#but in that moment both halves are back in some sort of harmony…

[strywoven]

closed. // @crystalcracked ( ft. dyn'lo, rek'yr & kylan )

A gift , a SECOND CHANCE AT LIFE granted by the restoration of the Crystal ; one not to be squandered , one to be savored and held close to heart ( don’t lose faith again , children , says the world through the great song , you may not have this opportunity again ) .  And how it was a lifetime ago since last the hidden homestead of the Dustling has been so FULL & LIVELY , a commingling of the native creatures and their Dousan other-halves gathered in common motive to mend each other’s wounds ( so great a scene which has not occurred since the age of harmony , when the first bond was forged & the first congregation was held ) .  It would seem that since their return – both through Dustling and Dousan eye alike – that there is no better chance to solidify their tribes’ everlasting u n i o n , as what was truly intended of their people so many generations passed.

Ayn’ra makes her way through the throngs of Dustling-Dousan mesh , nodding her head cordially to those who pause in their tasks to greet her.  She’s little time to stop and chat , though she knows it would be best if she COULD ( & she would like to , if there be a moment to spare ) , but her focus is rightly torn , scattered ‘tween here – her home – and the Dousan’s needs.  For now , however , Ayn is on a p e r s o n a l mission ( for once ) .  She finds herself near the luminescent pool of the central oasis marking the heart of the homestead , the carved stone hearth fixed to the island amid the cool waters huffing a fragrant , pleasant haze into the air , wreathing anyone nearby in loose spools of colorful , calming smoke.

❝ Tireless as ever , aren’t you ? ❞  The Great One calls , smiling a bit when Dyn’lo turns to her and gives her his usual withering , unamused glare.

Sending those ‘round him on their way with a few quick signs of his paws , Dyn’lo makes his way over , crossing his arms.  ❝ Is that not why you appointment me as Chamberlain , Ayn ?  So that I may help you ensure this community is repaired ? ❞

She snorts softly , leaning forward enough to nestle her head against his , a simple though affectionate gesture that makes the other tense slightly.  ❝ Even y o u would need rest , Dyn’lo. ❞  He grumbles reluctantly , and she laughs to herself , drawing back again.  ❝ Besides , there’s someone waiting for you in the Hall of Hearing with Master Rek’yr. ❞

❝ But I still need to — ❞

❝ — Shh , shh ! ❞  Ayn waves her stone scepter , just narrowly avoiding thwacking the Chamberlain on the head as she widely , grandly gestures with it towards the Hall at the Northern point of the homestead.  ❝ No arguing with me !  I’ll hear nothing of it !  And it might well do you some good. ❞  She motions with her free paw , a sort of flicking movement that tells Dyn’lo the conversation is over and he should get going.

Fur ruffling , head lifting , he huffs but does not argue ( there’s no point when it comes to ayn , it’s impossible to win ) .  Spreading his wings , he takes flight towards the domed building in the North.  Entering , he quickly descends down the stairwell and follows the paths to the Hall itself ; a large and ornate hollowed cavern b e l o w the sands where most matters of importance come to be decided.  Something gives him pause just beyond the threshold , yes – there are certainly two shadows flickering over the stonework – but it is m o r e than that.  He inhales , easily plucking Rek’yr’s scent amid the swathes of his peers , yet finds another too-familiar note that stops his heart— No , it couldn’t be !  Gathering himself , though his nerves follow him , Dyn’lo enters the Hall , letting his gaze settle first on Rek’yr who tips his head , then to ⸺ 

❝ ⸺ Kylan ? ❞

#❧ ⸺ how can ( queue ) say there is no story here ? ❞ #❧ ⸺ ch. dyn’lo | threads ❞ #❧ ⸺ ch. dyn’lo | verse iii: tdc ❞ #❧ ⸺ ch. rek’yr | threads ❞ #❧ ⸺ ch. rek’yr | verse ii: secondary ( resurrection ) ❞ #crystalcracked #crystalcracked | kylan #long boi incoming #don't feel like you need to match this #i just felt inclined to set the scene uvu

[firebirdsdaughter]

Oh, just…

… Thinking (again) about that moment in dmc5 where Vergil reforms and then turns around w/ this rather dazed look on his face to just… Stare at Dante and Nero for a bit before looking back down at his book and picking it up slowly to stare at it…

Like. His halves are probably in better sync in that moment than they’ve been in years, and for the first few moments… He’s genuinely feeling things again? Like, he’s spent his whole life trying to lock out his emotions, but in that moment, he isn’t quite ‘aware/awake’ enough to be doing that. It’s not until Dante jumps in that he switches back to his more pretentious persona…

Like… I think it’s really telling that his immediate reaction is to just stare dazedly at them and then at his book… Vulnerable Vergil gives me Feelings.

#DMC #he looks… #so dazed #and vaguely bewildered #can't imagine what he was feeling #bc I genuinely think neither V but esp Urizen were really 'thinking' #they were both a part of a personality neither really had full mental faculties #but V was the ego and got most of the personality #Urizen was just blind ambition and rage #not even a whole demon #but in that moment both halves are back in some sort of harmony… #V is more present than he's been in a while… #since the incident #and he's just… staring at his brother and what he thinks is his nephew… #I like to think he got a bit overcome w/ at least #like… remembering affection? #I have a whole rant about the twins and Vergil's complicated feelings towards Dante that I can't fit in tags #but I like to think that was him… re-realising the positive aspects of those emotions #he's told himself he hated Dante for a long time and Urizen mostly believed that #V tried to keep it up but had couldn't escape from his deeper feelings (like in the manga) #but in that moment Vergil is realising again his more positive/affectionate feelings #and I just #AH #Demon Drama Fam

[blueofthesun]

i can’t shut up so here are some more nice details in namamekashiki ansoku tamerai ni hohoemi that make me go a little insane if i think about them for too long

the ominous synth(?) intro leading into the most beautiful back-and-forth between die and kaoru’s guitars that then resolves into the ”main” intro & the two harmonising. i especially love this because from the first few seconds with just the synth, you really don’t know where the song is going to go. in the context of the album this song is on, too, the first time you hear the intro notes come on, you might expect something much more ominous than what you end up getting. which creates this beautiful moment of tension being broken and, relief, almost? ...and then a whole other kind of wave of emotions. another example of them doing a similar thing (that i can think of) is with ranunculus on tiw, where the first few intro notes start out in the same ominous tone carried over from the previous songs and then all that tension is shattered with the strings coming in, and i love that as well.

shinya’s drums and toshiya’s bass dominating the first halves of the verses, along with kyo’s beautiful low vocals, the bassline creating such a nice harmony with the vocals and the synth in the background (also the lil bass solo moment halfway through the verse)

the way kaoru and die alternate in playing the ’lead’ melody in the background – die in the latter half of the verses, kaoru in the chorus, both accentuating the rhythm team and the vocals super nicely (i feel like die in particular is often playing stuff that really nicely complements kyo’s vocal line, and he does that here too)

the SEAMLESS time signature transitions

the way the bass and drums become more prominent in the 2nd instrumental bridge, even as the guitar harmonies still remain the most central element. the way the song subtly keeps growing until it fully explodes is just. chef’s kiss.

the way they trick you into thinking the tension is getting resolved after the 2nd chorus and then the final post-chorus hits you like a train... the switch to distorted guitar for the last few seconds... the abrupt ending... all of it

i haven’t even really mentioned the vocals yet but... yeah, kyo

the way the vocal line transitions from smooth, precise and contained into something much more intense so seamlessly… it's very typical of kyo, but i can't not mention just how good he is at that kind of thing

the faint lil harmony in the background of the chorus makes me want to cry a little it’s so nice

and of course the melodic sort of scream in the end... heart-shattering

the changes in the intensity of the vocal line align so nicely with the time signature changes and really help create this back-and-forth, where, in the verses, we have the vocals be calm and soothing with the instruments creating the tension that sort of bubbles underneath, and then once the band transitions to 6/8 to resolve that tension, the intensity of the vocal line spikes up too, letting all that contained emotion loose

i honestly can’t with this song and how good it is. dir receive a lot of praise for the intensity of their heavier songs but the way they approach calm, precise, stripped down songs like this is also really exceptional. it’s songs like this that really highlight each of their individual talents the most for me personally, as well as their ability to seamlessly come together as a unit.

the way this song stands out against the grittiness and explosive emotion of many other tmoab songs too is just. nnn. must be nice to be talented :-)

#here u go closetchild #this is a load of nonsense really but i have a lot of feelings about this song #and dir in general #i'm gonna delete this later too #so maybe don't rb just in case<3 i don't want to be more embarrassed than i need to be #this is just me listing what happens in the song so nothing worth sharing really #i didn't mean to post this yet but i clicked post instead of save to drafts so whatever

[astyle-alex]

[FanFic] Start with Why | the Old Guard

You’d think, eventually, the excitement of posting a new chapter of something would simmer down a bit, especially when the chapter’s already live on other platforms, but nope. I’m still hyped up to share it here!

Start With Why

Fandom: the Old Guard Pairings: Background Nicky x Joe Characters / Focus: OT5 + Copley, reacting to Booker's betrayal Rating: Gen Audiences Warnings: None (well, language, because the team are all quite colorful) Total Word Count: 10,288 Chapter Word Count: 1,757

Summary:

The thing about betrayal is that it hurts. Sometimes it hurts too much to see the broader situation clearly. But after Booker's betrayal, the team has to look at themselves and see how every one of them is culpable. Booker may have done the deed, but his measly 200 years makes him a child to the others, especially Andy, and like babysitters are to blame when their charge sets the curtains on fire, the Family needs to ask themselves WHY and accept the honest answers. Why Copley, Why Merrick, and Why something made Booker believe that his choice was the right one for his Family...

-----

||  Read on Patreon  |  Read on Ao3  ||

Part III :: Nicky

           Nicky holds the middle ground.

           He provides a more ranged variety of support.

           It is the role he’s always had, the one he’s always volunteered for.

           He can be cold and objective when he needs to be, no matter what’s at stake.

           But this is a test like no other that he’s faced.

           He hurts for his little Family, for every member of it.

           Booker is his brother and yet he hurt the rest of them— hurt them acutely and intentionally in a way that he had to know would sting like nothing else ever could.

           And yet… Book is hurting so much as that and more, so lost in the despair as he was to have been unable to see things with any hint of clarity.

           Andy says he truly thought it would help.

           Nile says he never thought the others would be grabbed, that he’s worried for Nicolò and Yusuf’s future and the potential pain they’d face when the Almighty that brought them together eventually tore them apart.

           Joe is still too hurt and heartbroken to say anything he truly means.

           And Nicky doesn’t know where that leaves him. Where that leaves them, both the two of them and the four of them… and even the five of them, to be honest.

           Eventually, the argument lapses into silence, weighted and thick with too much grief to sort through the varied points of origin.

           Nicky stands.

           Joe nearly falls out of his seat as he stands to step in front of him— bodily barring his way toward Booker with a kind of heart-broke desperation that makes Nicky nearly crumble.

           And yet…

           Nicolò di Genova does not back down.

           Such is not a trait within his nature. His gaze is filled with sympathy as it meets Joe’s own despairing and betrayed one, but he does not back down.

           Yusuf is Nicolò’s heart and soul, his whole reason for being better than he was— for being a person who could overcome what Booker had not— but Yusuf is not all he is. Yusuf is not the piece of him that defines the limits of what he can be, but the start of his potential. He and Yusuf are still discrete entities, even after eons, they are their own people bound by Fate and love and history, but not merged in any way that makes their love banal or any less miraculous.

           They are not two halves of one whole.

           They are two hearts that beat in sync, two souls that sing in harmony, two minds that see and feel and know enough to teach each other— to show each other new things and new perspectives even after centuries of being in this world together.

           Joe cannot see what Nicky does, and Nicky won’t let his place at Joe’s side determine his ultimate loyalties without his own past-due evaluation.

           Nicky stares Joe down, implacable, until his lover deflates enough to sag back into his seat— heaving Nicky’s pseudo-betrayal off with a huff as he keeps his back firmly to the window.

           Nicky rests his elbows on the rail beside Booker and waits in silence until Book looks over at him— having heard the door open and braced himself for something louder and more final than a quiet conversation with Nicky.

           Nicky doesn’t deliver final verdicts.

           He’ll explain them if the initial delivery doesn’t get the message properly across, but he does not report the sentence first of all.

           If Nicky has a verdict for you, you’ll find it out when he’s put a bullet in your brain.

           Nicky also doesn’t ask. He demands the answers he seeks when he knows who has them.

           But here, he doesn’t know any questions that he actually wants to have answered, yet.

           He just wants Booker to explain, wants in turn to explain himself to Booker… because they are a Family, and none of them can possibly exist in true isolation.

           Book is the one who made the bad decision, but the rest of them are not absolved of all responsibility, as they were all party to creating what bleak circumstances Booker faced, to creating what dismay he believed was enough to push him into making his horrid choice.

           Nicky waits for Booker to speak his Truth, waits with his eyes on the restless sea.

           “I am so sorry, Nicky,” Booker says, looking at him with imploring eyes.

           “I cannot give you absolution, Basti,” Nicky tells him, gaze still on the ocean. “And I cannot yet bring my own self to forgive you, no matter what reasons you bring to bear.”

           Booker falls silent, defeated like a kicked dog.

           “We failed you too, however, in letting you face your despair as we did,” Nicky tells him after a long moment of solemn contemplation. “We failed you in how we brought you into our Family, failed you every bit as much as we’ve ever failed the civilians that we cannot save. But we also did not pull the trigger on this, as you did, and I am finding it difficult to reconcile such divisive and complementary guilts.”

           They always think of Joe as the one to give the pretty speeches, and his Yusuf certainly deserves the epithet, but Nicky appreciates those speeches not because he is incapable of wielding words himself, but because he is more economical with how he states his feelings.

           He pulls no punches, leaves no ambiguity.

           When he is confused, he says so, and when he’s not he states it clear.

           “Yusuf is my heart, my soul, my mind’s only true peace,” Nicky tells his little brother with the cool detachment of age and sympathy. “We have let you bear 200 years of misery and let ourselves forget, nigh even then, how truly young you still are. Nile helped me to remember it, her saying how you had called her so young. A ‘neighbor with a dead pet’, she said. It goes for comfort, too, Basti— it goes for certainty and calm.”

           “You’ve never been a father, Nicky, even as old as you are,” Booker pleads, half frantic to have his reasons reconciled. He wants to be clear, to give himself over unto the others’ understanding, to be heard and truly listened to… He is desperate for it, desperate to be understood, in a way Nicky has, unforgivably, realized he hadn’t the patience to fully see before.

           “And you’ve never had a love grow warm inside you over eons, to feel the Faith in Truth it brings,” Nicky replied, not ceding any ground.

           Booker bites his tongue— cutting off what was sure to be a sour retort, a snap of love turned too bitter to bear. Of trust that feels betrayed as what he feels should be a valid point is just summarily dismissed.

           “You loved them very much, your wife and children,” Nicky states, confident that his words will not be taken as any kind of understatement. “You loved them until it consumed you like a fire, as you believe Yusuf and I love. But you are still so young in how you see things if you think the love either of us has could ever die with the ones to whom we give it.”

           Booker blinks, equal parts surprised and hurt, Nicky thinks.

           “Your family hurt you at their end,” Nicky goes on, “They levied accusations, and you have let yourself descend to meet them. This man beside me is not the one they loved while living, and you do them disservice by believing you could become the monster that they made you. Their love is pure and powerful, tainted only by mortal concerns that I have Faith their immortal souls regret. But if they were first to meet you now, they would not be able to abide it.”

           Booker is retreating, sliding away from Nicky, inch by inch, along the rail.

           “If Yusuf dies, I will despair,” Nicky confesses. “I will ravage lands and wreck vengeance on all villains I can find, killing countless in his name. But the grief will ebb in the face of what good I can still do in his name, what good I can lay claim to having had his heart inspire. It will hurt, and I cannot bear to think of what horrors I may commit at the apex of it, but I cannot believe I will forget the goodness of my Yusuf, the good-work he had, in all his life, strove to create. I cannot believe I will dishonor my own love for him by failing to carry his work on.”

           “ ‘This is what we do’, you say,” Book says with a keening sort of hollow voice. “It’s a mantra, not true belief. You want to believe it, but you have no proof and you want it.”

           “You say Copley has proof, say you’ve seen it, yet you do not believe any more than I that what we do day to day affects things,” Nicky counters. “It is a mantra, and it is belief. The belief is more robust on some days than on others, but there is nothing that will break my Faith. I am a thousand years old, Basti, and the world has been awful for every single one of the years I’ve lived. But there are people who have lived longer lives because of my presence in the horrors of their worst moments, and I have found a way to let that be enough.”

           Booker doesn’t speak— can’t speak.

           Nicky turns his gaze away, looking back to the violent roll of the ocean waves.

           “Tell me why, Booker,” he demands, voice soft and smooth and inescapable. “Tell me what it is you want. Tell me what will help you, or will help me see you.”

           Booker half-collapses.

           “I don’t have excuses left,” he manages eventually. “I don’t have good reasons, or bad ones…. Or anything. I don’t have anything. Just the grief and the regret.”

           “You have us,” Nicky promises simply. “I cannot forgive you yet, but I can promise you that my inability is due only to the freshness of this hurt. You will be forgiven and welcomed back into the Family with no further stipulations, once you have paid your penance.”

           “I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve you.” Booker knows Nicky cannot disagree.

           But he feels his test of faith has been suddenly decided.

           “Love does not care what you deserve,” Nicky says pushing off the rail to return to where the others wait inside for his assessment.

- - - - -

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#fanfic #the old guard #Immortal husbands #nicky x joe #Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova #nicolo di genova #yusuf x nicolo #yusuf al kaysani #Booker #sebastian le livre #Andromache of Scythia #nile freeman #james copley

[multiharlot]

angel || reid/emily x angel!reader (4)

summary: a certain pair of people deserve an explanation. so that’s exactly what you give them

warnings: mentions of hell and demons, mentions of soul transference.

series masterlist

masterlist

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

y/n’s pov

i took a deep breath before i walked into a bullpen, a moment of dejavu hitting me. 

“y/n...you’re back.” emily smiles.

“i told you i would be. and...i can’t lie.” i chuckle as i awkwardly shrug my shoulder. 

“where umm...where’d you go?” spencer asks, standing from his chair and taking a seat on his desk. 

“where do you think, genius? she just found out you’re both her soulmate. she clearly went to god.” morgan snorts, leaning back into his chair. 

“no...actually. i umm...i went to see my brother. gabriel.” i nod my head. 

“your brother is gabriel? like the an- oh right.” garcia nods her head, having a total blonde moment, and i giggle. 

“i missed you.” i smile, rocking back and forth on my feet.

“i missed you more.” she sighs, walking over to me and wrapping her arms around my shoulder.

i pull my wing out, wrapping it around her body. 

“oh...oh it’s so warm.” she gushes, snuggling further into me. 

i smile, holding my hands in front of my body. 

“aren’t you worried about people seeing those?” hotch asks, and i shake my head. 

“only you guys can see them. the only way people can see a guardian angel��s wings is if it’s their own guardian angel. so to everyone else, it just looks like garcia is giving me a hug.” i shrug. 

“that’s...really cool.” spencer smiles at me, and i nod my head, shifting my gaze to the ground. 

“yeah it is.” i mumble, and an awkward silence fills the team. 

“i think we should give these three some space.” rossi suggests slowly, and i smile at him, nodding my head. 

he gives me a tight smile and i reach my hands out to emily’s and spencer’s. 

“come on, i need you guys to come with me” i say, giving them both a soft smile. 

“should i be scared?” emily smirks jokingly at me. 

i chuckle, shaking my head at her. 

“never with me around.”

they both grab hold on my hands, and i intertwine our fingers, leading them out of the bullpen. 

“where are we going?” spencer asks as i stop in front of the large window. 

“just...close your eyes.” i say, gripping their hands tightly. 

they look at each other, then to me, before sighing and closing their eyes. i wrap my wings tightly around their bodies, huddling all of us together as i whisper the spell beneath my breath. 

“is that latin?”

“spencer shut up.”

a small giggle escapes my lips and i feel a cool breeze against my wings. i let go of their hands and unwrap them from my hold. 

“you can open your eyes now.”

they both timidly open one eye at a time, gasps leaving their mouth as they did. 

“oh my god are we in heaven?” spencer asks as he looks around the garden with wide eyes. 

“close, but no.” i chuckle, shaking my head.

“did you...change your clothes?” emily asks as she looks down at my white dress.

“no. this is my normal angel attire. i usually wear something different when i come see you guys. i don’t need everyone thinking i’m getting married or going to prom every time i come here.” i giggle. 

“so...we’re still on earth?” emily questions as she reaches out to touch one of the pink flowers.

“eh. sort of. garden of eden.”

spencer gasps and his eyes widen.

“but i thought-”

“it’s still here. god wanted to keep all humans out after the mishap of adam and eve. but there’s something here that we need. and i also umm...i owe you guys an explanation and i thought it was fitting to do it here.”

“in the...garden of eden?” he questions, raising an eyebrow at me.

“just...trust me?” i ask, holding my hands out to the two of them. 

“always.” emily smiles, grabbing my hand. 

spencer places his hand in mine as i lead them through the garden. we stop in front of the crystal clear river. i kneel down in front of the river, and emily and spencer stay standing. i tug on their arms, motioning for them to sit with me. 

“this...is raguel’s river. raguel is essentially the archangel of love. he helps instill peace and harmony within a relationship by providing people with maturity, understanding, and balance.” i explain, reaching forward and letting the running water flow through my hands.

“is that why we’re here? so he can help us understand what’s going on?” spencer asks as he unconsciously scoots closer to me.

“we’re here, so that you guys can understand. this is...a very complicated and messy situation. and by drinking the water, it’ll provide you with some clarity that you may not have otherwise.” i explain gently. 

they both look at me and i nod my head.

“just cup it in your hands and drink.” i smile encouragingly. 

they reach forward, cupping the water and sipping from their hands. 

“i think that’s the best water i’ve ever had.” emily smiles, making me nod. 

spencer wipes his hand down in his pants and readjusts his position. going from kneeling to sitting criss cross and emily does the same. i sighed, now for the hard part. 

“so...the reason why you both see gold is because you’re both my soulmate. i was half human and half angel. my father, the archangel zadkiel, fell in love with a mortal woman in heaven. and from that union, came me. so, when i was born. both halves of me were assigned a soulmate. the human half, and the angel half.” i explain slowly as i place my hands atop theirs. 

“and when my human half died, a piece of my soul went to hell and heaven gained another angel.”

“wait...why would a piece of your soul go to hell?” spencer questions, and a sigh fell past my lips. 

“because that’s where maeve’s soul was.”

he pauses, staring at me with wide eyes. 

“why would her soul be-”

“i can’t answer that. that choice was for god and god alone. all i know, is that in order to bring her back, i had to trade my human soul for hers. meaning, that one of your guys’ soulmate, is stuck in hell because of a choice that i made. and...after i determine who my angel soulmate is...one of you will be left alone.”

their eyebrows furrow and emily shakes her head.

“but...that’s not fair.”

“i know. but i warned you that there was a price to pay. and there’s nothing lucifer loves more than the taste of misery. i paid my price. half of my soul is missing and stuck in hell for the rest of eternity. but...lucifer is still angry. because i still get to be alive and feel love and be happy. so he’s waiting to collect the sorrow he feels is owed.”

“and who’s sorrow is that?” spencer asks, his eyes brimming with tears. 

i could feel his guilt climbing through my throat, so i reach over, grabbing his hands. 

“it’s not your fault. i need you to know that. none of this is your fault. i made this choice and i thought the deed was done, but lucifer wants more. and if i have any power at all, nobody will have to pay him the sorrow he feels he’s owed. i will fix this, i promise you. but for now, i need you both to know that this journey is going to be difficult. it’s going to be difficult and you need to be prepared for the loss you might-”

“no. no i’m not losing you again.” emily says firmly as she shakes her head. 

“hey hey...you-” i stop myself before i could say the things i wanted to say to her. 

i couldn’t lie. 

“i don’t know how this is going to play out. but what i do know is neither of you will suffer any sort of unnecessary pain. i can assure you of that.”

“so how do we know? how do we know which is which?” emily asks, a hopeful glint in her eyes. 

i stare back at her, my mouth gaping slightly. 

“i...i don’t know.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“so let me get this straight. they’re both your soulmate?” derek asks, pointing between emily and reid.

“sort of. one is my human soulmate, the other is my angel soulmate.”

“so what’s the difference? how can you know?” garcia asks, leaning into the conversation.

“i don’t know. i mean i think i know, but i’m not sure-”

i feel a shiver run through my wings and i shake my head. 

“sorry. sorry i...i have to go. my brother is calling. but...i’ll be back.” i say. 

the team nods their head and i run out the doors, heading back up to see my brother. i walk through the doors to see gabriel and god standing over a table full of books. 

“you called?”

“we’ve found a way out of this mess. we don’t like it, and we don’t think you will either. but it’s a way out.”

taglist:

@dreatine​​ @slytherinintj13​​ @mileven-reddie​​ @eleventhdoctorsangel​​ @haileymorelikestupid​

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss imagine #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #x reader #prentiss x reader #reid x reader

[captainmeowvelwrites]

You Times Two (Ch.6)

Pairing: Marinette/Ladybug | Adrien/Chat Noir Words: 4502 Summary: Ladybug knew this was necessary. She was the Guardian. He had the Cat Miraculous. But when his suit evaporated in a glow of pale green, she sure hadn’t expected him to have something far more precious: her heart. Cross-posted: AO3 and FFN

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | ...

Recap: Previously, on You Times Two… Our infuriating bean's gone and done it now. He asked Kagami out. And our favourite superheroine, bless her heart, decided pursuing Luka isn't such a selfish idea, despite Mr Whisker's recent unveiling as Mr Hotstuff. But of course, the calm waves of clarity lasted for all of two seconds, when light-hearted Ladynoir dove down to ow-my-heart Ladrien. Our boy hasn't gotten his lady. And our bug's still without her kitty. But at least they had cake, and that's what truly matters. What will Sunshine Boy do with his lady's kind words? And how will our silly bug fare after that little moment they shared? Read on, my fellow Miraculers, and purrhaps you'll find out.

 ---

Chapter Six

Adrien dove onto his bed, the springs squeaking beneath his weight. He felt five degrees warmer, like his joy was some tangible thing, its warmth spreading through his veins, right to his fingertips.

He whirled onto his back and gazed at the high ceiling, all too aware of the grin that filled his face. He'd bet all nine of his lives it'd been there for most of patrol, given the way his cheeks ached.

And boy, did he welcome the sensation.

It meant he wasn't dreaming.

Hadn't been dreaming.

Not when she'd cracked those purrfect puns.

Not when she'd said all those wonderful things.

Not when she'd accepted him, all of him.

If somehow he was dreaming, then clichés be damned, he never wanted to wake up.

Adrien drummed his fingers against the silk sheets of his bed. As terrible as it sounded, he almost hoped for an akuma, for a way to unleash all this energy, for a chance to see her again.

For a chance to be seen again.

Not as Adrien Agreste, the well-mannered model.

Not as Chat Noir, the boisterous superhero.

Just as him.

Loud chomps echoed off the marble tiles of his bathroom, where Plagg, of course, had taken up residence in a basket of dirty laundry.

"You're such a pig, Plagg," he called, rolling his eyes. "Are we not even gonna talk about what happened tonight?" Because, geez, he needed to get this out of his system.

Plagg's tiny head popped out from a sea of clothes. "You wanna talk about tonight? You mean"—mirth coated his every word—"how you're keeping your options open, Mr Heartbreaker?"

Adrien lurched upright on his bed. "I – What?" His hands twisted around his sheets. "No way, Plagg." His voice sounded drier than two-week-old toast. "I'm… I have a date with Kagami tomorrow. I've ordered roses, booked a nice rooftop – way harder than you'd think, by the way. It's all planned out!"

Plagg drifted over, half a wheel of Camembert clasped between his paws. "Oh please," he groaned, plonking his tiny butt on the mattress. "You just spent ten minutes smiling at the ceiling."

Adrien tensed, guilt writhing in his chest. "I – I wasn't—"

"This ain't my first rodeo, kid." He downed the rest of his cheese, and garbled, "I know a lovestruck kitty when I see one."

Adrien twisted his arms across his chest, a line forming between his brows. He was well aware that, just as there'd been other Ladybugs, there'd been other Chat Noirs. He didn't know much more than that, his main source of information being the Ladyblog. Plagg had never been the sentimental sort, after all.

Still, Plagg's words clung to his mind. Was he referring to a previous time he'd pined over Ladybug? Or perhaps a former black cat?

Adrien looked at his kwami, who'd since retrieved another wheel of Camembert from his minifridge. "Plagg, is this normal?"

Plagg looked up from his spot on the bed. "Huh?" He bit a big chunk of cheese off the wheel. "Whataya talking about?"

Adrien chewed the inside of his cheek. "Is it normal for Ladybug and Cat Miraculous Holders to… have… love dramas, I guess?"

Plagg shrugged. "Ehh. It happens." He stretched across the bed, not unlike an actual cat, and dragged out a yawn. "It's not that surprising, really. Yin and yang. Opposites attract. That kinda stuff."

Adrien's eyes sunk to his sheets, and he absently smoothed any creases in sight.

Yin and yang…

When it came to relationships, Adrien had no basis for comparison. Still, he was familiar with the concept. If he wasn't, his Chinese tutor – a middle-aged man with a rather impressive moustache – would probably berate him to no end. The man often threw tidbits of Chinese history and culture into their one-on-one lessons.

Adrien gripped his chin, eyes drifting to the ceiling.

Come to think of it, Master Fu had mentioned the concept too, when he'd visited that Syren akuma.

"Tell me, Adrien"—a smile slid across the Guardian's thin lips—"are you familiar with yin and yang?"

Adrien gazed at the container in his palms, filled with a rainbow of assorted cheeses. "I, uhh… Of course, Master." He looked up from the box, meeting Master Fu's gaze. "But… why do you ask?"

Master Fu reached for Adrien's hand, and grazed a wrinkled thumb across the surface of his ring. "One cannot exist without the other." His tone, like his face, turned solemn. "Always remember that."

One cannot exist without the other…

Was that to say he and Ladybug were like yin and yang?

Push and pull?

Two halves of a whole?

He supposed that wasn't exactly inaccurate.

Ladybug creates, she takes the lead, and she's almost always careful.

Chat Noir destroys, he follows, and at times, he's reckless.

And of course, the comparisons flowed deeper still.

Adrien threw his legs over the side of the bed, elbows propped on his knees. "Opposites attract," he breathed to himself.

Plagg peered up from the cheese in his lap. "What was that?" he managed through a generous mouthful.

Adrien shook his head. "Never mind." His shoulders slumped.

Ladybug didn't share his feelings. If opposites really did attract, shouldn't that be the case?

He frowned, taunted by words his kwami had uttered just minutes ago. As much as he hated to admit it, Plagg was right. He was still gushing over Ladybug—but what was the point?

Yes, she was undoubtedly amazing.

Yes, she was one of his dearest friends.

Yes, she'd said all those lovely things to him.

But none of that changed the way she felt about him, nor how she felt about that unnamed boy.

And it didn't change the fact he had a date with Kagami tomorrow.

Adrien pursed his lips. With thoughts like these running rampant in his mind, was it really so wise to be pursuing Kagami?

He hoisted himself off the bed, a strained sigh escaping his lips. "Plagg?"

"What's up, kid?" the kwami called, still lazing on the bed.

Adrien's hands curled into fists as he marched toward his open window. "I just – I need to think, that's all."

Plagg groaned, sagging into the mattress. "Don't tell me we're going out again?"

"You and I both know I think a lot better out there than I do in here." He held up his hand, his ring gleaming in the overhead lights. "Plagg, claws out!" In a flash of pale green, leather slid up Adrien's body—and instantly, he felt lighter, freer, himself.

His tail billowed behind him as he leaped into the window frame, and scanned the shimmering cityscape. A waxing moon hung above, its milky glow dimmed by the shadows of wandering clouds. And past the high, brick wall ahead, steel lampposts illuminated a quiet street, no spectators in sight.

With no destination in mind, Chat Noir vaulted off his window and into the Parisian night.

---

The drone of late-night traffic coated the cool, evening air, as Marinette spritzed her potted plants and hummed a merry tune. She'd been grinning like a goof since downing cake with her kitty. And boy, had it been nice – wonderful, in fact – to just chill out, crack puns, and discuss mundane things.

His favourite meal was sausages with mashed potatoes, something his mother had often cooked before personal chefs came into the picture.

His favourite video game, to her surprise, wasn't Ultimate Mecha Strike III, but Mario Kart 8 Deluxe. And he'd claimed Rainbow Roads was his favourite track, to which she'd of course questioned his sanity.

As for his favourite subject, that spot went to Physics. He'd even considered making a career out of it (when she'd asked about his modelling, he'd merely said that wasn't where his passions lay).

He'd described his favourite colour as bluebell, specifically. And in the moments that followed, as Chat Noir had gazed into her eyes, her heart had transformed into a dancing candlewick, melting beneath the warmth of that… utterly breath-taking smile.

With a wistful sigh, Marinette crossed her arms atop her balcony railing, spray bottle still clutched between her fingers. Fortunately, he'd left her to ask most of the questions. Her identity was still a secret and tonight, he'd seemed more or less okay with that.

She knew that wouldn't last. Her kitty was stubborn, something she was painfully aware of, and it was only a matter of time until talk of her identity resurfaced. After all, Chat had made a fair point. What if something happened to her?

At that, memories of a fragmented moon flashed through her mind. What if she revealed her identity and something happened to him?

And what of Kagami? Adrien was clearly pursuing a relationship with her. Would unveiling herself as Ladybug come between that? Kagami was her friend, and as much as Marinette cared for Adrien, derailing what he had with Kagami wasn't really what she wanted.

No, she just wanted harmony.

And for Adrien to be happy.

Even if it wasn't with her.

Marinette heaved a sigh, slumping a little against the railing. Right now, she felt like the walking definition of "indecisive". With so many unknowns, how could she possibly make the right choice? What if she failed again and—

"Hello," came a hesitant murmur.

With a squeak, Marinette leaped back at record speed, juggling the spray bottle as though entangled in a game of hot potato. Once she had a steady grip on its handle, she lurched the plastic head toward the owner of that voice, finger on the trigger.

Green cat-eyes stared back at her, a flinch twisting the face of their owner.

She lowered her weapon, tension leaving her shoulders. "Chat Noir?"

He was perched on all fours atop a copper chimney cap. "Sorry, Marinette." He dropped to the balcony railing, just an arm's length away. "I didn't—"

"—mean to frighten me?" She offered a smile, one he returned in kind. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were doing this on purpose."

He chuckled. "This cat's not one for preying on mice. Promise." The slightest smirk he wore had her anticipating one of his infamous jests. "Speaking of which, that was quite the high-pitched squeak you did there." His smirk widened. "Purrhaps I should call you Marimouse from now on?"

She rolled her eyes. "It was one freak-out." Granted, her kitty had borne witness to a great many of her freak-outs… but he didn't know she knew that.

He snickered. "Well, I was also inspired by how you're Multimouse."

"Was Multimouse."

A faint chuckle was the only answer Chat gave her. With perfect poise, he seated himself atop the balcony railing, one leg drawn to his chest, the other dangling over the edge. He seemed to be getting comfortable. Did he plan to stay a while?

Marinette's mind drifted months into the past, and her smile grew. To think, it had been Adrien who'd dropped by her balcony that night. Adrien who'd gone out of his way to cheer her up. Adrien who'd confided in her about his love troubles.

That fact was ironic and sweet in equal measure.

Or maybe one part ironic, two parts sweet?

One part ironic, three parts sweet?

Or—

No, if she didn't stop now, she probably never would.

Marinette pressed her lips together, if only to bite back a laugh.

"So," Chat started, "it's a little late to be watering plants, isn't it?"

She didn't miss the slight, playful lilt in his voice. In fact, it had her lips quirking up at the corners. She set the bottle down on a weather-worn table and gripped her hips. "It's a little late to be scaring the pants off of unsuspecting girls, isn't it?"

He gave her a once-over, then flashed a smirk. "Speaking of which, nice pyjamas."

Marinette tensed, stealing a glance at her sleepwear. Of course, she'd reached for the dark blue ones with silhouettes of yellow cats. She jutted her nose into the air. "Just so you know, I got these before you came along."

"So, you like cats, huh?" His smirk stretched with his next words, "Cat say I blame you." He winked.

She groaned despite the grin that had slapped itself on her face. "What're you even doing here, Chat Noir?" With folded arms, she leaned against the railing and looked up at him. "Don't you have, like, more important things to do?"

Chat shrugged. "Nah. Not really." He stared skyward, any amusement now gone from his face. "I had some stuff on my mind and…" His eyes sunk to his leather-clad lap, a sigh sliding through his lips. "Let's just say, this cat hates being locked up with his thoughts."

Thoughts?

What thoughts?

Had Ladybug not reassured him as much as she'd believed?

Such questions lingered near the fringes of her mind, but prying answers out of him wasn't her place. Or rather, it wasn't Marinette's place.

"So," she drawled instead, "is this becoming, like… a regular thing? Late night visits to my balcony?"

Chat straightened where he sat. "Sorry." He reached for his staff, tucked above his tail. "I – I can—"

"No!" Marinette gripped his wrist before he could draw his staff, and he blinked down at her. "I didn't mean it like that. Really."

His eyes left hers, trailing the length of her arm to fall on her hand, still around his wrist.

Suddenly, she was all too aware of the wild hammering in her chest. Clearing her throat, she pulled that hand to her side, heat prickling her ears. "You're always welcome here, Chat Noir."

Chat smiled, resettling in his makeshift seat atop the railing. "Thanks, Marinette." He gazed at her, a familiar softness in his smile; one that slowly made its way to his eyes. "You're pretty great, y'know that?"

Marinette stared into those eyes—green, green, green—as vibrant as early spring. "So you are," she breathed, then shot ramrod straight. "I – I mean, so are you. I mean, it's – uh – the least I can do for – um – one of Paris' superheroes." She giggled, as strained as it was, and he gave a little chuckle in turn.

As a soothing silence washed over them, Marinette was reminded of the quiet, comforting lulls that often took place on their patrols, and her lips quirked up of their own accord. She glanced at her partner to find his sight set on some unseen thing. Whatever he was watching, the distance in his eyes showed he wasn't truly seeing it. Did being here, on her balcony, somehow help him to think?

She supposed that made sense. Being up here certainly helped whenever she had something on her mind.

"So," Marinette drawled, "did you, uhh… wanna talk about what's bothering you?"

He continued to stare into the distance. "It's… kinda complicated."

"Oh. Um – Fair enough." She managed a smile. "It's your private business and that's totally fine."

"No, it's not like that." He looked at her, his fingers laced around the steel fencing on which he sat. "It's just… kinda hard to explain, is all."

"Well, I've got time if you wanna give it a try." His eyes dropped, and hers followed the path they took. Only then did she realise her hand was atop his own, as though her inner-Ladybug had taken over, hoping to comfort her partner. She pulled it to her chest, red flushing her cheeks. "That is, uhh – maybe everything will make a little more sense – you know – if you put it into words?" She cleared her throat. "I mean, doing that helps me sometimes."

Chat bit his lower lip, something she shouldn’t have found so darn adorable during their current conversation. "I just… I guess, uhh…" He looked away, shrinking into his shoulders. "After what happened with Weredad, I… don't wanna make you uncomfortable with my"—he mumbled his next words—"love problems."

Marinette stilled. "Wait," she blurted out, "you're upset about love stuff?"

But wasn't he pursuing Kagami?

Oh no. Had her advice failed?

Wouldn't be the first time…

Or the second…

Or the—

"Sorry." He stooped his head low, his blond bangs skimming his mask. "Love stuff's probably all I ever seem to talk about, huh?"

"No, it's fine," she insisted, with a frantic wave of her hands. "Really. I mean, love is, umm… complicated like that."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

Marinette caught herself reaching for his hand again; the moment she realised, she reached for one of her pigtails instead. "And, umm – forget about Weredad. I'm totally past that. Promise." She re-propped her arms atop the railing, if only to stop herself from reaching for him again. "If you wanna talk, I'm all ears!"

Chat pursed his lips, his eyes travelling across the darkened sky, where stars glittered like soft flicks from a paintbrush. "Well, you see"—he spared a glance her way—"I'm kinda seeing this girl. She's smart, brave, really pretty. Strong-minded too." The makings of a smirk tugged at his lips. "Actually, she's a lot like Ladybug." He huffed with amusement. "Is that bad?" A rhetorical question, it seemed, as he gave her no time to even dwell on it. "We're not official yet, but she thinks we are and… well…" That tiny smirk vanished. Instead, his shoulders sagged in time with his tail.

Marinette's brows gathered. After more than a year of akuma-fighting alongside her kitty, reading his body language was usually kitten's play. Now was no exception. "It almost seems like… you don't want to be official?"

His cat-ears drooped. "I don't know. I mean, I thought I did, but… you know how I feel about Ladybug."

A gasp lodged itself in her throat.

Oh no. This was about this evening, wasn't it?

It had to be.

But God, he'd just been so terribly down on himself and she'd needed to put a stop to it. Confusing him hadn't been her intention. Quite the opposite!

Chat's sigh thrust her from those thoughts. "I know she's in love with someone else. She has every right to be. It's just… hard, y'know?" This time, when he huffed, she got the sense it was from self-frustration more than anything else. "I keep thinking I'm getting over her”—he threw a hand through his mussed locks—"but then I see her at patrol and suddenly, it's like I'm falling for her all over again."

Marinette stared at her partner, a sharp pang in her heart.

She hated how true those same words rang for her; hated how she couldn't just tell him; hated how fiercely she wanted to.

But damn it, she couldn't. Not like this, for personal gain.

Yes, she returned his feelings – understatement of the century – and sure, revealing her identity and announcing her ginormous crush could fix Adrien's entire dilemma—but unveiling herself over something like this? That wasn't a guardian thing to do at all.

No, she'd just be cracking open a heaping silo of worms, and making more mistakes was something she just could not risk!

Once again, Chat continued, completely unaware of the frantic turn her thoughts had taken. "The second I saw Ladybug tonight, everything else just… melted away. It always does." His words were tender, brimming with affection, yet there was this heart-jerking ache about them. "She said such wonderful things to me, about me. I thought I was gonna explode."

Marinette pursed her lips—partly to hide the way they quivered, partly to stifle a strangled cry of – of what, exactly?

Joy?

Guilt?

Frustration?

Or perhaps desperation?

Was this what he'd meant about exploding?

"She—" Chat's voice cracked. "She even told me I was enough. No. More than enough." A ghost of a smile eased across his lips. "I don't think anyone's told me that since…" He chuckled, though it was harrowingly hollow. "Well, it's, uhh... been a long time."

Marinette was sure his grip on the railing had tightened. And was it a trick of the light or was he tearing up? He looked her way and the moment their eyes met, she had her answer. Just when she'd thought he couldn't tug her heartstrings any harder, the shaky smile he revealed proved her horribly wrong.

God, she hated this! All the lies and the secrets. The tiptoeing and half-truths.

It just wasn't fair. None of it.

Not on him.

Not on her.

They were a team.

How could they be their best with something so suffocating in the way?

Tears glossed her vision and suddenly, Chat Noir was no more than a flurry of shapes and colours. She looked away, avoiding his gaze, and smeared tears from her eyes with the back of a trembling hand.

“Oh no…”

Marinette heard faint steps upon wood. He must’ve swept from the railing to his feet.

“Did – Did I do that?" His hands eased onto her bare shoulders, their warmth radiating through her skin despite the leather gloves. "Marinette, I'm so sorry!"

How?

Just… Just how?

How was he so kind and selfless and utterly beautiful?

How could he suffer so silently, yet still find the strength to give others so much of himself?

Had she been transformed, she might've tackled her kitty in a fervid embrace. Her fingers twitched, yearning to pull him close, to comfort him as much as he did her, to give something of herself for once.

Instead, her jaw clamped in place as she fought back a guttural sob, and threw him the most convincing smile she could muster. "No, no," Marinette insisted, rubbing her reddening eyes. "It's not you. I'm just – Uh. The wind's a bit cold, that's all." She pointed up, as though the wind was some tangible thing. "It just – um – made my eyes sting. You know how those pesky breezes can be on your peepers!"

Chat rushed his hands up and down her bare arms. "I'm so sorry, Marinette." He scanned her balcony, as though hoping for a blanket to appear from thin air. "This suit sort of acts like a wind-protector, so I—"

"It's okay, Chat," said Marinette, a smile painting her lips. "I'll just consider this an excuse to have hot chocolate before bed."

He stilled at those words, and that soft smile was back—so Adrien, so Chat Noir, so him. "Well, when you put it like that." His smile spread. "Anyway, I should probably be going." His hands slid from her shoulders, one withdrawing his staff. "That hot chocolate of yours won't brew itself." He winked, and on light feet, took two steps toward the far end of her balcony.

"Chat Noir!"

Marinette grabbed his hand, and he stilled instantly, those green eyes watching her from over one shoulder. She pursed her lips, staring at her bare feet. "Umm… About this love stuff…" Warmth spread up her fingers, and she realised she hadn't released his hand. Her eyes reunited with his, pink grazing her cheeks, and she pulled her hand to her chest. "This – uh – might come as a surprise"—her insides writhed at the agonising truth of her next words—"but believe me, I know just how you feel."

Shock dusted his eyes. "You… You do?"

Marinette nodded, the movement slow and rather stiff. "So there are these two really smart, really kind, really cute guys – both amazing in their own special ways – and, well"—warmth crept across her face—"I really care about both of them, but I guess… deciding between them is like pulling teeth – worse than that, even." Her lips quaked. "It's just hard," she whispered, her brows furrowing. "Really hard."

Chat faced her completely, another smile gracing his full lips. "They're really lucky, you know"—her heart picked up the pace, throbbing madly in her eardrums—"to have a girl as amazing as you caring so much about them."

Had…

Had Adrien just said…

Marinette pinched her wrist, and the fleeting pain that brought with it had her choking back a squeal. "I – Uh —" Her mouth opened and closed as though she'd been born a goldfish. "Tha – Thank you," she eventually stammered, before sucking in a slow breath.

If she didn't keep her cool, she might do something stupid.

Like shatter his eardrums with a squeal.

Or call him Adrien.

Maybe kiss him.

No no no no.

That train of thought needed to stop pronto!

What… were they talking about again?

Remembrance flashed in her eyes. "But, uhh – about those girls." Her fingers drummed against her clothed thighs, the silk material smooth against her skin. "Those girls being – um – Ladybug and – uh – unnamed, mystery girl." She cleared her throat. "I'm sure they both care a lot about you, but at the end of the day, you've gotta do what's right for you." Her smile came easily, something she was immensely grateful for. "So, Chat, I say go for the girl that makes you happy."

He closed the gap between them, and Marinette hoped he wouldn't notice the goosebumps that blanketed her skin. If he did, she was totally blaming the wind again.

Of course, his hands found their way back to her shoulders. "Thank you, Marinette." He gazed into her eyes, and she wondered how a stare could possibly be so soft and intense at once. "You've helped me far more than you'll probably ever know."

Oh, the irony. It only powered the smile that lined her lips. "It was the least I could do," she said, echoing words he'd spoken all those months ago. By the look in his eyes, Chat seemed to understand.

He took two soundless steps back, extending his staff. "All right. I should probably scat before you get hypopurrmia."

Marinette snorted. "I think that second pun might've been pawshing it." She held her thumb and index finger parallel to each other and added, "Just a litter bit."

Chat stuck out his tongue. Like, actually stuck out his tongue. And Marinette wasn't sure if she'd ever seen him do that—in or out of the mask. "Thanks, Marimouse"—he showed a smirk and a two-fingered salute—"for being such a pawsome furend."

Why did she get the feeling he'd made those last two puns just to tease her?

He leaped onto the balcony railing, beaming when he glanced back at her. "Have a great evening, okay?" With a chuckle, he rubbed the nape of his neck. "And enjoy that hot chocolate!"

"Enjoy your evening too," she said with a wave. "And don't be a stranger, okay?"

With a nod and another of his classic, heart-warming smiles, Chat Noir leaped off the railing. The whir of his stick slowly faded, and Marinette watched as that unmistakable silhouette jumped from building to building, the light of nearby lampposts bouncing off his leather suit.

Only once he'd disappeared into the night did Tikki emerge, floating up to her face to nuzzle her cheek. With one finger, Marinette rubbed her kwami's tiny head. "Thanks, Tikki." She stared after her kitty and heaved a lengthy sigh. "What am I gonna do?"

#ml fic #miraculous ladybug #you times two #adrinette #marichat #ladynoir #ladrien

[ineffable-endearments]

Psycho-Philosophy and the Angels, Part III (did you think I was going to escape the id, ego, and superego?)

Part I (Aziraphale as collectivism, Crowley as individualism) is here and Part II (Aziraphale as Adam Young’s collectivist half, Crowley as Adam Young’s individualist half) is here. Other people seemed to like Part I the most so far, which is odd to me because I was way more interested in Part II, but hey! To each their own!

Summary of essays so far: I babble about the notion that Aziraphale and Crowley are figures who represent the harmony of collectivism (investment in the community) and individualism (investment in the self) in the human mind. What they find is exactly the same harmony that helps Adam choose to save the world.

During this next part I’m going to try to figure out which actual parts of the mind Aziraphale and Crowley might represent. Yes, Freud makes an appearance.

Disclaimer: This is not meant to be a discussion about real-world psychological science. It’s about theoretical constructs which make appearances in fiction. Psychoanalysis started as a real-world theory and some people still swear by it, but I don’t. It has made its way into art and literature as well, where I do happen to think it’s interesting and useful.

Summary for people who aren’t familiar with the terms: psychoanalytical theory, a controversial and outdated theory started by Freud and pervasive in literature that involves psychological symbolism, suggests that the human mind is made up of:

the id (totally subconscious, basic drives and instincts, wholly selfish and short-sighted)

the superego (mostly unconscious but often sort of within a person’s awareness; the sense of morality, the “ideals” that adhere to social rules)

the ego (a long-suffering construct which is constantly trying to moderate between id and superego AND cope with the limitations of reality, and which houses the conscious portion of the mind as well as a bunch of unconscious processes).

I do get an “id/ego/superego” feeling from Good Omens. The self-orientation of Crowley is sort of id-like, and the idealism of Aziraphale is sort of superego-like, and the balance of Adam is sort of ego-like.

But critical thought is too central to Crowley’s character for me to be convinced he actually represents the chaos of the id; in a way, he’s really the opposite. Meanwhile, Aziraphale doesn’t trust his own judgment enough to symbolize the superego, and judgment is pretty much the whole point of the superego!

You probably could refer to the roiling, short-sighted chaos of Hell as representative of the human id. And you could probably refer to the rigid rule-mongering of Heaven as the superego. In that sense, with Aziraphale and Crowley as their “representatives” on Earth who agree to balance the two forces, the pair of them actually represent just...the ego.

And you know what the ego is supposed to have in spades to help it cope with all the conflict it has to survive? Defense mechanisms.

I bet we’ll recognize these defense mechanisms in our favorite angel and demon. The concepts can get a bit murky and have been given different names over the years, but I’m sure you’re familiar with the following notions, many of which our protagonists use at some point (ninety percent of the time, it’s Aziraphale who’s doing this, but Crowley has his moments):

repression: it’s carried different meanings over the years. now it usually refers to the notion that an individual knows something about themselves is true, but holds it back or perhaps carefully ignores it. could be anything from a total denial of the truth to the resolution that this truth has to be buried.

projection: having an unacceptable thought or urge but assuming that the object of the thought or urge is actually the one who is experiencing it.

rationalization: a behavior that would normally be unacceptable is explained away in a way that makes it sound entirely justified, if not superior.

splitting: thinking only in extremes, being unable to reconcile between the positive and negative qualities of oneself or other people.

reaction formation: having an unacceptable thought or impulse and then acting out the opposite behavior in a very exaggerated manner.

regression: reverting to a previous stage of development to deal with anxiety instead of taking steps toward a more adaptive way of coping, often because the adaptive way of coping scares the person somehow.

displacement: trying to meet a socially unacceptable urge by replacing an unsafe behavior with a safe one. not unlike sublimation, but the “safe” behavior is usually not very constructive.

sublimation: channeling a socially unacceptable urge into one that is actually healthy and productive.

Note that in this context, “unacceptable thought or urge” sounds really severe and judgmental, but it just means a person perceives their thought or urge is somehow problematic. It might be morally offensive, and it could apply to thoughts or urges that are severe. But it might also just be that the person recognizes that if they were to accept the thought, it would be emotionally painful, or if they were to act on the urge, other people might think badly of them for it.

These aren’t ALL of the defense mechanisms, but it’s some of the ones that I think appear in Good Omens. Maybe I’ll do a post highlighting when I think they appear for Aziraphale and Crowley as individuals.

But for this post, I’m looking at them as a mind united.

If you view them as a mind united, Crowley is the part of a person that wants to move forward, that wants to be true to itself, that wants to be happy. He does represent base desires, in a way, but he’s informed by a logic that is not compatible with the rest of Hell. And Aziraphale is the part of a person that follows the rules, that is trying to be safe, trying to keep itself alive in a world that is frequently unkind to those who are genuine. To simplify matters greatly, you could say Crowley leans toward seeking happiness for the two of them while Aziraphale leans toward seeking safety, although of course they try their best for both and neither wants to see them end up unhappy or unsafe.

It does tie back to individualism and collectivism as well, with Crowley representing desires related to the Self and Aziraphale being highly concerned with those outside, the Collective, in terms of what they will think and what they will do to the Self.

The two of them operating as two halves of a whole is a fascinating thing, because there’s absolutely no question that they do! But they don’t always seem to know it, especially Aziraphale. After all, he cuts Crowley off twice: in 1862 and at the bandstand. He also very strongly refuses responsibility for losing the Antichrist child, and leaves Crowley out of the decision-making process when he locates Agnes Nutter’s book. In all of these situations, Crowley trusts him to be on “their side,” and in all of these situations, Aziraphale pulls away. It appears that he doesn’t understand them as a cohesive unit until the very end.

...Right?

Sort of.

Aziraphale views them as a cohesive unit within the Great Plan, and he thinks that their role is to oppose each other, not to work in harmony. Because he is not individuated enough to figure out how he can separate from Heaven, Aziraphale believes that bonding too closely will destroy Crowley, since if Crowley comes into contact with Heaven, they will Smite him, and if Hell finds out about Aziraphale, they’ll also destroy Crowley. It’s sort of like Aziraphale is that anxious, repressive, protective instinct that’s coating the outside of their psyche, trying to protect it from both the cruelty of the outside world and the impulses deep inside.

So really, Aziraphale has always seen them in terms of a duality, too. It’s just that he starts off thinking they absolutely must be characterized as enemies and orbiting each other at a distance rather than characterized as a partnership.

Aziraphale’s “breakups” with Crowley always involve multiple motivations. He’s usually afraid of getting caught “fraternizing,” yes. He does represent the part of a person who genuinely wants to connect with the collective, and Aziraphale believes he’s upholding the Greater Good by keeping to this model of behavior as well. But the breakups are also protective gestures toward Crowley. They keep him away from Heaven and/or Hell. It’s the same way that people usually suppress or repress their emotional needs - yes, people want to belong, they want to be accepted and play by the rules, but they’re also trying to protect themselves from being hurt by others.

And in this context, Crowley, the individualist and the one who always encourages Aziraphale to think independently, is a very important part of the Self that their metaphorical ego is trying to protect. I suspect that if Aziraphale thought his behaviors would not have consequences for Crowley, he’d be acting very differently indeed, just like humans don’t hold back from pleasure when they don’t believe experiencing it will be dangerous.

The other ways that Aziraphale rejects their partnership, by refusing responsibility for the loss of the Antichrist and by keeping Agnes Nutter’s book a secret, are attempts at maintaining control, not because he’s a controlling individual - in fact, I’d say Aziraphale is happiest when he doesn’t feel like he’s expected to be in control - but because he thinks he can make the two of them safer that way. If Aziraphale accepts responsibility for losing the Antichrist, it weakens his argument that they are on opposite sides. And if he tells Crowley where the Antichrist is, he can’t involve Heaven in their plans because that would be dangerous for Crowley - and yet, he’s convinced that somehow, Heaven is going to swoop in and save everyone.

Aziraphale’s gambit at the bandstand to try and convince Crowley to join Heaven is rather like an individual human being trying to bargain with themselves that they’ll genuinely change something deep down inside so they can be themselves and be socially acceptable. It involves quite a bit of projection, reaction formation, and an attempt at sublimation that doesn’t go very well. The final act of “breaking up” with Crowley is sort of like the defensive part of the ego realizing that if it accepts its urges any longer, it’s going to do something dangerous, so it regresses, represses, and denies a core part of the Self.

Going back to the superego concept up there: the superego is the “ideal” self. If you view Heaven as a kind of superego symbol, and Aziraphale as the superego’s representative, then his allegiance to Heaven broke when he finally realized that Heaven does not match Aziraphale’s own ideal self. He no longer identifies with them. And he no longer thinks either Crowley or humanity should, either.

If Crowley and Aziraphale are an ego formation, then by the end of the story, they’ve negotiated a healthier superego than Heaven.

Like I said in the previous essays, and as Michael Sheen so eloquently explained, you can’t simply divide these two into a pair of halves. They each have a little bit of the other - the thing that the other represents - in them. They are each a complete person, an individual with a relationship to the collective, who has a number of issues, and each ends up reconciling those issues by the end of the story (Aziraphale has a bit more to do than Crowley, but Crowley does work himself out in some ways, too). But the notion of teamwork, of complementing sides and the fact that their differences make them strong when they work together, doesn’t go away.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable partners

[the-darklings]

as dark as the night (maybe darker still);

pairing: villain!rk900 x hero!reader

words: 3.3k+

request: none, but this idea began with this post and I highly suggest you read it before continuing on because this fic is a direct continuation/expansion of it.

notes: your girl is trash what can I even say? The morality/struggle of romantic villain x reader relationship is too tempting also ~Nines~

warnings: NADA 

. . .

“He refuses to talk.”

You bit your tongue while Hank released a colourful array of swear words at Connor’s quiet declaration.

“I say we throw the fucker in a hole somewhere, and make sure he never sees the light of day,” Hank snapped angrily. “He has some nerve after everythin’ he’s done—”

“It doesn’t work like that, Lieutenant,” you cut in, a note of disapproval clear in your voice, “I appreciate this is a difficult situation for you, considering it was your squad that he—”

“Yeah! He butchered them. That crazy asshole didn’t so much as blink,” Hank barked, fury lacing every inch of his face and voice. “If you had just—”

“Lieutenant,” Connor interrupted, a heavy furrow of his eyebrows showcasing his displeasure, “We cannot throw blame around. Besides...he said he will talk under one condition.”

Your head turned to your partner—your friend—in confusion, only to find his calm, steady gaze already fixed on you.

The realisation was like icy water being dumped all over you.

“No,” was your strangled whisper, heavy and nervous, “No Connor—I—I refuse.”

Connor took a hurried step towards you, reaching forward in that steadying, calming manner you’ve seen him use hundreds of times, “(Name) I’m sorry but he said he will only talk with you. I’m sorry to have to ask this but you know that I—”

“No,” you growled angrily, harsh bitterness bleeding through your tone, “I have done enough. I have given up enough. Please don’t ask this of me Connor. Please, as my friend, I’m begging you don’t ask me to speak with him. I—I can’t,” you trailed off, your voice growing weaker and more hurt the further you went.

There was something about Nines—Richard, you had called him Richard once, lovingly and soft; the way one would confess their deepest desires in secret—that managed to weaken you explicitly every time.

“It seems like this weakness might be mutual after all.”

His gentle words were like the sharp edges of a knife he had stuck into your gut only a month ago. If it hadn’t been for Connor—

But Rich—Nines knew about Connor coming too. Always three, five, ten steps ahead of everyone else.

“You’re always smarter and stronger, is there even a point in trying with you?” you had asked once with a mild laugh.

His smirk was softer than usual, almost warm as he brushed his fingers down the length of your arm, interlocking your fingers together. Something flitted across his expression as he thoughtfully gazed down at your connected hands.

“You challenge me (Name),” he had confessed then, words clearly foreign to him by the careful way he spoke them. “You make me question things. Your power is...it calls to me. I enjoy you in ways I have never enjoyed another's presence. I think...”

Your eyebrows had hiked up at his hesitation. That was unusual—odd, in fact—in a man who breathed meticulously constructed words and plans. Everything about Richard was composed and methodical.

“What is it?”

“I think you and I are meant to complete each other,” he whispered slowly, almost reverently, as he pulled you closer, pressing a lingering kiss against your temple. “No one has ever come close to equalling my power, but you...we will change this world together (Name).”

“(Name), please,” Connor’s pleading voice tore through the hazy memory, splintering it brutally. “We need to know what happened to Markus. I wish more than anything I didn’t have to ask this. But this is the last time. We find where Markus is being kept, and you will never have to see him again, you have my word.”

Something moved just beneath your skin; a hard, nameless thing you didn’t dare to acknowledge. Your power rolled just beneath the fragile layer, and you knew your unease came from Connor’s words, as well as the fact that the one who always sparked your abilities the most was close.  

The look you gave Connor was full of bitterness, mixed with sadness as you shoved past him, not bothering to look at the glaring Lieutenant.

“(Name)—”

“Don’t bother,” you spat out, not letting Connor finish, “I do this one thing for you Connor. But you never contact me after this again, understood? I’m done.”

You stormed out of the room, pausing before the first door on your right. You could feel it even now. The tingle, the subtle buzz; like low level electric current running up and down your skin.

The door hissed open, and you walked into the holding cell stiffly, head held high. The sole light hung above the table, faintly illuminating the room as you dragged a metal chair back, seating yourself down in one orderly motion.

He sat opposite to you, his black turtleneck blending in with the shadows of the room. His head was tilted back, baring the smooth, powerful shape of his neck as his eyes remained closed. His elegant, long fingers were folded on the table, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows as he exuded icy, effortless sort of arrogance. He might as well have been a king sitting on his throne, and not a prisoner being held in a cell.

“What other pitiful attempt are you going to make Connor? I told you already,” his cold, apathetic voice filled the empty room, crawling across your suddenly clammy skin, “I will speak with no one but (Name).”

Swallowing shakily, you narrowed your eyes, trying to bury your unease, “Can’t even tell who’s walking into the room anymore? You’re losing your touch.”

His reaction was instant.

Nines’ nostrils flared as his eyes flew open, his head snapping towards you, gaze sharp and heated. His eyes moved hungrily over your features, lingering on your lips for moment too long before his eyes finally levelled on yours. The low light seemed to make his eyes glow; like two sheets of ice caught in the bright winter sun, they were terrible in their beauty.

“(Name).”

Your heart squeezed, and you hated him so much in that moment. Hated him for the way his mouth—a terrible, awful thing capable of unleashing words of pure destruction and mayhem—spoke your name like it was the most precious word in any language known to man.

You didn’t reply, maybe because you couldn't—not yet—or perhaps because you simply had nothing to say.

He leaned closer slowly, suddenly attentive, previous indifference wiped clean from his frame, “Tell me, did he beg you to come, or did you do it by choice?”

“If it was up to me, I would never see your face again, and I assure you after today you never will,” you spoke harshly, “I hate you, and I stopped you, just like I said I would. Does that answer your question?”

The chains connecting his handcuffs chimed from the sharp way he leaned closer, straining them to be as near as possible. Harshness twisted his face, and there was nothing nice about the sudden twist of his mouth, “Oh, (Name), you cannot lie to me, remember?” he practically purred, his teeth bared in that dangerous, brutal way that made your pulse jump. “I know you. We’re two halves of a whole. You yearn for me the same way I yearn for you. Why else would I allow someone as dangerous as you to still draw breath?”

“Because you’re a psychopath who enjoys your twisted little games,” you replied through gritted teeth, leaning closer as your eyes narrowed. “You kill people, do awful things—you stabbed me. And you call it what exactly? Love? You’re a monster, and you will pay for things you have done, you can be sure of that. You disgust me.”

“Cut the scripted ‘you’re so evil and I’m so good’ talk,” was his sharp retort, his eyes narrowing into slits, “You are not like them. You are like me. You see them for what they are, even when you wish you couldn't. They need you now because you’re a convenient tool for them to use. How long do you think that will last? How long before all the bad guys are locked up? Do you think they will not turn against you? That they will not deem you a danger to society? That they will not hunt you for what you are? You do know...you see it even now. The doubts, the suspicions, the accusations—they are lying to you. Let me keep you safe as I once did. Your place is by my side (Name).”

“You will be rotting away in prison soon,” you whispered tightly, your fingers shaking, “So I guess your offer is useless.”

He laughed huskily; the sound amused and deep as it rumbled from his chest, and you felt another stab deep in your heart. How many times have you heard that noise wash over you as he held you close to him? Skin pressed against yours as you both marvelled at the burning, harmonious way your power blended together.

“Do you really think they can keep me here,” he asked with an amused, half grin while he leaned as close as he could, chains rattling again, “They couldn't keep me in this little cage of theirs if they tried for a hundred years. I can demolish this city overnight if I wanted. They can’t stop me.”

You weren't afraid of him—of his nearness—maybe because you were truly strong enough to face him or maybe because you were simply too angry to care, “Maybe they can’t, but I can. Don’t forget you taught me everything you know. We’re equals after all Nines,” you mocked as you slanted your head at an angle, mimicking him.

His expression was sly, knowing, and you saw his fingers twitch on the table as if he was holding himself back. “That we are. Yet you allow them and their corrupt system to control you. Why?” he questioned curiously, head tilting as he gazed at you fixedly, “Why shackle yourself to them and their lies?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to shackle myself to yours?” you shot back with ferocity that surprised you both as your power shimmered beneath your skin. “Everything about you has been lies. All you ever did was lie, Richard. Everything we were was a lie. I thought I—”

He drummed his fingers against the metal once, before he splayed his open palm against the table, his expression growing darker and more serious the more you spoke. Any traces of sly, mocking humour were gone, leaving nothing but sharp, familiar angles of his beautiful face.       

“You mean more than you know,” was his quiet, barely there whisper and you almost cringed away from him. Was it that obvious? Or was the truth simpler? Were you truly so intertwined he could read you so easily, so effortlessly? “I still want you by my side (Name). Even now you can feel it, can’t you? Like a whisper calling you to me. Every memory, every touch, every kiss. You have poisoned me, and I have etched myself so deeply inside of you, I can feel a part of me living in your heart (Name). We share a power no one else can even begin to comprehend. A burden that comes with knowing you can destroy with a single breath, but the will to hold yourself reigned in. They will use you till they no longer need you. I know because I’ve been where you’ve been. And I will not allow them to do this again. Not to you. I will not allow them to ruin you for their gain.”

Your heart was beating so loudly, you prayed to whatever higher powers there may be, he could not hear it. That he could not sense through your bond how every atom of you wanted to believe him, how your power coiled inside you—desperate and missing the connection between you two—as you stared at him steadily.

Licking your lips once, you instead said, “Where is Markus?”

Something cold flickered across his face, the previous subtle softness all but wiped away as he rolled his eyes, glancing away dismissively towards the two-way mirror, “Ah yes, the fair leader. I’ve always been rather curious. Why does he lead when you are so much more powerful than him?”

“Some people are not made for leadership, and I’m one of them,” you replied warily, suddenly worried about the way his icy stare slowly slid to you, eyebrow arching slightly. “I don’t want that responsibility,” you added cautiously.

“Do not lie to me,” he repeated, words cutting and hard, while his eyes examined you shrewdly, “You do not lead because you are afraid. Afraid to take your rightful place. Those with power rule this world, it is simply the way of things. Why are you...you are afraid that you will become like me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

There was no point of lying to him about this. He would see right through your deceit anyway.

“Yes, I’m afraid that I’ll end up like you—cold and remorseless, a monster. That I will care for no one and nothing. That I will leave nothing but devastation and pain in my wake. I don’t want to be like you,” you confessed in a gentle, distant voice. “I don’t want to destroy people the way you do. The way you destroyed me when you betrayed me. You left me alone when I needed you most. I trusted you, and you left. I loved you, and you chose power and absolute control over me. So don't think even for a second that I believe a word coming from your mouth. Just another act, another attempt to weave me into your web. I know you too Nines. I know how effortlessly you lie. I know how to play this game too, perhaps you taught me too well. A weakness that goes both ways, right? Now tell me where Markus is or I’m going to walk out that door and you will never see me again.”

His stare was like spotting a hurricane from a distance—too far to hurt you just yet—but still powerful enough to fill you with unshakable sense of terror.

His mouth twitched upwards, a faint smile curling his lips, and it brought back too many memories. Memories of seeing that smile for the first time; how it felt against your bare skin while he trailed kisses down your neck.

“What time is it?”

Air rushed out of your lungs in one go, and you blinked, “What? What does that have anything to do with this?”

“Well if you want to know where Markus is I need you to tell me the time,” he explained easily, lacing his fingers together elegantly as he looked at you, a ghost of a smile still gracing his lips as he gazed at you almost...fondly.

You allowed your eyes to flicker towards your watch, and when you looked up at him again he was still peering at you patiently.

“Two minutes to midnight.”

He leaned closer, the simmering heat in his eyes immediately setting you on edge, “And we both know what day it will be when that clock hits midnight.”

The screech of your chair sliding backwards was deafening as you stood up hurriedly, heading straight for the door as your heart stuttered in your chest.

Oh, he sure knew how to hit where it hurt the most.

“Did you think it was a coincidence?” his sly, deliberate words stopped you dead in your tracks. “After what happened on that rooftop a month ago, they kept you away from me. As if they could separate us. So tell me, fiancé, do you think it was a coincidence you caught me a day before our engagement anniversary? It’s time for us to celebrate like real lovers would.”

Dread flooded your chest and your head snapped in his direction. He had one elbow propped on the back of his chair, body lazily stretched out as he peered at you, head mockingly tilted to one side. He bared his teeth in that monstrous smile, and the blood in your veins froze.

BANG

The structure of the building shook, debris flying in every direction as lights flickered wildly. Stumbling, you braced yourself against the freezing wall, a cough choking you as you covered your mouth. The lights blinked erratically as another explosion shook the structure, your knees quaking with it.

“Hello, lover,” a purr grazed against the shell of your ear before a strong arm wrapped around your waist.

The power churning beneath your skin flared at the sound of his voice, at his touch, but you pushed against the wild joy, against the feeling of rightness. You shackled your power so it would stop from reaching out for his—raw, terrifying and bottomless against your warm, blazing and equally endless power.

He turned you around, pressing you against the wall as light and shadows danced across the slopes of his face, “Why do you pull away (Name)? Let me feel you.”

His forehead pressed against yours, and you gasped when his power engulfed you, “Don’t hide from me, lover,” his voice brushed against your mind, and you shivered.

Your fist connected to his chest, but he was completely unmovable, and you knew that the only way to break the contact was to use your power. But—

“D-Don’t touch me,” you choked out, struggling weakly in his grasp.

Nines frigid fingers cupped your chin, foreheads still connected as he tilted your head upwards, your breaths mingling, “If I ever, even for a moment, felt like you didn’t want me to touch you, I would never lay a hand on you again,” he told you seriously. “But we cannot escape it, can we? Our connection, the way we burn for one another. And I warned you that no cage of their making can hold me.”

“You planned this.”

The barest hint of an ironic smile crossed his expression, “Of course I did. I wasn't going to allow this to continue any further. They will not use you against me again. What I did a month ago was to protect you. You just don’t know the truth yet.”

You bared your teeth at him, and pushed, “You’re lying.”

A breathless sound escaped his parted lips, and he chuckled lowly, gaze fervent as he stared at you, “Oh, look at you. Look how fiercely you burn with power. How can you even doubt we’re not the same?” he questioned, grabbing your hand and laying it against his chest—a painstakingly familiar gesture he had done so many times before. A way to connect, to feel, to—

Power cannot be measured.

Others lived in computations, rules and limitations.

Neither of you have ever fit into any tangible bracket of control.

You didn't know where he ended and you began as your powers mingled and raged; hot and cold, breaking and mending as the room creaked around you.

Infinite and terrible was the joining of you and him, of your souls mending and burning together.

“I need to show you the truth,” his voice barely registered, “I did not teach you everything I know.”

And then it was no longer a perfect dance but a head dive into an abyss.

It was not painful; but it was a horrendous, choking, clawing sensation of power being fused into you.

“It’s called Overflow,” he murmured gently, pressing a kiss against your cheek while white danced in your vision. “It will not hurt you because we are alike. You can take my power without being killed by it. Just another proof of us being made for each other. However I cannot show you the truth here.”

“No, stop, Nines—”

Too much/too much/toomuch

He was everywhere all at once, drowning you in the cold comfort of his power.

“Goodnight, lover.”

Lips pressed against your forehead, and you felt a distinct stab through your mind before you tipped towards oblivion willingly.

His mind brushed against yours one last time, as his soothing, taunting words buried themselves deep.

“Sweet dreams (Name).”  

#did i ever mention the fact that i LOVE writing dialog #I LOVE WRITING DIALOG #this entire fic is basically a very long conversation so sorry if you found this boring and not terribly exciting?? #i love writing dialog for characters especially when they have dynamics like this #connor rk900 #dbh rk900 #dbh connor rk900 #dbh connor rk900 x reader #rk900 x reader #rk900 #detroit become human #detroit become human x reader #detroit become human fic #detroit: bh #detroit connor #dbh connor #dbh fanfic #dbh connor x reader #dbh #villain x hero #villain x reader #writers on tumblr #dbh fanfiction #brownie point if anyone can tell me what scene i was inspired by when i wrote this #there's hints!!! #hero/villain au

[joyful-soul-collector]

Knives are often things that grab a human’s attention, no?

Scene 2

“Hazik, don’t touch that. Someone else is gonna buy that and they don’t want your grubby hands all over it.” Jace pushed the shopping cart down the produce aisle, scanning the shelves. Hazik put down the fuzzy orange food they were examining, and followed him, still staring around with curious, teal eyes. They got out their notebook and began to scribble down notes.

“What was that food?” Hazik asked, for the seventh time.

“It’s a peach, and if you don’t stop touching the produce then I’m leaving you home on the next shopping run,” Jace answered, steering the cart to another aisle. “Okay, see if you can find laundry detergent, it’ll be in a big blue jug in the aisle over there.” He pointed to an aisle two rows over.

“Okay! One question, what’s laundry detergent?” Hazik said, their eyes switching again to a puzzled look.

“The stuff you wash your clothes with,” Jace answered, frowning at the prices of the bread in front of him.

“I thought humans had machines to do that for them,” Hazik said.

“Well yeah,” Jace answered. “But it doesn’t work unless you put that stuff in it.”

“What does it do? Is it the fuel for the machine?” Hazik flipped open their notebook again.

“What? No, it just makes your clothes smell like friggin’ daisies-- look we don’t have time to explain every cleaning product in the store, so go grab it while I figure out why the hell bread costs so much.” Jace shooed Hazik to the aisle.

Hazik noticed Jace’s hands still fiddling with the mechanical writing utensil as they were being ushered away. Habit, they thought as they walked to the aisle Jace had pointed out. Hazik thought Jace was a rather odd one. In the two Earth days Hazik had known him, they had noticed so many things about Jace, while Jace hadn’t even noticed Hazik’s eyes changed color. Why doesn’t Jace just look properly? Hazik pondered this while looking for the blue container. Hazik returned and handed Jace the bottle, still thinking.

“Uh, Hazik, this is bleach, not laundry detergent,” Jace said.

“Is it? How do you know?”

“Because it says ‘bleach’ right here,” Jace said, pointing to a patch of squiggles on the jug.

“Does it?”

“…Hazik can you read this?”

“No.”

Jace stared at them. Hazik wished Jace’s eyes would change color, that way they could tell at least how he was feeling. His face changed, with his eyes wide and eyebrows raised, but Hazik didn’t know what any of these things meant.

“You came here, speaking perfect English, but you can’t read or write in English?” he said finally.

“We left early. We only had enough time to learn how to speak the language assigned.”

“What--Why didn’t you just learn how to speak and read at the same time?” Jace said incredulously, as he went and switched out the bleach for laundry soap.

“Why would we do that? It makes more sense to learn how to speak it perfectly, and then learn to read and write it perfectly. That is how we learn languages on Uswarvis.”

“Uswarvis?”

“My planet.”

“Riiiight. Tell me more about that. What’s it like there?”

“It is actually quite similar to Earth, except it is much smaller,” Hazik said as Jace continued about the store, pulling things off the shelves and frowning at the little squiggles on the shelves. “It is about half the size of Earth. But we both orbit the same type of star, and seem to have a similar landscape and climate. Our only large difference seems to be the organisms, but I was sent here to research mostly the differences in our people.” Hazik followed Jace to the checkout line and started to help unload.

“That’s interesting. What differences have you noticed so far?” Jace said.

“Well, the largest one so far is humans have genders. Uswarvis does not.”

“Wait, what? So, you don’t have boys, girls, or anything else?” Jace exclaimed as he unloaded a few cleaning supplies.

“Nope. You know how there are a few humans on Earth who do not identify with any gender? All Uswarvians are like that.”

“So, here, on earth, your pronouns would be they, them, right?”

“I suppose so, yes. But on Uswarvis, pronouns are not part of the language, not in the way it is here. We also do not assign facial expressions to emotions. Instead, it is eye color.”

“But, you make faces. Not a lot, but you do.”

“Yes, but there are too many variations of faces that it is hard to keep track of what means what, and then you can change your face in order to lie, and that brings in a whole new set of variables, and it all just gets very confusing. It is much easier to just look into someone’s eyes and see how they feel. Each color means a different feeling and you cannot hide it unless you close your eyes. No need to worry about variables.”

“Cool… Amazing, actually! Tell me about what it’s like there.” Jace said with a crooked grin on his face. From what Hazik knew, smiles were a positive response, so they went on.

“We used to be a peaceful civilization. There are two halves of our planet, Espeusil and Bashosil. We’d had battles in the past, but all of it lead up to peace and harmony with all individuals living happily. Of course there were disagreements, but just over little things, that only changed small parts of our lives.” Hazik paused and watched Jace swipe a plastic rectangle through a little slot. They made a mental note to ask Jace about that later.

“‘Used to be’? What happened?” Jace asked as they made their way to his car, the shopping cart rattling noisily.

“Well… my half of the globe, Bashosil, got a new leader. They called themself, I think in English it translates to, ‘The Bringer of a New World”, but everyone just calls them The Bringer.”

“The Bringer of a New World? That sounds rather dramatic,” Jace said, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, they thought very highly of themselves,” Hazik’s eyes suddenly shifted to a sorrowful purple. “And at first it was normal. New leaders are normal. But then things started to… happen. And eventually people started to get angry, myself included. The Bringer was an angry person, angry at Espeusil.”

“Why?” asked Jace.

“Espeusil had technologies that we did not. Technology that could save lives. But they were unwilling to share this with us, for reasons I have not found out. An epidemic broke out on our half of the globe and Espeusil waited far too long before finally helping us. Long enough that The Bringer lost their partner and child. Bringer waited just long enough for doctors to cure most of our country and then declared war on Espeusil in revenge.

“I am part of an organization that is trying to stop the war, called Iktbok. It is a combination of the Espeusilish word “Itko” and the Bashosilish word “Bokan”, that translates to something similar to “ceasefire”. I am part of the Planet Exploration Division. I work in the Ethics, Laws, and Culture department. My job is to record the culture and laws of my assigned planet, and then bring that information back to Uswarvis, so as to learn ways to peacefully end the war.”

“Wow. So you have to explore this whole planet by yourself?” Jace said as he got into the rickety car.

“Oh no, I have a team to help with this planet. There are a total of ten Uswarvians here, five Bashosil, five Espeusil. We have been here almost eight Earth days,” Hazik explained. They thought for a moment, their eyes still filled with that violet sadness. “Uswarvis is in total war. There isn’t one person who isn’t involved now. It seems like it been going on for lifetimes. It feels like… like the world will crack in half before the war ends. I would not be surprised if it did, with all the damage our environment has taken.”

Hazik talked about their planets’ various battles the whole trip back to the apartment; talked of the death of their friends, and the horrors they’d seen in war. Images flashed in their head, awful screams echoing in their ears.

“I was young when the plague started. I left to fight as a soldier when the war started, and became a researcher for Iktbok a while later, and now I am here… Sometimes it is hard to see a way to fix everything.”

“That… that really sucks Hazik,” Jace said, bringing Hazik out of their thoughts. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that. That you’re still going through it. I…” He suddenly gripped Hazik’s shoulder and looked them in the eye. “I hope that somehow we can help your home.” And even though Jace’s eyes stayed that constant, dark brown, Hazik knew Jace felt some sort of caring feeling, which they felt comforted by.

“Now,” Hazik said, seeming to snap out of a trance as their eyes shifted to a curious gaze. “You have heard enough about me and my planet. Why don’t you tell me about you? What is your life like?” They looked at Jace expectantly, but Jace’s eyes suddenly widened, before darting away. The writing utensil was back in Jace’s hand, twitching as he rolled it between his fingers.

“Uh, um, well--uh, there’s plenty of time for my life later. You’ll be hearing about Earth all the time, now that you live here of course,” Jace said, his eyes darting to the side, purposefully not making eye contact. He quickly clambered out of the car and pulled open the trunk. Hazik made a small note in his book before climbing out to help Jace, their eyes still holding that inquisitive stare.

End scene

#writeblr #writing #writers of tumblr #creative writing #writeblr community #original writing #original story #original character #scifi #slice of life #wip #oc #ocs #hazik pov #hazik #alien roommate

[worrentigre]

Rhuli’a’s Trial Epilogue (RP Scene)

((https://youtu.be/2MIPBvddXlI <-- scene BGM))

Outside of the hallway is a small courtyard that overlooks the other side of the mountain from the top.  The scenery shows a wide view of the dry hills in the distance, looking out at the peaks.  Worren stands there looking outward, and does not turn to face Rhuli'a.  "Aren't you going to try it on?"  He simply asks.

Rhuli'a frowned. Were his movements and intent that easily readable? Or mayhap it was...

Stripping proved easy enough. The miqo'te had quite a few breakaways for his tunic in case of losing the upper hand in a grappling situation. As his red and black regalia tumbled to the stone, he opened his arms.

A strange sense of calm flew through him, as if the wind atop the mountain held some sort of secret he should give pause and listen to. It crept across his corded muscle, wound tight like a steel trap across his body. Adorning the left side of his torso was a tattoo that started from above his left pectoral and ended just above his waistline.

A giant, purple, screaming griffin was wrought upon his skin. Talons extended, wings tucked behind as it lunged towards some unknown opponent, it was every bit as regal as the crest adopted by the royal family of Ala Mhigo.

A symbol Rhuli'a kept close to his heart.

Unfolding his cyclas, the newly ordained monk hesitated slightly. This was it. The long journey of almost fifteen cycles ended here. And in its place began a new venture.

In a flourish, Rhuli'a adorned what he considered to be his birthright. Worren is glancing over his shoulder, and as Rhuli'a begins to change, he turns around.  He admires the man in his new prize for a bit before placing his right fist into his left hand, just like he showed before the trial started.  He does not bow, however.  He just holds this, and waits.

Rhuli'a starts slightly.

"Thankee. I truly mean this, from the heart of my hearts."

Mimicking his master, he faced him fully, and then dipped his head.

Ever so slightly, as to not take his eyes off of him, hints of -something- behind those mismatched orbs. Worren follows suit, giving a small bow. "Welcome to the Fists of Rhalgr. Know that this is not the start of your journey. It started long ago when this became your goal. Your training began the second time we met. I was not toying with you. And not only was I making sure you would be fit to walk this path, I was already training your mind and thought process."

He then stands up straight. "It is much more than physical." He taps the side of his head. "It has very much to do with this. The body is just the vehicle. Kodaro and I watched you during your trial. Had I put you through that in the state that you were in when we first met, you would not have made it. Those ghosts of our fallen brothers would have seen to that; I have no control over them. But, you are learning. You're not above asking for help. You held your anger and did not strike out at me when I left myself open to you. Even after what I've said, you still had the clarity to see what is in front of you."

His hands then move behind his back, as they usually do when he starts lecturing. "You swallowed your pride. This is good. Our fallen brothers in there, they are right, y'know? Politics, sides, good and bad, all of these rhetorics serve to keep us separate. We are individuals, and will always disagree on something. It is in our nature, separates us from same thinking machines. We cannot let these things break our bond of brotherhood like they did in the past. Light? Shadow? It no longer matters, save for how Rhalgr decides to impart to you his gifts. My need for order is so to keep our bonds strong and avoid the mindless chaos that still has us strewn about the lands. Do not let the actions of the past bind you and dictate your future. You speak of freedom. So, free yourself from this self imposed burden."

He pauses a moment, and then looks at Rhuli'a seriously. "Do you dislike those on the light sect of your own free will, even though you do not know most of them, or do you dislike it because history tells you to?" Rhuli'a narrowed his eyes near the end of Worren's speech. Hands falling from the salute, he coldly crossed them over his chest as he contemplated on how best to answer. His gaze fell to the side as he began to speak, his tone even and guarded.

"I do not like or dislike any within our order for their creed, 'tis not my place to judge. One thing is for certain, I am sure of it."

Rhuli'a pointed at Worren sharply, almost as if in accusation. Though the newly ordained Fist knew well enough that the Highlander was of Shadow, he nonetheless barked out the following,

"Rhalgr turned his back upon our country and order the moment those of the Light fell in with the ruling family. I am sure of it. 'Tis why he punished us so by not coming to our aid when both Ruiner and Garlemald fell upon us. I will -never- let that happen again, no matter how alienated or ostracized I may be for following my convictions. There will never be an imbalance between our philosophies again. I am sworn -- nay, compelled to see harmony. I care not if I am but one against a thousand, for I will lead with a zeal equal to all who oppose. Shadow is my Way, Worren, and so it will remain."

Calming, he stepped back, once again folding his arms, uncomfortable with the situation.

"Destruction and chaos go hand in hand. With no chaos, it becomes too systematic, oppressive even. There is beauty in constant bewilderment."

Looking to the side again, the Keeper fell silent. Not speaking unless spoken to.

Kodaro clucked his tongue as he strolled casually in to the chamber behind Rhuli'a, fingers laced behind his head and speaking in a tone disparately out of sorts with his surroundings. "Hey! Cyclas are a good look on ya, and from what I could see on the cliffs, you did well. A bit lacking in finesse, but it takes all sorts right? Sounds like you haven't grasped all of what you're saying, though, about harmony and whatnot. See, Light and Shadow sects? Neither can exist alone and represent the Path in its entirety. Unlike Brother Worren and most of the folks he's trained up, I started off Light and the difference between us... well, there's really not one." The Seeker continues his pacing to stand alongside Worren, though his posture remains relaxed. "Light can't exist without casting Shadow, and Shadows can't exist without Light. Same goes with destruction, in way; without wisdom to guide it, it's meaningless. The Path can't be fully realized without both aspects." Worren remains stone faced.  His voice comes out cool, but sternly.  "You'd do well not to confuse confidence and pride with hubris and reckless delusions of grandeur.  Rhalgr turned his back on us because we turned our backs on ourselves.  You know as well as I that there was no one side being right and wrong back then.  One group allowed themselves to be at the beck and call of the monarchy as a way to bring glory to the Fists more openly to the people of Ala Mhigo.  The other group would rather bring glory to the Fists by remaining true to Rhalgr and only Rhalgr, not Ala Mhigo or it's ruling body.  Both sides have went their separate ways, bickering all the while."

He then brings his arms around and crosses them in front of his chest.  "Think about it clearly.  Both sides weakened themselves, because they could not find a way to co-exist on what they thought was the right way to represent Rhalgr.  Old fashioned and out dated thinking.  There is no more monarchy, and I highly doubt there will be a new one in its place.  Even so, it has already begun with the new generation of Fists: to protect and support the people of Ala Mhigo.  We will not allow ourselves to make the same mistake that was made back then."

He turns and nods to Kodaro, but is still speaking to Rhuli'a.  "You'll see what I mean eventually.  Viewing destruction as only an instrument of chaos is a bit short sighted."

He turns his attention back to the man.  "Destruction also requires balance.  Just like we do.  Each of our chakra is halved.  We need both to realize our full potential."  He then smiles.  "In any rate, congratulations on passing the trial and surviving.  You are one of us. Your new uniform is not mandatory outside of formalities, but I highly suggest wearing it while you train.  The threads have special properties that I will explain when next we meet for your first official training session.  That is, unless you decide to research for yourself.  And remember, hang onto that crystal.  It will be important for the training as well." Kodaro adds, "You're strong, no denyin' that. Wouldn't dream of it. But it seems like you're holding yourself back, gettin' in the way of your own potential, whether you're doin' consciously or not. Congratulations on your Trial, but the real hard work starts now." Kodaro grinned and tapped his index finger on his temple "Sometime when you're able, I'd like you to come train with me; more specifically, I'd like you to come meditate with me. Making your body stronger is easy, it's getting your mind working in tandem that's the  hard part."

Rhuli'a looked as if he had more to say on his interpretation of their faith, yet held his tongue, for once. Unperturbed by Kodaro's appearance, he didn't even pay the miqo'te any attention until Worren waa finished speaking.

Blinking in surprise at the invitation, he nodded his head in acceptance.

"I'll not shirk the path I've set myself upon. But I must warn you both I have drafted plans on starting a company within Ul'dah. I seek to use my gains from my current work to steer a course of my own. While my dedication to this purpose is among my chief concerns, it would be remiss of me to while away frivolously while there are those who seek to pledge themselves to me."

Recognizing his dismissive tone, he frowned, seemingly upset with himself.

"Apologies, if I seem blunt. 'Twas a trying trial, on top of a trying week. Change stresses the soul, mind and body simultaneously, I've found..."

Clenching his fist, he stared at it. This This was probably the most deadly weapon he could wield. And, it was more than likely going to be clenching quill, rather than hora in the coming weeks.

Snapping out of his trance, he eyed both men, saluting as he did so before, with Worren.

"Thankee both for aiding in my path." Worren nods, then places his fist into his palm, giving a light bow. "Remember these words, but also remember to stay true to yourself. If you truly believe that what you say is your path to your enlightenment, then by all means, walk it. We are simply guides, as everyone must walk their own path. If that means Rhalgr will make you a hero of the Ala Mhigan people, then so be it." He then straightens up. "And one other thing. Get a lot of rest. I highly suggest sleeping in tomorrow and taking the day off. Your aether stores need to recharge and your body needs to heal." Rhuli'a returned the gesture, once again never letting his eyes leave the Highlander.

Giving a satisfied grunt, he spoke.

"Aye. I'll heed your advice. If there's naught else..."

Rhuli'a cast his gaze about for an exit, and, if he found one, would start towards it. Worren simply nods and watches him go. He then turns his attention to Kodaro. "What do are your thoughts on him? Do you think I'm making the right decision in taking in one so volatile?" Kodaro: "Better to take him in to the fold where he can learn and grow, right? M'sure there's some old adage about a fire burning unchecked being more dangerous than one tended or something like that." Worren: "Mm. And we're the lucky ones, heh heh. Yes, we. I'm gonna ask you to help. Maybe some of your unyielding optimism will rub off on him. Then again, I did get you riled up during your own trial." He then moves to leave as well. "Besides. We're all in this together."

@the-original-rel @moralistcyclops@syelirakaisuri@thornedblossom @flamesonhammersmith@crooked-tarot-rp@astralagency @valentinoix@interdimensionalpeacekeeping@florihilda @dynamitecowboy@chiyohoshi@thetaleofoldmanmaruud @supermeganick@grandmastream@jancisstuff @berrodarmstrong @nhara-tia @cfs-melkire

#ffxiv rp #balmung rp #monk rp #worren #Rhuli'a Kanjun #Kodaro Ba'rococo

[southwarkcofe]

Hearts and bodies on fire

Nick Mayhew-Smith, Reader in the Diocese of Southwark, writes...

As Europe has been burning up in the 2018 heatwave, I went on retreat this summer to a rather cooler and damper place, immersed in one of the most mysterious and spiritual landscapes in Britain. I was taking a journey through time rather than space, as I attempted to explore the mist-shrouded wilderness of the 6th century, part of a long-running investigation into the way in which Christian theology and practice once tied our Celtic ancestors closely and harmoniously to their environment. I have travelled across England, Wales and Scotland visiting numerous sites that appear in the stories of our earliest native saints, and attempted to recreate some of their many outdoor devotional activities, including a bay at Coldingham, pictured here, where St Cuthbert once prayed alongside sea otters.

At the moment I am spending most of the summer in my back garden writing up these adventures for book that SPCK will be publishing at Easter, which will describe this long and deep journey into the natural wonders of early Christian spirituality. It turns out there is nothing like the cool green of a Celtic hermit's cave to offer some respite from our largely self-inflicted discomfort in the environment.

My project has consisted of two halves, a PhD looking at Celtic Christianity and its intense focus on the natural world, which I finished in April this year at Roehampton University. So I've done the hard graft mentally to figure out what was going on. That was followed by an actual journey into the wilderness to see what happens when you try to recreate the many and varied rituals that our devout ancestors once conducted. After sitting in a library for three years reading about it, I was still very surprised to come up against the hard reality of what early Christian spirituality actually feels like when you put yourself bodily into the story.

To be specific, these adventures included sleeping in long-abandoned hermits' caves, camping on the summit of a holy mountain in Wales, preaching to birds, gathering at the foot of a sacred tree, and wading naked into the sea at dawn to pray. If you're thinking that all sounds very mainstream and laudable Christian practice, you would be right, but sadly not in this millennium, or even much of the last one. We have forgotten what drove much of the early Christian attitudes towards creation, and there is a lingering suspicion among many that any sort of devotional orientation towards the natural world must be tainted by Paganism, compromised by fanciful story-telling and obscured by primitive folklore. None of these could be further from the truth.

My research into the Celtic attitudes towards the natural world has actually turned up some decent and coherent Christian theology, based on an entirely conventional reading of the Bible and in particular a very profound understanding of what went wrong at the Fall, when Adam and Eve first disobeyed God. From the very beginning our sinful nature was tied up with an antagonistic relationship to the natural world, the first man and woman kicked out of an earthly paradise and made to fight against weeds and serpents alike in order to survive.

But as Celtic Christianity has reminded me time and again, both in theory and in practice, the Christian message is about reconciliation on the widest possible scale, putting right not just our relationship with God but with the entirety of the cosmos. It hardly needs saying that a better way of relating to our environment would be of great benefit to everyone under the sun, Christian and non-Christian alike. I look forward to sharing my findings with my brothers and sisters in our diocese and further afield, the ancient wisdom of past generations never so relevant as it is today.

Nick Mayhew-Smith's book The Naked Hermit: A Journey to the Heart of Celtic Britain is scheduled for publication by SPCK in April 2019. He previously wrote the guidebook Britain's Holiest Places.

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