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#for a book about politics it really wasn’t a present as you would think it is
leighsartworks216 · 6 months
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Prompt for whenever you want it: the reader grew up in a household where she wasn't allowed to be very feminine/like cute things. Her family was adamant that she be tough and that anything remotely feminine or pretty would be wasted on her. So she secretly likes cute and pretty things, but has internalized all the things her family told her so she never let's it show. I would love to see astarion pick up on it and how he would react? I just imagined one day he presents her with a delicate handkerchief with her initials (he embroidered them himself) and I practically bawled my eyes out 😭😭😭
Idk why I really struggled to write this one. I just had a hard time starting it. So I'd write an opening, hate it, leave it for a bit, come back, leave it again. But I finally got it to a point that I am happy with it
Astarion x fem!Tav/Reader
Warnings: vague references to trauma, self-doubt, swearing
Word Count: 1,041
Main Masterlist
Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist
AO3
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One gets quite good at reading people when that’s all you did for 200 years. Someone would twitch and Astarion could know exactly what they were thinking. Reading you was as easy as opening a book.
Every time you passed a market or merchant, Astarion could see the way your eyes flit longingly over jewelry or dresses. It was always brief. If the vendor noticed, they’d try pitching the item to you; the same old lines: “A beautiful necklace for a beautiful lady!” But you just smiled politely and shook your head, muttering how it wasn’t your style.
It was curious. Throughout your journey so far, he’d noticed other things, too. How you’d save the most beautiful, feminine dresses for your female companions. At first he just thought you wanted to give them something nice, but it was odd when you’d provide them an item much more suited to your strengths than their own. How your eyes would linger a little longer on flowers and lace gloves. But the moment you felt eyes on you, you’d turn away, the distant longing gleam in your eye replaced with a set determination.
He’d even caught you staring at the embroidery on his clothes once or twice.
(“Distracted, are we?”
“I was only wondering what it says. An odd poem for a shirt.”
“Hmph. Clearly it’s meaning is lost on you, darling.”)
So, with 200 years of experience, Astarion came to the only conclusion he could plausibly find. He accounted for your own attire - masculine or purely functional - your steadfast avoidance of anything feminine, the sorrow that visibly washed over you when you came across something particularly beautiful.
You didn’t allow yourself these things, because you couldn’t.
Well, you could, he supposed. But you weren’t. Perhaps, like him, you felt you didn’t deserve it. Or perhaps, like him, it had been ingrained into your very being that you couldn’t have it. Either way, the result was the same.
He wasn’t honestly sure what came over him when he realized. And it had taken him a few days to think about the idea that formulated unbidden, itching at the back of his mind in a way that put the tadpole to shame. But one night, after feeding (on you and a boar), he sat within his tent and got to work. He threaded the eyes of needles with practiced ease, steadily guided it back and forth through the material in his hands, creating elegant shapes. If he was being honest, it was some of his best work.
It took him even longer to gather the nerves to give it to you. You handed out gifts freely - armor, weapons, trinkets, blood. But he’d… well, he’d never really given anyone a gift before. Nothing as genuine as this, certainly. His mind, his own worst enemy aside from Cazador, kept plaguing him with thoughts of how you’d hate it. How you’d take one look at it, struggle through a smile, and tuck it away at the bottom of your bag. And so it remained in his belongings, safely hidden.
And then you just had to go and be so damn good. You just had to stand up to Araj Oblodra when she kept insisting he drink from her. You just had to quietly tell him that he could, if he wanted to, but only if he wanted to. And you just had to respect his choice. He’d never been so overwhelmed with emotion before. Nobody had ever done that for him. His choices didn’t matter, his comfort didn’t matter. But you didn’t even hesitate.
When you sought him out at camp later that night, you even told him he was free. No longer a slave who had to get on his back for mere breadcrumbs. Too many emotions - relief, fear, euphoria, worry, gratefulness - flooded his chest.
He cleared his throat. “There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to give you,” he admits with a nervous chuckle. “Consider it a… thanks, for what you did for me back there.”
He pulled the neat, white handkerchief from his pocket and presented it to you. Red eyes flit over your face, trying to read every little expression that passed, as you stared at the cloth. On the corner, embroidered in the same golden thread as he used on his shirt, were your initials. Immaculate and shiny.
Your mouth opened. Your eyes were wide, your brow furrowed and then raised. You struggled for words. You met his eyes with shock. “A-Are you sure? I mean, this is much too fine for me - I was happy to stand up for you - Not that you needed any help! I mean-”
“Darling,” he hushed. So you did enjoy it, after all. “It’s a gift. Consider it repayment for all the nights you’ve bared your neck for me, if nothing else. A simple exchange.”
A dying sound left your throat with a breath as you looked back down at the handkerchief. With shaky hands, you took it from him. You held it as though it was a religious artifact from the gods, not a folded square of soft silk with lace borders. It had the same smooth feel as running your fingers over the surface of still water. Tears welled at the corner of your eyes as you ran a thumb over the letters.
“I…” You took a shaky breath, looking up at him again through the building water in your eyes. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”
He smirked, though your blatant joy made his lips twitch into the start of a genuine smile. “You… deserve something nice. Something more than, well,” he gestured vaguely at your worn cotton attire, “this.”
You laughed and brushed away the tears beginning to slip down your cheeks with the back of your hands. “You’re still a bastard.”
“Oh, undoubtedly.”
“But a nice bastard.”
“Careful, darling.” He leaned forward with an even wider smirk, fangs peeking out as a mischievous twinkle glinted in his eye. “We wouldn’t want word getting out.”
And if he caught sight of that little cloth poking out from a pocket or resting at the top of your bag, well maybe he let himself enjoy that warmth in his chest.
---
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mynewblackdress · 2 months
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hi,I really love your style of writing. It's so realistic and it isn't cringe like other ones.. so.. please,can you write one for baji? Since you didn't write any. I just felt like I need bajii!
_ I love your works,keep going. They are amazing! Seriously 💗💗
Hi there💙💛
Thank you so much for your kind words and request. I hope this is what you had been looking for. 💙💛
Have a nice day 💙💛
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Title: Shocked
Summary: You only knew Baji as a hardworking quiet classmate, but today, you witnessed another side of who he was beyond that. | Genre: Fluff | Warning: None | Words:2K |
Honestly, if someone told you, you would be one of those people who got shocked so badly they were left motionless on the spot just as you were now. You wouldn’t have believed them.
It wasn’t that you were a person who was easily surprised or shocked or a person who could easily guess or deduce things, but you thought the speechless and motionless shock people displayed in TV shows and manga proved they were rather overreacting.
And yet, here you were kneeling on the ground without a single word absently watching Baji Keisuke pick up your scattered books off the floor.
Baji Keisuke, with loose dark hair that you never realized was so long since it was always firmly tied in the back so as to not fall into his eyes when he was focused on studying.
Baji Keisuke, without a school uniform jacket and loose tie, made him look more like a delinquent who frequently skipped classes rather than a student who never missed a single one for as long as you could remember.
Baji Keisuke who always wore glasses that made it almost impossible to guess his eye color was now without them leaving his alluring bronze irises fully on display.
Baji Keisuke whose knuckles and shoes had a few drops of blood on them from how hard he punched and kicked those assholes who tried to harass you for some money.
Baji Keisuke, who was always a bit hesitant about presenting his homework and answers for you to revise, but it seemed had no problem to high kick a guy two heads taller than him out of the blood all the while looking more like a beast than a human.
Baji Keisuke was very reserved and polite during your tutor sessions but had no problem cursing and shouting obscenities at his opponents while taking them all down.
Baji Keisuke, who looked nothing like the sweet if a little nervous guy, you had been tutoring for the better part of the school year since he was struggling so hard in class despite being so eager to get better and get into vet school one day.
Baji Keisuke, who was so handsome that the moment he finished picking up your things shoving them into your school bag, and appearing face to face with you on the ground saying, ‘Come on. I’ll walk you home,’ you had to look away in embarrassment.
Your heart started to beat faster as you couldn’t help but think, How unfair!
Your cute somewhat quiet and shy classmate who you secretly maybe liked more than a classmate or friend was actually very-
You stole another glance at the boy.
-attractive.
‘Let’s go,’ he said almost impatiently now and before you could agree or at least start to act somewhat rationally you felt his hand grab your arm and in one quick move pulled you to your feet.
His hand felt particularly warm even through your school uniform.
You lowered your gaze feeling blood rush into your face no doubt causing it to become more red. You could only hope he wouldn’t notice.
‘You good? I came before they did anything, right?’ he asked not necessarily worried, but even so you caught the slightest of concern at the edge of it.
You turned to look at him again noticing he was eyeing you from head to toe mostly trying to see for himself if you weren’t hurt anywhere.
‘Right!’ you said a bit too loudly and quickly, ‘T-thank you, Baji-kun. You…you came just in time,’ you assured him mentally cursing at how shaken you sounded. Honestly, Baji and what he did left you in such a state far more than the actual encounter with those jerks.
His bronze eyes returned to your face, and you stopped breathing for a moment because of how intense they looked. You found yourself grateful that he never put down his glasses in class because how would anyone expect you to be a good tutor and student when such eyes were on you?
You felt even more flushed than before and glanced away realizing Baji’s hand was still on your arm, ‘Uh?’
As if he realized this too, he let you go, ‘Come on already. I got things to do later.’
He started to walk, and all you could do was quickly follow keeping yourself a bit in the back because of how surreal it still felt that this was Baji Keisuke who you spend almost every day since the beginning of the school year.
You still remember how timid he looked and sounded with hanging shoulders and drops of sweat across his forehead as he stopped by your desk on the first day and asked you to help him with his studies.
‘Are you sure you’ll need it? The classes hadn’t even started properly yet,’ you recalled you said confused someone would think they needed a tutor this early in the new year.
He nodded, ‘I’ve always struggled with subjects.’
You didn’t know him that well, but you did find it admirable that he wanted to get better. Also, although you couldn’t pinpoint what it was there was something interesting about the nervous guy that made you smile and raise your hand for a handshake promising to help him out as best as you could.
‘Oi!’ Your eyes widened as you found Baji in your face glaring at you a bit, ‘You’re quiet.’
You blinked feeling your heart speed up again at the boy’s closeness. You tried to recall if he was like this before too, but in hindsight, maybe because you liked to tease him a bit, you were usually the one who got into his personal space.
Oh, how the tables had turned.
‘You scared of me or something?’ he asked and although he seemed intimidating, loud, and a bit wild, you still caught the flash of worry behind his eyes as he waited for you to answer.
‘N-no!’ you said, but once again it came out too quick and loud, so you quickly shook your head and added, ‘I could never, Baji-kun!’
He watched you obviously analyzing your answer and whether or not it was the truth, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he didn’t do this all the time behind the security of his glasses.
You glanced away knowing your face must have given you away but still somehow found a way to push your next words out, ‘I…I just didn’t know you were so…’ handsome, intense, had such beautiful eyes, wild, ‘cool,’ you settled for since there was no way you could tell him any of those other things that float inside your mind regarding him.
You needed a moment before you could look at him again, but once you did, you found him looking somewhat relieved.
‘Good,’ he grinned, ‘Now come on already!’ he said and hit your back all of a sudden before running off forcing you to run after him after you got over your initial shock.
‘Wait, let me carry my bag, Baji-kun,’ you said as you caught up to him realizing he was still carrying it for you.
‘Nah,’ he refused and tucked it under his arm some more and flickered against the small cat keychain you had there. You knew from past experiences he liked it, and it made you smile a bit to know that part of him wasn’t just his school persona.
‘Can I ask?’ you started doing your best not to get affected when he glanced at you although you couldn’t be sure you did a good job, ‘Why?’
He raised his eyebrow at you and you tried to reconsider your words, ‘Why aren’t you…?Why do you act so…’
You could tell he was getting amused by your struggles, but obviously, Baji had no intention of taking mercy on you and just answering.
You sighed, ‘So why are you so different in school? Is fighting thugs your alter ego or something?’
‘Ha?’ he asked and then rather unkindly started to laugh causing you to feel hot from embarrassment, ‘Don’t be stupid. This isn’t your favorite Shonen.’
‘Rude,’ you replied and tried to snatch your bag as punishment, but the boy easily pushed your hand away grinning at your weak attempts.
He then shrugged his shoulder and casually admitted, ‘When I got held back my mom was really sad. It sucked. I…Just because I’m in a gang and do my own thing doesn’t mean I can’t be a good son.’
You opened your mouth in surprise. He was in a gang?!
But before you could say or ask about it, he cut in, ‘But don’t you fucking dare spread it around!’
Just like during the fight, you were left speechless at how rude he could be. He was rather quiet in your presence in class and overall acted politely, but it seemed that was mostly so he wouldn’t get in trouble in school and hurt his mom’s feelings.
You wondered what other layers and behaviors he possessed outside the school. Perhaps, it would be wise, to be afraid or stay clear, but you watching him pause to watch a stray cat pass by, you couldn’t help but think it didn’t really matter. If anything, it made him all the more interesting.
 ‘Thank you again for saving me and walking me home, Baji-kun,’ you said as you stopped by your house and Baji finally allowed you to take back your school bag.
‘Whatever,’ he said and crossed his arms looking away. He wasn’t nervous, but he seemed to be in the need to say something.
You waited but when he didn’t, you decided to speak, and remind him of his duties, ‘Please, make sure to do your homework using the examples I wrote you on the back page. I’ll revise them before class tomorrow.’
He blinked at looked at you now surprised a bit, ‘So…you’re still going to help me out, huh?’
You could now see he was somewhat worried you would decide not to engage with him anymore because of what he showed you of himself today.
You offered him a smile, ‘Don’t be silly. I promised to help you as best as I could, didn’t I? Nothing will show me about yourself change that, Baji-kun.’
You found some joy in the fact that Baji looked properly shocked by your words.
He looked away and although he probably didn’t want you to see, you still caught the slight red dust across his cheeks.
Continuing to smile to yourself, you felt a bit daring so before you lost your nerve, you leaned toward him and pressed a quick kiss on his cheeks barely taking in the feel of his skin or his smell before you were back in your space, ‘I look forward to get to know more of you, Baji-kun. Don’t forget to do your homework!’
You were inside your home before he could say anything feeling like your heart might jump out of your chest and your face was on fire.
You pressed your palms against your cheeks and smiled to yourself hoping you didn’t make a complete idiot out of yourself.
It took you a while to get away from the door, but once you did you couldn’t help but try to sneak a peek out of the window. To your absolute shock, you found Baji still standing at the exact spot you left him. His back was to you, but you could tell he was motionless and no doubt in shock just as you were when you saw him fight.
You took some pride in the fact you managed to shock someone who apparently could be so wild and hard to properly understand as Baji.
After a couple of minutes, the boy suddenly cursed so loud it caught the attention of your neighbor, who probably scolded him on the spot.
He didn’t seem apologetic one bit when he turned to your home catching you looking at him from the window.
When he saw you, he quickly turned around and ran away like a maniac causing you to chuckle.
Rude delinquent or not he’s still pretty cute.
Koniec
A.N: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. English is not my first language. Have a nice day.
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jupitercomet · 7 months
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summary - You should have known to question when Bob suddenly appeared in your bakery and made his place in your life—but, in your defense, his smile was so charming! Five dates in and he’s already swept you off your feet completely with his thoughtful nature and kind heart. But the question still remains: what do you actually know about him? And why does he always come back to you covered in bruises?
warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, violence, language, Bob is 6′5″ because I said so, I roasted Mav in this a bit my bad, mentions of violence, “Bob” is kind of a stupid boxer name so I changed it, no use of y/n
this series is 18+, minors please do not interact
word count - 4.6k
okay, here's the start of under the hard deck: rewritten! obviously some parts of it are going to be the same, I don't plan on scrapping all the chapters I've written. it's just that some of the characterizations/pacing/plot points are going to be different. anyway I hope you enjoy (for the second time)! - bugs
sweeter than sugar masterlist
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Bob Floyd liked to think he was a good person. 
He’s made mistakes of course—everyone has—but he has his morals and he sticks by them. His world is fast paced and, often, it was hard for him to feel grounded when everything seemed to be changing around him. So he took solace in one universal truth. He’s a good person. 
He’s kind to his family and friends, a ray of light that could shine in any room. He’s a respectful son, making sure to remind his mom any chance he could how grateful he was for her sacrifices. He could make jokes and laugh, comfort and console. 
But there’s an unrelenting pressure that comes with being a good person. A weight that couldn’t be lifted as he exhausted himself with the idea of what exactly it means to be inherently good. When he was a kid, his mom always used to read him a book called “Do Unto Otters”. It played on the saying “do unto others as you would have others do unto you”, a story about manners and treating people with kindness all told through the perspective of a rabbit and some otters. His mom would sit next to him on the bed, reading aloud with silly voices for each character, and Bob would giggle, and grin, and trace the illustrations with his index finger.
When the landlord came pounding on the door and called his mom names that Bob knew had to be insults, with the way they were laced with venom and dripping with malice, and all Bob wanted to do was yell back all the insults he knew, his mom would shake her head with a tired smile.
“Do unto otters, Bo.”
When the new kid at school didn’t seem to be fitting in and Bob felt like maybe he should invite him over to hangout sometime, his mom would kiss his temple sweetly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.
“Do unto otters, Bo.”
And when dinner had finished and all the dishes had been put away and Bob really wanted some vanilla ice cream but he knew he’d already had candy at lunch, his mom would suddenly set down a bowl with two scoops and some sprinkles and wink at him as she took a bite of her own.
“Do unto otters, Bo.”
So Bob holds open doors for people, even if they’re on the cusp of being too far away for that to be expected. He says his “please”s and “thank you”s and tries to be polite. He gives up his seat on public transportation and has reusable shopping bags so he doesn’t have to use the plastic ones at the grocery store. Do unto otters. Be a good person, do good things.
But what does it mean to be good? What does it mean to put so much weight into the strangers in passing or the people constantly present in your life? Eventually you burn out. Eventually, you don’t feel good anymore. Eventually you do something, anything, that makes it so you look in the mirror and can’t defend yourself, and your whole self perception comes crashing down. It’s a lifestyle that no one can maintain, not even Bob.
Bob Floyd was a good person. Bob Floyd was a good person until, suddenly, he wasn’t. And it could all be traced back to the first time he ever stepped foot into Sugar Plum Bakery.
“Thanks.”
Bob sends back a small smile in response as the stranger quickens his pace slightly to catch the door Bob was holding open for him.
The air smells like buttercream and green apples, a combination that intertwines with Bob’s senses as he stuffs his hands in his flannel jacket. There’s a small line in front of him—and the stranger behind him too—all seemingly content as they wait for their turn at the register. From this view, Bob can make out some of the treats behind the glass. Cheesecakes and crème brûlées, cupcakes and macaroons, and a promising looking jelly filled danish fill its shelves, shining under the fluorescent lights of the case.
Someone brushes past Bob to get to the exit and he mutters out a quiet apology, taking a step forward to match the rest of the line. He isn’t sure what exactly drew him here in the first place, a quaint bakery tucked between a bookstore and a GNC, but his feet were leading him to the door before he could stop himself.
Of course Mickey would say it was because Bob ate so much sugar, all his teeth would fall out by 30—“How you put that much shit in your body and still look like that is a marvel to all scientists”. And then Bob would say, “This is what I get for trying to be nice to the new kid”. And Mickey would grin, “You’re just mad you still can’t beat me in Mario Kart”.
But maybe Mickey was right. Because here he is, having just left the gym, craving something sweet. The line moves again and Bob realizes it’s his turn, stepping closer to the register.
“Hi!” You pop up suddenly, smiling brightly. There’s a smudge of flour on your cheek, stipples of it all over your apron, and Bob's almost certain there’s some in your hair too. “What can I getcha?”
Bob smiles slightly, ducking under the brim of his cap as he scans the shelves. He clears his throat, “Um, what do you recommend?”
You bite your lip, eyes squinting as you appear to be sizing him up. It reminds Bob of his opponents in the ring—though their eyes aren’t nearly as pretty as yours—and it almost makes him laugh. It’s a look so similar except, instead of trying to figure out which side of your jaw is going to get shattered by his boxing glove, you’re trying to figure out if he’s a vanilla or chocolate person.
“Well, our cupcakes are usually a big hit,” you say finally and then light up as if remembering something. “We also have green apple tarts. They’re today’s special.”
Bob’s eyebrows raise slightly in agreement. “Today’s special, huh? Then I should probably get one of those, shouldn’t I?”
“It’d be sacrilegious not to,” you tease back, a smile growing on your lips.
Bob lets out a whistle, having to bite back a grin when you laugh sweetly. “Well, I can’t be disrespectin’ you in your own shop, can I?” 
“No, sir,” you shake your head, quieting from your giggles as you press a few buttons on the register. “Will that be all for you today?”
Bob nods, watching you open the glass case with a piece of parchment paper in your hand as you grab a green apple tart. You box it up for him with skillful hands and Bob slides his credit card into the chip reader. It only takes one glance at you for him to confirm his 20% tip. You hand the box to him with that bright smile and—just like every romantic comedy Bob has ever watched with his mom—his heart stutters when your fingers brush.
“Have a good day!”
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“Hey, I think that guy’s back.”
You set down the steaming hot tray of croissants on the stove top, sliding off your oven mitts as you turn to Eloise. “Ball cap guy?”
She smirks incredulously, tracing her upper canine with her tongue. “You’re telling me, you saw that fine specimen who’s so tall he has to duck under our front door and you’re only calling him ‘Ball cap guy’?”
“Oh?” You turn back to the croissants, pleased with their golden brown color as you move to transfer them to a different tray to bring up front.  “And what would you call him?”
“Hottie with the body, America’s ass, God’s gift to women…” she lists them on her fingers unabashedly and you almost drop a croissant.
“Eloise!”
Your laughter fills the back kitchen and Eloise wiggles her brows at you. 
When you first started working at Sugar Plum, you never expected you’d find your best friend in the girl with fiery red hair who was chucking cinnamon rolls at one of your coworkers when you’d walked in for your first shift. You found out later that it was because your coworker had been saying something rude about you. 
“Brenda said she went to pastry school. Can you imagine how stuck up she’s gonna be? And she must not even be that good either, if she can only get a job at a place like this…”
Eloise had never met you—she didn’t even know what you looked like—but she’d had your back with some choice words of her own and probably a few too many cinnamon rolls. And when your boss Brenda confronted Eloise about the wasted treats your coworker had no doubt snitched about, you'd had her back too.
“I’m sorry, I slipped when I was holding a tray of them.”
The two of you had been best friends ever since.
“What?” She giggles, taking the new tray of croissants from you. “He is cuh-yute!”
You shake your head endearingly. “Okay, okay, I get it. Have you taken his order?”
“Don’t think it was a cupcake he was hopin’ for,” she looks at you knowingly and you feel slightly flustered at her implication.
He wanted to see you?
“Oh,” you try to put yourself together a bit, having been up since 5:00 to get everything baked in time for opening. “Do I look okay?”
Eloise scoffs, pushing you towards the front of the bakery with the hand that isn’t holding the tray of croissants. “You look cute as a button, honey. Now go talk to that man before I stick my claws in ‘em. You know he couldn’t handle me.”
You laugh, wiping your hands on your apron.
Ball cap guy sticks out like a sore thumb against the few customers in Sugar Plum, a head taller than everyone else even as his gaze is tilted down to look at his phone. He’s weaning another flannel jacket—this one is navy blue, the black checkered pattern hardly visible against the equally dark color—and a pair of black joggers that seem a bit too insulated for the nice weather you’re having. He’s still got on the same hat though, a black ball cap with an iron on patch of a white circle on the front of it. Embroidered inside the circle is a flying eagle that looks like it’s mid-attack.
At the sound of your laughter, he looks up, pocketing his phone, and he meets your gaze with an adorable raise of his hand.
“Hey.” His voice is kind of quiet—but you like that—coming from his chest with a bit of grit and you can already hear Eloise gushing about it in the back of your head.
You smile when he reaches the counter. “Hi. Back for seconds?”
Ball cap guy chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah actually. You make some real good pastries. My friend was mad that I didn't bring him any back.”
“Well, we don’t have any more green apple tarts, unfortunately.” Though you’re sure you don’t look very unfortunate with your large smile. “But today’s special is sweet pea cupcakes.”
“Sweet pea cupcakes?”
“They don’t actually have any sweet pea blossoms in them,” you confess, wiping your hands on your apron again. “We’re calling them that because the frosting looks like flowers… Sweet peas are poisonous, so that would be pretty dangerous if we made them with actual sweet peas. You can eat the vines though, they’re supposed to be good. But that would be kind of weird in a cupcake—”
You cut yourself off when you realize that you’re rambling, eyes widening slightly because what kind of weirdo uses plant facts as a pickup line?  
“That’s really interesting. I didn’t know that,” Ball cap guy—for some bizarre reason—is grinning at you. 
You bite your lip nervously. “Yeah, um, plants right?”
What the fuck is wrong with you?
Ball cap guy chuckles in agreement. “Plants right,” he echos. “I’ll take three nonpoisonous sweet pea cupcakes then.”
You nod, distracting yourself with adding up the total of his order in your head since Eloise was using the register with other customers. Ball cap guy keeps his eyes on you, looking almost nervous, though it wasn’t like he had anything to be embarrassed about. Trying to shake yourself of the mortification, you place his box of cupcakes on the counter.
“That’ll be—”
“What time do you get off?” He blurts suddenly.
You blink.
“Fuck, sorry,” he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, before letting out a breath and starting again. “I meant, if you want to, I was hoping that maybe you’d like to have a cupcake when you get off. With me.”
You’re sure you look like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Ball cap guy looks just as nervous, his hat casting a shadow down on his pinkened cheeks and his eyes meeting yours hopefully. You collect your bearings—only somewhat—nodding weakly until you can push your voice out.
“I, um, I get my break in an hour, if that’s not too long for you?”
Ball cap guy smiles. “I can wait, sweet pea.”
He moves to sit at one of the tables once he’s paid, box of cupcakes in hand, and you have to look away before your excitement becomes obvious to everyone in the bakery. When you turn, Eloise is shooting you a not at all subtle thumbs up.
For the rest of your shift, you have to avoid staring at Ball cap guy. A task that is not easy, so you settle for making sure he doesn’t catch you staring at him... You’re only mildly successful.
True to his word, Ball cap guy stays seated at one of the tables, scrolling through his phone and leaving the box of cupcakes untouched. You know that this technically counts as loitering and that, if Brenda were here, she’d demand that you kick him out. But Brenda’s not here and that man’s hands are probably bigger than your face and, for whatever reason, he’s interested in you, so she can suck it because he’s staying.
With that little act of defiance towards your boss fueling you, you manage to make it through the last hour before your break without deciding to hide in the kitchen and never come out. You’re sure you look a bit of a mess, covered in sweat, flour, and frosting, but it’s not like you really have time to clean yourself up. You do the best you can, washing up in the employee bathroom before taking a large breath.
Time to talk to Ball cap guy.
“Hey,” he greets you with a warm smile as you walk up to his table.
You slide into one of the chairs, trying to ignore how obvious Eloise is being as she stares at you. “Hey.”
“You hungry?” He slides the cupcake box over to you slightly, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “I heard the girl who makes these is really good.”
You can’t bite back your smile as you open the box carefully. “Oh, I heard she’s the best.”
There’s a lull in the conversation and then Ball cap guy looks down bashfully. “I’m Bob, by the way. I probably should have started with that.”
“It’s okay,” you shrug off, supplying your own name. “But it’s nice to finally put a name to the face. We’ve just been calling you ‘Ball cap guy’.” You laugh suddenly in recollection, “Or ‘God’s gift to women’, I guess.”
Bob, who up until this point had taken one of the cupcakes and peeled back the liner to take a bite, turns bright red, choking on the vanilla cake in his mouth. “God’s… God’s gift to women?” He asks slowly.
“Oh my god! Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Your hand flies to your mouth when you realize what you’ve just said. “It was Eloise’s idea, I swear!— Not that I disagree! I mean—” Words fail you completely and you can’t even bring yourself to look Bob in the eye, letting your face fall into your hands. “I’m sorry.”
“No, that’s— That’s okay. That’s really nice of you to say,” Bob tries to console, but all it does is make you cringe. He’s quiet for a moment. “If it helps, I lied about coming back because my friend wanted something… Well, he did, but I was planning on eating his anyway. I just wanted to see you again.”
You peek out through your fingers slightly. “Really?”
“Really.” Bob chuckles, the sound deep and rich and coming from his chest, it almost makes you dizzy but in a good way—a very good way.
You let your hands drop from your face, a small smile playing on your lips as Bob takes a somewhat teasing bite of his cupcake. For a guy you barely know, he makes you feel weirdly at ease, a calmness about him that almost grounds you when you often tend to feel anything but. You really can’t think of any other guy you’d stick around and have a chat with after accidentally telling him that you call him “God’s gift to women”.
Normally an incident like that would have you bolting to the nearest bathroom to lock yourself in, but instead you reach for one of the cupcakes in the box, moving it to your mouth to take a bite of your own. Licking your lips of the buttercream frosting, you set your cupcake on the table.
“So what do you think?” You gesture to the treat.
“Really good,” Bob nods earnestly and then something mischievous lights up his eyes. “I also enjoyed the botany lesson that came with my purchase.”
You do your best to look annoyed, though you’re hardly successful, a smile breaking through your scowl. “You should have. I don’t give those to just anyone, you know.”
“I feel extra special, then.” This time, Bob isn’t teasing, looking up at you from the brim of his cap with a soft smile.
And truly it’s that look you have to blame for the fact that you’re practically melting like butter, stomach swarming with butterflies. “You should,” you say quietly, trying to hide all the heat rising to your cheeks.
Bob looks like he wants to say something else, but then his phone is buzzing on the table, the screen lighting up. He spares it a quick glance before his eyes widen slightly and he grabs it quickly.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I have to go.” He’s looking at you like he’s praying you won’t be upset with him and, really, you’re not. The man waited an hour for you to get your break, you certainly can’t fault him for having other plans.
“It’s okay, I understand,” you assure him, getting up with him as he rises from the table. You watch him fumble with the cupcake box before looking down at your fingers shyly. “I, um, I really enjoyed this.”
Bob straightens, relief washing over his features when he turns to look at you. “I did too. Are… Are you working tomorrow?”
“I am.” You confirm.
There’s an unreadable look on Bob’s face suddenly, his brow slightly furrowed. You’re about to ask him if everything’s okay, but before you can he’s taking a step forward, his Timberland boots creaking against the floorboards. His large hand—the one that makes you want to giggle like a schoolgirl just thinking about—raises up, anchoring itself delicately on your check. Tenderly, his rough thumb swipes against the corner of your mouth, taking with it a small dollop of buttercream.
His hand lingers for a second longer than necessary, his eyes transfixed on yours, and for a moment the air feels charged with electricity. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, sweet pea.” Bob lets his hand drop, sending you one last smile before he starts making his way out of Sugar Plum.
You can only stare at his retreating figure, brain practically short-circuiting as you try to process what just happened. Did it even happen? Or is this man just so attractive that he’s actively causing you to hallucinate? When you turn around, Eloise is staring at you, jaw dropped and lips pulled into a wide, open-mouthed smile.
Okay… so that did just happen.
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Bob Floyd liked to think he was a good person.
He always tips at restaurants. He calls his mom every Sunday and texts her frequently throughout the week. He has a recycling bin. And compost.
Once when Mickey got sick, Bob drove to four different CVSs just to get the kind of cough medicine he liked. He always puts back his weights at the gym and wipes down the machines he uses. He’s a good person.
But there’s an unrelenting pressure that comes with being a good person.
“—box?”
The word faintly makes it through Bob’s music, a sudden alert that someone is speaking to him, and he stills. His knuckles are tender under his wraps, grateful for the reprieve. Bob looks up from the bag, pulling out one of his headphones.
“Sorry?”
Before him is a shorter man, looking at him like he knows some joke that Bob doesn’t. His black hair is pomaded almost straight upward, stiff and brittle, perhaps in an effort to look taller. It’s dark too, all encompassing in its saturation. He dyes it, Bob realizes. 
On his wrist is a thick, gold watch. It catches the light shining in from the gym windows and glistens in sparkles that scream its extravagance. Aside from the watch though, every other item on the man’s person seems muted. He wore a long sleeve black button up, rolled to the elbows, and had left a few of the buttons undone, revealing just the beginnings of his salt and pepper chest hair. He definitely dyes it. His slacks were about the same—a reddish brown, form fitting, expensive.
Bob thought he looked like he just walked off the set of The Godfather.
“I asked if you box,” the man repeats, gesturing to his wrapped hands. “You have good form.”
Bob looks at him wearily. “Thanks.”
As if understanding this current approach is proving unsuccessful, the man sticks his hand out.
“I’m Pete. But you can call me Maverick.”
“Bob.” Bob gives it a single shake.
Maverick grins. “You don’t talk much, do you Bob?”
“No, sir.”
Bob knows he’s being slightly rude, standoffish at the very least, but it was hard to get a read on Maverick. Clearly, he wanted something. Bob just doesn’t know what. 
“I like that,” Maverick decides, before gesturing his head towards the punching bag. “Where’d you learn to box like that?”
Bob shrugs. It had been Mickey’s idea, insisting that Bob needed a hobby before he turned into a mole. He’d signed Bob up for a boxing lesson without his knowledge, telling him to just try it. Hit something, break something. 
Ultimately, Bob found that he enjoyed the lesson, signing up for a few more, before he decided to continue pursuing boxing recreationally. His instructor would probably throw a fit if he knew Bob tended to box without gloves, but he preferred free movement of his hands.
“Just picked it up,” Bob says finally.
Maverick seems impressed by that, his brows raising, and then his mouth twitches into a smile.
“You ever think about fighting, Bob?”
There’s a weight that can’t be lifted as he exhausts himself with the idea of what exactly it means to be inherently good. 
“What do you think?” Maverick asks. “There’s a rush, right?”
Bob looks down at his hands—his gloves, rather—and stares at them wordlessly. He can still feel it. The windup, the contact, the follow through. It’s weird to him, the fact that these gloves are the reason a man a few feet away from him is sporting a purpling bruise on his cheek bone.
One fight. That was what Maverick had said. One fight, just to see if he liked it. No stakes, no pressure, just a one and done deal. One fight.
“Damn, man,” his opponent, Brigham, is grinning as Bob looks up. “You’ve got a mean right hook.”
Maverick laughs. “I told you not to underestimate him.”
That catches Bob slightly. I told you not to underestimate him. Though Bob loves his mom more than anything, sometimes he felt that she was too good at hiding. She thought it was better that way, that it helped avoid problems. To take it, and take it, and take it, and never wonder if maybe you shouldn’t. And so Bob hid too.
Sometimes, when his mom is quick to wipe her tears when Bob catches her after the landlord stopped by, or Mickey rolls his eyes at a group of preppy college boys that just dined and dashed, Bob can’t help but wonder if his mom was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t “do unto otters as you would have otters do unto you”. Maybe it was “do unto otters as they’ve already done unto you”.
Maybe if Bob had done that to the landlord, he’d stop making his mom cry. Maybe if Bob had done that to those preppy college boys, Mickey wouldn’t have to shrug it off with a “People tip pretty good at Charlotte’s anyway”. Maybe if he’d never taken it, and taken it, and taken it, and actually stopped to wonder if maybe he didn’t have to, they wouldn’t have had to take it either.
“Look, kid,” Maverick’s hand is on his shoulder, pulling Bob from the curious weight of his gloves. “You’ve got fight, I could see that the moment you stepped into my gym. You wanna do more than hit some flimsy, old bag a couple hours a week, it’s obvious.”
Bob swallows. Do unto otters, Bo. And what had that made him? Some sorry sucker who couldn’t do anything when it mattered. Who sits on the sidelines and hides, and makes up for it with reusable shopping bags and a few manners. 
“How much would you pay me?”
Maverick chuckles. “You’re smart, Bob. I’ll give you that.”
But Bob isn’t a little kid anymore. He no longer has a book about rabbits and otters, manners and kindness to tell him what to do anymore. All he has is this question. This blank space. What does it mean to be good?
“You’re late,” Adler grunts as soon as Bob steps through the locker room door.
“Got caught up with something.”
Adler scoffs in disbelief, before a small smile fights its way onto his face.
Bob had always liked Joe Adler. He pretended to be all big and bad, with the mouth of a sailor and the boxing history to back it. But he was a softie deep down, the kind of guy that made Bob feel slightly better about his occupation. Because if Adler could come out of it all a good man, Bob could cling to that hope for himself a little longer.
“Alright, I know Mav always wants you to milk it,” Adler helps Bob slide on his gloves, a teasing glint in his eye. “But I wanna go home, so knock the motherfucker out fast, yeah?”
Bob’s lips quirk into a small smile. “Georgia makin’ meatloaf tonight?”
“You bet your ass,” Adler snorts, giving Bob one last once over, before the announcer's exaggerated cadence could be heard through the door. 
Bob glances at it, before looking back to Adler and the older man nods. Bob shakes out his arms one last time, taking in a breath as Adler opens the locker room door for him.
“Give ‘em hell, Grim Reaper.”
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akystaracer22 · 9 days
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The Exception to the Rule
Synopsis: How far do you bend your morals for someone you love?
Notes:
This is definitely a turning point to the story and is a little jump ahead of everything so far.
From here on out, there will be two different types of oneshot, flashback oneshots which happen either in Heaven or in Eden, and present day oneshots which are primarily in Hell.
This also adds a new epithet to Adams repertoire! Technically.
There are OC’s in this one, I can’t avoid it.
Heaven politics! Theres a lot going on in heaven I can’t talk about because nobody in hell knows about it, but I can finally start talking!
I listened to More than Anything, Connor’s Main Theme, and Gladiator while writing this.
In exchange for starting the extermination early, the one after would take 18 months as opposed to 12.
I have named over 60 exorcists. If you see a reference no you don’t.
Vaggie wasn’t the first angel to show mercy to a sinner.
I drop so much fucking lore in this jesus fuck.
This one shot was supposed to come so much later.
Shit
SO, MICHAEL’S INVOLVED NOW!
Hey uh, you know how I said I can’t write stupid characters? Yeah… Adam can act and think like a damn general now ig.
Adams over 6,000 years old he knows how to move quickly.
... I really like my BAMF characters huh.
Word Count: 1862
Fic under cut!
“Adam?”
“Over here Luci,” The first man replied easily, looking towards where the angel had entered the wastelands.
Well… wastelands was a bit of a stretch now.
Once he was able to improve the soil, grass was able to finally start growing and…
The oak tree Adam was taking a break under was a testament to his labour. It was still growing and would probably take another year or so with the help of Lucifer’s magic before it’d resemble the mighty trees most people knew.
It didn’t make Adam any less proud of it.
The fallen angel got up and stretched his wings as Lucifer rounded a crag and came into view.
One of Adams wings hiked up before he could shove the instinct down, it was just Lucifer.
“Charlie wanted to know if you wanted to come up for lunch or if you’re fine down here,” The devil started, “She and Maggie are making pastries from the pear’s you dropped off yesterday.”
“Vaggies baking? Better hope your daughters good then, Vaggie’s got a tendency to burn whatever she touches.”
Regardless, Adam started making his way towards the hotel, completely disregarding the unspoken offer to just teleport there.
Lucifer just laughed and unfurled his wings as Adam began the trek up the stairs, flying up beside the man.
“I doubt you have room to talk about when it comes to cooking.”
“I helped Eve cook you know,” Adam scoffed, “I had a few specialties of my own.”
“And yet Maggie can’t cook.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up, plenty of my daughters can cook! Lux is extremely good at dessert foods and Needle can make some great fucking lunches.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes really! It’s Mari you have to look out for. The presentation of her food? Stunning, beautiful, gourmet even. The taste? I thought I was going to die a second time over the toilet.”
Lucifer cackled and a light chuckle escaped Adams lips as the angel almost fell out of the sky at the mental image.
“Shut up! I’m serious I thought I caught some sort of illness! They don’t even have illnesses in heaven!”
“I would pay to see that!”
“I bet you would be you sick fuck.”
“Hey! I-”
Lucifer went dead silent, and Adam almost asked what was wrong before he heard it too.
Shouting.
He didn’t even glance at his friend as they were both caught in Lucifer’s magic, bringing them both to the hotel lobby.
“I’ll stop the fight.”
“I’ll grab my fucking axe,” Adam headed down the hallways until he found the gym, carefully taking his axe off the wall and slinging it over his back before booking it to the hotel exit.
“If you’d just give me a minute-!”
“Your majesty-”
“Alastor.”
“Mom!”
“Oh for fucks sake!”
Adam slammed open the doors and jumped the stairs, “What the fuck is going on-!”
Adams brain short circuited immediately after taking in the situation.
Lucifer was frozen stiff with his wings spread wide, his head whipping around to stare open mouthed at Adam. Alastor and Lilith’s glaring contest was broken as they also stared at the first man. The princess and Vaggie were holding hands and Charlies demonic traits receded at Adams arrival.
The other residents were also still at the first mans arrival, nervousness and surprise evident in everyone expressions, even Nifty stopped moving. Under normal circumstances Adam’s gut would have twisted from all the attention.
That usual knee jerk response was completely crushed under the weight of the other three present.
Adam was barely aware of the fact that he’d dropped his axe as he took in the maskless faces of three of his exorcists.
Echo almost dropped her scimitars; her hair was undone from it’s usual bun to brush against her shoulders. She almost stepped back from him before a wing from her sisters steadied her.
Delta was much more graceful, sheathing her rapier and swallowing thickly; Adam understood how she felt. She’d recently had a haircut, her undercut looking crisper than the last time he saw her.
Nina’s war pick clattered to the ground as she brought her hands to her mouth, tears cropping up in the corners of her eyes as she took in his ruined form. In contrast to Delta, her hair had grown out; the normal buzz cut fading.
Adam stood in the silence, wings slowly folding in from where he had mantled them prior. He didn’t know what to do. These were his girls, and they were here and fuck, they were outnumbered. But… shit they were here to kill him weren’t they.
“…Sir?”
Fuck it.
The first man sprinted forward; wings spread wide as he reached out for the three of them. Weapons hit the ground as he pulled his kids into a hug.
If he was going to die, he’d like to die hugging his girls.
Adam didn’t expect the three of them to hug back. His shoulder grew wet as Nina’s tears started to fall; Echo made a soft noise as she buried her head in the feathers of his good wing. Delta’s wings were touching the tips of his own as she all but collapsed into the huddle.
Huh, seems like they were all mad here.
Adam didn’t give a fuck; he was hugging his exorcists and that was enough for him at the moment.
“So… we’re good?”
Moment over.
Adam pulled away to glare at Lucifer, “Do you fucking mind?”
“Sorry sorry! I’ll shut up now!”
“No, you’ve ruined it. Moments gone and done thanks to you,” Adam huffed, regretfully stepping away from his girls even as he kept his good wing extended to the three exorcists, guiding them by the wing towards the hotel.
“Come on, I have a feeling you three aren’t here just for show.”
- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -
Adam blew lightly on his tea before sipping it, leaning forward to pour the exorcists some tea as he worked to calm his still slightly frayed nerves.
He’d managed to move the girls into a private room before unceremoniously kicking everyone else out, if anything happened Lucifer would break into the room in a flash, so it wasn’t like he was in any real danger.
Besides, they were his girls, it’d be fine.
“So,” Adam swallowed, before  “What brings you three to this side of the pentagram? The hunts not on for another eight months.”
Echo swallowed thickly and Nina bowed her head, it was Delta who answered.
“I- Netto discovered that heaven knew you were alive, sir. Lute wanted to come down immediately but the rest of us were able to convince her otherwise.”
“She’s too far in the eyes of the high seraphim, if she disappeared they’d know.”
“So, we decided to go instead,” Nina finished for her sisters.
Adam stared at the three of them, horrified, “What?”
“What Nina’s saying is… we’re staying here.”
“Why the fuck would you three do that!” Adam hissed, feathers bristling at the implications, “You all have so much to lose-”
“We don’t,” Delta asserted, scowling at the window, “You know damn well what hells denizens took from us.”
Adam froze as the image flashed into the forefront of his mind.
Charlie. Echo and Delta’s missing piece to their trio. They were best friends even beyond the bonds of sisterhood. Where one was the other two were close by. Charlie was the sunshine to their storm, always taking time out of her own day to brighten up the other exorcists. She preferred to use a crossbow to keep away from sinners, something Adam was always grateful for.
Charlie’s body was missing several ribs and most of her organs, looking every part like it had been ravaged by monsters. It took effort Adam didn’t have every day to not go to cannibal town and raze it to the ground. For Charlie, for Zirco, for Steel, for Feather and Annie and every exorcist he failed.
Even-
A scream, a plea as Adam struggled against divine magic nononono please stOP PLEASE-
Wasp
Adam whole body tensed up. Fuck, Wasp. He hadn’t- shit he’d almost managed to convince himself that that had never-
Fuck.
The girls were looking at him now, Nina reaching out a hand to him.
“And you?”
The hand pulled away, “What?”
“Nina, why did you decide to come down here,” Adam rasped, “You- fuck you were planning on proposing to your girlfriend why-”
“Because your our leader,” Nina answered quietly, like she wasn’t taking Adams breath away with a single sentence, “And Regina understood, she agreed with me.”
Nina held up her phone with a sad smile, “Besides, at least this way it’s easier for me to watch out for her dad.”
Adam wanted to send the three of them back to heaven immediately, this was no place for angels. Vaggie was lucky she found Charlie immediately.
But Delta and Echo had backbones of steel, and once Nina set her mind to something there was no stopping her.
Shit, Netto and Lute were smart to send them.
Wait-
“What did you mean when you said heaven knew I fell Delta,” Adam whispered, “I should have fucking died. How did Netto find out I fell.”
Delta sighed and gazed tiredly at him, “Same way she always finds things out, she got it straight from Michaels lips.”
Adams blood froze before his mind caught up with him. Michael was involved with this. Fuck of course he was it was Michael, and if he was involved… then it stands to reason the rest of the ancient archangels had something to do with all of this too.
The first man stood up before pausing, if his gut was right, this wasn’t just about his fall. For the ancient archangels to be aware of his fall and do nothing for ten months… there was something he was missing.
He’d need to wait, maybe even bring Lucifer and the others in on this. But first…
“I’m in room 2101, Lucifer’s wing. 2100 is taken by the king of hell himself and his wife but the rest of the floor is empty,” the three exorcists perked up at Adams commanding tone, “Get set up and get settled in. Echo, send a message to the others and tell them I’m okay.”
“Already done.”
“Love that, Delta how is training looking?”
“Lute’s leading the effort sir, we’ve been working hard to fix our holes.”
“Great, get back in contact with Lute. I have a few techniques that can help. And for fucks sake tell her to use whatever prosthetic she has to her advantage; I fucking know she’s not.”
“Yes sir!”
“Nina, keep an ear out. Both for anything Netto has for us and for anything in hell. Carmilla Carmine, and the Vees are important. Especially Carmine, she’s the one with the angelic steel. Do not engage.”
“Go it sir.”
“Good, I’ll get you three for dinner. Remember, stay sharp, stay armed, and whatever you do. Don’t fucking trust the Radio Demon. He’ll kill everyone in this hotel the moment he’s off his fucking leash.”
The leader of the exorcists watched the three of them head down the hallway towards the front desk before turning and heading for the stairwell.
He had a lot to think about, and from the looks of things he still had an extermination to plan.
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xiakeponz · 2 months
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I just wanted to translate a lil' bit of this book I was reading, because I didn't realise just how many poems (in the case of this book, Tang dynasty poems) have been lost to the ravages of time, and what a miracle it is that we even have a 唐诗三百首 today. Short note from me about translation approach is at the end under the cut.
唐诗寒武纪
王晓磊 (六神磊磊) 著
ISBN: 978-7-5302-2250-8
The Cambrian Age of Tang Poems by Author Wang Xiaolei (ISBN: 978-7-5302-2250-8)
Chapter 1 
Do you know how fortunate you are to be able to read Tang poems today? 
我志在删述,垂辉映千春。- 李白
My ambition is as grand as when Confucius compiled The Book of Poems, so that the radiance of my poems may shine a thousand springs from now. 
At a time 400 years ago from the present day, during the Tianqi Era (1621-1628) of the Ming Dynasty, when Eunuch Wei Zhongxian’s (魏忠贤)authority could eclipse the heavens- 
In the Haiyan district of the Zhejiang Province, there was an old man who silently shed his official’s robes, and folded them neatly. This was a set of blue robes embroidered with white pheasants, signifying that he was a fifth-rank court official. 
Outside, someone yelled, “Official Hu, why haven’t you come out yet! We’re waiting to escort you to De Zhou so you can take up your post there!”
“Take up my post?” The old gentleman gave a small smile, then muttered to himself, “Goodbye,  court politics! I have long grown weary of you. I’m going back to my hometown, and spending the rest of my years completing a very important matter- to compile the most complete set of Tang poems, so that there will no longer be any left out, so that no longer will there be any lost to the ages, so that our descendents can read them all!”
Let us remember the name of this old gentleman: Hu Zhenheng (胡震亨). 
Perhaps it is very difficult for people of the present day to understand - wasn’t he just wanting to make a compilation of poems, was that really so difficult? Did he need to really go this hard? Actually, yes. Back in that time period, it really was that difficult.  During that time, there were no publishing companies, printing factories, libraries, or convenient search engines. If you wanted to look up a poem, you’d have to pore through countless scrolls, you may even need to  trek over mountains and cross rivers just to be able to make a copy - and even after all that, you may not even have been able to make that copy. 
If Ol’ Hu slacked off, and didn’t make this Tang poetry compilation, what would have happened? The answer to that is, that the consequences would have been very dire.
At that time, Tang poetry was already starting to go extinct just like how our flora and fauna species are going into mass extinction today. According to Hu Zhenheng’s estimations, at least half of all Tang poetry had already been lost. 
Perhaps you are thinking, how the hell does poetry just go missing? As long as the poet is good enough, as long as the poem is good enough, then wouldn’t such works just be passed down through the ages, and be able to endure, that way? 
It really doesn’t work like that. 
Let me ask you a very broad question: out of all of the Tang poems, which one is the best? Perhaps many people will respond, off the top of their heads, “A night of moonlit blossoms on the river in spring” (春江花月夜“). This poem is lauded as the “a singular page eclipses the entire Tang dynasty” poem of poems, after all. Well then, who is the author of this fine poem? Many of you readers can answer, Zhang Ruoxu(张若虚). 
This Mister Zhang has written such a great work, and has made such a great contribution to Tang Poetry. Well then, how many of his poems remain today? A hundred poems? Eighty? The answer will shock you - merely two of his poems remain today. 
The only reason “A night of moonlit blossoms on the river in spring” was able to be passed down to the present day, is really nothing more than a giant fluke. It was thanks to a very accidental opportunity, that when people in the Song dynasty were compiling a book of songs and ballads for their music bureau, they recorded this very poem by Zhang Ruoxu into the compilation, and enabled it to be passed down through the ages. 
Apart from two poems, all the other works created by Zhang Ruoxu in his lifetime, do not exist today. 
Now let me ask you another similar question: out of the pentasyllabic quatrain poems (五言绝句)in the Tang dynasty , which one is the best? Many will immediately respond, “Climbing White Stork Tower” (登鹳雀楼). Yes, the one which everyone recited as a child - the sun sets against the mountains, the yellow river flows into the sea” (白日依山尽,黄河入海流). Its author is recognised by most people as Wang Zhihuan (王之涣). 
So then, how many poems has the great poet Wang Zhihuan left behind? The answer will again flabbergast you as you read it: there are only six poems left behind, the rest are all gone. 
Within a thousand years, we do not know how many lines like “the sun sets against the mountains (白日依山尽)”, and “the tides of the ocean and the moon rise in tandem (海上明月共潮生)” have been lost to the ages forever. 
The misfortunes of our friends Wang Zhihuan and Zhang Ruoxu, were not mere happenstance. 
How many poems of Li Bai (李白)have lived on to see the light of today? The most pessimistic takes say that, about one-tenth of all his poems exist today. 
This great genius has been writing poetry all his life, so estimates of his total poem count sits at around five thousand to ten thousand poems. For every ten of his poems, we may never ever be able to read eight or nine of them. 
Before passing away, Li Bai had sorted out all of the drafts and writings he had made in his lifetime, and solemnly entrusted it all to his uncle (族叔), Li Yangbing (李阳冰), and asked that he compile them into volumes, so that it can be passed down through generations. Li Yangbing did not fail Li Bai’s wishes, and poured his heart into compiling the Thatched Cottage Anthologies (草堂集)of which there were ten scrolls … which then subsequently got lost to the ages in the Song Dynasty. 
Now let’s talk about Du Fu (杜甫)。Essentially all the poems written by this similarly great poet before the age of forty, have been lost to the ages. How long did Du Fu live? Until age fifty-eight. That is to say, that all the poems he wrote for most of his life, were all for nothing. 
Another big shot, Wang Wei, (王维)fared no better. During the Kaiyuan era alone (713-741) he wrote hundreds if not thousands of poems. By the end, less than one-tenth of the total remained. 
There are countless other examples. The early Tang poet, Song Zhiwen(宋之问)was big-name poet who established the foundations of regulated verse poetry. He had poetry volumes circulating during the Tang Dynasty, however the circulation still ended during the Jiajing era of the Ming dynasty, and was finally lost during the Wanli era. All twenty volumes of the writings of gifted female scholar-official, Shangguan Wan’er (上官婉儿), were entirely lost in the Song dynasty, and we only have thirty-two of her poems remaining today. 
The poetry volumes written by one of the “Elite Fours” of the early Tang dynasty, Wang Bo (王勃),the genius who famously wrote “the hues of twilight fall in line with the solitary flight of a wild mallard (落霞与孤鹜齐飞)”, were arduously able to survive for a few hundred years, however, come the Ming dynasty, they were all completely lost all the same. 
This is like saying that the complete works of Jing Yong (金庸)were all lost to the ages, and you would only be able to glean snippets and excerpts of his original writings from the column writings of Liushen Leilei (六神磊磊)to get your hit. Just the thought of it makes me want to cry. 
The great Meng Haoran (孟浩然) can be counted as lucky. Shortly after he passed away, there were already people making compilations of his poems. Even so, many of his creations have still been lost. There is also the great Li Shangyin (李商隐), who wrote “the silkworm spins silk even ‘til death (春蚕到死丝方尽)” and “our hearts are connected through a singular nexus (心有灵犀一点通)” , who personally compiled forty-odd scrolls of his writings, however, those have all been lost, and not a single volume remains. His poems have all been scrabbled together piece-by-piece, by those after his time. 
So, do you still think that those poems which have been lost to time, were lost purely because they were shoddy poems, of little worth, so no one wanted to remember them? Not at all. Even if they made a mark in their heyday, poems that are handed down will eventually be lost to time, all the same. 
People in the Tang dynasty have recorded, that of Li Bai’s CiFu (辞赋)poetry, the poems Dapeng Fu (大鹏赋)and Hongyou Fu (鸿猷赋)were incredibly marvelous, so much so that they even surpassed the calibre of writings of the big guardians of CiFu poetry from the previous generation, Sima Xiangru (司马相如) and Yang Xiong (杨雄). Fortunately, we can read Dapeng Fu today, but … where is Hongyou Fu? Sorry, it’s gone, lost forever to the ravages of time. 
Translator’s note:
There are many ways to do a translation, and this one is more for the vibes than for the “literal” translation - that is not to say it is inaccurate, but as someone who has translated for years from Japanese to English, or from time to time, Chinese to English (when I feel like it lol) I thought I’d state the purpose of this translation so you can get a sense of my choices here.  I am translating this very casually and more for speed / for fun, it is a very pulling-words-off-the-top-of-my-head translation than the other kind of translation I do where I sit there for hours milling over a singular word. A partial reason for why I can do this style of translation is because the prose of the book itself is very conversational and casual (I will tangentially note, this writing style is kind of controversial with the Author’s other works that discuss poetry, as some readers view it as “low-brow”, but for me, I like it. I think it makes the content very digestible and accessible to readers who are new to poetry). This translation is for my buddies in the poetry club, who are mainly diaspora and/or can read Chinese to any extent anyway (in particular, I want to thank the funny and great @fwoopersongs, for always being here to chat poem stuff and making me interested in the lives of the poets and the context surrounding the poetry rather than just the poems themselves).  As such, I will try to remember to include the Chinese characters for people’s names, so you can read it with the correct tones. I bought this book and started reading, and thought wow, this is cool, I want to share it. A lot of the Chinese terms here I’ve only thought about and experienced in Chinese, I don’t watch Mandarin-language shows with any subtitles, and I don’t typically experience other Chinese Media in English so I am not sure what the “standard” (if any) terms in English would be - it’s for the vibes, especially the parts where I am translating literal poetry. For example, the author pulls verses from poetry here to set the tone for the start of a chapter, so the goal of my translation here to make a translation that it conveys to the reader a reason why that verse was chosen, rather than the “perfect” way 千秋, 碧落,独倚 or a word like that is translated (or, for example, everyone let’s agree on a translation of the poem title 《春江花月夜》 - pain - lol). I do not think I can do any of these poetry translations justice, as poetry translations in any language is more like a feeling of the soul that you try to fit within the available confines of another language, hoping that the reader on the other side can experience something in their own individual way through your shared humanity rather than language alone. Also, I do have a lot of commentary and notes that I wanted to make but I might do that in a different place (maybe as footnotes) at another time, I don’t want to interrupt the flow of the reader by sticking my own comments everywhere.
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messyyythoughts · 1 year
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the funny little things.
criminal minds Dr. Spencer Reid x female BAU reader
author’s note: oh dear... a new obsession, i fear! in all seriousness: this series single-handedly got me through the end of 2022, so what better to do than write something for it?! summary: your relationship with Dr Reid of the BAU is a good one, so good that there’s these little funny things that you both do with one another... warnings: working on murder cases (reader is part of BAU)/trauma from working on cases --> so read at your own discretion! ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
when you first joined the BAU, you were nervous but who wouldn’t be?
you’d put your heart, blood, sweat and tears into passing those profiling classes and you’d passed with flying colours! your parents were very happy for you, knowing it had been a lifelong dream of yours
on your first day you didn’t have a desk set up, and you were mortified that the BAU had forgotten about you on your first day
you almost turned around and walked back out of that office, until you bumped into Spencer Reid, that absolute charmer.
“oh, sorry,” Reid smiled apologetically, “hey, is your name–” you both said your name at the same time. Reid’s face broke out into a smile, and he held out his hand. “I saw your reports, impressive work for someone so young.” he had his hands in his pockets as he spoke. “not that you’re too young for the job or anything.” he added hastily. “oh thank you, uh, I’m just doing my best really.” you were trying to not stumble over yourself as you spoke, recognising Dr Reid as he stood in front of you. he asked where your desk was, secretly hoping he’d be able to talk some more with you, until you admitted there wasn’t a desk ready for you. a flush of embarrassment crept up your face, and Reid pressed his lips together in thought. he motioned for you to follow him to his desk, which he pulled a spare chair to and presented it to you proudly. “we can, uh, share,” he said, “until they find you one.” you smiled shyly, placing your bag on your lap as you took one chair and he took the other. he really liked your energy, so quiet, but he knew once you realised you could do the job he’d see the other side of you. when JJ called the team to the briefing room for a meeting, you found that your legs were cemented to the seat. this was it, your first case, what you’d been waiting for your entire life. Reid was up and gone, and you followed after a second of muddled thinking. inside the room was a team of faces you hadn’t met yet, but you knew all about them. Reid had a spare chair by his side, and after realising JJ was waiting for you to sit, you hurried over. as you sat down, JJ started bringing up the pictures of the victims and crime scenes, reading out the background information. you finally felt like you were getting somewhere.
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you were exhausted to say the least when you returned to the jet for the journey home. you’d followed Reid like a lost puppy on this case, but the others had been kind to you. Emily asked how you were doing each time she saw you, always privately checking in. JJ would text you for updates, giving you a smile whenever you crossed paths. Rossi made you feel like you were being included by asking for your thoughts, coming to you for second opinions. Morgan never left you behind anywhere, always on guard as you two went around together. Hotch carefully watched your body language and facial expressions throughout the case, jumping in when he thought you were beginning to fall behind. and Miss Penelope was always gushing at how polite you were when calling her for help, and promised to see you as soon as you returned. you obviously felt very welcomed, and even as quiet fell across the jet, it was comfortable. you text your parents that you were done with your first case, and closed your eyes to doze. 
you didn’t even realise that you had leaned a bit too far across and had your head on Reid’s shoulder
he shuffled down a bit so your head rested easily, before taking out a book of his and picking up where he left off
the others soon noticed and couldn’t help but smile, because for once Reid looked content in the company of another person
after that, it was an unspoken rule that no matter where you sat on the jet, Reid was next to you. you almost always slept, unless a case had been particularly harrowing and it kept you awake thinking, and each time your head would fall onto Reid’s waiting shoulder. it was also another unspoken rule that when the jet lands, no one wakes you up, except Reid.
he’s the only person you’ll be happy to let you wake you up on the jet
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the drive home is always longer than the drive to work, you find, but this changed when Reid offered to help save the environment by carpooling!
when in Virginia, Reid likes carpooling with you to work, and dropping you off home at the end of the day
he’ll take you anywhere really if you ask him too :)
after a case, he has to see you walk in and lock the door behind you before driving away to his place
it gives him peace of mind that you’re safe without him there, not that he could attempt to physically fight a random intruder away, but he could certainly talk them into confusion!
to pass the time between being at home and going to work, where you’d see Reid again, you picked up the habit of reading.
when you bring a book with you anywhere, Reid makes a point of taking interest in it, then looking into it after you’ve finished it just so he can talk to you about it over the following weeks
even with the oddest of books, he’ll put himself through reading just so he knows what you’re talking about the next time he sees you
he would never have read The Hunger Games trilogy without your influence.
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it goes without saying that the BAU job is not an easy one. you’ve seen more mangled bodies than a graveyard, and walked through such gruesome crime scenes you were sure they weren’t real. the persistent nightmares started not long after your first few cases, and you told no one. not your parents, not even Reid, who you were sure had experienced nightmares too. there was one night in particular where you had been tossing and turning, then stretching and walking around your bedroom to try and tire yourself out. nothing stopped you from seeing the images of women that had been torn apart, discarded like they were nothing every time you closed your eyes. and then your morning alarm went off.
Reid noticed that you were off as you got into the car, no “good morning sunshine” or “hey handsome” as you normally said when buckling up
“you’re quiet, no sleep last night?” Reid asked, pulling away from your place and side-eyeing you
“yeah, sadly, it’s just one bad night though.” you half-smiled at him, trying to sleep in the car on the way to work
when you got there, Reid had coffee ready to go at all hours of the day, sometimes preempting your needs and placing a full mug on your desk before you could get up
at the end of the day where you’d only filled out paperwork, Reid saw that you were struggling, and had an idea
“so, I was thinking, there’s actually this new way to fall asleep by tricking your brain. we could try it tonight so you catch up on your sleep.” Reid said casually, as you finished more coffee. “I’ll do anything right now to get a decent night’s sleep.” you sighed, getting up to wash your mug before finishing up the paperwork for the night. Reid smiled as you walked off, the perfect plan in his head. once you were both done, Reid drove to your place, and joined you inside. “now what?” you asked, eyes heavy but brain still ticking over. “the fun part. you get changed, I’ll do the rest.” Reid started messing with your TV, and you just followed his instructions. you showered, changed clothes and met him back downstairs. he had the TV ready and the sofa made up. “I’ll stay for a bit to see if it works,” he then added, “if you don’t mind?” you waved a hand at him, you didn’t care if he slept on your bed, and he settled down next to you on the sofa.
an old Hollywood movie starts to play, black and white, and you glance at Reid in suspicion
he tells you to just relax and watch it, and about halfway through you’re falling asleep to the sound of the famous Transatlantic accent, exaggerated sound effects and old time music
Reid is overjoyed that his idea worked, because this is what he does sometimes to bore his brain to sleep on those difficult nights
he finds himself falling asleep too, but gets up and turns out the lights and closes the curtains before locking your front door
and settling back down on the sofa next to your sleeping form
he tells himself he’ll run home in the morning and change before work
the next morning, you both wake up, late. with less than an hour to get to work, Reid sped home to shower, change and eat before picking you back up. despite being in fresh clothes, with hastily applied makeup on and carrying breakfast in your hands, you both looked awful. you were much brighter this morning though, as you laughed getting into the car. you arrived at work just in time, huffing and sorting out hair and clothes at your desk. Reid’s shirt was half tucked in and your hair was so damn messy. luckily, no one paid much attention to the vibe between you both that day. you two chatted all day about the ending of the film that neither of you actually watched, and you asked Reid to come over again soon and let you choose the movie.
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it wasn’t until a few months in that Reid overheard you talking to your mother on the phone, he loved the way you smiled and laughed when talking to her, and then how you said goodbye so softly. what he’d do to have you speak to him like that for a day. when you caught him staring, you threw your pen at him. you had desks right next to each other, so you often wheeled on over, just to talk to him. whenever you approached, he stopped whatever he was doing and gave his full attention to you. “so,” you began, leaning back in your chair, “seeing as you like listening to my phone calls with my mother,” he held back a smile, “how is your mother doing?” you asked. he handed you a piece of writing paper, and you raised an eyebrow at it. “she’s doing good, I was actually just writing my letter to her.” you scan over his words and smile. he’s telling her about his recent case (as much as he can without getting into trouble). you hand the letter back and watch him finish the rest over the course of the day. on the drive home he thinks of something else to add in before he sends it off tonight.
the first time Reid mentioned you to his mother in his letters, it was nothing but a mention of your first few days in the BAU
all of her replies consisted of asking about you, and if Spence liked you
Reid blew it off as you being work friends and nothing more, but a mother always knows.
now Reid asks you to add in a paragraph to every letter he writes, because his mother likes hearing from you (she thinks you’re smart, and very funny)
sometimes you receive random greeting cards from Reid’s mother through the post, and you reply to them with a smile on your face
you have all of her cards pinned up in the kitchen, Reid saw the collection once and marvelled at it
“oh yeah, your mother is lovely, I get one every so often.” you tell him, smiling at your growing collection. “I’m almost jealous.” Reid admits, with a smirk as you admire the cards. “she wants to meet you, you know. I kind of promised her I’d visit soon, and bring you with me.” your eyes met his, and he struggled to maintain eye contact. “why didn’t you say?” you lightly shoved him on the arm and booked tickets to see Reid’s mother that evening over takeaway and drinks.
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your visit to meet Reid’s mother went well, really well. you didn’t bat an eyelid when she said out of context things and made zero sense, you just smiled and listened. Reid had never adored you more than in that moment, sat across from his mother, listening to her rattle on. Reid was aware that he did the same sometimes, but you also listened to him when he was on one, and he loved you for it. you had the weekend in Nevada, and after visiting Reid’s mother, he suggested going to several different places. you spent all weekend going around Nevada, taking pictures for your parents and videos for your own memory. you’d booked adjoining rooms in the hotel after some careful consideration, but that didn’t stop you from walking straight into Reid’s room in your hotel robe asking to borrow toothpaste because there was apparently none in your bathroom. the truth was there was toothpaste in your bathroom, you just wanted to see Reid. it became a joke for you, and Reid was none the wiser, for a while.
Reid discovered when he was hanging out in your room that it was all a joke
after you had fell asleep watching a really bad movie, he went to turn the bathroom light off
only to find your own toothpaste sitting there on the bathroom sink, untouched
he realised what you’d done with a smirk and turned the bathroom light off
the next morning when you asked to borrow toothpaste again (purely to see him half-awake in bed) he said yes without hesitation and you let yourself into his room with a hidden smile
this was the first time he’d been part of an inside joke, and he loved it
you were in your short pyjamas, the heat of Nevada hadn’t been a joke, even with aircon in the rooms you found yourself hotter than usual. Reid watched as you entered his bathroom, taking the toothpaste, and returning to your bathroom. he smiled as you brushed your teeth, clueless to his newly acquired knowledge. he knew just what to do with it too. when you got back to Virginia, you showed your parents some moments from the trip and they asked some very thought provoking questions. “honey, this doctor guy seems lovely, are you sure it’s just a friendship?” your mother asked, watching you from across the kitchen. you smiled at her and nodded. “we’re good friends, and good work colleagues, I couldn’t ask for more.” you replied, to which your father nodded. “that’s all we can ask for, a good friend in your life.” your father then got up, walking over to you and your mother in the kitchen. he poured himself some coffee, thinking. you knew exactly what was coming. “but,” you started to chuckle, “are you sure this isn’t something more?” you nodded in silence, and he walked away, not believing a word you said. your mother eyed you up as you scrolled through the selfies of you and Spence in Nevada, and tutted. even she could see it, you were falling for this Spencer Reid character faster than you realised. still, she didn’t say anything, not yet at least. perhaps you’d come to the realisation once the trip became a memory and you thought about what a good time you had with your ‘work friend’. you giggled to yourself whenever you thought about the toothpaste stunts you’d pulled, thinking Spence was none the wiser, until he dropped you off home one evening after work and then a few minutes later knocked on your front door.  “Spence?” you asked, opening the front door to let him in. “hi, yeah, I actually meant to ask you something but it slipped my mind until just now.” he said, so casually. “I don’t have any toothpaste at home, could I borrow yours?” your cheeks betrayed you, as did your facial expression. Reid smiled devilishly at catching you out, and you brought your hands to your face. “you knew the whole time? oh why didn’t you say?!” you laughed weakly, as Reid watched you unravel in your hallway. you looked straight at him, eyes twinkling with mischief, but face so hot. Reid closed your front door, leaving his hand on the handle. “so?” he asked, eyes meeting yours. “can I borrow your toothpaste? or do I go home empty handed?” you finally got a hold on yourself, and pressed your lips together before facing him. “Spencer Reid, are you asking me for toothpaste, or something else?” you asked, taking steps towards him. “I think we both know the toothpaste isn’t what I’m here for.” he said it so calmly, looking at you with his beautiful, smart eyes. 
you shared your first kiss with the charming Dr. Reid that night, and things only got better from there
anything toothpaste related was immediately taken the wrong way by you two, whether on your own or with company
you both tried to hide the blossoming relationship, but soon the others in the BAU noticed all of those funny little things that happened between you and Spencer, and it became hard to hide it without feeling like you were suffocating one another. there would be serious discussions ahead, and you were already preparing to be transferred to another team, but you could do it if it meant staying with Spencer. something told you that Hotch may be able to keep things as they were for the time being, if you both behaved. and you’d both never do anything to disappoint Hotch, intentionally.
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messyyythoughts © 2022 do not translate without my permission, give credit if you repost, support always welcomed <3
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fanfic-lover-girl · 1 month
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Double Standards: Malfoys vs Weasleys Edition
I'm on a roll, baby! TWO double standards today! All from book 4!
Nepotism/Favoritism
Moody’s magical eye spun around to stare at Ron; Ron looked extremely apprehensive, but after a moment Moody smiled – the first time Harry had seen him do so. ‘You’ll be Arthur Weasley’s son, eh?’ Moody said. ‘Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago …”
. . . my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports.
Fudge, who wasn’t listening, said, “Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He’s here as my guest.”
Bonus from Book 5
Harry distinctly heard the gentle clinking of what sounded like a full pocket of gold. ‘Really, just because you are Dumbledore’s favourite boy, you must not expect the same indulgence from the rest of us … shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?’
What I find most notable here is the difference in nature between the scenarios. The Malfoys' nepotism is more quid pro quo. Charity donations and political bribery. Whereas Authur Weasley seems to have used his position to help people like the Bagmans skirt the law. A government official helps another official's relative with a sketchy situation and in return, he gets expensive, premier seats?! Sounds a bit corrupt to me.
But hardly anyone in HP fandom has an issue with nepotism when the Weasleys do it. Nope, it's only bad when the rich Malfoys do it, duh!
Discrimination
Mum’s writing to the Muggles to ask you to stay. We’re coming for you whether the Muggles like it or not, you can’t miss the World Cup, only Mum and Dad reckon it’s better if we pretend to ask their permission first. Ron, it’s all OK, the Muggles say I can come.
Mr Malfoy’s eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Harry knew exactly what was making Mr Malfoy’s lip curl. The Malfoys prided themselves on being pure-bloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class.
Bonus: Weasley hypocrisy
“That’s sick,” Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. “That is really sick…”
What I found very fascinating is how the discrimination is presented. The Weasleys' disgusting prejudice towards muggles is very casual. It's treated as normal and acceptable: for heaven's sake, Harry (our wonderful hero) even participates in dehumanizing his relatives. I bet most HP readers don't even bat an eye - JKR has trained the reader to accept muggle dehumanization. Yet, what I find strange is that Harry has to literally spell out the Malfoy's distaste for Hermione. Why is JKR wasting her time with this? By book 4, we already know how the Malfoys feel about Hermione. I think it's another indicator of JKR's crappy writing.
Anyway, after we see the appalling way the Weasleys treat the Durselys and the Grangers, JKR expects her readers to swallow Ron acting as a moral compass when he sees the muggle family being tortured? Please.
People need to remember that we are the muggles. Would you prefer the Malfoys who hate all things muggle and mainly want their world to be separate from muggles and keep to themselves (which Draco said way back in book 1 when he met Harry)?? Or would you prefer the Weasleys who have little respect for muggles and have little qualms about invading your home and bodily autonomy?
As a black woman, I prefer a KKK racist who lives far away from me and who I will probably never see in my lifetime. Compared to a white liberal who causally asks me degrading questions every day like why my English is so good when I am from Jamaica. Or anyone else for that matter who makes me feel insecure about my culture and abilities. All under the guise of being a so-called ally.
Truly, between the Malfoys and Weasleys, who has caused muggles more harm on screen or on paper?? I don't know how many people Lucius hurt as a DE besides the poor Roberts family but given JKR treats muggles as NPCs in her books, I guess those rando people Lucius may have killed don't matter :(. And why were muggles there anyway?! At a wizarding event?! That poor Mr. Roberts being treated worse than a dog by people who are supposed to be pro-muggle leaning.
At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr Roberts’s front door. “Obliviate!” he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr Roberts. “Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy.”
Sigh. Muggles deserved better. Forget Draco calling Hermione a mudblood. Like that slur means anything to Hermione anyway. Or has any meaningful impact. Muggles are the true victims in these books.
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rbbrbikerthorp · 1 year
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From Work Stressed to Smoking Skinhead
[Initially, I’d intended this to be a one-off story, but the set-up has taken so long that there’s going to have to be a second part. Enjoy!]
I’m Gaz, I’m 31. I’m a skinhead. In the picture you can see what I look like, now that my new m8s have transformed me, and have made me unrecognisable from the person I once was.
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But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Before I forget who I was, let me tell you about how I came to be here. I had a job that some would describe as being a stressful way to earn a living. I was one of those office drones who chased figures every month. As part of my job, I was required to travel, often several times a week; this could be to London, Birmingham, Edinburgh, or where-ever our customers were based. In preference to sitting in traffic on the motorway, taking the train was the stress-free way to travel. It meant I could use the time to check reports or presentations and, on the way, home I’d catch up on any emails that needed dealing with.
So, this one day when my life changed forever, I had a table seat booked on the 6:40am to London, but when I looked at the departure board and saw the word every traveller dreads, ‘cancelled’ was posted against my train. So like dozens of other passengers heading for the capital on that day I was told to catch the next train. When I climbed on board, I realised the train was already very crowded. I’d struggle to get any seat, let alone find a table seat. I walked through three carriages, but there was no empty seats. Just as I was about to accept that I’d be standing in the vestibule, I heard, “Oi, fella...” a voice. Was that aimed at me?
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I turned around. “Here fella, the window seat is free”. So, he was talking to me. I was so grateful for the offer of the seat that, other than his shaved head, (which is normal for many guys these days), At this point I hadn’t taken much notice of him. I thanked the shaved headed guy then I got my laptop out of my bag, which I put up on the luggage rack. Then I took off my jacket hung it on the peg next to the window and plonked myself down in the seat. Very quickly I was lost catching up on a report I needed to finish.
As soon as the train departed, I heard the familiar sound of cans being opened and the familiar smell of beer, which wasn’t that appealing at this time of day. “You look really stressed mate. You should have one of these.” 
I looked up watch, it was just after seven in the morning, “er, what?” I asked. It was then that I realised I was looking at a guy with a completely shaved head, wearing what I thought was a black polo shirt and green kind of bomber jacket.
“You heard. Do yer want a can, a beer?” it was a different voice. I looked up from my screen to see another guy with a shaved head. He was holding out a can of beer, one I didn’t recognise. “I’m Sam by the way.” That’s Billy already ‘on the pop’, and this”, pointing at a slightly older looking guy in the other aisle seat, “is Jimmy.”
“Oh, no thanks. I should have been on the earlier train, but it got cancelled. I didn’t think I’d get a seat on this train because it’s so busy. I’ve got a meeting that starts at 9:30 and I’ve got a report to prepare for it.”
Jimmy quickly chirped in, “Come on”, pulling the ring-pull, “that’s over two hours from now, here.” He grabbed my hand and gave me the can.
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“No, honestly, it’s very kind of you, but I’ve...”
Sam interrupted, and I looked over at him. “Listen, I can see how stressed you are right now. I can see the sweat on yer top lip. You need to relax or yer gonna blow a fuse. I bet you’ll be talking bollocks all day in the hope of closin’ a sale or summit’. Chill m8, you can surely spare a few minutes to have a beer. And it would show us how much you appreciate us giving you the seat. Now, you know our names, tell us yours.”
Reluctantly, but out of politeness, I accepted the can. and said “Cheers. I’m Gareth  by the way, Gareth Fairburn” Not really sure why I included my surname. They all looked at me as I took my first swig of the beer, and coughed “Wow, that’s got a kick.”
“Yeah, but you’ll get used to it after a few swigs”, said Billy. “I fact I’m pretty sure it’ll be your drink of choice when we’re done with you.”
“You know this is very nice of you...” I said, about to get back to working my report. But before I could look down, I saw Jimmy’s hand reach across and shut the lid on my laptop. I could see letters on the knuckles and there was a bird tattoo on the back of his hand. “C’mon fella, put your work stress aside for a bit and have a natter with us while you sup your beer.” 
Jimmy read me like a book, I was stressed. I was on my way to see a key customer; one that knew how important they were to the business I worked for and would make me jump through hoops to get the contract renewed. I knew I had to finish the report because I’d promised to email it ahead of my meeting. I was thinking about looking for another seat, when Jimmy coughed to get my attention. I looked up at him; He had that rough but good-looking appearance. Until then, I hadn’t noticed the ink on his neck, it looked like some ancient design but I couldn’t really see it properly. It was the first time I noticed the rings in his ears too. He grinned at me. I watched him swig his beer from the can. At that point I knew wasn’t heading off to a stressful meeting. He wouldn’t be selling his soul to get a contract renewed.
Jimmy leaned forward and I could smell his smokey breath. “Right, let me tell you how it’s going to be Gaz, my boi. We’ll take your stress away, but before we can help you need to tell us about who you are and what you do. Got it?” 
Billy belched several times, The belches were so loud and the other people looked up from their laptops and tablets to see where the sound was . He slammed his empty can of beer down on the table in front of me. “So m8 what do you do?”
My heart was pounding; yet suddenly, I felt that a weight lifted from my shoulders. These guys had shown an interest in me. No one normally did that, not my boss, not my customers, not my family. They wanted to help with my stress. So, I took another swig from the can - I wondered whether people really like this taste? Anyway, I began telling them was a commercial development manager.  
“You in sales then Gaz?” Billy interrupted. 
“I guess you could put it that way,” I replied 
“Keep drinking mate, it’ll help yer stress go away for now.” I did as I was told and took another swig from the can Jimmy pulled another one out of the bag and pushed it towards me. “See, we’ve got plenty. And we want to help de-stress our new m8.”
I was about to take another swig of beer when I remember, “...ah, I’ve got to do this report, or I’ll be.”
Sam jumped in. “You’ve got plenty of time.” Like the other two, he had a shaved head, but he also had a gold ring in his nose, when he talked, I could see a stud in his tongue and there were tattoos in multiple places.
“Yeah, Gaz plenty of time to do work boring shit...I bet you work all hours of the day and night. That’s why you get stressed.” 
I was about to say I did, but they spoke first. “Here you are Gaz, you can have another can with us. If you want, we can give you a stress-free life” 
“If only.” I sighed.
“Listen m8, we can make all those worries go away,” Sam was leaning up close to me now. 
I realised I was slurring my speech at this stage, “Please, my name is Gareth. Look, I’ve a lease on my flat, I’ve got car payments to make and I’m running an overdraft right now. I don’t think you can make that go away” I replied, feeling slightly sick at the amount of debt I was funding. 
“Don’t you fret about all of that,” The other two joined in, “let us take charge and your problems will be gone.” 
What could I say to that? So I smiled a knowing smile and thought I’d humour my skinhead m8s. Hemmed in the way I was, I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to. I don’t really remember too much more of the conversation as my three new m8s plied me with beer; but it was me talking and they were listening. At the time I didn’t realise they were that whilst I was taking relatively big gulps of beer, they were only taking small sips from their own cans.
An announcement came on the tannoy to say the next stop would be Doncaster. Jimmy piped up, “Right lads, we’re here. Gaz, get up and we’ll show you how to live stress-free.” Through my haze, I didn’t really know what was going on. Then all of a sudden, I felt someone grab my arm, pulling me out of the seat. I was about to get my stuff when Billy came really close to me and said, “Come on Gaz, we gotta go. Now!” 
“Why do they insist on calling me Gaz?” I wondered
“[Burp] Hang on guys my name’s Gareth, and I’m going to a mee...” I was cut short by Billy again. “You’re meeting has just been cancelled, so you’re gonna be spending the day taking it easy with us. And we’re calling you Gaz, so get used to it. Let’s go.”
“What about my stuff?” I was trying to pull back so that I could grab my bag, coat and laptop. But Billy and Sam pulled me along the carriage. I tried to pull in the opposite direction, the direction of my belongings, but they were too strong for me. I had allowed myself to be marched off the train by two of my three new skinhead m8s who were going to ‘help me’ get rid of all my anxieties. 
Once off the train, I turned around to hear the audible warning that the doors were about to close started, I was watching the train doors slide into the closed position when Jimmy came up to me holding a lit cigarette. 
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Blowing the smoke in my face, he spoke with reassured confidence. “The train’s departing and as you watch it leave, think this: with it goes your old life. With it goes all of your stresses and problems.” I watched the train pull out of the station, and he was right, on board were all my possessions, including my wallet and phone. I was about to panic, but Billy and Sam were beside me, holding me. Jimmy offered me a cigarette to which I declined. He came into my face and said, “take it,” he ordered. “It’s the first step to getting rid of all that stress. We’re m8s. If yer m8s smoke, then you smoke!”
I was still under the influence of whatever beer I’d been drinking, so gingerly I took the cigarette, but I didn't know how to hold it. Billy got his lighter out and lit it. “Put it between your lips and start sucking Gaz.” So, I sucked in as the flame touched the end of the cigarette. My fingers, clamped on the little cigarette, which, as you would expect for a novice was poorly positioned in my mouth. The smoke, ashy and light, filled my mouth, made my eyes water. I coughed on every drag, even though I barely inhaled. My three skinhead m8s were beside themselves with laughter. I noticed passengers gathering for the next train, and I heard them comment about smoking being banned in stations, but new m8s didn't care. Once I’d finished the first cigarette, Jimmy handed me another. “Right, here’s what you do. Put the cigarette between your lips. When I light it, gently suck the smoke - nice ‘n’ steady into your lungs.”
I gave it a go and found this time I wasn’t spluttering everywhere. 
Jimmy continued, “now hold the smoke in yer lungs, and breathe in through your mouth.” I did as I was instructed. Jimmy reached into the pocket of his green jacked, as he was pulling out the contents, he said, “these are yours now. If we are going help alleviate you of your work stress you need to get through these. When you’ve finished that one, light up another.”
It wasn’t a request; it was an instruction.
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Sam, who’d been talking on his phone during this time chipped in, smiling at me, “nice one m8, you’ll be smoking twenty a day before you know it.” 
I just nodded, not taking much notice of what was going on as I tried to master smoking a cigarette.
Sam turned to the other two skinhead, “Tony said he’s got no appointments this morning and he can be at the studio in ten minutes. It will take us about that long to walk there with Gaz, even in the state he’s in.” 
Hearing my name, piqued my interest in their conversation, “wh... wh. where ere are we going?”
Billy jumped in, “we’re taking you to another m8′s gaff. His work is transformative. In no time at all your work worries will be a faded memory.”
Sam has started sniggering, so had Jimmy, but then he managed to say, “Before we can go to Tony’s studio, we need to stop off with Gaz at the house. Let’s get a move on, we’ve a lot to do.”
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Text
The Lost Cause prologue, Part V
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I'm coming to Minneapolis! Oct 15: Presenting The Internet Con at Moon Palace Books. Oct 16: Keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing.
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In my upcoming solarpunk novel The Lost Cause (Nov 14), we get an epic struggle between the people doing the repair and care work needed to save our planet and species, and the reactionary wreckers who want to kill the Green New Deal and watch the world burn:
https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues
Amazon refuses to carry my audiobooks, which means that I make my own indie editions and pre-sell them on Kickstarter, along with ebooks and hardcovers. I narrated this one! It came out great! You can back it here:
http://lost-cause.org
This week, I've been serializing the prologue to give you a taste of what you can expect from the book, which Bill McKibben calls "politically perceptive, scientifically sound, and extraordinarily hopeful."
Here's part one:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/06/green-new-deal-fic/#the-first-generation-in-a-century-not-to-fear-the-future
And part two:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/07/met-cute-ugly/#part-ii
And part three:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/09/working-the-refs/#lost-cause-prologue
And part four:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/10/weaponized-interdependence/#super-soaker-full-of-hydrochloric-acid
And now, part five:
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Look, I had weeks to go until graduation. I had a life to live. I had stuff to do.
Gramps and his friends would stew and shout. Idiots on the internet would make dank memes out of Mike Kennedy and deepfake him into a million videos, turn him into a main character whose image would be around long after he left the world.
I just had to keep my head down, collect my diploma, and get the hell out of Burbank. I’d already been provisionally accepted for a Blue Helmets AmeriCorps spot down in San Juan Capistrano, helping to rebuild the city’s lower half a mile inland, up in the hills. I was going to do a year of that and then go to college: I had applications in to UCLA, Portland State (they had a really good refugee tech undergrad program), and the University of Waterloo, where my mom did her undergrad in environmental science. They’d let me declare my major in my second year, so I could take a wide variety of courses before settling on something, and if anything, Canada’s free college was even more generous than the UC system or Portland’s, with a subsidy for dorms and meals.
To tell the truth, I’d be glad to go. My senior year hadn’t been anything like I’d anticipated. Gramps’s health had gotten a lot worse the previous summer and his shitty sexist and racist remarks chased away any home help worker Burbank sent over within a week or two, so I’d been trying to keep my grades up while picking up after Gramps, getting him to take his meds, washing his sheets and cleaning his toilet—­not to mention making sure he made his doctor’s appointments and even bringing him into the office a couple of times a month for the kind of exams you couldn’t do by telemedicine.
I wasn’t sure what Gramps would do without me to take care of him, but at that point, I was running out of fucks to give. Let his asshole Maga Club buddies look after him, or maybe Gramps could figure out how not to offend everyone that came over to wipe his ass and do his laundry. He was—­as he was fond of pointing out to me—­a grown-­ass adult, and this was his house, and he was in charge. So let him be in charge.
I put myself to bed stewing about all of this, thinking of San Juan Capistrano. Some of my older friends had graduated the previous years and had gone down there and I’d followed their relocation of the old mission on their feeds. It looked like hot, sweaty, rewarding work, the kind of thing where you could really measure your progress.
For the second night in a row, I was woken up at 2 a.m. This time, it wasn’t my screen, it was Gramps, who’d stumped into my room with his cane, flipped my lights to full on, and started shaking me and calling out, “Get up, kid, get up!”
“I’m up,” I said, getting up on my elbows and squinting at him.
He was shaking, and he reeked—­of both booze and BO, and I felt a flash of guilt for not getting him in the bath that day.
“God dammit,” he said, and staggered a bit. I leapt out of bed, pulling the sheets off with me, and steadied him at the elbow.
“Calm down, okay? What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not all right. No one is all right. Fuck all right and fuck you.” I’d had Gramps tested for early dementia the previous year, by showing his doctor videos of moments like these. The doc had run a battery of tests before pronouncing, “Your grandfather isn’t senile, he’s just ornery.” Which was undeniable, and also pissed me the hell off. “Ornery” was a polite word for “asshole.” What the doc was telling me was that Gramps didn’t have to be cruel. He was cruel by choice.
I untangled myself from the sheets and piled them on the bed.
“What is it?”
“It’s Mike Kennedy, that asshole. Someone shot him.”
“What?”
He shoved his giant screen into my hands. I tapped the video window. It was from the POV of a car cam, that weird fish-­eye view of a self-­driving car, split-­screen with the passenger in the front seat, and it was Mike Kennedy, looking even worse than Gramps, bloodshot and trembling, with that under-­chin camera angle that makes everyone look like they’re half dead.
I tried to watch both halves. There was Kennedy, whispering something to him. There was the cul-­de-­sac he was parked in, false-­lit with IR from the cameras. The timestamp was 1:17. Less than an hour before.
Then the external image flickered for a second and resolved itself into a man, who phased in and out. He was wearing a ghillie suit like the one Kennedy had worn on the roof, covered in telltale CV dazzle stripes, designed to exploit defects in the computer vision system. You had to wear a different specific pattern for every algorithm, but if you got the right matchup, the computer would simply not see you. The man was flickering into existence when his posture crumpled up the ghillie suit and made the pattern stop working, then out again when he straightened up.
He straightened and disappeared and Mike Kennedy’s eyes widened as he noticed the man for the first time—­computer dazzle worked on computers, not humans—­and he started to say something and then a round hole appeared in his forehead, his head snapping back against the headrest, then careening forward. The flickering phantom appeared again as the man in the ghillie suit turned and disappeared.
I dropped the tablet to my bed.
“Jesus Christ, Gramps, I didn’t need to see that snuff movie—­”
He tried to smack me then. I was ready for it. I was faster. I stepped out of his reach. I was shaking too.
“You don’t get to hit me anymore old man. Never again, you hear me?”
He was purpling now, and a decade’s worth of fleeing and defusing his rages rose in me, made me want to apologize. After all, I rationalized, he’d just seen a friend murdered.
But I’d seen that friend murdered too, videobombed with a snuff flick at 2 a.m. without warning or consent. It was a traumatizing, selfish, asshole move. I’d be watching that movie on the backs of my eyelids for years to come. And the friend who’d died? He’d been ready to kill me. Gramps had no right. He was a grown-­ass adult. He had no right.
“Listen to me, you little shit, you think you can live under my roof, take my charity, and talk to me like that? Now? With all the shit that I’m going through? No sir. No. Get out, you little bastard, get out now. Get out before I kick your goddamned teeth in.” He was vibrating with rage now, literally, actually shaking so hard his wispy hair swished back and forth across his forehead.
I didn’t say another word. I picked up some jeans and a jacket, put a pair of socks in a jacket pocket, and jammed my feet into a pair of sneakers without bothering to unlace them. I shouldered past him—­still vibrating, stinking even worse—­and banged out the back door and stomped through the nighttime streets.
My feet automatically took me up to Verdugo, and then across the empty road. I turned toward school—­as I did every morning—­and autopiloted in that direction. By the time I reached the Verdugo Aquatic Facility I had calmed down enough to realize that there was no reason to go to school at two thirty in the morning, so I stopped and headed for the playground in the park behind the pool. I sat down on a bench and kicked my shoes off and shook out the playground sand, pulled out my socks and put them on, then put my shoes back on properly. I was still furious, but now I could think straight and my hands weren’t shaking. Gramps and I hadn’t had a blowup like that in years, mostly—­ okay, entirely—­because I’d backed down every time we’d been headed in that direction. I wasn’t in any mood to back down. Not ever, to be fully honest.
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If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/11/equal-opportunity-class-war/#part-v
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My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!
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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years
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This is way out of my comfort zone, but for all you Nezriel lovers... here ya go! Nesta vs the Buffer - Part Two (18+)
Nesta had been about to extinguish the little lamp beside her bed when the door had knocked. She wasn’t sure if she had heard it correctly, the brush of knuckles had been so gentle like the sweep of the wind.
A male was at her door, dark head bowed as she opened it. Azriel’s hazel eyes flickered to hers.
‘Have you been sent to kill me?’
A crease pressed between his brows. ‘Do you think I would knock if that was the case?’
‘Well, you are very polite.’
It struck Nesta that they had never really had a conversation, just the two of them before. They had spoken, sure, but usually as part of a group or if other people were present. He was tall in his own right; not as physically imposing as Cassian, but he reached as high as the door frame. A thick sweeping of hair fell across his forehead. She’d always thought him the prettiest.
They stood in a strange stalemate. Two of her neighbours were arguing in their apartment; it was a common occurrence she had found out, though only occurred late at night. It would go on and on. On the second night, she had knocked to see if the female shrieking needed help – only to be told by both of them to mind her damn business.
‘Are you here for a reason?’
Azriel swallowed. A shadow eclipsed him briefly. ‘I suppose I wanted to see if you were okay.’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
That dinner had been downright awful. Right from the start where she had tipped mushroom soup over herself and ended up wearing a dress that was too risqué, from being told the wrong time, for being forgotten and overlooked, all the way to her little eruption at dessert. None of it made her too embarrassed – except perhaps asking Varian if he slept with Cresseida. That was maybe slightly too far.  
‘Can I stay here tonight?’
‘What?’ Nesta’s voice blurted, far too loudly. She tightened her dressing gown around her body then shifted back a step.
At her reaction, Azriel had grimaced slightly. ‘I continued what you started at the restaurant tonight. I don’t want to speak to them. And I know this is the last place they would expect me to be.’
Her apartment became a refuge for the shadow singer. When duty called, he returned to the inner circle. That wall of ice that surrounded him would not yield. He reported back to Rhys, winnowed wherever he had to for missions, but in his free time, he could be always found at Nesta’s apartment rather than spending another moment in their company. He didn’t share what happened at the restaurant. Nesta didn’t particularly care. She had said her piece and left the door open for him to swoop in
It was startingly easy to move around him. They orbited each other silently. Nesta might go out for a few hours, returning with a new book or Azriel would bring hot food with him from a café in Velaris. They never squabbled over using the bathroom, they ate the same food, had the same tastes, and were content to be in a reserved quiet. He didn’t get in her way, didn’t take up too much space. She only bothered him to offer him a drink or snack. Azriel always tidied the blankets on the couch each morning though Nesta doubted he slept much. Sometimes she could hear him, treading almost silently around the living room. It was only because she was still awake herself that she ever heard him.
One night when he’d knocked on late, she’d handed him a key, blinking at the bright lights in the corridor. ‘I’m sick of getting out of bed in the middle of the night. Let yourself in from now on.’
His eyes had passed over the key like Nesta had given him an heirloom. The pad of his thumb stroked along the collar and the bit. ‘Thank you.’
Another week passed with quiet conversations. She saw him only in the moments before she went to bed. A bat by looks and by nature, she had said, drawing a smile from him. Nesta liked those smiles because they were so rare. She had yet to see the shadow singer throw back his head in full-bellied laugher or to even show his teeth when he grinned. Azriel guarded himself carefully. It was a practise she knew very well.
Perhaps that was the reason why, that in such short space of time, they had warmed to each other. Nesta did not pry. Azriel did not either. He read reports. She read her books. She cooked. He cleaned. Sometimes he would disappear in the middle of the night, leaving the door on the latch, coming back before dawn, but Nesta didn’t interrogate.
‘Not that I want you gone, but I have to ask how long you do plan to be here for?’
A shadow danced near his ear, but Azriel swatted it away like a fly. How long will you remain angry with your family, she wondered. Would an equal measure of five hundred years dull the pain?
‘What I mean is, I feel terrible that you sleep on this dreadful couch. At your great age, it must play havoc with your back.’ A slight smirk from the shadow singer sent a wave of pride rushing over her. ‘If you planned on a long-term scenario… We could find another place with two bedrooms.’
‘You’d want to live with me?’
‘Why not? We already are.’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, threading a hand through his ebony hair. ‘The others tell me to loosen up, to lighten up, to be louder.’
A cocoon of silence always followed him. He never rushed his words or said more than he needed to.
‘I like you as you are,’ Nesta admitted.  
Something charged passed through their gaze. Nesta felt it spike in her veins like a spark. Shadows blurred him from view so she took that as her cue to go to bed.
***
‘Why do you leave the room when I light a fire?’ Azriel couldn’t keep the question in. He had been staying there for almost three weeks now. With the arrival of colder weather, he’d fought against his revulsion for fire to keep the apartment warm for them. And every time that first tendril of flame had come to life, Nesta would depart to the bedroom. ‘Is it my hands?’
He kept his hands balled into fists, the scars taut over his bones. Nesta froze in the doorway to her bedroom, a book clutched to her chest. Instinct had her gaze darting to his hands then she shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘My hands,’ he repeated, the words unsure on his lips. He hated this. Hated drawing attention to them.
Nesta drew nearer hesitantly. She set the book down on the small table. ‘I don’t know what happened to your hands. I don’t have an issue with them, Azriel.’
Azriel tensed. He had thought all the sisters knew. The story had been given wings in secret as if it would spare Azriel’s feelings if they all knew without him having to share the story.
‘What happened to your hands?’ Her voice was gentle. It was the gentle tone Nesta only ever reserved for Elain. Firmly, she caught hold of each hand and pressed them both between her own. It was the first time that somebody hadn’t examined them, hadn’t tried to cast an inconspicuous look upon them when they were the topic of conversation. She had acknowledged them, but hadn’t given them value. He was more than his scars.
‘My father and his wife kept me imprisoned in darkness for years. My brothers poured oil on my hands then lit them.’
The words were rough. He’d told the story only once before – over five hundred years ago when he had finally trusted Rhys and Cassian enough to share it with them.
Azriel could not look at Nesta. Could not bear to see if she was about to inspect his hands. He braced himself for the words that so many said. They were words that ruined him, no matter how well intended they were – have you seen a healer? Can they not be glamoured away? Why don’t you wear gloves?
Nesta merely squeezed his hands tighter with her own and said, ‘I cannot be near a fire because when it cracks, I am back on that field. I am watching the King of Hybern break my father’s neck. When I hear the logs split, I am waiting to die at the hands of the king.’
Not all scars could be seen. What his blood had done to him had ruptured a part so deep that it would never heal. What Nesta had been exposed to in the war festered in her chest too.
They had showed their insecurity to the other. It was strange to let her in – strange to let anybody in, least of all the cold and imperious Nesta Archeron.
On the couch, they sat in silence. He allowed Nesta to look at his hands without hiding them away. Her fingers found patterns in the brutal scarring rather than being repulsed by it. Azriel was sure that there wasn’t a scar that she hadn’t touched. If she was faking it, hiding her disgust, she was a good actress. Even Mor had always faltered slightly before touching them as if they might catch and her unblemished hands would be ruined.
Every time the fire spat, Nesta’s body would tense. She’d grip onto his hands until she had coasted through the wave of anguish. They were each other’s anchor that night.
The following morning, they did not acknowledge the moment they had shared. Azriel wasn’t even sure if he had dreamt it. A mutual trust had grown between them without realising. He found himself watching her butter toast with an expression that anybody else might read as severe. Nesta always looked as if she was scrutinising something even if she wasn’t. Her smiles were there, but locked away. On the rare occasion that Azriel had prised a genuine laugh from her, it bathed him with warmth. She would tip back her head and screw her eyes shut. Her laughs were beautiful.
He postponed his trip to Illyria slightly. Nesta had made them both breakfast, unexpectedly, and he was too guilty to leave it untouched. They had sat together at the narrow table tucked by the kitchen, eating in a peaceful silence.
‘I’ll be back before dinner today. If that’s alright?’
‘I won’t complain,’ she said.
There was a note in her voice that gave Azriel pause, gave him a reason to drink her in a minute longer. He thought of the way that she had cradled his hands last night. The gentle side of her that so rarely saw the light of day. How she had leaned on him for support – and he’d been happy to steady her.
‘Then I’ll come back as soon as I can.’
‘Good.’
In one syllable, Azriel’s mind raced. One syllable had him postulating over a thousand different outcomes.
Shadows enveloped him, prising him away to Illyria. The prickles that covered his body whenever he reached his homeland seemed softer today, wrapped in silk rather than iron. He glanced down at his hands as if remembering the feel of Nesta’s fingers there like she was following rivers on a map.
‘I’ve seen that look before,’ a low voice murmured.
Azriel snapped his head up, jerking away slightly.
‘No,’ Rhys breathed in awe. ‘I caught you by surprise. Five hundred years and I have finally made you jump.’
Azriel rolled his eyes. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘So, who is she? What beguiling female has put that dreamy look in your eyes?’
His shadows curled around him, whispering that they would strike if he wanted them to. They had always protected him.
‘Where’s Devlon? Let’s get this over with.’
Rhys did not drop the subject as they marched across the windy paths of Windhaven, pausing occasionally to inspect the sparring rings they passed. ‘One day, you will finally bring a female home for us to meet.’
‘Keep waiting.’
Cassian dropped out of the sky with a heavy thud. At the sight of him, Azriel felt hot and sick all at once. He kept his face trained on the young male nearest them who was examining weapons.
After their rooftop argument, Cassian had given him the space that he knew he needed. When the time was right, he had sought him out at the River House, likely after arranging with Rhys to summon him there. Cassian had been genuine with his apology. Whenever their paths had crossed since, his brother always begged him to come back home. To the House of Wind. To the River House. Just to come home.
Yet, when Azriel had asked Nesta if Cassian had apologised to her for hurting her feelings – for letting Mor come between whatever had been budding there - she’d folded her arms across her chest and said no.
‘I don’t want an apology from him. I don’t want anything from him.’
That memory diverted his guilt into righteousness. Nesta had held his hands only – and she had every right to do that. She was not promised to Cassian. Azriel was not tangled with anyone. They were friends. Friends doing nothing wrong. Still, he couldn’t manage to look into Cassian’s eyes for very long.
The day was busy examining new recruits. Their days would follow a similar pattern until the worst of the winter came, Az knew the schedule well. They’d visit each camp to see what lecherous males each camp lord had recruited that autumn then they would assess the likelihood of any of them making the Blood Rite the following year.
‘Come for dinner,’ said Rhys. It was an order rather than an invitation.
Cass slung an arm around his shoulders. ‘We can make a night of it. Mor’s not there. She’s in the Continent still.’
The reproachful look from Rhys hadn’t faded quick enough for Azriel to miss. Mor had cried on the roof, apologised, said she wanted to be his friend. Like a bucket of water had been thrown on hot coals, any lingering feelings for her had been extinguished. More than anything, Azriel was a fool.
For years, he had nurtured a hope of them. He thought perhaps she still needed time. Needed time to meet new people after a youth spent in captivity, after what her family had done to her. Time to explore the world, time to have fun. It had not mattered to him how many lovers she had taken to bed. On the occasions that she blew hot and cold towards him, he was always unable to figure Mor out. She would invite him close then push back. He blamed it on her past, blamed it on her mother and father. Often, he blamed himself too. She would not see him as anything more than a lesser fae savage so Azriel held back. Once, he had tried to confess how he felt.
The memory of that day was scarred into his mind; of confessing that he knew he was unsuitable for her, but he still wanted her. Without a word, Mor had walked away. A bastard lesser fae savage whose father hated him enough to lock him up. The shame had burnt him. That shame of daring to believe that Mor might have given him a chance – that any female would risk sullying themselves with a male like him.  
Each time that Mor flirted with his brother, those feelings wilted more and more. Cassian was like him – and that was what he could never understand. They were both Illyrians. Both bastards. Yet Azriel was somehow less worthy of her touch. He'd blamed it on his hands, blamed it on the shadows that made others uncomfortable. Then he’d even thought that maybe he had imagined the soft smiles and loving touches that she gave to him; that he was so desperate for Mor that he was creating a love story that didn’t exist.
‘I didn’t want things to change,’ she’d wept on the roof, gripping the buttons of his shirt. ‘I like how things are between us.’
Those words had cracked the ice. She liked him to be her shield against her family, against Eris. Azriel had been her knife too. But she did not want him. She would use Cassian to put him off regardless of the strain it put on the brothers. That was what she liked, because the alternative was facing up to the fact that for five hundred years, she had let him believe he was not worthy of her rather than being honest. She would strike out at Nesta because she realised that Nesta would take away the one barrier that stopped the truth from leaking out.
‘I have places to be,’ he said coldly.
***
Azriel was one the most difficult people to read that Nesta had ever encountered. When he had arrived home that evening, tension had bracketed his body. It wasn’t unusual. It didn’t offer anything to his mood.
She was learning to observe his shadows. Sometimes they were excitable, moving quickly without restraint when Azriel was in a more playful mood. Other times, they stayed close by to comfort or to protect. Tonight, they were gone. Nesta didn’t know what that meant.
They ate quietly. Azriel did not divulge on his day, but he had thanked her for cooking and asked how her own day had been. Nesta had been into the city. The male had insisted on providing coin for his opulent lodging of the broken couch, so she had spent some money on wooden children’s games to occupy the time with the approach of winter. Nesta was happy to find that many were similar to mortal games she had played with servants.
‘You don’t want to play cards with me,’ said Azriel after his shower. His dark hair was damp and curled around his face. ‘I cheat.’
‘You’re a very honest cheat,’ she acknowledged, shuffling the cards. ‘Since I have no other company, you will have to do.’
They knew similar games and established rules. It had been a long time since Nesta had played games. She thought of the elderly servant who had seemingly always been a part of the household staff when she was little. Somehow, he had learnt sleight of hand tricks. Nesta had believed it to be faerie magic and would watch in wonder as he’d always guess what her card had been or how he’d transform her card into a toffee for her to gobble. He’d had a hacking cough, veiny hands, and grew thinner each time Nesta sought him out in the gardens. One day, he never came to the manor again. When she’d asked her father, he’d simply said the servant was gone.
‘Why do you keep glancing over your shoulder?’ Azriel’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you expecting somebody?’
She bit down on her lower lip. ‘I’m trying to work out how you cheat. I keep thinking there will be a shadow behind me, spying on my cards.’
‘They don’t make you uncomfortable?’
They were a part of him. ‘Of course not.’
Once games became tiresome, Nesta asked the male about the Blood Rite. She had purchased books about Illyria to better understand that part of the land. Their training was brutal, lives were short for many. She couldn’t fathom dumping a child in a war camp. It reminded her of baby birds that were pushed out of the nest and forced to fly. Many more didn’t.
‘These ones,’ Azriel said, gesturing to the whorls of black ink running over his bare arms, ‘are standard for most warriors. They’re associated with luck and glory. After the Blood Rite, males receive more in a ceremony. Bodies are flagging but you have to stand up for one more night of drinking and tattoos. That’s the final test.’
‘You have those?’
Azriel nodded, eyes searching her face. ‘You receive more depending on your status. The three of us touched Ramiel so we received the highest honours.’
‘Show me them.’
***
Obliging, Azriel pulled off his shirt. Nesta’s eyes canvassed his chest, tracking the details in the ink. Wrong. So wrong. Their conversation was minimal as she committed the hard planes of his body to memory. Both of them knew they were crossing a boundary tonight. From Nesta’s fervour, as she touched his skin, Azriel surmised she didn’t care.
Fingers traced the whorls with an intensity that a scholar might brush the letters of an ancient text, seeking answers. Her knuckles tracked up Azriel’s neck and he lifted his chin as she reached his jaw.
‘What do you want?’ His voice was a quiet warning in the dark.
A muted smile was his response. ‘You’ll make me beg for it?’
Azriel followed the pattern his thumb drew on Nesta’s collar bone, the daring sweep of it below the cut of her gown. His eyes flickered back to her. ‘I want to hear it from your lips.’
Wanted to hear if she was brave enough to voice it. Wanted confirmation that it was not just him getting lost down a path they never should have wandered down. Wanted to know that he wasn’t wasting his feelings once more on someone who didn’t value him.
Nesta brushed his hand aside. She appraised him with the same steel look that she had given to every high lord in the Dawn Court meeting.
In a swift motion, she straddled his lap. Now, she was the one pushing him to his limit. Seeing how brave he would be. A hand stroked against his hair then it was holding him in place.
‘I want you to kiss me.’
So, he’d obliged. Nesta had leant forwards and everything had felt as if it was moving at a different pace. The fire’s movements were slow and sluggish. The world even stopped turning on its axis.
They had moved too fast. Azriel’s lips crushing against Nesta. A flush spreading up her cheeks as he kissed down to her neck in a fevered motion. Her hand had raked through his hair, dragging his mouth back to hers.
Her hips had circled his lap. His hands curved around to grip her waist, to help the motion that was undoing him. Nesta’s soft moans were a beacon to him, calling for more.
It was a mistake. Every kiss, every tantalising touch was a mistake. He should have stopped.
She’d been confident, tugging him to the bedroom, hands gliding up his bare back. She hadn’t said stop when he lifted her against the wall, kissing so deeply time halted. Hadn’t protested when he’d roughly pulled her dress off, not when he’d run his scarred hands over her beautiful body.
He hadn’t known. Hadn’t realised she was a maiden until he had given the first thrust, felt her body shudder around him, the sharp spike of her breath against his ear. He’d seen the blood after and nearly vomited. He should have been softer. Shouldn’t have rushed straight into bedding her. Shouldn’t have pressed his body so tightly to Nesta’s that her hips ground into his skin. He’d crossed a line. His mind buzzed with a thousand feelings, a thousand scenarios.
Revenge. Was that what Cassian would think? Some sick payback for him sleeping with Mor all those years ago?
Nesta leaned over the bed, fumbling for anything to regain her modesty. He couldn’t let her think she was a pawn in a game of vengeance. Azriel rushed to the bathroom, found a cloth to soak with tepid water. He hesitated from cleaning her himself and instead pressed it into her hands.
 ‘I didn’t know you were a maiden.’
Why was it worse that she was? Because Azriel knew how the others would view it when it came to light. Knew that for a once-mortal female, this should have been special and he had been rough with passion.
‘Not anymore,’ she muttered.
Azriel faced the wall, allowing Nesta the privacy she deserved. He heard the slide of a drawer then a night gown being pulled over her head. He fixed her with a look. ‘Did I hurt you?’
For a fraction of a second, her face faltered. ‘Just at the start.’
His chest tightened at the admission. ‘Sorry.’
Azriel knew he should leave. Knew he should not have ever come to her apartment. It had been a dangerous game, right from the start. Night after night, they’d edged further down a path that there was no returning from with their growing companionship. But if he left and never came back then Nesta would think she’d been used. That had not been his intention. Never would be his intention.
When Nesta tugged the sheets from the bed, balling them up to hide the blood, Azriel started on the pillow cases too. It was a way of atoning. Remove all traces of the illicit night they had shared.
‘You don’t need to do that.’
‘I want to,’ he murmured.
Silently, they stripped the bed then placed fresh sheets onto it. Nesta didn’t ask him to stay in her bed and he didn’t want her to.
He flew as far as he could, to the furthest reach of Illyria. He had well and truly fucked up everything.
***
Any soreness did not linger. Nesta found herself unable to concentrate without memories of her night spent with Azriel pulsing to the surface. Heat flooded her body when she remembered the way he had moaned against her skin as he entered her. Her breath shuddered each time she recalled the flicker of his tongue against her ear.
When she imagined her first time with a male, it ought to have been a wedding night to a bland mortal man her parents had arranged for her. As a fae, the vision had shifted to a fantasy of a dreamy male who loved and cherished Nesta. He’d have lit candles around the room, proposed maybe, scattered petals and moved his hips a few times until he found release while she had lay beneath him like a plank of wood.
Her imagination had disappointed her. It hadn’t been able to conjure the thrill that Azriel’s hands had. Hadn’t crafted the same pounding excitement when Nesta had taken control and climbed onto his lap. It was more intimate than anything she could have dared to dream. The shadow singer had caressed all of her, unable to settle on one place he wanted to touch. Desire had been the tinder and want the flame. They’d moved together in waves finding pleasure in each other’s bodies. There had been no reluctance or shyness, only lust.
She supposed she would not see him again. The white horror sheeting his face when he had realised that she had been a maiden was enough to deter him. It would be a secret warded in the dark whenever they were in shared spaces.
@canvashearts
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tuttocenere · 2 months
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Posa / Ophelia
So we all know that Schiller’s Don Carlos was inspired by Shakespeare’s Hamlet, because he literally wrote that down. Now, the one thing he explicitly calls out is a similarity between his Marquis de Posa and Shakespeare’s Horatio, but I’m going to argue with Schiller about that one. Because firstly, I’m not really seeing it, and secondly, I think there’s a different Hamlet character who makes for a much better parallel.
That character is Ophelia. She and Posa both have death scenes that are among the most iconic imagery in their respective plays and possibly all of theater. They both die as a result of their love for a princeling of questionable quality. They both have a pretty intense relationship with that princeling’s only biological parent as well. They are both in a weird quasi-married state that isn’t really going anywhere, in Ophelia’s case because Hamlet can’t commit to anything, and in Posa’s case because gay marriage wasn’t a thing yet.
And I think they make a very interesting contrast gender wise:
Ophelia has multiple family members on stage that she has friendly interactions with. She hangs out in the palace reading books, the question of her having children is discussed (and also implicitly present by her connection to Hamlet’s mom). In other words, she’s a perfect example of domestic femininity. Eventually Hamlet doesn’t like her anymore for various reasons that aren’t really her fault, and he famously tells her to go to a convent. A convent, of course, is another very feminine place, but in a different way. And instead of doing that, she goes into a garden and drowns in a creek. Quite the opposite of what Hamlet wants her to do, quite pagan, quite immoral. But still fairly woman-coded what with all the water and flowers and passivity and the general nature theme.
Posa on the other hand was a knight, and he was a pretty successful knight at that. And that is, of course, about the manliest thing you can be in a story like this. And his role as an enforcer of state violence is very significant to the plot and to other character’s interest in him. His big turning point where he understands he won’t survive this situation is that scene (two different scenes in the opera) where he arrests Carlos and attacks the princess of Eboli. He is doing exactly what is expected of him (state violence) but he’s also very tempted to stab a lady to death in a hallway / garden which is not quite in line with chivalric ideals.
And so he kills himself for Carlos, but not in some sort of dramatic masculine way by sword fighting his jailers (which he could totally do in principle, since Carlos is freed by violent means right after Posa dies). He does it by writing a bunch of letters and then waiting to get arrested for it. Which is certainly still a manly thing to do, but for a different sort of man.
So they both go from a very embodied form of their gender role (family, war) to a very disembodied form (religious life, diplomacy), and then they even die by getting enveloped / penetrated, respectively, if we can be Freudians for a moment here.
Or, if we take the interpretation that "nunnery" is an euphemism for a brothel in Hamlet, they both go from an everyday version of their role (getting married, fighting) to an extreme version (prostitution, politics). That fits less well, but I think it still fits.
And yeah Ophelia is mad, but Posa is also a bit mad, isn’t he? He yells at the actual king of Spain the first time he meets him. He literally commits suicide-by-cop, and explicitly says that’s what he’s doing, unlike Ophelia where it’s not totally clear if she means to die. And of course the whole situation where he’s incredibly hung up on Carlos is itself a bit messed up — although I think Schiller wouldn’t agree, and would see their relationship as quite admirable.
(Just for the record: while Don Carlos is loosely based on historical events, Posa is not a historical personage, so everything he does in the story is definitely a deliberate choice by Schiller)
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randomnameless · 1 year
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Replying to an ask, I was realising -
We know more about Glenn (Govan Fraldarius?), the brother of a secondary character who died protecting one of the primary ones, than about Supreme Leader’s sibling who was the original heir of the Empire.
Supreme Leader, iirc, was born as Ionius’s ninth child, or fifth one? Something like that?
What about the First child, the heir of the Emperor, son of his wife (Supreme Leader mentions how her mother wasn’t Ionius’s wife, meaning he had one, it wasn’t just, Anselma) ? What about said wife?
Ionius was yeeted away in Nopes, but damn if we don’t know jack shit about Adrestia.
Sure sure, we know Leopold’n’Waldemar, yay - but bar the duo of clowns?
Rafiel is the first prince of Serenes, Reyson and Leanne often mention their older sister Lilia, but no one ever mentions Supreme Leader’s oldest sibling? Ionuis’s first child? Supreme Leader’s stepmother(s)?
Why would Ferdie have developed a rivalry with Supreme Leader, if she had older siblings already in line for the throne? Why would Hubert - the Vestra heir - be “given” to Supreme Leader, if the Imperial Heir was already around?
The more I think about it, the less Adrestia makes sense, or at least the Adrestia we were presented with.
I think those siblings really existed, but their absence in the plot maybe mean the “Vestra” tasked with overlooking, let’s call him (it’s a him because it’s Adrestia!) Hans 2, heir to the throne, wasn’t from Hubert’s dad’s line, but from a cadet line? Cadet line had a child “around the age” of Hans 2, so that cadet branch would have become the most important one, had Hans 2 survived, because cadet Vestra would have become the “Vestra of the Emperor” while Hubert would only be the Vestra of the ninth/fifth princess.
Ditto for Ludwig ?
He’d have championned Ferdie to show his talent and might and “nobility” to Hans 2 instead of Supreme Leader, but when Hans 2 was Arundel’d and only Supreme Leader survived, he switched his focus?
In FE Tellius, in FE10, Tibarn talks about it, passingly. But in FE Fodlan, there’s no rumours of a “plague” having befell the imperial family, mainly the “series of tragedies” in Rhea’s book.
Hans 2?
Even Rhea’s dead siblings are more relevant, they appear in the form of relics ! But Hans 2? His existence blows a hole in the Adrestia we know, its political landscape and Supreme Leader herself.
Of course you should compare what can be compared, but when ASOIAF’s Ned goes “this shit should never have been mine to dealt with, it should have been my dead older brother’s”, this is never mentionned in FE16.
We have Rhea feeling as inedaquate, being trusted in this position as the “Guardian” of Fodlan because her mom was deboned, but Supreme Leader never says this regarding Hans 2.
Ionius himself never mentions Hans 2 or his other children.
Tl;Dr : FE16 wrote a story where the Adrestian Empire’s heir is less important to people than House Fraldarius - a vassal of House Blaiddyd - ‘s first son.
GG guys, 10k years of lore.
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jazzythursday · 8 months
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No because— no because nooooo
I’ve spent over six hours binging GO s2 (there were many parts where I had to pause to scream and rewind) and just—ngk
I have to watch it again to really form full thoughts but here are some completely out of order that I can remember from my current pterodactyl brain very much still freaking out abt it
Spoilers under the cut
I couldn’t get over Crowley when they first go to the bookshop taking his sunglasses off and just… leaving them by the door. It seems so habitual like he wouldn’t even think to leave them on in the bookshop or that he would possibly need them once inside. He didn’t hang them on his shirt or hold them— he left them by the door. The whole season Crowley really seems like he doesn’t wear his glasses with Aziraphale at all anymore when they’re alone, which is just— it makes him putting them on again in ep 6 SO MUCH MORE PAINFUL.
The way that this fandom has been so on the money about these characters and where the story was going. Obviously not everything, but so many things from fanfic carried over and it makes me insanely happy that our versions of Aziraphale and Crowley are really just Aziraphale and Crowley.
Crowley making stars— CROWLEY MAKING STARS. He’s so happy and enamored and he loves it as much as I always thought he would. Even as a demon he’s always loved too much and cared too much (about people, about earth, about Aziraphale) but Crowley in the first scene is Crowley untempered. No glasses, no armor, no self enforced cynicism—why would he need it? He’s joyful, and enthusiastic, and excited, and he hasn’t been given a single reason to hide it or play it down, and it broke my heart, because then we see present day Crowley so unsure and existential and the direct juxtaposition between ‘it doesn’t need to be for anything, it’s a nebula, it has value just for existing’ to ‘what’s it all for? It’s all so pointless’ we know Crowley is an optimist, but I feel like so much of this season is him adrift, standing still, wondering where it’s all meant to be going.
Did Shax like, expropriate his flat? Is that what happened? Does that technically make the flat property of Hell? Like having to give back the company car when you get fired? I just want to know if that’s the reason he didn’t just laugh and shut the door on her face. Also I can’t stop thinking about him grabbing as many plants that he could carry before leaving and nothing else. (Also also, why is he not living with Aziraphale since we have confirmation that until Gabriel—erm—Jim showed up there was an EMPTY BEDROOM NO ONE WAS USING. Yeah, I get it, their idiots who can’t stop talking in circles around each other to save their lives, but Aziraphale knows Crowley loves being in the bookshop, and goes as far as to say it’s basically theirs in a way, so it doesn’t seem like that much of a stretch. I’m not saying it’s not believable, I’d just like to know why.)
Speaking of which, Aziraphale driving the Bentley. AZIRAPHALE DRIVING THE BENTLY!! It’s fucking yellow, he’s giving it stern talks about appropriate music and eating sweats and listening to Glenn Millar Band and Crowley is threatening to sell his books! I can’t, it’s perfect.
Aziraphale trying to use a smart phone was everything to me. I imagine it’s exactly how he speaks to his computer in the bookshop. He’s so polite, and OF COURSE it listens. Just, that whole thing.
Shax using both their fears of the other getting hurt hurt me. She threatens Aziraphale to Crowley and Crowley to Aziraphale. Especially her talk with Aziraphale stuck out. Her saying he wasn’t Crowley’s type and the little raised eyebrows from Aziraphale made me laugh. Also her saying she didn’t believe they were a couple before. (I’m assuming Crowley’s threats about if she harmed Aziraphale were part of that?) And her not understanding what/why Crowley feels for Aziraphale. “He thought you were his ticket to the big time” but that was never what it was about for Crowley. He wants Aziraphale as he is, and for Aziraphale to want him as he is. And I wonder if Aziraphale understood that or what she meant at the time.
Crowley was SO fiercely protective of Aziraphale this season. Especially his talk with Gabriel about what he said during the execution. Also I think it implied that he never told Aziraphale exactly what was said (I could be wrong) but just. Crowley’s anger on behalf of Aziraphale, and his need to take it out on Gabriel (up to a point), his insistence in the first ep that Gabriel isn’t their friend, that Heaven tried to have him killed, it’s the same argument over and over again and they walk it all the way to the end of ep 6 and Aziraphale is still in so much denial about it. He doesn’t know, he hasn’t seen, and you can tell that before this season Crowley had thought they were already past that, on the same page, and that it hurts so much to find out they weren’t.
Um… I think this post is getting a bit too long, possibly. I still have more thoughts so I’ll make a pt 2, but for now I’ll leave you with that.
I shall return.
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dyns33 · 1 year
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Flufftober 26 - Ex Machina
Nathan Bateman x Reader 
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If there was one thing that Nathan Bateman wasn't, it was being funny.
Oh, he was saying that he was really hilarious. The problem was probably that his jokes were far too complex for lower minds to understand, and that the people laughing were all his employees, who therefore felt obliged to please him by forcing themselves to laugh. The rest of the time it was his machines imitating human laughter, because they had been programmed to laugh at their creator's jokes.
Y/N was neither an employee of Nathan, nor one of his machines. She didn't think so anyway, it could become difficult not to lose your head a little when you were alone in a house in the middle of nowhere with a genius who remained locked in his office for hours.
Their relationship wasn't perfect, but no relationship was perfect. They didn't have as many problems as some couples. In any case, that was what Nathan said, citing several studies. They were faithful, they weren't physically violent. He admitted that he sometimes said mean things when he was drunk and tired, in a disagreeable tone, and he mumbled apologies about it.
According to his analysis, the concern was that he was not good at social interactions and that Y/N was asking too much of him.
According to Y/N's analysis, he was indeed not gifted, and her demands were perfectly reasonable.
One of them was quite simple. Don't play pranks on her, especially if they were scary. Y/N didn't like being scared. No one liked being scared.
Unfortunately Nathan wasn't like everyone else, he wasn't afraid of anything, he didn't respect limits and he even thought it was a good thing to face what made us weak, to try to solve this absurd problem.
With Halloween approaching, Y/N was therefore very cautious. She did not speak with him to ask him not to do anything that day. She knew it would have been useless, and if by any chance he had forgotten what day it was, it was not a good idea to remind him. Since he was working on a very important new project that was taking up most of his time, to the point that he sometimes forgot to eat and sleep, it was possible that something as insignificant as Halloween wouldn't be on his top priority.
Except that in the morning, all her hopes were dashed.
           "Hello." he mumbled while taking his coffee before coming to kiss her quickly on the forehead. "Happy Halloween."
           "Ah. Yes. It's today."
           "I don't know if you want to do anything special, but I'm going to be very busy all day. Call me if you need anything, but…Try not to need me."
           "Hmm."
           "Please." he added, thinking she was pouting at his lack of politeness.
Even though Nathan was in his office, that didn't remove the threat. There were cameras and microphones in every room. He could have programmed a lot of pranks without needing to be present for them to activate, and they could watch the result over and over again on his movie screen, proud of his creativity.
It was out of the question.
Y/N stayed a good part of the morning locked in her bedroom, reading a book and watching for the slightest strange sign. Apart from the dimmed light which made the place a little austere, there didn't seem to be any change. A power outage didn't help much, with the room turning red and the door locking, but that wasn't the first time this had happened, and the problem was quickly resolved.
To avoid a bad surprise, Y/N decided to eat outside. There was not much risk on the terrace. Some noises coming from the forest, and the fresh wind, which made her tremble a little, but nothing more. The loneliness, accompanied by rain, forced her to go back inside.
In other circumstances, the sound of rain did not bother her. Y/N even found it quite relaxing. But with the stress and the paranoia, that didn't help the situation at all.
On the sofa, drinking tea while trying to meditate to think of something else, she closed her eyes for a second. Just a second.
Then there was a strange noise in the hallway. A shadow. Without thinking, she got up quickly to go into the kitchen and hide under the table. Which was ridiculous, because you could see her perfectly. But it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
The door opened and Nathan entered the room, very calm, watching the rain, before turning to her and frowning.
           "... What are you doing ?"
           "You, what are you doing ?!" she replied, remaining in her useless hiding place. "I'm not stupid, I know you're up to something. I feel you're watching me with your cameras."
           "Well, in order, I've come to get some water, because I'm out of it in my mini bar, and I do look at you every now and then while I'm working, as always. I have to say you're acting a little weird today."
           "You think you're funny."
           "Yes. I don't see where you are going with that."
           "Halloween. Halloween, Nathan."
They had been together for almost a year, and they had never celebrated Halloween together, so she really didn't know what to expect. Y/N looked at her for a long time, while he made a funny face before sighing, as he always did when she said something he didn't understand, because it was way too silly for him.
           "You hate being scared."
           "Exactly, which makes it even worse !"
           "You. hate. being scared." he repeated slowly, advancing towards her. "I have nothing planned for today. I told you that we will do what you want, when I have finished my work. Or at least when I have progressed, I do not think I will finish today."
           "You… you have nothing planned ? Nothing at all ?"
Nathan sighed again, smiling this time.
Obviously, he wasn't good with people, and he had trouble with boundaries, and their relationship wasn't perfect, but he understood that scaring Y/N would be cruel, that it would have upset her or made her sad, and he didn't want that.
All day, she had scared herself.
           "I feel a little ridiculous now."
           "Only now ? You've been under that table for several minutes already."
           "Oh, shut up." she groaned as she stood up, trying not to pout so as not to look like a child. "I was sure you were going to do something."
           "I thought about it, I admit it. But I really don't have time for that. Now excuse me, I'll take some water and get back to work."
           "I… Can I come with you ? Please ?"
He gazed at her for a long time, probably wondering if she was serious, if she was really afraid to be alone for a few more hours in this big empty house, before nodding, only reminding her that what he was doing was serious, and that he needed silence.
Yet it was he who talked almost nonstop, asking her opinion on his project and even forcing her to sit on his lap, because feeling her gaze on his back disturbed him. He got annoyed when she kissed him on the neck, before groaning when she stopped.
Nathan Bateman wasn't exactly funny. But he wasn't as terrible as people thought either.
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rainhadaenerys · 2 years
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When I first read ASOIAF, which was years before I watched the show for the first time, I never really thought about Dany crucifying the 163 masters as something problematic at all. To me, it was just another example of how that world worked: death penalty, torture and cruel punishments are all normalized and accepted by everyone, good guys and bad guys, so when I read it, it didn't even register in my mind that Dany would be considered any more "problematic" than any other ASOIAF characters. It was only after I first joined the fandom and watched the show that I started seeing people talk about how oh so more problematic they thought Dany was because of this. To me, it was just normal to the setting that I was reading about (a medieval one).
In fact, when I first read it, I thought this action in particular made Dany look really impressive as a ruler, because to me, it made her look like a ruler who was compassionate and merciful most of the time, but who knew when she had to be ruthless and strike fear, when to show force and when to answer to a provocation (the crucifixion of the slave children needed to have a firm answer). And in fact, I still think that. I have read quite a few metas talking about how Dany crucifying the masters was bad for her politically, because it made her more enemies and made it more difficult for her to make peace with the ruling families. But like… does anyone really think that the slaver families would ever accept Dany ending slavery without any pushback just because she didn't crucify anyone? I'm pretty certain the slavers would still have fought against her, would still create the Sons of the Harpy organization, would still kill the freedmen, and would still force her to undermine her reforms by forcing her into a false peace, just like they do in ADWD. In fact, I think if Dany hadn't crucified the slavers, things would have been worse for her. It's remarked in the books that while the slavers fight against Dany and try to undermine her, they still fear her and know they have to think twice before messing with her:
"Groleo." That is fitting, I suppose. "Yes. What was done to him … you were at court?"
"One guardsman amongst forty. All waiting for the empty tabard on the throne to speak the command so we might cut down Bloodbeard and the rest. Do you think the Yunkai'i would ever have dared present Daenerys with the head of her hostage?"
No, thought Selmy. - The Kingbreaker ADWD
If Dany hadn't crucified the slavers, they wouldn't fear her at all. Some of them already think she's weak, considering she never killed her child hostages. If she hadn't crucified the slavers, they'd be even more bold when defying her, and Dany would have had an even harder time in ADWD. GRRM has talked about how a ruler needs to have a certain amount of ruthlessness, and I think Dany is working towards reaching that balance. If she made a mistake, it wasn't being too ruthless, but not being ruthless enough and not killing all the masters so they couldn't retaliate against her (and even if she did that she would still have had to deal with the other slave cities fighting against her, so it's not like her political situation was ever going to be easy, whatever she chose to do with the masters).
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zestyaahbutler · 11 months
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As one Walter lover to another, what is your favourite headcanon of him?
Can be yours or someone else's 🙂
Thank you for sending my first headcanon ask in! :)
Probably the funniest that I’ve seen is the “he wears dentures” but I also refuse this even if it is funny. Buuuut I loved the dark! Walter headcanons that you made. 
These are a few random categories of headcanons I have for him. This may be a little long, I hope you don’t mind! A little mild suggestive stuff. If anyone would like anything NSFW, send me an ask. 
Walter C Dornez Headcanons
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I consent to him wearing my skin like hannibal lector
14 year old Walter:
- Arthur likely boosted the kid’s ego tenfold before going to Poland. Walter had missions but nothing like going into an active war zone. He has seen the supernatural and witnessed what some are capable of but never anything quite like the complexities of the kind of suffering war can cause. 
- He had a very privileged upbringing even if he was possibly an orphan. During his time in Poland with Alucard, he would have seen kids around his age and younger and their own situations. He would feel some sympathy for kids who have lost their parents or parents that lost their kids but he also never experienced that kind of loss. He’s likely butt heads with other kids and told them to “grow up” (while his ass is the same age as them).
- Girlycard form unsettled Walter more than regular Alucard. It’d perplex him why the vampire would want to take such a form. It’s not like they were sneaking around the building the millennium project was being held in. 
- His and Alucard’s relationship when he was younger was very rocky. Walter started more arguments than Alucard did. He’s hormonal and sensitive at his age so he would assume Alucard is judging him constantly. Stare at him for too long? “What is there to look at, you bellend?” 
- The monocle that he wears was a gift from a young princess Elizabeth in 1945 as a congratulations gift for working so hard during the war. She showered him in compliments and he got flustered from a pretty young girl like that so when she asked what kind of gift he would like, it was the only thing he can think of. He doesn’t regret it and wears it proudly. 
- Elizabeth treats Walter like a young kid and dotes on him but he doesn’t mind it as much from her. He is more worried and confused by the girl’s feelings towards Alucard.
- Going off of what you said in your dark Walter headcanons, he never understood the full scope of millenniums agreement with him. There was never a set time or operation that would happen, just that they would help each other when the time came. 
Young Adult Walter:
- As Walter got older, Arthur got on his case about his attitude quite a bit. He mellowed out on his own a the same time. His ego never left him but he came to the conclusion that he didn’t have to show off to seem impressive. 
- Walter never interacted with many kids his age and when he did, it was awkward. Being a child soldier and vampire hunter made him have a different amount of maturity and sense of humor. This resulted in him retreating into reading. Reading  whatever he could find. He enjoyed history, political, and philosophical books because it made him feel like he was talking to someone. 
- He became more social when he went to Oxford. This was a result from him never keeping his mouth shut in class. He always had something on his mind and wasn’t afraid to debate anyone. This resulted in very cringe inducing moments but earned him respect at the same time. His professors were big fans of him because of how hard he pushed himself.
- Walter and Alucard got along much smoother on mission. Alucard didn’t have as many reasons to pick on him unless the perfect occasion presented itself. It became more and more rare as Walter became more quiet and civil. 
- The only thing he really got interested in was Alucard proposing that Walter could be the one to end the count’s time on earth. But these were only small teases between the two. 
Millennium and Alucard’s sealing stuff:
- Millennium never acknowledged him again till decades later(let’s say in his 40s). He blocked out his agreement with millennium from his mind a lot at this time. Not that he wasn’t aware, but him enjoying his life as a young adult made a ton of guilt eat away at him when he did remember. This made forgetting feel easy.
- When they did start conversing with him again, that guilt came back tenfold. He wasn’t doing this to betray Arthur. The man was like a father to him. He just was never good enough as he imagined himself to be. Each compliment made him yearn to be more so he could have more praise. Yet as he got older, getting stronger began to get harder. However as strong as he became, he couldn’t compare this to the destruction and chaos that Alucard could pull.
- So much so that Arthur eventually retired the count into the cellar in the 70s. Alucard’s sudden leaving left a huge impact on Walter. He felt alone, relieved, and disdain. It was almost like he was robbed of something that he wasn’t even trying to act upon. 
- Would this mean his agreement meant nothing? Did he just give his services up to an organization that wouldn’t use him? Would he die without the chance to stand against Alucard? 
- If he did, what a waste. He never experienced much outside of the organization. He had nothing to make for the long life he lived or the years of amazing academics or battle feats. He would be forgotten as easily as he was brought into this world.
Romance:
- Despite being a little awkward from his line of work, he was fairly popular with both guys and girls.
- He often practiced on girls if he went into town to buy groceries. 
- He’s always been more interested in older women. Not only their personalities but they often had better assets.
- Theres been a few missions he’s been on where he was flirted and toyed with by vampires or other creatures of the night.
- Walter has acceptable amount of skills when it comes to flirting. He just prefers to make sure it’s witty, he gets too embarrassed to say anything outright. 
- As much as Walter likes people who are quiet and polite, it excites him more to have someone who doesn’t give a shit about him. It’s something about everyone praising him and someone subverting that just makes him feel different. He becomes more interested in the person and hopes to know more about them.
- Not that he’d admit to it buuuut German accents make the man weak in the knees. It could be trauma from being a child soldier morphing into something else or that the accent just sounds nice.
- He’s gentle with his lovers in bed unless it’s a hard day of work. He has a tendency to take it out then rather than discussing it. 
Random:
- Walter spends most of his time researching for the organization rather than any butler work. He moreso manages other workers but he does help out directly with Arthur or Integra. 
- He actually knows how to use a computer. He did have to watch a short tutorial to learn it though.
- He is a dog person. Preferably big dogs. 
- He has a very detailed hair and skincare routine. It’s what keeps him looking so sharp.
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Hope you like them! If anyone would like to request anything, feel free to send it to my inbox. I'm down for pretty much anything. Look forward to a Walter x reader coming soon tho. That is unless I fall into writing Elizabeth and Alucard again 🫠
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