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valley-of-the-lost · 3 years

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The Emotional Abuse of Eden Starling

I have a massive soft spot for Barbie movies. They defined most of my early childhood, from the music to the dress transformations. It was an intense nostalgia trip to revisit them when I was older and through a more comprehensive lens compared to when I saw them last. While I was doing this, one in particular stuck out to me. Barbie in a Christmas Carol. It was the version of the classic tale A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens that I had grown up with, and while my memories of it were fond, it didn’t trigger intense nostalgic reactions in me like ones like 12 Dancing Princesses did. So, naturally, I rewatched it to refresh my memory. And it immediately shot up to my favorite Barbie movie, at least, of the ones I have seen, because it handles surprisingly more mature and complex themes than you’d expect for a piece of early 2000’s kid’s media. I’d like to dissect one of these themes today: childhood abuse, specifically how Eden Starling, the protagonist of the movie, was abused by her caretaker, Aunt Marie.

Aunt Marie was emotionally abusing Eden throughout her childhood by overworking, socially isolating, guilting, shifting the blame, and asserting control over Eden through verbal manipulation. All of the above can be seen in the interaction between Eden and Marie in the Ghost of Christmas Past flashback section of the movie. While the conversation is brief and I am well aware that technically due to how short it is, it could possibly not be representative of Eden’s entire childhood, the movie treats it as the standard for their dynamic when Eden was a child, so that is how I will be treating it as well when analyzing the quality of Eden’s upbringing. So, without further ado, let’s parse out what tactics Marie employs on Eden throughout the conversation.

The scene opens with the Ghost of Christmas Past and Eden from the present (whom I will call “Present Eden” throughout the rest of this post aside from this scene summary) arriving in a room via a golden portal. Eden as a child (whom I will call “Past Eden” to differentiate her from Present Eden, again, aside from this summary) is sitting at a long table, resting her head on her arm and staring out the window at the snow falling outside. She has food in front of her, implying she was eating or expected to eat at some point, but she doesn’t touch it until her Aunt Marie says her name and walks into the room. Past Eden then straightens in her seat, looking more alert, and quickly eats all her food as her Aunt Marie enters the room while staring into a handmirror. After she is done, Eden asks if she can go to the Beadnell’s house for Christmas, where she had been invited by her friend Catherine Beadnell. Aunt Marie refuses, and says that after dinner they rehearse. Eden tries to press the issue, but is shut down and told to rehearse until dinner is ready.

Already the movie itself is calling attention to a major disparity in this scene: there is no indication of celebration within Marie’s household, be it Christmas or otherwise. The room Past Eden is sitting in is literally bare floorboards and blue wallpaper, with the only lighting being the dim sunlight streaming through the window. The decor itself is the epitome of the bare minimum; it’s wooden and matches the floorboards, giving the room a homogeneous appearance. Taken altogether, the dim lighting, cool color scheme, and general emptiness of the space gives the room a cold, lifeless feeling.

To further reenforce this, when the Ghost of Christmas Past thinks she accidentally didn’t send them to Christmas due to the room’s clearly lacking Christmas cheer, Present Eden corrects her by saying “No… this is right…” establishing that this is indeed how she spent her Christmases as a child. If that was not enough indication that something is definitely wrong, the Ghost of Christmas Past is still in disbelief, pointing out the absence of typical Christmas fixtures like a tree or stockings, but then she comes to a realization and says to Present Eden “Oh… you poor thing”. This expression of sympathy shows that there’s not just something off about this scene, something’s terrible about it that would warrant this sympathy in the first place. The conclusion from just this section of the scene would be that Eden was not very happy as a child, and never had what would be thought of as a “proper” Christmas growing up for one reason or another. So what was the reason for this? Why, Aunt Marie of course. Not just because she’s Past Eden’s guardian and therefore these responsibilities would fall onto her, but for other reasons that are revealed in the following conversation when Past Eden asks to go to the Beadnell’s house:

"Eden: I'm all done Aunt Marie. Can I go over to the Beadnell's house?

Marie: Of course not. After dinner we rehearse.

Eden: I know... But I thought we could... maybe make an exception today. Because it's Christmas! They all said they'd really love to see me there. Catherine even said it'd make her Christmas!"

This immediately ticks off two red flags: social isolation and overworking. Marie is preventing Past Eden from spending Christmas with Catherine and Catherine’s family, and by extension, denying her positive social interaction. In the context of the date being Christmas, Marie is also denying Past Eden a better Christmas with this action, as when Past Eden sneaks out to the Beadnell’s house, it can be seen that they celebrate a more typical Christmas. They have family, food, decorations, a tree, and presents, even some for Past Eden. This shows that Marie shows a lack of regard for Past Eden’s mental wellbeing, as positive social connections and interaction is critical to a child developing into a healthily functioning adult. In addition to isolating Past Eden, there are implications that Marie is overworking Past Eden as well. It is obviously cruel to make a child work through a holiday when they obviously do not want to, but Past Eden’s wording (“...maybe make an exception today…”) insinuates that working through the day with no known breaks under any circumstances except to eat is the norm for her. Barbie and Kelly, the former of which is telling Eden’s story to the latter, also confirm this:

"Kelly: Wait... Aunt Marie is making Eden work on Christmas?

Barbie: Well, every day. But yes, on Christmas too.

Kelly: But that's not fair!

Barbie: It's not.

Kelly: And there's nothing Eden can do about it?

Barbie: affirmative noise"

Forcing a child to rehearse day in and day out with no time off except to eat against their will is not natural; it’s controlling. It’s a bad sign for their future development and mental health, as this constant pressure to rehearse and by extension be good at this thing they are rehearsing for will likely end with them pinning their sense of self and self-worth on this one thing they’re working towards. Thus, they will have a harder time coping with failure at this one thing, or have no other emotional rapports to fall back on if something happens. Marie is not setting Past Eden up for a healthy adulthood here in any way. She has no regard for Past Eden’s mental wellbeing, and is not above employing manipulation to force Past Eden to agree to her demands, as she proceed to do when Past Eden tries to press her request:

"Marie: Make (Catherine's) Christmas? Make her Christmas? What about your Christmas? More importantly, what about your future? You want to be a star, don't you?

Eden: I do, but-

Marie: More than anything else in the world?

Eden: Yes, but-

Marie: Then what Catherine and the Beadnells want doesn't matter!..."

Now, what happens here is that Marie guilts Past Eden for considering Catherine’s feelings and manipulates her answers to shift the blame for the circumstances onto Past Eden. This is all designed to browbeat Past Eden into submission so she will do what Marie wants. First, with the guilting, Marie shifts the conversation from spending time with Catherine to Past Eden’s future (“...What about your Christmas? More importantly, what about your future?...”). Her word choice of “what about” and “don’t you” suddenly imply that Past Eden is putting her future singing career in jeopardy by wanting to spend one day with Catherine. In essence, Marie is saying Past Eden is putting her entire future at risk just for the sake of catering to what the Beadnells want, completely ignoring that it’s what Past Eden wants as well, and thus making her feel guilty for putting something so important as her singing career on the line just for the Beadnells and their feelings.

Marie also shifts the burden of the situation onto Past Eden over the course of the conversation, by suddenly placing it on Past Eden’s shoulders. “More importantly, what about YOUR future?” and “YOU want to be a star, don’t YOU?” both imply that Past Eden herself is responsible for the perceived obstacle (her singing aspirations) blocking her from going to Catherine’s house, and thus absolve Marie herself from any of the blame she has for creating this situation for Past Eden in the first place as her guardian.

In order to guarantee that Past Eden will comply, Marie manipulates the conversation in her favor. First, she poses a yes or no question to Past Eden (“You want to be a star, don’t you?”) giving Past Eden reflexively predictable answers, so she can more easily get the response she wants and shut Past Eden’s objections down when Past Eden clearly has more to say by interrupting her (“I do, but-”...”Yes, but-”). She employs the same tactic again with “More than anything else in the world?”, except when she gets the affirmation she wants, she uses the absolute of “anything else in the world” to dismiss what Catherine and the Beadnells want, and by extension, what Past Eden wants. The message from this she’s sending Past Eden is that by her own desire to be a star more than anything else in the world, it’s her own fault for not being able to spend time with Catherine or the Beadnells because they fall under “anything else in the world”. In short, the problem is Past Eden’s fault. Which it isn’t, but Marie wants Past Eden to think that it is, so she bends to Marie’s will more easily. And eventually, she wants Past Eden to bend to her way of thinking too:

"Marie: Then what Catherine and the Beadnells want doesn't matter! What do I always tell you?

Eden: In a selfish world, the selfish succeed.

Marie: That's right. And if you want to succeed, you must use every second of your time selfishly.

Eden: Yes, Aunt Marie.

Marie: Good choice. I'm proud of you. Now go work your scales until dinner's ready."

Marie defines how Past Eden should feel, and then tops it off with a dose of conditional affection. She makes Past Eden repeat a mantra she has told her in the past (hence the “always”): “In a selfish world, the selfish succeed”. Her goal is to make Past Eden internalize this value and eventually have it dictate her life, so she shuts down any other avenue for Past Eden to deviate from this. No Catherine, no Christmas, no disagreeing with her on any level.

Ironically, it should be said that Marie is telling Past Eden to be selfish and to “use every second of her time selfishly”, yet there’s no room for Past Eden herself to define “selfish” for herself. How can Past Eden truly live selfishly if she’s not allowed to define what selfish is for herself? She can’t, it’s a contradiction, and it exposes that Marie doesn’t want Past Eden to live selfishly with regard to herself. No, Marie wants Past Eden to live selfishly with regards to her, and wants Past Eden to only think she’s living selfishly for herself. A line earlier in the movie supports this and puts Marie pushing Past Eden to practice in a new light: “(In a selfish world, the selfish succeed) was my excuse for not having the talent to become a star myself!" This makes it seem like Marie was living vicariously through Past Eden due to her failed aspirations, like those dance moms who live through their daughters.

Of course, Past Eden finally relents to Marie as she’s no longer being allowed a voice in this conversation and Marie rewards her with “Good choice. I’m proud of you”. The “good choice” sounds vaguely threatening, as if implying there was a BAD choice in the first place, but the small bit of praise in “I’m proud of you” is an example of conditional affection, especially in the context of Marie giving it. Past Eden bowed to her wishes, thus she “earned” Marie’s affection. This is a bad message to send to Past Eden, as it says to her that she’s only worth the affection when she agrees with Marie. Essentially, she’s not worth loving as her own person, only as what Marie wants her to be.

After this, Past Eden sneaks out when her Aunt is asleep and sleds to Catherine's house. She briefly gets to celebrate Christmas with her friend and the rest of the Beadnells, but then a knock comes at the door. Aunt Marie had woken up and is there to yell at Past Eden and drag her back home.

When the knock comes, Present Eden’s reaction is worth noting, especially to determine how the following events affected her long after they initially occurred:

"Present Eden, to the Ghost of Christmas Past: Take me home. Now.

Ghost of Christmas Past: Why? We're having so much fun!

knocking gets louder and more insistent

Present Eden: NOW!

Door opens to reveal Marie standing in the doorway

Aunt Marie: Where. Is. EDEN?!"

Present Eden’s immediate distress with the smile vanishing off her face to be replaced with a scared expression at the sound of the knock and her increasingly insistent demands for the Ghost of Christmas Past to take her home before the door opens signifies that this particular part of the memory was traumatizing for her. It also implies that Eden, both Past and Present, is afraid of her Aunt Marie. This isn’t the first time Present or Past Eden have shown fear in Marie’s presence. Earlier, in the beginning of the flashback, when Aunt Marie addresses Past Eden, Present Eden recoils with a fearful expression on her face at the sound of Marie’s voice. Past Eden also has trouble keeping sustainable eye contact with Marie, especially when Marie is looking directly at her, which could be a sign of intimidation or anxiety.

The traumatizing part of this event wasn’t just Marie angrily demanding to know where Past Eden was though, as is revealed when Present Eden relays the rest of what happened in her bedroom with her knees pulled up to her chest:

"Present Eden: She ruined the whole holiday. Just stood there, screaming, for what seemed like forever. At me, at Catherine, at the Beadnells, oh, it was horrible. That was my last Christmas there. Aunt Marie never left me alone for a second after that.

Ghost of Christmas Past, placing a hand on Present Eden’s: I'm so sorry, Eden.

Present Eden, shrugging off the Ghost of Christmas Past’s hand and getting up from the bed to fluff her hair: Don't be. Aunt Marie was right! I wasted time on those silly Christmas pageants for the Beadnells. After that, I concentrated on myself. And you know what happened? I made my Covent Garden debut at thirteen. Thirteen."

According to Present Eden, Marie screamed at not just Past Eden, but everyone present. Not only is it already traumatizing for Past Eden to be yelled at by an adult figure she’s already shown signs of being scared of already, but it would also be mortally humiliating because she’d likely think the Beadnells are being yelled at because of her. As if Marie hadn’t already heaped enough undeserved blame onto Past Eden, intentionally or not.

This event also marked a turn for the worse in Past Eden’s life. If Marie wasn’t controlling enough before by depriving Past Eden of social contact in favor of having her rehearse, she apparently became worse by “not leaving (Eden) alone for a second after that”. That, coupled with that being Eden’s last Christmas at the Beadnell’s, likely means that Eden was completely socially isolated for the rest of her upbringing, except perhaps in special Marie-approved and supervised interactions.

As if this wasn’t all bad enough, Present Eden also reveals two key pieces of information through mentioning her Covent Garden debut at thirteen years old. It confirms that Past Eden in the flashback was at the very least younger than thirteen, as Present Eden speaks about the debut as if it happened after Marie forced her away from the Beadnells, and that Eden was a child star. The abuse has been happening at the very least since Eden was younger than thirteen and she was a child star, which she does not have the proper support system to manage the stress that would come with that. And even Present Eden herself doesn’t seem too happy about it either for a split second.

While the peek into Eden’s childhood is brief, dissecting it reveals that it is far more insidious than it appeared to be upon first glance. Marie’s methods of molding Eden into what she wants is terrifying as she’s willing to sacrifice Eden’s happiness and agency as a person in order to further that end. And the worst part is that she succeeds. The Eden at the beginning of the movie is the result of years of being subjected to Marie’s abuse, someone who was never allowed to grow into her own person and probably doesn’t even know how to express herself properly beyond the toxic methods that Marie taught her. But the extent of Marie’s damage to Eden’s life will have to wait until another post, since that’s another deep hole I want to dive into but for the sake of staying on topic we’re leaving that for later. Thanks for reading!

Loose ends:

- The hell was Eden eating in the flashback? It looked like burned potatoes and toast. I remember being baffled by this even as a kid, because I was confused that I was supposed to see that as food. The implication seems to be that Eden didn't have good food and nutrition growing up, which @/barbie-movie-reviews pointed out in their review of this movie could be why she was so passionate about her crumpets. I plan to expand on that later for another post, but Marie apparently can’t be bothered to get decent food for Eden.

- Aunt Marie's handmirror and her looking at herself in it is likely a visual shorthand for her being a selfish person like how she wants Eden to be, especially since she is supposed to be the Jacob Marley of the story and the mirrors are her “chains”. Though now I get more of the impression of "narcissistic tendencies", which are apparently common in emotionally abusive parents.

- Aunt Marie tells Eden that after dinner they rehearse, implying Eden just ate dinner, and then later orders her to practice her scales until dinner is ready? It's either an inconsistency or awkward wording.

#meta of the lost #barbie #barbie in a christmas carol #barbie a christmas carol #eden starling #eden starling meta #aunt marie #catherine beadnell #cw: emotional abuse

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maxrev · 3 years

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Feels prompt for Knox (or a Shepard of your choice if he's not feeling talky): “ you’re not a machine or— or some thing. you’re a person, and i’m sorry anyone ever made you feel otherwise."

Welp, guess Knox felt like talking lol. Here ya go! From this list of prompts

BIG shout out to @nightmarestudio606 for helping me with the kiss...I haven’t written one in sooo looong lol

________________________________________________

What the hell was he doing? He never ran. From anything. Hadn’t since he was four fucking years old. And now, at thirty one, he held many titles: Commander Shepard, Savior of the Galaxy, etc, etc. He’d taken down husks, brutes...hell, even a reaper without a second thought.

So, why did this particular man have him running for cover, hiding in his own damn cabin no less? Fuck this.

And yet, he remained where he was, a few steps just inside his cabin door, looking all around but not seeing a thing. The fish tank burbled quietly beside him, fish merrily swimming around; model ships he’d carefully crafted on display in the glass case; a softly squeaking wheel from the hampster - who still wasn’t named - running in circles. All of it a part of his carefully crafted world, even if the fish and hampster had been gifts he’d never have bought on his own. Pets required time and attention he had none to give.

His world was orderly, meticulously thought out to every minute detail, any possible contingency planned for. Except one apparently.

Major Kaidan Alenko. Putain de merde.

If was wearing his hardsuit, his vital signs would show his heart rate was up along with his stress levels. As if mocking him, the fish continued to swim, serene and unhurried from one end of the tank and back, not a care in the world.

“Commander, Major Alenko wishes to speak with you. Would you like me to let him in?” EDI’s voice carried over the speakers above him.

His cabin. His only sanctuary, such as it was. As the commander, he was available at all times, yet no one ever bothered him here, preferring to stay well away. It seemed there was nowhere left to run. Cornered like a wounded animal and he damn sure felt like one, too. Ready to lash out. Cool heads prevailed, not that he’d ever been accused of having one. The memories of Horizon and Mars mocked him.

The major was a brilliant soldier and he needed him on the Normandy. He ran a hand over his shorn head in agitation. Okay, okay. I need him on the Normandy. Admitting it turned out to be not as hard as he’d imagined.

“Commander?” EDI prodded.

“Give me five minutes.” Let the major wait outside, stew a bit in his own thoughts.

Glancing around the cabin, Knox wondered why he was so damn nervous. Nothing was out of place, all his things meticulously maintained and where they belonged. The only mess to be found were the piles of datapads scattered over the desk. He was having a hard time keeping on top of them. The barrage of information was constant, barely able to read one before another was thrust into his hands.

Enough. No more stalling. Leaning casually against the ledge along the fish tank, he crossed his arms and ankles. He could give the impression of being relaxed, even if he didn’t feel it.

“Let him in, EDI.”

The door slid open. The world narrowed to just one man and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath and pushed away a sudden unknown emotion he felt as his eyes landed on Alenko standing on the other side. He waited for the major to make the first move having invaded his refuge.

Stepping inside, the major nodded at Knox, “Commander.”

So formal. It should put Knox at ease but instead it irritated him. Irrationally so. Wanting to shake the ground beneath Alenko’s feet, he said, “Call me Knox.”

Thick dark eyebrows rose up in response, surprised. Good. Knox felt more at ease with the knowledge.

“Okay...Knox,” Kaidan drew out the one syllable as if trying out the feel of it. “Then I ask that you call me Kaidan.”

Knox simply continued to stare at him, not responding. The silence stretched out and his impatience began to grown. He did not like to be kept waiting.

“Was there something you needed?” His words came out harsher than intended but if it prompted a response, so be it.

Brown eyes, wariness in their depths, looked away, the tips of Kaidan’s ears becoming pink. Interesting. He rubbed the back of his neck, a tell Knox had seen often when he was unsure about something or embarrassed. Which was it this time?

“I…” he took a deep breath, then turned an looked Knox right in the eyes, “I wanted to apologize for my distrust back on Mars, for questioning your loyalties. I realize now you’re the commander I’ve known since Eden Prime and I’m happy to fight by your side...sir.”

Straightening up, Knox strode over slowly, coming to a stop before him, crowding his space. The air around them was charged with electricity. He spoke quietly, calmly, but with steel in his voice, “Only now?”

Kaidan didn’t look away this time. The intensity in his gaze made Knox’s blood heat. There was more going on here than what one could see on the surface.

“What is it exactly you want from me?”

Merde! What a loaded question he was asking. Deciding he needed a drink, Knox turned towards his desk where he kept a bottle of whiskey. He splashed some of the amber liquid into a glass, uncaring when it slosed over the side. Maybe the burn as it went down would put him back on solid ground. The ground he’d tried to shake beneath Kaidan’s feet had backfired. This was new territory for him.

He tossed the whiskey back, turning to hold up his empty glass, "Drink?"

Kaidan hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded. Knox poured another for himself, then handed the other glass over. The major sipped sparingly, eyes widening a fraction in surprise.

Knox shrugged, "I liked the whiskey you added to the bar. Bought some for myself."

An inadvertent admission. He wandered over to watch the fish, lest Kaidan read more into it. Silence followed his words and he turned to find the major browsing the datapads. Knox bristled at the invasion of his privacy, ready to let fly with harsh words and criticism but his inner voice caught up to him and told him to stop.

There was nothing more than intel about the war and the crucible and maybe Kaidan would be able to provide some insight, see things from a different angle...as he usually did.

Instead, Knox kept quiet and observed him, refusing to admit to himself he was actually committing to memory every nuance of the man across the room. Suddenly, Kaidan’s body tensed up, fingers coming to rest on one specific datapad. Having so many open, Knox couldn’t remember what intel was in each one and now he was curious at the reason for the strange response.

"Find something?"

Kaidan’s hand snapped to his side as if caught in a trap. Placing the unfinished drink on the desk, he turned to leave with an excuse at the ready, "I should go get acquainted with the crew."

Knox moved quickly, stepping in front of him, so close he could see the variations of color in the expressive brown eyes. His own eyes traveled at leisure over Kaidan’s face; new scars blending with old ones, a few more wrinkles and gray hairs from the passage of time and the stress they were under...a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

Their eyes locked. For the first time ever, Knox found himself lost. Unable to process the feeling, he did what came natural. He charged ahead.

The world around them ceased to exist, narrowing down to just the two of them, Kaidan’s breath hitching for a fraction of second before relaxing into the kiss, opening eagerly as Knox slid his tongue inside. Pressing up against him, their feet tangled and they stumbled across the room, Kaidan’s back stopping them up against the fish tank. Knox planted his palms to each side while Kaidan grasped at his clothing.

They sank into the kiss, neither willing to be the first to let it end. But end it did, Knox pulling away first. What the fuck was he thinking, kissing a member of his crew? There wasn’t time for personal relationships, death on the horizon or not. Things like this just got messy and caused more problems than he needed right now. Either of them needed.

He walked back to the desk, leaving Kaidan where he was. How he felt about what happened was of no concern to him. Leaning into his arms, hands pushing the datapads aside, one blinked to life. The one Kaidan had been looking at. On the screen was the Cerberus husk they’d found on Mars where Kaidan had questioned if the terrorist organization had done the same to him.

Behind him, the door slid open and he heard footsteps as Kaidan left his cabin.

His voice, raspy and deep with the remnants of their kiss lingering still, floated back to him, “You’re not a machine or— or some thing. You’re a person, Knox, and i’m sorry anyone ever made you feel otherwise, including me."

#mshenko #mass effect #prompts #writing #maxwrites #ask and I deliver #who boy this kept going #Knox x Kaidan #laelior

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lutrain2020 · 4 years

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Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Seeking7 or Seeking!

Commission: I don't offer writing commissions at the moment, mostly because I'm not sure how to conduct or present myself in the market. If anyone would like to request a certain fic or short story from me, however, I'd be glad to work out details with them. :)

Social Media: A03: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeking7 FFnet: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/13334645/

Tell us a little bit about you!

Hiya! I'm Seeking7, or Seeking. I was born in Alabama and raised in California to a pair of the most hardworking Egyptian immigrants you've ever met, and the mixture of Arabic and American influence over the course of my life has had a profound influence on the way I look at the world. My favorite subjects are biology and english, and I aspire to become either an EMT or military medic after I graduate. In regards to hobbies (aside from playing copious amounts of Zelda), I love studying American and Ancient Israelite history, and I hope to one day learn ancient Hebrew and Greek so I can read the original biblical manuscripts for myself!

Is there someone who inspires you and your writing?

While my own brain can usually come up with a certain scene or idea that would inspire me to put paper to pen, it's the people I have around me that encourage me to keep writing. The people on FFN and AO3 who comment and leave kudos on my work mean the world to me (shout out to JoSeBach on FFN and MyWritingisMeh on Ao3 for leaving comments/reviews on each chapter of my fic "Mephibosheth"). The LU fans who come to my livewrites on the discord are so ridiculously encouraging and always let me know that my writing can actually be interesting to some people -- a fact that never ceases to astound me. But most credit goes to my younger sister. Even when I don't show her a work because it might be a little bit extreme or intense for her age, she always lets me know that she's sure it's good regardless. Her unconditional, unreasonable support inspires me to be that kind of person to other fic writers!

What got you into writing?

Three books in particular encouraged me to take writing seriously. "Crime and Punishment" was the first in this process, showcasing just how intense, beautiful, and profound a book with actually very little plot can be. The entire book takes place more or less in the head of a man wracked to pieces by guilt, and Dostoevsky's decision to focus on internal instead of external conflict changed the way I looked at literature. "East of Eden" was next. It wasn't just the book's allegorical nature or the Cain and Abel motif that astounded me - Steinbeck's vivid descriptions of everything from the human mind to sunrise in Salinas has had a profound impact on my own writing. I still reference the first few pages when I write! (actually, if you look at my fic "The Most Sincere Kind of Lie," the opening paragraph is heavily inspired by the first page of East of Eden!) Finally, the biblical Book of Job changed the way I look at dialogue and interactions between flawed characters. The whole book is almost written like an ancient screenplay and deals with heavy questions like the meaning of pain and the meaning of meaninglessness without offering direct answers - which inspired me to try and include those questions in my own writing and handle them in a similar, vague, interperative way.

What's your favorite part of the writing process?

After outlining a fic, I usually start out by writing them like a screenplay with all dialogue tags and action notes written off to the side. When sarcastic banter, silly, lighthearted interactions, or intense conversations with a deeper meaning behind them start to come together, I can't help but smile. That usually gives the the extra inspirational boost I need to go back and flesh everything out so it becomes a story! (if you struggle with writing dialogue, message me on the discord and I'll be glad to tell you everything I know and send you the multitude of resources I have on the subject)

What's your least favorite part of the writing process?

Vetting works for grammatical mistakes turns writing fics into homework! I can't stand posting something and later reading just to find out that I forgot to capitalize a character's name, or that a comma is missing, or that Ao3 or FFN messed up the page breaks and I have to go back in and fix it. I'm not a perfectionist most of the time, but when I come to writing, I absolutely am.

Whats your favorite type of scene to write?

Intense philosophical debates and serious heart-to-heart conversations are by far my favorite kind of scenes to write, and that's because they're my favorite kind of scenes to observe and read! I always leave them feeling like I've gained something intellectually and emotionally, and it's my constant hope and dream to be able to impart the same kind of introspective thoughtfulness on the reader.

What's the hardest for you to write?

Allowing or even plotting for a character to go off the deep end is always such a hard thing to write. Not for them to die, necessarily, but for them to completely lose their morals, priorities, and relationships in search for something selfish or temporary. Writing them making the same mistakes over and over not because they're stupid but because they don't care about the consequences is always hard -- it's like killing off a character and replacing them with the darkest, nastiest version of themselves. Basically, writing the opposite of character development is the opposite of fun. :(

What's your favorite genre to write?

Whatever the hybrid child of angst and fluff is called, that's my baby. I find that a combination of the two can make for a really interesting experience and give me more space to explore different faucets of each character's personality. It's also the perfect breeding ground for some intense, sincere conversations.

What fandoms do you enjoy writing for?

I don't write for a lot of fandoms, just Linked Universe, Undertale, and occasionally LoZ stuff not tied directly to our nine precious boys.

What's the work you are most proud of?

I've only gotten into LU very recently, so at the time of writing this I don't have anything from the fandom that's ready to showcase. I do have some cool Undertale stuff though, at least in my opinion! If you're interested in that, there are two fics I've poured (and am currently pouring) my heart and soul into that I'm extremely proud of. The first one is 'The Reason,' which is just a quick oneshot focused on Grillby being an amazing, hardworking dad, (https://archiveofourown.org/works/24354130) and the second is Mephibosheth,' my multi-chapter pre-canon fic about the lives of Asriel and Chara. '(https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804797)

Is there a specific scene you are particularly proud of?

Going again off the works I referenced earlier, a particular scene in the ninth chapter of 'Mephibosheth' had me patting myself on the back. I can't tell you what it is, though, because it's a massive spoiler. ;)

Is there something you had to work through that forced you to grow as a writer?

At the beginning of my junior year of high school I submitted two works into a competition I was confident I would win. No, not just win, I was sure I would get first place nationally. The competition never had many submissions and I knew that the works I submitted were pretty darn good. As you can probably guess, I didn't win anything. No medal or mention, nothing. I was in shock for a good few days and considering giving up writing completely. Then I realized how stupid I was being for assuming I was entitled to an award, for writing something only for recognition, and for thinking that I should give up on something I love so much just because it didn't supply me with the endorphin rush I thought it would. I made it a goal to improve as much as humanly possible afterwards, and I'm happy to say that I think I'm making progress towards that!

Do you have any fics inspired by real life stories?

Every gremlin-like thing the boys do in my WIP LU fic "The Most Sincere Kind of Lie" (by the time this is up, it'll probably be on Ao3) is based off something I've seen my brother and sister do. They're the embodiment of utter chaos and the manifestation of the primal urge to destroy, so they're great inspiration for Link shenanigans. Also, almost all of the banter in 'Mephibosheth' has taken inspiration from one of three places; conversations I've had with my grandparents, conversations I've had with my siblings, or interviews I've watched online. Inspiration for thought-provoking dialogue has to come somewhere that's not my own brain - there aren't enough brain cells to bear the brunt of that creative burden!

Where do you post your finished works?

I post on FFN and Ao3, both under the alias Seeking7. What's that, you say? You want a link to my profile? Well, who am I to refuse?? (AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeking7) (FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/13334645/)

#Meet The Creator #lutrain2020 #linkeduniverse #lu

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littlequeenies · 4 years

Text

BEBE BUELL: MUSING ON MUSES AND OTHER FANS

📷BEBE BUELLJUNE 17, 2020

Before embarking on a musical career of her own, Bebe Buell was a much in-demand model but was most often seen as the second fiddle to the famous rock musicians she was dating. She, however, saw herself as the Muse to these musicians, inspiring and sharing ideas with them. Inevitably, the term “groupie” would arise. As she says, “I’m not opposed to ‘groupies,’ per se. I just don’t like being called a name or being tagged like a sheep to slaughter’. Bebe elaborates on this idea for PKM.

I remember the first time I saw a photograph of Oscar Wilde. I was five and it was Easter. We were at the Virginia Beach home of my mother’s friends, Poppy and Tilly, who were hosting a Sunday get together. We were dressed in our pastels and frills and the candy and food was flowing. It was an adult affair and, being the only child there, I wandered off to explore while the grown-ups enjoyed their martinis and snacks. I found myself in a living room study area and on the table was a big book filled with photos of poets, painters, sculptors and scholars. I was immediately drawn to an image of Oscar draped on a chair like a velvet throw! It stuck with me and when I got older I looked him up in the school library. At the age of twelve I read The Picture Of Dorian Gray, but my main interest was in Oscar Wilde, the man and his story. I felt an instant connection, just as I have with all the great inspirations in my life. In 1978, when I was living between NYC, Maine and LA, before finishing the year in London, I never missed one episode of Masterpiece Theatre and their 13 episodes of Lillie about the life of Lillie Langtry, played brilliantly by Francesca Annis. To my delight, it explored in great depth the relationship/friendship between Oscar and Lillie, and I became obsessed with knowing everything and anything I could about their dynamic. I was intrigued, too, by the descriptions of Mrs. Langtry in the press at that time in England and the U.S. She was often called a “Professional Beauty” or “The Jersey Lily” because she was born on Jersey, the largest of the Channel Islands off the coast of Normandy. She was also one of the most featured women in advertising; her face was everywhere. She was the image for Pears Soap and the most respected painters of the day stood in line just to have a sitting with her. In 1877, she met Edward, Prince of Wales, later King Edward VII, and became his first publicly acknowledged mistress.

One of my favorite quotes was attributed to her from her conversations with Wilde: “They saw me, those reckless seekers of beauty, and in a night I was famous.” This reminded me of the back room at Max’s Kansas City, the temple of cool when I arrived in New York during the era of everything! It was this platonic duo that introduced me to the role of the “Muse”—that is the Artist and the Muse. Throughout history and especially in the arts, there seems to always be a driving force that brings the flora. In the series Lillie, they emphasized how Oscar would repeat Lillie’s quips and observations in his writing. Their banter with one another fascinated me and I often envisioned myself as a “Patron of The Arts”, in a sense, as I’ve always promoted and sang the praises of those whose work I liked. I felt an affinity with that spirit—the gift of inspiring and sharing special ideas with an artist I admired. It wasn’t just music. I adored musing with photographers, writers, film directors and designers, too. Creative energies have always fed my soul. The first time I referenced the term “muse” was in a 1981 interview I did with the Emmy-winning writer Stephen Demorest for the edgy publication Oui. Its sister magazine in France was called Lui. Playboy had taken over ownership of Oui so it was a glossy, classy, European-style men’s delight, targeting a younger demographic. When Stephen approached me about the piece, he showed me a couple other interviews with “It Girls” that had been published.

One was with Patti D’Arbanville, the inspiration for some of Cat Stevens’ biggest hits. He even used her last name in one of the songs, “Lady D’Arbanville”. I knew Patti from the early 70s and, in fact, it was she who introduced me to Jimmy Page in 1973 on a night out dancing with her in NYC. It was a quick meeting, as I was eager to get home to my boyfriend at the time, Todd Rundgren. A year later, I would run into Mr. Page again and the rest is the stuff of rock tales.

I adored Patti so knowing that both she and Jerry Hall had done this particular interview sealed the deal. Like Patti Boyd, Jane Asher, Linda Eastman, Maureen Van Zandt, Sara Dylan, to name a few, the musical muse is the most often of the muses referenced. I recall how so many people wanted to know my viewpoints and opinions about the word “muse” and why I preferred it to the term “groupie”.

Even in Cameron Crowe’s Almost Famous, his beloved character Penny Lane’s first words on screen are, “We are not groupies. We inspire the music- we are bandaids!”. The film was Cameron’s love letter to women and how even at that time a stigma was attached to calling a woman a groupie; it was not necessarily a compliment. It was almost like a dismissive jab, on par with “she’s such a slut” or “whore”. Another scene in Almost Famous has all of the members of the fictitious band Stillwater squeezed onto a small plane that, they thought, was about to crash. Secrets were spilled and fingers were pointed. In one of the most moving moments, the William character defends Penny when she is described as “that groupie” by one of the band members. William nails it when he points out who and “what” she really is- a bright light and cherished fan. Someone who loved them all and for all the right reasons.

I feel that women have been unfairly branded and labeled without cause. I’ve often said that I’m not opposed to “groupies,” per se. I just don’t like being called a name or being tagged like a sheep to slaughter. Summing me up for the life I’ve lived, seen through someone else’s eyes or, worse, exaggerating the truth. I didn’t want those I’ve truly loved or the relationships I’ve had to be considered less sincere because of the visibility of my partner.

Certainly loving music or dating musicians is not derogatory. Isn’t it logical, then, that birds of a feather flock together? Like-minded tribes mate or unite because of chemistry? Rock boys and models have been drawn to each other since forever! In the Netflix series Hollywood, you find that sex and sexual favors were the core of the industry. Several of the movie stars everyone loved on screen had started out as rent boys or nude models to make ends meet. Who decides why someone can give a blow job to the “right” person and get a starring role in a movie and another blow job by an aspiring talent gets tossed into the trash can of regret.

Why, after having four children with Mick Jagger, a successful modeling career and now being Mrs. Rupert Murdoch, would anyone refer to Jerry Hall as a groupie? Or gold digger, another favorite term used to describe women who marry well. Or Marianne Faithfull, Anita Pallenberg or Winona Ryder, for heaven’s sake? These are the questions I’ve always had and one of the main reason why I have rejected the term groupie in the press. It’s not a personal attack on those who identify with the moniker. It’s my own rebellion against being labeled and frowned on for the relationships I’ve had.

I’ve taken this stand for a long time, even though it’s also caused some judgement and negativity towards me from other women. It’s almost as if they think I see myself as better than them. Or that I’m not being honest when I don’t just call myself a full-on groupie, and own it. My closest friends tell me it’s just jealousy but that doesn’t make it any less hurtful to have tales and lies circulated about you by people you barely know or those who don’t know me at all. Or to have relationships that lasted for years being reduced to a laundry list of “conquests.”

This is nothing new, of course. Catherine The Great‘s enemies within the Emperor’s Court turned on her and started rumors that she was a sex fiend who had intercourse with horses. That stuck with her throughout her life and even in the museums of Russia, the tale has echoed although it’s completely untrue. Cleopatra and Anne Boleyn were also targeted. Ruining reputations was the way people got their revenge in days of yore. Or in some cases, the reason why some lost their heads to the guillotine. Why is it that women who have power or beauty have been subjected to crazy accusations of sexual voracity or deviance? Eve takes the blame for the banishment from Eden and although she was supposedly created from Adam’s rib, she is seen as a temptress and Adam as her victim.

I believe every woman should identify by how she feels comfortable and for the work she does. I personally prefer to be known for what I do, my accomplishments, my career. However, dating a rock star or an actor should not merit a nasty quip or name calling fest. It becomes unbalanced when just because someone gets famous as, say, a model or an actress and then dates a rock star, that she should get called anything other than what she does to earn a living. I’m not sure “groupie” falls under the umbrella of job occupation. I’d file it under pastime, hobby, passion, or fetish.

The origins of the groupie started with nothing more than a desire to be close to the band—the guys who made the music. Or in some cases, the women. The term came into use in the mid-1960s as slang for women who liked to hang out with musicians. It’s fair to say that not all “groupies” are the same. There are many tiers and pecking orders when narrowing it down. Certainly not every girl who dreams of being with a rock star will waltz backstage and demand sex or give oral gratification. That’s the image I despise and wish would not tarnish the entire viewpoint to the outside world. Some of the girls on the scene want to take the word “groupie” back, to personify what it meant in the ‘60s and early ‘70s. It became something entirely different when the ‘80s rolled around. Bands born out of the LA scene liked a different kind of arm candy than the Rolling Stones or the Beatles. They preferred exotic dancers and porn stars, the girls du jour of the time. Just as music changes with each era, so do the kinds of women who pursue the bands. But, more importantly, what kind of women the bands seek out. One man’s status is another man’s yen.

And then there are those who look at being a groupie as a form of prostitution. I’ve never understood that one because most girls who live that lifestyle don’t charge money to be with their favorite rock god or even their crew. It’s a thrill to be with the band, but it seems the glamor that was once attached to that goal has changed. For me, it was a thrill to fight to say “I’m IN the band”… or even “I AM the band!”

When I was living with Todd, he produced one of the first all-female bands, Fanny. They were so great! June Millington could shred! I felt bewildered when I would hear snide remarks wondering if Todd was sleeping with one of them. I thought to myself that would have never been said or thought if they weren’t women.

The bottom line is preference. We all have a choice. And we all can be whatever we want. We can wear many hats. I see myself as a mother, wife, musician, singer, songwriter, writer, mentor, animal lover… many different things. What I do in my spare time is how I make my soul happy. Who I date is based on connections, fate and karma. We end up with who we’re meant to be with and the experiences we have are all meant to be. I’ve been with my husband Jim for twenty years now. Our 18th wedding anniversary is coming in August 2020. So, I’m writing this piece from the perspective of a wife, mother, working musician, writer and mentor. Not just a girl who had lots of suitors in her youth. Every single little thing is part of the journey.

The first time I saw a photo in Rolling Stone of what they called a “groupie”, I was 15 years old and in the 10th grade. It was 1969, and neither the image nor the word was at all something ugly to me. It just seemed exciting and cool. The girls were so outrageously dressed, and it reflected an almost innocent charm. I didn’t aspire to be a groupie but they seemed like they were the ones who made the guys in the band cool. They helped dress them, created make-up looks and spread the word all over town about how good they were. It didn’t seem to be so much about sex and backstage antics. Maybe I was too young to fully understand everything, especially from the pages of a magazine.

On my first trip to LA with Todd in 1973, when I finally did meet some real girls who liked to be called groupies, it still didn’t seem derogatory. I started to see how it was all just tossed together in some people’s minds. It’s a complex dance between an artist and his muse. None of it is something so vulgar or tainted as being only about sexual conquest. Maybe to some, it’s about that. But for me it was a series of fated encounters that have lasted throughout my life.

Some people see a groupie as a girl who will do anything, including have sex with a roadie, to get to the band. There is that element to the rock n’ roll lifestyle. But it’s not the entire package. Others see groupies as a vibe, the girls who are there when the band makes it, the girls that helped them make it, the on-the-road bestie, or the girls who get the bands drugs and food. Or even give them the clothes off their backs if the band is short a cool stage look. I often joke that that’s how wearing your lingerie out became a signature rock girl look- the band had taken her clothes to wear onstage!

I recall reading where Pamela Des Barres said she was still a virgin when she first discovered her teenage heart being drawn to rock boys. It felt sexual to her and it was also just youthful and sweet. Not a salacious sexual quest. More a desire to be near the music and the men who made it. That’s perhaps what one would define as a “classic groupie”. Or, in some circles, “fan” is the preferred analogy. I can relate to that myself as I knew when I was ten years old, I would hang out with Mick Jagger one day. I knew those were my people… my kind.

Pamela has made a career out of her life as a proud groupie. But certainly she has a right to claim the term because she helped invent it! She now calls it her “groupie heart” and that is something anyone who’s ever had a crush on someone or loved someone’s music so much that it altered your DNA can relate to. Hasn’t everyone felt that way? Every guy or gal who picks up a guitar or slings a mic stand had to have been dazzled by their inspiration or felt a need to pursue that for their own futures. So, my point is this- none of it is negative nor should one word hold so much power that when it’s flung at a woman, she’ll feel shamed or scorned.

When I started to get a bit of fame, the media seemed to want to call me anything but “groupie”. It was “Friend Of The Stars”, “Queen Of The Rock Chicks”, “Leggy Model”, “The Mother Of All Rock Chicks”, “It Girl”… so when the internet entered our lives, I began to see just how judgmental and downright mean people were about the women who hung out with the bands. It started to become something so dirty and taboo that I wanted no part of that term. It’s a thin line, a hard one to walk. Personally, I feel loving music and being attracted to musicians is as natural as doctors and nurses getting along. Humans are drawn to their soul tribe. Music, musicians and all art forms attract me. I’m the moth to that flame.

As an entertainer myself, it always hurt me when what I actually do for my job was ignored or not taken seriously because of the famous names I’ve been attached to. It’s so one-sided to only put that burden on women. It has been the norm for men to be patted on the back and admired for their taste in women and especially if they were able to appeal to many and have tons of sexual experiences. Even in the animal kingdom, the male peacock has the massive plume bloom to attract as many lovers as he can. A male lion can rule the pride with his sexual domination. A male celebrity only becomes more famous if he’s got a beautiful model or actress on his arm. Whereas a woman who’s dance card is busy or even full is often ridiculed or bashed. Branded with the scarlet letter of infamy.

It started to get under my skin when I saw myself defined only by who I’d dated or had close friendships with. It’s the luck of the draw. Some women who are in the public eye can date and marry a celeb several times and be embraced for it. They use it to further their already visible life. They are proud and exploit all their lovers as the playthings that they’ve become. Some have become famous by leaking a porno or being on a reality show. What was once a limited field has become wide open with lots of branches of thought and assumption. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy for me to fight for my image… my persona… my legacy. But I did fight. I turned down almost every request I was presented to be interviewed for groupie documentaries or sensationalized TV shows. Sometimes turning down large sums of money. But I wanted to work hard and felt if I worked hard enough one day I’d be thought of for what I did on a stage, in front of the lens of a camera, as a mother and at times even a manager, more than who I shared my life with. Dare I use the “R” word? I wanted RESPECT.

There’s lots of contrast in the definition of groupie or muse but what about “partners”… the duos who took the world by storm. Sonny & Cher, Karen & Richard Carpenter, Debbie Harry & Chris Stein, Jack & Meg White, Jane Birkin & Serge Gainsbourg, Stevie Nicks & Lindsey Buckingham, Annie Lennox & Dave Stewart, Kim Gordon & Thurston Moore, etc… Or Chrissie Hynde and Courtney Love, who both married musicians. There’s a kaleidoscope of ways women are seen. It all depends on how you are first perceived. The general public seem to hold on to how they first heard of you even if you go on to do many different things in your life. Marianne Faithfull is a perfect example of someone who has been able to transcend her detractors and carry on like the warrior she is. But it baffles my mind how anyone could call her or Anita Pallenberg anything but tastemakers and trendsetters. They were the women I would stare at for hours as a young girl. They fascinated me almost more than the guys they hung out with. Yet I still hear them sometimes referred to as groupies.

Like any entertainer, I have an overwhelming need to be loved and to give love and positive energy to others. That’s why I crave being onstage. The connection with the audience is almost like having the best sex in the world. Or at minimum, a great, soulful hug that sends sparks through your body. I’ve been doing this since 1980, in public anyway. This is my life… not the talented, special men I dated in my youth. That’s part of my story and I will never regret a single heartbreak nor will I ever regret loving to the point of forgetting myself and my own pursuits. But I want to be remembered for more than my dates or suitors. I gave birth to a child who grew up to become a superstar so the role of nurturer has followed me throughout my life. I’ve accepted the fact that my fate is to be a vessel for talent and to enrich those who possess it. It’s become who I am- all the parts and pieces of my karma rolled into one big bang! My artistic side occupies just as much space as my musing side- equal parts love and creative energy.

Things come full circle especially when I get approached after one of my shows by young girls that call me “High Priestress” or tell me that they are my “groupies”. When I hear the words “Bebe, Im your biggest groupie!”, my heart swells but I also like to immediately remind them that I do what I do onstage because of them. Because of the exchange being a performer gives to my being. It’s like fuel… hors d’oeuvres for the soul.

One morning in 2009, I got a call from an old industry friend who had landed at Interscope Records. I was awoken with, “Bebe, you’ve been touted in a song produced by Pharrell Williams called ‘Bebe Buell’ by a young band from Boston called Chester French.” I remember thinking “wow, that’s a nice compliment” because the gist of the song was that someone like me or Pamela Anderson Lee were the creme de la creme of rock-boy desire. There’s a clothing line called ‘Muse & Lyrics‘ that has a blouse/top called “The Bebe” and the brand ‘I’m With The Band’ has named their leopard scarfs and headbands the “Bebe”. There’s even a cocktail called “The Bebe Buell”.

But I think one of the coolest things was having Cameron Crowe name the lead singer in Stillwater Jeff Bebe. He gave me the original T-shirt that was used in the movie, too, and boy do I treasure it! Cameron sprinkled all kinds of little clues and messages throughout Almost Famous. I was especially touched by the Jeff Bebe nod because he knew how much I wanted to be a singer in a band. I remember him once saying to me that I should just go for it. At that point, people only knew me as a model and Todd Rundgren’s girlfriend. I hadn’t even done Playboy yet, so I was still trying to figure out who I was and how to do it. I finally did but it took me six more years to get in the studio and front a band!

It’s moving to be honored and it’s also nice to be appreciated by the younger generation of pop culture lovers. The first time my name was in a song, I was excited by it. My old friend G.E. Smith had a line on his solo album that was about coming to visit “Bebe and Liz”… he came over to my best friend Liz Derringer’s house to play it for us. We were elated… it was cool. I would never be so bold as to sit here and make a list of my lovers or the songs they wrote for me because it seems so long ago. I’d rather leave that up to the fans of the music to decipher and besides not all songs written for others are acknowledged as such. I’ve had several songs given to me as gifts or written to me in letters.

Sometimes the authors don’t admit it because their feelings change and they don’t want to upset their new love interest. Didn’t Bob Dylan write “Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat”, “Just Like A Woman”, “Fourth Time Around” and “Like A Rolling Stone” about Edie Sedgwick, only to later deny it? I know the feeling because it’s happened to me. So, at this point in my life, I just cherish the letters (yes, I still have them so one day when we’re all gone they will maybe solve the puzzles) and I respect and allow artistic license to have its day. It’s an artist’s prerogative to change their minds so I hold no hurt feelings. Music buffs are pretty smart anyway and they usually know the truth, so it matters little unless it’s blatant. The one topic that irks me is that I claimed This Year’s Model was about me. Well, that’s impossible because I didn’t meet and start to date Elvis Costello until he was well into Armed Forces. I was living with him in London when he recorded it in the fall of 1978. He included a couple of lyrics from songs on Armed Forces in letters to me but I can say with certainty that “Party Girl” wasn’t one of them. I guess it was the timing of the release that made people speculate I was the subject, but I wasn’t and never claimed to be. He didn’t even know me when he wrote those records. Why this is disputed has always been a mystery to me. The songs Mr. Costello sent me in letters were from later albums, starting with Get Happy. I will always wonder too why he would say something so false and perpetuate a rumor twenty years later in the liner notes of a re-issue. Here’s to hoping it is finally put to rest. And even with the shame and pain I felt at the time, I feel no regret or ill will toward anyone. To me the truth is pretty obvious. Remember the story I told earlier about Catherine The Great? Revenge is often used when hearts are hurt, and it is very common in the entertainment industry.

In summing up my thoughts on the topic, I feel it’s time in our culture to appreciate the roles women have played in art since the beginning of time. Dali had his Gala, Picasso would hide the initials of his mistresses in his paintings and secretly tell them so they would know it was for them, Clapton immortalized his love and lust for Patti Boyd with the ultimate ode in “Layla” and John Lennon may have written the most beautiful love song of all for Yoko in “Woman”. Or was it Paul McCartney with “The Long And Winding Road” about Jane Asher or “Maybe I’m Amazed” about the spectacular Linda Eastman McCartney?

We can’t leave out the spirited and unique George Sand whose given name was Aurore Dupin. She was born in Paris on July 1, 1804 and adopted the name “George” because women couldn’t write professionally with the freedom of men in those days. She became one of the most popular writers in Europe during her lifetime- one of the most notable writers of the European Romantic era. She would wear male attire in public saying it was easier and more affordable than women’s garb. She was a confidant to Franz Liszt and lover and muse to Chopin. She would lie beneath the piano while Chopin composed, saying it sent the music through her entire body instead of just her ears.

Music is primal and it gets into our bloodstream. It’s easy to see why young girls get crushes on their idols and some even grow up to marry their dream man. But the days of defining women by their sexual desires or “conquests” should be on the wane. I never looked at the men I dated or loved as conquests. Humans aren’t territories to be battled over or ceded to. The human connection is divine. Each and every person we cross paths with is part of our magical life story. So, whatever you identify yourself as is fine. That is your privilege and judgement should not follow even if the choices aren’t the norm. As Oscar Wilde said, “Be yourself. Everyone else is taken.”

*Closing side note* As I was finishing this essay, I was doodling with a People magazine crossword puzzle and one of the clues was “GROUPIE”. Guess what the answer was… “FAN”. The timing was uncanny!

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lloydsluck · 3 years

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Crow’s Feet

Prelude

Ever looked at something that’s so fundamentally flawed, so bad in design, form and function, it’s actually intriguing. Like a botched piece of taxidermy or a first attempt at a short novel. A piece of work that was probably not half-assed but whole-heartedly assed with good intention and it would be insulting to the creator to jokingly ask did you write this story as if you’re the old piece of gum stuck underneath a Grade 8 English Lit student desk? With no light, sense of tense, or spellcheker? The stereotypes and bad similes cause eye rolls so

far back into one’s head it’s like… well it’s hard to think of a comparison here, so count yourself lucky. Not to mention the ADHD diversions, talking about mounting dead animals in one sentence quickly sidestepping to self-awareness of this piece of literature. I digress. When last did you see a questionable piece of art that you found beautiful? So bad, it’s great. So useless and time-wasting, it’s what you’ll think about ironically one day on your deathbed. Because heck… made you look.

The Incision

Mondays. The start of a new week. New opportunities for a new you. A fresh squeeze of hope that things will get better served with a side of “I can change” attitude. And no matter how many Mondays we have, (4 187 to be precise, if you, like the average human being will live to 79), you will wake up to the same old boring Monday, every week, the same way.

Each one with a long dreary stretch and sigh, heavy eyes, telling yourself that you will make the most out of this week. But you won’t. Because laziness is time consuming and you don’t actually have anything else to do, really.

However, on this particular Monday, which was Fick McOwen’s 2226’s Monday, things were different.

Fick woke up with the dreadful sensation of drowning. Sinking deep in a casket of darkness. As he gulped in a breath of thick air, it tasted of rotten cabbage coating the back of his throat. Blind and bewildered, sharp metal sounds scratched close above his head. The sound stung his eardrums and made him cock up his forehead banging it hard against a flat surface.

‘Jeeezus fuck’, he hissed.

With no sense of time and space, his ears were ringing overcharged electric chimes in his head which felt cracked and ready to explode like a reactor in Chernobyl. He took a few minutes to try and calm himself. No good ever came from a panic attack in closed confines with a possible concussion. He finally raised his hands to his chest and did what most drunks do the minute they wake up, pat themselves down and check their underwear.

One week earlier.

If she was just a bit nicer, Jeffrey thought, she may have already had a proper and dignified burial for her husband. Stomping up and down a room that looked like it was decorated for a five-star hotel in Vienna, the newly-widow’s bony figure moved fast from left to right like a rabid old fox prowling a fence. For Jeffrey, her unwanted but needed bodyguard/help/punching bag, she was Hitler’s sphincter. She sparked fear in him and tightened his nerves with her demanding presence. Like a screwdriver twisting and turning into soft wood. A reaction he despised about himself. It ruined many good days. Sunny days and days like today.

Watching her from the corner of the large room, she attempted phone call after phone call, shouting at poor bastards who made the simple mistake of answering their phones that day.

Wanting to disappear he closed his eyes and listened to every passive-aggressive step she took in the room. He liked to tell when she walked on the tiles or the bear rug; it was a fast tac tac tac womp womp womp womp tac tac womp womp…then nothing. He opened his eyes and with a fright found her standing right in front of him, steaming red with anger.

Her greying blonde hair was fastened in a tight pincushion on top of her head. This pulled back her frail white skin that held everything in place. Face to face, he couldn’t help but stare at the permanent makeup she had done on the lower lids of her eyes and on top of her brows. It was starting to fade and as a result, it looked like she put eyeliner on days ago and never washed it off.

Her stare was cold and deadly like an overworked mortician’s. It complemented her daily outfits of thin grey pencil skirts and matching suit jackets. She had her name embroidered on the inside of the neckline since all of her clothing was specially washed and pressed at a local laundromat. One that she owned of course.

Margaret.

That’s what her husband used to call her. Or Margarine, Margie, or Macaroon. She would always remind whoever was listening that she was actually named after Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowden. If you had to look her up, you would see the uncanny similarities between the two women. So much so, that Jeffrey often wondered if they weren’t related. Considering how much of a royal bitch she was.

Nevertheless, he had to call her Mrs. Ergo. And he preferred the kind request from John Ergo, her late husband, since he didn’t think she would have liked the names he had listed for her in his head anyway.

She snapped back up and walked across the room towards the large oak desk that faced the gigantic windows that looked out onto their garden. Their Ergo-Eden. With a deep sigh, he sat up straight and smoothed back his black hair that was styled according to an old Italian mobster he saw in a film when he was 15.

“It’s all in the confidence of smoothing the wax over your hands first and then through your hair.” That’s what the old man said to his fellow pasta slurping, red-wine drinking, two hits a week gang that sat around a checkered table talking about the importance of looking respectable, no matter what the job. And this was what he told himself in the bathroom mirror every morning, (impersonating a very bad Italian accent of course) while he prepared for his day.

Apart from the respectable hairdo, Jeffrey was built like a small bull with a refined jawline. At first glance one would imagine he spends his days lumberjacking in the forest; but instead of plaid shirts, he was forced to wear black on black as per ‘management’s’ request.

He refocused his attention on her and as foul as she was acting that day, somewhere deep inside him, he felt sorry for her and her loss. His face twitched as he clenched his jaw trying to shape compassion on his face, but feared he looked more like a constipated clown trying to keep his cool. He was given cards once with all the different faces and expressions on it. Ironically, the illustrations looked like they were drawn by an autistic robot with no emotion nor artistic talent (it was), but it helped him deal with different people. Lines that came down the forehead with no teeth, meant anger or disappointment. Teeth showing meant they were happy – or about to bite you.

Margaret often made faces Jeffrey couldn’t place on his cards and her teeth always had some lipstick stains on it, which quite frankly, just distracted him altogether.

He watched her go down a list of names and numbers, furiously scratching them out when the call didn’t go as planned. Eyeing the last name and number on the list, she picked up the phone and started dialing.

Fick carefully pulled the skin up the neck and then over the top of the head, trying his very best to keep his hand steady. He wore magnifying goggles that pushed his choppy brown hair up toward the ceiling and enlarged his olive-grey eyes. It looked like the head of a praying mantis was stuck on a lanky man's body who dressed as if he found a discarded box of 80s band shirts and never bothered to wear anything else again.

'There.' He said as he lifted his hands and inspected the bird-like shape that was coming together in front of him.

In the back of the garage-turned-workshop, a small radio was trying to hold itself together while Henry Rollins tore away at its speakers. The music filled the room and gave Fick the ability to concentrate. Nothing else was audible. Not a phone or a thought could break his focus.

And it paid off; the crow started to take a lively shape, fast. All it needed were the eyes and some beak touch-ups and this bad boy was ready for some teenager's window sill.

Fick lived in Long Fountain, a small town where the kids were either into wrestling, the backyard kind, or satanism – also the backyard kind. This meant there were a lot of goth-like metalheads who gave themselves names like Agares and Forneus and hung outside the grocery store to smoke cheap cigarettes they bummed off the shop clerk. They would wear black makeup and dangle fake blood vial necklaces around their necks. Some would even proudly claim that they spray-painted hale satin on the backside of the church announcement board. To top off their rebel-without-a-cause-and-lack-of-basic-grammar-look, these kids would own a taxidermied crow on their windowsills, just for that extra edge.

“It’s a phase” most parents would say, but Fick couldn’t care less. He got fifty bucks out of it, liked the work, and asked no questions.

As a self-employed middle-aged Taxidermist, he could work from home and at his own pace. Something he considered to be more valuable than a performance bonus cheque at the end of a year after slaving away in a badly lit office desk from nine to five, five to seven days a week.

He didn’t necessarily consider himself a hermit, but he did prefer his own company with the exception of a few selected people – very selected and very few. This was a choice he made unapologetically clear to others who wanted to befriend him for no real reason. When presented with this frankness, they would awkwardly laugh it off and insist he’s just a fun and sarcastic guy. He despised those people the most.

Furthermore, Long Fountain was a small enough town for the nosy types to know everyone and their business, while still quiet and sparse enough for others to embrace the privacy of the town’s border. If you had to take a drone shot from high above, the edge of the town looked like it disappeared into the desert like an ocean of drought that spilled into a suburb. Fick could never figure out why they called it Long Fountain though, as there wasn’t even a lake or river anywhere near them. But he liked it there and he appreciated the colourful desert sunsets that could be found if you were at the right place at the right time.

The only other peculiar thing about the town was that there was an abnormally large crow population, which he didn’t mind because it meant more product for him. That, and an abnormal amount of old age homes.

He gripped the tweezer handle between his teeth while he carefully glued the last soft tiny black feathers to the rim of the beak; he tended to hold his breath during these final touches. While the song came to a screeching halt, the ringing of his cell phone surfaced through all the noise and concentration.

‘Fuck!’ He spat out the metal twangs, pulled off the goggles and flipped his phone over to reveal four missed calls from an unknown number in town. He was about to throw the phone over his shoulder onto a once purple–now grey–couch, when the screen lit up again with the same number flashing.

‘Hello’ he answered casually trying to simmer down.

‘Hello, is this Fick McOwen?’ A sweet lady’s voice kindly asked on the other side.

‘Yes, how can I help?’

‘I’m looking for someone who can help me with a,’ she paused for a second, ‘stuffing job?’

‘Well ma’am, I do all kinds of taxidermy. We don’t call it stuffing though, rather mounting,’ he smirked. ‘Anything from crows, bucks, ducks, even your pet poodle.’ He stared at the one-eyed crow that was perched up in front of him.

‘What is your rate?’ She calmly inquired.

‘It depends on the job. Small birds and animals start at thirty bucks, and then it can go up to a couple of thousand for a full deer, buck or elk.’

She went quiet on the line. He could tell she was busy writing something down, possibly a calculation. He hated long silences, it gave him indigestion.

‘What would you like to have mounted?’ He nudged, just to check that she was still there. She remained quiet.

‘Hellooo?’

‘Ten thousand.’

‘Excuse me?’ He quickly asked to confirm that he probably misheard.

‘Ten. Thousand.’ She repeated sternly.

‘Ma’am. What do you want to have done?’ His stomach started to tie knots of doubt, anticipating a job he may not be able to do.

‘I prefer a private meeting to discuss this further.’ Her tone suddenly changed from a sweet old lady to an office crank complaining it’s cold. He hesitated for a second. Feeling his gut whisper all tales of caution to avoid this type of interaction. “If it’s too good to be true…” he would always remind himself.

But…then again...

The ten thousand dollars started to swim through his mind like a beautiful woman in a red bikini, blowing kisses from a crystal blue pool. Caught in the moment, he impulsively replied, ‘Okay.’ She quickly confirmed that her people will be in contact with his people and disconnected before he could even take a breath to say he doesn’t have “people”.

Confused about the call and left with nothing to follow up with, he decided to write it off as another crazy old lady from one of the care homes who got hold of the nurse’s office phone. Eyeing the cotton-eye-crow, he proceeded to hit play on his stereo, threw his mobile on the couch and stuck the tweezers back in his mouth to finish the job.

NEXT CHAPTER COMING SOON

#fiction #short fiction

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duckyworth · 4 years

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I finally managed to make a piece of fanart for The Adventures of Mark Twain, a film that I saw last month that became one of my new favourite films. So here is Mark Twain piloting his awesome airship towards Halley's Comet with Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, Becky Thatcher and Huck's pet frog Homer - as Twain’s darker self broods and laments the perceived pointlessness of it all down below. :( I also wanted to use this opportunity to write a little mini review of the film. :D

As iconic as the 'The Mysterious Stranger' segment is, I wanted to draw something based on the film that wasn't that bit, as I feel this film is one of those films that gets mainly remembered for one scene in particular, even though I think there are many more scenes that are just as worthy of being remembered. The film follows Mark Twain trying to use his cool airship to catch up with Halley's Comet, as Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn and Becky Thatcher have snuck aboard and he allows them to help, but upon learning that Mark Twain is catching up with the comet due to a death wish and find a version of him that is much more nihilistic and bitter than the kindly and optimistic man they meet, they try to sabotage the voyage, before they learn the truth why he wants to be reunited with Halley's Comet. (Mark Twain said - '“I came in with Halley's Comet in 1835. It is coming again next year, and I expect to go out with it. It will be the greatest disappointment of my life if I don't go out with Halley's Comet. The Almighty has said, no doubt: "Now here are these two unaccountable freaks; they came in together, they must go out together.”' He was born in 1835, when the comet appeared in the sky, and he passed away in 1910, just as the comet passed close to Earth again. And this film came out in 1985, when the comet passed by AGAIN. One reason why I absolutely LOVE the film is due to not just the fantastic and beautiful claymation animation courtesy of the late great Will Vinton and his crew (who I recently discovered became LAIKA Studios ) - despite a few strings being present here and there when characters jump and them not being able to walk properly, I think the detail and care put into the clay characters is brilliant, and for the first feature length claymation film, it's really impressive - or the charmingly weird renditions of many of Mark Twain's stories like The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, The Diary of Adam and Eve and Captain Stormfield's Visit To Heaven), but because it's a sweet and heartwarming tribute to Samuel Clemens himself. Before I saw this film, I did some research on him (I didn't know that much about Samuel Clemens as he doesn't have as much prevalence over here in the UK as he does in the USA - I didn't even know he wrote The Prince and the Pauper - and when this film came out in the UK, it was simply named Comet Quest ), and I think his life story is FASCINATING. As well as becoming known as the father of American Literature, I found it really interesting learning about his various beliefs and life experiences that is reflected in his work, and to be honest, I find the themes this film tackles are actually pretty prevalent to a lot of content creators today. Early in his works, Mark Twain was known as having a great sense of humour, and a lot of his early works would be considered standup comedy today (and upon looking up some of his quotes and his works, I can believe it - he is a GREAT snarker And a lot of his quotes even had him say that 'humour is mankind's greatest blessing' and 'kindness is the language which the death can hear and the blind can see' - it also helps that the film uses a lot of the quotes he himself said in life ). And seen as his first few years before he became a writer had him work as a riverboat pilot in Missouri and he was born a son of Missouri slave owners (even though he was an abolitionist), I can see how some of his experiences would inspire his most famous works like Tom Sawyer. With him also keeping a dream journal for a large part of his life, I can also see that very well being something that inspired some of the more weird visuals in this film. Sadly, late in his life, he not only started suffering from losing most of his hard earned fortune to bad business investments, but his younger brothers, wife Olivia and three of their four children lost their lives, and he blamed himself for all of them, which led him to become extremely jaded and disillusioned with mankind and the idea of a God later in his life, but when viewing his later works which delved into him discussing these ideologies of his, I've seen that a lot of his critics passed him off as a sad and pathetic old man by this point, even though he had been affected by his misfortunes and believed the fame he's received didn't mean anything in the end when he had lost all that was near and dear to him. And a lot of his nihilism he developed later in life led to him writing things like The Mysterious Stranger when he became disillusioned with humanity and some of it's darker aspects. (But I do like the joke in the film that when they're losing dead weight to catch up with Halley's Comet, Mark stops The Mysterious Stranger being tossed out as he says it'll be finished in a few years - a reference to the fact the book wasn't finished and published until years after Mark Twain passed away. ) Which is where I think the themes of the film comes into play - Mark Twain is split in the film into a light and dark side, the light side being his comical and optimistic self, and his dark side being his jaded and pessimistic side, but as the dark side says later in the film 'Every man is a moon, and has a dark side that he keeps hidden from everybody, if he can help it.', and the light side tells Tom Sawyer that he's not whole without his more dark personality traits. And a big reason why he wants to chase the comet in the first place is to be reunited with his late wife Olivia (I think the Adam and Eve segment in the film, as well as starting off pretty hilarious with rather goofy renditions of Genesis - Adam and Eve are both rather eccentric and goofy individuals who have pretty great chemistry with each other leading to them falling in love - leading to what happened with Adam and Eve after they left the Garden of Eden, becomes really sad at the end when Adam is alone after Eve has passed away and he writes 'Wherever she was, there was Eden' - and Twain wrote The Diary of Eve as a posthumous love letter to Olivia. ) I think there are a lot of times nowadays when a content creator is judged by only one or two elements of their perceived image without receiving the full picture, and it is unfair to judge ANYONE without knowing the full picture - there's no such thing as a completely perfect person, after all - no matter how altruistic or kind hearted someone may be, everyone has their flaws or inner demons that help shape them as an individual (I speak from experience, having experienced some myself that I'm having to cope with) - as the end credits song says 'You have to know their dreams, The devils and the gods, Before you know the man.' And one scene I absolutely love at the end is the light and dark sides of Mark Twain giving advice to the three children - the light side imparting them, and the dark side giving the snarky humour that Mark Twain was known for in life. (And of course, the part when the two Mark Twains fuse and become one with the comet was absolutely GORGEOUS animation. ) All I can say at this point is that I'm really glad I managed to come across a Blu Ray of the film on Amazon, and if you have a chance to watch the film, I highly recommend it. And I hope you enjoy my fanart I drew of the film. :)

#mark twain #the adventures of mark twain #duckyworth's art #tom sawyer #will vinton #film #art #huckleberry finn #becky thatcher #animation

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quillyfied · 5 years

Text

Mega Good Omens Fic Rec Post 3

THE FINAL CHALLENGER APPROACHES.

This will hopefully be the last Mega Fic Rec Post I make for a long, long time; I have enjoyed it, but a lot of work goes into these and I’m tired. There are 73 titles on this list, organized by category: Jaunts through History/Canon, South Downs, Post-Apocalypse, Bus Ride/The Night Before/Heaven and Hell, AU/UA, Just Soft, Touch-Starved/Body Worship/Wings, Bonus, and H/C /Whump/BAMF. Please enjoy these treasures as I have.

Mentioned questionable material where appropriate; several authors have Tumblrs but I wasn’t able to tag them, for whatever reason. Oh well.

Mega GOmens Fic Rec Post MASTER

IF A LINK IS BROKEN OR I HAVE MISATTRIBUTED SOMETHING, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

JAUNTS THROUGH HISTORY/CANON

1. let me feel your heartbeat (grow faster, faster) – @thehoyden (T, the one where Aziraphale had a big ole crush on Crowley before the Fall and it doesn’t stop from happening. This one’s just cute; starts with a “senpai notice me” vibe that morphs into mutual pining very, very quickly. It hits the high notes of a lot of cute romance tropes and I’m into it.)

2. Pride and Prejudice and Angels – SanSanFanFan (G, the one where Miss Crowley and Mr. Fell clash wits. Kinda. Mainly it’s a lot of lovely pining and Aziraphale being sad about awful things happening in London, so he’s escaping to Hampshire for a while, where Crowley happens to be in the middle of a temptation she promptly abandons in favor of lifting Aziraphale’s spirits. Not finished, but already sparkling with Crowley being miffed about gender double standards and Aziraphale letting himself be cheered up by Crowley. It’s great.)

3. Kissing, Accidentally – @skybound2 (G, the one where Crowley can’t help kissing Aziraphale after pinning him against the wall. Hilarious and sweet and featuring that best trope of all, Crowley going boneless and speechless at an unexpected show of affection and wanting from his angel.)

4. Visible world (or, you are responsible forever for what you have tamed) – @matchahedgehog (T, the one where Russian folklore plays a significant element and it’s weird and beautiful. I don’t think I can really convey what this is, exactly, but there are elements of building a new world and holding on tight to love even through the toughest times and it’s gorgeous.)

5. I’ve Been Drowning All These Years – @terrible-titles (T, the one where Crowley comforts Aziraphale five times and one time Aziraphale comforts Crowley. There are some discomfiting scenes Crowley is talking Aziraphale through in this one, but the comfort is sweet and the resolution is well-deserved.)

6. Moving Rocks – shiphitsthefan (T, the one where confessions are made in 1941 but they can’t act just yet, and waiting is agony. I really adore this one, especially what happens when they finally Smooch, because it happens in a spot I rarely see anyone putting it and it made me smile. The longing is so painful, poor Aziraphale. Poor Crowley.)

7. On a Wing and a Prayer – @alphacygni-8 (T, the one where Crowley is a pining mess but he has a plan. This is another trip through history of Crowley trying to go about his business while his feels are crushing him, but I think it’s how Crowley tries to go about confessing that helps make this one a standout; there is a restaurant and there is a lot of food and there are, of course, miscommunications aplenty. The historical scenes are nothing to sneeze at, either, they’re all packed with longing and bittersweetness. Lovely.)

8. in the shapes of angels – @qwanderer (T, the one where navigating an intimate and loving relationship of any stripe is difficult when your true form is a bit noncorporeal. This one crescendos in a form of angel-demon soul bonding that really reverberates and sticks in the brain, the visuals are incredible. And the implications of switching bodies gets a lot more high-stakes, too. On top of it all this is a story about finding someone to share your life with, whatever the arrangement of the relationship might actually be, and friends it’s tender and scary and wonderful.)

9. Pilgrim – brasspetal (T, the one where Crowley is on a sabbatical to sort out his feelings and he writes love letters, of a sort. This one is one of those fics that feels like treading in deep water knowing there’s something more in the depths, but it’s more tranquil and less unsettling. There’s an overstory about Crowley traveling with a group of humans and an undercurrent about him working through how he feels about Aziraphale and the two work together to bring about something memorable and, I feel, truly impactful. It’s entirely possible that by the time the last chapter is up, the story will be something completely different from what I’ve described, and that’s cool.)

10. drowned in living waters – @mortuarybees (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale make out in a field and almost get caught. This one is short and sad and made me feel sad things, though the imagery is gorgeous and the argument leading up to the kissing is entertaining. Stupid Gabriel and his stupid face.)

11. Things They Need – LostSoftSpaceDyke (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale take lovers as stepping-stones to get to each other. This one is bittersweet and FRAUGHT, friends, it is absolutely a heart-masher. The ending rights it, of course, and beautifully, but welcome to Hopeless Longing Town, friendos, population One Angel and One Demon.)

12. Off the record – @paintedvanilla (T, the one where Crowley reports his personal sins and then neglects to report his virtues. Bookverse, a wonderful character study of Crowley and Hell’s bureaucracy and how certain things affect Crowley personally. Includes a lovely homage to Freddie Mercury, of course.)

13. By Any Other Name – ausgezeichnet (@thebeatlesaremyboyband) (T, the one where Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis fake a wedding to get Thad Dowling off their backs. While it definitely has its funny moments, what stands out more to me in this one are the soft, quiet moments of pining sprinkled in between their adventures. There’s real strain between Crowley and Aziraphale with this turn of events, and I can’t wait to see it all boil over. Also Thaddeus Dowling is a dickbag in this one and is deffo getting his.)

14. God’s Gift – Katzedecimal (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale are undercover as a lady and her tire-woman while on a job. This one is based on one of the stories from The Akashic Records by PeniG (which y’all know I adore), specifically one where a potential 30K caper is laid out involving this exact scenario, and I love that someone actually tried to tackle some of it. The friendship is so good, and the little bit of excitement that happens in the plot is Terribly Exciting. Just ladies taking care of ladies, what could be better?)

15. All I Want (Is You) – amavyllis (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale don’t touch but that doesn’t mean they don’t want to. Oh, y’all, the longing. The LONGING. And the sheer ACHE of not being able to touch someone you would like to be physically close with. It is PAINFUL and it is GOOD and I am DYING.)

16. meantime i ask you to be my valentine (i’ll be your valentino) – hipsterchrist (T, the one that follows Saint Valentine’s Days through the ages. This one is really interesting, actually, and has one of the most eclectic collections of historical moments I’ve ever seen in one of these types of fics. That ending scene is on point, though; I spoil nothing but you guys TEARS. Of LAUGHTER. And also OVERWHELMED WITH EMOTION.)

SOUTH DOWNS

17. Let Me Live Here Ever – @moveslikebucky (T, the one where they’re soft and just talk about their feelings and smooch a lot. This one is part of a larger series but you don’t need to have read it to read this one. It is so very soft, y’all. So tender. I will never be over stories where they just lay in bed all day and revel in how they feel about each other and their life together.)

18. The Cottage, The Husbands – Dragonsquill (G, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale have a life in the South Downs and it is good. Featuring lots of cute little tableaus and some of the most fun OCs ever—Twelve in particular is a treat, she’s Crowley’s stylist and absolutely wonderful. The whole series is just FUN, it’s cute and casual and domestic and great.)

19. For All the Stars in Heaven – ausgezeichnet (@thebeatlesaremyboyband) (T, the one where Heaven and Hell need to shove off already. This one takes off almost without warning, and escalates rather quickly before a frankly genius solution to The Problem of Aziraphale and Crowley is found. I only deal in happy endings, so you KNOW it’s good for the husbands. Surprisingly good, in fact, I didn’t see it coming at all.)

20. Angel and Demon Teatime – @penig (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale entertain a few unwanted guests for a while. This one is really cool, with a lot of sensory details while Crowley and Aziraphale relive a lot of the sensations of Earth and bring them into the physical world for the spies Heaven and Hell sent after them to experience them, too. The spies are both precious, though in completely different ways, and the ways they go about changing through this visit are subtle but profound.)

21. The Tales of Eden Cottage – Jupiter_Ash (G, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale slowly settle into their new South Downs community. This one has a lot of fun OCs and some extremely touching stories (the one about Joshua in particular broke my heart in all the best ways). Their neighbors are a lot of fun and the fic in particular that has a facebook chat of their speculations on who the new guys moving into Eden Cottage are is fantastic.)

22. A Brand New Angle – @fallsouthwinter (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale pick a direction and gun it. Has first kisses, dancing, delightful neighbors, gardening—all the best ingredients for a heartwarming, satisfying South Downs romp. And this definitely is one—with some promising things to come, judging by the standalone in the same universe!)

23. A Safe Place for You – Vagabond (@waffleironbiddingwar) (M, the one where learning to receive love is a little bit harder lesson to take in than giving love. M for a humanly intimate scene that borders but does not cross into full smut, and an ethereally intimate scene that is weird and pretty. This whole thing is achingly poignant and heavy; every word drips with emotion and it’s both difficult and sweet, much like the subject matter, I suppose. A memorable and beautiful piece.)

24. Act of Service – @dietraumerei (T, the one where people think Aziraphale is Crowley’s sugar daddy. This one starts off hilarious and then slam-dunks itself right into the Feels Pile, with a side-helping of discussing dynamics and reaching acceptance. An instant classic and one I’ve definitely read more than a few times.)

POST-APOCALYPSE

25. Thou Knowest Us Happy – @mirrorleaf (T, the one where Gabriel gets the truth shoved directly into his face. This is a fic of a fic (the original I have not read bc it’s rated E and I can’t do that for personal reasons), and while this fic references its source quite a bit, it’s not confusing enough for the fic itself to be off-putting. In fact, it’s a gorgeous one-two punch to the throat: first, the Banishing of the Archangel Gabriel, which is INCREDIBLY satisfying; second, the Making Sense of It All, where Aziraphale and Crowley realize they’re truly free and start to explore the various contexts of their relationship, past and future, which is very sweet. A delectable little treat, all told.)

26. Courage – @mandysimo13 (G, the one that’s a good old-fashioned post-apocalypse love confession. There’s a cute little characterization of Courage woven throughout, because of course Crowley personifies the emotions he is or isn’t dealing with, but on the whole it’s adorable and intimate and cute.)

27. when the earth is trembling – @stammiviktor (T, the one where Crowley takes Aziraphale on an amazing date. Listen, I adore stories where Crowley falls to pieces under the weight of his love as much as the next dork, but Crowley delivering? Crowley being, if not confident, then at least secure in the choices he’s making? Crowley showing his angel a good time because he knows what his angel likes? SIGN ME UP, FAM. Especially if we still get Crowley coming a little undone at his attentions paying off in a hoped-for but still unexpected way (to him, anyway).)

28. Little Terrors – @runwiththisdinosaur (T, the one where Aziraphale is being more affectionate and Crowley is one hand-touch away from an aneurism. This one doesn’t pull away from Crowley’s all-consuming fear of Aziraphale Falling for loving him, and captures the messy feelings and hurt and heartbreak and healing these two getting their act together demands. Also Indian food.)

29. Forgiveness – @guanin (G, the one where Aziraphale has a well-deserved breakdown after Armageddon’t. This one is super-duper cathartic and has Aziraphale working through all of his hurt feelings and confusion over Heaven and how they treated him, and how he subsequently treated Crowley. Featuring a very patient Crowley and a very weepy Aziraphale and a lot of wondering about fate and choice.)

30. Of burnt books and courting Crowley – robynvite (T, the one where Aziraphale accidentally finds out Crowley’s in love with him and then sets out to properly woo him. I love fics where Aziraphale finally takes the initiative, and he does so with gusto. Anathema serves as a great sounding board and go-between for these lovestruck idiots, and Crowley not knowing how to handle Aziraphale being flirty is the best thing. Also, Aziraphale finds out they burned the second Agnes Nutter book and has an angelic come-apart.)

31. that I may hear my heart fall from your lips – song_of_fate (NR, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale get to be themselves at last. Y’all like awkward but shyly happy getting-together fics? Y’all like Greek vacations? Y’all like Anathema being a bro and Crowley being casual and Aziraphale being absolutely taken with him? You’ve found your fic, folks, and it’s not even finished yet. More softness to come!)

BUS RIDE/NIGHT BEFORE/HEAVEN AND HELL

32. please please please let me get what I want this time – @sarahbacou (NR, the one where Crowley is extremely tired and Aziraphale muses on their situation. The tone of this one is mournful and apprehensive, but ultimately tender as Aziraphale cares for an exhausted-to-the-point-of-delirium Crowley on the bus ride home. The scene after they get off the bus is just straight-up heartbreaking, there are no other words for it, but it ends hopeful, especially knowing what we know about canon.)

33. Ethereal Love – @mariannightroad (G, the one where trying to teach Aziraphale to sleep morphs into something a little bit more. The purest and sweetest of romances, the most sexless making love of all time (even for weird angel essence-touching, it’s pretty devoid of lust), and just really really Soft u guys.)

34. Long Night’s Journey Into Day – @whatawriterwields (T, the one where Aziraphale keeps watch through the night. This one is adorable and very tender, with a terrible nightmare and an amusing adventure involving remote tea-making and FEELINGS. Aziraphale loves Crowley so much.)

35. Maybe Tomorrow Will Be a Better Day (If You Let Me Look at Your Beautiful Eyes) – TheWinterSldier (T, the one where Aziraphale ponders about Crowley’s eyes while wearing his body. There’s some historical jumping but the majority of the story is focused on retelling Crowley’s trial from Aziraphale’s head, and the meal at the Ritz afterwards. There are a lot of emotions about Crowley’s eyes. Ironically, there were also a lot of emotions about my eyes. Or, rather, in my eyes. Just overflowing with feels.)

AU/UA

36. Hard Times – @northeasternwind (G, the one that’s the bandstand scene in the context of Speremint’s Reverse Omens AU. I love the characterizations of Anthony and Azirafell so much in this particular AU, and the building tension and sudden breaking of the dam at the end is exquisitely done.)

37. Rosemary and Sage – AJissoverytired (T, the one that’s based on the witch AU by masao-micchi and is PRECIOUS. Crowley is the Red Witch, a very famous and talented mage, who accidentally gets turned into a snake by a rival and winds up being found by Aziraphale, a mage-in-training who’s starstruck by the Red Witch. They strike up a familiar contract, with Crowley conveniently not letting Aziraphale know who he actually is, and enter the Completely Ridiculous Comedy of a pseudo-love square. The world is vibrant and fun, characterization is spot-on, and it’s so funny and sweet I’m dying. Worth the read 4000%.)

38. Only Love (Can Bring the Rain) – @soft-october-night (T, the fairy tale-ish AU featuring a sweet prince and his handsome gardener boy. Y’all. Y’ALL. Pining and childhood friends-to-lovers and class struggles and vegetable-growing contests and subterfuge, oH MY. The flavor of this one is Very Very Good, absolutely a gem.)

39. Running in the Shadows (Damn Your Love, Damn Your Lies) – @soft-october-night (M, the one that’s vaguely a Persuasion AU but is mostly a messy, emotional romance shoved into Regency decency. M for mentions of sexual activity that would most certainly overwhelm the sensibilities of a more delicate readership, but it’s not bad at all for a modern reader. I think soft_october might just own my soul, because HOT DANG, that is two AUs in a row that are scratching my itches in the best ways. The LONGING. The EMOTIONAL TURMOIL. The MASQUE BALL. The CLASS STRUGGLES. I have read it twice already and will definitely be coming back to it a lot, because there’s lots of meat on this here bone. Adam Young and Crowley’s relationship in particular is touching, and Crowley’s friendship with Anathema is top-notch.)

40. I have loved you (for a thousand years) – @asideofourown (T, the one where they’ve been dating the whole time but SOMEONE missed the memo. Classic miscommunication at its finest; Crowley’s chapter is painful enough with his pining and heartsick longing, but Aziraphale’s chapter knocks it out of the park with his perspective of actually being in a relationship with Crowley and the various misinterpretations that’s caused. They’re so stupid and I love them.)

41. Gravity – Emmbee_89 (T, the one where Crowley was Raphael and he and Aziraphale had (and have) a love so powerful Aziraphale created Time and they couldn’t be separated even after the Fall. Oh sweet Jebus and all his little elves, the tenderness and powerful heartbreak this one causes gave me actual physical pains. Bittersweet and lovely. I am so proud of them.)

42. The Love You Leave Behind – @gloriouscacophany (T, the one that’s a 1980s college AU where Aziraphale is studying abroad and Crowley is the singer of a rock band. This one is UNBELIEVABLY gorgeous. Listen, I don’t usually go in for human AUs, but this one caught me, hook, line, and sinker. The sensory details are lush (especially when Aziraphale is noticing Crowley, hoo boy) and the story has some built-in heartbreak that’s already paying off (hello, homophobia), but despite the incoming pain and torment, I have full faith and expectation of a great ride along the way. Truly spectacular.)

43. Pray For Us, Icarus – @seaskystone (G and T, the series where Crowley keeps reincarnating as a human and Aziraphale loves him. Listen, I know 90% of you already know this masterpiece, but for the 10% who don’t, this series will heck you up one side and down the other. It will drown you in sorrow so that the good moments are sweeter than air. It is so intense, so emotionally raw, so dadgum TENDER, I had no idea what to do with myself after I finished it. Like a cheese grater on a sunburn when it’s bad, like hot chocolate on a bitter cold day when it’s good. A fandom staple for sure, cathartic and satisfying as only successful recovery after a long, hard, difficult event can be.)

44. Magnesium and Oil – @quaidpoppinjack (T, the one that’s a monster hunter AU. The great thing about fandom is that sometimes people will make AUs you would never have thought of, but once you know of it, you need it desperately. In this one, instead of tempting and thwarting, Crowley and Aziraphale are tasked with gathering the escaped creatures of Eden and sending them either to Hell or Heaven to stock for the impending War. The worldbuilding is AMAZING, the little details are great (for those of you wanting Crowley in hunting leathers, welcome to the party), and the story itself is just good, okay. Great action, lovely plot.)

45. alpha centauri – @hyruling (T, the one where Aziraphale agrees to run away to Alpha Centauri during the Apocalypse. To my understanding, this work was previously deleted by the author, but I’m so glad it was brought back so I could read it, because two very scared, very piney idiots carving out a domestic life on a barren planet WITH A CAT is the jam I didn’t know I had. Watching them circle each other is great; watching it all come tumbling down when Plot happens is even better. It’s a happy ending, don’t get it twisted, but you always have to wade through the Bad before you get to the Good, after all. A lovely little piece, absolutely A+++.)

46. Truth Untold – GenericUsername01 (G and T, the series where Crowley was Raphael, Aziraphale was made to be his assistant, and holy crap on a STICK where to even start. The worldbuilding is INSANE, I love how the Archangels are described and go about their business (word to the wise, do NOT skip the prologue work, you miss all of the best context if you do). And if that’s not great enough, there’s a whole system of angel-devil nemesis pairs all over Earth, whom we get to meet when devils start wanting to repent. There’s baptism involved and it’s horrifying and heartbreaking. Not finished yet, but it’s ramping up. Also, Crowley is functionally blind, which is about to start causing some real humorous problems since no one else knows about it, certainly not Aziraphale.)

47. Take me to the room where the red’s all red (take me out of my head, that’s what I said) – @raiining (M, the one that’s a Dom/sub AU with gentle top Aziraphale and bottom Crowley. No real sexual elements in this one, but I can understand why the M is there, the subject matter might be a little Much for some people even if it is fairly chaste (if sensual). The dynamic between Crowley and Aziraphale is delicious af, especially when they’re snapping at each other and then later melting into each other. It’s just. So good.)

48. Take This Sinking Boat and Point it Home – sobakasu, sssnakelady (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale used to be the same being, and the combination of fundamental incompletion compounding with being in love is tearing Crowley apart at the seams. Darkly emotional and absolutely raw with feeling, quiet and powerful and subtle. Crowley is absolutely heartbreaking, but Aziraphale manages to bind it all up quite nicely—not perfectly, they’ll have to work at it, but sweetly and with perfect love.)

JUST SOFT

49. Three Unthwarted Wiles – @almaasi (G, the one where Aziraphale lets Crowley get away with a few things. Oh my heaven it’s so SOFT, I know that’s the point of this section but HRRGK. Crowley does so much for Aziraphale and Aziraphale returns the favor as often as he can and they just love each other so much I’m sobbing.)

50. The Original Bar Joke – @deathbycoldopen (T, the one where Crowley sees himself as the punch line in God’s big ineffable joke. Sad until finally it isn’t, but Crowley spilling the beans via joke-that-turns-into-scathing-self-reproach is a unique flavor I wasn’t expecting and it broke my heart. Absolutely wonderful.)

51. Love Stories – @just-quintessentially-me (G, the one where Aziraphale is the maudlin sad drunk. Guys, I’ll be real, the emotional payoff of this fic is sweet, but the real highlight for me is Aziraphale scolding a fire he accidentally sets, because nothing feels so Aziraphale as him being drunk off his wings and attempting to LECTURE a FIRE. Also Crowley’s reaction to Aziraphale setting a fire in the bookshop is…well, about how you’d expect. A fantastic little number I quite enjoy.)

52. no mind to lose – @saints-and-demons-preserve-us (T, the one where Aziraphale goes fast and Crowley is a mess. Starts with an ode to Crowley’s long hair, as it rightly should, and evolves into a rather adorable start-stop where Aziraphale engages in various touching activities and Crowley is doing his level best, bless him, to catch up and remember how limbs and lungs work. Precious.)

53. Alas, Poor Yorick! This Is Gonna Suck! – WhiteQueenWrites (T, the one where Crowley finds his perfect opportunity while teaching a theater class to the Them. Yes, it’s canon!verse, not an AU. Yes, Crowley and Aziraphale kiss while teaching Romeo and Juliet. Yes, it is exactly as adorable and tween-traumatizing as you would expect. It’s very fun!)

54. Divine Intervention (aka God Ships It) – @theladyzephyr (G, the one where God has had it up to HERE with two idiots stuck in denial. Oh, folks. This fic is a TEASE. This fic is TANTALIZING. This fic is INFURIATING. And it is so, so worth its weight in gold, because the moment of triumph is so unspeakably sweet. It’s so good, y’all. So good.)

55. Learning to Speak the Language of Flowers – @junkshop-disco (M, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale are orbiting closer. M for discussions of trauma, I think. I’m not sure if I have the words for this one but I’ll try anyway. It shifts between the night the world didn’t end and the events after, and the time Crowley and Aziraphale spent in the Dowling household, and the transitions between the two are so smooth sometimes it’s hard to catch which time period you’re in. The writing is emotive and beautiful, and the emotional impetus behind the fic is compelling. Highly, highly recommended.)

56. seasons, changes – @whatawriterwields (G, the one that cycles through four seasons of Crowley and Aziraphale’s new life in love. Gorgeous and descriptive and so sensory—it really captures a lot of the best parts of each season. And also it’s incredibly loving and I die.)

57. waking up to you – @whatawriterwields (G, the series that’s a collection of tender morning moments. Listen, this writer is the MASTER of tender fluff, and this series is overwhelming. I have had to physically clutch at my heart and wail at my ceiling because of how cute everything is. If you need a dose of fluff after reading something angsty, here’s your medicine.)

58. Nemo dat quod non habet – @liquidlyrium (T and M, the series that examines the aftermath of the trials in Heaven and Hell, and Crowley and Aziraphale have an actual conversation. M rating is just to be safe bc the makeouts can be intense, but it’s not bad. The stories are basically revolving around the same conversation from two different points; Aziraphale’s bit goes more into the kissy-kissy afterwards. Powerful and raw, but understated; there’s dignity in this series, and a good bit of playfulness. The writing carries itself exceptionally well.)

59. Where to Start – @freyjawriter24 (T, the one where Crowley’s almost kissed Aziraphale plenty of times through history. Oh, y’all. Crowley’s emotions are laid so bare. The longing is so good. The scenes are all pretty original and interesting, and you can get a good sense for what Aziraphale’s feeling in these moments, too. Top-notch.)

TOUCH-STARVED/BODY WORSHIP/WINGS

60. The Power of Touch – @wordsintimeandspace (T, the one where Crowley needs some tending to and Aziraphale is more than happy to do it. It’s lots of kissing and touching and it gets intense but not too sexual. Also some lovely communication and boundary negotiation and it’s great.)

61. show a little skin (baby I’m begging) – @summerofspock (T, the one where Crowley can barely handle seeing Aziraphale flash a little skin now and then. Oh, y’all, it’s so much fun. Crowley is in over his head, someone please help him. Ankles, collarbones, FOREARMS. Oh lawd.)

62. You’re the Only Prayer I Need – @kedreeva (G, the one where Crowley’s shedding and Aziraphale helps. Featuring an absurdly large bathtub, wing bathing, and finally the peeling of snakeskin, which sounds so intensely satisfying, tbh. Simple, companionable, and nice.)

63. Of Firsts and Foremosts – @kedreeva (T, the one where Crawly finds Aziraphale cornered by Ligur and steps in. This one has really interesting bits of lore stuffed into it and a sweetly cautious blooming camaraderie between Crawly and Aziraphale; on top of that, there’s cuddling and wing care and both are extremely good.)

64. At Least Eleven Second First Times – @enjambament (M, the one where Aziraphale has to get used to being on Earth in a body again. M for risqué elements that brush up against smut without crossing over. This one is all about feeling things, from emotional to physical sensations, and how Aziraphale is overwhelmed by it all, but there’s also bits of the inherent diversity of the world and the significance of being able to feel things and on top of being secondhand-overstimulated, it drops you directly into Feels Town and it’s delicious.)

BONUS

65. a snake by any other name – @asideofourown (G, the one where Crowley’s snake form is spotted by a herpetology student and an unlikely companionship is struck. This one is from the view of an OC and is really cute, involving Crowley growing fond of a human with proper appreciation for serpentine charms. Also the OC and her girlfriend have a fun argument about what Crowley actually is and it’s adorable.)

66. Always Trust a Dog’s Judge in Character – notebooksandlaptops (T, the one where Warlock moves back to his London home and starts building a life. This one is so good, y’all; adult (ish, he’s nineteen) Warlock is such a delight and you can see Nanny Ashtoreth’s influence all over him. It’s even better when he meets Adam and forms the biggest crush known to man (good thing it’s reciprocated, that would have been awkward), and befriends the rest of the Them (Pepper in particular is to be feared and respected). A fic about growing up and finding yourself, and I love where it’s going.)

H/C /WHUMP/BAMF

67. In Peace I Will Both Lie Down and Sleep – @fizzybiscuits (G, the one where Aziraphale is having nightmares. This fic feels so organic—like a logical continuation of the show, or at least one of many directions it could take. Aziraphale having vivid bad dreams and NOT TALKING ABOUT IT is so on-brand, and Crowley getting worried out of his gourd is also on-brand. Vulnerable and sweet and soft, once the nightmares are dealt with.)

68. A Touch Like Sunlight – @just-quintessentially-me (T, the one where Crowley acts the hero like an idiot. This is Crowley’s vengeance against the Archangels and it’s heart-pounding; of course stuff goes off the rails pretty quickly, but even the stuff that goes right has tension in it. A great adventure, with an appearance from BAMF!Aziraphale.)

69. Chokecherry – unsmilingchuck (T, the one where Crowley helps clean up Aziraphale’s hands after a frankly awful punishment from Heaven. This fic feels calm, maybe more so when it’s revealed what it’s in the aftermath of, and Crowley is very methodical and meticulous in his care. It’s clear how much they care about each other and that’s always the jam.)

70. Thus saith the Lord – @themanicmagician (T, the one where angels can be drafted into Her service like a hive mind. Oh, folks, you want historical pain? You want emotional torment? You want a thrilling chase and a tender aftercare and a triumphant victory? You want to be in your friend’s house and hear the Plagues song from Prince of Egypt and almost have a complete breakdown bc you’re reliving this fic? Then join me in singing this one’s praises, because it delivers. It does not let up even for a second, once it gets going. This is probably one of the darkest fics I’ve ever read, but the ending balances it out. It’s great.)

71. In Somnis Veritas – PinkPenguinParade (T, the one where Aziraphale volunteers to help Crowley with his nightmares. Oh, y’all. Y’all, this one is so good. Just two immortal beings, working through their various traumas together. There’s pain and healing and a beautiful, beautiful ending. This fic hits all the right notes, it’s splendid.)

72. Incongruous States of Being – @zehwulf (T, the one where Aziraphale is a BAMF and that was never truly up for debate. Featuring an argument meant mostly for fun, and then a fight meant mostly for not-fun. Protective Aziraphale through the roof, gang. Very, very good. The tension is exquisite, and the characterizations are perfection. A wonderful take on Aziraphale and his abilities.)

73. Aim Your Arrow At The Sky – @trellanyx (T, the one where Aziraphale is a warrior and don’t you forget it. Warnings for some pretty graphic violence. This fic is not epic-length but it is epic-scope; it’s downright cinematic. The details are so crisp and the action so well-described, and threaded through it all is fierce, tender, desperate love. A wonderful read, especially if you want to see two particular Archangels get theirs.)

#good omens #good omens fic recs #mega gomens fic rec list #and now i sleep for a week #found a lot of these during a week i was off of work #gosh i read SO MUCH that week #i am DONE reccing fic in this format for a while #fulfilling but exhausting u kno

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slytherflynn · 4 years

Text

The Return of Slytherflynn | Witch Weekly No. 1

Salutations, witches and wizards! Slytherflynn here. I haven’t posted on this account in a long time. My reason? Actually, there are a few. I’ll get to those soon. Today I’m going to give you an introduction to me, discuss why my exodus happened, and what this blog will consist of moving forward. Let’s jump right in!

Who Is Slytherflynn? Who else? My name’s Eden, but my last name is Flynn, hence the username. I am a Slytherin primary, Hufflepuff secondary. My patronus is a dolphin, so that’s pretty cool. I’m mixed, but live the life of a white girl because I look white and don’t care to argue with people about my DNA. I enjoy elevating underrepresented voices, and will go to any length to protect the unprotected. I’d consider myself to be a humanitarian. I know people despise labels, but I believe choosing labels wisely can give others a great insight into who you are as a person, so here are some labels I identify with: Bisexual, Androgynous, BLM Ally, Liberal, Socialist, University Student, Abuse Survivor, ADHD, Excoriation Disorder, OCD, Depression, PTSD, [an] Attachment Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder, Tacoman, Creator. There are plenty more I could throw out there, but those in particular are important to me. Make of them what you will, but know that I am not ashamed of any of those. I am going to open a nonprofit center supporting POC Youth and connected communities in art and education, but I also want to do everything. Now that you know about me...

Who Are You? Yes, you, reading this paper! What do we have in common? Different? What makes you special, and what makes you the same? What communities are you tied to? Tell me in the replies!

My Magical Journey I grew up in a dreadfully muggle world. My mother, also a muggle, delighted in Harry Potter, as did my brothers. I was resolutely a Harry Potter hater, and thought they were too fangirly, but when Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince came out and I saw Louis Cordice portray Blaise Zabini, everything changed. I may or may not have gone off the deep end and started fangirling over him - what? He’s attractive, okay? But I did end up reeling myself in, as having unrealistic fictional crush is one thing, but thirsting for an unattainable person who probably is married with a kid by now is another, and I didn’t want to get to a point where I was fetishizing someone rather than admiring them for their skills and unique perspective on the world. He did notice my thirsting though, and thought it was funny! So no harm, no foul as far as I’m concerned. Absolute win! Anyways, after becoming a fan of him, Tumblr let me know that there was more content about Blaise Zabini in the books than the movies, so what did I do? Commit to reading all seven, because my ADHD said so and would rather do that than homework. Eventually, I started up this side blog so my main blog wouldn’t be so flooded with hp content. I have written quite a few fics, all appropriate, all probably trash because most of them were written in my junior year of high school, all available for you to read. I ought to make a masterlist for my work, now that I think about it. Anyways, you can find that content and other fun stuff under the tag #slytherflynn so check that out for some light, probably shitty reading!

Why I Left At some point, I decided not to post as much, and went from 100 to 0, real quick. I have a bunch of unfinished writing in my drafts, and I’m not really sure how to start up everything again, but I know I want to, because writing and creating is such a passion of mine, and so is Harry Potter. Part of the reason I left was because I’m a perfectionist and felt this need to make every post perfect, my feed perfectly curated, everything perfectly on time, and I ended up holding myself to a standard that I just can’t meet - no human could, not even Hermione Granger, as evidenced in Prisoner of Azkaban. It took a long time to come back to this blog because I burnt myself out, truth be told. That perfectionism carries over into every aspect of my life - I did mention I want to do everything, after all - and I ended up piling so much up that I couldn’t get all of it done. I felt guilty every time I thought about this blog, because I had so many faithful followers that I essentially abandoned without warning, and I know feeling abandoned isn’t a good feeling. That, and I still couldn’t shake the shame surrounding the fact that I wasn’t posting content every week despite my want to. I even considered deleting this blog! Sorry to anyone who was waiting for me to post hp content on my main account ( @id-rather-be-an-outsider ), I got too anxious to do that, even.

Seeing the Future I’m not skilled at Divination, but I can confirm that I will be making an official return to this blog - complete with Witch Weekly articles whenever I have updates to give! I have at least one short fic finished that I’d like to create a moodboard for and post on here sometime soon. This time around, I’m only going to be posting when I really want to so I’m not putting any pressure on myself, and I’m going to open up asks for you guys to request writing for pairings (note that I do not write smut), as well as giving you guys the opportunity to submit stories - my goal for submissions is to elevate PoC and other voices the masses don’t usually hear, and I encourage those who do submit to always self-promote in their author’s note! You can find the guidelines for post submissions on my submission section :)

Goodbyes Since we are reaching the end of this article, I’m going to be officially saying goodbye to: negativity, destructively high and unrealistic expectations, anxiety, writer’s block, artist’s block, fear of under 10 notes (notes shouldn’t matter, but yakno, there’s still gonna be that part of me that knows bad writing probably won’t be getting 10 notes so it’s still... scary), fear of unfair criticisms, defensiveness... and hello to: creativity, letting our hair down, wearing our glasses, posts on the witching hour, going to bed early instead of staying up late to force out a piece, perfectly imperfect writing, pretty moodboards, and making mistakes! Hope to see you all soon with a post, and Happy Pride! My city’s official Pride month is July so I get to celebrate Pride twice, lucky me!

be loving <3 - slytherflynn

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jackiesarch · 5 years

Text

be alright

Rook’s lived a lot of places, but she thinks Hope County may be the strangest. It’s massive, geographically, spread out across the Henbane, the Whitetails, Holland Valley – she’s been here for months, and she still doesn’t think she’s seen half of it all. She’s not quite sure she ever will.

Despite its size, though, she’s learned that Hope County gives off just as many small town vibes as the tiny place she grew up. Everyone knows everyone, whether personally or in passing, and Rook can’t go anywhere without hearing what is, quintessentially, the latest town gossip.

Needless to say, word travels fast between members of the Resistance. It gives her an edge up on Eden’s Gate, most days, an internal surveillance system that tells her about the Seeds’ comings and goings.

You hear the commotion out at Seed Ranch? she hears one evening as she wanders past a group of Resistance members chatting just inside the outpost at Kellett Cattle Co. Looks like some of the Peggies are finally seein’ the light.

“What’s that?” Rook asks, before she can even stop herself.

“Oh, hey, Dep,” one of the men says. Rook has never been good with names, but she thinks his may be Eric. “I was just sayin’ it looks like there may be more defectors out there than we thought.

“What do you mean?”

“Word is John Seed’s got a bit of a mutiny on his hands. Couple Peggies went rogue this morning, shot the place up,” Eric says. He leans up against the wall of the building next to him and crosses his arms over his chest. “’Course, that didn’t last too long.”

Rook’s stomach twists unpleasantly at the thought of a gunfight inside John’s home. Her next words, her tone, they all need to be carefully regulated – Kim Rye is the only one who knows about her indiscretions with John Seed. She’d like to keep it that way as long as she possibly can.

“Any word on his status?” Rook asks. Her voice is cool, detached, clinical – none of it betraying the anxiety curling inside her.

“Nothing, really,” Eric shrugs. “Friend of mine in the area says he may have been hit. No one knows for sure. Be crazy if one of his own people ended up doing your job for you, huh, Dep?”

Rook smiles weakly, tries not to fidget as the panic rises.

“Wild.”

She says goodbye, grabs her rifle, and leaves the outpost with her jaw clenched so hard she might chip a tooth.

-----

There’s a roadblock just outside of Nick Rye’s place, close enough to John’s ranch that it can’t be a coincidence that it wasn’t there before today. Rook pauses from a couple hundred feet away, hidden by foliage and the thick brush where she crouches.

Instinct tells her to take it quietly. She lingers there in the bushes, rifle clasped in her hands, watching the Peggies patrol their little setup. She should get her binoculars out, map each of them out, come up with a strategy.

Instead, she shoulders the rifle and moves quietly though the trees, keeping her eyes on the men. There are four of them, one heavily armoured, the others carrying machine guns. Rook gets the angle on the armoured one. He paces back and forth behind the truck parked in the middle of the road.

Her body is thrumming with adrenaline. Part of it, she thinks, is the anxiety, the fear, the not knowing about whether or not John is okay. The other part is a fervent anger that’s been building up inside her since she arrive in Hope County.

John is right – she is wrath incarnate, and she is about to prove it.

Rook darts out from the treeline, hardly making a sound as she heads toward him. Then she is on him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, the bulk of his bulletproof vest digging into her stomach. Rook squeezes, twists, and the man sputters, searching for air. Then—

Snap.

He goes limp in her arms and Rook drops him, his body thumping satisfyingly against the sidewalk. She has tried to be silent, but the commotion has alerted the dead man’s friends, and before she knows it Rook is crouching behind the truck to avoid a spray of bullets.

One of the men turns the corner, machine gun aimed at her face, and Rook lunges, fists flying and nails clawing at him. She tears at his skin, his hair, lands a solid right hook against the side of his face and feels his nose break beneath the blow. He reaches for her throat, his gun clattering to the asphalt, and when Rook looks in his eyes she sees complete and unfiltered fury.

She smashes her head into his. He crumples, and pain radiates through Rook’s temple. Not her best work, but it’s done the job.

The other two are easy to take out – they’re rookies, new recruits, and they put up a good fight, but Rook is faster, stronger, angrier. Blood dripping into her eyes, she grabs one of them by the hair and slams his face into the concrete beneath her feet. He doesn’t get up again.

The last one is scared as she rounds on him. He steps backwards, makes to run away, but Rook’s hand is on the grip of her 1911. There’s one shot, clean and quick and echoing loudly, and the guy drops. There’s a hole in his chest and his breaths gurgle in his chest as his lungs fill with blood, but Rook doesn’t hear him.

She stands in the middle of the roadblock, observing the carnage, and takes a deep breath. The world around her smells clean, crisp, metallic with the blood of the four dead men.

Her eyes flick toward the direction of the ranch. Rook wipes the blood from her forehead, shoves her handgun back into her thigh holster, and keeps moving.

------

By the time she sneaks past the guards stalking the outside perimeter and into the ranch through a laughably unattended open window, Rook feels like she’s been hit by several different vehicles. She tastes blood and dirt in her mouth, aches everywhere, and is pretty sure she might have a concussion.

Taking on four armed men on her own may have been a poor choice, in hindsight, but she’s never claimed to be the most brilliant woman alive.

Rook creeps up the stairs, familiar enough with them now that she knows what spots to avoid, knows which steps will creak under her weight. At the landing, she peers down the hallway. John’s bedroom door is open, which means he’s likely not there, but the bathroom door is shut, dim light peeking out from the crack at the bottom.

Only John uses John’s bathroom.

Heart in her throat, she takes quiet, hesitant steps down the hallway until she’s standing outside the bathroom door, wondering if this has been a terrible mistake. She shouldn’t be here. Her knees ache like she’s run twelve miles, and stiffness is starting to gnaw at the base of her spine. Her eyes feel gritty each time she blinks.

She is tired and afraid, but she needs to see him. She needs to see if he is okay. Besides –- being in the wrong place is a specialty of hers.

Her stomach twists as she reaches out to rap her knuckles gently against the door. Through the wood, she can hear John moving around in the bathroom. The muffled sounds of running water stop abruptly, and she imagines his slender fingers twisting at the knobs of the sink’s faucet. Rook sees the handle twist before she hears the door click open, and then John is standing in front of her.

He is shirtless but wearing sweat pants, his hair wet and his beard neatly trimmed. She is struck all at once by how normal he looks.

“You’re really starting to make me question my home security, my dear.”

He means it as a joke – the corner of his lip is tugging upwards – but Rook doesn’t laugh. Instead, she swallows thickly and follows the lines of his body, her eyes fixed on the spot a few inches from his belly button where a thin piece of gauze is taped. His ribs are a canvas full of purples and blues, mottled skin that proclaims he’s been hit by something.

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you, of course, but is there a particular reason you’ve broken in tonight?”

“Are you all right?” Rook asks quietly. Her voice sounds a million miles away, even to her.

John stares at her like he doesn’t understand what she’s asking, eyes raking her up and down.

“Am I—Rook, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

The question isn’t one she was expecting. Rook wonders what she must look like for him to ask that, for him to use her name instead of one of his sickeningly sweet pet names. She knows that her hair is a disaster, stiff with dried blood and dirt - the rest of her can’t be much better. She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing.

John reaches out, and his fingers brush against her elbow.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

Each step toward him feels like a light year away, but somehow Rook manages to get there. She crowds him up against the bathroom counter, places a hand gently on his side. His skin is smooth and warm. He smells clean.

John cups the side of her face in his hand, then lets his fingers spider upwards toward her scalp, where her hair is matted with blood.

“Is this your blood?”

Rook doesn’t actually know. Every part of her hurts, so it may very well be. She doesn’t speak but instead shrugs, reaching out to wrap her arms around him. One of his hands settles on her back, the other splayed across the back of her head. For a moment, she feels safe. Calm. She forgets that her head is pounding, that her lips are dry and cracked, that her stomach aches. She forgets the anxiety thrashing around inside her chest. John kisses her forehead.

“I should go,” Rook says abruptly. She pulls herself out of the embrace and stares up at him. “I need to shower. And you’re probably tired. You should go to bed.”

She doesn’t know why she’s trying to push him away. Every part of her screams to stay here, to stay wrapped in his arms, quiet under the sickly glow of the bathroom lights.

Staying, though, means she has to put a name to the feeling that drove her all the way here in the first place. Staying means she has to confront it. Rook doesn’t know if she can do it.

John makes the decision for her, his voice gentle and his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear.

“Let me help, darling.”

His hands go to the hem of her shirt and he tugs, up past her ribs, bunching under her shoulders until she lifts her arms and lets him pull it over her head. The shirt falls silently to the bathroom floor. Rook starts to wriggle out of the embrace to help him but John doesn’t let her get very far before he’s gripping her tighter.

Goosebumps prickle at her skin as he reaches behind her to unhook her bra. He slips the straps from her shoulders, presses feather-light kisses across the line of her collarbone, tosses the garment on the floor next to her shirt. The dirty jeans come next. There’s a new tear in the knee that Rook doesn’t notice until the denim pools around her ankles and her toes catch in the rip. How has she managed to do that?

John finally lets her go. He steps toward the shower and twists the water on, and Rook, watching, strips away her underwear. Her pile of clothes tell a story – a horror story, full of blood and fear and terror. The memory of the evening makes her grind her teeth together. She thinks she can feel tiny pieces of dirt between her molars, gritty and sour.

“Get in,” John encourages, once the water is hot and steam is billowing from the stream.

It looks inviting. Rook pads toward the shower and slips under the warm spray, and John joins her a moment later, slipping in behind her, a warm weight against her back. The water drills against her chest, her arms, her shoulders, and for a moment, Rook feels better than she has in months.

John’s hands come to her shoulders and squeeze, kneading the muscles, his thumbs pressing firmly into the back of her neck. She leans back against him and sighs. Water runs down her face, her chest and her belly in rivers, the blood and dirt melting from her skin like hot wax, spiraling down the drain. She feels John move, and then he is scrubbing shampoo into her hair with the tips of his fingers, gently, because he still doesn’t know if the blood in her hair is hers. It must be, because his fingers brush against a spot near her temple so tender that it makes her flinch. The shampoo stings.

“You should have gotten someone to stitch this up,” John murmurs. Rook can barely hear him over the rush of the water, but she feels him run a finger along what must be a cut about an inch long. “Does it hurt?”

“Stings,” she says, “but it’s fine.”

The gentle scrubbing is hypnotic. Rook feels as though she might fall asleep standing up and is grateful that John is behind her to keep her on her feet. He scratches at her scalp gently, then turns her so her back is facing the water. Rook tips her head back and lets the shampoo run down her back, splattering against the shower floor. Her eyes are closed, but she feels John lean forward to kiss the hollow of her throat, the side of her neck, the corner of her mouth.

She feels at home here, in this moment, soap dripping from the ends of her hair and John’s breath against her cheek. Rook noses in a little until their lips meet, and they kiss a few times, slow, lazy, peaceful. The panic that’s kept her on her toes all day has left her now, and her mouth starts to go slack halfway through because she is so tired, and John laughs, reaching up to scrub the last of the shampoo from her hair.

“You okay?” he asks. She opens her eyes and follows the lines of John’s face. His eyes are a bright blue, his expression soft as he watches her.

“Tired,” she admits.

They spend another ten, maybe fifteen minutes in the shower. Rook can’t be sure how much time goes by exactly, but the water starts to run cold just after John finishes cleaning her skin with nicely scented soap. She rinses and shuts the shower off.

Rook can’t map the journey from the shower to John’s bed. Things are starting to move in slow motion, like a movie montage of the mundane moments of her life. Somehow, she ends up cloaked in one of John’s shirts, curled under the blankets with him pressed up against her back.

She was calm in the shower, but now her mind is racing again, filling in all the blanks she’s desperately been trying to ignore.

“You—I thought you were dead,” she says warily, suddenly wide awake. Her eyes are burning. “They said—.”

John sighs. He pulls at her hip gently, his fingers pressing into a spot that hurts enough that Rook thinks it may be bruised. She rolls over, runs her fingers along the clean gauze patch that John must have applied during their transition from bathroom to bed. Rook wants to peel the tape back, wants to see exactly what was done to him, how bad it really looks.

“I’m fine, darling.”

“I know,” Rook says, “but for a minute, you weren’t. You were dead.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, staying uncharacteristically quiet as he reaches out to brush her wet hair from her face. John has always liked to touch, tactile like no one else she has ever met. His fingers linger next to the ear he tucks her hair behind, then skim down her cheek to the line of her collarbone. Eventually, he grabs her hand and slides it up to his chest. His pulse thuds under her palm.

“I’m here,” John murmurs. “Just a scratch, darling. You haven’t lost me yet.”

Rook chokes out a shaky laugh, splaying her fingers wider, feeling his heartbeat steady and constant beneath her skin.

“I’m sorry,” she says eventually, curling tighter against him. “This is embarrassing.”

If the Resistance could only see her now — at her least heroic, skin pale and hands shaking, wrapped up in the enemy’s arms. Rook’s tried to plan out all the ways that this holy war might end.

This was never one of them.

“Shh,” John quiets her, threading his arms tightly around her and pulling her close to him. “Everything is all right now. You need to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Rook is grateful that he hasn’t decided to press her. John is always seeking answers, always seeking the truth, always seeking confessions. For once, it is comforting to see him simply be.

Her hands slip around him, reveling in his warmth. John settles one hand on the small of her back, warm and steady, and runs the fingers of the other through her hair. Rook savours every touch, every brush of skin against skin. Eventually, she starts to drift off, her head tucked neatly under John’s chin.

It may be her imagination, but she thinks she hears John speak just before she falls over the precipice and into unconsciousness.

“I won’t leave you.”

#john seed #far cry 5 #my writing #far cry 5 fic #john seed x female deputy #john seed x deputy #sure didn't plan on writing this but here we are!!!#soft john

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roundtableknight · 5 years

Text

Neil’s List

Summary: Neil was many things, but he wasn’t a snitch.

Okay, so I’m going to preference this fic to say this is the first Andreil fic I’ve written, though I read dozens of them, so I know it’s not the most eloquent writing, but tell me if you like! It’s a little thing I was thinking about with Neil bringing up a little about his mom and Andrew being there. Talks about abuse a bit, so just a warning, but not much. Enjoy!

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Neil Josten was a lot of things.

For one, he could be labeled multiple different Surnames: Wesninski, Hatford, or as he is now, Josten.

He could be described anywhere between ‘Exy Junkie’ to ‘Cute’ by his teammates (though Nicky couldn’t say that anymore, not unless he wanted a knife to one of his oh so precious lungs). And could tick off a full application of past problems that would get him signed up to see a psychiatrist faster than Kevin slamming drinks on a particular problematic night.

He was a poster child for so many issues, one didn’t understand how he still didn’t have an offer for the job yet.

Though the list is seemly endlist, Neil could count on one thing he wasn’t, something that he indeed prided himself on. Neil Josten wasn’t a snitch.

He respected other people’s privacy for two reasons. One, he didn’t really care about their life, unless it had something to do with Exy, or included a certain team they all hated, though it had gotten significantly better after a certain someone’s death that occurred after the championship game. Secondly, Neil had too much shit to deal with himself to even think about other people’s problems, not when you had an oh so long list to take care of yourself.

However, this agreement to stay out of people’s issues only went one way. For some reason or another, Neil found himself being asked out to the movies by the upperclassmen and late night card games (cue the endless betting). The ‘Monsters’ were more lax, but Nicky still wanted to go shopping every once in awhile to get clothes since he was a poor soul without Eric, and had nothing to do besides go down to Eden’s Twilight. Kevin, of course, berated his ass when he thought Neil hadn’t put enough effort, or concussions, in for the day, and therefore was constantly in his space about things; something Neil was still trying to get used to even after all this time spent with him.

The only two people that let him be were Arron and Andrew. Him and Arron had a sort of unspoken agreement to stay out of each other’s lives unless something caused for serious alarm, and them they would find themselves banding together for that short period of time. Andrew, on the other hand, was for a completely different reason.

They knew most of each other’s history by now, and knew what was appropriate to have a conversation about and what would start a mental breakdown on either fronts. So it wasn’t a surprise to have them both standing on the roof and not a word spoken to each other for the past twenty minutes. It was a comfortable silence; Andrew taking a drag of his cigarette and Neil inhaling the secondhand smoke coming from it. It reminded him of his mother, which happened less and less often now that he had better memories to put that lingering smell to, ones which happened to be about a certain blonde who would periodically say to him that he ‘hated him’, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Though, since that smell brought him back to his memories of Mary, he started to remember some of the hell she put him through to keep him safe, and what she endured in return. Neil never talked about his mom to anyone, since Andrew would call him an idiot and get a dead look in his eyes that could only be attributed to him thinking that Mary was better off dead than alive. Andrew wasn’t completely wrong on that part, but Neil couldn’t think about his childhood without his mother becoming tangled into it now could he.

“Your going to give yourself permanent brain damage from thinking too hard Josten, leave your brain trauma on the court where you can feign innocence for someone else smashing you into a wall.” Andrew released his cigarette to the floor and ground his boat into it, signaling the peace and quiet to be over.

“Hmm, I can think of a few times where I didn’t ask them to send me up against the plexiglass, but my memory isn’t the same as it used to be.”

“Idiot”

“Huh, I do believe that my memory recalls something along the lines of that statement being said to me before”. Neil looked over at Andrew, who was now leaning his hip against the side of the brick and facing towards Neil. Neil smiled cheekily at Andrew and got in return a look of pure loathing, which made Neil laugh and hold out his hand.

“Yes or No?”

Andrew looked down at Neil’s hand and sighed, but grabbed it and pulled Neil towards him; looking amused as Neil stumbled a bit from the unexpected closeness that Andrew was allowing, not that Neil was complaining or anything.

“Hi”. He said, after he got his footing and had wrapped his arms around Andrew, looking up at him, while Andrew sighed again and took his one hand to Neil’s chin, silently asking for permission.

“It’s always a yes”. He whispered as Andrew grumbled ‘idiot’ before capturing Neil’s lips with his own.

Kissing Andrew was always an experience; one Neil never truly knew if he deserved or not. He never believed he would care for someone so deeply as he did with Andrew, especially with the way his mom raised him.

They broke from the kiss after some time, with Neil’s lips a darker shade of red now and Andrew looking as usual like nothing had occurred between them. They both turned to face out from the roof and let go of each other, though still continuing to hold hands; Andrew’s warm hand to Neil’s colder one, since it was cooling down outside and he was not quite smart enough to remember a jacket.

Neil began to speak as they watched the lights from the campus start to shut off, the students going to bed, hopeful for a couple hours of sleep before waking up to brave the new day.

“I was thinking..”

“I could tell.” Andrew retorted to Neil, making him huff an exasperated sound and push his shoulder against Andrew; which earned him a flick to the forehead but an otherwise quiet Andrew.

“As I was saying, I was thinking about how different things are now, with having a relationship for once in my life.” Neil had taken a long time to admit that to not only himself but also out loud. He was grateful that Andrew understood the fear he had to overtake to speak like that, because all he did was give Neil a squeeze of his hand, letting him know he was not only listening, but was okay with the term being casually used.

“I don’t think I would have had anything close to this if Mary was still here, probably a hand hard across the face.” Neil felt more than saw Andrew’s demeanor change. Not in his facial expression, but in the way his stance changed, like he was getting ready to fight, or knife, someone that he didn’t approve of.

“Ah, you know how much I don’t like that name.” Andrew said as he looked over at Neil, giving him a hint of a fake smile.

‘It’s just…” Neil faltered, not knowing exactly how to phrase this, “sometimes I wonder if you deserve to be with someone better, you know, not someone as fucked up as me. If my mother would have gotten it through my head a little bit more, to not be with anyone, if she wouldn’t have died so soon. She got it through to my ribs, but it never fully settled in my head.”

Neil looked down at his crappy running shoes and wondered how Andrew would take the information he offered him. He spoke truth that Mary had abused him, but never in the context of full body harm. He didn’t know if Andrew would be angry for not telling him this sooner, but it was good to have it off his chest.

The next thing he knew he had a stern hand on the back of his neck and his face was tilted up to meet Andrews a good half-foot apart.

“This is why you’re an idiot, I’m glad Mary didn’t beat it all the way through your obnoxiously thick skull, because then I couldn’t hate you like I do right now.” Andrew’s face depicted very little, but his eyes were fierce. Neil would have to bet, (this one time), that if Mary was still alive Andrew would be at her doorstep in a heartbeat with his black bands on his arms and knives in hand.

Neil smiled at the remark and leaned into Andrew for another kiss; this one harsher than the last, but he didn’t mind. It grounded him that he was in the present, and didn’t have to think about the what ifs of his and Mary’s life if she had survived.

When they broke apart, Andrew flicked Neil in the forehead one more time for good measure, then walked back to the door leading into the building. Andrew knew that Neil needed time to just think alone, and he added that to the list of things he loved about him.

As Neil sat there, he realized he just snitched on his (dead) mother for what she did to him, but he didn’t feel guilty. He knew that talking about to Andrew meant it wasn’t going to get out into the public. Instead he felt relieved, and knew he had to add another thing to his list.

#aftg #andreil #Andreil fic #small fic #i love these boys

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moveslikebuckywrites · 5 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Original Characters Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff Series: Part 4 of Ineffable Outliers Weekly Prompts Summary:

A day in the life of a certain angel and demon, a little over a year after the failed apocalypse. Featuring a visit to a coffee shop and a visit to a little Greek restaurant called the Olive Grove.

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This is a prompt fill for the Ineffable Outlier’s Weekly Prompts! This week’s prompt was:

It's a typical, mundane Post-End of the World day for any set of Gomens characters. How does this nice slice of life day go for them? How do the characters react to each other doing everyday trivialities such as washing dishes, gardening, shopping/running errands, etc. etc. Try to focus on the little things in life!

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10:17AM

Crowley almost didn’t like coming back to this place.

Sure, the coffee was great (large black, two sugars, every time, without him asking), and the baristas were some of the best in London (their sarcastic attitudes being a bonus, not a drawback), but the location. Well, the location left a lot to be desired.

Because this particular coffee shop was in Broadgate Tower. Main Earth location of the head offices of Heaven and Hell.

Not people he particularly wanted to be around these days.

Sure, they had formed a tenuous partnership with their former offices. Turns out, nobody upstairs or down knew jack shit about how things work on Earth. So now, they freelance. Sometimes the old Arrangement even kicks in, and Hell will (reluctantly) hire Aziraphale for a temptation or Heaven will (reluctantly) hire Crowley for a blessing.

Kind of ironic, in that Alanis Morissette kind of way.

They’d just come from one such meeting, Heaven was hiring the both of them for some minor blessings in Wales next week. Something to do with a charity soccer game or something, Crowley never paid much attention. Spent too much time glaring at Gabriel to listen to him. He’d really just wanted to get the heav-hel-WHATEVER out of there and go get his angel some lunch, but the silly featherhead wanted cocoa.

Oh, but dearest, they make the best cocoa here at the towers, Aziraphale had said, practically bouncing, they have the tiny little marshmallows I love and everything!

That’s where the ‘almost’ came in. As anyone who knew them would gladly tell you, Crowley was powerless to resist any request from his angel.

Hand in hand in a line full of business suits to get some much-needed warmth for this December chill. He recognized a couple of the baristas (1); Rose had really come into her own, was one of the best of them by now. She was working register today; Jisel was making the drinks. Couple of new faces here and there.

One would probably expect Aziraphale to know everyone by name, it came across through his sunny disposition. Sometimes, especially mundane times like this, Crowley would be struck by just how ridiculously in love with this fussy angel he was.

Sure, they were married now. Even their former bosses knew that had happened (2). But seeing the angel’s eyes light up over his favorite cocoa from his favorite coffee shop was almost a religious experience for the demon. Or how he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand right now that the angel would squeeze back without hesitating and turn and give Crowley that soft little smile that was reserved just for him.

He tested that theory. Squeeze the hand, he squeezes back, and there’s the smile I love so much.

It was all unbearably sentimental. Made his insides feel all gooey. Unbecoming for a demon. Not that he gave a toss about that anymore.

“Hullo Mr. Crowley; Mr. Fell,” said Rose, now masterful at the register, “Same as always for today?”

“Yes, of course my dear,” Aziraphale said brightly, “With– ”

“Extra marshmallows, of course.” Rose smiled at them and Crowley could already feel Aziraphale blessing the rest of the baristas’ day.

Rose handed Crowley his coffee and they moved along to the end of the counter to wait for Aziraphale’s cocoa; leaning against the bar top with their shoulders touching. It was ridiculous how something so small made Crowley want to melt into a puddle of snake on the floor and slither off someplace secluded to scream and blush in peace, dammit.

Aziraphale sighed, “You know, Darling, it might not be the best idea, but in some small way I’m glad we’re freelancing now.”

“You just wanted to keep getting your cocoa, Angel,” Crowley said, bumping his shoulder into the angel’s, “which really, you could do anywhere.”

“Oh, but it just isn’t the same, Dearest.” Always with the pet names. It had taken Crowley quite a while to get used to them, felt like there was a new one every day and he couldn’t keep up. Every single one was infused with so much love and devotion they nearly knocked him off his feet.

“If I’m being honest, it’s the marshmallows,” the angel said wistfully, smiling at a memory, “Remember when we went back to Paris, after the Reign was over? And we found that quaint little candy shop and they were selling marshmallows there? I swear the marshmallows here taste exactly the same as those.”

“They’re probably just some megamart brand that you haven’t tried yet.”

“I-well, I never...A megamart, Dearest?” The angel stammered, “As though I’d ever. The sheer thought-“

“I’m only teasing you, Love,” Crowley said before leaning over and planting a kiss on the angel’s cheek, “You do get so cute when you’re full of that self-righteous fury.”

That earned him an eye roll. He knew what he had to do for these little reactions he so loved (3).

Little reactions he never thought he’d have. For the longest time, Aziraphale had been just a little too far from his reach, and just a little too in Heaven’s grasp. The angel had held Crowley’s twisted dark heart in his hands ever since that first day on the wall of Eden. Six thousand years of stolen glances, stolen time; lunches here, drinks there. Always, the forefront of his mind screaming please, please, just stay a little longer, a few more minutes and maybe I’ll finally get past all this emotion that’s eating me from the inside out.

Then the apocalypse didn’t happen. Then they were together, like it was the easiest decision in the world.

He’d still had his issues, to be sure. Not thinking he was good enough, not thinking Aziraphale would want to stay with him once he saw what a mess Crowley could actually be when he wasn’t putting up the cool façade. But the angel had stayed, had chosen him over everything and everyone else. And now they were married.

He liked to tumble that word around in his head sometimes. He did now, as he gazed lovingly (gross) at his husband (husband?!) as the angel prattled on about this or that to Jisel while she made his cocoa.

A commotion broke him out of his reverie.

“What do you mean my coffee is £3.80? It was £3.40 last week!”

“I do apologize, sir,” Rose stammered from behind the register, Crowley was already on alert, ready to intervene, “But the tower management raised the prices a couple of days ago.”

“Bullshit, don’t you know who I am?” the man shouted, Rose looked like she might faint. Crowley was about to say something, but Aziraphale beat him to it.

The angel had stood up and walked back to the register and was now addressing the customer directly, while Jisel handed his cocoa to Crowley.

“My dear fellow, I do believe you’ve forgotten to do something very important today.”

“I have?” the man asked, confused.

“Yes, I believe you said something about an…anniversary, maybe?” Aziraphale says, with a bit of miraculous intent.

The man goes pale, “Oh no, I forgot, I don’t have anything for her!”

“Well, I’d suggest you get a bit of a wiggle-on then, hmm?” Aziraphale said, with what Crowley could only describe as a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

“Yes,” the man stammered, “Yes, I-I suppose I should. Thank you.”

The man left without getting his coffee.

Crowley caught up to his husband, “Come on then, Angel, did your good deed for the day?”

“No rest for the good,” the angel smirked at him, “As it were.”

It was about this time that the man slipped and fell on a freshly mopped floor, sign conveniently missing, but now appearing out of thin air. His phone flew out of his hand and the screen shattered.

Aziraphale was practically giggly.

Crowley just stared at his angel, ever surprised by him to this day. Six thousand years doing nothing to dampen that affection.

That’s my Angel, he thought to himself, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.

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1:34 PM

There weren’t many things in this world that Aziraphale loved more than a nice hole-in-the-wall family restaurant (4).

The feelings of love that emanated from them were nearly intoxicating. As an angel, a being drawn to love, he gravitated to these establishments. Passed down from generation to generation, some further back than others. This one was a particular favorite, for more reasons than one.

“EAT!”

“I already told you, Yaya, I’m not hungry,” Crowley told her for the fifteenth time since they had sat down.

It was always this way here at the Olive Grove. Yaya thought Crowley was too skinny, she wanted him to eat. Crowley didn’t like eating, so he didn’t want to5.

All Aziraphale could do was stare from across the table and giggle. This was his favorite part of coming here, after all. Crowley may pretend to have a devil-may-care attitude, but the angel knew deep down that wasn’t the case.

Crowley would never admit it out loud, but he had a certain love for Yaya of his own. One that was misplaced by a Mother many, many eons ago. There’s a lot to be said for taking care of someone.

Not that any of that prevented Yaya from smacking Crowley’s hand with a wooden spoon as he reached for his phone instead of a fork.

“EAT!”

“Ok, alright, fine, I’m eating,” Crowley grumbled as he picked up the fork. Satisfied with the results, Yaya gave them both a smile and returned to her own work.

“You know, love, she’s only looking out for you,” the angel said between giggles. He couldn’t help it; it was always funny to see Crowley embarrassed.

“Doesn’t bloody need to, crazy old bat.”

Despite whatever thoughts Crowley had on crazy old people, bat or otherwise, he was digging rather quickly into the moussaka she had brought him.

Crowley was always a surprise, even after all this time. Aziraphale knew his husband had a soft heart underneath that bluster and bravado. Demons didn’t do things like sing the (alleged) Antichrist to sleep. Or stowaway children on the ark. Or save books of prophecy for dithering angels who might forget about them. Or go for lunches at the Ritz and picnics in the park.

But his demon did, and oh how Aziraphale knew how lucky he was.

He’d given Crowley a million reasons to give up on him through the years. Calling their friendship ‘fraternizing’, pushing him away when all he wanted to do was pull the demon closer. That last day before Armageddon was the worst. Aziraphale still had nightmares. Of Alpha Centauri and holy water and bathtubs.

But Crowley was always there when Aziraphale would wake from these, holding him and comforting him. Crowley has nightmares of his own, the angel knows. Of bookshops and sulfur and bandstands.

Bandstands. After that day, Aziraphale truly thought he’d lost Crowley for good. How could he have said something so mean. I don’t even like you! The furthest thing from the truth he ever could have said. Fear can make someone do things they wouldn’t, angels are no exception.

Aziraphale props his chin on his hand and looks at Crowley, who is now loudly complaining that no little old bat in a hole-in-the-wall Greek place can tell him what to do (he’s finished the moussaka and moved on to the dolmas at this point). All the angel can do is sigh.

Almost a century ago, when the angel had felt their fingers brush over a leather satchel of books in the burning wreckage of a church, he knew that the thing he’d been repressing had a name. A very familiar one at that. He tried to keep it at bay for so long, but it all came bubbling over after lunch at the Ritz following Armageddon. They had been walking and their hands were so very, very close. Almost touching with every step they took. Crowley rarely, if ever, had his hands out of his pockets and Aziraphale tended to flip back and forth between worrying his in front of him and having them behind his back. He’d seen the chance and took it.

And on they had walked, hand in hand, fitting together like missing puzzle pieces. They didn’t look at each other or speak, both afraid that they might ruin the moment.

They made it three steps into the bookshop before giving up and kissing each other senseless, no time for talking then, that would come later. In hushed breaths and soft spoken I-love-you’s that had waited for far too many centuries to be spoken into the world.

He’d spent some time at the beginning absolutely terrified. To him, Crowley was so vibrant and he always seemed to be running on all cylinders. Aziraphale had been afraid, when it came right down to it, that one day Crowley would wake up and realize just how boring he really was. Sure, Crowley had always teased him about his fashion and his books among other things but being together in this capacity was so different. So new and fresh. Aziraphale was scared he couldn’t live up to the expectations of 6000 years of want.

But here they were, on their own side. With the rings on their fingers to prove it. He can’t help but stare. Crowley’s been growing his hair out long again, and it’s almost to his shoulders now. It catches the light and is reminiscent of the copper pots that hang as decoration on the walls. He’s gesticulating wildly to go with whatever nonsense he’s decided to complain about now, and Aziraphale traces the motion, focused on the gold ring that looks like wings on Crowley’s finger.

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there staring when Crowley stops ranting and leans in to kiss him gently, breaking him from his self-imposed trance.

“See something you like, Angel?” the demon says with a twitch of that mischievous smile. The one that he saves for Aziraphale, without the demonic intent behind it.

Which doesn’t change what that smile means for later. But Aziraphale knows how his demon’s mind works.

“Just admiring the most beautiful person in this restaurant, dearest,” and if Aziraphale is right, what comes next is–

“Ngk.”

Yes, just as he thought. He reaches across the table and takes his husband’s hand, “You do realize you’ve almost made your way through three plates while complaining about Yaya’s concern for you.”

“Well…I…ngk…uh…” the demon stammers, trying to come up with a bad reason to eat the food that Yaya gives him, “Well…um…the thing is. The thing is..”

Aziraphale lets him work through it as he eats his spanakopita and drinks his wine.

“The thing is, Angel, if Yaya keeps giving me this food…that’s less for the paying customers…then business goes under…and then the restaurant closes! See? Perfectly evil of me!” Crowley smiles smugly and takes a drink of his own wine.

“Except we do pay for our food here, if anything we’re helping the business, so that line is out my dearest.”

“Well…well…uhm…”

Aziraphale loves flustering Crowley this way, it’s always so easy to do and always good for a show.

“Sometimes you can be quite nice my dear.”

“Shaddap,” Crowley says, sulking into his chair. The demon looks over to where Yaya is taking an order and she gives him a pointed look.

“Dearest, best eat up, you know she’ll insist on you having the baklava before she lets you leave.”

“Well,” Crowley says quickly and almost inaudibly, “Be rude to let it go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

There’s my demon, Aziraphale thought to himself, sipping his wine and smiling, just a little bit a good person, whether he admits it or not.

---

7:23 PM

In a little flat above a bookshop in Soho, and angel and a demon are watching TV.

Well, they were watching TV. They’d started out with Crowley resting his head in Aziraphale’s lap while the angel carded his fingers through the demon’s hair. But then Crowley had stilled the angel’s hand to kiss his wrist. Which of course meant that Aziraphale had brought Crowley’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. Which led to the demon leaning up to kiss along the angel’s jawline, and that’s how we ended up here.

Snogging on the couch while they were intending to watch TV.

A typical Monday spent the typical ways. The sun sets, and the calendar turns a page. There will be more Mondays, more Decembers. More coffee shops and little Greek restaurants. More anniversaries and holidays. More interrupted TV shows to go with interrupted morning crossword puzzles, because what can hold a candle to love? What else does anyone need?

Let us retreat and give them their privacy. They deserve it after so long being watched by Heaven and Hell alike. They don’t need to be watched by us as well.

Let us draw these curtains and slip away, and as we do, think of love. Love everlasting and love unconditional. Love that waits and is waited for. A love that is patient, and a love that is kind.

---

1 - Crowley made a habit of remembering his favorite baristas. If that happened to be most of them, you couldn’t really blame him.

2 - There wasn’t an official ceremony, as it were, they just exchanged their rings in the park while book-girl took pictures from a bush. But as there had been witnesses (one purple-eyed intrusive spy from Heaven, and one very buzzy spy from Hell) it had been considered official and they had been given rounds of forced congratulations when they got called in for the next freelance assignment.

3 – And if one of these things was a minor miracle that ensured the shop always had those lovely little marshmallows from France when Aziraphale was there, who was anyone to judge?

4 – There were three. The Ritz (too many good memories), Books (too many good stories), and Crowley (there’s not enough space in the footnotes to get into why the demon ranks at the top. Perhaps there’s a place with copious amounts of stories at the push of a button that could give you a few examples, hmm?)

5 – Crowley and Yaya had done this back and forth since the first visit. Crowley knows Yaya barely speaks English, and Yaya knows that Crowley doesn’t like to be told what to do. Neither of these things stop either of them. They both love it.

#fic #good omens #my fic #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable outliers #the return of the coffee shop!#the return of Yaya!

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technoskittles · 5 years

Text

Fanfic author asks

I didn’t get any asks regarding this but I still kinda wanna answer the questions anyway so here goes

1. What was your first fic and could you stand to reread it today?

I refuse to say what my first fic was and that should be answer enough to the second part

2. What’s your most recent fic and how far do you think you’ve come?

Most recent fic is Something Good Can Work

I think I’ve come pretty far from when I first started writing. I know there’s some things I could always be better at, but I’m way happier with the stuff I was writing 5 and 10 years ago.

WAY happier

3. In your opinion, what’s your best fic?

Oh geez that’s kind of hard because there’s a few I’m pretty proud of.

If I had to name one, it’d probably be lost & different. It’s one of my longest oneshots to date and I ended up finishing it in 2 days so...go me.

4. In your opinion and without looking at any numbers, what’s your most popular fic?

Shot in the Dark. Hands down.

5. Is there any fic that makes you super happy to reread and remember you wrote that?

Pure Feeling probably. I think it’s mostly because it’s kind of out of place for me (I don’t typically do fics involving kids so it’s a nice change of pace)

6. Is there any fic that makes you super embarrassed to reread and remember you wrote that?

A lot of my older fics from when I wrote for Teen Titans and Soul Eater. Dark times man....dark times.

7. What’s the fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?

Pure Feeling absolutely. And I actually do want to finish Fall From Eden, but I wanna rewrite it (I first published it about 4 years ago and not only do I want to fix some things plot-wise to incorporate more of canon into it, but there’s a lot I’m not happy with that I want to try and fix)

I also have a sequel lined up for Shot in the Dark.

But if I had to pick one, definitely Pure Feeling. I want to be able to actually finish a multichaptered fic for once and by dammit I’m gonna do it.

8. What’s the oldest (longest since last update) fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?

That would be Shot in the Dark. There were a lot of things I wanted to do with that AU and while I don’t think I’ll get to most of it, I do at least want to finish the sequel.

9. Have you ever written for a fandom without watching/reading/playing the source material?

Nope. I don’t write for things I don’t have an interest in and typically if I haven’t consumed it, I’m not interested

10. Have you ever written for a fandom without reading other fanfic for it?

A couple, yeah. I wrote a fic for Jessica Jones (although, after I did I ended up reading a couple fics for it).

Also did a couple of fics in my early years of writing for some stuff that people probably know nothing about (but if you’re curious, Princess Ai and Astonishing Adventures of Fanboy and Goth Girl)

11. Have you ever written a fic for a concept you know someone else has done before? How did it impact your writing process or feelings after posting?

I feel like it’s hard not to? Most concepts in general have typically been done before by someone. We don’t create in a vacuum.

But if I do a concept I know I’ve seen before, I typically always try to make it my own somehow. Because since it’s been done before, others have most likely seen it, so I want to show them how mine is different. I like to push the boundaries, combine different concepts together, and really create a piece that makes it unique enough to set myself apart.

I like using general concepts and deconstructing them before reconstructing them into something new that I like and want to share. And it’s always nice after I publish it and get feedback to see that people really enjoy the stuff I write.

12. Have you ever written a fic and decided never to publish it? Why?

Oh plenty for sure. More often than not, I started writing it and got stuck and then a) took so long I lost interest or b) took so long that I forgot where I was going with it

13. What’s the biggest change between your style when you started in fandom and today?

If we’re talking about style, I think that’s a bit harder to pin down depending on what I write. But I’ve noticed that with particular oneshots I’ve become more abstract in my writing so that’s cool

14. What’s the biggest change in your taste between when you started in fandom and today?

I used to read just about anything if it had my ship when I was younger, but as I grew older I became more and more picky. Some things can turn me off a fic completely.

I also have really grown to dislike fics that are WAY to cliche and tropey. I love tropes as much as the next person, but I feel like some people just don’t do enough with it to really make it interesting. The more cliche your fic is without much else brought to it, the easier it is for me to forget it.

15. Have you ever purposefully written one fandom/fic idea over another because you knew it’d be more popular?

Nah. I don’t typically like writing things I’m not passionate about because it’s hard to hold my attention to finish it. If I write an idea, it’s because I wanted to, not because I figured it’d get me a lot of feedback.

16. Have you ever stopped writing a fic/for a fandom because it wasn’t receiving enough attention?

Not really. Like I said before, if I don’t write for it, it probably means I’m not awfully interested anymore

17. In your opinion, what’s your most overrated fic?

If we’re talking about any fics, probably one of the ones I wrote for Teen Titans in my earlier days.

But if we’re talking more recent, Talking Body. Idk. I just don’t think that fic is as interesting as I thought it was at the time but it blew the fuck up regardless

18. What’s your most underrated fic?

Hybrid. I’m mostly upset because it didn’t get as much attention as the prequel before it considering that garnered a lot of attention but...c’est la vie

19. If you had to pick one fic/scene/chapter of your work to describe your entire portfolio to a stranger, which would you pick?

Probably pillars. It’s probably one of the most interesting fics I’ve written in terms of formatting.

20. Have/Would you ever rewrite a fic? If yes, would you take the original down?

Like I mentioned before, I do want to rewrite Fall From Eden. And yes, if and when I eventually get to that, I would be replacing all the chapters currently up.

21. If someone starts kudosing and commenting your fics in a spree and has a few works of their own, would you go look through theirs?

Not typically. I appreciate the onslaught of feedback, trust me, but I prefer to parse through the fic lists of the ships of my choosing and read from there

22. Has there ever been anyone who’s made you freak out because they read your work and followed/favorited/reviewed?

Not that I can remember. I’m sure it’s happened, I just can’t remember it haha

23. What’s the nicest review you’ve ever gotten?

Oh jeez that’s a tough one I can’t remember them all.

This is one that’s stuck out though

“ You really captured what post-traumatic self-destructive behaviors feel like while staying so true to their dynamic as well as getting the characterization right to the T despite the fact that the show itself is obviously much less grim (not that it's not angsty, just far from this.) Beautifully written, the repetition and the parallels really put it all together. This piece hit home. I'll remember this one. Thank you for writing it. Thank you for sharing. “

-from as my World d[ivides]

24. What’s the meanest review you’ve ever gotten? Do you think the reviewer intended it?

I’ve gotten plenty of mean reviews but most of those are from my earlier days of writing. I can’t remember any particular ones so I also couldn’t tell you if the reviewer intended it or not

25. What constructive criticism, however well-meaning, always makes you feel bad when you see it in a review?

I wouldn’t say it makes me feel bad, but I know one review I’ve seen a couple of times is when people tell me that my writing gets too prose-y. The main reason it rubs me the wrong way is because while I’m sure they’re trying to be helpful, prose is part of my style less than the logistics and structure.

My descriptions can be a bit much sometimes I guess, but more often than not, it’s there for a reason. Whether it helps set the mood, gives insight to the characters’s thoughts/motivations/feelings that really set the story, or because I want to immerse the reader in the best way possible by painting a picture.

So it’s just annoying when people tell me to tone it down because it’s too much for them. If you don’t like prose, then read something else.

26. What aspect of your writing do you most enjoy to see praised?

My characterization. 9 times out of 10, that’s the thing I get most anxious about, so when people tell me I nail it it always makes my goddamn day

27. If you could only ever write crossovers or single-fandom fics ever again, which would you pick?

Single-fandom. Not a huge fan of crossover fics

28. if you could only ever write for a single crossover or a single fandom again, which would you pick?

Oof. That’s really tough because like I said, my interests change all the time. I typically jump from fandom to fandom and write for whatever I’m obsessed with at the time.

I guess if I had to pick though...RWBY probably.

29. Does the division of your writing across fandoms line up with your reading? What’s the biggest discrepancy?

I’d say it’s about even for what I’m interested at the time. Biggest discrepancy though would probably be....either Miraculous Ladybug or Fairy Tail.

I just don’t write much for those and read a lot so...

30. Do you continue to write for a fandom after you’ve moved on or do you focus solely on the new one?

Sometimes. Not too often. Because usually I’m so hyperfocused on the new shiny thing that most of my ideas end up being for that

31. Who’s the one character you’ve just never managed to get perfectly right?

I always worry that I do that for every character I write for haha.

I think my major concerns regarding that right now are Scorpia and Entrapta. For some reason I feel like they’re really difficult to write for.

32. Who’s the one character who shines without you even trying?

Yang probably. Maybe Adora

33. Is there any particular character whose scenes always wind up being longer/more frequent than you expected? Does the quality hold up?

I don’t think so?

34. Was there any fic that you wrote that really surprised you in the fandom reaction? Was it just by the numbers or did they take it an entirely different way?

I’d have to say as my World d[ivides] really surprised me. I really wasn’t sure how people would respond to that one given that it deals with a VERY sensitive subject and was positive I’d face a little bit of backlash. But honestly everyone actually really loved it and I got so much nice feedback from it.

35. Have you ever written a ship into a fic without meaning to?

Not usually

36. Have you ever sincerely written a ship you do not support into a fic?

Nope

37. Have you ever purposefully bashed a character/ship in a fic?

Not that I’m aware of

38. Have you ever purposefully written something you know your readers would find uncomfortable/would not enjoy? If yes, why?

I think that would probably be Sunflower. And if you’ve read that fic you know exactly what I mean.

If you haven’t read it, I won’t include spoilers, but I did explain myself at the end of it

39. Do you consider yourself to have a readership?

I think I have a few loyal readers yeah (and I love all of them)

40. Do you feel like you put out enough content?

HA!

41. If you cross-post your fics on multiple sites, do you have a favorite? Are there certain fics you would only post on certain site?

I used to crosspost when I first started on AO3 but after awhile I gave up bc I didn’t like ffnet’s set-up nearly as much. Sometimes I’ll post fics here on tumblr but I fucking HATE the formatting so...not much

42. How many views has your most popular fic gotten?

6,156 views (that would be Shot in the Dark)

43. Your least popular?

173 views - Scared to Breathe

44. Do you follow/favorite/kudos/comment/review more stories than you have received?

That’s really hard to say. I read a lot but I do have a few really popular stories so...

45. If you had to call yourself an author of a single genre (besides fanfic) what label would you give yourself?

I think my specialty is angst. You can ask most of my friends.

46. Do you consider yourself a diverse author?

I try to be. But I do think I lean towards certain areas

47. If someone you know in real life who isn’t involved in fandoms asked to read your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you recommend they read first?

Errrr...probably not? I tell people that I write fics, but I always get nervous when it comes to the thought of them actually reading them. It feels too personal somehow. Like, that’s a part of me I don’t usually let people see.

The only person who has is my boyfriend. And even then I get nervous when he does it

48. Does anyone you know from outside of fandom know you write fanfic? Are they involved in the same fandom too?

Yeah like I said, I’ve told some people. And they area typically interested in the original content, but I don’t know how involved they are in fanfiction or fandom itself

49. Has anyone in your life ever read your fanfic just because you wrote it?

My boyfriend

50. Has writing fanfic had a significant impact on your life? Would you say it’s entirely positive?

I would like to say it has. I’ve been writing for about 10 years now and it’s really opened up a lot of doors for me. I’ve met some really great people through fic and fandom. I’ve also grown as a writer after being at it for so long which has, strangely enough, helped me regarding essays and papers for school.

Writing is kind of just what I do now. It’s one of my only contributions to fandom, so it’s nice to know I can take part somehow in generating content.

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