy. Then he realised there was a much more practical solution at hand. Literally in his hand; Snow’s messages kept popping up on his screen, and as Baz read through them it dawned on him that all he wanted—all he needed, really—was for his loyal, determined, steadfast, golden boyfriend to lock them both in his room and fuck him until he forgot group mates, vending machines, or the tube even existed.

Baz sent a new text, cutting across Simon’s latest (sweet, but now unneeded) message about how doing the best you could didn’t always guarantee success, and asked whether Bunce was home that night. nah, was the reply. out with shep 2nite. why? To which Baz didn’t even bother replying, because he was already at his stop and definitely tapping into his vampire speed as he strode toward Snow’s flat. (He only used it in truly dire situations.)

It was a good night. A good night to slam the door shut on a shitty day. “I need you—” Baz pronounced clearly into Snow’s mouth, once he’d successfully manoeuvred Simon into pinning his hips against the refrigerator, “—to fuck me so hard—” and by then Snow’s teeth were marking the delicate hinge of his jaw, and that delicious growl was rumbling straight from his throat into Baz’s chest, “—that I forget the concept of university even exists. Can you do that for me, Snow?”

Snow’s response was emphatically non-verbal, and Baz, too, became incoherent almost immediately after that.

The first round was quick and hard. Mercenary, almost—the ends justifying the means. It was everything Baz needed. For him to release himself from his mind and just be his body, that vital, natural thing that it always became in Simon’s hands—a forest being blazed through with fire. (It always came back to their first kiss; maybe because there was just no better analogy for them than how they started. Two bits of metal too stubborn to bend anywhere other than the forge.)

The second round, Baz wanted Simon slow. Purposeful. Where before his face may have been lost in the hurry, hidden in Baz’s neck, his stomach, beneath his own hair, this time Baz wanted the intensity of his eyes. He wanted Simon to talk to him, ask him for permissions and guidance he didn’t really need to ask for, but which made it all the more intentional—all the more intense. He wanted the sex positively liquefying. And he got it. Everything he wanted, Simon gave. And then some. Simon took him so far out on the edge of pleasure he was aware of nothing but the wrenching, irresistible pull in his gut to fall over it—let alone remember the concept of university.

He was breathless in the end. And as smug and languid as the fattest cat in the world. When Simon laughed at him, Baz decided he didn’t mind. He’d already gotten what he wanted.

#carry on #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #snowbaz fanfiction #simon snow series #m:fic #baz pitch #queued

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sucrosette · 4 months

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★— ⋆｡˚ [Blood]

For Day 30 of Carry on Countdown 23, Crack. @carryon-countdown

In which Simon is an actual half-dragon and he's found himself in a bit of a situation with a certain human mage. His mage is... worrying.

This is rated T, mostly just for the language.

Prior Parts: 9, 15, 18, & 24

⋆｡˚

Baz’s head hit the ground with a sickening crack.

It had happened so fast that Simon couldn’t react in time, couldn’t move his little body quickly enough to catch Baz’s head. He’d tried to shift back to his human shape but in the moment, he lost the capacity for it, apparently, too distracted by the whole… falling human in his vicinity suddenly bleeding from his face to focus on that orb of energy he’d been grasping just moments before.

Simon couldn’t stop himself from circling Baz’s head in his smaller shape, headbutting him lightly in an effort to bring the mage around… and then he headbutted again, not so lightly. He did manage to stop himself from biting Baz back awake. He sort of figured that even if Baz should be awake he probably wouldn’t appreciate that method, and if he wasn’t going to appreciate fangs, he probably wasn’t going to appreciate fire either.

Simon leaned back on his haunches, huffing out his annoyance. He checked Basil’s breath (again) and, well, at least he was breathing, and there didn’t appear to be a growing pool of blood under Baz’s head, but he couldn’t exactly check like they were. Fuck, he hated needing hands and not having them when he needed them most.

He made a sort of shrill shout in the back of his throat, swatting Baz in the face with his tail, but that didn’t do it either, and then apparently the stress had caught up with him enough that he was human again.

“Shit.”

Well, at least he had hands again.

⋆｡˚

It took Simon almost two whole hours to carry Baz’s unconscious body back to his tiny house in the middle of nowhere. It might’ve been faster if he could’ve been a bigger dragon, but no, he was tiny, human, or somewhere between the two, and between the two didn’t particularly add much inhuman strength or weirdness to him that might help carrying someone a good few inches taller than he was home.

If he’d had a cell phone, he’d’ve called emergency, but he didn’t. Simon was flat fucking broke. Basil might’ve had one, but if he did, it wasn’t on his person when he’d passed out (stupid, Simon thinks, he’s a sodding numpty and he’s going to bring it up as soon as Baz wakes his concussed arse back up). Or, if not emergency, whoever Baz’s go to contact was for situations like this.

Did Baz have a go to contact for this kind of thing? If he doesn’t, he’s that much more a numpty. At least Simon was even able to get Baz back in his house, safe on his couch, and check out his head properly. Did Simon know anything about how to deal with head injuries? No. Did he have much choice about how to go about it. He still can’t find a phone to contact anyone, landline or cell either, and the nearest neighbors aren’t exactly near.

Fortunately for Basil, he was still bloody breathing and his nose stopped bleeding and the knot on the back of his head seemed… well, mostly mild. Simon kept checking his eyes. He wasn’t really sure why he kept doing it or what he was looking for when he did, but he’d seen nurses do it in medical dramas and so he was doing it too.

All he could really do was hope. Well, hope and wait.

⋆｡˚

At some point, apparently Simon had fallen asleep while waiting for Baz to wake up. He’d curled himself up at the end of the couch he’d laid Baz out on and his head was resting on the armrest and then just passed out like that.

So Simon woke up to Baz poking him in the cheek.

“Bwuh,” Simon announced, mostly still fully asleep.

“Eloquent,” Baz answered, as if he had any room to judge.

Simon shot him a scowl that rivaled the size of Australia, and also any Baz had ever delivered. Impressive, should the man say so himself. “You literally almost died, you have no room to judge me waking up.”

“I did not,” Baz protested, “And if I had, I’d say nearly dying gives me extra leeway in the judgment department.”

“Okay, well, you started spewing blood and hit your head on the way out,” Simon said with a small flick to Baz’s nose, “I’d say that full well counts towards near death experiences.”

“Or,” Baz hummed, “It was just another day in the life of an experimental, exponentially gifted mage.”

“Excuse you?!” Simon nearly shouted, loud enough that Baz sat himself up properly and winced, “Just a day in the life? This is your normal?”

“Quiet,” Baz muttered, his hands going to his temples immediately, “That bump did a number on my head.”

“Deserved.” Simon crossed his arms and scowled harder at the mage he’d unwittingly contracted with.

“Okay, well, bloody rude. But no, I admit, today wasn’t my normal experience. I thought I was banishing a specific demon causing a problem for another mage I know, but when I drew from you, this one showed up instead. It was more… well, just more than I was expecting, so yes, I did end up overworking myself. The smaller would’ve been fine though.”

“How…” Simon looked entirely unconvinced, “Just bloody how do you know that?”

“Because I’ve done it before, for this person, but they seem to have a bit of a thing with accidentally bringing it back. Anyway, it’s neither here nor there. We can do it again, now that I know what working with you feels like,” Basil answered, already thinking about the possibilities.

“Did you… just bloody say we’d do it a-bloody-gain?”

“Well, of course,” Baz said it as if it were obvious, “We can’t just let demons go about unchecked.”

“I mean we bloody well could,” Simon scoffed, “Most people aren’t even aware of demons. I bloody wasn’t.”

“Simon Snow, you are literally a dragon.”

“Half of one,” he corrected, “And that doesn’t matter, dragons don’t just cavort with demons. I think.”

“Just bloody how do you know that?” Baz echoed his phrasing, making Simon scowl harder.

“Well, because I don’t.”

Basil outright laughed at him. “You know you’re not all dragons, right?”

“Of course I know that!” Simon snarled, just a little, his nose curling, “Anyway we’re off course, we’re not doing that again. You nearly died.”

“We’re doing it again,” Baz reaffirmed, “I have to. I can’t reneg on an agreement I already made. And I didn’t nearly die.”

“You passed out for hours. You were bleeding, you’re probably still concussed. How–” Simon nearly shouted it again, making Baz wince slightly, and Simon immediately lowered his voice to a hush at the realization, “–is that not nearly dying, you prick?”

“Oh, well, you were fine, weren’t you?” Baz asked, again, as if it were obvious.

Simon gestured down his unscathed body, waving Baz off in the same gesture. “Well, yes, clearly.”

“Are you sure you read the contract?” It was asked like half a tease, that annoying little smirk back yet again.

“Of bloody course I read the contract,” Simon huffed out, his hands falling to the side and picking instinctively at the stray bits of the couch, “I said that already.”

“Well,” Baz said with that all too superior air about him, “Then you should know that if I had nearly died you’d have been aware immediately. And besides, you being fine kept me alive. It’s like… a blood bond, you could say. You being fine keeps me fine. Now, you won’t die if I do or vice versa, that’d be… a bit much, I think, though some people do make those kinds of contracts, but you would just know if I was about to die or in the process of dying to dead.”

“Does that somehow exclude brain damage, because you’re sounding incredibly brain damaged right now.”

“I don’t think I sound particularly outside of my norm…” Baz’s hand ran over his chin, gaze wandering off and away to some unknown corner of the room, or more likely some memory Simon wouldn’t be able to follow him to.

Simon’s hands twisted up in the couch, the poor furniture taking the brunt of his inability to stay still and also his inability not to be utterly incessed by Baz. “Oh, so you’re always insane then?”

Baz shrugged, hands coming away from his temples at last, “I suppose I might be. They say I’m rather like my mother. They say she was revolutionary. The revolutionary are often misken for mentally unsound.”

“You are infuriating,” Simon declared simply, standing with a huff. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was going or why he’d stood, but he was standing now, so that was what he was doing.

“You can leave the contract if you like,” Baz offered, “It was an accident for you to end up here in the first place.”

If Baz wasn’t so sincere about it, Simon might have been more offended. “Why would you jump to that conclusion?”

“I’m notoriously hard to work with, and I seem to have worried you,” Baz smirked, but it wasn’t a confident sort of smirk, rather a sort of self-depricative one, a sort of knowing the parts of you that others were uncomfortable with all too well. That feeling? That was one Simon could relate to all too well.

“I’m not going to bloody leave because you worried me. That is the opposite of what you should do if you’re worried about someone,” Simon turned to point accusatorily at Basil, “You’re stuck with me now. I’m getting you water. Also I’m glad you’re not dead. You seem… alright.”

Baz huffed a small laugh, not quite his normal, but still a laugh. That much was relieving as Simon left to fetch that glass of water. When he came back, it seemed Baz was already thinking thoughts that Simon couldn’t comprehend. A notebook had appeared on the coffee table from… well, only Crowley knew where, and Baz was scribbling rapidly inside of it, formulae and languages well beyond Simon’s grasp.

Simon plopped the glass of water down loudly just next to Baz’s notebook. “Drink.”

Baz did with no protest, nearly finishing it and returning to his insane scribbling. Simon shrugged and went to get his own glass of water. When he returned again, Basil had shifted yet again, leaning back into the couch.

“You said you didn’t know your father?” Baz asked with a sort of look about him that Simon could just tell meant trouble. Trouble capitalized, even.

“Yes…” Simon answered hesitantly.

“And he was a dragon, yes?”

“Yes,” came the same reluctant answer.

Basil asked just one more question, “What would you say if I said that I think I could find him?”

“Oh,” Simon answered simply. That would… open a lot of opportunities, he supposed, maybe even answer some questions he’d never been able to ask… or even conceptualize properly. He didn’t say that though. He just stared. He blinked. He hadn’t really considered it ever. He nodded. He then shook his head. His head wobbled a little as he thought about it. He quirked his lips and reinforced his initial answer. “Oh,” he said again. “‘Oh’ is what I would say, apparently.”

“Apparently,” Baz repeated.

“Yes,” Simon chewed over his own lip, “Apparently.”

“So,” Baz tried again, leaning forward onto his elbows, “Should we?”

“I don’t know,” Simon answered, all too honestly. “I really don’t know.”

#Carry On Countdown #COC 2023 #baz pitch #simon snow #snowbaz #carry on fanfiction #my writing #I think this ended up being a prequel to something quite larger than intended #i'm pleased with it though #30/30 #cheers yall

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sailorblossoms · 11 months

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I’ve said before that I hate when the numpties line is treated like a funny catchphrase or lighthearted joke (I don’t get the appeal of the line tbh, it’s not even catchy, doesn’t roll off the tongue easy etc) and that I don’t think the book is encouraging the readers to make light of Baz’s situation with it either (if it was, it would be huge fucking point against it). The point is that it is saying something about Fiona and even about Baz and their dynamic. The point is that it is specifically Fiona’s type of “humor.” It’s not Baz’s. It’s not his type self-depreciating/self-hating humor. Even at his meanest and absolute worst, Baz is still softer and more emotionally intelligent than Fiona, and this is a moment of his life that he can’t never face directly, even though he’s usually one to think (and overthink).

I’ve never thought about reclamation in this context until someone else said it – I think there’s a delicate and complicated conversation about reclaiming something an abusive person in your life says or does vs just internalizing abuse that I’m frankly not feeling fully equipped to expand on, but my instincts tell me… it’s not right. For one, this doesn’t work with Baz’s type of humor. Its level of punching down goes further than Baz is ever willing to go – not without immediately regretting it. If we’re talking about throwing it back at Fiona in some way (which I doubt he would, he has grown beyond letting her drag him down to her level) I still don’t think Baz would be repeating it or finding some kind of humor or strength in it.

It’s so specifically Fiona. I can’t see any other character saying it. Malcolm and Daphne would likely find it appalling. Penny can be insensitive, and so can Agatha, but never like this. Neither would ever say something like this, especially not with context. Certainly not Simon (you would probably have to hold him back for him not to start vandalizing that car). Maybe Nico would find it funny, fuck if I know. I don’t think about him enough to call that one. But on top of everything… I’ll admit I’m going by memory here, but while this tracks as “Fiona’s dark, fucked up humour,” I question whether Fiona herself is actually trying to be funny here…. Now that I consider it, I kinda don’t think so.

I think, in her own fucked up way, Fiona is trying to comfort herself. I think she’s trying to retain some semblance of control (doesn’t she repeat it after she’s literally rescued from jail?) because she spent all that time looking for Baz, feeling frustrated and powerless each day that passed without finding him, likely fearing the worst (we could even give her some grace and assume not paying the ransom was because, besides making them seem “weak,” she suspected it wouldn’t have made a difference). She’s punishing Baz for it by sending him to the backseat simply because she can – that’s about control. She had none of it when Baz was missing… It’s likely about trying to feel like she’s in control of the situation again. Even saying deeply unserious shit can be about control and comforting herself, about trying to make it seem as less bad or serious than it is while looking at a Baz who’s in terrible (likely even scary) physical condition. In a way, punishing Baz for his literal kidnapping seems like some sort of fucked up version of grounding a kid because they went off somewhere/disappeared without telling anyone in charge of them anything, wouldn’t answer their phone for no good reason and made you worry the whole day or something. She treats the situation similarly, like Baz has some sort of blame and should have known better (he’s a Pitch and so he shouldn’t have “allowed” himself to be kidnapped, he should have been “stronger” than that or some bullshit). I think this might be coming from a place of real worry and fear, but she’s so emotionally stunted, so fucked up, so in her “punk” bullshit or whatever she does to make herself feel strong, that it comes out in an absolutely horrid and hurtful way. I don’t know. Food for thought I guess.

#baz pitch #simon snow trilogy #carry on #simon snow #baz grimm pitch #the simon snow trilogy #fiona pitch

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confused-bi-queer · 2 years

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11, 17, and 34 for the weird writer asks. 💜💜💜

Hell, yes, thank you for asking.

Here's the post where I got the questions from and the answers for the 33, 35 and 37

This turned out to be longer than expected (just as every single thing I write!!), so it goes under the cut:)

Now, the 11: Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

I do believe in it. I think there's something really good or nurturing or something good about doing it. The story really does somewhere else, you know, because you're not writing the best of thee best for you and not only do you get the reader to grieve it, but you do and it's even stronger since your darling just... ended. However, I haven't killed anyone. I'm speaking as a writer in general, not in fanfics only, and I've never killed my ocs (i have three, two men and a woman that I love dearly), but I have made two of the characters pretend the third was dead and have them grieve him. I really cannot just murder my precious beloved, but I can twist the story so much that I gave him a funeral and two years of grief for the other two, but that's it. I eventually bring him back. (And I did grieve, I cried like crazy when I wrote his bf's reaction to his death, it was painful; it was one of the proudest moments as a writer for me). So, technically, I did. I have killed a couple of other characters (also ocs), but not that many, I'm not into making everyone special so their deaths hurt. It's weird, but if I don't love my character, they don't deserve even a fake death.

The 17 is: Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

God. Uhm, it's a MalMage fic. The making of this fic is SO thrilling. I can talk about the fic a lot since not many will see this and nothing will be too spoiled when I post it, but I'm making the Mage's decisions make sense. (Except the pain he inflicted on Lucy, Ebb, Simon and Baz; I can only write so much and I can't even write that bastard for the four of them.) Which is why I like the fic so much. Because this villain, this little shit we hate, gets to have his villain origin story. What I'm doing in the fic is put everyone's parents at Watford at the same time: Lucy, Davy, Natasha, Mitali, Malcolm... they all go together and Malcolm and Davy are roommates (yes, like SnowBaz, that's the point), and I wanted to twist the Simon/Baz/Agatha "love triangle" to their parents and make it Davy/Malcolm/Natasha. I love this wip because I make the Mage be Baz: the fool in love with his roommate, pining from the distance, and never being able to reach out like he wants. There's something beautiful about making the Mage be the one pining, because he deserves the pain, he deserves the longing and the ache and it makes me happy writing how hopeless he is (it does hurt, the whole plot does a bit, but I like it). I like that the fic is heavy angst and that the tiniest bit of romance goes to shit almost immediately.

With this fic I'm also explaining several things that happen in Carry On. I don't remember the extend of every tiny detail, but the one that takes the highlight is the closeness between Simon and Baz's bed. Why are they so close? Because their dads lived in the same room and pushed them an arm's reach distance. Stuff like that. And I'm also making things for the reader to feel sorry for David. I want people to be confused as to why they feel sad about Malcolm not being with him or why are they understanding his actions (some). I want problems.

Another good thing I got from here is that I got to write Natasha from a different light (the one RR says is real). Because I read once that Natasha, in canon, if she had known Baz was a vampire, she would've killed him, and that started a fire in my heart, so I'm making Natasha horrible. I'm really really excited for the come out of this fic, which is why I'm not planning on publishing until I'm done with it, because if I start to update chapter by chapter as I write, I'll probably get tired of it.

And lastly, the 34: Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go:

I had no idea of it, so I researched it, and what I have to say is... it's too damn confusing. My first language is Spanish and I'm in love with it, therefore, I know how to properly write it and I'm a HUGE pain in the ass with grammar, the whole "acentos" thing is MY shit. If someone asked me to check their homework for the grammar, I would. I love grammar in my language. In English, I really don't get it. I mean... I'm learning, but I'm more of learning on the go than memorizing how you use certain commas or when not to.

I researched it again and got more confused. It's almost 1 am, too early to read about commas and stuff hahaha.

Thank you for the ask tho!!! This was such an entertaining thing to do.

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lemonzestywrites · 11 days

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Zesty!!!!! I haven’t seen you on my dash in so long, I hope you’re doing okay. I’m gonna give you a bit small number of questions from that ask game you just reblogged 💗💗💗💗

2, 4, 13, 14, 26, 28, 34, 37, and 38!!!

hi there baz! haha no yeah im doing really good just had a very busy week but i am alive and well lmao

2. show us a picture of your handwriting?

(ignore the shit quality i was trying to not get my shadow in it LMAO)

4. answered here <3

13. what are you doing right now?

on facetime with my best friend!

14. whats something you've always wanted to do but maybe been too scared to do?

tbh every change in my life- im not kidding when i saw this i have a very crippling fear of failure and so any goal or aspiration in my life has been met with INTENSE fear

26. fav color and why?

green! cause its pretty and im gay!

28. do you collect anything?

cards! like birthday or thank you cards! if its from someone i love i hoard it and put it in a box!! or put in my sketchbook!

34. any pet peeves?

several. but im a very fast walker so if im walking somewhere and im stuck behind slow walkers or people who stand in the middle of a walkway instead of going off to the side i will get annoyed

37. share a secret.

there is very little i wont do for the sake of impressing a pretty girl. I mean this genuinely. i have broken/set a pr on the stairmaster because i wanted the girl i was talking to to think i was cool

38. fav song at the moment?

devil like me by rainbow kitten surprise!

#thank you friend!#zestyanswers #kitteneddiediaz

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atomosophobia · 2 years

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I’m not a big Doja fan but my irl is, he played this while we were driving somewhere one time and I really liked it, so I decided to go see Elvis with another friend just to see if the movie was good. It’s not. I should’ve checked the director first and that’s on me, but I can’t stand Baz’s directing. It’s so horrible. Now I’ll say the only shit I knew about Elvis going into this was that he was a groomer, and it’s never addressed in the film. They completely glamorize him, call his wife a “teenager” when they met and casted a full grown adult as her when irl she was 14 and he was 24. They never talk about his eating problems later in his life and make it out like the drugs were why he gained all the weight. They barely mention his isolation before he died, and even the drugs are such a small part. Also I have no clue if this is historically accurate but they made his relationship with his mom extremely emotionally incestuous and it grossed me out. The writing of women in this was insulting, they had these girls basically have fucking orgasms during his first performance ever as a fucking nobody just bc he shook his hips and grinded the air. I know that fangirls were a bit crazy back then but I have to reiterate that Elvis was a nobody. He didn’t have a fanbase at this time. The way they had the Colonel narrate the movie as if he’s trying to prove to us that he wasn’t the bad guy but then they blatantly show him abusing Elvis when it’s supposed to be him telling the story?? Makes no sense, completely useless addition that added nothing to the story and just made it more confusing. Also to get back to the song, Vegas was in it for like two seconds and it was played under another woman singing Hound Dog or whatever the song was. I’ll admit there were a few good scenes but it was a like finding a fake diamond in a pile of shit. Only watch it if you think Elvis’ actor is hot, legit the only appeal. That and Billy Hargrove’s actor is in it

#Spotify

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cindydahlwrites · 2 years

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Just me musing about Kaz Brekker's name

So I may or may not have written (I have. I definitely have) a fic about this already BUT the idea still has not left me so I'm going to address it again.

I don't know why Kaz was named Kaz (I have read somewhere it was supposed to be Baz but it might have just been a joke that went well over my head), but if it was an accident, it was the happiest accident of all time for me.

There aren't many theories concerning Kaz’s name, most of the fandom just thinks it was either just Kaz, or Kasper and a really small part wholeheartedly believes it was Kazimir.

It could just be Kasper, which is one of the Dutch variations of this name as far as I'm aware (Kerch is based on Dutch), and it loosely translates to or means Treasurer. It would make sense, with Kaz’s character, being in control of the finances and keeping track of them and those are just the obvious reasons.

Kazimir would make sense too. I've read online it can be Dutch, but I'm not sure how much it's really used, because in many countries, it's meaning prevents it from really being used much. Kazimir means the Destroyer of peace (literally: kaz- is the base of the verb meaning "to ruin/destroy" and mir translates to peace) or also alternatively the one that establishes peace, mostly in older literature though. I'd be here for hours had I tried to explain all reasons why it makes sense, but consider this: he destroys peace of the people that he steals from (and yes, kills), but in a way, he establishes peace for the people that had been terrorized by his victims. He also brings peace (in the form of protection and money) to his gang, and in a more comforting way to Inej.

For me, however, I like to believe it's just Kaz. As I have mentioned above kaz- is the base of the verb meaning to ruin or destroy. HOWEVER, kaz in itself, as translated by Google translate, is a fault, flaw, malformation, scar, defect, stain or (a bad/ugly) spot. And it can also be used when talking about a bad tooth but we are NOT going to talk about that.

Tell me that wouldn't be perfect. Kaz talks about himself as a person that is broken in every place imaginable. Don't get me wrong, I know he does not consider himself weak or pity himself, but I think the way he talks about himself in his head and how there are subtle hints that despite making his disability something that other people would fear, he is not completely alright with it just shows that he would see his whole being as a kind of fault. From those words, malformation hits me as something that he might use for himself when feeling low or frustrated.

It is wholly possible that Leigh just really did not know what to name him and she picked the first name that fit his character (because it really does - clipped, sharp, just Kaz), or that she wanted to make it into a subtle joke. Kaas is the Dutch word for cheese so it's entirely just possible she did it for shits and giggles.

But I just don't believe that. Like - from what I have looked up, most of her characters are named in a really meaningful, thoughtful way. Inej, for example, sounds kinda like Inez, which means faithful. That fits, right? And it's like this with most of her characters, so it's just hard to believe Kaz’s name was a coincidence. If it was, however, it is a really fortunate one in my opinion.

Maybe this is only important to me, but I love names and looking up the meanings behind them. And I really, really loved the implication that Kaz’s name would literally mean a flaw, and it doesn't have to signify a thing about him, just strengthen the opinion we were supposed to have - that he is broken, barely human and amoral.

For the record, I don't believe the name would dictate his life or character. I don't believe he'd never be happy or that he'd never heal - in fact, I will always think that him and Inej have a really glorious future together and that he'll finally see again what it is like to be happy. I just feel like his name meaning what it does is... Somehow really powerful.

#kaz brekker #kanej #inej ghafa #six of crows #shadow and bone #soc #crooked kingdom #Kaz #Kazimir #Kasper #Name analysis #KINDA #name meanings #musings #Just my thoughts and hopes and prayers #Please someone tell me this makes sense

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

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hi!!!!💘 here have another “ian processing things” ficlet inspired by this post i saw today by zo @grabmyboner <3

(contrary to zo’s amazing post, ian does not have a new instagram in this to fuel the slight angst🤕)

He was having a weirdly good morning when it happened— it was Sunday, and he and Mickey had woken up late tucked together in a warm cocoon under the sheets, legs tangled and bodies pressed close, with Mickey breathing out huffy, just-waking-up breaths into Ian’s neck that tickled his skin until Ian had rolled onto his side and playfully shoved him away.

They’d laid under the sheets for what felt like hours, lazily scrolling on their phones, with Mickey letting out puffs of air through his nostrils in a silent chuckle every time a particularly outdated and stupid meme came across his Instagram Explore page— and of course Ian had to combat Mickey’s intense glee at holding up dumb Instagram memes too close to Ian’s sleep-bleary eyes by clicking open his own phone and thumbing over to the pink and orange app on his home page, to try and find some other stupid shit that would make his groggy half-asleep husband laugh.

It was then, when he opened the app and passively flicked over to his notifications, when he saw the memory:

See your post from 6 years ago today.

Before Ian even clicked on the thumbnail of the picture, before he touched the pad of his finger to the blurred, too-small image beside the words bolded in black, he felt the telltale tightening creeping into his chest— the one he couldn’t really explain most of the time, the one that snuck in and left his heart rattling and pounding against the walls of his ribcage despite the shaky, measured breaths that he tried to sip in and out to fight the rush of feeling.

But out of curiosity, or maybe a little bit of self-sabotage, he clicked on the image—with Mickey still obliviously smirking at his phone screen beside him in the bed, his free arm draped casually across Ian’s chest. So Mickey didn’t notice, really, when Ian pulled up the full post on his own screen— a pixely photo, taken on a now-outdated iPhone in the hazy darkness of the Fairytale.

Ian’s pale skin, the strobe lights bouncing off of it, was the only really visible item in the foreground— and in the shadows behind him, a group of unfamiliar faces. It didn’t even really look like him— his heavy-lidded gaze was murky, definitely hopped up on some bizarre cocktail of drugs quickly taken in a dirty bathroom stall with shaky hands. Ian— Ian in the photo, Ian at the club— was leaning sloppily against the chest of a grey-haired stranger in a dark button-up; glitter on his hollow cheeks, a barely-there mesh top, smudged eyeliner almost masking the purple shadows under his eyes. A black feather boa wrapped tight, too tight, around his neck— an older man with his hand snaked around Ian’s waist, another with his fingertips tangled in the end of the boa.

The tightness was still there, a rubber band wrapped snug around his chest. Aside from the shame and disgust swirling somewhere in his gut at seeing this stupid fucking picture, the thing that Ian felt most was the annoyance welling in him, thick and heavy— what fucking person couldn’t look at a picture of themselves being a stupid teenager? What type of person still felt the aftershocks, like fire and ice and fucking bee stings swelling under his skin, just by looking at a fucking old Instagram post?

“Hey man, are you good?”

Mickey’s phone was now face-down on the blanket, his body twisting under the sheets towards Ian. His eyes flickered to the phone clenched tight in Ian’s hand, undoubtedly searching for the reason that Ian’s heart was thrumming just a little bit too quickly under where Mickey’s hand was still limply resting on his chest.

Ian tried to swallow down whatever was in his throat, whatever was on his tongue. “It’s fine. Just thought I deleted all these old pictures and shit.” And despite that, he couldn’t really look away. “I guess I only got rid of the ones with the sleazy comments. And the videos or whatever.”

Mickey’s brows furrowed. They both weren’t really social media aficionados— if anything, they’d only really gotten into it recently, after the wedding and the move and needing some way to keep the rest of the Gallagher clan plus Kev and V in the loop about their various gardening endeavors and pictures of Baz sleeping, and to see Lip and Tami post baby pics of Freddie and his new little sister. Ian had rebooted his old Instagram account, the one he’d made in his final moments of high school and posted heavily-filtered pictures with Mandy on before joining the army. When he’d started working at the club back then, the Instagram quickly became a place to drum up business, to post specific photos and to flirt with clients in the comments— and he thought he’d deleted all of them when he redownloaded the app, keeping the pictures of a freckled 15-year-old Ian and removing the rest up through youth center brunches with Geneva. Apparently he’d missed this one, and all the memories that could come flooding back with it— and neither he nor Mickey had really noticed.

Mickey’s eyes stayed frozen to the screen— cautious, thinking. “Just fucking delete it, man.”

Ian thumbed over the red delete button, sending the picture into some sort of pixelated oblivion. But even that couldn’t really scrub the image out of his mind— the fingers pressed into his hip, the scratchy feathers tangled around his neck, the now-heavy boulder lodged in his chest. He ran his free hand through his hair, trying to ground himself in the face of whatever weird floatiness he was feeling—tugging at it, just a little.

“Hey.”

Mickey reached over— gently plucking the cell phone out of Ian’s white-knuckled grasp, placing it beside his with a soft thud on the bedsheets. Running his own hand through Ian’s hair— a hand that was gentle and slow, a hand that slightly dulled the buzzing in Ian’s brain, soothing the pain at the roots of his hair.

“Sorry.”

Mickey opened his mouth to protest Ian’s apology, but the words kept spilling out. “I don’t know why seeing stuff like that still makes me feel like shit. It’s like I forget it actually happened.”

He was healthy now— he was stable. He had an apartment with his husband, and a dog, and a savings account. How could he feel so fucking good one second, be laying in his bed from Ikea under a fucking duvet next to the love of his life, and feel so shitty in the next when he looked that version of himself in the eye?

It was stupid— it was so fucking stupid, but the feeling didn’t stop. He closed his eyes— he tried to focus on Mickey’s fingers, still scratching a slow pattern onto his scalp.

“You’re okay, Ian.” He let himself release a slow breath as he absorbed Mickey’s words. “You’re not there anymore. You worked fuckin’ hard to get here.”

Ian forced his eyes open. Mickey squeezed his wrist, tangled their fingers.

“I wish I could erase all that shit.” He hated how thick his voice sounded.

“You already did, Gallagher. Look where the fuck we are right now.” Mickey gestured to their white-walled apartment, their minimalist furniture.

Ian breathed out a throaty laugh. “Yeah. I guess.”

Mickey pressed a quick peck of relief to his temple, and Ian felt the warmth of it trickle down his spine. “You don’t gotta think about that shit anymore. It’s still gonna be there— but you’re filling everyone’s fucking Instagram feed with fucking tomatoes these days. You definitely ain’t the same person you were back then.”

Ian felt the corners of his mouth creep upwards. “You love my tomato pictures and you know it. And you love my captions even more.”

Mickey rolled his eyes— and leaned in close, settling again against Ian’s chest.

“Yeah, I guess I fuckin’ do.”

#anyways go check out zo’s social media AUs they r the greatest!!#not going to put this on ao3 bc it is so quick and short but am gonna plop it here!#day 1833943284739 of me projecting my life experiences onto ian gallagher #not to be tmi lol but a picture of me and an intensely toxic ex-partner from an intensely hard point in my life popped up on my instagram #earlier today and i was feeling!! things!!!#so i wrote about sappy husbands supporting each other to make myself feel better!!!!#okay this is a classic rori tag ramble full of too-deep emotions ANYWAYS i hope u all are having good sundays ily<3 #ficlet #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ixm #ian x mickey #tw self harm

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mostgeckcellent · 3 years

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my submission for the @drinkwithme-exchange for @fuckyeahlesmiserables

I originally wrote something completely different, and I didn't like it at all, but you mentioned you liked my Old Guard series, so I wrote a new installment of that for you instead!

Platonic Ships: Eponine & Musichetta, Eponine & Grantaire

Eponine swirled her glass. Cosette was still with Enjolras - she’d dragged their newly-returned-from-the-dead friend off pretty quick, but Eponine was still processing. Did she believe him? She wasn’t sure. He’d convinced Bahorel, though, and Baz had never been the type to believe just anything without questioning it, especially something as batshit crazy as all of this.

Immortals. What next?

She drained what remained of her whiskey and coke, and stood. She needed to go for a walk.

Eponine was three blocks away from Jehan’s little house when Musichetta caught up to her.

“Hey.” Musichetta put a hand on Eponine’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Eponine stopped walking, lit a cigarette. “Yeah. Sure.”

“You know it’s okay if you’re not,” Musichetta said, never one to just back down.

“Yeah,” Eponine repeated with a sigh. “You want one?”

“Sure.” Musichetta took the offered cigarette; Eponine lit it for her.

They stood in silence for a while. Eponine liked that about Musichetta, that they could just be. That she didn’t have to talk, or fill the space.

“It’s fucked up, right?” Eponine said eventually.

“Yeah.” Musichetta didn’t have to ask what. Enjolras’ return was a miracle unlooked for, of course, but it was bittersweet, too. They’d mourned him. Not moved on, never moved on - it felt impossible, when there were no answers - but he’d left them.

Eponine understood. She did, probably better than any of the rest of them. She of all people knew about needing to run away and not look back, knew about new lives and new beginnings and the colliding of worlds.

It still hurt, to have been left behind.

“It’s good to have answers,” Musichetta said eventually, when their cigarettes were burned nearly to stubs. “Fucking weird answers, mind you-”

Eponine laughed, sharp. “Fucking weird answers,” she agreed.

“-But it’s good to have them,” Musichetta finished.

“Yeah,” Eponine agreed. “I’m glad he’s alive. And hey, if he really is immortal, I can shank him for doing that to us,” she grinned, all teeth and no joy.

Musichetta nudged her in the side. “You’re not gonna stab Enjolras,” she shook her head.

“I might,” Eponine protested.

“You’re not going to stab Enjolras,” Musichetta repeated sternly. “I know you’re mad. We all are, a little. It’s a lot. But-”

“But what? But he had to?” She knew that. “It wasn’t safe?” She knew that too. She dropped her cigarette, put it out with her heel. Could hear Enjolras’ voice in the back of her head, chiding her for littering, for letting the chemicals inevitably leach into the water somewhere. She ignored it.

“Yes,” Musichetta said, as if it were that simple. “And he came back in the end.”

“Because he got caught,” Eponine snarled. “Not because-”

“He cares about us. He cares about you,” Musichetta said softly.

“Does he?”

“You know he does.”

Eponine sighed, looked away. “I’ll forgive him eventually,” she muttered. “I’m just - I’m not ready yet.”

“Okay,” Musichetta agreed with a soft smile. “Can I hug you?”

Eponine rolled her eyes a little, but she opened her arms, and really, she’d never admit it out loud, but Musichetta’s hugs had a way of making her feel like everything really might be alright, someday.

Enjolras would stay for three days. That’s what he said when he got off the phone with his friends. Three days. His friends would make the drive today, his new family.

Eponine didn’t resent him for it. Or - she did, a little. He’d ran off with his new friends to a new place and left them all to pick up the pieces, and now his new friends were coming here. But it was fine, and Eponine didn’t resent him.

Maybe if she repeated it enough she’d convince herself.

She knew she wasn’t being fair to him. She knew she was wasting time - if they only had three days, she ought to be making the most of it, not sulking in the bathroom.

“You’re going to regret avoiding him the whole time when he has to leave again,” came Musichetta’s voice from the other side of the door, because Musichetta was a fucking mind reader.

“Maybe so,” Eponine called back, but she unlocked the door and opened it.

“Apparently they’ll be here in around an hour,” Musichetta reported. “They started the drive this morning.”

“Great,” Eponine muttered.

“Ep.” Musichetta frowned. Apparently, sympathy hours had run out. “Come on. They’re important to him.”

“We used to be important to him,” Eponine scowled.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Musichetta stepped into the bathroom with Eponine, shutting the door behind her. “I love you, you know I do, but he still loves us. And you’re going to feel like shit when he’s gone, and you’ve just been resentful at him the whole time. Did he do a shitty thing? Yes. Do you have a right to be upset by it all? Absolutely. But you’re going to kick yourself for wasting the time you’ve been given.”

Eponine glared at Musichetta for a long moment, but Musichetta was used to her moods, and didn’t back down an inch.

Eponine deflated, sighed, and ran her fingers through her hair. “So, we’ve moved on from pity to ass-kicking, huh?”

“You know the drill, baby,” Musichetta grins at her. “One day for wallowing, and then we get the fuck back up again.”

“Ugh. I fucking hate you.”

“No you don’t.” Musichetta clapped Eponine on the back. “C’mon. Let’s go do this thing.”

Enjolras’ friends were.. Well. They were an odd bunch, which meant, in the end, that they fit right in. Marius was looking up at Courfeyrac with the widest puppy eyes, enraptured by the tales he wove. Marius wasn’t the only one - even Eponine had to admit the man had charisma. He’d won over most of the group within moments of arriving, cheerful and kind as he was. Combeferre was a quiet, steady presence beside him, the pair of them orbiting each other in a way that was as enthralling as it was sickeningly sweet. Joly had managed to tear Combeferre away for a separate conversation at some point; Eponine wasn’t listening, had stopped listening when they had started discussing the more gruesome points in medical history. And then there was Feuilly - she was gorgeous, and better yet, she swore like a sailor and beat Bahorel at arm wrestling three times in a row. Enjolras’ new friends had been folded neatly into the Amis, like it was easy, like they fit.

Well, most of them. One man kept to the corner, nursing a drink and watching Enjolras, always watching Enjolras.

“Grantaire, right?” Eponine leaned against the wall beside him.

He looked over at her, startled. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“A bit old for him, aren’t you?” she asked, because she wasn’t stupid, she knew what it meant that Grantaire stared like that, that Enjolras only blushed when stumbling over his introduction of Grantaire, and not the others.

Grantaire snorted. “You have no idea,” he admitted. “But he knows what he wants, and I’ve learned not to get in the way of his decisions.”

“Hm.” Eponine sized Grantaire up. Honestly, she’d assumed Enjolras was some sort of monk, before he’d disappeared. He’d never dated, never so much as looked.

He definitely looked at Grantaire, though. In fact, he was looking now, looking away from his conversation with Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Marius and Cosette to stare at Grantaire, and it wasn’t a look Eponine had ever seen him direct at anyone before.

“You’re not what I’d have expected for him,” she said.

“Tell me about it.” Grantaire didn’t seem to care to argue the point.

Eponine narrowed her eyes at him.

He glanced at her, and shrugged. “I love him,” he said after a moment. “When I was ready to give up on the world, there he was, all..” He waved a hand in Enjolras’ direction. “Well, you know him. You know what he’s like - justice and whatever, Apollo fucking incarnate, the way he speaks..” Grantaire trailed off. “I don’t know how anyone can hear him talk and not love him.”

“I dunno, he’s not really my type,” Eponine said drily, a smile beginning to curl at the edge of her lips despite herself.

Grantaire laughed. “Must be weird, all of this.”

“Now there’s an understatement,” Eponine muttered, eyes locked on Enjolras, who had returned to his conversation.

“He’s not going to age,” Grantaire said, not quite casual.

“I guess not,” Eponine agreed.

“It’s going to kill him, watching you all age and die.” Grantaire crossed his arms over his chest.

Eponine.. hadn’t thought about that. “Is that why he stayed away?”

“Absolutely not.” Grantaire huffed out a laugh, though he didn’t seem happy about it. “No, he wanted so badly to get in touch, no matter how much we - I - warned him he’d just get hurt. He thinks it’s worth it.” Grantaire looked around the room, and Eponine could see when he softened. “Maybe he was right,” he allowed. “I just hope it doesn’t break him.”

“So you’re the reason he stayed away,” Eponine narrowed her eyes at him.

Grantaire glanced at her. “I just want him to be safe and happy. Getting attached to mortals? Never ends well.”

“It wasn’t your call to make,” Eponine frowned at him.

“No,” Grantaire agreed. “It wasn’t. I didn’t try to stop him from coming here, I just..” He sighed.

Eponine sighed too. “You’re right,” she said eventually. “It’ll kill him to watch us die. And he won’t look away, I know he won’t, he’ll be here.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agreed.

Sad wasn’t the right word for Grantaire, Eponine thought. Weary, to his bones, with sadness etched into him… for a moment, she felt like she glimpsed him properly, ancient and grand as he was. And then he was just a guy again - a young man in a green hoodie, someone she’d pass on the street and never give a second thought to.

“You’ll be there for him, when it happens,” Eponine said like it was a certainty. She had to hope - believe - that it was.

“Yes,” Grantaire agreed. “I’ll be there. So will they.” He gestured to where Enjolras was gesticulating wildly, accidentally smacking Courfeyrac’s nose when a gesture went too wide. Courfeyrac just laughed, and tweaked Enjolras’ nose in return. Enjolras squawked indignantly, and then the whole group of them were laughing, Cosette and Marius included, and Bossuet, who had joined them at some point.

“You’ll keep in touch,” Eponine said. It wasn’t a question. She held out her phone.

Grantaire looked at her for a long moment. She didn’t squirm, didn’t flinch, just raised an eyebrow.

Grantaire nodded, took the phone, and plugged his own number in. Enjolras’, too, for good measure.

“I was determined to hate you all,” Eponine admitted as she took the phone back.

“I get that,” Grantaire agreed.

“I don’t,” Eponine pocketed the phone. “He seems happy. And he’s out there, making a difference or whatever. If he can’t do it with us, I’m.. glad, I guess, that he can do it with you.”

“He’d stay if he could,” Grantaire said.

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Eponine shook her head. “He cares about you a lot. And them, too, your whole bunch.”

“He’s got enough in his heart of all of us.” Grantaire looked at her.

Eponine smiled a little. “Yeah. Yeah, he does.”

#les mis #drinkwithme2021

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drawing-way-outside-the-lines · 3 years

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2, 5, 11, 15, 16, 18 aaand 31 for the story teller asks.

Gotta stop here before i send all of them xD

Oh man! :D Thank you so much! I'm very excited to answer these! :D 2. Describe your story in three words or less Chaotic.... but loving. Not that the story is written chaotically, cause I don't think it is, but I think from an outsiders perspective, specially considering I sorta started sharing the story publicly almost 300 chapters in, I'm sure it at times can seem rather chaotic? Or maybe I'm the chaotic one? 5. How do you choose your characters’ names? Hm... it's many different ways really. For the most part I recall a name I really like for whatever reason, or see a name somewhere in the passing, like a tv show or an online article? Sometimes I use Google, let's say I want a very "bohemian" type of name... I'd Google that, cause I know shit nothing about that. And for the McKinney's I Google a fair bit. They all have Irish/Scottish names (well 99% of them do) and since I'm not Irish/Scottish, and I don't want everyone to end up with the most mainstream names, well, Google is my friend. Also specifically for the McKinney's, their names are chosen because of their meaning. Raven's birth name is Brandubh, which essentially can be translated to little black raven. Ronan, his brother, means seal, and he is actually a key that can seal the doors of hell. Eonan is knight... he was a knight of hell. Aedan (Andy and Raven's son) is born of fire, Andy has a power to control/create fire, that not many knows about. The McKinney brother's fathers name is Alroy, which means red haired (cause he simply has red hair, *snort*) And I could keep going. But I'm sure I would bore everyone to death. Anyway, point is, all McKinney's have a name that has something to do with either their powers or their appearance. 11. Why have you decided to tell this story? are there any messages or meanings within it? First it never meant to be a story for anyone but myself. It started as an RP. But when the RP ended, I had all these characters with elaborate personalities, living and breathing inside me. It felt empty to just drop them there. So I continued writing the story for myself. It was never meant at first to continue for years, I actually continued with the thought that I'd maybe write 5-10 chapters or so, and simply writing an ending of the story. Yeah, that was at least 275+ chapters ago. The story fast became a way for me to live a life I had to at the same time face I could never live out in real life. So I suppose my decision to keep writing, was a way for me to pull through a lot of things, I'm not sure I otherwise would have been able to pull through. There are a lot of "hidden" messages and meanings in the story, but I wont sit here and spoil them all, it's up to the readers (now that the story is actually being posted... here <- to interpret it for themselves.) However, I'm always up for answering questions about it. What I can give you is the message of loving people for who they are, not what you want them to be. To love yourself, even if you aren't the version of you you wanted to be, you can still be a pretty rad person. A message that we can overcome much more than we believe, as long as we keep fighting. And last but not least, a message of never giving up, and following your dreams. And to never give up on love. But above all, the message is simply love. I chose to write a story that heavily weighs on love, simply for the fact that I more than ever, believe what we need most on this planet, is love. And lots more of it. A lot of our issues could be solved by simply loving each other more, and loving the planet we live on, before there's nothing left to love. It sounds cliche maybe, but it's my opinion, and you don't have to agree. 15. What have been the highlights of creating your story? Definitely getting to know everyone, watching their characters unfold and grow. It has kept me to my writing. Back in school, my Danish teacher told me to never give up on writing, cause in her words, I'm good at it. She told me to 'always write, whether I would be bubbly happy or breakingly sad, write

write write'. For many years after I finished school, I barely wrote at all, so I was insanely rusty when I picked writing back up. My story helped me with that, and I found my way back to writing. Another highlight is definitely all the hard times my story has gotten me through. Doesn't mean I am smooth sailing my way through life, but it keeps me from drowning completely, and that's something. I still need to make some major life changes, but till that's possible, I'm holding onto my story, and it keeps me above water. 16. What about the process do you enjoy? *Snort* I think if people has followed this blog more than a month, it's already clear I enjoy creating characters, and as a result post some of the most lengthy bio's on Tumblr. But I enjoy just as much to see the scenes unfold in front of me as I write, feeling the emotions of the characters, often so intensely that it affects my own mood. There's just something in it, that makes me feel like I'm a part of the story, like I'm literally in there. And that's enjoyable to escape into for a time. 18. Choose a song that reminds you of your story A? A song? Like in one? ONE song for a circa 300 chapters story??? How??? How do I cram such an elaborate and still growing story into ONE song??????? Ghost-boi.... pls.... I'll have to get back to you on that *goes into full on panic mode searching through albums in my head* 31. Drop some random trivia about your story Pffft.... First chapter that actually made it into the story (cause there were a couple loose ones before that, that never made it) was actually written under different names, as I was considering sharing it online, but didn't want to annoy my previous RP partner, so I changed everyone's names. Andy was Alexander. Congo was Connor. Evan was Ethan. And there you also have the original poly relationship, that ended up in so much more. Well.... at the very beginning of the story, Evan and Congo still wasn't dating, but it didn't take many chapters. Adrian was originally made as an attempt to create something different, look-wise. To get out of my comfort zone and play with new features. While making him, I sat there looking at his face thinking 'this is me'. I simply connected not only with his looks, but also the character I started seeing growing in front of me, so writing his bio was probably one of the easiest ever to write, and he was very easy to adapt as a main character in my story. He just swept his way in there like a cool breeze on a way too hot summers day and the main cast was like... keh... cool... So he actually sorta became the main focal point of the part of my story I am sharing on my story blog, where Andy is the main focal point of the main story. Akin, the Alpha wolf, was originally supposed to never be a fully developed character. He was "just" a doctor that popped by here and there, but the two readers of my story back then, liked him a lot, and started expressing seeing potential in him. So I started developing him. As I expressed how he looked (he was originally extremely tall and a bit like a rugby player) they strongly disagreed and told me he was definitely slender and with semi-long dreads XD And that made Akin look more or less like he does today <- About that song though... if I have to choose just one song for such a BIG story, I'd have to simply choose a love song. But not a sugary sweet one. A haunting, emotional, longing, breathtaking, yet deep, passionate and warm song. I'd go with <- Witch is also a song from the movie Romeo + Juliet, by amazing Baz Luhrman. So basically a story about teenage suicide. In that aspect it doesn't fit at all. But it was the first song that came to my mind.... Sooooo.... I'll quietly leave this as well, on the way out <- (which is probably a much better fit anyway, both regarding lyrics and music video)

#Daniel mumbles #way too much #eternal-infamy

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forabeatofadrum · 2 years

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che col tuo lume mi levasti - chapter sixteen

AO3

–

SIMON

Something’s happened to my mum.

I don’t know what.

I came back from my little trip around Bérgamo and she was silent when I showed all the readings to professor Bunce. To his dismay, there was nothing out of the ordinary. He’d hoped for a possible explanation as to why dead spots appear.

We stayed in Bérgamo for hours and my mum still worked as a translator, but something was off and on our way back home, she looked distracted.

I’m lying in my bed in my childhood bedroom and I call Baz to tell him. I also want to know how Agatha reacted. He texted me to tell me that it went well, but now I want the full story.

“I’m so happy, Snow,” Baz says. I think he might be crying. “She’s not jumping up and down from excitement, but it went so much better than I expected.”

“I’m so happy to hear this,” I tell him. Everything’s working out for him and I couldn’t be more in love with him.

“She asked me who knew, and I told her that my parents and Fiona obviously know. And that you were the first person I ever told. And that your mum found out… you know when.”

“When I killed dad.”

“Yeah. And Shepard. Agatha admitted that she was a little jealous that I told him before her, since she’s my best friend, but she also fully understands that it was easier to tell Shepard first.”

“Shepard is my bestie.”

“Snow, for the love of Merlin, stop saying bestie.”

“No.”

Baz laughs. We’re just messing around. We still rile each other up when we see a chance and he knows that I say bestie just to get his reaction.

“So, tomorrow’s the birthday?” I say.

Baz hums. “Yes. Fiona is invited.”

“Oh. How is that playing out for you?”

“… I don’t think I will ever forgive Nicodemus and his chosen family, but I think it’s also unfair to be mad at her, especially now that I know that vampires aren’t pure evil.”

“That sounds fair.”

“How was the research?” Baz changes the topic. I let him. He doesn’t like Nicodemus.

I tell Baz that it was disappointing. Professor Bunce, Alexandra and their teams all had their hopes up, since it was the first study that compares two different countries, but so far it looks like the zone morte are similar to the dead spots. Everyone had hoped to find some difference, because that could lead to a possible new theory, but nope.

All the dead spots and zone morte seemed to have appeared at random, all around the same time, and it’s not because of the lack of language.

I then hide underneath the covers. I obviously cannot cast a silencing spell and my mum’s in the same house.

“Something’s wrong with my mum,” I whisper.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I came back from my little solo expedition and she was just different.”

“Different how?”

I tell Baz what happened.

“Hmmmm,” he hmmmms, “And nothing happened beforehand?”

I think back. I remember something. “She looked very uncomfortable when professor Bunce showed her the location and date of the first dead spot in the WoM.”

He also hates it when I say WoM, but he doesn’t react to that. Instead he asks: “Do you remember what it was?”

“Somewhere in Wales,” I answer. I don’t know where exactly. “June twenty-first 1997.”

“Simon,” Baz says after a small beat of silence, “Simon.”

He only calls me Simon when it’s serious. “What?”

“Simon, love, you absolute idiot, that’s your birthday!”

I sit up in my bed. The sheets glide off me.

“Shit! You’re right!” I hadn’t even realised. I don’t care as much about my birthday, compared to other people. I completely missed the obvious. That’s when I realise the other obvious thing. “Baz. Wales.”

“Yes,” Baz breathes out, “You’re Welsh and born on June twenty-first in 1997. Simon, how big are the odds?”

“I… I…” I splutter out. I don’t know what to say. English is my first language, but sometimes you gotta fall back on Italian. “Cazzo cazzo cazzo merda porca puttana dio Cristo!”

“Simon, stop!” Baz yells in my ear, but I keep yelling Italian words. I am no longer being silent.

At one point, the door to my room gets opened. My mum’s standing in the doorway. “Simon Oliver Snow, what is going on?”

I stare at her. “Mum, June twenty-first, 1997, Wales. Mum.”

She understands what I am talking about immediately. Her shoulders sag and she looks sad. I don’t like it when my mum looks sad.

“Let’s make some tea,” she eventually says, “I think we need to talk.”

BAZ

The birthday is in full swing. Officially, it’s the twins’ birthday party, but everyone in attendance knows that I am grouping a lot of birthdays together, so no one bats an eyelash when I give Mordelia Simon’s gift.

I snap a photo of Mordelia and her doll so that I can send it to Simon. Last night he told me that his mum wanted to talk, so we wished each other goodnight and then we hung up. I haven’t heard of him since. He’s out in the field. He’ll call when he has the time.

I wonder what happened. I have a precarious feeling about all of this. I don’t know if Simon’s already realised that the last dead spots appeared in September 2016. Truly, how big are the odds of the first dead spot appearing on Simon’s birthday and the last ones appearing in the month he gave away his magic?

He’ll call. I know he will. Right now I have another mountain to climb. Fiona has arrived. I down my drink and I hand my glass to a waiter (yes, Daphne has hired staff) and I walk towards her. She sees me approaching and her entire face falls.

Shit.

“Fiona,” I say kindly.

“Baz.”

“Can I talk to you in private?” I ask.

“Are you going to kill me for marrying a vampire,” she whispers angrily. Then she looks around to see if someone’s overheard, but everyone’s focusing on Petra doing a magic trick. It’s actually magickal.

“No.”

“Fine.”

The two of us leave the party unnoticed. The moment we’re outside, Fiona lights a cigarette. I scrunch up my nose. I hate the smell. Fiona sees my reaction and she rolls her eyes.

“Fiona,” I start, “I don’t like Nicodemus, but not because he’s a vampire. I don’t mind him being a vampire. I don’t mind me being a vampire anymore. I think I can embrace it.”

I don’t know if Fiona planned on keeping up an annoyed appearance, because right now she looks at me in surprise. Then the surprise morphs into pride.

“Really?” she asks, amazed, “Baz, really?”

She knows more than any other person in the world how much I hated being a vampire. She never actively encouraged me to embrace it, since Fiona also grew up with the World of Mages’s view on vampirism, but in the end we still care about each other and we wish each other happiness.

I was happy. I’ve been happy for a while, especially now that I have Simon, but this unhappiness always prevented me from being fully exuberant in life.

“Really?” she asks again. She uses her free hand to grab my shoulder. Then she puts the cigarette in her mouth so that she can grab both shoulders. It’s reminiscent of the many times that she calmed me down. I almost tear up at the gesture. I nod.

“It’s still here, Fi,” I point towards my heart, “A part of me still finds it difficult to accept, but I’m working on it. I even told Shepard and Agatha the truth.”

“How?” Fiona sounds muffled with that cigarette sticking out of her mouth, but I heard her.

I put my hands on hers.

“Nicodemus told me about the vampire hub in Rome. Simon and I went down to see it for ourselves.” I tell Fiona what happened. It’s not as detailed as the stories that I told Shepard, but I tell Fiona the most important bits. I talk about the kindness that Emma, Angelo and the community showed me and how everyone was so welcoming towards Simon. I give Fiona a little rundown about the CoMi and CoMa and how it’s so much better than the World of Mages.

I tell her that it’s one of the best things that has ever happened to me.

“If I could travel back in time and stop the vampires from Turning me, I still would,” I admit, “But I can finally honour the promise that I made to my mother and carry on as I am, in peace.”

Fiona’s openly weeping now.

“Natasha is dead,” she sobs, “And she wasn’t a saint.”

I shake my head. “She is. She wasn’t.”

“But I’ve thought a lot about my sister in the past one and a half year, and she might not agree with the way we live, me marrying a vampire and you being one, but I think that above all else she’d want us to be happy. She wasn’t a saint, but she also wasn’t a devil.”

“Nicodemus and his friends are evil, but they don’t represent all vampires.”

Fiona hangs her head. She lets out a sigh and the cigarette falls to the ground. “Nico and I have talked a lot about Nat’s death since we came home from Italy.”

“Is he going to abandon his family?”

Fiona shakes her head, looking solemn, and I still hate Nicodemus.

“But I don’t ever have to see them,” Fiona then says, “And I won’t, because I’ve told Nicodemus that I will set all of them ablaze the moment I lay eyes on them.”

“Same.”

“Natasha burned. So can they. For what they did to her and to you. And I never hated The Mage more for what he did to her and you. I want to kill him.”

“Simon beat you to it.”

Fiona laughs shakingly. “Fuck me, Baz. I still can’t believe that Simon being the fucking Greatest Mage got swept under the rug. I don’t know if I should be angry or happy with it. Angry, cause I always wanted to kill the fictional Greatest Mage, but happy, since he killed evil.”

“Don’t shout it out loud.”

“I won’t, kid,” Fiona says, “I understood why you told me. We both have partners who are hiding a big truth about ourselves. It’s just so conflicting. The Greatest Mage, for fuck’s sake.”

“The world is filled with conflicting ideas,” I say, “Who knows what other secrets are out there?”

“Speaking of… Have you connected the dots?” Fiona suddenly asks.

“What?”

“What The Mage did to you?”

I frown.

“He sent the vampires.”

Fiona has a sad smile on her face. I grip her hands.

“Nicodemus and I believe that he’s the reason that the numpties kidnapped you.”

“What the fuck?” I yell out. Fiona’s said that before, but I never saw a reason to believe her. Fiona blamed The Mage for everything!

“The Veil lifted,” Fiona reminds me. I know this. Everyone at Watford was talking about it when I came back and you can figure it out with some simple math. It’d been twenty years since the Veil previously lifted. “Nat didn’t Visit us. Not me. Not Malcolm. But Nico thinks that she might’ve Visited you.”

And that’s when I start to run.

SIMON

My mum and I drive to Spinazzino. It’s a fraction of the city of Ferrara and it has a zona morta. It’s a two and a half hours long drive, so we left early with all the researchers in tow. That’s why I stayed the night at my mum’s. It’s just easier to leave together.

I am driving.

“What are we going to tell Martin?” my mum suddenly asks.

“The truth?” I propose. What else can we say? Yesterday, my mum and I went over all the dates ourselves. My mum does not have all the information and fancy maps, but she still has the original list of dates given by the Lob.

A lot of dates didn’t mean anything. Small dead spots appeared in nineteen years. But in 2016, something changed. The two big dead spots of 2016 were the first in a list of big dead spots. I remember that, since Baz had to go home to help his parents move. They appeared on the same day Baz and I fought the vampires.

The last day of BM.

(Or the first day of AM? I learnt about my magic in the middle of the day, so BM and AM overlap on that day.)

The day I went off and grew into my magic.

“This could be a coincidence,” my mum says, but we don’t believe that. The evidence is astounding.

“We should tell professor Bunce, mum. See what he has to say,” I say with more certainty now, “We brought the extra books, and he knows the truth about my magic. He might make sense of this.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

We talk more during the drive, but we stay away from this topic. We arrive at Spinazzino, and just like last time, the dead spot hits hard. My mum starts gagging when I drive, which means that we’ve arrived. Behind us I see that the others park the cars, so I do too.

Spinazzino is very small. There is basically one street, the Via della Cembalina. There’s also the Via Cascina, but according to Google Maps, that street acts as a border of Spinazzino, so it’s not really part of Spinazzino. Or it is. It depends who you ask.

We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.

There are a few houses and a church, but we’re surrounded by land. All the researchers take their time to adjust to the dead spot. Since I don’t have to, I start to unload their equipment from the cars. Some locals spot us, but we came up with a cover story and I bullshit my way through it. It’s something about the environment. If you use fancy enough words, people will take your word for it, since you sound smart and they don’t want to look dumb and argue. (Baz also taught me that.)

The others have gotten over their shock and we go to work.

“When do we tell Martin?” I ask my mum.

“Let’s wait for a while, okay?” my mum suggests, “Maybe they’ll find something.”

I doubt it.

And after a few hours, I am proven right. Professor Bunce looks like he wants to rip his head off his body, that’s how disappointed and frustrated he looks.

“Lucy, are you sure nothing big happened in the Italian magickal community on this day?”

My mum shakes her head. “Alexandra says no.”

“But there must be. The Comunità is disorganised. Maybe she doesn’t know!”

My mum and I look at each other. We pity him. He looks like he’s at the end of his rope, trying to find an explanation. He’s spent years of his life studying this phenomenon only to be proven wrong.

“Martin,” my mum says seriously, “Simon and I have found something. I think we should talk. Privately.”

End notes: Spinazzino is once again chosen at random. I put my cursor on a random place close to Salò and I just loved the name so much (spinach is my favourite food).

And another shout-out to Marta matsonmars, who wasn’t fazed at all when I asked her for a string of swear words to yell out in panic.

#snowbaz #che col tuo lume mi levasti #carry on #simon snow series #holy fuck I wrote #2021 #multichaptered #story: paradiso

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ayellowcurtain · 4 years

Text

after this Clip (Samedi 0.16) I want to see a protective Eliott for Lucas. Not for this situation but in general a scared Lucas and a protective Eliott.

As soon as he hears Lola saying Lucas’ name, the conversation suddenly changes. Eliott sits up straight on his stool, watching Lola digs as deep as she can, trying to find the spot where she’ll break him to the point of no return like she wants to.

“Stop.”

She stops talking, but she’s ready to attack again in an instant and Eliott doesn’t let her.

“You’re not going to do this. You don’t know Lucas. What I told you about me and him was a single piece of an entire year together. You don’t know the whole story and I won’t let you use my words against me. I came here because I knew you needed help and I would like to have someone back then when I was going through what you’re going through right now. But it doesn’t mean you can say whatever you want without consequences. You can’t blame anyone else for the things you’re saying right now. You know what you’re doing, I know what you’re doing and I won’t let it. Lucas is not just my boyfriend, the person I love the most, but he’s also my best friend. He’s not perfect and I don’t want him to be. We’re good for each other. Trust me, I gave him a bunch of ways out and he never took any of them.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Eliott-” She says annoyingly, like he’s some kind of dumb, innocent child.

“Yes, it is. That we’re equal, that we’re too damaged to be fixed and others can only expect that from us: to fuck up. Us, them, everything in between. Life doesn’t work like that, Lola. Everyone, on every side, has to make an effort. You say like they act like we’re just one thing inside this box, but you’re the one putting us in one right now. ”

She rolls her eyes and finishes another beer. Eliott’s is already warm and gross, but he finishes it anyway, not knowing when he’ll drink again. He doesn’t miss it, he noticed tonight, but it’s just a phisical response that society imposed on young people that they have to drink on every weekend and so he takes advantage of it since he’s already here.

He checks his phone as Lola asks for another drink. He ignores it how she asks for two. He’s not going to drink.

to Eliott: Okay...

I’m still studying, gonna make myself some delicious pasta...yay...

I love you

to Lucas: I love you

I love you!

Lola is not doing well. I have to call someone...

“Here.” She offers him the shot, leaving it right in front of him, but Eliott looks at her. “As an apology for about what I said about your precious boyfriend.”

She doesn’t mean it and the ironic way she talks it’s starting to get on his nerves. He types a couple more messages and puts his phone back inside his pocket, holding his shot, but not drinking it, just keeping it away from Lola.

“I go to therapy, you know...And I take some medication. That can really fuck me up if I drink.” Lola raises her eyebrows and smiles and Eliott sighs. He wishes she could understand how damaging to herself is the choices she’s constantly making. “You’re not fucked up enough to be this mean, trust me. I’ve been there and I know how it feels and how it looks. You’re not there yet. Daphné cares about you. Baz cares about you and all the others are really trying to be by your side. The Lamifex. Max, Sekou, Jo, Maya.”

Lola puts her glass against the table so hard it makes a loud noise even with the obnoxious music. “You don’t know shit. You think they care, but they don’t. Your friends are just trying because they want to be nice to Daphné.”

“And that’s a start, isn’t it? You don’t make relationships out of thin air. It needs work, Lola. And patience, and understanding. I put my work to be with Lucas, he deserves it. And he does his part too.”

“He’s gonna leave you! We’re too much for them.” She smiles proudly and Eliott really looks at her, not sure if he really knows who she is.

“Lola, I don’t give a shit about what you think about Lucas. You don’t know him and I won’t sit here and listen for you to talk shit about what you don’t know. Especially not about him.”

Eliott starts tapping his feet, feeling his heart beat too fast, looking around, hating how crowded this place is tonight, hoping to find Lucas’ in the crowd, but there’s nothing.

“Come on, just this shot and I’ll leave you alone.”

She stands up and Eliott looks at her, he can’t let her go somewhere else while the others don’t get here.

“Okay, okay. Sit down and we’ll drink.”

Lola sits back down, grabbing her shot - another one that she asked while they were arguing - and lifting it up for a toast. She’s still making that face of someone that’s winning a good game and Eliott is counting down the minutes to leave.

“To us.”

He doesn’t say anything, because there’s no us, but he lifts his shot up and drinks it all at once, feeling it burn down his throat, closing his eyes with how bitter it tastes. Lola is still watching him when he opens his eyes again, putting his glass down.

It’s hard to stop when you’re already there, a beer and a shot down. Eliott doesn’t want to get drunk or party or anything. He justs wants to be able to drink like any other guy his age. He wants an easier life, but he can’t have it. He’s too fucked up and he needs to live constantly taking medication that doesn’t go well with alcohol.

Lola is gone. He didn’t want to take care of her after everything he heard Lola saying and his drunk mind couldn’t give a shit what she could be doing, but a guy stumbles against one of his shoulders, making him spill all his beer and Eliott follows the guy with his eyes, finding Lola shirtless, being dragged down the counter by the same guy.

“Hey...hey!” Eliott tries to grabs the guy’s hand, take it away from Lola’s breakable arm. “Stop it! She’s leaving already!”

But there’s not much talking. A second later, Eliott is fighting the guy to take his hands off of Lola and she’s screaming around them, constantly trying to intervene.

The voices around them get louder, more hands in between them and Eliott recognizes the voices once they’re finally apart.

“Eliott, Eliott, are you okay?” Lucas’ hand comes to his face and Eliott looks up, meeting his boyfriend’s worried face staring at him, searching for any big injuries.

Fuck, Lucas is here.

“Why are you here? I missed you, I was looking for you.” Lucas nods his head, looking to the side and Eliott follows. Daphné is there too, trying to cover Lola with her jacket, arguing with her.

“We need to leave.” Eliott bumps his forehead against Lucas’ top of the head and soon he’s being guided out of the loud club, feeling his boyfriend’s arm around his waist.

The street is a lot quieter, but not completely, some people still getting inside. Eliott starts shaking and he realizes his hoodie and jacket are not with him.

“Here, put this on.” Lucas gives Eliott his own hoodie and Eliott gladly takes it, putting it on, still warm from Lucas’ body. He finds his jacket and hoodie on Lucas’ hand. He’s talking to Daphné, calling someone, but always keeping his hand on Eliott and he doesn’t care to check on how Lola is.

If they were starting to be friends, now Eliott won’t ever be able to forget the things she said to him about Lucas and how badly he was at handling her words.

He doesn’t want to live his life constantly anxious, checking if he’s saying the right things so she won’t use it against him later. He shouldn’t have lied to Lucas about them, about the urbex.

“You know when I leave without telling where I’m going? Urbex! I go spray paint abandoned buildings. I met Lola there.”

His tongue feels heavy and bitter as he talks. Lucas nods his head, frowning a little and a car finally stops in front of them. Eliott is offereded to seat in the front, holding his own jacket and hoodie and the other three go in the back.

“Yann!!!” He screams when he recognizes the driver, hugging him so tightly. Eliott didn’t know he had a fancy car. “I missed you, mec!”

“Missed you too, bro.” Yann hugs him back, but he’s focus on the other three still getting in. “Do you know what she took?”

He asks and Eliott shrugs.

“Coke. But Idon’tknow. She was bad when I got here already.”

“COKE?” Daphné screams in the back and Eliott has to look at her, seeing Lucas’ and Yann’s mouth talking to her, but not understanding what they’re saying.

Eliott puts his head down, covering his face with his hands, feeling so stupid and inresponsible. Even if he was mad, he shouldn’t have drunk. Lola got to him like she wanted to and he even let her talk shit about the most important person in his life.

“Fuck, I’m so stupid! I love him so much, Yann!”

There’s a hand on his back, trying to sooth him, but it’s not Lucas, Eliott is sure. Lucas could never care about him after Eliott let himself listen to Lola’s bullshit.

“Hey, hey, stop it, man. It’s okay. None of this will matter tomorrow. The important is that you two are safe.”

The car starts moving after a minute and everyone is suddenly quiet. Eliott puts his hand behind his seat, waiting for Lucas to reach for him too and he does, holding Eliott’s hand quietly.

#elu fic #skam france #Lucas Lallemant #eliott demaury #lucas x eliott #elu #daphné lecomte #lola lecomte #Yann Cazas #at this point I don't care about timezones anymore

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sailorblossoms · 11 months

Text

I’ve thought about this as if I was planning it to write a fanfic, but I’m not going to, so I might as well share it here.

I’ve been pretty firm on my “no way they did that shit more than once” regarding Simon and Agatha having sex whenever I talk about it (after all, the books mention it like it’s more of a concept: it’s not “it was always just going through the motions” it’s simply “it was just going through the motions”, it doesn’t ever give you quantity) (arguments of them doing it multiple times make me feel a bit insane – how would that even work with two teens with no attraction at all and with barely any time to be alone together? When time alone together would have taken work?) (Ideas of Simon specifically being the one asking for it while Agatha has to bear it and do it like a favor can’t possibly be rooted in anything the actual books say.) But I guess I can be convinced that they could have tried twice, maybe 3 times at most just to see if things going wrong was just “first-time nerves” and if it would improve... I can envision two scenarios:

Simon's reaction to "Does Wellbelove [appreciate a job well done]?" as if this was a sore spot already makes me suspect "performance issues" ... (also, the way Simon's magic worked implies he can't get worked up, ever – had he wanted or "enjoyed" it in any way, we would have heard about this being a problem in some way, and it would have prevented them from going far anyway because his magic actually hurts Agatha)

1. Who’s to say they could actually get to penetration without issue. Maybe Agatha's discomfort and pain were too much, so it stopped at when they were still attempting it. A following attempt* (attempt at "making it work" – we know it never did) would be about trying to “succeed” at penetration.

2. In any scenario, I don’t think it was pleasurable or good for either party (hence "not working"). Agatha’s wording evokes discomfort and responsibility (perhaps even duty). Before Baz, Simon shows he can only understand pleasure by using food, shows he doesn’t understand the point of sex, and part of why he struggles with it is because he has no experience feeling. Supposing they could fully get to penetration in the first attempt, I don’t think it got to any form of release (if it did, negative orgasms that can result from “going through the motions” don’t feel good; they can even feel painful) (this would also apply to scenario 1, supposing they "succeed" at penetration in a second attempt etc). At any rate, I think it’s likely Simon struggled with keeping an erection (arousal non concordance explains how he could even get it in the first place, despite not being into it; the body responds to touch even if the mind would rather be somewhere else) maybe going flaccid even while inside. This is something that could be brushed off as “just nerves” or as something that can just happen during first times (it can) (not being into it can already result in this, added pressure and stress can make this outcome even more likely) (the last two apply even among heterosexual people who are really into the person they’re with). Either way, a following attempt would add more nerves and pressure after a bad precedent (also pretty effective to kill an erection) so it would be harder to get further or to “improve” the previous attempt. Simon mentioning the UTI when Baz is trying to get away could be an association that goes back to Agatha using it to end “the encounter” and avoid cuddling or whatever afterward (i remember someone noting this too, but to say it stayed with Simon because it happened a lot and to that I say… that kind of shit doesn’t need to happen more than once to stay, especially if it’s happening when they’re attempting something new and it doesn't go well).

The thing with them is that they would not be willing to work through this. They would not have the drive, passion, or motivation. Their relationship wasn’t like that anyway; they were all about brushing it aside, about not wanting to talk about the hard parts. You can see that with Simon’s reaction, whenever Agatha tries to talk about what happened with Baz (nothing happened) (one could argue this is not at all about Agatha wanting to “work through” shit, but perhaps wanting to alleviate potential guilt she might have felt… no, she didn’t cheat, but wasn’t part of her contemplating it when she followed Baz, hoping for a kiss when she was trying to find a spark? Herself?).

You can see through lines like “candle in the wind” how pressure would have led to this, because “everyone else is doing it” and maybe even talking about “how great it is” (and how Simon might have been in a position to consider needing “help” but being uninterested in it – he's not interested in making it work with her, not really...). In “we were together for a long time” as an explanation, meaning it only happened after they have already been together for a long time (otherwise how long they have been together wouldn’t be relevant, if it was happening a couple of months into the relationship for instance). In Agatha indicating, in context, something that could be (besides curiosity) a distraction or a way to delay doing more (counting every mole) (she’s describing physical closeness to Simon in a very unappealing way in this scene) while at the same time, Simon’s reaction is to cover the very thing that's making Agatha remember, to adopt a posture where he’s closing himself off, where he’s “protecting himself”, where he’s indicating he doesn’t want her to see him, all in the context of a clinical setting when Simon is in distress. Also: Simon not wanting to be left alone with her then, etc etc. (There’s more on Simon’s part, but all this already paints quite the picture, perfectly explaining why they would behave like they’ve never done shit. Why Simon thinks and behaves like he has never done this before) (In a lot of ways, he hasn't, but that's another conversation)

#simon snow #simon snow trilogy #agatha wellbelove #carry on #awtwb

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dannypuro · 3 years

Note

So I just binged Something Telling and it’s just, so amazing? Like, your characterization is so on point and I just have nothing but nice things to say about it. Can I make a list? I’m gonna make one cause I have Emotions™️ about every one of these dweebs.

1. Grantaire is just, so nice and kind and smart, and not an alcoholic! Like, I love the fics where he deals with that, but it’s nice to see him being a semi-functional adult person. (Was he an alcoholic in this universe at one point?) Plus, he’s still enough of an emotional disaster otherwise. Love him ❤️

2. ENJ VS TECHNOLOGY. I could read about that forever. Swearing in an elevator? Iconic. Never using the space bar? Perfect. Also now I refer to movies as “movings” in my head so there’s that.

3. Combeferre is the sane man of this family and I love it so much. Also I never thought of vaccines for time travel AUs and I genuinely cackled when Ferre brought it up. Like, yeah, that’s a good point.

4. Jehan is always chaotic and I love them for it. Also, I know R doesn’t want to hear about it, but I absolutely want to know what their sex talk consisted of. I’m curious.

5. Baz and Feuilly. Yes. Good. Lovely boys. So glad they got their shit together.

6. “I am wanted by the government for high treason.” Honestly Enj has so many golden moments/lines. He is trying his best and I love him.

7. The PTSD our boy has and how he’ll have to work through it, but he has Friends and Boyfriend to help. (Side note: I live in the US, so I don’t know how much of a thing it might be in Paris, but do they set off a lot of fireworks on New Years? Cause I feel like that would be a thing that Enj would have to deal with, especially if no one tells him about it beforehand)

8. The research you would have had to do for this is just, incredible. And I think you captured how someone would really be if they just got yeeted into the future with no tech experience whatsoever. Like, I’ve been living here since 1994 and I’m overwhelmed by stuff sometimes.

9. Slightly unrelated but I also saw that you did the AU where Grantaire is a baker and Enj is totally not in the mafia (the name escapes me) and I also love that fic.

Hopefully that was somewhat coherent! Seriously though your work is great and I can’t wait for more!

(Also, if you want and it’s not a plot point of the next one, what is Enjolras’s reaction to musicals? I know the boy loves his opera, but someone had to have shown him something on YouTube and I just crave knowledge about this universe) Thanks! 🥰

GUH thank you!!!!!!! thank you thank you!!! and thank you for taking the time to make a list because i thrive off of validation alone and it made my day 🥺. SO.

grantaire is a total sweetheart. like, genuinely a nice person who is trying his best despite the fact that he has a hard time. baby. of course, the funniest part about him is the fact that he has NO idea that he’s actually just like... nice. he’s like... oh man it sure sucks that i’m the worst person possible to help someone in need... sucks that i’m the only one here... sorry dude i’m sorry i’m not combeferre... and then he proceeds to just like. make beef stew and be so careful and kind and thoughtful and try his very best and let enjolras go to sleep on his shoulder during a moving. like... sir. ok. also, yes, i tend to write him a little more... with his shit together, especially in this fic. you mentioned that you read And If I See You In The Daylight (the bakery fic)--i kind of wrote this assuming a similar character arc (minus the bakery, of course. like, grantaire used to be much, much more of a mess in a lot of ways, and drinking too much was a part of that, and he’s slowly been working on it. and now he’s 29, and he’s doing his best, and his friends love him. he’s doing a little better in this fic than in the bakery fic--maybe he’s a little older? maybe because combeferre is a little harsher than jbm and gets on his case when he starts to slip back into old habits? yeah.

ENJ VS TECHNOLOGY. sweetie. baby. the first time combeferre vacuums his apartment when enj is around he’s like “hey man, do you mind if i do the vacuuming?” and enj (has NO idea what that word is, is falling asleep while reading on the couch in the sun) is like “do what you will” and then ferre turns the vacuum on and enjy does that thing when a cat is startled and it jumps like three feet up in the air and puffs up like a squirrel. he’s awake now.

combeferre. baby. he’s genuinely, genuinely trying his best, but it’s fucking hard when you’re tired and overworked and also none of your friends use their brains more than 30% of the time and also your new best friend is a spiky little revolutionary from EIGHTEEN THIRTY TWO. so. um. he’s a little stressed. but he loves enjy so much and doesn’t even mind when he’s dramatic and annoying because he’s such a sweet dude and they’re FRIENDS. sometimes he comes home from a long day of work and enj has come over and washed all of his dishes and brought over takeout but also rearranged all of his books and also eaten like three mangoes. listen. friendship is about gently tormenting your BFF because you are COMFORTABLE AROUND EACH OTHER.

jehan. baby. instagram influencer supreme. i’ve gotten like a bazillion asks about their sex talk--i SWEAR i will write it eventually because the concept of it just cracks me up. jehan is like. “ok. enjy. tell me what you know about sex” and enj is like... “i understand that..... it occurs?” and jehan is like :^/ and enj is like “one must be careful not to contract syphilis from unseemly sources?” and jehan is like “TIme For A Conversation Before Grantaire Messes This Up”

baz and feuilly. babies. they’re just such a sweet, casual couple and they like each other so much. also, first date 3 am kebabs? after they FINALLY communicated? and then baz gets railed like he deserves? they deserve it.

enj has a secret little sense of humor and it’s just a little hidden by the fact that he is 1) repressed 2) awkward. but it’s there! he’s just so smart and secretly funny and grantaire thinks he’s fucking hilarious. except when he jokes about the fact that he’s technically dead. it makes grantaire sad. he’s like YOU’RE NOT DEAD THOUGH BABE YOU’RE EATING JAPCHAE RIGHT NOW and enj is like. “i believe that if you observe my wicky encyclopaedia you shall learn otherwise 🤷” and grantaire is like 😰BABE

yeah. yeah. listen. he’s got a lot of shit to deal with. it’s gonna take a while. like... that is some SERIOUS trauma, and he didn’t even have any time in his own century to process it. he went straight from a very violent event--LITERALLY about to be executed 😰--to being zapped to a time where he recognizes NOTHING. that... didn’t help. and he can’t really go to a therapist (which causes combeferre no shortage of distress) since like... he wouldn’t be able to explain anything about the barricades or the source of his trauma to begin with. so... yeah. but yes! he has friends and a boyfriend who love and support him so much! and it’s the framework he needs to begin to work through stuff at his own pace 🥺 (also, yes, fireworks are a big thing. they’re also big for the 14 juillet, which i... kind of forgot to address. i might go back and write a scene somewhere around ch. 5 for it and post it on here. we’ll see.)

i’m so glad you appreciated the research! 🥺🥺🥺 legit i... kind of spent a stupid amount of time on it. i really tried to make it as realistic as possible (barring, like, the whole time-zap thing, and also the whole “characters from les mis” thing) since the whole POINT is the differences between their two times, so... i’m glad it paid off. it means a lot to hear that u vibed with it.

thank you thank you! again-- And If I See You In The Daylight is the name of the bakery fic, and i also love it 🥺🥺🥺 . to everyone else... READ IT!

enjolras does not like musicals. like... yes, there was a natural progression from 20th century opera to early musicals, but enjolras missed all of that. and 21st century musicals are pretty fucking different from 1820s/30s opera. he can’t quite understand the music. the plotlines don’t make sense. the plots aren’t stupid enough for his taste. they take themselves too seriously. not enough miscommunication. orchestral parts not nice enough. cosette tries to show him a musical on youtube and enjy is like. who is that. why are they all dressed the same. what is going on. why do they not use their Pocket Fones? why does it sound like this. hellp. (she gives up and shows him a Puccini opera instead.)

anyways. THANK YOU! and to everyone else--send me asks! send me prompts! send me questions! i WILL respond to them and i treasure them all i just tend to be kind of slow! but i love to receive them! thank you!!!

#something telling #wholockiantabs

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revolution-john · 3 years

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My Childhood Trauma PTSD as Triggered by the Following Movie Montage

by BENJAMIN DREVLOW

That scene in American History X. You know the one. Or maybe it was Higher Learning, I always get those confused. That curb stomp scene always reminding me of the time I tripped and face-planted in the barn while corralling bull calves, to get castrated, my two front teeth chomping down on all that jagged concrete and manure, it adds a different flavor to the recurring nightmare I have, though in my case, usually nothing to do with race relations. I wonder if everybody else who watched that movie also missed the whole point of it. Except the Curb Stomp. Everybody remembers where they were when their stoner friend with big ideas about ending racism across the world made them watch the movie with the Curb Stomp.

Mel Gibson getting drawn and quartered in Braveheart. You may take our lives, but you will never take… our… FREE-DOM!

Mel Gibson ripping his shoulder out of its socket in Lethal Weapon.

Mel Gibson torturing the shit out of Jesus, then blaming the women and Jews for everything, including his drunk-driving and plummeting career options.

Fuck pretty much any Mel Gibson movie. Except maybe that one with him and James Gardner and Jody Foster and all their comedy hijinks. It’s the gambler one but not The Gambler. But now that I think about it, isn’t Jody Foster a big Mel Gibson apologist? So I guess fuck that movie too.

Any movie where somebody gets shot or stabbed or thumbed in the eyeball or has one or both of their eyeballs squeezed or ripped out, which always reminds me of that time I got elbowed right below my eye but also on the eyeball and it literally pushed in my eyeball a millimeter and I still get double vision to this day whenever I line up a shot playing pool or line up a screw to hang a photo on the wall or sometimes re-hang the toilet paper dispenser next to the toilet. I’d been playing pickup basketball and my buddy who was like four inches taller than me elbowed me on a rebound and like I say I went down and lay there on my back and then all the blood started pooling in my eye socket and I couldn’t see anything and my friend couldn’t see my eyeball and he kept hissing through his teeth grossed out by it but then telling me it would okay and the whole time lying there thinking I’m thinking about my eyeball I’m thinking of the scene in Any Given Sunday where the guy’s eyeball is just lying there on the football field. I’m thinking of that closeup all the way to the hospital when they unwrap the mummy gauze from around my head and the ER doctor breathes a sigh of relief after peeling off all the dried blood to reveal that I needed fifteen stitches and I’d broken my orbital bone, but I still had my eye.

Any movie where somebody’s sitting there reading a book before bed, watching TV, gossiping with girlfriends, when the camera pulls back only to zoom back in on the dark night window behind them—cue the string section.

If I had to choose one, I’m thinking of that one zombie movie, something 28 Days something but not the one about Sandra Bullock finding love with Viggo in rehab. It’s not even about the zombies. It’s about the dark night window, not to be confused with the Dark Knight window, sorry that was a shitty pun for no good reason whatsoever, but also maybe not completely random with the guy from 28 Days also having played the scarecrow in Batman Begins where he sprays people with a drug and makes them see their worst fears, which never really did it for me, at least not like the secluded house with the zombies lurking around. I grew up in a big old farmhouse out in the barrens of northern Wisconsin. Lots of windows, no shades. In so many ways I grew up in the dark. It wasn’t the zombies I worried about. It was the methheads. Which, sure, I guess if you’re getting technical about it, same thing, fine, you win, I’m scared of zombies.

The Zapruder film, but as replayed by Kevin Costner in Oliver Stone’s fever dream of a conspiracy theory. The magic bullet, back and to the left, back and to the left, back and to the left. How it gets stuck in my head, JFK’s exploding head replaced with my brother’s exploding head, sometimes my own, except unlike my brother and JFK, my head’s still mostly intact. Back and to the left, back and to the left. Sometimes I think about that too with that one Seinfeld episode with Keith Hernandez and the magic loogie, but usually the loogie gets replaced with a bullet and Kramer’s head gets replaced with my brother, mine, back and to the left.

The sound of the gun shots in the final scene of that Tom Hanks movie where he plays himself again, a good guy, a family guy, a sly sense of humor, but this time a mob hitman with a strained relationship with his oldest son. The look on Tom Hanks’ face walking back to the house from the ocean—having survived it all, the hit that his old mob boss Paul Newman had put out on him for putting a hit on his old mob boss’s son as played by James Bond who also played Ted Hughes in that movie about Sylvia Plath killing herself. But this is past all that, it’s the happy ending. They’re on beach somewhere, white sand, somebody’s house that Tom Hanks and his kid are going to live in now. The silence before and after. Jude Law! It’s Jude Law’s face, his eye all fucked up, how did it happen, I don’t really remember the specifics but I remember the specifics. Bang, bang, bang. I think it might’ve had something to do with Jude Law being a photographer, like one of those where you pose with your kid or something or say you get promoted to head CEO or godfather of the family. Smile. Click, click, except in this case with a gun.

The gunshot at the end of American Beauty, pretty much the same thing, different movie. Chris Cooper confusing Kevin Spacey as gay but before Kevin Spacey actually came out as gay and a sexual predator. Not that the latter necessarily had anything to do with the former. Neither in the movie nor real life, well not really, but sorta. You get the point.

Jared Leto as Angel Face getting his face smashed in by Ed Norton as Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden’s split personality in Fight Club. Not so much Jared Leto, but the wet mushy sounds of it. That part on the audio commentary where Chuck Palahniuk and David Fincher defend the violence of the movie, Fincher pointing out that he was not glorifying violence, he was making it realistic. That’s what it sounds like to punch your opponent into the concrete, Fincher says and Palahniuk laughs and agrees. Don’t worry I’m not going to make any puns about the first rule of fight club.

That part of that one weird depressing Robin Williams’s movie where Robin Williams’s kids get killed in a car accident while backing out of the driveway on the way to school. The one where Robin Williams later on gets plowed over by a truck going the wrong way while Robin Williams is out trying to help another couple who’d been injured in a different car accident, but before all that his wife kills herself because she can’t take it and then Robin Williams goes to the suicide afterlife to save her. But then there’s fucking Cuba Gooding Jr. who—spoiler alert—turns out to be the ghost/angel of his dead son who then explains to Robin Williams that his wife/Cuba’s mother can’t be saved because she killed herself. It doesn’t matter that she had a pretty fucking good reason too, she’s still stuck face down floating around in that black swamp of bodies of everybody else’s killed themselves and nobody’s getting to heaven. That shit really messed me up—not the car accidents, but the afterlife for selfish losers like me who kill themselves. And/or my brother.

The bulging vein in Tom Cruise’s head from Magnolia. Respect the Cock and Tame the Pussy, Respect the Cock and Tame the Pussy. I think probably my therapist would have some thoughts about all this, and some questions. Questions and thoughts.

That one version of A Christmas Carol where the Ghost of Christmas Past undoes his robe to show off the alien children living under his robe.

I got the worst set of blue balls you could imagine while taking my best friend’s girlfriend to Baz Lurman’s remake of Romeo and Juliet. That Romeo and Juliet. I missed most of it, I kept having to go to the bathroom to masturbate in agony and to no avail. Leo and Claire Danes are hot and heavy on an acid trip, and every time my best friend’s girlfriend reaches for a handful of popcorn she makes sure to wipe the butter off on the inside of my upper thigh. This is what I get for being the good guy of falling on the grenade for my best friend, the grenade in this case being Shakespeare and my best friend’s hatred of literature.

Mark Wahlberg’s flaccid rotten dick in Boogie Nights.

The Secret of the Crying Game but not in a transphobic way. No, it’s the smallness of it what got me back when I watched it as a teenager. The tenderness. The growing tent in my pants at its sudden appearance on the screen. Maybe you don’t believe me but I was a naïve podunk kid from off the farm. I didn’t have cable. I didn’t have access to the internet. His/her (now their) secret opened up a lot of questions for me. I often dream of dressing up in drag and someone sucking my little bitty dick and if that makes me a little bit gay or maybe bi or what’s it called, body dysmorphic. I mean I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, it’s the new millennium, we’re all a bit sexually confused aren’t we?

This one porno my friends and I watched at somebody’s uncle’s cabin up in the U.P. for a three-on-three basketball tournament. The Snapping Pussy. The sound her vagina made, like somebody really dramatic at clicking their tongue and slurping a half-empty malt the same time. The scene of us boys all sitting there with our boners watching a porn and wanting to masturbate but not because we were all boys and we were afraid we’d be gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a little bit gay.

There was this made-for-TV movie, me six years old and home alone while my big brother, supposed who’d to’ve been baby-sitting me, the only time he ever babysat me that I can remember, maybe because his one time—that time—he didn’t actually babysit me. He went out to a party, while I watched the made-for-tv movie about some kid who’d watched his mother get murdered, and then goes mute, keeps drawing these pictures of Peter Pan and Captain Hook. The kid’s grandfather, one of those big hooks, like the one in I Know What You Did Last Summer, but this was long before that, though I’m not sure it was before the book. Did you know that there was a book I Know What You Did Last Summer? I mean this isn’t about the book or the movie, this is about that kid whose grandfather had molested his daughter for years and then as an adult gutted her with a fishhook and then how he’d then come back to finish the job with his mute grandkid, I don’t know how this movie ever got green-lighted (green-lit?) for TV, but then it’s weird to even think about those made-for-tv movies and if they actually existed or if I’m just making this whole thing up, but then my brother, we had a walk-in basement at the time, this being before I’d accidently burned that house down with two space heaters stolen from the barn, before my brother’d killed himself, he’d come back late, or probably it was only eight or nine, but I was young and alone out in the woods where we lived, and he’d come back through the basement, which was attached to the family room, where I’d been watching and then all of a sudden that kid on TV was being stocked by his granddad with a fish hook and the door to the basement was opening, and for god knows why I’d turned off all the lights to watch the scary movie by myself, and it turns out it was just my brother who’d go on to kill himself in like a year, maybe six months, and he was just playing a little prank on me, or maybe he’d just come through the basement for some reason, he was always hanging out down there and tinkering around with things, but in my mind, I can remember that exact look on his face, that smirk, even in the dark, the light from the television in a blacked-out room, a blacked out house, reflecting off those pop-bottle glasses of his, the shiny too-big-for-his-face silver frames. My mother always tells me I should try to remember the happy times I had with my brother, and honestly, I can’t, I can only remember that smirk, those glasses, the handle turning a moment before he appeared.

Any and all sequels where it turns out that the dead character didn’t actually die at all, or maybe it’s magic, or maybe there’s time travel.

Any happy ending ever.

Every ending in my worst nightmares involves everyone I’ve ever loved or hated, their faces turning to snake faces. Snakeheads, snake arms, snake butts. Snakes snakes snakes. They slip out of their clothes and come up from under my bed, slither under my covers. They bite me, they kiss me, poison me, they consume me whole and regurgitate my bones. That’s how they always end. Me dead and abandoned.

That scene in the first Indiana Jones with Indiana Jones and getting trapped in the cave with all the snakes. I hate snakes. All my worst nightmares turn to snakes. Fuck snakes. This all might have something to do with my undersized penis. If you want to go down that path. The Secret of My Crying Game.

Has Mel Gibson ever made a movie with snakes? I don’t know, you tell me, but fuck that movie if he did. Mel Gibson is snakey enough on his own.

BENJAMIN DREVLOW is the author of Bend With the Knees and Other Love Advice from My Father, which won the 2006 Many Voices Project, and the author of Ina-Baby: A Love Story in Reverse, which was released by Cowboy Jamboree Books in 2019. Buy his books here. He is currently at work on a novel, a novella, and a collection of story-poems. He serves as the Managing Editor of BULL Magazine (@BULL_magazine_) and is a lecturer at Georgia Southern University in Statesboro, Georgia.

#benjamin drevlow

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