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feelbokkie · 17 days

Text

the one where chan "forgets" your birthday

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

genre: slight angst, slight fluff

pov: 2nd person

description: in which chan thinks he forgot your birthday...but you just never told him

pairing: boyfriend!chan x reader

warnings: swearing, mention of eating

word count: 1,169

You slide your ID out of your wallet and hand it to the waiter. He skips over Chan for a second, ignoring the ID being held between his middle and pointer fingers. His elbow resting on the table, palm facing up practically begging the waiter to take his ID too. The waiter glances at him and finally takes the ID from him once he makes eye contact.

You fail to stifle a laugh at your boyfriend's misery. It's a thing that happens often now when you two go out. Almost every date the two of you go on where the occasion arises for the two of you to be carded, Chan normally doesn't. Especially when he's been working long. The only times you don't get carded and he does is during your very occasional trips to a club. But every week, without fail, the waiter will ask you for your ID and not him, much to his dismay.

Weekly dates, guaranteed time with Chan where you two go out and do some sort of couple thing. Not often do you two order drinks while out, but it's been a long week. Chan's been stuck at the company since your date last week and you were busy with work. The two of you hardly had time to text each other. How you two managed to find time to coordinate this week's date is beyond you.

You place your elbow on the table and rest your chin the the palm of your hand, watching Chan as the waiter double-checked your IDs. He looks better than he did last week. He looked beyond tired, his face paler than normal and the dark bags under his eyes more prominent than you're used to. It's why last week you two just spent a quiet night at your place, cuddling on the couch and watching movies until he fell asleep halfway through the second one. But he looks much more well-rested today. His face has a little more color to it. His black curly hair slightly framing his face. Finally healthy after years of dying and redying. He stares back at you with soft eyes and a smile wide enough to deepen his dimples. He quietly takes your free hand into his, squeezing slightly.

"Here you two are, I'll be right out with your drinks." The waiter hands both of your IDs back. You quickly let go of Chan's hand to take yours back and slip it back into your wallet.

"Thank you," Chan smiles as he puts his wallet back in his pocket.

"You're welcome. Feel free to take a bit longer to look at the menu." The waiter is just about to turn to leave before he suddenly stops and turns to you, "Oh, and happy birthday."

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and just plaster on a small smile. "Thank you,"

You watch as the waiter nods happily before walking off to tend to another table. You shake your head as you put your wallet away.

You don't notice at first, the way that all of the color in Chan's face leaves, turning him chalk-white. Or how his eyes quickly grow impossibly wide as his lips part in silent terror. You can't hear how fast the gears in his head are turning or how hard his head is banging in his chest. Not until you return your hand to his now limp and clammy hand.

"Chan?" Your furrow your eyebrows as you look up at your boyfriend, "What's wrong?"

"I...am so fucking sorry," He speaks with a suffocated whisper.

You tilt your head to the side and squeeze his hand to reassure him despite your now growing concern. "For what?"

His voice cracking and tight, "I forgot your birthday,"

"You--" You start.

"I'm so, so sorry--" Chan pulls out his phone and begins looking for something.

"Chan--" You try a little louder this time.

"--what kind of boyfriend--"

"Chris--" You try again.

"How did I forget it was your fucking birthday--"

"Christopher--" You place your hand on his, trying to get him to look at you.

"--I normally don't forget things like that--"

"Bahng Christopher Chahn," You nearly shout, finally getting his attention.

Chan stops and looks up, his eyes red and on the verge of tears. "I'm really, really sorry."

You look around the restaurant, taking in the atmosphere. The lights are dim creating a calming ambiance. The other patrons quietly talk amongst themselves. You can barely hear them over the soft classical music playing in the background. You and Chan are in a more secluded area covered by a plant to give you privacy from prying eyes.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about. You didn't forget my birthday," You say softly, stroking the back of his hand to calm him down, "I never told you when my birthday was."

"You...never told me? How is that...how did that even happen?"

Truth be told, it just never came up. You met after your birthday and started dating shortly after. With both of your busy schedules, it never really came up. You know Chan's birthday because of all the posts you see circulating on various social media sites by fans. His birthday is hard to miss, it's practically a national holiday.

"I don't really celebrate my birthday. It's...it's a long story. I'll tell you one day. But to me, it's just another day. You know I don't like that much attention on me anyway. I rather just let the day pass, without much of a fuss."

"That's understandable. It scared me though. I thought I forgot and I don't ever want to hurt you like that. You're really important to me. Everything about you is...even your birthday. But if you don't want to celebrate it, I won't push you." Chan takes both of your hands in his, lacing your fingers together.

"Thank you." You smile, "And I should have at least told you so you didn't have to panic like that. I'm sorry,"

"It's okay," He smiles, his dimples reappearing on his cheeks. "Want me to say something to the waiter so they don't do the whole dessert and singing thing?"

"If you don't mind." You sigh, relieved that you’re not going to have to ask Chan to do it for you later.

"I'll tell him when he gets back with our drinks." Chan presses his lips together into a fine line, “Can we at least go get ice cream or something later? I promise not to sing 'Happy Birthday' or anything. I just feel like you should still have something special today.”

You crack a smile, trying not to laugh at your boyfriend’s sudden sheepishness, “Yeah, we can go get ice cream.”

“Can’t I get you a gift? A small one?” He suggests.

“Chan,” You sigh, ready to argue back.

“Sorry,” He runs his hand through his hair. “I just feel bad still.”

“We’ll talk about it more later. For now, let’s just figure out what to eat.”

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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starswguru · 30 days

Text

❝ message in a bottle ; 마크이

𖥻 pairing: college!mark lee x female reader

𖥻 contains: college!au, fluff, slight angst, second chance romance

𖥻 warnings: swearing, marijuana & alcohol consumption / english is not my first language and this is my first work ever on tumblr so i am sorry if there are any grammar mistakes or misspellings

word count — 4.06k

synopsis — you and mark were in a situationship for a few months before things ended poorly when you got too scared of your feelings and he had to leave the country for an exchange program in london. now, six months later, you were at a party with your friends and discovered mark was back in town.

🎀

AND just like that, your whole world stopped spinning for a long and torturous minute. in the blink of an eye, you went from being over-the-moon excited — and slightly intoxicated — with the idea of partying with your friends during the first summer night before heading to your hometown in the next couple of days to being paralyzed, feeling all your blood get drained far away from where it should be in your body. in the blink of an eye, you went from being a happy girl with the arrival of the last member of your friend group to someone terrified with the sight of a ghost from the past. a quick glance, unintended by all means, in mark’s direction was all it took for the memories from that previous year to come flooding back to hit you like a lost train.

“hey, princess,” he said. his cheeks burning in a shade of shameful red, but something stronger than him was preventing his stare from going anywhere else other than your eyes. there was a blunt hanging between his teeth. “how you doing?”

“that’s it, guys; i’m done with this. i’m just gonna change my major or something like that! everything’s going terribly wrong, and i can’t keep torturing myself by studying this shit.”

you dropped your head and rested your forehead on your arm that lay on top of the desk in front of you right as the confession slipped from your lips like a dangerous poison that you should not have taken. it was the first time you’d ever said it out loud to someone else to hear — other than the mischievous voice inside your head — how you truly felt about the english major you were pursuing. the fear of judgment and of being too hasty about this decision was corroding every last bit of your emotional health, and because of it, you could sense that a storm was coming. what if you did change majors and ended up not adapting? how would you find a job, or better yet: how would you support living all by yourself if you couldn’t even pick an undergraduate academic path? time was running out, and the unbearable clock inside your mind wouldn’t give you a break. the tick-tacking of the goddamn thing was going to drive you to insanity at any point soon.

“hey, chill for once, okay? it’s normal to feel like that and to want something new. hell, i know i had to change my major twice before finding out what i actually wanted to do. jae did the same thing. you’re not alone.” jeno offered you a small yet reassuring smile or someone who didn’t quite know what to say but still wanted to see his friend more relaxed.

“exactly! take a deep breath and think things through with an easy heart. if you need help, we’re here to help you." swallowing the last bite of the sandwich he had bought earlier, renjun tapped the notebook in front of him. “how’s that linguistics project going?”

as you raised your head, you shook your head in a negative sign. “i mean, it’s good. too good, actually… and that’s sort of the problem. like, the dude i’m working with is super sweet and really fucking good at this class and so he’s kind of doing the whole thing by himself and dragging me along with it ever since we started. i feel terrible, even if he says it’s all good and stuff, but it is what it is, i guess.”

before either of the guys could express any opinion about what was just said, a guy with freshly cut black hair — it was even possible to see the drawing of a spiderweb on the left side of his undercut —, earphones in and a large yankees shirt approached the desk, more specifically you, and offered a genuine smile that wasn’t common to see between two colleagues who were only working on a school project together at you. the unknown man squatted so he could be at your height and unlocked his ipad’s screen to the word document the two of you were using to write notes together, or at least that was the initial idea because the reality was that mark was doing all of it alone, proudly.

“oh, hi, y/n, you good? just wanted to ask you a quick question… have you taken a look at this topic right here? i know we’re only supposed to work on it in two weeks but i was wondering if maybe you’ve come up with the same conclusion as me.”

feeling a thousand times more embarrassed than if a professor asked you to present a thirty-minute seminar alone in front of the whole class, you felt the tip of your fingers getting cold and a thin droplet of sweat rolling down your temple. “uhm, hey, mark. yeah, about that… look, i didn’t really have a chance to look at that yet, i’m sorry. i can barely manage this week’s assignments, let alone two weeks from now. i- i’ll text you when i read it, okay?”

you didn’t know it at the time — or if you did, you had an enviable ability of discretion — but every single time mark heard his name escape from your heavenly drawn lips, his heart would skip a beat or two and he felt like he was about to combust at any second. it was the first time in his whole life that he had ever felt that way about someone and dealing with feelings of that magnitude was both weird and extraordinary, which meant that the ravenette wasn’t completely aware of how to process them. mark’s solution for his overwhelming thoughts whenever you were around was to take charge of everything he could in that project, to make you feel relaxed about that one particular class. the canadian was terrible at linguistics, for his skills were much more reliable during literature classes: he could interpret and internalize poetry from the eighteenth century like it was nothing, and plays written in latin during the roman empire were of natural understanding for him; and yet, ever since the first day of that semester in which it was requested that both of you joined efforts to build the complicated assignment, it was impossible for mark to not pull all-nighters reading texts and more texts, watching one video class after another that broke down the subject of that class just so he could give his absolute best when the time came to work alongside you and you didn’t find him an idiot, as most people in that university usually did after meeting him for the first time.

mark just wanted to impress you and the last thing he could be worried about was doing all that alone, as long as it meant that he could still have the minimum interaction with you.

“yeah, sure, that’s cool. if you need anything let me know, alright?”

you were still in a state of complete shock. no words would come out of your mouth, making it impossible to answer properly the question directed at you by the boy that a year before was the reason for many sleepless nights and therapy sessions, through no fault of his, which was even worse, because mark was perfect and you hated yourself for how everything ended.

a cold breeze, too cold for a summer night, hit the both of you with enough strength to make you shiver and it was only then that you realized that none of your friends were around anymore. you were alone again with mark for what had felt like a lifetime since he left the country for an exchange program in london and with enough unspoken words to make the whole situation a million times more uncomfortable than it needed to be. what were you supposed to say right now? “oh, hi, mark, long time no see! listen, i’m really sorry for being horrible to you last year, i’ve spent the last six months torturing myself because i only woke up to the fact that i had let the perfect guy for me get away too late to try and fix everything”? you ran your fingers through your hair, knowing that there were no words of your knowledge that could make it easier, that could put together again the pieces of what had once been something magical that the two of them were building.

you couldn’t care less about all those times your therapist tried to be kinder to your heart than you had ever been, or how your friends always tried to distract your mind from the constant haunt of self-collection and, to be honest, didn’t really mind that yes, after all the effort and studying, you had managed to change your major to something you actually enjoyed if the price for it was to drop the perfect crystal piece that was mark’s precious heart. there were no words that could take that back, and going against every piece of advice that was given to you, you had imagined more times than you’d like to admit how this encounter would play out: what you would do, what you would say or not say, how it’d feel… but none of those scenarios inside your mind was anywhere near to the real sensation of being in front of him again.

mark looked taller — or maybe it was just the feeling of missing him crushing your soul and clouding your judgment —, the slim body now gave way to the body of a man who went to the gym and tried to truly take care of his health, his hair that previously used to be as dark as the t-shirts he used to enjoy wearing was now covered in a shade of red so bright that it reminded you of his favorite superhero’s suit. even still, the one thing that caught your attention the most were his eyes. before mark left, before the whole chaos, they were always big and full of life, like those of a curious cub and you could always feel a cozy warmth travel across your body when mark looked at you with such brightness; however, it seemed that ever since the canadian got back in town, they were opaque, closed off to the outer world as if his eyes were now carrying some kind of intense melancholy behind them. the familiar redness in his sclerae, months ago, used to always be accompanied by an excited and smiling version of mark lee, but that night the only thing apparent to you was that lee was holding on to weed like some kind of way to numb the break-up pain.

the redhead had lived a thousand different lives during his exchange: saw and learned things that he knew he would never have achieved if he hadn't accepted the opportunity to go to england and yet, his mind couldn’t recall any of those experiences with the genuine happiness he should’ve felt like any other normal and grateful person would if they were on his shoes; to mark, ever since you left him all alone, he had turned into nothing but an empty shell of what should’ve been the real mark lee. what were his experiences, his learnings, his funny stories if, at any moment, he was allowed to at least call the person he loved and share all of that with her?

“yeah, i guess i’m okay.” you answered, holding back a cry that was stuck in your throat before looking away. “you?”

a shiver went down the english student as he waited for his project partner to arrive at the coffee shop you two had agreed to meet at to finish for good the agonizing linguistics document. it didn’t even seem real that you were finally concluding the most stressful and endless project of your university career until that moment and despite the sweet taste of reaching the finish line, mark had on his lips a bitter one, because he knew that the very instant you pressed “send” on the body of that e-mail to your professor, all of his excuses to talk to you would come to an end. it was only the beginning of november, you should spend at least a few more weeks studying together if said professor were to follow a normal academic calendar like the rest of his fellow colleagues of the department.

mark would only have one last chance of making this work out and that chance was right there and then. anxiety and fear were destroying the boy with more strength than he himself was biting through his nails waiting for you to arrive.

“gosh, mark, i’m so sorry!” you said in a panting tone when you finally managed to get to the coffee shop and met the guy that, by that point, had already become your friend. “the bus took forever to get to the stop i needed and then the subway was also chaotic… anyways, i’m sorry that i’m late.”

the both of you stayed a long time in that coffee shop, not only finishing the assignment but also laughing together and watching a few episodes of modern family on his computer as a way to relax after all the constant flow of negative emotions the both of you were facing during that semester due to not only that particular class but also all the other ones with their enormous reading load. by the time you had indeed finished what you were supposed to do, you were feeling so comfortable in mark’s presence that you didn’t even notice when you heart started to race faster and faster before the mundane things the lee did: the way he smiled from ear to ear, or how kind he was to everyone around him. you were starting to fall in love with how mark explained all the different concepts he used to build his arguments across the paper like someone would explain the most basic things to a child, and you thought it was sweet the way he would say “dude” and “no way” every couple of sentences that fell from his lips. but, above all, unconsciously, the way mark seemed to glow every time he looked at you was ethereal to your eyes.

as soon as you sent the hated file, it started to rain on the outside of the coffee shop, but contrary to the ideal scenario, you couldn’t stay in there just waiting until the climate conditions became more favorable because the two of you had places to be at, on opposite directions. there would be no other alternative but to run to the nearest subway station, or in the brunette’s case, the bus stop.

mark immediately took off his hoodie to shield you as best as he could from the rain, in exchange for you protecting his backpack that contained his computer as if your life depended on it, the moment you two stepped outside the establishment and something of a thunderstorm was taking over the avenue. mark couldn’t help it and ended up laughing at the situation you two had found yourselves in, thinking about how he wished he was a little less broke and had a car to take the girl of his dreams back to her place without having to worry about the rain, or how he wished he was stronger to pick you up and carry you to the subway station and, with that, spare your shoes from coming in contact with the soaked surface of the sidewalk. before you could notice, you were right in front of the stairs that led to the station.

“bye, i think.” you said, giggling along with him while you tried to fix your hair that, despite mark’s hoodie’s protection, still got wet from the rain.

the lee was going to answer you like a decent and proper person, he really was, but in that very moment, a raindrop fell from the marquee above you and somehow managed to hit you right on the forehead, which made you close your eyes, but mark kept his wide open. with an automatic reaction of his body, almost like an involuntary movement that he was incapable of controlling — such as the beats of his accelerated heart — his left hand traveled to your neck while his right thumb was busy drying the solitary raindrop slowly, to give his mind time to analyze every little inch of your face so close to his. mark tried to respond with words to your farewell, but his impulse to kiss you was far stronger than any cohesive phrase that his brain could formulate in that moment.

the literature student, now in his final semester, nodded as he bit his lower lip and those opaque eyes fell to the floor beneath his feet after stepping on the remaining of his blunt. mark didn’t even know why he started that conversation in the first place, it was obvious that it was impossible for him to stand close to you without it affecting some part of him — whether for good or for bad — and even still, there he was, not managing to say a single word to you, nor being able to get closer, just feeding that giant gray and terrifying cloud that grew over both of your heads due to the impasse of what this was and what it should have been.

unlike his mind, that was only able to repeat tirelessly the day he finally built the confidence to kiss you, yours was in a hurricane of terrible memories that involved the brief, yet intense, relationship you two shared — or whatever the hell one could call it. how was it even possible that something that lasted only four months could leave such deep scars?

if mark was trying to hold back a smile remembering how it felt to have your lips on top of his, you were only torturing yourself with the replayed image of mark being crushed in front of you, by no fault other than your own. it was your fault that fear was allowed to consume every single good thing that the lee had ever given you; it was your fault that you’d thought that whole thing was a sick and sadistic joke from the universe and that, in reality, there was no way someone like him could've ever fallen in love with you. in the deepest, darkest, cruelest part of your soul, you were convinced that everything was your fault and not your mind trying to destroy you before something so pure and happy.

you were a sinking ship, navigating towards a port with not a single sight of a lighthouse’s spark to help you, not knowing how to reach the treasure that awaited your arrival because other people had already destroyed the lighthouse. the ability to grope around, trying to find yourself in the darkness you’d placed yourself, was stripped away from you the second you gave in to the bruises that were caused by third parties, and mark knew it wasn't your fault, although it was still difficult to try and be the guide to someone that wouldn't allow them to have access to the heat and light from the fire he tried to offer.

without even realizing it, the silenced cry stuck in your throat for months on end started to escape, not giving you any power to control it. you felt anger, sadness, frustration and you were missing mark… all at the very same time, in an endless swirl triggered by the mere vision of having mark back into your reality.

just like the first time you kissed, the unconscious answer of mark lee’s body to the sound of you crying after such a long time being away from you was to wrap his arms around your body without allowing himself to give too much thought to the action that just took place. if it was even possible, noticing you needing him in any way, shape or form was a true calling for him and it didn't matter how much time could've gone by, the lee couldn't ignore it. to love you and protect you was just as natural as breathing.

between the supplications for your tears to stop and hair strokes, mark then began to feel something that he thought was dead coming back to life inside the hollow box that was his chest. for months now, the redhead just knew that his heart was no longer there. instead, it must've been put inside a bottle and thrown away into the ocean that separated his emotions from his rational mind, as if he wasn't even the owner of his own feelings.

“please, princess, don't cry. i’m begging you.”

the cruelty of your mind wouldn't give you a break for not even a single second ever since the last time you've heart mark’s melodious voice so close to your ear, and the fact that it carried the same heavy tone of request didn't help with your genuine desire to stop your sobbings as your face was pressed against his chest. in that moment, the last thing on your mind were the looks that other people could be directing at the two of you; you could only see the desperation all over the face of the only man you've ever truly loved. he was in such pain that day — the day you told him you didn't want to see him anymore. soon, though, that image was replaced with the memory of the gut-wrenching feeling of chronic emptiness that filled your chest the following week and you came to your senses that you had make a mistake, but that it was also too late: mark was in another country, it was far too late to ask for forgiveness.

“i know you probably hate me right now. i shouldn't have done that, i shouldn't have said that, i was such an idiot, stupid… i'm sorry, mark, i don't know what was going on in my mind to treat like that, i-”

that sobbing wouldn't allow you to form coherent sentences properly and the way you were crying so helplessly was becoming melancholic instead of just sad to the man holding you. if only mark could get into your merciless head just how he would never be able to hate you, not in a million years, not when there was so much love, desire and adoration intrinsic to the image he had of you, then maybe that big gray cloud would disappear forever and the two of you could just live like he hoped for. all mark wanted was to have the privilege of loving you again.

“y/n, look at me” mark held the red and tear wet face of his beloved girl with kindness while his tone of voice was filled with all the firmness the moment could ask for. “for christ’s sake, y/n, i love you. i could never hate you. dude, really, for once just keep your head out of this and focus on what i’m telling you right now. i love you and this whole time i was thinking of you. only you.”

even if he knew you wouldn't answer anything for a few seconds, or maybe even minutes, mark just allowed a sweet smile to appear on his lips while he delighted himself with the feeling of being allowed to hold your face once again, to stroke your cheeks and to place small, delicate kisses all over your beautiful face — which he knew would force your breathing to slow down, giving you the chance to calm down again. the canadian was smelling like the combination of weed and beer, but somehow, your body knew how to identify the familiar and characteristic smell of his cologne; the same smell your searched for and ached for during the coldest nights, when missing him was too overwhelming it almost felt like a hole was being digged up in your chest. that familiarity was the reason for the shy smile that took over your lips, that opened a breach for light and happiness after all those tears while mark traced your lips with his thumb, admiring you like you were some kind of artwork created just for him.

“i was made to stay just like this with you, princess. and i’m not leaving this time.”

#— ⟡ 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐥𝐞𝐞 !#— ⟡ 𝐤𝐩𝐨𝐩 !#— ⟡ 𝐧𝐜𝐭 !#mark lee #mark lee x reader #mark lee x y/n #mark lee x you #mark lee angst #mark lee fluff #mark lee sfw #nct 127 #nct u #nct dream #nct #nct dream drabbles #mark lee drabbles

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cobragardens · 7 months

Text

Another Post About Crowley's Terrible Handwriting

Actually his handwriting here isn't terrible, it's just, like Anathema's spelling, 300 years too late.

So first, I posit that we can be reasonably confident this is Crowley's handwriting because he is very likely the only celestial being besides Aziraphale who can spell devourer correctly.

Crowley has taken more care than usual with his penmanship today because this is a Fancy Presentation, and there are some delightful things to note about it:

--The beautiful serifs on each letter and variation in width of the strokes (the lowercase r's especially)

--Enthusiastic but intermittent capitalization of nouns

--The L that ends "Hail" is a small capital like the ones used in the Bible to spell LORD; the l in Worlds is lower-case

--The lozenge shape of the letter o

--Both s-es are oversized and dip below the writing line

--The kerning is terrible, the script wanders off the writing line at several points, and the location of the writing line is not imagined consistently

I am not an expert in the history of handwriting, but every single point of this suggests to me that Crowley learned to write in English in the late 16th or early 17th century, between say 1570 and 1620, and he learned to do it by copying printed material, not somebody else's handwriting. And it looks like late 16th-century writing. Or rather, like somebody learned to write by copying late 16th-century print and hasn't practiced enough for his style to change significantly in the last 400-500 years.

This means Crowley would have learned using a quill pen, poor devil, and if that's true no wonder he doesn't do it more often. (I wonder if this is why he now owns a pen that looks like it can break the sound barrier; if the Bentley is a permanent replacement for the loathsome, buttocks-abusing horse, maybe he keeps the expensive pen as self-reassurance that he'll never have to write with a quill again.) Quill pens would explain the lozenge-shaped o's: quills can only make a downstroke, so writers who used them shape o's as lozenges made of four downstrokes. Someone who learned writing with a quill would shape his o's like a calligrapher.

16th/early 17th century is the earliest I think Crowley would have learned to write in English because before that there was no block print; there was no print at all, only handwritten scripts of varying legibility, none of which look remotely like Crowley's handwriting does.

Here's what print looked like in Germany in 1471 (printing does not arrive in England for another 5 years after this):

The printing press showed up in England in 1476. Between 1500 and 1600, England got its shit sorted out wrt fonts and typesetting and started turning out what we would recognize today as readable material.

Here's what English printing looked like in 1623, c. 150 years after the German one above:

Not bad, right? I've received Xerox copies less legible than this in classes I paid for. I think it is likely based on his handwriting that Crowley learned to write from printed material a decade or two older than this. The adornments Crowley puts on his letters are serifs, not ligatures: these are not letters that were ever meant to join up in cursive, but letters that were copied from typeset.

From the 16th through the mid-19th century, variations in how a handwriter capitalized letters were very common, and two of these variations show up in Crowley's writing as well.

First, English inherited from German the capitalization of all its nouns. You can see it in Titus Andronicus, above (1623). Due to variations in education and taste, this quickly shifted to capitalization of whichever nouns the writer (or publisher, or printer) felt were important to capitalize, as you can see in Paradise Lost from 1688, below. Hail the Great Beast, devourer of Worlds.

Second, It was also very common during this time to capitalize terminal letters of words, either as a sign to the reader that previous letters had been omitted or because writers using quill pens wanted to be sure readers knew what letter they were looking at through the smudges and weird spacing and general wretchedness of the reading experience imposed by quill writing. I think this latter reason may be why Crowley writes "HaiL" when his other letter L, in "Worlds," is both lowercase and carefully printed with a pretty serif.

Handwriters in English between 1500 and 1800 also had a major hard-on for abusing the letter s, which was shaped like a lowercase f (to contemporary eyes) or a loose S, either of which drop below the writing line. Here's an example in print from 1688:

Use of the long S in print fell out of favor and disappeared abruptly in the UK after 1800.

Crowley's S-es could be a holdover from this: they both drop below the writing line, and they're both oversized.

What I think we can say for sure is that he's not very good at writing s-es, so they always turn out bigger than he intends. The S in "Beast" is noticeably different at the left curve than the S in "Worlds," which I would expect for someone who hasn't written thousands of s-es yet, and the S in "Worlds" looks very much like someone has faithfully rendered a shape they have seen rather than written a letter. Since he can write a letter r elegantly but can't do a curved s, it suggests to me that he hasn't had as much practice doing the curved s yet as he has the other letters, which fits with someone used to writing a long s 75% of the time.

Even the kerning speaks to me of someone who learned to write with a quill: leaving (comparatively) large spaces between letters gives the ink somewhere to drip and smudge without rendering the letter illegible.

There's one other reason I think Crowley probably learned to write in English in the 16th century: He's lazy, and he probably wouldn't have needed to know before then.

The movable-type press arrived in England in 1476. The Protestant Reformation kicked off in England c. 60 years later in 1534 when Henry VIII declared himself head of the English Church. Prior to the surge in literacy among the wealthy and merchant classes in the 16th century, thanks to this intersection of printing press and Protestants (who believe it's important that each person read the Bible for themselves), almost no one knew how to read, including most of the gentry and nobility, and still fewer knew how to write. If you had a message, you sent a guy or you showed up yourself. If you had something you wanted recorded, you summoned a scribe. If you needed to know something, you found somebody who knew and you asked them.

By the time of Queen Elizabeth's accession in 1558, 82 years after William Caxton began operating England's first movable-type printing press, a fully literate royal court were passing each other and their spies and their assassins gossipy notes like everybody was a 12yo in math class. Elizabeth wrote letters and poems. Among the gentry gentlewomen replaced monks as the medical caregivers for their communities (bc Henry shut down all the monasteries), and they wrote and shared and copied multi-generational "receipt books" and herbals of medical and cosmetic treatments. In the space of a single generation, literacy--the ability to write, not just to read--became a prerequisite for functioning in the upper echelons of society.

So if he didn't already know by then, Crowley would have needed to learn to write in English in the mid-16th century. And he would have had to learn it with a quill. (Wearing black probably came in handy for all the ink he spilled or dripped on himself.)

Last to consider is the W in "Worlds," which has no serifs and is not written with any particular attempt at straightness or symmetry. To me this suggests that Crowley learned to write w's from a modern reference, not his original reference. And this makes perfect sense: w was very much in use in the 16th century in English, but nobody agreed on how to write or print it, so there were crossed v's, two capital U's, and this weird gothic lowercase n with extra tentacles. W, Crowley would have learned, always needs to be checked up on before you commit.

Crowley's spelling here is modern, which is frankly a huge achievement for someone who was present for the formation and transformation of all 3 English languages. The contemporary Modern English we use today was a going concern for over 2 centuries before anyone wrote an English dictionary, and it was three centuries before dictionaries became authorities on how to spell correctly and people started giving a shit about that. (Before that as long as people could read the word and understand what you meant by it in context, you'd spelt it correctly.)

Taken together, the W and the modern spelling suggest that although Crowley almost never writes by hand, he reads regularly. This matches with two Words of God I've seen from Neil Gaiman (which I am too lazy to find and link) in which he mentions that Crowley likes to read but won't admit to doing so or to liking books.

Aziraphale should get him a book about ducks for Valentine's Day.

#good omens #good omens fanalysis #crowley #crowley's handwriting

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nehswritesstuffs · 17 days

Text

HEART PIRATES WEEK 2024 - Part 4 of 9

I told myself last year that I was going to participate in Heart Pirates Week this year, and by thunder I'm going to participate in Heart Pirates Week!

Day Four: Ikkaku - Night

669 words; this is me pouring one out to the times I worked late shifts, especially the midnights; this one is very safe for work, actually, but does reference potentially disordered eating out of one (1) individual, so that’s a thing to watch for I guess; again: what is proofreading lol

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Shift assignments were honestly not the worst thing in the world, but honestly… most of them had experienced much worse. Three sets of mandatory shifts, eight hours each; that would last for a month before everything was reassigned, four shifts of six hours. The months would cycle as such, with people getting shuffled back and forth with little care as to where they ended up. Things were always new and different that way. Besides, most people still hung out with one another even when they weren’t on their mandatory shift, making things somewhat different from the traditional sailing vessels.

Then again, when one rides in a submarine in a world of sail and paddle boats, everything is a little different, isn’t it?

The only thing that wasn’t different, Ikkaku knew, was the overnight shift. It was her sixth month in a row working the overnight detail and she was beginning to wonder if the goobers that drew the lots every month had it out for her. Uni had tagged her out of the boiler room for a break, allowing her the chance to head to the top deck and enjoy the breeze that they were afforded thanks to giving the engines a break and unfurling their own sail.

It was quiet, peaceful even, as she listened to the soft sound of the waves against the metal hull of the ship. They had already passed into the climate zone of an Autumn Island, the gentle currents guiding them the rest of the way to their destination. It was the sort of silence that was reassuring and calming for some and yet restless and loud for another. A thought of the Captain crossed her mind; he was likely pacing around his tiny cabin with no sleep, no dinner, and no plans to rectify either. She sighed heavily; might as well check.

Trying to not make too much noise, Ikkaku went back below deck to the mess hall, where she found the log where everyone who watched the Captain eat something. It was last updated by Bepo that morning (dry breakfast cereal, coffee, banana); the math wasn’t difficult. When she couldn’t find whichever idiot was supposed to be on kitchen duty, she scraped together what she could find (an apple, some carrots with salad dressing, a tin of herring) and brought it along with the herbal tea that Bepo instructed everyone how to make. She went to the Captain’s quarters with the tray in-hand and knocked on the door. Sure enough, Law opened it much faster than if he had been sleeping, and the stack of books and papers on his desk wasn’t helping any.

“What’s this?” He eyed the contents of the tray and scowled, realization slowly creeping onto his face. “I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“How do you know?”

“A birdie told me. Now are you going to eat or am I going to have a snack while I clean out the boilers?”

The Captain thought about that for half a second before taking the tray and closing the door behind him. Ikkaku stood there and waited for his brain to catch up, then his manners. In moments he was opening the door again with a cowed expression on his face.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. “I know you’re not my mom, or my maid. Mechanics have better things to do than watch over me.”

“That’s right,” she replied. “I will beat your ass if I catch you not eating on my shift when you’re up during it. You understand?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t make eye contact as they stood there, the doorway suddenly feeling rather small. “Can I go now?”

Ikkaku patted the Captain atop his head and smirked. “Yeah.” He then retreated quickly, which allowed her to head back to the mess hall and write down in the log that food was at least accepted before she got back to Uni and the boiler room.

At least she knew the rest of her sift would be quiet.

#One Piece #One Piece fan fiction #Heart Pirates Week #Heart Pirates Week 2024 #HeartPiratesWeek #HeartPiratesWeek2024 #Ikkaku #Ikkaku (One Piece)#Trafalgar Law #part of why I love staying up late is bc fewer people to interrupt me historically speaking #(living at home until your mid-thirties does that)#and I did used to work some late shifts both in retail and manufacturing #in fact at the latter I'd be done early but my ride wouldn't be up for another three hours so I'd write fic in the meantime lol #I think I'll upload one more for today but it might not be until late

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thestoriesthatweweave · 3 months

Note

Omgg so glad you’re doing the wip ask game too! It’s hard to choose but I’m way too curious abt ”uncles of the year award” 👀😅 but if that was done already ”A Bridge of Ink” also sounds alluring~

Thank you!! I look forward to seeing your snippets :D I did "uncles of the year award" here already, but have an additional snippet:

Ouyang came into the room after the Third Prince had left. He looked at the soiled bathwater with an expression like he had smelled something foul, and said, "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" "Why," Baoxiang asked, "are you jealous? He does look a great deal like-" he broke himself off. The fragile peace their lives were built on rested on never mentioning Esen. He felt unmoored. He was never going to accept the drugs again, no matter how bad the pain got. The Third Prince's words kept echoing in his ears, and looking at Ouyang, Baoxiang thought, this will destroy him. The idea should have filled him with pleasurable, vicious anticipation, but all he felt instead was a sick dread.

A Bridge of Ink is the epilogue to the time travel AU. The title comes from the fact that I'm keeping a landmarks theme for the titles in this AU and from it being epistolary, and is also bit of a reference (if you squint) to the magpie bridge of Chinese mythology, which Esen also mentions in one of his letters:

We have been here for three months now. It is the double seventh festival today, and I find myself melancholic. How I wish for a magpie bridge to cross the divide between us! In case you miss me too, I'll confess to a measure of foolishness you might find flattering, or at least amusing. There is only one man in this garrison worth a damn, a unit captain surnamed Jiang. He's clever, hard-working and has demonstrated impeccable taste by expressing admiration of your military victories during the founding of the Great Ming. Despite that, I have found he sets my teeth on edge, because he is precisely the sort of man you like: handsome, well-built and competent (I flatter myself with this last one). In short, I am terribly jealous of a man you've never met and will probably never meet. Just because he might get one appreciative glance of yours! But who can blame me, when I am so undeserving of you and when your appreciative glances are so precious? Every day I live in fear of you realizing how poor a bargain you have made in tying yourself to me. (I can imagine your glare quite clearly! Don't worry, darling, I am quite secure in your love - or at least in your terrible taste. But feel free to reassure me at length of your continued and enduring affection! I'll be waiting.)

WIP game here!

#my writing #ask game #the radiant emperor

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slutforsfender · 10 months

Note

hey! just read your photo booth one shot and loved it so much!!! i just saw sam at trnsmt and it was his first time headlining anything, so i was wondering if you could write something about sams gf being scottish and going with him and the boys to the festival and just being so proud of him. no pressure at all and feel free to change any details as you’d like💙💙

TRNSMT (Request)

Sam Fender x Reader

Today was one of your favourite weekends of the whole year, this year is even more special. TRNSMT. You truly were proud to be Scottish during this festival and every year you were always in love with this weekend. However this year was so much more special as your boyfriend, Sam, headlined the Saturday.

You were currently getting ready to go meet Sam in his dressing room at Glasgow Green. You were buzzing around with excitement as you got your things ready and got into your car.

During your car ride, you couldn't help but replay his past years performing and bursting with pride over him headlining. You truly saw how much he glowed on a Scottish stage, being surprised at the reaction he got from the crowd.

You walked into the dressing room and were engulfed by boyish screams as they were over the top with excitement for their show.

"Hey darlin', you alright?" Sam asked as he pulled you into his chest, your happy place.

"Of course I am, I'm so excited for you and proud. How are you?" You replied, kissing his cheek after.

"Nervous of course being the headliner and all but better now you're here," He said, kissing your forehead and making you smile.

"Sam come on, Scottish crowds love you and I can tell you that with no ounce of a lie as a true Scotsman" You reassure him.

"I just wanna get out there," He said, basically bouncing all over the place.

The rest of your day until his set was spent stood by his side reassuring him of how much your country adored him, how much you loved him, and how proud you were.

They all made their way onto the stage with their final words and hugs. Sam gave you a wink as he pulled the guitar over his shoulder as you said "Scots love you Sam, go smash it".

The familiar tune of Will We Talk played as they walked out, one of your favourites. Soon as Sam grabbed the mic and started singing, you started screaming next to the stage and lived your best life.

You admired the way he played the guitar and sang with everything he had. You were so proud of how far he had come from playing on a small stage to headlining and everything else he had achieved this year so far.

You teared up as you watched him stare in shock at the crowd just before playing Spice which you knew was one of his favourites because he loved watching the crowd go wild, especially to his songs.

You couldn't help but burst out laughing as the crowd shouted with their lungs, "FUCK THE TORIES". Sam of course edged them on which made you laugh your heart out but also joined in with your Scottish accent being as evident as ever.

Soon enough The Dying Light started playing which made Sam give you a little look as he knew how much it meant to you, even getting it tattooed onto your skin. You screamed the lyrics with pride as happy tears streamed down your face watching him.

All you could think was that is your boyfriend on that stage. Your heart had that tingling swelled feeling and you wouldn't change it for the world. This was your happy place, watching him live his dreams with you side stage bursting with pride.

It came towards the end of the set with just Hypersonic Missiles left and you knew a Sam speech was coming, so you had your tissue ready to sort your mascara.

"It's fucking mental to be here. It's just really the most bizarre experience headlining anything. I have imposter syndrome to the max right now like. Stood up here going what the fuck is going on. We fucking grew up with them two Kasabian albums, them first two like. It's just fucking bizarre. I kept just going around today going what's going on. It's fucking bizarre, it's fucking stupid. Thank you so much, you're legends. We'll be back soon. Ganna try to not have a major fucking panic attack. Let's play the song that got us into this mess. Glasgow goodnight!" You watched your boyfriend speak into the mic.

The oh's soon followed as Sam played the guitar and looked at you with shock. You mouthed 'I love you' before he started singing with the Scottish crowd and his Geordie best mates.

You watched your fellow Scots jump and scream to his songs with all their power, accents radiating all over the place. And you knew at that moment Sam had become a beloved artist within your culture.

He soon walked off stage, making a b-line towards you, picking you up, and spinning you. You wiped the small tears that had fallen from his eyes as he looked into your tearful eyes.

"That was fucking mental like" He spoke as you kissed his cheek.

"I think you're an honoree Scotsman now can't lie like" You laughed as he made a face of disgust in reference to your constant battle of Geordie and Scotland.

"Do you reckon your family will love me now?" He said in reference to your dad's constant joke of him headlining TRNSMT.

"They always have Sam," You say.

He just nods and kisses you.

"I'm so proud of you Sam, I can't even put it into words. From supporting Springsteen to St James and now this. I'm so happy to be your girlfriend and I'm so proud of you Sam Fender" You speak to him.

He didn't have to reply, he just hugged you and muttered 'I love you' as he teared up with shock and happiness.

----

I just want to stay this one of my favourite requests of all time. I know that sounds stupid but if you don't know a lot of my family is scottish and I even have a weird scottish twist on my accent. So Sam headlining TRNSMT means so much to me because it's a big thing to me, I watch it every year and yeah I just loved writing this. i cried a lot writing this. a new favourite anon. sorry for getting soppy, love you all and enjoy - ash x

#sam fender imagines #sam fender #sam fender x reader #imagines #imagine #one shot #fanfic #i love you #read it #enjoy #sam fender concert #sam fender smut #music #request #samfender

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ask-richard-jackdaw · 9 months

Text

I never understood all the fuss surrounding the choice of a House by some magical talking hat, so let me tell you this: I'm keeping my House a secret ;) It is more fun that way, I enjoy people interpreting my words, actions, hobbies, and aspirations! I think I could've been sorted anywhere, really. I've met plenty of people that didn't seem to fit in with the typical traits.

There's been a long discussion concerning this topic among some students, maybe you know Elizabeth and her friends? Such observant young ladies! Sometimes it feels like they know me better than I know myself! But let me take you through some of my thoughts. Once again, not naming my House ;)

Ravenclaw: my smarts! Need to solve a puzzle? I'm your man ghost! I'm also rather curious. As you know, I've travelled the world, have decades worth of learning behind my shoulders. Some argue that I am not that smart (which is, first of all, ouch?) but do I really have to have perfect grades for that? So what if I don't know the difference between French, Latin, and Greek? I am sharp at what I find interesting and what I might need in the future. And what about emotional intelligence? Plus, I think wearing blue would rather suit me! If all Ravenclaws were academically inclined — Ravenclaws would've won every since House Cup ever!

Some people might want to put me in Slytherin for, er... Well, stealing a wand during my apprenticeship at Olivander's. To which I have to say: I doubt things like that have anything to do with a specific House, Slytherins are not bad people! I had my reasons and I am not proud of stealing anything. I should probably visit the current Mr. Olivander and explain myself... Most of the Slytherin traits do not fit me. Self-preservation especially, Merlin's beard, if only I hadn't gone to that cave alone!

Gryffindor sounds like a good fit! I was described more than chivalrous on multiple occasions. And once again, bravely going into the cave alone, and then having the nerve to deal with the spiders, determined to get to the end... Although a lot of that was done because Anne never showed up. I was rather upset and now that I think about it, initially I didn't even want to go there alone at all... I am so glad I managed to track down that Auror that somebody mentioned a while ago, hoping to get Anne out of Azkaban. We are just waiting for the Ministry's reply at this point. But I digress.

And then Hufflepuff... I suppose that with trying to get Anne out we can speak of fairness and justice? But patience? Oh no. I might work hard on the things that I like but not everything else! Modesty and Loyalty? Oh, well... Those do not sound reassuring either...

My point is: there is no need to try and sort me into any of the House. I will be in whatever House you guys want me to be~ Speaking of which... If there is anybody who is willing to let me borrow their extra robes for when Thursdays come around when I am corporal — please, let me know! I do not want to alert the staff to my... visits, and since I still look like a 7th year, I think I can pass!

*Richard writes this letter specifically without naming anybody just yet. He passes the letter to his Scribe, and as per their agreement earlier, the Scribe casts Geminio on the paper, successfully duplicating it. Satisfied, Richard proceeds to do separate introductions for both Indi and Anon on two different parchments, finishing with:*

With much appreciation for your question,

Richard Jackdaw

#Richard Jackdaw #Hogwarts Legacy rp #Hogwarts Legacy #asks #Indi #I might be sneaking into the castle with Marge periodically #Being a ghost for decades I feel like I might have difficulty navigating the castle again #Since I cannot go through walls #[I want him in Ravenclaw because we don't have enough of those but Gryffindor also really suits him]

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fisherpiers · 1 year

Note

Seems you have problems with Amity so how come you ain't a fan of her?

okay lemme take a deep breath and gather up my receipts. hope you’re ready for a whole fucking essay.

do i think her designs cute? yeah sure. she’s adorable. and marketable. easy to slap on disney social media posts during pride month.

do i like that her attraction to girls is treated as good and natural and not scary? yes. for the owl house’s message, and helping kids grow up without thinking they’re monsters, this is good.

okay now that i’ve pointed out the good, lemme tell you why i hate her.

and this got too long so here’s the shortened version. the reasons she most rubs me the wrong way. and it’s still too fucking long lol

1. first things first. she’s the hexsquad’s bully. she was horrible to willow and luz and she never really puts in the work to make up for this. well. she does for luz. not willow, however. her main victim.

AMITYS VERY FIRST APPEARANCE IS TREATING WILLOW LIKE SHIT AND DESTROYING HER CONFIDENCE. WITH NO PROVOCATION. okay? and then that episode ends with ames trying to get luz dissected.

it’s not even an “amity let bosha, her best friend that she replaced willow with, terrorize willow and thus is responsible as a bystander” situation. no, amity is shown personally going out of her way to be an asshole.

and then in that fucking library episode she says “i know what you are now, luz. you’re a bully!” like bitch?? excuse me? you were literally regular and cyber bullying luz and willow in the episode previous to it. literally she bullies them and then the very next episode calls luz a bully (for some shit her siblings were doing, not even luz)

and then she just assimilates herself back into the friend group, as if nothing happened. willow and gus tolerate it bc they’re not assholes. but the tension is there. on screen even.

like that whole hair braiding scene. wtf was that. amity braiding willows hair does not make up for years of her making willows life a living hell. willow frowns while it happens. and the whole reason amity even came to talk to willow in the first place was to talk about luz. she is only there bc she needs something. it was all about her relationship with luz, not willow.

i know i’ve said this many times before but i think willow should get to clock amity in the jaw. at least once.

and willow should’ve been fucking pissed when luz started getting romantically involved with amity. luz and willow should’ve had a fight about it.

they call back to the tension again in “thanks to them”. the scene in the museum. they feel the need to have to reassure the audience that things are fine between the kids, totally no tension at all. you know bc amity hasn’t actually apologized and they just sort of swept everything she did under the rug.

(another part of “thanks to them” when she tells hunter to go change his silly outfit. not an egregious sin but it’s still mean.)

“understanding willow” wasn’t enough. all amity does it throw out her little sob story excuse for first abandoning willow and then bullying her. probably only bc luz was there to make her feel bad about all of it. which is not a proper apology. WHICH LEADS ME TO MY NEXT POINT.

2. and here’s where it gets personal. amity’s sob story is that she has shitty parents. cool. me too. and i ain’t ever bullied anyone bc of it.

i’ve got literally the same parents. a manipulative control-freak mother and a father who just sorta lets her terrorize his children and make all the family’s decisions bc he’s too busy or scared of her to care. all the same pressure to do perfectly at school and weird fixation on my hair, even, and i’m just fine. my mother belittling me every time i breathed didn’t make me feel the need to make other kids’ lives miserable. get better coping mechanisms.

and i know the “amity doesn’t even try to fight it when her mother gets the hexsquad expelled in ‘escaping expulsion’” thing is a reason other people don’t like amity for, but no i understand this one. i would’ve been too afraid to cross my mother too. so she gets a pass on that ig

oh and mentioning that ep, bonus round. 3. that scene where she walks into her house and immediately throws her clothes on the floor for the butler to pick up pisses me off

sigh. it’s not that i think people can’t change, in fact i’d be perfectly fine with her if she actually made things right with willow. i just wish she would’ve. on-screen.

#okay now i’ve laid most of it out lol #asks #amity blight #fisher.txt #long post #tbh i say i hate her but i kinda don’t sometimes. i contain multitudes

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k-s-morgan · 1 year

Note

Hi! Sending love your way. <3

I was wondering - I know you spoke about what sort of story you would have written for Merlin, with Merlin reliving his life basically and killing all of Arthur’s enemies before they could hurt Arthur… do you have any plot ideas for what you would be interested in writing for Magnus and Alec, if you were to write something for them? I know you only write for specific ships; just hypothetically, what sort of story between them would be interesting for you. :)

(Referencing this post)

Hello! Thank you <3

I do have an idea for Magnus and Alec - in fact, I started writing this story and I was very excited about it, but then the war happened and I lost my drive. I might go back to it one day. This was the summary:

Young Magnus after the decades-long chaos he unleashed under Asmodeus’ guidance, staggering under the weight of everything he’s done.

Older Magnus slowly withering from Camille’s sweet cruelty, losing himself to heartbreak and a persistent thought, Why am I never enough?

No matter when, no matter how, Alec loves him always. And if he has to spend time in the past, he will do it by Magnus’ side, nurturing and cradling him, and making him see he’s worth it.

The story is set in a post-canon period, and it's an excuse for me to write about Alec meeting and comforting Magnus during the worst periods of his life, giving him the kind of love he needed.

Basically, Alec goes to the Seelie realm and asks to be made immortal because he doesn't want to ever leave Magnus. He's given an ultimatum: if he's serious about his wish for immortality, he has to prove it by spending thirty random years in the AU realm (time goes differently there, so he won't be missed in his world). If he still wants to live forever after this, so be it. Alec agrees but asks to be sent to places where Magnus is at.

If someone's interested, here is what I wrote so far. Obviously unedited.

-------------------

“I’ve developed quite a bit of respect for you, Alec Lightwood,” Meliorn drawled. The greenish lights of the Seelie realm gave his crown an unnatural, eerie glint. “And Magnus is, shall we say, a friend. After the death of my predecessor the Queen, it is well within my powers to bless you with immortality and freeze your youth in the shape that it is now… On one condition.”

“I’m listening,” Alec said. His heart was trying to pick up the pace but he took several slow breaths, bringing it to a steady rhythm.

He had to trust that Meliorn wouldn’t ask for something impossible. That this would be a condition he would be able to follow and that it wouldn’t make Magnus hate him.

A sharp smirk on Meliorn’s face wasn’t very reassuring.

“I will open a portal to another realm for you,” he spoke at last. “A realm very similar to our world. Spend thirty years there, and when you come back, we will see what you think of immortality.”

“What?” Of all things he expected, this wasn’t among even the least likely scenarios.

Meliorn shrugged.

“Immortality is a curse as much as it is a gift. You cannot understand what you’re asking for now even if you think that you do. Have a taste of what time is. Live for thirty additional years, and if the perspective of the eternity doesn’t scare you then, I will grant your wish.”

For a moment, the eternal lights of the Seelie realm dimmed. His brain short-circuited, and Alec shook his head slowly, desperate to make sense of it all.

It was a condition he could follow. Being exiled to another world for thirty years was bearable as long as he knew that his future with Magnus was waiting for him afterward — a bright and cherished future he would do anything to secure. But…

“I will not leave Magnus for thirty years,” Alec said harshly. Thoughts about his family came next, and his brows furrowed even more. “And I can’t leave Izzy and Jace for so long, not when they can be dead by the time I return.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about it,” Meliorn waved his hand dismissively. “Time flows differently in every realm. For you, it will be thirty years — for everyone else here, it will be thirty days. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

Alec inhaled. Then exhaled; inhaled once more.

For Magnus, he reminded himself. For saving him from ever having to mourn me.

He could do it. He could live thirty years away from everything he loved.

On the other hand…

“I have a condition of my own,” he said, and the firmness of his own voice took him aback. Meliorn arched an eyebrow in a silent question. “I agree to your terms, but I want to spend these decades near Magnus of that realm. Is it possible?”

A small intrigued smile curled Meliorn’s lips upward.

“Don’t you think that this way, you’ll get sick of him even before the time runs out?” he wondered. Rage spiraled up, and it must have shown on Alec’s face because Meliorn suddenly grew serious.

“I can send you to where he is,” he agreed. “But I cannot control when or how it will happen. I also can’t tell you how many years you’ll spend in what time. You could be stuck in the seventeenth century for two decades and then spend several years in the 1900th before jumping another century. Opening the portal to a specific location and setting the time is all I can do.”

“I accept,” Alec said quickly, and when his heart jumped in — tension? excitement? again, he ignored it, squaring his shoulders instead. Magnus was Magnus, no matter which world or time he came from, and having him nearby would make these thirty years go by faster.

He just hoped he would find him quickly.

***

Alec landed in the middle of the forest. His hand clenched around his bow instinctively, but everything was quiet — no demons, no immediate danger in the vicinity.

Carefully, he activated the two runes Clary had come up with for him. One would make him fluent in whatever language people of this world were using; the other one would make him aware of the current time and date.

A predictable burn was followed by a wave of sudden awareness. May 17th, 1660.

If Magnus of this realm shared a birthday with his Magnus, then he was… about fifty? So young. He must have stopped aging only three decades ago.

An involuntarily smile began to slide over Alec’s face when a cold realization burst through, freezing him in his spot.

If Magnus was fifty and the events here followed the events of Alec’s world at least partly, then he was still with Asmodeus or fresh after banishing him. Even two years after being married, Magnus was reluctant to discuss that time. Alec knew practically nothing about it other than the fact that Magnus hated himself for whatever he’d done and that sometimes it haunted his dreams — no matter how many soothing words Alec murmured to him, it lessened the guilt on his face only somewhat.

A branch snapped behind him. Alec whirled around, his bow at the ready, but what he saw made his grip instantly loosen.

Magnus was standing in front of him, in a dirty red outfit with black stripes and an equally dirty sleeveless jacket. His hair was wild, and there was only a touch of black eyeliner around his eyes.

Their gazes met. For a moment, Magnus stared at him as if he’d seen a ghost, and then he bent over with laughter.

Normally, seeing Magnus laughing would put an immediate answering smile on Alec’s face. But this laughter wasn’t right. It was hysterical, it was broken, and it only sent chills down his spine.

“A Shadowhunter,” Magnus murmured. His hands kept twitching nervously, as if unsure what to do. “Of course I ran into you. Of course.”

Alec opened his mouth to say something — anything. His instincts couldn’t distinguish this Magnus from the Magnus he loved, and they were roaring to life now, demanding that he do something to remove this terrible expression from his face.

Before he had a chance to figure out what to do, Magnus dropped to his knees, and Alec’s breath hitched.

“Well?” a voice so familiar and so beloved sounded unacceptably bitter. “Aren’t you going to do your job? Arrest me or kill me, or whatever it is you followed me here for.”

“I didn’t follow you,” Alec managed to utter. His heart was pounding violently, his own knees trying to buckle under him. “What… do you need help?”

Magnus stared at him incredulously before bursting in a new fit of laughter.

“Is this some new trick?” he gasped. “Are you supposed to play nice and pretend you know nothing before taking me in? Can’t say I see the point.”

It was too much. Whatever Alec had been expecting from this realm and from its version of Magnus, this wasn’t it — this was worse than any worst scenarios he could have imagined. Seeing him in pain for even one moment was an unbearable prospect, and so Alec crossed the distance between them and dropped to the ground, carefully pulling Magnus into his arms.

The laughter stopped. Magnus went still, and Alec stroked his back and put his head on his shoulder, something in him finally settling in comfort.

For some time, none of them spoke. Then Magnus asked, “What are you doing?”

His voice was small and hesitant. Alec tightened his grip protectively.

“Calming you down,” he murmured. “Is it working?”

Magnus let out a hoarse, bewildered chuckle, but he didn’t attempt to move.

“Don’t you know who I am?” he asked instead. “Because if you—”

“I know. It doesn’t matter.”

“I killed people. I slaughtered villages and watched them burn. I was doing the bidding of the Greater Demon for almost forty years — you can’t tell me it doesn’t matter.”

“But you banished him. Eventually, you banished him, because you knew it was wrong.”

Magnus tried to snort, but it came out as a sob. His body shook, and then he wrapped his own hands around Alec, clutching at him, holding him as tightly as Alec was holding him.

“How can it make a difference?” he asked breathlessly. His chest was rising and falling at a concerning pace. “It’s too late now. I realized what he was too late. So many people dead — I can’t take it back now. I can never atone for it. You should execute me right here, I’m sure your superiors will support this decision wholeheartedly.”

“I told you, I’m not going to do that,” Alec said distantly. His mind was racing in several directions at once, trying to understand what to do.

He had no idea what country they were in and whether any Institute was nearby. One thing was clear: he had to take Magnus to safety. He brought gold with him that he could sell in exchange for a shelter, but that required leaving Magnus for some time, and he wasn’t willing to risk it.

“You should,” Magnus insisted. His words turned into gasps as he fought to breathe. Alec tried to lean back in alarm, but Magnus’ hands tore into him, holding him in place. “You should,” he repeated weakly. “You should… you should… you—”

The remaining fight went out of his body. His head dropped, and Alec finally managed to pull back a little.

Magnus was unconscious. Maybe it was for the best — in his state, Alec wasn’t certain he would be able to control his magic. And this gave him the time he needed to figure out where to go.

Magnus had come here on foot. It meant that there had to be a road, a village, or something similar nearby: all Alec had to do was find it.

Activating his Strength and Speed runes, he picked Magnus up. Then he took off.

***

It took him an hour to find a village and pay for a small unoccupied house on its territory. Magnus was still unconscious, and Alec put him to bed, covering him with a thick blanket.

Something was wrong. Magnus’ skin was burning, and he kept murmuring words that Alec couldn’t understand despite his rune. The feeling of helplessness gripped his chest, and it kept tightening with every passing hour.

What could he do? He was surrounded by the mundanes. He couldn’t risk contacting other Shadowhunters, and he had no idea where to find trustworthy warlocks of this time.

Maybe he could try sending a fire message to Catarina or Ragnor. They must have been alive at this point, right?

But did they even know Magnus? Would they risk coming to an unfamiliar place upon the request of a Shadowhunter?

His panic began to steal his own breath. Alec stood up, his body moving on autopilot, trying to create a semblance of activity, when Magnus’ eyes flew open. They shone golden, and the sight knocked the breath right out of Alec’s chest.

“Magnus,” he whispered. He dropped back into his chair and tried to catch his gaze. “How are you feeling?”

Magnus’ unfocused stare travelled to him and stopped. Widened. The same haunted look from before sharpened his features, etching misery into them.

“You,” he murmured flatly. “You are still here.”

“This place is safe,” Alec told him. His hand reached for Magnus carefully, freezing when he flinched away.

Right. Magnus had no reasons to trust him.

“Something is wrong with you,” Alec said instead. “You have a fever and I’m not sure how to fight it in these conditions. Is there someone I could call for you? A friend or—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Magnus closed his eyes again. His breathing grew labored. “No one can help. My magic is poisoning me.”

“What?” Alec straightened as a new wave of panic flooded him. This couldn’t be true. “Why?”

Sweat was glistening on Magnus’ forehead. His body was shaking, and even though he spoke, he didn’t open his eyes again.

“Because all my life, I’ve been using it for evil. Now that I understood what I’ve done, it’s trying to change… to become healing rather than destructive. But it’s too late.”

“No, it’s not,” Alec snapped back. As always in situations like this, his voice came out harsh and unyielding, but Magnus didn’t seem to even hear him.

“The good and the bad are clashing,” he mumbled distantly. “I can never go back to destruction, not after what I’ve realized, and there isn’t enough good in me to win this fight. They can’t coexist in their current quantities, and they can’t destroy each other entirely, so sooner or later, it’s going to kill me.”

“No,” Alec repeated, even as his heart jumped to his throat. This couldn’t be happening. Had his Magnus ever had the same problem? If so, he survived it — something helped him survive it. A solution existed, Alec just had to find it.

“Shouldn’t you be happy about it, Shadowhunter.” The way it was structured, it had to be a question, but Magnus’ voice weakened too much to make the right inflection. “I’ll spare you the trouble. Since you seem too soft-hearted to do your job and kill me.”

“I’m not going to—” Alec started, but it was too late. Magnus’s body slackened further as he was once again lost to whatever visions tormented his mind.

Taking a deep calming breath, Alec unclenched his fists. Then, just as slowly, he stood up and walked to the oddly shaped table, measuring each of his steps. There was a basket with cold water there, so he put a piece of cloth into it, let it soak, and went back to Magnus. Pressed it to his forehead gingerly.

He had to think logically. He had to act on this logic, not succumb to his emotions.

Trying to contact Catarina or Ragnor was always an option. Magnus had said no one would be able to help him, but judging from his state of mind, it wasn’t necessarily true. Still, it shouldn’t be the primary option either. There were too many uncertainties involved for Alec to feel comfortable.

Magnus had also claimed that there wasn’t enough goodness in him to overcome or even balance out the destructiveness of his magic, but Alec knew perfectly well how wrong he was. Magnus was good — kindness comprised his entire foundation, and whatever he’d done with Asmodeus, it was because he didn’t know any better.

He was the only one in the world with eyes like me. He was my father.

Maybe Magnus himself didn’t know how good he was, but Alec did. And if he managed to convince him… if he succeeded, then maybe Magnus’ magic would shift accordingly.

Magic wasn’t the biggest problem here, it was Magnus himself. If he started wanting to fight, to survive, this could be enough to save him. But how to reach him when he spent most of the time unconscious, and when he was awake, he was in a too poor of a state to listen to reason? Especially when that reason came from a Shadowhunter he didn’t know, the last person he should technically trust.

It was still something, though. It was better than nothing. Alec had talked to his Magnus when he was in a coma from overusing Lorenzo’s magic, so small and vulnerable in that hospital bed — he could do the same now.

But talking to him didn’t help last time, an unpleasant voice reminded him. He didn’t wake up at once.

“But he woke up later,” Alec said aloud. His fingers were digging into the skin of his hand, pinching and bruising it, and as soon as he noticed, he jerked them away.

Talking. He could do some talking. And whether it helped or not, this was something Magnus deserved to hear.

***

Alec waited for another twenty minutes, hoping to bring the fever down. When this didn’t happen, he clasped Magnus’ hand in his, bringing it to his lips.

“I hope you can hear me,” he said quietly. “I need you to listen because this is important. You have always been good, Magnus. Only a good person would be able to recognize that what they’re doing is wrong when they never knew anything else. You were born different. Your mother couldn’t handle it, but that was her decision. You are not responsible for her death. You were a child — a sweet child who deserved better than finding his mother dead and being immediately attacked by his stepfather. You protected yourself against him and his words the only way you knew how. No one that age can be held accountable for hurting someone, especially after a trauma like this.”

Magnus didn’t regain consciousness, but he also stopped twitching restlessly. Encouraged by this, Alec dropped another reverent kiss on his wrist.

“You survived,” he continued. “Even at that age, after losing your family, without knowing who you are, you managed to survive. Only a strong person could do that. When Asmodeus found you, you were a child starved for everything, from food to basic human connection. And unlike others, Asmodeus didn’t turn away from you, not even when you showed him your eyes. On the contrary, he proved that he was just like you, and you loved him from that point on.”

A small incoherent sound escaped Magnus’ lips. Alec leaned toward him, gently brushing his fingers against his face.

Still hot. But he couldn’t expect instant results.

“Even when you followed Asmodeus’ wishes, you did it out of love,” he said. “Not because you wanted to destroy anyone. You wanted to make him proud, to make him keep loving you. You never wanted someone’s death, Magnus, so even then, you weren’t evil. Lost, confused, yes, but not evil, never that. You are the best person I’ve ever known and nothing could change it.”

Magnus didn’t react, but that was all right. Alec had many things to say. If he had to, he would keep saying them indefinitely.

***

“—the kind of man who would accept and nurture any Downworlder in need of help,” Alec was muttering. It was the second day now, and save for several hours he used to sleep, he didn’t stop speaking. “Being guided by you would be an honor for any of them. You would be kind and understanding, patient and sensitive to whatever they are going through — because it’s you. You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Alec was so focused on pushing himself to keep talking that it took him some time to notice that Magnus was awake. A jolt tore through him, nearly making him fall off his chair, but the excitement was tempered by quick realization that Magnus’ gaze was dull, with only minimal flickers of awareness.

Still, it was an improvement. It had to be. And Magnus was looking at him, so even if he didn’t understand any words, he was listening — this was more than Alec could have hoped for after hours of no change.

Gently, he pressed his hand to Magnus’ face.

“Anyone who needs help would choose to come to you,” he said. “Because despite your jokes and your eye rolls, you would never be able to turn down someone vulnerable and lonely. That’s who you are. The kindest and most compassionate man to ever walk the earth.”

Magnus blinked. Something more conscious flickered in his eyes, and Alec’s heart skipped a beat.

“I can see some of the future,” he blurted out. “And everything I see in yours is a testament to what a wonderful person you are. One day, you are going to save a young man named Raphael. He’ll be a recently turned vampire with no knowledge or understand of the world he stumbled into. If not for you, he would lose his identity and become a monster. You’ll save him. You’ll teach him how to survive and still be himself, and he will always be grateful to you. You are going to change the lives of so many people… and just for that, you need to hold on. Your magic can be good, you only need to believe it.”

This time, there was definitely awareness in Magnus’ stare. Some wariness, too — he was watching Alec like he wasn’t certain what to make of him, whether he was trustworthy in any way.

So Alec resumed talking, and he didn’t stop for a long time.

***

When Magnus’ mind wandered off again, Alec took a brief trip outside. He refilled their water supplies, bought some food from an unsmiling woman, and rushed back inside. Magnus was still sleeping, and since there was no way to make him eat anything, Alec settled nearby. Speaking was increasingly becoming a challenge, but he hoped that if he went too hoarse, the Iratze would take care of it.

For the next hour, he was telling Magnus about how he would help Luke at the expense of his own powers. He was so absorbed in this memory that he almost missed the moment when Magnus opened his eyes again.

“You are still here,” he whispered. It was the same words he’d said before, but this time, they sounded differently. Instead of being a miserable accusation, they were wondrous, hopeful, as if he couldn’t let himself rely on Alec’s presence yet but started wishing for it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Alec confirmed. His hand went to stroke Magnus’ hair before he could stop himself, and his breath caught when Magnus carefully leaned into his touch.

#my fics #malec #shadowhunters #alec lightwood #magnus bane

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 2 years

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Common Cold

@sicktember 2022 Prompt #22

Fandom/OCs: Hannibal TV

Title: Give A Little Bit

Words: 886

Inspiration: None

Author’s comments: Set after the events of the series of course. Both of my Hannibal fics this year take place in the same post-canon AU, where they live out the rest of their days as an eccentric married couple in the middle of nowhere. No plot, nothing serious, just a cuddly little cottagecore sickfic featuring everyone’s favorite murder hubands.

Will and Hannibal rarely left the house during the winter months in this isolated, northern place they had called home for years now. They would never be discovered here by anyone that was hunting them, and in the end that was all that mattered. Between books, music, the surrounding wildness, and each other, they never wanted for entertainment and never felt lacking in the way of company.

Still, they needed to go into town occasionally for supplies, and that meant contact with at least a few people. The locals knew them as strange, solitary, polite men who came and went quietly and were only seen every few months at most. There was no threat to the couple in town, only inconvenience, and the months of icy wind and snow were the most inconvenient of all. Hannibal had made the last supply run, and had come home with an unexpected item: he had picked up a nasty cold at the grocery store, the first he'd had in years.

It really was only a cold, as he kept reassuring Will, but Will continued to worry regardless. Hannibal was no spring chicken, and it was clear this virus was taking more of a toll on him than he wanted to let on. Each sneeze was an exhausting, full-body production. Each cough seemed to rip its rattling way out of his chest with a vengeance. He sounded on the verge of pneumonia within a few days, and Will didn't know what to do.

The most Hannibal could manage through much of the day was sitting in his chair close to the fire and reading or napping, a hectic flush covering his cheeks while he shivered under a quilt. He couldn't even stand long enough to cook without getting lightheaded and faint from coughing.

Will, of course, was Hannibal's devoted nurse. He hardly let the sick man lift a finger and made sure he was well covered, resting, and supplied with a hot beverage at all times. Hannibal squeezing his hand or giving him a grateful smile helped sustain Will through those troubling days. Still, Will continued to fret, but Hannibal wouldn't let him pester, and tried to keep him from worrying.

"It's just a common cold, Will," Hannibal said on the fourth day of his illness when he continued to get worse, not better. "There's no reason to treat me like an invalid." His weak, hoarse voice was far from convincing, as was the barking cough that followed.

"Maybe, but you're the most uncommon person I've ever met," Will replied from where he was kneeling beside the doctor, arranging his medicines. "Nothing is ever routine with you, and apparently your colds are no different. A cold shouldn't come with a fever, but your temperature has been rising since yesterday."

Hannibal attempted a smile, which to Will only accentuated the dark, haggard circles under his eyes and the visible fatigue in those same eyes. "What's uncommon for some is common for others. I am prone to fevers with every sort of illness and have been since I was a boy." A whole body shudder overcame him just then, proving both their points. Hannibal had been shivering for days now, even before his temperature began to creep up and despite the roaring blaze Will kept in the fireplace at all times. However, he refused to stay in bed and rest properly despite Will urging him to do so several times a day. He didn't want to feel invalid anymore than he already did.

With a little sigh, Will pressed a gentle hand to the older man's forehead, almost as if in afterthought. Hannibal quietly allowed this, leaning his face into the cool hand for only a moment, closing his eyes in relief at the respite. Will scrutinized him thoughtfully, fondly.

"We're going to bed early tonight. Both of us," Will said at last, standing and stretching.

"That's not–"

"Yes, it is. You need to rest, but you won't go on your own, so that means I have to go with you. I'm exhausted too, you know, doing both of our chores and chopping all the extra wood. I will be going to bed right after supper as I said, and I'll stay in bed as long as you need tomorrow. You can't very well be out here by yourself right now, with no one to stoke the fire or run around the house and yard. You have no choice but to stay with me."

"Will, I don't–"

"Please. You have to give somewhere. Even just a little. We need to keep you away from doctors and hospitals. For both our sakes. And right now, that's looking less and less likely. The only chance you have at getting better is resting. If that means I get to rest with you, then so be it. I'll certainly keep you warm at the very least."

Hannibal mulled this over, while Will looked at him imploringly. Hannibal started to answer, but seemed to change his mind.

"Please. Give just a little. For me," Will murmured.

Hannibal sighed, sniffling. "Alright. As you wish," he said quietly. "I'll go to bed early tonight and remain there tomorrow. As long as you'll join me."

"You have my word," Will said quietly, unable to keep the smile from his eyes.

#sicktember 2022 #prompt 22 #hannibal tv #everyone is hotter with a fever #sickfic

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burgundy-and-navy · 2 years

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rant.

NOT AN ANTI- BUT NOT COMPLETELY CALLUM POSTIVE, (or not postive about his dialogue tonight) SO IF THAT'S NOT YOUR THING MAYBE DON'T READ

also just TW: ben's sl

I am like genuinely annoyed from watching today's ballum scenes and have major reservations about the continuation of ben's sl.

I'm trying to be hopeful but I'm started to think it's going to be another ben is magically fixed scenario, which is just wildly inappropriate given the storyline. It seems like Clenshaw just can't be bothered dealing with a the fact that ben was assaulted so is now just doing the bare minimum. Like yeah we'll mention Lewis getting bail but we won't dedicate time to actually having any characters actually talk about what happened. All those months of therapy mentions, actually turns out they're meaningless. I was optimistic during wedding week and but now I'm wondering if the idea that Ben was still a bit shaky was just part of max's (very good) performance and not the writing.

The whole lola, vi and jay trying to set them up is good in theory and its nice to see ben in lighthearted scenes, but it just seems like the show is treating this like a normal break up. Why is Jay just going along with it, not at least checking that ben's okay with this, when he knows the truth. Surely in that situation he would have some sort of reservation about forcing ben into a situation he may not be comfortable with. Why doesn't Lola know. From an in world character point of view its good that the people knowing about what happened is limited to ben's inner circle, but also this is the soap and usually in soaps secrets come out (not that this is the same as the secret but still) so I'm worried so few people knowing is indication that again Clenshaw can't be bothered dealing with the storyline properly.

And then there's callum and I am so sick of being pissed off at callum in scenes this year, but like what was that. Maybe its just because i've been so annoyed with callum that i'm less likely to give dodgy lines leniency, but i don't care this is my blog I'll rant if I want to. I don't why the writing seems to be framing it like Callum is the hard done by party who ben needs to reassure. After a year of get over your ptsd or i'll divorce you and you're a slut incapable of proper love (i know he thought ben cheated but he still said it and ben still had to hear it) we get lines like maybe if i lived somewhere else. Put some effort in. Show some commitment to your traumatized husband. He knows why they're not together, ben told him that he didn't want to be like lewis, ergo its not a lack of love keeping them apart. It's is an okay line it just feels weird in this context. Any other time I would probably quite like it, but not in this circumstance which again goes back to the fact the show seems to be side stepping the fact ben was raped. I don't want it to be mentioned every other line but some contextual awareness would be nice. What really made me mad though was callum thinking ben just turned his feelings off. Ben didn't get back together with him because he still loves him and thinks he's doing the right thing, you dickhead. When the fuck did it seem like ben stopped loving callum after the break up. The parties don't count because callum knows they were a trauma response now. Why is every character acting like they don't know ben was raped!!

If anything that should have been a ben line. I wouldn't have liked it but at least it would have made sense. Callum's the one who first took love away. He's the one who seemingly turned his feelings off and again HE KNOWs why they are not together. Love is not the problem. (I know i'm making no attempt to see things from callum's pov I don't care, write better dialogue). Also callum annoyed me by acting like ben was being irrational about Lewis getting bail. Let the man be upset about the very obviously upsetting news.

I just want one scene where they talk about the actual reason they are not together. Actually address what ben's state of mind is, have callum acknowledge why their relationship fell apart and realise the reason they're not together isn't from ben's lack of feeling -if anything its from having too many feelings- and come up with a plan to address that (you know the actual problem) I want them to start writing callum better cause it seemed like they were, but not today.

#anyway I feel better now #eastenders #callum highway #but not completely callum postive #if anyone ever wants to bitch about callum highway (or ben) my messages are always open #because he can be the most frustrating character in the show and I do like him #i just don't like the writing for him sometimes #ballum #i guess #ben mitchell

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imagine-silk · 1 year

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Day Recovering: Day One; Husband?

The first thing was the beeping, that steady tick. Daylen twitched his fingers and felt cold sheets. 'Cold sheets?' As soon as he opened his eyes he regretted it. The white was blinding like heaven was refusing him. "Ah fuck." His voice was sandpaper.

"You are awake. That is good.” Looking to his bedside he saw Sten sitting in a chair too small for him. “You should get your bearings in order before the nurses swarm you." He grabbed a pitcher and a foam cup, still calm but it seemed so off.

"You're-" He didn't know what he was going to say but a coughing fit made it so he would never find out.

"Do not strain yourself. Drink and I will give you a pen and paper." Sten stood up briefly to station a table with the cup of water and a straw in front of Daylen. His first thought was, ‘I am not a child’ and sat up to try to pick up the glass. A sharp spasm shot through him and he spilled it before he could get away from the table. He stared not understanding what this feeling was. Shame? Violent? Despondent? Sten said nothing, he simply cleaned the water with the bedside tissues and reset the water, straw and all.

When two glasses were finished Sten held out a pad of paper and a pen. Daylen's voice was raw but he decided he could bear it. "I can talk."

"I would rather you not."

What others would say was an insult Daylen recognized as a concern. Sten very rarely insisted against him in recent years. Question, yes. Directly opposed, almost never.

The pad and pen changed hands. "Firstly, do you remember what happened to get you here?"

Driving home from a day of answering crisis calls, taking the freeway a route he did every day and could do with his eyes closed, a long-haul truck was in front of him, then pain, lights, it's silent, it's loud- Maker please don't take me.

With a shaky sigh and an unsteady hand, he wrote, Yes.

"What do you remember?"

The highway and the headlights. As he tried to write the next thing he pushed too hard and dropped the pen. He huffed with glass eyes and picked it up again. Was I the one who swerved?

Sten gently took the pen and laid it on the paper. "No. The truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and leaned into your lane."

"Did anyone die?" Daylen wavered.

"No. Everyone else on the road got out of the way. You were the only person hospitalized."

“That’s good.” Normally Sten would say something to the contrary like, ‘Your lack of self preservation is unmatched.’ but Daylen’s glass eyes were threatening to break. So his mouth stayed closed and a gray hand wrapped the smaller one.

"Oh, Maker!" A nurse at the door screamed.

"And now peace will be robbed from us," Sten said as he watched the terrified nurse run out.

Daylen took his hand back and wiped his eyes like nothing had happened. How long was I asleep?

"Nine days." Sten took the moment of Daylen’s bewilderment to rip off the top paper on the pad and put it in his pocket. "We don't need anyone to see this, especially before I can explain everything to you."

Before that statement could be digested the doctor walked in. "Mr. Amell, you gave my nurse quite the scare." His tone was humorous and light, reassuring. "Don't worry, she's just new. I hope she didn't scare you."

Before Daylen could say anything Sten replied. "She did not offend. But I would ask you not to ask him to speak. He has a pen and paper."

The doctor gave a knowing smile, "Of course." And proceeded to address Daylen. "Your husband has been very concerned. He's here every day during visiting hours."

Daylen knows he must have looked very stupid at that moment. He opened his mouth to speak with a tsk but he couldn't find his words. When he looked at Sten he was as stoic as ever. "This is true." Daylen could help but think, 'What part?' All he could do was give him a confused smile.

The rest of the conversation with the doctor, Dr. Mullins, was swift. Probably because he was in some sort of rush. Sten did not talk, only jumping in when the doctor ordered a sedative that came in the form of a needle. The good doctor didn’t notice Daylen’s apparent fear, or simply didn’t care. “I do not think that is a good idea.”

“Pardon?”

“He has a fear of needles. And I will not hold him down so I trust you have oral medicine.” Sten was many things. Blunt came to mind today. A part of Daylen wanted to say Sten was being dramatic and that it was fine. A bigger part of him wanted to make sure a needle never came close to him. So all he did was smile politely and hoped that was enough.

After everything was said and done, and the doctor had left for good that day, Daylen turned to Sten and wrote Husband?

His eyes drifted away as Daylen’s bore into him. “The only ones who could see you were your family.”

You lied to medical staff?

“Yes.”

That’s illegal.

“Yes.”

Daylen couldn’t help but huff in irritation. So I suppose this means nothing to you but I could get fined. [1]

“Kadan, listen-” Scratching paper cut him off.

Don’t ‘Kadan’ me. Why didn’t you just get my family?

“Because they would have let you die.” The simple statement cut into Daylen’s outburst and left his stomach empty. “A family member had to sign off on your final surgery so I called them. They told me to let you die so I assumed the role of your husband. As far as they know you are dying or dead.”

Daylen had never been particularly close to his family, and when the circle took him they drifted farther apart. They all found some issue with him. Something they didn’t care for. But he never believed they would let him die. After all he did for them, after all the chances he gave them, after all the things he was willing to overlook, after they used his honors after the blight, after he got them higher status and connections, and they would let him die. That simultaneously was too unbelievable and too on the nose.

I’m sorry and thank you.

Sten grabbed the pen and scratched the page. I’m sorry and thank you.

“Do not apologize. My actions were impulsive, brash. I risked your status and I risked my visa. I was wrong and I would do it again.”

Daylen couldn’t help but laugh even when it turned into a coughing fit. Only Sten could say something so endearing in the most obtuse way. But he wouldn't had him any different.

I thought your people didn’t get married.

“We don’t.”

Then you should learn how to play the part if we don’t want to get caught.

“I will admit, it was much easier when you were unconscious.”

#dragon age origins #dragon age fanfiction #sten of the beresaad #daylen amell #dragon age amell #Days Recovering #male reader #fake dating

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kaitlynnlauryenn · 6 months

Text

Brooo😭 my anger & distress feels like a HUGE fucking rock hanging over my head & it's just waiting to crush me.

When I feel overwhelmed like this I always come back to feeling as if my romantic relationship is what keeps this huge ass rock afloat.

It's been 3 fucking years & it still feels like hell 90% of the time.

The first year made me feel small and insignificant. My relationship with mom blew tf up. I started having huge mentally ill episodes. [for example like getting arrested] I started losing my bearings on my reality.

That same year, my mom became crazy pissed by my relationship & felt as if she had the right to decide that it was toxic & actively detrimental to my well being.

I realize that no matter how right she was in that perspective, her reaction was completely psychotic & inappropriate. SHE was definitely responsible for causing huge riffs in our relationship.

Especially because I was in the process of trying to understand my short comings & bring myself motivation to actively & productively achieve goals that were incredibly important to me.

My mother wouldn't give me space to process my realizations about my family, nor did she respond to me clearly communicating boundaries. Instead she had PTSD attack after PTSD attack & blamed me.

That being said she kicked me out. This would be during the second year of my current romantic relationship.

My very turbulent relationship.

We broke up every 6 months due to major downfalls in our communication & connection.

As a gift after being forced to leave my home, my mother left me in complete psychosis. She completely slandered my bf & left me tortured with the fear of him being an abuser & if my bf was abusive then obviously I had become abusive & mistreated my family.

Her perspective is that I "chose" to leave home when I had zero means to support myself.

I was talking to my bf @ the time she kicked me out even tho we were not together. He made sure that I was safe & not homeless. Without him like idk if I would've been able to find shelter for the last 12 months.

I stayed with a friend of his & now I'm living with his parents. Being at his parents house has made me feel so stressed. From trying to avoid any sort of deep connection or long conversations with his family to feeling trapped in his old room because leaving would mean interacting with his family.

All my shit is entangled with his shit and I am Soo fucking tired. He has put so much work & effort in making our relationship steady and stable. He is fr carrying our relationship. He's learned to push his own baggage & feelings aside so that we can communicate in the healthiest way possible.

I can see how far my communication has gotten & the clarity I've gained in order to communicate with him on the same level he communicates with me. However, the truth of the situation is I haven't been able to give him the same amount of care & support that he has given me.

I find myself lost in my own painful experience. Most of our conversations consist of him being understanding & helping me heal.

He rarely gets to confide in me for his own experience & pain. He clearly states his disconnection with me so that I can understand what he experiences in our relationship, but my experience still overshadows his.

It's gotten to the point where even when I apologize & try to communicate that I see him & I will work to change & improve my shortcomings, he no longer feels or expects for anything to change.

This is where we are in our relationship almost 3 years in.

This feels fucking awful. The hurt & pain I feel from knowing this truth & failing to consistently change this dynamic is ASTRONOMICAL.

He reassures me that he is aware of my mental state & of the trauma I am working through. I thoroughly understand that he is NOT the kind of person to participate in something he doesn't want to either.

But his perspective of our relationship & my perspective of our relationship is vastly different.

He sees our relationship as something that has been restorative & helpful in his understanding of himself. He is invested in building a life with me because he feels my perspective is insightful. He's even expressed to me that I am the only person who sees him for all of who he is & it means so much to him that I've been able to see & love all parts of him.

I see our relationship as something that has clearly shown me what I need to heal & that it's possible to be respected & cared for by someone unconditionally. [which I didn't believe existed] I have also gathered being so open & vulnerable at this stage in my life is difficult as fuuuuuckkkk.

I try to be & I want to be! He has shown me the gift of healing & connecting with another person on such a deep level, but the process of doing that has been hellish for me. When I think of how this relationship has impacted me, it's been incredibly painful, and EXHAUSTING.

It feels like the timing of our relationship was the most poignant & karmic time of my life. I've learned so much about myself in this relationship. It's also been the most difficult thing I have ever done.

At this current moment I feel burnt out & overwhelmed with worry & anger.

Whenever my bf & I successfully connect with each other, it feels so deeply rewarding & bonding to me. It gives me confidence & motivation that I truly do have the ability to make space for him & provide emotional support.

Sadly, that bonding and safety lasted such a short period of time in our relationship. Probably somewhere around 3-4 months.

All I know is that I am desperately needing to create connection with myself & learn to sooth myself so that I can release some of the stress & hypervigelence that plagues my brain & nervous system.

The longer it takes to reciprocate consideration for his emotional experience, the more I lose hope in being able to repair that part of our relationship.

On a more positive note I have finally gotten back into therapy. This makes me hopeful that I can work through more things without my bf. I want our time together to be as loving & comforting as possible. Therapy gives me a space to indulge in my feelings & experience with someone outside of me & outside of my close personal relationships.

I wanna learn to take care of myself & pour into other people healthily. It's something so precious & valuable.

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veryrealimagination · 1 year

Text

Henry kept shivering as he walked around with George. Their flashlights weren’t as strong as they should have been, and he could only see a small amount ahead of him as they continued to search through the blacked out alleyways. “This is making me nervous,” he muttered, hearing something clamor and seeing the back end of a tail scurry off.

“It’s a dark night. There’s a storm predicted after three am,” George listed, “And we’re hunting for some of our worst criminals reincarnated and ready to come after us.” He switched his light to the chest of his partner. “You should be nervous.”

“You know, that doesn’t help.” He swung back around and started waving his arm around. “Every single person that hates our guts is wandering around Toronto in the middle of a Blackout, and we’re out here with flashlights.”

“It’s not every single one.”

“No, just Sally Pendrick, Eva Pierce, James Gillies, Ralph Fellows, a good chunk of the Black Hand-”

“All right, Higgins!” George yelled. “I get it.” The two kept walking and checking around. They let a half hour go before heading back to where they parked. Everything had been seen through, and there were no signs of activity. “I thought things were supposed to be fixed by now.” His phone was under 50%, and he wasn’t sure if his battery packs were charged and able to keep him going until sunrise.

“Yeah, thought so too,” came the faint reply.

As his voice wasn’t as strong as it could have been, he swung to make sure that nothing happened to the other man. His face was pale, and he seemed to be breathing a bit heavier than a mild walk would entail. “Henry?” he asked, voice soft.

His reaction time was off. It took thirty seconds to realize that George had stopped and was waiting for him to comment something about him being okay. “I think I was better off not remembering anything,” he whispered instead of some sort of reassurance. “Now that I remember the past, everything is wrong. Ruth and Jordan. The Constabulary. Giles and not Brackenreid. Watts and Jackson! A-and, knowing that Gillies is out there, and he’s better at what he’s doing now. That Ralph Fellows still hasn’t gotten in through his head that he has to beat Murdoch and fails, which almost gets any one of us killed. That Eva Pierce is plainly just targeting all of us, even when flirting with Murdoch. She’s going to try shooting Ogden again and this time, she might get it fatal-”

George had to stop him. Watching him was uncomfortable, and the more he saw, the more he realized that the man was panicking. It had been interesting, the first few weeks, finding out that they had all come back together, in the same Station, no less. The changes in Doctor Ogden and Murdoch were fascinating. The woman still became a doctor but didn’t practice as she had last time. No, she had a son in college (who was actually Detective Watts!), and residency had to be restarted thanks to a car crash. So, she went fuck it until she wanted to go back. She wrote books, encouraged him to start again after finding a secondhand copy of a couple of his. Murdoch wasn’t as, well, he didn’t want to use the words harsh, or straight, but he had loosen up. He suffered the loss of Liza twice but had the support of foster parents and grief counselors this time around.

It was after the first (re)encounter with James Gillies that he could see how it could be bad. The criminal remembered them. He had been committing murders for a year plus before they had one land on their beat jurisdiction because he was prepared to start playing. And then burying alive Watts, who wasn’t Watts yet and he was just the teenaged son of Doctor Ogden-

Henry had been thinking about this, pondering, wondering, mulling, dragging this through his head enough to panic over it.

During his own little trip into the rambling, his partner had started breathing heavily, faster than what was safe. Oh, shit, he’s hyperventilating and panicking. What was Julia telling Llewellyn when the lights went out? “Higgins, Higgins, look at me,” he said, making sure the other man was aware of him and following along, “Follow my breathing.” It took a few times to figure out the pattern, but once he did, George repeated it for Henry to copy. George grabbed a hand to squeeze and let him know to switch between breathing in, holding, and letting go.

There were several minutes of quiet before Henry was breathing safely and calmer than before. “Sorry,” he muttered, quite embarrassed.

“Henry,” George said, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.” He squeezed his hand one more time and let it go. “Let’s get back to the car, let Murdoch know we haven’t seen anything, and hit the next location before the storm hits.”

They were almost back to parking when something clanged in the distance. “What the hell was that?” Henry asked, mostly to the air because George couldn’t see it either. Another clang, and they both wished there was still an armory and the ability to take out revolvers.

“Toronto Police Department, lay down any weapons and step into a lighted area,” George ordered.

“Patrolling the streets doesn’t seem as an efficient use of a Detective’s time,” someone called out. Freezing, he stared as a woman he hoped wouldn’t even have been born again showed up into the light. “Why Georgie,” Amelia cooed, stepping near enough for him to see, “You don’t look so well.”

A gagging sound had him swing around. Dorothy had a chain, which was now wrapped around Henry’s neck as she tried choking him. Immediately, he started attacking the woman, making her drop Henry. He gasped for air before launching himself at the first woman when she pulled out a knife and headed towards George. Once she was down, he had handcuffs on her to keep her from attacking again.

“No!” Dorothy screamed, pulling out a gun and pointing it at them. “Uncuff her.”

“She planned on attacking an officer,” Henry yelled, “Both of you are getting arrested.”

“Then, I’m sorry. I don’t have a choice.” She pointed the gun and shot at George. The man yelped as it entered his left side.

“George!”

“Uncuff my sister, and you can call for an ambulance,” she said, "Without interference."

It took a split second, but he pulled out the keys and quickly undid them before pulling out his phone and dialing. He watched the two leave while he was connected. "Detective Higgins, officer down," he relayed, kneeling down and using his jacket to apply pressure, "I need an ambulance sent to my location. Gunshot, left side of the chest. Unsure if it hit the ribs or went through." He looked down at the man, who was already unconscious with a great deal of blood on the ground. "Don't do this to me, George. Please."

Prompts:

Chains

flashlights

hyperventilating

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t have a choice.’

#murdoch mysteries #George crabtree #henry higgins newsome #henry higgins #castle au #brought in amelia and dorothy to torment them

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sardonicnihilism · 1 year

Text

Missing

Chapter 2

"Hello, thanks for calling Camp Dream Catcher. I'm Tiffany; how may I help you?"

The voice would have sounded obnoxiously upbeat and chipper under the best of circumstances; now, it sounded malevolent and mocking. How dare it sound so happy when Elena's world was crashing down around her. It was sadistic and evil.

"Yes, hello, this is Elana Flores, and I am calling about my daughter Lucia." Elana paused to see if that was sufficient for the hatefully happy voice called Tiffany to start giving her the information she wanted. Instead, she was greeted by a silence so pure, so absolute, she wondered if Tiffany was even still on the line.

"She was supposed to come home today, but she wasn't on the bus. I asked some of the other campers if they had seen her, but they all said no. I was just wondering if she was still there or had gotten on another bus, maybe?" Elana sat, listening for a reply while praying to every god, angel, and ancestor she could think of for this all to be some sort of mistake, and everything would be fine.

"Yes, hello. Ms. Flores," a male voice now said, "this is Michael Grant, head of Camp Dream Catcher. How are you doing?" This voice was very polished and practiced. It was a voice that was honed from years in the sales industry.

How am I doing, she wanted to scream into the phone. My daughter is missing. That's how I'm doing. "I'm just trying to figure out where my daughter is," she replied as best she could.

"From our records, Lucia left this morning with the rest of the campers." He was trying to sound reassuring and authoritive; however, Elana thought she heard a trace of worry and fear in his voice.

"I talked to some of the other children, and they said they never saw her. I even showed them her picture. They said they never saw her at the camp." Elana could feel both fear and anger rising up in her. Something wasn't right here; she could feel it.

There was another uncomfortable pause. Elana began to wonder ruefully if a third voice would now get online to not answer her. Finally, Michael started to speak again. "Lucia was here, Ms. Flores," his voice was very slowly and deliberate. "She had a wonderful time and hoped to come again. Our counselors helped her on the bus and waved goodbye. I can't tell you anymore than that. Good luck, Ms. Flores." And with that, he hung up.

She wanted to immediately call back but figured that doing so would yield pretty much the same results. She looked over at the stack of letters she had received from Lucia. Those were her letters, right? She had been there, right? She had also texted Lucia as well during the first month, and she said she was there and having a good time. No, something didn't add up. She had one last avenue to go down, and with a deep sigh of regret, she started typing in the number

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

Hector Flores sat in his recliner, drinking ice tea and watching the news. The whole world was going to Hell, and he loved it. It was the only thing that made him feel better about his own life. Materialisticaly, he was doing fine. His consulting business was doing well; his house, his car, were all nice, he was comfortably middle-class. It wasn't his economics that burned his soul, but the fact he wasn't able to see his daughter. His ex and the family court of California saw to that.

A sound caught his attention, and he looked down at the right arm rest. His phone was vibrating and getting dangerously close to falling off. He picked it up and looked to see who was calling. He saw his ex-wife's number, big and bold, on the screen. He groaned to himself. If she was calling, that meant it was bad news. The only time she ever called him was when it was bad news. He thought about ignoring it but then thought it might be about Lucia and decided to answer.

"Wha," he started to say but was immediately cut off by Elana.

"Is Lucia there with you?"

Hector didn't know what to say or even think. Elana sounded anxious, depressed, fearful; as if she were on the verge of a breakdown. The tone of her voice was such that what she actually said failed to register with him.

"What?" Hector asked, confused, trying to understand what was going on.

"Lucia. Is Lucia there with you?" Her voice was anguished, bordering on hysterical.

"No! Why would Lucia be here? You pretty much made sure I'd never see her again," he answered bitterly.

"Don't start with me, Hector! I'm not in the mood to deal with your shit right now," Elana said angrily. She then paused to let her anger drop out a bit before continuing tearfully. "Lucia - Lucia is gone. She's missing."

Hector dropped the phone in his lap. The world dissolved away, leaving only Elana's words to wrap themselves around him like some spectral blanket, slowlysmothering him. He picked his phone back up, acting purely on autopilot. "How?" Hector whispered, barely able to breathe.

Elana explained everything that had happened. Lucia was constantly getting into trouble and was on the verge of getting expelled from school. She told him about how she sent her to a camp that specialized in troubled youths to help her. She told him how she went to pick her up at the bus stop and she wasn't there, so she called the camp and how evasive they had been.

"You were my last hope. I thought maybe if she had come to see you for some reason," Elana started to break down, weeping uncontrollably. The last shred of hope she had left her, leaving her feeling empty and broken.

"Get ready, " Hector said with equal parts determination and fury. "Get everything you think you might need. I'm coming over, and we're going to the police!"

#fiction #dark #cosmic horror #lovecraftian

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