More On Writing Muslim Characters from A Hijabi Muslim Girl

Just a heads up, in case some of my works cut off. I'm always on AO3, at Renegade_Reaper

@staff are you fucking kidding me right now?! You’re limiting text posts to 100 text blocks (aka paragraphs). What the absolute fuck.

Since you couldn’t take out fanfic writers with the purge so you’re just fucking up formatting for text posts until they leave? Is that your plan?

Taking a small break (just until the weekend) friends ❤️ it's been a long week and I hardly have the energy to get through the day. Thank you for all of your asks, they're making me excited to get back to things!

Okay I lied, I wrote something and hella projected. 

*

The day was cold and drizzly, much like most of England’s autumn weather always was. The sky was grey, the streets were grey, the general mood about the usually bright and lively depths of Soho was grey, grey, grey. Monochrome and bland.

At least it looked that way to Aziraphale. 

He hadn’t opened the bookshop today. That wasn’t generally unusual, especially on the days that he particularly wanted to discourage people coming in and rifling through his books like untame, wild animals. (Honestly, the audacity of some of these people — picking through his beloved books as though they were things to be thrown away instead of appreciated like the treasures they are.) But today it wasn’t for those specific sorts of reasons. Today things were different. 

Today, Aziraphale had woken up with a sort of heaviness that came around once every so often, when he let his guard down and let things get a little too… good. His shoulders ached where his wings would’ve been if he let them. It took him more than two hours to drag himself from his bed to put the kettle on (Crowley had convinced him to sleep every once in awhile, in that sneaky tone he used when he talked Aziraphale into a late night snack or some adventure they were definitely Not Supposed to Do; “Come on, angel, it’ll be fun. Good on the back.”). 

He had protested adamantly at first, but then given in when Crowley had gotten that puppyish, determined look on his face.  (Aziraphale was weak to the wiles of his snake).

When he had settled in with a cup of tea, in his old armchair that had long since deserved to be put out of its misery, the angel noticed things felt… off. 

Simply put, he felt… disconnected from reality. That’s a silly thing to say, Aziraphale had thought to himself, after his tea had grown cold in his hand and the rain had picked up outside. But he couldn’t help but think it was true. After all, it had been hours since he’d made his tea, and it felt like only a matter of moments. Funny how time flew by.

Aziraphale had a list of things to do today — all of which had been forgotten up until the concept of time had been remembered — that absolutely were not going to get done. He had a distant, disjointed feeling of panic about this, but it didn’t pierce through the grey, grey fog that seemed to cling to the angel with a dull sort of determination.

In fact, nothing seemed to get through that fog until a familiar voice filtered up from the bottom of the stairs leading to his flat. 

“Angel?” Crowley calls, poking his head into the apartment and looking around. He seemed to be panicked, Aziraphale noticed with a slight twinge. Had they made plans? Had he forgotten? He couldn’t seem to muster the strength to remember.

“In here, love.” He calls, his voice soft and a little rough from the silence he’d sat in. 

Crowley’s gaze snaps to the armchair, and some of the tension melts from his angular shoulders. “There you are. I waited downstairs for a half hour, I’ll have you know. And you’re always fussing at me about being on time.” 

Logically, Aziraphale knew he was only teasing. Crowley always teased, and he had a reasonable excuse to be miffed at the angel. But somehow, that seemed to cut through the shroud of melancholy that had clung to him from the beginning of the day. A sick, sharp sort of feeling stabbed into him, flashing through his entire body and making him feel sick to his stomach. Tears spring to his eyes and he pushes himself to his feet, suddenly overcome with the need to make this better, make this right again. 

Some nasty voice in his head whispered to him, ugly words that had always lived in him, but had been pressed down and held at bay for many years. 

See what you’ve done? they whispered, adding anxiety to the spike of sickness. He’s angry, now. You’ve made him angry, and he’s going to leave, and you’re never going to see him again. He’ll find a better person to be around, someone more agreeable, someone who doesn’t needle and prod and criticize. 

And just this once, Aziraphale believed them.

He began to rush about, realizing he was still in his sleep clothes and realizing all he wanted to do was curl up and sob and sob and sob until this feeling went away. “I’m sorry, the time got away from me- I’ll clean up, give me five minutes and I-I’ll…”

“Woah,” Crowley steps forward, catching him by the arm. “Angel, hey. I’m not upset, I was only teasing. Calm down, we can reschedule.”

“I’m sorry,” the angel hiccups, ducking his head, suddenly afraid to look Crowley in the eyes and see his own disgust reflected back at him. He wrings his hands, full of anxious energy as all his emotions began to catch up with him again. “I don’t know what happened, I…”

“Hey,” the demon tilts his chin up, and instead of disgust, Aziraphale finds soft concern. 

It breaks him, and a sob manages to choke him before he realizes it was even coming.

“Oh, angel…” Crowley croons, pulling him against his chest and cupping the back of his head, cradling his face against his neck. 

Aziraphale cries, holding onto his jacket as all the tension and emotion and grey bled out of him along with his tears. The demons holds his angel through it all, making shushing noises and nuzzling his hair, swaying from side to side in a soothing motion that slowly begins to calm him down. 

“We can go to dinner another time,” Crowley murmurs against his hair, rubbing his back. “We have all the time in the world, Aziraphale. Just you and I.”

Warmth blooms in the angels chest. He squeezes his eyes shut, taking a shaky breath and allowing himself to relax. “Okay,” He whispers. 

“Why don’t we go put on the kettle and start a fire in that old fireplace, mm? Come on. Cozy night in, just you and I.”

As Aziraphale is led away, his hand in the demon’s, he starts to feel the fog slip away from his mind, replaced with warm company and distraction. Crowley had him smiling again, and the knots in his chest easing. Things were getting better already.

Outside, the sun shines through the clouds.

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends), Sevika (Arcane: League of Legends)/Vi (League of Legends) Characters: Vi (League of Legends), Sevika (Arcane: League of Legends), Caitlyn (League of Legends), Silco (Arcane: League of Legends), Jinx (League of Legends), Steb (Arcane: League of Legends), Maddie Nolen, Loris (Arcane: League of Legends), Ekko (League of Legends), Benzo (Arcane: League of Legends) Additional Tags: Parent Death, Grief/Mourning, Alternate Universe - College/University, Divorced Silco (Arcane: League of Legends)/Vander (League of Legends) Summary:

Vi’s life changes with a single phone call.

A car accident. Head on collision. Drunk driver. He died on impact. Officer Grayson’s words filter in and out. Vi’s brain picks out what seems like the important bits. She’s given the hospital he was in - she’s told to come quickly. The coroner wanted to make arrangements with a funeral home. She needed to pick how her father was going to be handled. Would she burn his body, or would she leave it to rot under the dirt? Vi’s fingers were shaking. It takes three attempts to press the screen of her phone to end the call.

***

Vi loses her father and her future in the span of a few minutes. She's left to pick up the pieces and fit them back together - but nothing will ever be the same. There's a lost relationship with her estranged sister to navigate, a bar to run, and a mysterious regular who seems intent on helping Vi despite her insistence on doing things alone.

A story about loss, love, and community.

Hi everyone! I have started writing again! This is my first true passion project in a long time, and I wanted to share it all with you. I’m relatively new to the Vi/Sevika rarepair, as well as the Arcane fandom in general. I’m thinking of maybe reviving this old blog. We shall see.

I SEE ALL OF YOU LMAO

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sevika (Arcane: League of Legends)/Vi (League of Legends) Characters: Vi (League of Legends), Sevika (Arcane: League of Legends), Jinx (League of Legends), Vander (League of Legends), Jayce (League of Legends), Viktor (League of Legends), Silco (Arcane: League of Legends), Caitlyn (League of Legends) Additional Tags: rockstar vi, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, author has religious trauma so we will absolutely be examining queer romance and small town religious things Summary:

Violet had been involved with music since she was little.

It had started with her dads; Vander taking care of his precious Gibson Les Paul from the 80s, when he’d started a garage band that had led to him meeting and marrying Silco, a classically trained pianist who wouldn’t touch the open keyboard position with a ten foot pole. Vi had been put into piano lessons as soon as she could read, and after failing miserably, she’d tried just about everything before finding she had a knack for guitar. She followed in her dad’s footsteps, developing a love for the shrieking croon of an electric guitar, brought to life under fingers worn rough calluses.

***

I’m back with another multi-chapter! Rockstar Vi au <3 for all of my regulars who asked for it.

How about the ineffable husbands finding out about Beelzebub and Gabriel’s relationship? :D

This was honestly so much fun to write, I hope you like it!

*

“Are you kidding, angel?” Crowley snorts into his drink, lounging lazily on the sofa in the middle of Aziraphale’s beloved bookshop. “Beelzebub would smite him before he even got close to her.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” The angel hums, shelving a couple books he had almost lost to a potential buyer that afternoon. Of course, Crowley had interfered and scared the boy away with his antics. 

“You’re out of your mind.” The demon snorts, tipping back the last of his drink and wiping a hand over his mouth. “Lord Beelzebub loves nothing and no one. Well, except maybe those damned flies.”

“I never said anything about love, my dear.” Aziraphale chuckles, shaking his head and going over. He nudges Crowley’s legs, sitting down beside him and sighing when his lover sets his gangly limbs into his lap. 

Crowley considers this. “Well… I guess they’d probably be fucking. That seems more likely. Hypocrites, the lot of them.”

“What else are you expecting, my love?” He sighs heavily, patting his legs. 

“S’pose you’re right, angel.”

*

One afternoon, Crowley comes hurtling into the bookshop like, pardon the irony, a bat out of Hell. He slams the door, jostling the poor little bell, and leans against the door. He looks as though he’d seen Jesus Christ in the flesh.

“Aziraphale!” He hisses when the angel pops his head around a bookshelf to see what the commotion was all about, a reprimand on his lips. 

“Really, Crowley, must we go over the slamming doors lecture every month?” A very put out angel sighs. 

“Forget the door, angel!” He rushes over, hovering over Aziraphale as he leans up on his tiptoes to pull a book down from the shelf. 

“How am I supposed to forget every time I have to replace a glass pane or a chipped bell?” He huffs, shaking his head and reaching for another book. 

Before he can grab it, the demon grabs him by the wrist and whirls him around. The books tumble to the floor. Aziraphale’s eyes widen as he’s pressed back against the shelves. “Really, dear, at least let me close up shop…”

“No, I- Angel! This is important!” 

“Oh, alright then, what is it?”

“I saw Gabriel kiss Beelzebub.” He hisses, his eyes glinting intensely behind the rims of his glasses, which had been knocked askew in his desperation to get his angel’s attention.

“You…” The angel takes a moment, letting this all sink in. “What?”

“In the park!” Crowley stresses, shaking him by the arms. “By the duck pond!”

“Alright, okay! I believe you, dear, you don’t need to shake the life from me.”

The demon releases him, brushing his suit off sheepishly. “Sorry…”

“Are you absolutely sure that you saw them and not another couple who looked similar to them?” Aziraphale says carefully, noting the crazed look in his lover’s eyes.

“No, I- Oh, bugger it all.” He hisses, snapping his fingers. Instantly the shop begins to close itself. “Come with me, you’ll have to see this yourself.”

Crowley whisks Aziraphale off to the park with him, back to their normal bench. “There!” He hisses, pointing to a couple a few hundred yards away. 

Sure enough, it was the infamous Archangel and the Prince of Hell herself. They were leaning against the railing, watching the ducks. 

Gabriel was bent forward slightly so he could talk to her easier, his hands shoved in his pockets and the button of his suit jacket undone. Beelzebub was lounging against the railing, peering down at the pond and talking to him. She had forgone her usual attire for one of his dark grey shirts tucked haphazardly into a pair of worn out black jeans, her hair piled onto her head and stuck through with what looked to be a thin knife.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes, his eyes as wide as saucers. He leans forward to get a better view, but Crowley yanks him back. 

“They’ll see you!” He whispers fiercely. “We have to be sneaky…”

“Right, of course.” 

*

“Oh, look, the biggest idiots in all of Soho have finally noticed.” Gabriel snorts, setting his hand on the railing beside Beelzebub’s arm, trapping her with his body. 

She hums, sliding her gaze over to them before turning around and looking up at him, giving him a wicked smile. Her slim fingers wind around his tie, effectively wrinkling it. “Shall we give them a show.”

“You drive a hard bargain.” Gabriel teases, just before he’s tugged down sharply into a surprisingly gentle kiss. Beelzebub lifts her free hand, flipping off the pair not-so-secretly watching them.

That ought to get their point across.

I Like You A Latte

Who doesn’t love a good coffee shop au? Here, have some fluff with my favorite boys.

Keith had never really considered himself to be the type of person to find someone immediately attractive. He didn’t find people attractive in general, just annoying. It was probably why his last few relationships had failed. To be fair, talking about golf tactics while you’re in your early twenties doesn’t exactly scream late night parties and fun dates. Even if the guy was incredibly sweet and a pretty good lay.

Regardless, Keith didn’t exactly believe in that whole love at first sight propaganda. His brother did; it was how he had found his girlfriend of three years. He told the story with doe eyes and a goopy smile that made Keith want to pull his insides out just to have an excuse to save himself from the story again. No, love at first sight was not a thing.

“Hey, buddy, what can I get’cha?”

Until now.

Keith can only stare wide eyed at the glorious Greek God of a man, who was watching him expectantly with a smile that probably was the reason the sun rose every morning. He was taller than Keith by just a bit, his muscular arms peeking out from his black uniform. There was the trace of a tattoo peeking out at his collarbone - not that Keith was looking, God - and another on his wrist.

His blue eyes sparkle with amusement at Keith’s apparent predicament. He leans on the counter, his muscles flexing - somebody in here had to know CPR, Keith hoped, because he was going to need it in a few minutes.

“You know what you want?” He asks, in a voice that lilts with the barest trace of an accent. Keith guesses it’s of Spanish or Latin descent. He doesn’t care, though, because he just wanted this guy to keep talking to him.

“I-I,” Keith splutters, choking on his tongue. “Yes. Yeah, I, uh.” He whips out his phone. Pidge was going to kill him if he got her order wrong for the third time in a row, which was why he’d had her text it to him.

“Um, so, uh… Bear with me here,” He chuckles nervously, scrolling up to the message. “My friend wants a triple venti half-sweet caramel macchiato, but like… not hot.”

The barista blinks, leaning back and running a hand through his hair before looking at the register and starting to punch it in. “Alright… You said venti, right?”

He glances up. Keith swallows his heart and nods.

“And what can I get you?” His fingers are ready for the next ridiculous order, but Keith was unfortunately one to disappoint.

“Um, just a black coffee. One cream, one sugar. Oh, and a coffee cake.” Pidge would kill him if he forgot her coffee cake.

He smiles faintly, tugging Keith’s heartstrings along with it. “Wow. Adventurous, aren’t we?” He takes a break, leaning over the register again. “Okay. Let’s do this. One triple venti half-sweet caramel macchiato, one coffee cake and one black coffee, one cream and one sugar.”

Keith wanted him to talk forever. That voice was doing things to him that should be illegal at this time of day, in this weather. It was freezing outside, he was supposed to be freezing his ass off, not melting from the inside out.

“Yeah. Sounds about right.” He says, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and flipping it open.

“You want your coffee cake hot?” The magnificent angel asks in his glorious voice. Keith was very glad he was a flaming homosexual.

“Um,” He glances over at the door, which had frosted over from the heat that contrasted from the biting cold outside. “No, I think it might freeze if I do that. Pidge would kill me…”

“So I’m guessing you want your hot drink stopped up?” The barista - Keith drops his gaze down to read the Hi, My Name Is Lance! tag - laughs. He could feel his heart fluttering like a bird in his chest. Lance was such a… perfect name. He had never loved a name more in his life.

“Yes, please,” He says helplessly, smiling. “I don’t feel like being castrated today.”

“That would be a shame,” Lance says almost suggestively with a playful wink. “Nineteen fifty-two is your total. Cash or card?”

Keith winces. Pidge owed him one for this. The things he put up with for a good grade in Calculus. He pulls out a twenty, handing it to Lance, and drops his change into the tip jar with an extra dollar.

“Hey, thanks,” The barista lights up. He picks up a couple cups, jotting stuff down on the back and pausing, flicking his electric blue gaze up. “Name?”

“Uh,” Keith was so good at English. “Keith.”

He would swear up and down that Lance smirked at him. It was either that or someone had shocked Keith’s spine to make him shiver. “Great. It should be ready in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Lance.”

The look of surprised happiness on the barista’s face was enough to make his entire week.

***

“You are obsessed.” Pidge remarks dryly, sipping her coffee and looking up at him with amused hazel eyes.

“No!” Keith defends hotly, sipping a pumpkin spice latte that Lance had mentioned were his favorite one afternoon. Not that he cared. Not that he went there every morning looking for the barista with the stunning smile and lilting voice.

“Keith, you hate pumpkin.”

“It’s not so bad…” He mumbles, glancing down at his Calculus textbook, flipping it open. Never had he wanted to actually do his homework so badly.

“Keith,” His best friend reaches over, pulling the bag that held the recommended-by-Lance treat over to herself. She looks down, then back up at him. “You’re drinking pumpkin shit. You’re eating something that actually resembles food, and you literally go to this particular Starbucks every morning to see if you can catch the guy. What’s his name? Lance?”

He flushes hotly, yanking the bag away from her. “I just like that particular Starbucks!”

“Uh huh,” She pushes her glasses up the brim of her nose. “Whatever you say, Gaylord.”

Keith stews quietly for a moment, reading the pages in front of him without actually comprehending any of the symbols. His gaze catches on her cup. He scans the printed out sticker that read the abbreviated version of her drink.

An idea creeps into his head. Keith looks up at his friend a smile playing around the corners of his lips. Pidge looks up, midway through shoveling half her coffee cake in her face.

“What?” She swallows, scowling at her friend. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“I need a favor.”

***

“Hey, Keith!”

Keith can feel himself grow an inch taller at the sound of his name when he walks through the door. He stomps the snow from his boots, looking around the empty store and unwinding his windblown scarf from his neck.

“Hey, Lance.” He grins, looking over at the barista. Lance was leaning over the counter lazily, resting his chin on his arms. That tattoo on his collarbone was tucked away. Keith feels a twinge of remorse. What he would give to see the full picture.

“What can I get you today, Space Cadet?” He teases, straightening up. Keith had made the mistake of telling him he was going to school to become an Aerospace Engineer, so now every day he had a new nickname that was space related.

Keith grins. “I have a new order for you. You ready for this?”

Lance stands up straight, saluting to him with a dopey grin. “Aye, aye, captain!”

He pulls out his phone as he walks over to the counter, clearing his throat. “So Pidge wants a venti caramel macchiato, with skim milk instead of regular, extra shot, extra hot,” He snorts at the rhyme. Lance grins. “Oh, and extra whip.”

The barista punches this into the register, scoffing as he writes down the name and circles a few things on the cup before sticking the order sticker on the cup. “Oh, c’mon, supernova. That wasn’t even hard. I could write that in my sleep.”

“And a coffee cake,” Keith adds with a laugh, blushing at the nickname. That was his favorite so far. “But I think you already knew that.”

“So predictable,” Lance sighs mournfully, poking out his bottom lip in a pout. “Give me a real challenge!”

Keith pauses, opening up his texting app and scrolling to the specific text. He had been blessed with a best friend who used Google Search as both a tool and a weapon. He never wanted to be on her bad side.

“Are you sure? Last chance to back out.”

Lance grins, getting ready to type in everything. “Hit me.”

Keith takes a breath. “Double ristretto venti, half soy, nonfat, decaf, organic, chocolate brownie, iced, vanilla, double shot, gingerbread frap, extra hot, with foam whipped cream, upside down, double blended, with one sweet n low and one nutrasweet and ice.”

The whole store is silent. Even the music was holding its breath. Keith glances up from his phone, clicking it to sleep mode and looking up at the barista. Lance was staring at him with a stricken expression, as though Keith had reached out and smacked him.

“Damn, starshine!” He laughs, rubbing his neck. “I don’t even… I don’t even think that will taste good, buddy.”

Keith grins, pocketing his phone. “I know.”

“But…” Lance hesitates, his blue gaze flicking up to Keith’s, nervous and worried. “You… sure you want that?”

“Fuck no, I don’t want that!” Keith laughs, shaking his head.

“You ass!” Lance groans, rubbing his face. “You nearly made me die, I’m the only one on the floor right now and I don’t even… half of that sounds made up!”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees smugly. “Definitely.”

“You’re so mean.” Lance whines.

“Yeah.” He agrees with another laugh.

Lance studies him, the anxious relief fading from his eyes, replaced by something softer. Keith had to look away, his cheeks heating up. Why did this guy make him feel like goo?

“So what do you actually want?” The barista asks, his gaze surprisingly soft.

You, Keith thinks, but that wasn’t something you could just… say. He settles for another pumpkin spice latte and a bagel sandwich, paying and watching as Lance moves around to effortlessly craft the drinks.

When Keith is walking out, he glances down to see writing on the paper bag that his breakfast was in. He recognized the familiar scrawl, pausing on his route to look down.

You liar, the pretty scrawl reads. There’s a number, Lance’s name under it, with another message underneath it. Here’s what you really wanted.

I’m back!! And also SBT updated!

Hello! I am back! Sort of. Well, I updated State of Broken Things so I guess that means I’m back?? 

You can find chapter three here 

Tell me what you think!

I missed you guys

We lay in the moonlight

The snow falling gently just outside the window

Our hands touch

She takes my fingers

I hold on tight

The room is quiet

My tears are silent

At one tiny gasp, one irregular breath

She rolls to face me

She asks me three words

And when I shake my head

She pulls me close

Her grip is like a vice

My fingers lock her close

We hold on

Afraid to let go

Afraid to sleep

Afraid to see morning break just beyond the snow

I sit in a cramped chair

I watch the snow melt off the window

The sun is rising, blue and yellow over the horizon

It's just me now

I don't have her touch

I won't have it for months

But I have her smile

I have her voice in my head

Her laugh in my mind

Her kisses on my lips

Her touch on my skin

Her love writ into my body

She is not here with me

Not in the physical form

But she is always with me

She is always loving me

The sky isn't grey

The moon has set

Snow is nowhere to be found

But still I feel her touch

Still I note her smile

Still I hear her words

Feel her kisses

Hold her hand

See her face

I will count down the days

Until I can tell her I love her

Without an inch between us