#Somehow like. 7 different characters in Hundred Line

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Breaking the Class Ceiling FINAL Chapter 7

This is set in early 1900s U.S.A., during the Edwardian era with some style changes into the upcoming Art Nouveau period. I've changed history a bit for this. Pretending that America didn't have a full Civil War and trying to create a more optimistic outcome for the purposes of the story. I've also tried to research what the rules for society/socializing were back then, and tweaked some of them.

Warnings for upcoming chapters: minor character death, some sexual harassment/assault (but nothing too graphic or traumatic), smut

Previous chapter

They got another month with George before one morning he wasn’t found in his room by the nurse.  She frantically told you and you ran to the only place you knew he’d be with Bucky hot on your heels.  Sitting in the middle of the greenhouse in his wheelchair was George, his head slumped back against the seat, his eyes closed in everlasting sleep.  Amir was sitting with him, holding his hand and reciting a prayer.  When you all ran in he looked up with tears, shaking his head.

"He wanted to see them one last time,” he said, gesturing towards the plants.  “It was peaceful.”

Bucky broke in that moment, falling to his knees as sobs wracked his body.  

The funeral was beautiful and packed, just like when Winifred had passed.  The community came to pay their respects and offer condolences.  Bucky was numb, giving polite yet fake smiles and shaking hundreds of hands.  You were trying to be strong for him, knowing his pain, and knowing that he needed the support you didn’t have when your parents died.  

After George was buried next to Winifred and you were able to get Bucky back home he silently went to your room.  You followed him, keeping yourself a few steps away but making sure he knew you were there.  As he entered the room he began to strip from his funeral attire, carefully placing everything on the hangers and in drawers.  When he was in his underwear he sat on the bed and stared at the wall.  You quickly got yourself out of your clothes and into your nightgown, crawling across the bed so you could embrace him from behind.  He didn’t react at first.  You slowly began kissing along his back, neck and shoulders, massaging his muscles and trying to release the built up tension he’d been experiencing for the last two months.  As you scratched your nails up into his hair he shivered, seeming to come back to himself.

"Y/N,” he whispered.  

You kissed his neck again, “Yes my darling, I’m here.”

"Help me,” he whimpered, his shoulders sagging.

"I’m here Buck, what do you need?” You continued rubbing his shoulders.

"Help me feel something else,” he cried.  “I just can’t keep feeling this.  It feels like it’s eating me alive.”

You crawled around to his front, straddling his lap and cupping his face in your hands.  You wiped his tears, although it was no use as he continued to cry.  You massaged his temples and stretched and pulled at different parts of his face, smoothing out the creases that seemed deeper now than they were a few months ago.  He sighed as you eased the tension in his face, his mouth dropping open.  As you scratched your nails down his scalp and his hair you leaned in and kissed the side of his mouth like you used to tease him during your courtship.  Something about that action snapped him out of his stupor and suddenly he was twisting around, pushing you onto your back on the bed, his lips smashing against yours.  

This wasn’t your first time together and yet it felt like it was somehow.  His hands reverently caressing every dip and rise in your body like he was memorizing it, his kisses getting more fervent and passionate as he tried to drown his grief in his lust.  

As he worked you both up until you were both moaning and gasping for air, ridding you both from your clothing, he lined himself with your entrance and slowly pushed into you, his eyes focused on how you took him in inch by inch.  You whimpered at the agonizing pace, wishing him to go faster or harder, but that wasn’t what he wanted or needed right now.  He thrust into you deeply, his hands roughly switching from your breasts to hiking up your legs to kneading the cheeks of your ass.  As he picked up the pace you whined, your fingers gouging into his back as you felt yourself tightening around him.  He was suddenly desperate, angling a new position and pounding into you without warning as he dropped to his elbow above you, hooking that forearm under your neck and pressing his forehead to yours as your breaths intermingled, his mouth huffing out against your cheek.  You could only try to remember to breathe as he took what he needed from you.  Your hand went to the one wrapped around your shoulders under your neck, interlocking your fingers with his fingers as your other hand pulled the hair at the back of his neck, giving it a scratch to relieve the pressure then pulling again.  

The sensations were all too much as your moans got louder and more high pitched.  Bucky reached his free hand down to your pussy and began rubbing your clit with abandon, flicking it periodically as he thrust harder, slamming into you.  The string that had wound tight in your lower abdomen suddenly snapped, making you scream as you came around him, your intertwined hands squeezing until you were white knuckled.  Bucky began grunting and letting out a short whimper on each thrust, his face scrunched up in effort until his orgasm ripped through his veins, your name a prayer on his lips, spilling all he had into you.  

As you both calmed down, you released your hand from his and lightly rubbed his back as you panted.  “I love you Bucky,” you began whispering to him, not even fully aware of what you were saying.  “I love you, darling.  Love you so much.  He was a good man, and gave me a good man. We’ll name our first son George just for him.  You sweet man, my Bucky, my darling…darling…”

“I love you,” he answered back, his ocean colored eyes piercing into your soul.  “My pretty doll, my everything.”

***

3 years later

The boat slowly sloshed to the side as it was pulled in.  The river Seine was calm as you, Bucky and your children hopped off the boat, deck hands helping you not fall in as it docked.  Little George tried to toddle off as you straightened out your dress.

“Georgie!  You stop right there, young man!” you called out, jogging forward to catch his hand.

Georgie giggled as he tried to run faster on his little legs, unable to get far as he fell back on his behind.  You reached him and helped him up, holding on to his tiny hand firmly.  Bucky was loading your daughter, Florence, into the pram after it was taken off the boat.  She was a dream baby while you traveled, fully content as trains barreled down tracks and boat horns blared.  Bucky tucked her in a blanket and joined you down the ramp.

“Our runaway is ready for the Eiffel tower, I see,” he chuckled as Georgie pulled on your hand.

“Yes,” you sighed, “take your son,” you steered Georgie over to Bucky as you took hold of the pram.  Somehow Bucky had won the lottery, both of the children looking like carbon copies of him with small contributions from your genes.  Dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, dimpled chins and wide easy smiles.  As much as you gave Bucky grief about it, you secretly loved that they looked just like him.  You checked on Florence, seeing that she finally woke up.

“Oh hello, my little Flo,” you sang at her, making the baby smile and scrunch her face as she stretched.  “I wish I could sleep like you do,” you teased her, tickling her cheek with your finger.

“Come ladies, I wanna see this big needle,” Bucky joked, the French deck hands behind him sneering at his irreverence.  You smacked his arm as you approached him, looking back and apologizing in French.  

“Bucky!” you admonished, giving him a harsh look.  “Don’t insult the French in front of the French.  They’re not always very nice, even to tourists,” you admonished him.

Bucky looked sheepishly at the men behind him, giving them a sorry gesture and waving.  “For such a beautiful place it sure has…interesting people,” he mumbled back, picking up Georgie and walking away briskly.

The Eiffel tower was a hit with Bucky as he stared up at it in wonder.  You had arranged for a lunch to be served nearby, then afterwards took a trolley to the Louvre.  Georgie had fallen asleep and Bucky swapped Flo out of the pram and carried her as Georgie slept in it, his feet sticking out of the sides as they walked through, admiring the art and the sculptures.  Flo was babbling quietly as you walked, a tour guide describing what each piece was and where it came from.  When you all came upon the Winged Victory you cried, Bucky not quite understanding why but appreciating that it was a highly unique statue.

You had been taking your family on a world tour similar to what you had done after your parents died.  You wanted to share the special places you’d been with Bucky, especially since he had not been able to travel before.  He loved every minute of it, even while traveling with children.  There had been the option to leave them at home with the nanny but you couldn’t bear to leave Flo behind while she was still so young, so you brought the nanny and some more trusted staff to help while also getting a chance to see the world themselves.  The children didn’t seem to know or particularly care what was going on, just that they were along for the ride.

After an eventful day you all made it back to the hotel, shedding the layers of clothing and getting comfortable for the night.  As the children fell asleep in one room, you and Bucky headed to the next and settled down.

Bucky sat back against the headboard of the large bed, spreading his legs and beckoning you to sit between them.  You huffed a laugh as you crawled up and twisted yourself into a comfortable position in front of him, his arms winding around you when you leaned back against him.  Outside the window was a view of the Eiffel tower as the sun sank below the horizon. 

“What a great day,” Bucky mused, his eyes drooping and his hands mindlessly running up and down your stomach and chest, periodically squeezing your breast.

“Don’t start, Buck,” you teased, swatting his hands.  

“I’m not, I’m not,” he yawned, his legs stretching next to you.  “Just enjoying my pretty doll.”

“Sure, and we haven’t had two children within 3 years,” you deadpanned, looking up at him with an unimpressed look.  Bucky snorted at your face, covering his laugh so as not to wake the children.  

“Well it’s not my fault you’re delectable, pretty doll,” he said, tickling your sides.  You squeaked and squirmed, pushing his hands away.  He manhandled you until you were straddling his lap.  “Besides, you make us such pretty babies.”

“Yeah because they come out looking like you!” 

He smiled proudly, pushing your hair back and fixing your robe.  He gazed at you for a few moments, making you tilt your head sideways.

“What’s on your mind, my darling?” you asked.

Bucky’s smile softened, his tired eyes drooping again as you scratched his beard.  “I’m thinking of how wonderful my life has become since I met you.  What you’ve given me, done for me, how you’ve loved me.  I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but I’d do it a thousand times over again if it meant having you as mine forever.”

You smiled back at him, your fingers caressing his face.  “My darling, my Bucky,” you whispered, “you deserve it all.  My sweet, kind, funny, brave, good, loving husband,” you praised him.  

“Thank you,” he said as he leaned in and kissed next to your mouth.

“Thank you,” you said, fully kissing his lips.  

The end

Thank you so much for those who loved this story! I legit cried while writing this last chapter. I've got some more stories in mind so follow and like to find them.

[litsnobconfessions]

A Year of Animation Day 38: A Scanner Darkly

Date: February 7, 2025

Day: 38

Content Watched: A Scanner Darkly

Year: 2006

Rating: R

Run Time: 1 hour 40 minutes

I picked Nimona for my sister's birthday, and I picked A Scanner Darkly for my brother's. I'm guessing he's seen it (he's seen a lot of stuff), though I don't know if he likes it. But I think of my brother as a cerebral fella, and he's the person who introduced me to science-fiction, if not to Phillip K. Dick specifically.

I watched this movie once before, in high school. And shortly thereafter, I read the book. There were two things that really struck me while reading: (1) This book is super trippy and hard to follow, but I'm guessing Dick did that on purpose and (2) this is a really solid adaptation.

My favorite part of the movie is The Sins of Feck, mostly because I remember reading the book and thinking, "I've already read this. Except I know I haven't." I couldn't remember how it had played out in the movie, but I knew that somehow that scene had occurred word for word. So today I got to go full circle and see how it played out all over again, knowing already that it was word for word taken from the book. My other favorite scene is probably the one with the bicycle, again because I remember it vividly from the book.

Watching it this go around, I'm struck by how beautiful Dick's prose is. Because so many lines are taken word for word, you can hear it here, and he's a masterful writer. And I noticed the foreshadowing with the blue flowers being mentioned several times before the end. Also, the book has this habit of skipping back and forth between scenes, sometimes in the middle of sentences, and the movie does that a bit, but not as much as the book (though the DVD I watched had a scratch that forced me to skip even more than normal.) Nevertheless, the movie is very trippy, which again, I'm sure is on purpose, as I suspect the point is to make you feel like a user. A lot of that is due to the animation.

This movie is rotoscoped and, like Persepolis and Loving Vincent, is one of those films where, once you see it, you realize there is no other medium or art style that is better suited to the story it is telling. From what I understand, rotoscoping by its nature can come off as disjointed and wonky, but the animators definitely leaned into that, as is seen in several scenes in which inanimate objects move in ways they should not. These movements were quick enough, however to make me question whether or not I really saw them, and it wasn't until I honed it on it and looked for it that I was sure.

The scamble suits are definitely my favorite part of the animation, not only because they are interesting to look at, but because I can hardly imagine how difficult they would have been to create. I'm impressed at how synchronized the lips are, even as the image of the speaker shifts frame to frame. Apparently, they had 20 people working on the scramble suits alone.

As for the rest of the movie, it still took hundreds of hours to animate a single minute of the film. The animators considered different line wieghts for different characters, drew in facial highlights that shift as the characters move, and even changed elements of the actor's appearances, such as drawing Keanu Reeve's character as clean shaven in the final scenes (not to mention all the aphids). All of this flies in the face of hypothesis 6. I also really like that the actors apparently got in on the action in their own way. Reeves, knowing that in many scenes, his character would be wearing a scramble suit, focused on bigger body language rather than facial expression to communicate Fred's thoughts. Other actors purposely performed their scenes in a... well, in a more animated way, knowing it would better suit the finished product.

I think I'd like to end in the same vein as the movie (and, I'm sure, the novel as well), in which Dick dedicates the work to friends who died or experienced extensive physical and/or mental harm due to drug addiction. I am struck by this line from Barris toward the beginning of the story: "Substance D needs no genetic predisposition. You're either on it, or you haven't tried it." I would fall into the latter category, but I believe Dick when he says these others suffered a fate far greater than they deserved.

[harleiquina]

Most of the issue here is due to face value... Disney tries to look progressive giving us a (self proclaimed) latina Snowhite and "7 magical creatures" because they feel like "dwarves" is stigmatizing and not cool.

Yes, the word "dwarf" is derogative, but the story is named like that... it has been used by centuries and I'm pretty sure that many people with enanism as ok with it because even if it is not perfect, they are a important part of the story.

You can always change the story.

Pushkin did it. His version is called "The Dead Princess and the seven knights", fair enough it's based in Russia but by erasing the name Snowhite you no longer need a girl "as white as snow" (and one of my favourite things is that she doesn't wake up due to the Prince's love kiss, the Prince is so shocked of seeing her in the glass coffin that throws himself to cry on it and because of that shake she spits the apple and awakes... give us a dramatic Prince!! 🤣). Of course, Disney wasn't going to do this story because Snowhite is their brand and all... but still... I'm certain that there are HUNDREDS of versions of the story. (Including mine the English Version might need a check up because I think I made a mistake somewhere -I wrote it at 4AM one morning- but the Spanish one should be better)

The mistake of The Hobbit.

Even if The Lord of the Rings was at the time populated by middle-tier actors in the leading roles (with some exceptions) and newcomers, The Hobbit had too many expectations and they weren't going to take any chances casting-wise. Not to mention that casting 13 real dwarves was going to be a practical challenge because Tolkien's Dwarves have a determined height (I think close to 1.56m) and Bilbo had to be even smaller (I think Hobbits are close to 1.20m) so, shinking actors is easier than having a a very hard casting process that would require to meet not just height and look but acting skills as well.

However the actors did something cool that I wish the screenplayers had done... they gave each one of their characters a backstory. In Tolkien's book they are completely interchangeable, the only difference between them is the colour of the capes and the instrument they play. The Hobbit production team gave them particular looks and that's where their effort ended.

Given that (according to them) the audience wasn't going to care much about the Dwarves, they pushed the Elves and Humans to a more active role than the one they have in the book. But all of us book-nerds wanted to know more about the Dwarves! That's the point, they and Bilbo are the main characters!

I wish they included the backstories created by the actors somehow in the script, using them to bond with Bilbo or -given that some of them were inventors/artisans- with them using their skills when facing danger. We only had a throw-off line of "not all of us are soldiers" and that was it...

In Snowhite they could be more than miners with one personality trait that names them, make them the outcasts of the village that turn into heroes for defeating the Evil Queen (and by doing so you can talk about discrimination, show how nice Snowhite is by seeing beyond their apperance... hell you can even bring invisibilization by making everyone in town not care about them and turn this into an important tool once they hide Snowhite). But, alas, Creativity is dead in the places where it matters the most.

I think the host of the show is doing a HORRIBLE job in here. He should act as a mediator, not take sides. But I feel like gringos news are all like these. They love taking sides.

Having said that, the blond kid saying "Well, as a gay person…" is in the wrong too. Dude, this isn't about you. Nobody is talking about gays, a dwarf actor is talking about being dwarf in Hollywood. You dont talk over him, you listen. I understand the issues with stereotypes, ofc. When you are part of a minority, Hollywood pigeonholes you. It happens to us Latinos a lot. But the difference is that many years have passed since we started watching Latinos, or gays, on our screens. The number of actors and actress increased so much that issue become visible and more people began to ask for a change. In the case of dwarf actors, THERE IS PRACTICALLY NO ONE WORKING ON TV OR MOVIES. Taking away their jobs opportunities not only affects them financially, but also prevents them from growing in numbers, joining together, and demanding for better roles later on.

I know is not an easy subject. I have no idea what's the right decision is here. But the movie had 7 roles that dwarf actors could have played.

And yes, these are not the best roles. Is controversial as hell. But we could have had 7 dwarf actors in a disney movies. Can you imagine the work prospect for those men after that?

[eponymous-rose]

Wanted to add, if anyone’s curious: Critical Role is starting its third campaign tomorrow (Thursday, October 21)! If you’ve been looking for a jumping-on point for the show that doesn’t involve watching hundreds and hundreds of hours of content to catch up, this is it. Each campaign takes place in the same overall world as the previous ones, but at enough of a remove (different continent, set some time later) that the impact of prior campaigns is usually reduced to the odd NPC cameo and no knowledge of those plots is needed to enjoy the story.

I know D&D actual-plays are much more mainstream than they were back when campaign two was first getting started, but in case that hasn’t been your thing: it’s literally just listening in on someone else’s game of Dungeons and Dragons. They’ve got great production value and an absolutely absurd new set for the new campaign (projections????), but the game itself is totally unedited, which means you get the full experience of table talk, flubs, and occasionally having to take an early break because everyone has the giggles. The players are all experienced actors and longtime friends, though, so they’re very good at sharing the spotlight, building each other up, and occasionally messing with each other for maximum humorous effect.

Matt Mercer, the DM, is clearly living his Dungeons & Dragons dreams - he’s mentioned that this set is something he’s daydreamed about since he was DMing in high school, and on top of creating the world, he has control over the visual effects during the game and builds the battle maps himself. The seven players (plus occasional guest players!) buy in to their characters in a huge way; it really does feel like reading a book or watching a show where every single character has a writer who’s always in their corner. They’ve got a great crew (including, now that they’re pre-recording, subtitles for every episode as it airs) and the show’s getting more and more polished without losing the fun side of the chaos of it all.

The episodes are free-to-watch and air every Thursday (except, starting in November, for the last week of each month when a one-shot will air instead) at 7 PM Pacific Time on Twitch, typically running for around 4 hours. That’s long as heck, so if you’re not super into watching something for that long in one sitting or if the time zone’s not in your favor, you’re in luck: they rebroadcast on Twitch at midnight Pacific Time and 9 AM Pacific Time on Fridays, then post to YouTube the following Monday. You can also subscribe on Twitch to be able to watch the VOD immediately after (and even during) airing - if you have an Amazon Prime account, you get one free subscription.

They also post episodes in audio-only form to a podcast feed a week after airing - you may have to poke around a bit because the earlier episodes were on a different feed due to the changeover to CR becoming its own company.

Anyway, I do really love this show - I think it’s an incredibly fun example of creativity and communal storytelling, and the throughline always hews back to found family and deep friendships. It feels like watching a fantasy epic that’s somehow had the goofy cast shenanigans integrated right into it, with the added intensity of a really good sports game - after all, everything is unscripted and the nature of D&D means that a character can permanently die at any time.

It’s great fun all around, and even if you do fall behind on it and only poke your head back in occasionally down the line, jumping in at the start of a new campaign is a pretty wild experience all around.

If you’re interested, the Twitch channel is here and the YouTube channel is here. Watch live at 7 PM Pacific on Thursday, October 21st!

[aralezinspace]

Writeblr Positivity Tag

was tagged by both @chromehoplite and @hangfiretales and haven't really had Brain to write so fingers crossed this helps get the juices flowing again xD Under a cut cuz I kinda went off with the answers xD

1. What motivates you to write?

Rereading my favorite stories, certain movies- I forget what Tolkien called it, but just the urge to create after seeing something beautiful that someone else has created. Also telling stories as a sort of release for the feelings/vibes/sentiments that I just don't have space to experience in my every day life.

2. A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

From one of Megan’s stories I’m starting to rework so it’s one cohesive thing and not a tumblr RP thread xD

The truth… Megan laced her fingers and leaned forward, resting her forearms on her thighs. Her hazel eyes stared without focus into the distance. How much of the truth to tell him, at least at this moment.

3. Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

Guardian Megan Samuels. Both she and her order were created for/in the Doctor Who universe, but I'm tweaking some of the concepts for a potential OW. Writing her adventures got me through a really horrible period of my life.

Megan is the embodiment of one of my favorite tropes, "character is done with x but x isn't done with them (because they're good at it)." She was plucked from her life and remolded into a warrior, yet despite being hundreds of years old and seeing untold horros (time war) she hasn't succumbed to cynicism.

She's kind and self sacrificing almost to the point of martyrdom, very protective of the ones she cares about, "you said pick my battles, I'm picking all of them", the hardened exterior of a warrior hiding the fragile, broken, vulnerable, and somehow still kind and optimistic person underneath.

Fuck I miss writing her. Might be time to dust off her old stories...

4. What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

The semi stressful feeling when the ideas and plot are forming faster than your fingers can type- and when the flow stops, going back and tweaking the whole ass story or scene that just popped into existence like Athena did to Zeus xD just watching the story unfold before you, sometimes in ways you didn't think it would

5. What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

How I write action, specifically fights. Pacing it and varying the language so it's engaging but also realistic within the world of the story, and also the thoughts and feelings of the characters while they're fighting.

Also how I can almost always find the right/specific words to describe the vaguest of vibes and feelings, so that the ephemeral mess in my head is understandable (prob cuz I had to do that a lot to get people in my life to understand how I was experiencing the world)

6. What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

Both the commiseration about how writing is wonderful and awful at the same time, and seeing normally eloquent writers have incoherent unhinged conversations about their blorbos xD

7. A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

Sticky notes and a notebook. I have post-its in the back of my writing notebook with all my ideas/prompts so that if I want to write something but don't know what, I can pick one. also specifically those notebooks with folders in them, they're the unsung heros of writers who just accumulate scrap paper with notes and ideas and want to keep them with their writing notebook (aka me) xD

8. A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

In the Doctor Who universe that Megan was originally created for, the Order of Guardians is formed of soldiers of different species from all over the universe, kind of like the Green Lantern corps but for Time Lords. Each Guardian is assigned a Time Lord to protect, how they go about that is their business (Megan is basically glued to the Doctor's hip, she gotta be xD), but their first loyalty is to Gallifrey. They are all enhanced to live as long as Time Lords but don't regenerate, they go through extensive training and schooling, are the elite fighting force of Gallifrey. Megan was the first human Guardian. I'm working on tweaking this whole concept for a potential OW, we'll see how it goes xD

9. What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

Write what you want to write, no matter what it is. Go to your sources of motivation, whatever makes you want to get lost in the magic of storytelling. and remember, it's okay to step away for a bit and come back to it in a few days or weeks or however long- give your brain the space to rest.

10. Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters.

Both Chrome and Ama who are already tagged (such amazing writers and so supportive of my multi chap that I've been working on for 3 ish years now) but also @griever-bit-my-finger @honeybeezgobzzzzz @7-wonders @just-french-me-up @just-some-random-blogger @roguelov @cuckoo-on-a-string @peachesofteal @undiscovered-horizon @just-some-random-blogger All of these folks have multiple works that I've read multiple times, and I enjoy them just as much every reread as I did the first time (No pressure to do the questions just my undying love)

[duckprintspress]

Ten Things We Hate About Trad Pub

Often when I say “I’ve started a small press; we publish the works of those who have trouble breaking into traditional publishing!” what people seem to hear is “me and a bunch of sad saps couldn’t sell our books in the Real World so we’ve made our own place with lower standards.” For those with minimal understanding of traditional publishing (trad pub), this reaction is perhaps understandable? But, truly, there are many things to hate about traditional publishing (and, don’t get me wrong - there are things to love about trad pub, too, but that’s not what this list is about) and it’s entirely reasonable for even highly accomplished authors to have no interest in running the gauntlet of genre restrictions, editorial control, hazing, long waits, and more, that make trad pub at best, um, challenging, and at worst, utterly inaccessible to many authors - even excellent ones.

Written in collaboration with @jhoomwrites, with input from @ramblingandpie, here is a list of ten things that we at Duck Prints Press detest about trad pub, why we hate it, and why/how we think things should be different!

(Needless to say, part of why we created Duck Prints Press was to...not do any of these things... so if you’re a writer looking for a publishing home, and you hate these things, too, and want to write with a Press that doesn’t do them...maybe come say hi?)

-

1. Work lengths dictated by genre and/or author experience.

Romance novels can’t be longer than 90,000 words or they won’t sell! New authors shouldn’t try to market a novel longer than 100,000 words!

A good story is a good story is a good story. Longer genre works give authors the chance to explore their themes and develop their plots. How often an author has been published shouldn’t put a cap on the length of their work.

-

2. Editors assert control of story events...except when they don’t.

If you don’t change this plot point, the book won’t market well. Oh, you’re a ten-time bestseller? Write whatever you want, even if it doesn’t make sense we know people will buy it.

Sometimes, a beta or an editor will point out that an aspect of a story doesn’t work - because it’s nonsensical, illogical, Deus ex Machina, etc. - and in those cases it’s of course reasonable for an editor to say, “This doesn’t work and we recommend changing it, for these reasons…” However, when that list of reasons begins and ends with, “...because it won’t sell…” that’s a problem, especially because this is so often applied as a double standard. We’ve all read bestsellers with major plot issues, but those authors get a “bye” because editors don’t want to exert to heavy a hand and risk a proven seller, but with a new, less experienced, or worse-selling author, the gloves come off (even though evidence suggests time and again that publishers’ ability to predict what will sell well is at best low and at worst nonexistent.)

-

3. A billion rejection letters as a required rite of passage (especially when the letters aren't helpful in pinpointing why a work has been rejected or how the author can improve).

Well, my first book was rejected by a hundred Presses before it was accepted! How many rejection letters did you get before you got a bite? What, only one or two? Oh…

How often one succeeds or fails to get published shouldn’t be treated as a form of hazing, and we all know that how often someone gets rejected or accepted has essentially no bearing on how good a writer they are. Plenty of schlock goes out into the world after being accepted on the first or second try...and so does plenty of good stuff! Likewise, plenty of schlock will get rejected 100 times but due to persistence, luck, circumstances, whatever, finally find a home, and plenty of good stuff will also get rejected 100 times before being publishing. Rejections (or lack there of) as a point of pride or as a means of judging others needs to die as a rite of passage among authors.

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4. Query letters, for so many reasons.

Summarize all your hard work in a single page! Tell us who you’re like as an author and what books your story is like, so we can gauge how well it’ll sell based on two sentences about it! Format it exactly the way we say or we won’t even consider you!

For publishers, agents, and editors who have slush piles as tall as Mount Everest...we get it. There has to be a way to differentiate. We don’t blame you. Every creative writing class, NaNoWriMo pep talk, and college lit department combine to send out hundreds of thousands of people who think all they need to do to become the next Ernest Hemingway is string a sentence together. There has to be some way to sort through that pile...but God, can’t there be a better way than query letters? Especially since even with query letters being used it often takes months or years to hear back, and...

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5. "Simultaneous submissions prohibited.”

No, we don’t know when we’ll get to your query, but we’ll throw it out instantly if you have the audacity to shop around while you wait for us.

The combination of “no simultaneous submissions” with the query letter bottleneck makes success slow and arduous. It disadvantages everyone who aims to write full-time but doesn’t have another income source (their own, or a parents’, or a spouse’s, or, or or). The result is that entire classes of people are edged out of publishing solely because the process, especially for writers early in their career, moves so glacially that people have to earn a living while they wait, and it’s so hard to, for example, work two jobs and raise a family and also somehow find the time to write. Especially considering that the standard advice for dealing with “no simultaneous submissions” is “just write something else while you wait!” ...the whole system screams privilege.

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6. Genres are boxes that must be fit into and adhered to.

Your protagonist is 18? Then obviously your book is Young Adult. It doesn’t matter how smutty your book is, erotica books must have sex within the first three chapters, ideally in the first chapter. Sorry, we’re a fantasy publisher, if you have a technological element you don’t belong here…

While some genre boxes have been becoming more like mesh cages of late, with some flow of content allowed in and out, many remain stiff prisons that constrict the kinds of stories people can tell. Even basic cross-genre works often struggle to find a place, and there’s no reason for it beyond “if we can’t pigeon-hole a story, it’s harder to sell.” This edges out many innovative, creative works. It also disadvantages people who aren’t as familiar with genre rules. And don’t get me wrong - this isn’t an argument that, for example, the romance genre would be improved by opening up to stories that don’t have “happily ever afters.” Instead, it’s pointing out - there should also be a home for, say, a space opera with a side romance, an erotica scene, and a happily-for-now ending. Occasionally, works breakthrough, but for the most part stories that don’t conform never see the light of day (or, they do, but only after Point 2 - trad pub editors insist that the elements most “outside” the box be removed or revised).

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7. The lines between romance and erotica are arbitrary, random, and hetero- and cis-normative.

This modern romance novel won’t sell if it doesn’t have an explicit sex scene, but God forbid you call a penis a penis. Oh, no, this is far too explicit, even though the book only has one mlm sex scene, this is erotica.

The difference between “romance” and “erotica” might not matter so much if not for the stigmas attached to erotica and the huge difference in marketability and audience. The difference between “romance” and “erotica” also might not matter so much if not for the fact that, so often, even incredibly raunchy stories that feature cis straight male/cis straight female sex scenes are shelved as romance, but the moment the sex is between people of the same gender, and/or a trans or genderqueer person is involved, and/or the relationship is polyamorous, and/or the characters involved are literally anything other than a cis straight male pleasuring a cis straight female in a “standard” way (cunnilingus welcome, pegging need not apply)...then the story is erotica. Two identical stories will get assigned different genres based on who the people having sex are, and also based on the “skill” of the author to use ludicrous euphemisms (instead of just...calling body parts what they’re called…), and it’s insane. Non-con can be a “romance” novel, even if it’s graphically described. “50 Shades of Gray” can sell millions of copies, even containing BDSM. But the word “vagina” gets used once...bam, erotica. (Seriously, the only standard that should matter is the Envelope Analogy).

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8. Authors are expected to do a lot of their own legwork (eg advertising) but then don't reap the benefits.

Okay, so, you’re going to get an advance of $2,500 on this, your first novel, and a royalty rate of 5% if and only if your advance sells out...so you’d better get out there and market! Wait, what do you mean you don’t have a following? Guess you’re never selling out your advance…

Trad pub can generally be relied on to do some marketing - so this item is perhaps better seen as an indictment of more mid-sized Presses - but, basically, if an author has to do the majority of the work themselves, then why aren’t they getting paid more? What’s the actual benefit to going the large press/trad pub route if it’s not going to get the book into more hands? It’s especially strange that this continues to be a major issue when self-publishing (which also requires doing one’s own marketing) garners 60%+ royalty rates. Yes, the author doesn’t get an advance, and they don’t get the cache of ~well I was published by…~, but considering some Presses require parts of advances to get paid back if the initial run doesn’t sell out, and cache doesn’t put food on the table...pay models have really, really got to change.

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9. Fanfiction writing doesn't count as writing experience

Hey there Basic White Dude, we see you’ve graduated summa cum laude from A Big Fancy Expensive School. Of course we’ll set you up to publish your first novel you haven’t actually quite finished writing yet. Oh, Fanperson, you’ve written 15 novels for your favorite fandom in the last 4 years? Get to the back of the line!

Do I really need to explain this? The only way to get better at writing is to write. Placing fanfiction on official trad pub “do not interact” lists is idiotic, especially considering many of the other items on this list. (They know how to engage readers! They have existing followings! They understand genre and tropes!) Being a fanfiction writer should absolutely be a marketable “I am a writer” skill. Nuff said. (To be clear, I’m not saying publishers should publish fanfiction, I’m saying that being a fanfiction writer is relevant and important experience that should be given weight when considering an author’s qualifications, similar to, say, publishing in a university’s quarterly.)

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10. Tagging conventions (read: lack thereof).

Oh, did I trigger you? Hahahaha. Good luck with that.

We rate movies so that people can avoid content they don’t like. Same with TV shows and video games. Increasingly, those ratings aren’t just “R - adult audiences,” either; they contain information about the nature of the story elements that have led to the rating (“blood and gore,” “alcohol reference,” “cartoon violence,” “drug reference,” “sexual violence,” “use of tobacco,” and many, many more). So why is it that I can read a book and, without warning, be surprised by incest, rape, graphic violence, explicit language, glorification of drug and alcohol use, and so so much more? That it’s left to readers to look up spoilers to ensure that they’re not exposed to content that could be upsetting or inappropriate for their children or, or, or, is insane. So often, too, authors cling to “but we don’t want to give away our story,” as if video game makes and other media makers do want to give away their stories. This shouldn’t be about author egos or ~originality~ (as if that’s even a thing)...it should be about helping readers make informed purchasing decisions. It’s way, way past time that major market books include content warnings.

Thank you for joining us, this has been our extended rant about how frustrated we are with traditional publishing. Helpful? No. Cathartic? Most definitely yes. 🤣

*

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[starrybouquet]

Star Trek, Stargate, and the Colors of Fandom

Like so many TNG fans the world over, the cast announcement for season 3 of Star Trek: Picard had me stunned, amazed, and then insanely over-the-top excited.

The entire TNG crew back together?!

It's the stuff of us fans' dreams.

When I need a serotonin boost, you bet I'll be playing that little preview video on repeat. (And reading co-showrunner Terry Matalas' tweets, which have been hilarious, if you haven't seen them.)

But my brain is still...my brain, and so of course it decided to insert its depressed, anxious thoughts into what should, by any measure, be 1 minute and 23 seconds of happiness.

If you're so excited about this, my depressed brain asked, why are you not at all excited about a new Stargate show?

Why are you so excited? my anxious brain asked. Aren't you worried they'll ruin everything you loved about TNG? You didn't like season 1 of Picard--remember?

My brain is depressed. And anxious. But it asks hard questions.

Really, I probably should have just ignored those questions. But it's my brain, and I can't really ignore them, so I started thinking. And this is what I came up with.

There are different colors of fandom.

Stargate is burnt orange. It's a blaze, burning, steady but true.

It's love and creation.

It's betrayal.

It grew from canon, yes, but really, my love for Stargate is its own thing now. I've fleshed out "my" versions of Jack and Teal'c and Sam and Daniel more fully than anyone could, in eight-ish seasons of TV. I write about them, I dream about them. I'm active in the fandom, and the community is better than the show. It's gotten me through a pandemic and given me friends and a writing hobby and a hundred photos of Richard Dean Anderson saved in my phone, and really, I'm grateful.

The betrayal I feel whenever I try to watch Avalon and see Cameron Mitchell, over and over, is both a blessing and a curse.

It's a curse because there's canon I cannot in good conscience like. At all. (I know many do enjoy it, and that's fine.) I waffle between disliking it and hating it and feeling like I'm an outsider among people who will just take canon as gospel, whether they like it or dislike it or just think it's meh. (There's a whole rant somewhere in there about how stupidly uncreative people are, trained to just follow the pack and too idiotic to do anything else. Not all of them, but some of them. But that's a post for another day.)

That betrayal is a blessing, too. That's what I realized when I sat down and tried to really think about the questions I was asking myself. The betrayal of canon is a blessing because it's the spark that causes me to write all the canon-divergent fluff deep in my heart. Canon-divergent angst, too, though that's much more difficult for me. It's a blessing that I should really be thankful for, because it forced me to create those versions of characters of which I am so proud. It forced me to write about them.

(I write about them far less than I'd like. But I do write about them.)

So I'm wary of a new show. The reasons I'm wary deserve their own post (there's one that's been sitting in my drafts for awhile--maybe it's time to release it into the world?) but really, I just need to let go of my wariness and embrace what Stargate has become to me. More than a fandom. Less than a complete show.

Anyway, Stargate is burnt orange. A blessing, a curse. Humor and loyalty and the campfire reflecting off four best friends who are closer than family. The color of the trees lining Jack's lake in the fall. The color of the sunrise Jack sees in Sam's smile.

TNG, though--TNG is indigo.

Calming. Serene. The color of royalty. Loyalty, too. (heh, a rhyme!)

TNG is royal. Untouchable, because somehow, despite the 80s spandex and the weird season 6-7 plots and the slightly problematic tone of some season 1-2 episodes, it is perfectly...complete.

I love every second of it.

Maybe it's nostalgia. (I spent so much of my childhood on the TNG DVD set.) Maybe I'm more willing to overlook the episodes I don't like. Maybe I--and I'm cringing as I type this--care about it less?

Yeah, that last one isn't true. What is true is that I really do love every second: the cringey seconds for being the cringe that washes away the seriousness, and the serious seconds for being some of the best sci-fi--scratch that, some of the best TV--that have ever been made.

Anyway, somehow I'm not too worried about TPTB ruining TNG. I've already made my peace with the fact that I'm always going to be on a different axis than most of the (active) Star Trek fandom. And, like I said, TNG is royal. It will stand like a statue, impervious to whatever we try to throw on top of it. It will stand there, and judge us, and that will be that.

Don't get me wrong, I'll definitely be disappointed if this reunion doesn't go the way I want it to. Somehow, though, I'm not so very bothered by that idea.

If I don't like it, I'll go back and watch All Good Things and imagine my own future for the best starship crew ever to grace a screen.

I hope I love it. But--sorry for being repetitive--TNG is indigo. The prospect of being fed a story I don't like doesn't burn the way burnt-orange SG1 does.

TNG is indigo like the depths of the ocean. The recesses of the night sky. Indigo like the surety of Picard's orders, the loyalty in Riker's grip on the observation room chair, the tilt of Guinan's hat and the steadiness of Crusher's hands. TNG is the color of Geordi's beloved warp core, glowing against the shiny 80s paneling of Engineering.

Maybe this reverses. Maybe I hate season 3 of Picard, and my indignation blazes up into red-hot fandom-ing. Maybe SG1 cools into cool seafoam green and there aren't any stories left in me. It's happened before, for other fandoms. It's the cycle of fandom life.

I don't know the future, but I'm going forward with a little more clarity on how I see my fandoms, and a little more color in my day. <3

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

Behind-the-Scenes Fic Asks: If it be your pleasure to cross the sleeping green between  #7, 13, 17, 25

7. What inspired the idea for the plot?

I decided to play around with the @comfortember prompt list for November because it was all about the comfort angle of hurt/comfort. @scottcyclopssummers was the only person to actually ask if they could give me a prompt from the list (all the others were ones I chose myself), and they chose the "Make Something" prompt. She also wanted it to be Scott Summers-centric with a ship that wasn't his hideous ex or like Emma or Logan. I'd been wanting to play with Scott/Steve Rogers for a while, and when she gave me that prompt, my mind immediately went to Thanksgiving, the two teams (X-Men and Avengers) deciding to work on better communication and working together between their teams, and that Emma's suggestion would be that the different members of the teams would be paired off together (or grouped), each to make a different portion of the Thanksgiving meal for the two teams (and whatever kids didn't really go home for the holidays at the school). As the team leaders, Emma decided that Scott and Steve should have to work together to make desserts. The "PEACE de résistance," she called it. The idea of Scott and Steve - who tend to butt heads (esp in that hideous Bendis run, AvX, which I said right out did NOT happen in my fic) - making sweet things together (leading to them making sweet love together) was just too good to pass up.

13. My favorite line of dialogue from this fic was [xyz]. What inspired it?

I think it would be a tie between:

“That was all press release bullshit for the stage show. I was peddling America, sweetheart, and America was no man-whore,” Steve informed his companion with a warm kiss touched behind Scott’s ear while his face was turned the other way. “People also thought certain things about me because of my shitty health before the serum, and somehow, they thought I was this perfect gentlemen who was this never ever before marriage kinda guy,” he went on.

and

“Listen. I bet I could run into hundreds of kids who had similar fantasies to yours, sweetheart, and obviously, without talking to Stephen Strange or…probably Loki about it and then being warned heavily against it by Wong, I can’t go back in time to rescue you from those little assholes who deserved to be, at the very least, shaken until some sense formed in their heads. I can’t do that, but…I can have your back now. When you want it…when you need me, I can do that, and here’s the thing, Scott. You’re no one’s sidekick. You shouldn’t ever want to be.” He watched Scott’s features for any sign of discomfort or that he was about to run. “And…I mean, if where we’ve landed today isn’t an indication of my interest in you then maybe you’ll let me take you out on a date sometime. Boyfriends sounds like a pretty good deal to me. If it still does to you…after all this time.”

Both of these are Steve lines that I'm really proud of. The first one involves Scott teasing Steve about being born in 1940 and from everything he'd heard and read in the comics as a kid in the orphanage, Steve was this chaste good boy. Steve's response was to refer to the character of Captain America and clearly what Captain America was, Steve was not.

The second one is after they've finished having sex the first time, and Scott is snuggling extra tight, and the emotional desperation of it kind of worries Steve. So Scott explains his clinginess - shitty childhood being bullied in the orphanage and how as a kid, he'd crushed on Captain America big time and how he'd hoped that Captain America would find him and rescue him and eventually make Scott his sidekick and eventually his boyfriend. Steve is absolutely crushed by his story and gives him that speech. Steve doesn't like being held up on a pedestal, but he knows that Scott doesn't really do that anymore, even if he's just had this moment that took him back to being a kid with a crush.

17. What was the hardest scene to write?

The hardest (and yet my favorite) scene to write was the food fight in the kitchen that leads up to the first very intense, very passionate kiss. Trying to get the descriptions of pie fillings just right so that the reader will laugh but also be horrified by how messy they just got (and yet also really turned on by the first kiss) was really difficult, like choreographing a dance.

25. Is there anything you would change now about this fic? Why or why not?

I'm actually pretty happy with how this fic went. The boys were stubborn at points (hey, look at who they are!) and tried to stall me out a lot, but I feel like it was the perfect mix of humor, angst (the angst is all in Scott and all the shit he's had to put up with in his life), and finally the comfort that comes from a source Scott would never have expected. And of course, the sex. I'm really happy with how the sex came out. Wrote something I never had before (rimming), and I had fucking Becky's voice in my head (Rosario Dawson; Clerks II) going "YOU NEVER GO ASS TO MOUTH!" so I had to somersault my way out of it gracefully somehow (I think I managed it). I'm really proud of this one, and I'm hoping the next part will be just as fun and sexy.

Thanks for the ask!

[sometimesrosy]

Rosy that's fantastic news for your book!! I'm really happy for you. And just seeing "bellarke consum their love and even have grandkids" makes my heart full. Bob and Eliza said tthey were disappointed that 1/the charaters couldn't have kids in the end and that 2/ there was no hope. I totally agree with their interpretation of the end. Some people said the ending was super cool, and inkeeping with the whole show, and somehow hopeful. HOW WAS IT HOPEFUL?? the human race gets wiped out...

People said the ending was “super cool?” How?

Wait. I need to wrap my head around that. What are they looking at that seems super cool?

I actually don’t have a problem of the concept of transcendence that they worked on all season, nor Cadogan, the fake-spiritual, love-your-fellow-man-but-also-sacrifice-them-because-they-mean-nothing cult leader who favored his daughter, used his son, tossed his exwife into the apocalypse and killed Becca because she had power and knowledge beyond him.

Like, that could have been super cool if they’d kept him the villain, the antagonist, but instead they made him the protagonist who was, somehow, right about transcendence as if it wasn’t just another fucking doomsday cult that wanted humanity to end. I mean, it WAS just another fucking doomsday cult that wanted humanity to end, and the aliens vacuumed up humanity and allowed for no dissent. Here, have your perfect happy transcendence...but your body dies, the world ends, and humanity is gone. That is EXACTLY what ALIE did, and she was a villain. Perhaps a well meaning villain, but a terrifying villain.

How did the SAME story, get switched around to being some sort of victory for the state of humanity? How did the end of humanity, no chance to continue on, because they removed their ability to have children and carry on?

Why couldn’t they just fucking stay on The Ring if that was going to happen. At least they could have a small community up there.  But no. Without the info that our heroes brought, they wouldn’t have reached transcendence. 

That wasn’t transcendence. It was judgement day. Transcendence means you have worked your way to a higher state, and yes, it might be condescending and elitist, but you at least worked for it. And it wasn’t really a judgement day because they just took everybody, despite the fact that those idiots were fighting for no fucking reason. It was a PUNISHMENT day for Clarke, one of the only people who was actually TRYING to be better and do better. 

What was cool? The way the aliens brought back the people they cared for? Yes, that was cool. It wasn’t them of course, but some people would be impressed by the alien dressed up in the costume of their fav. I could see that being considered super cool. But honestly... that’s a story line that would have worked better in season 3 and in fact DID work remarkably well in season 3 when Lxa showed up in the COL. And it was ACTUALLY her, not some facsimile.

Was it cool to take away the agency of the hero of the story who we’ve been following for 7 years? Was it cool to erase the personality and motivation of our dual protagonist? Ok. So lets say you didn’t love Clarke or Bellamy. Octavia’s character was erased and she didn’t have a thing to do until the final battle, and then she got a romance that frankly made me uncomfortable but that’s taste. Echo was erased and she didn’t have a thing to do until the final battle. Raven was also erase although she got to be the one to convince the aliens that they weren’t totally awful beings. That was cool, but it seemed like a patch put on top of a story that had failed. The story being about how Clarke saves humanity, and Bellamy saves Clarke, which has been THE STORY FOR SIX YEARS. We spent six years building up a team with these two heroes who have been through so much shit and made the CHOICE to be the good guys, and in the end, Bellamy gives his power over to a charismatic obsessive leader (also happened in season 3 with Pike who was a great character and FAR better than Cadogan and actual sympathetic awful villain who thought he was saving his people while doing evil.) And Clarke actually becomes THE BAD GUY, who loses her sense of reason and commits violence due to loving too much-- a really tired, misogynistic storyline. Give women power and they go crazy. The hysterical woman. THIS DOES NOT FIT WITH CLARKE GRIFFIN. Also, we saw her go through that trauma of fear for her daughter, and she DID NOT GO CRAZY. Ruthless, yes. And then she worked through what she had done and recognized she was wrong and promised not to do that again. I honestly don’t know why she did it again.  Even if Bellamy betrayed her again, it didn’t make sense that she couldn’t work through it.

They had to keep the two characters apart in order have that ending happen. Why? Because Clarke acts as the center to Bellamy and Bellamy acts as the Center to Clarke. This season is the story of the FAILURE of the duo protagonists of the show. They separated them and broke them individually, and this meant they were unable to save the universe. 

Is it cool to make a show about heroes and then destroy them in the last season? But frame that destruction and the end of humanity as a VICTORY and positive ending? Maybe if you hate those characters and humanity and think there’s no hope for us anyway, so lets just burn it down.

Oh wait. I’m trying to figure out what’s SUPER COOL about that ending.

The purple sparkly aliens. Ok. How is that cool? That there’s actually an omnipotent alien out there that has the ability to just snap a whole race of people out of existence or into their big ole stew pot of consciousness.

1. Why? 2. How? 3. Where did that power come from? 4. Who are they? 5. What do they get out of erasing races and basically eating them?

Okay, putting aside the questions about how these omnipotent gods aliens came to be... is it possible they can be see as “super cool?” Let me go through.

1. Omnipotent aliens going through the universe, deciding when life forms were “ready” to be judged and then either wiping them out totally, or wiping them out totally but accepting their consciousnesses into their massive consciousness where they don’t want any “bad” lifeforms, which makes them now a higher lifeform but not at all what they once were. 

Cool/Not Cool. I dunno. Kind of seems like some sort of puritanical god who willy nilly decides if people are worthy of heaven. Will He, Nil He. That’s what that means. If we’re gonna get aliens at the last minute, I want aliens. I want to know who they are and what’s up with them. THAT’S the story. Those alien guys. Instead, the story was about the flotsam and jetsam at the end of humanity, either getting swept up into the god-form in the sky or being pounded to bits on the rocks. The heroes of our story have no say in what happens. They’re toast either way. Oh you mean we can be erased into nothing or erased into your hive mind? The only way this is cool is if you like nihilism. Which, yeah, some people do. NONE of their struggle over the past six years meant a damn thing. None of it. Their beliefs, their sacrifices, their mistakes, their heroism. It al reduces down to whether those sparkly purple aliens like them or not. That’s some bullshit. 

Not cool. 

2. Cadogan. Cult leader from the first apocalypse who conned the bulk of his followers and left them shady shelters that let them die. Kept the good stuff for his “best” followers. Paternalistic, obsessive, ruthless, megalomaniac framing his leadership and personality as “Love for Humanity,” while discarding every human who he deemed unworthy. Including his own family. Actually. Pretty cool.  AS A VILLAIN. Ending up at his cult colony in space hundreds of years later with thousands of years of development in time dilation. Cool. They’re creepy but make some bit of sense. Ok. Waking him up and then making him this fucking GURU who preaches love for humanity but sacrifices 99.9% of humanity all so that he can reach his mythical transcendence which is really the eradication of all humanity.... well, that’s actually cool. AS A VILLAIN. But somehow in the last season, Cadogan turned out to be the one who was right all along, and the story seemed to accept HIS concept that transcendence was the best thing that could happen to them, because humanity sucks and they always fight so they should be erase by paternalistic omnipotent gods. CADOGAN’S choices were the ones that were enacted. Bellamy gave his will to Cadogan and made CADOGAN’S choices, not his own. Never before in all the seasons did Bellamy “need it all to make sense.” He fucking KNEW it made no sense and he didn’t want to make those choices any more. And he did it to be a better person and make better choices and keep his family safe. The excuse they used for our hero to side with Cadogan did not fit. CADOGAN became the protagonist in the second half of the season. CADOGAN made all the choices that furthered the story. Our heroes were reduced to either brainwashed followers or ineffective, hysterical messes, our really not wanting anything to do with anyone’s salvation and just interested in their love life. It left Raven, Echo and Octavia to scramble around in the end and try to convince the purple sparkly gods not to erase them out of existence, just erase them and swallow them. :/ Cadogan as protagonist bringing humanity to “transcendence.”, Our supposed heroes as useless flotsam and jetsam floating around on the wreck of humanity whose choices and actions make no goddamn difference.

NOT COOL.

3. Character Storylines

Clarke’s storyline. NOT COOL. Bellamy’s storyline. NOT COOL. Octavia’s storyline. S.A COOL. S.B NOT COOL. Raven’s storyline. COOL. Echo’s storyline. S.A COOL. S.B NOT COOL. Murphy’s storyline. SUPER COOL. Emori’s storyline. SUPER COOL. Indra’s storyline.  COOL. Hope’s storyline. S.A COOL S.B NOT COOL. Jordan’s storyline. NOT COOL.  Diyoza’s storyline. COOL Gabriel’s storyline. COOL. Madi’s storyline. NOT COOL The grounders. Fucking morons. You really shouldn’t make a whole culture’s choices based around being absolutely too stupid to be allowed to live. EVEN when you get past xenophobia and learn about who they are and why they do things. NOT COOL. The culty people. Cool set up and world building. The society was dumb and had too many plot holes. MIDDLING SHEIDHEDA. NOT COOL. pointless plot device just used to make everyone forget everything they learned from 6 seasons. CADOGAN. COOL AS A VILLAIN. But he was the protagonist. So the ruination of the entire show and universe they created. NOT COOL.

SEASON A COOL OVERALL.  SEASON B NOT COOL. TOTAL SEASON NOT COOL

I think if people think the ending was supercool, they’ve never heard of a deus ex machina, and how that’s a BAD ending that is really just a cheat because you can’t figure out a way to get out of the story mess you made. 

I really hate post apocalyptic fiction that ends with no hope for humanity. JR kept telling us there was hope. I mean narratively, not in interviews, although he did that too, and in the last half season, he switched it around so they wouldn’t have hope, not even just our heroes, but all humanity. It was a bait and switch I did not appreciate. And I’m not talking about ships, I’m talking about the essential genre of the show. 

PS. thanks. I love my book and I hope someone picks it up so you all can read it. It also has elements of Han/Leia and another couple, Brashen/Althea from the Live Ship Traders book by Robin Hobb. They are, however, less traumatized than the characters in The 100. 

[casey-v]

Valentine

Ethan x Casey

I haven’t written any fics for quite a while, but with OH3 coming soon I’m getting these vibes again….

I always wondered: what would the closing of Edenbrook mean to E x MC’s relationship? Here’s my attempt to this part of the story.

Sorry in advance for any mistakes, English isn’t my first language.

Warnings: none, I guess (maybe a few smutty thoughts)

Words: 3K

Disclaimer: all characters owned by PB

Participating in @choicesfebchallenge Day14: Valentine

“Good morning Dr. Valentine. This is your day today, isn’t it?” The nurse Rose greeted Casey as she entered the free clinic.

“Good morning. Yeah, I get that a lot.” Casey tried a friendly smile. Since she had been a child everyone referred to her last name on Valentine’s Day, making a remark or joking around. As a teenager it had made her feel special, but by now she was tired of hearing it. Especially today.

She had been in a bad mood since she woke up and it had nothing to do with her last name or Rose. But it had everything to do with the man who simply ignored this day today, probably didn’t even know it existed. 

It was perfectly clear to Casey, that these kinds of traditions meant nothing to Ethan. Nevertheless, her disappointment was huge because she had had great expectations for today. After a few difficult weeks she had hoped that a romantic dinner could bring them closer together again.

After the gala and their public kiss everything had seemed perfect and she had spent some time on cloud number nine. But then Ethan gradually became distant and a little grumpy again. They both often worked double shifts and meetings outside the hospital became rare. And they never talked about their life after Edenbrook’s closing. Whenever they got close to that topic, Ethan would change the subject. And Casey was also in denial; she hadn’t applied to any jobs outside greater Boston because she didn’t want to lose Ethan. But maybe it was too late now anyway, she didn’t even know what point in their relationship they really were at.            

“Has he told you yet?” Sienna interrupted her thoughts.

“Hi Sienna. No, I still have no idea what we’re doing tonight.”

“Oh, that’s so romantic. For sure he has something incredibly special planned for the two of you.”

Casey tried to maintain a cheerful façade even though she actually felt like crying. But Sienna’s enthusiasm was also kind of sweet, so she managed a smile.

“You seem more excited than I am.”

“I’m hosting a lonely-hearts roomie dinner tonight, so at least let me enjoy the romance in your life.”

Casey felt bad that she was being dishonest with her friend. It was silly, but she would rather spend the night at the movies on her own and then sleep in an on-call room than admit to her friend that Ethan wasn’t going to take her out on a date. Besides, talking about it would make it more real: their relationship was probably on the rocks.

 A busy morning at the clinic kept Casey occupied and gave her no opportunity to dwell on her misery. As she was preparing an IV for a patient, she suddenly sensed someone right behind her.

“Dr. Valentine, can you please run some tests on this patient and then get back to me as soon as possible?”

Usually her favorite baritone voice quickened her heartbeat, but today it sounded businesslike and not appealing at all. When she turned around Ethan didn't meet her gaze. Instead, he just thrust a patient chart into her hand and was gone before Casey even had the chance to respond.

 At first, she stood there with her mouth open, unable to move, a dreadful feeling spreading through her chest. She had barely seen him all week and that was all she got?

When her vision started to get blurred by tears, she quickly ran to a supply closet, locked the door and sank to the floor.

 What now? She couldn’t decide whether she was more sad or mad. How could it be, that things went wrong so fast after everything they had been through together? And how dare he talk to her like a random intern, shoving that patient file into her hands so rudely. He wasn't even her boss anymore.

She still held the chart clutched to her chest and now wanted to check what seemed so urgent. But what she saw didn't make any sense. There was only a last name on it and an address, but everything else was blank. As she turned the page her heart took a leap. She wiped away a few tears and stared at the blank piece of paper. Two words stared back at her.

Dinner tonight?

When she finally remembered to breathe again, she flipped back to the first page and now the pieces were falling into place.

Sorellina, Huntington Ave.

She knew the name had sounded familiar. “Sorellina” wasn't a patient's name; it was the name of a fancy Italian restaurant in the Back Bay. To be sure she pulled out her phone and searched the internet. And what she found there brought a bright smile to her face.

 …the ultimate destination if you're looking to really impress a date…

.. one of the most romantic spots in the city…

…awesome place for date nights…

 So he didn’t forget after all! But why the strange behavior? Some things didn’t add up. You don’t get a reservation like this one day in advance. He must have planned this weeks ago. A lot had changed since and now maybe he just wanted to give them one last shot? He wouldn’t be so heartless to dump her on Valentine’s day, would he?

Casey was totally confused. Was she just misinterpreting the whole situation? But she couldn’t be that paranoid. Something was brewing and she was determined to find out tonight, no matter what. This time she would confront him and for once she wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily.

But first she had to get through the day somehow, and she had to head home during her lunchbreak to choose a breathtaking dress. And pack an overnight bag, just in case. Not to forget the special brand of scotch she had ordered for Ethan. And she had to tell Sienna. And…

Okay! First of all, she had to calm down and concentrate on her work. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she took a pen out of her pocket and wrote below Ethan’s message.

Tell me when and where and I’ll be there 💕

After leaving the supply closet she randomly grabbed two other files, placed hers in between and handed them to an intern. “Please get this to Dr. Ramsey immediately.” Then she went back to her patient, who was still waiting for his IV.

The day seemed to drag on endlessly. In the afternoon she found the piece of paper out of the fake patient file in her coat pocket.  

Dinner tonight?

Tell me when and where and I’ll be there 💕

my office, 7 pm 😊

 He had even drawn an emoji! Smiling she added one more line.

Dessert at your place?

Then she quickly ran upstairs, sneaked into Ethan’s office, and put the piece of paper onto his desk. Her eyes fell on the big clock on the wall: 4 pm! Three more hours to go.

 *******

Ethan sat behind his desk, already dressed in his tux, trying to focus on some files. But instead of working, he kept repeating in his head what he wanted to say tonight.

It was ridiculous. Usually, he gave speeches in front of hundreds of fellow doctors and here he was, being nervous about talking to one single woman. The difference was that he felt very qualified to talk about his profession, but he was totally insecure when it came to talking about his feelings. With Casey, he wasn't Dr. Ramsey, a famous and respected diagnostician; with her, he was simply Ethan, a man struggling with the changes in his life.

The sound of high heels echoed through the hallway and announced Casey's arrival. Trying to calm his nerves Ethan busied himself with his paperwork as she entered the office. He didn't raise his head, instead he just glanced at her over the rims of his glasses. As he did, she put her hands on her hips, pushing the winter coat aside to give him full view of her stunning dress. And it had the desired effect. The small piece of black nothingness took his breath away.

 “Dr. Ramsey, don't you think it's inappropriate to look at a colleague that way?”

He swallowed hard, but he wouldn’t let her tease him like that.

“Dr. Valentine, don't you think it's inappropriate to wear something like that in your workplace?”

She smirked at him.

“Not as much as taking it off right here in your office.”

Defeated he shook his head, a smile showing at the corners of his mouth. He had to fight the urge to leap over his desk and take her right there against the office door, but instead he only sighed deeply and reached for his coat. This had to wait.

“We better get going or I don't know what I'll do!”

Together they left the office and walked to his car, holding hands. But despite their little banter just now there was an odd silence between them.

*******

The restaurant really was the perfect setting for a special date. Casey was overwhelmed and also kind of intimidated by the atmosphere. To her, it felt more like a first date with a guy she had a crush on than a dinner with the man she had been dating for month. And Ethan seemed equally self-conscious. But after some champagne, they both loosened up and had a really great time.

Almost.

Casey knew Ethan too well by now not to notice that something was strange about him tonight. She couldn’t shake that nagging feeling in her gut.

Back in his apartment, after she had given him her gift, he sat down on the couch with a serious face and asked her to sit down as well.

“I have something for you, too”

Blushing slightly, he handed her a small box and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I wanted to…, I mean this is… Oh, just open it and then I’ll explain!”

Carefully, she lifted the lid of the box and saw, lying on a tiny silk cushion, a key. From the looks of it, she assumed it was the key to his apartment. Casey gave Ethan a questioning look and waited for the promised explanation. But it didn’t come. Ethan seemed uncomfortable and pinched the bridge of his nose. Finally, he just blurted it out.

“Want to move in with me?”

Of all the things she had expected him to say, this certainly wasn’t on the list. But why now? Hundreds of different thoughts whirled through Casey’s head all at once. At first she just stared at him, then she burst into tears. For a long time Ethan looked at her helplessly, finally he ran a hand through his hair in frustration and murmured: “Obviously not.”

At that, Casey’s head snapped up. “No, no, no! I do, of course I do!” She wiped some tears from her face and explained between occasional sobs.

“The thing is: Whenever I imagined moving in with you, I got sad about not living with my friends anymore. And now I’ve just realized it doesn’t matter because in a couple of weeks they’ll all be gone anyway, scattered across the country. I’m going to miss them so much. And since I don’t know where I am going to be, there’s no point in moving in with you either.”

She shook her head, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess, it just seems that everything is falling apart. This morning I wasn’t even sure whether you want to break up with me or not and I thought that…”

“Whoa, hold it right there. What on earth are you talking about?”

From Ethan’s shocked expression Casey could tell that it had obviously never occurred to him to break up. Slightly embarrassed she continued in an unsteady voice.

“I mean, the way you’ve been acting lately, especially this morning, you’ve been so rude….”

Ethan gently caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, wiped away her tears, and sighed.

“Oh Casey, I’m so sorry. But you know me; you know that I hate talking in front of patients. And I had a lot on my mind; I’ve been nervous all day about our date.”

He smiled shyly and shook his head. Then his gaze darkened again, guilt clearly written on his face. His brows furrowed, and he backed away a little.

“Although you’re right that I’ve been putting some distance between us lately. But I needed clarity about the whole job situation. And us. All my life I’ve planned everything three steps ahead and then suddenly it felt like I was losing control. I know I can’t ask you to stay because you have to finish your residency at one of the best hospitals in the country. Thus, I have tortured myself to figure out how we can make things work and I’ve been miserable all this time. Until I realized the answer is fairly simple.”

Casey couldn’t believe that they had both been so distraught for weeks, and instead of sharing and confiding in each other, they were just brooding over the challenges ahead, each to their own. Slowly, the uneasy feeling inside her stomach began to dissipate, although she had no idea what he was talking about.

“What answer?”

Ethan took her hand and he gently drew circles on the back of it with his thumb, his eyes following its movement.

“Edenbrook has been my home for almost 12 years now, and if they take it away from me, what else is there? Naveen, of course, and my father nearby, but other than that ….”

All this time Casey held the box with the key in one hand. Now he took it from her and raised the key to eye level. Her gaze wandered back and forth between the key and Ethan. He cleared his throat in search of words, but they didn’t come. Her heart hammered in her chest, the tension almost unbearable. Finally, his blue eyes met hers and he found the courage to speak, his voice husky and low.

“This isn’t just the key to my apartment, Casey. This key means I want to live with you, wherever that may be.”

His last words were only a whisper. “If you’ll have me, that is.”

Casey couldn’t even begin to grasp what it all meant. She would be able to apply to any hospital in the country and Ethan would be with her. Live with her.

An overwhelming feeling of happiness spread through her body.

“You really would do this for me?”

“No, if I’m honest I’m doing this not for you but for myself. I don’t want to go back to being that grumpy cynic I once was before I met you. I’m lost without you.”

The full meaning of his words sent a prickling sensation down her spine, but she was also amused.

“Ethan, you’re one of the most famous and respected physicians, you’ve managed perfectly fine without me for 36 years.”

Ethan put down the key and the box from her hand and took both her hands, his gaze intense.

“But it’s taken me 36 years to find out what it means to be genuinely happy.”

Those last words took all her breath right out of her and her heart was ready to explode. His eyes pierced hers as he waited for a response.

He moved closer und squeezed her hands tightly, his eyes still dark.

“So, what do you say?”

She couldn’t resist the temptation to mess with him.

“Let me get this straight: You’re telling me, if I said no, there would be no one to tell you if you’re acting like a goddam diva again?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth realizing what she was getting at. “Probably.”

Grinning she went on. “And who would be there to help you with your social media accounts?”

“Nobody.”

Ethan’s eyes began to light up as she moved onto his lap, mischief in her smile.

“And there would be no one who would dare to tease you?”

“Right.”

Their faces were now only a breath away.

“And nobody there to make you pancakes?”

“Exactly. What would become of me?”

Her mouth moved to the side of his neck. After a line of soft kisses, she started nibbling on his earlobe and whispered. “And no one, who would do this?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not hard to find someb…”

She quickly backed away and punched his arm playfully. “Don’t you dare!”

Ethan was now gleaming all over his face. He tucked a finger under her chin and gently nudged her nose with his. “So is that a YES?”

“Do I even have a choice?”

“Not really!”

And then at last his lips found hers, first slowly, barely touching, until they both gave in and melted into each other. All the tension of the day, all the pent-up emotions of the past weeks fell off and there was only him and her. While the kisses grew more and more urgent, his hands started to roam over her body and slowly he unzipped her dress. As his warm hand gently slid down her back, Casey felt his hot breath on her ear.

“If I remember correctly, you promised me dessert.”

“We already had a selection of delicious Italian desserts.”

“But I’m still very hungry. And first of all, this dress has to go. The sight of it has been tormenting me all evening.”

*****

The bedroom was almost dark. Ethan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He was unable to put his mind to rest after the events of the day. He turned over to watch the stunning woman sleeping next to him. The moonlight on her face made her even look more beautiful. From now on, he would have the privilege of waking up to this sight every morning. That thought alone made his heart leap.

Gently, he draped the sheets over her shoulder, brushed her hair out of her face and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek; always careful not to wake her.

Smiling down at her he whispered. “I love you, Casey Valentine.”

Never before had these words left his lips. And now didn’t even count either because she couldn’t hear them. He had tried to tell her many times, but the moment never seemed right. Today would have been the perfect occasion, but he had chickened out again.

It was absurd. They had started to plan their future together. Why was it so hard? Three simple words!

Laying back down he whispered, more to himself.

“I’m going to tell you. Soon.

Maybe tomorrow.”

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

Thank you if you have made it so far.

This piece has really been a challenge, it took me forever. I’ve changed it a couple of times and I am still not quite satisfied, but at some point you just have to let go.

Tagging seperately.

[flowercrown-bard]

A new us will begin (8/ 12)

word count: 5k

AO3

part 1   / part 2 / part 3  / part 4  / part 5 / part 6  / part 7 / part 9

content warning: blood, injuries, referenced character death, animal death (a monster and kind of implied a horse)

All too soon, the day that had been looming over them like a storm cloud that seemed far away at first until you realised you were already caught in the storm, was there. The day of the troupe’s last performance before they would move on.

This time, Geralt felt more than ever as if Dandy was speaking to him when he was speaking his lines in the dungeon scene. Maybe that was just wishful thinking, but while Dandy was reciting his big monologue, for a moment there, Geralt was so sure that it wasn’t the pirate asking the knight to come with him, but Dandy asking Geralt.

Clearing the stage after the performance felt strange that day. Geralt wasn’t the only one who worked noticeably slower than usually to delay the inevitable departure of the troupe and more than once he heard one of the actors sniffle.

“It’s always like that after the last performance,” Dandy explained quietly from his place perched on the box. “It always feels a bit like saying goodbye.”

“You’re going to perform that play again,” Geralt said, not sure whether that was at all a comforting thing to say. “In another city. Maybe with an even bigger audience.”

Dandy’s lips twisted into a crooked smile, but it felt more like a mask than an expression of joy.

“Maybe. But I really liked the audience here.” His voice was void of the mirth that so often tinged his words.

Geralt had no reply to that. He settled on an unsatisfying hum that could have meant anything and turned back to his task of dismantling the stage.

Dandy was unusually quiet, only drumming a slow rhythm on the box, while Geralt worked until at long last, Geralt was done with his work.

“Are we going to the tavern again?” Geralt asked hesitatingly, not sure if he would still be welcome on this day that made all the actors more emotional. Welcoming as they might be otherwise, Geralt wouldn’t be able to fault them, if they didn’t want him in their midst today.

That didn’t soften the ache in his chest, when Dandy said, “No. We are not.” He fiddled with his cane and shuffled on his feet.

Geralt nodded, more for his own benefit, as if the simple motion could dull the pang of disappointment.

“Right. Of course.”

“That is,” Dandy said, something tentative and endlessly hopeful making his pitch a little higher. “I was thinking the two of us could take a walk? Maybe you could show me your favourite places in town? Unless you’d rather go to the tavern with the others.”

Geralt didn’t answer. The last time, that he knew of, that Dandy had gone for a walk with just one other person, hadn’t ended too well for him. Geralt couldn’t put into words how much it meant to him that Dandy trusted him enough to go somewhere alone.

Gently, he took Dandy’s hand, giving it a little squeeze. Dandy didn’t flinch at the unexpected contact, but his brows shot up in surprise and his whole face lit up.

“Alright, then,” Dandy said, his voice trembling with barely concealed excitement. “Lead the way.”

The other actors barely paid them any mind as they walked past. Geralt only stopped to tell Nadine where they were going and promised her that he would take Dandy back safely.

“You better,” she said and narrowed her eyes at him, but her tone wasn’t even hinting at being intimidating. With a twinkle in her eye, that Geralt chose to ignore, she added, “But don’t rush. We won’t leave until morning, so you have plenty of time to make the best of the night.”

Neither Geralt nor Dandy commented on that last part and when Geralt looked at Dandy out of the corner of his eyes, there was a pretty blush colouring the actor’s cheeks.

Walking with Dandy’s hand in his was a strange experience. After having seen how he moved when he was on stage or surrounded by his friends, it was hard not to notice how differently he acted when it was just the two of them. He was still loud, talking nearly as much as Jaskier had, about the first play he had ever starred in, about the one time he had succeeded in making every other player break character while on stage and how Nadine was already debating which play they were going to rehearse next. Yet, despite the gush of words tumbling from Dandy’s lips, it was clear that part of his attention was constantly focussed on his cane.

It took Geralt more will power than he would have liked to admit not to warn Dandy of every little bump in the road or pull him closer when they turned into another street. Dandy had his own way of knowing where he was going and Geralt still remembered vividly how pissed Dandy had been one time when someone at a tavern had tried to flirt with him by insisting to do every single thing for him as if Dandy wasn’t fully capable of doing things for himself and having his own autonomy.

“So, where exactly are we going?” Dandy asked, before the comfortable conversation could fade into silence. “You never told me what your favourite spot here is.”

Geralt gave an amused hum. “Would you believe me if I said it was the market place?”

Dandy let out a bark of laughter. “Absolutely not. I know I am a delight to be around, but don’t think I didn’t notice how uncomfortable you are with the crowds.”

“Your friends are nice, though.”

Dandy’s grip on his hand tightened a little. “I’d say they are your friends too.”

Geralt’s jaw worked and his free hand twitched. “I’ve never been good at making friends. Or keeping them.”

Dandy let out a snort. “Oh please. You can’t honestly expect me to believe that.” When Geralt gave no reply, Dandy came to a stop. “Wait, really? You’re not joking? I-Geralt. I’ve known since the moment that you came backstage for the first time that I wanted to be your friend. You are…I don’t think you realise how good you are. There aren’t many people who would have helped me like you did without expecting anything in return.”

“Nadine let me watch your plays for free and she gave me a job.”

“None of which you asked for,” Dandy said gently. “I know Kara likes to exaggerate, but she said you were very adamant about paying to see the play on that first day.” Something in his posture shifted and he stepped a little closer to Geralt. “I might not have known you for that long, but you are the most amazing friend I could ask for.” His thumb caressed Geralt’s knuckles. “And if the friend you mentioned were here with us, I’m sure he would say the same thing.”

He would. Jaskier would say exactly the same thing. For once, the though didn’t pierce Geralt’s chest, but soothed the ache in it.

Geralt returned the soft caress and cleared his throat. “There is one friend I’ve had for a long time. I…would like for you to meet her, if you wanted to.”

Dandy’s expression softened. “I would love to.”

--

“I don’t know what I expected, but somehow I feel like I shouldn’t be surprised that your best friend is a horse.”

Dandy’s hand, which Geralt held gently towards Roach, didn’t tremble, but Dandy did suck in a sharp breath that ended in startled laughter when Roach bumped her muzzle against it eagerly.  

Slowly, Geralt let go, while he watched Dandy get more comfortable stroking Roach. Almost immediately, Dandy found Roach’s favourite spot to get scratched between her ears. His voice went up in pitch as he started showering Roach in compliments and rhymes of praise – some of which were words Jaskier had spoken to Roach a hundred times before - which Roach rewarded by bumping her head against Dandy’s chest affectionately and nibbling at his clothes, making Dandy giggle.

It was such a soft moment, that Geralt’s heart swelled with unbearable fondness. This was how it was supposed to be. He could almost imagine how the future could be: Dandy leaning against him while they sat next to a campfire, just the two of them. Dandy bickering with Roach, once he realised that the mare liked to nibble on doublets. Dandy practicing his monologues while walking beside Geralt.

That dream was as beautiful as it was impossible.

Had the Path been dangerous for Jaskier, a bard who had a talent and experience in running away from danger, it would be a death sentence for Dandy. As much as he could orient himself in a city where the streets were at least somewhat even, his cane wouldn’t be much use when tracking through underbrush or climbing over rocks in the wilderness. Not to mention the monsters and bandits that would see Dandy as an easy target.

Even if Geralt would be able to somehow keep Dandy safe and only take roads that Dandy would be able to orient himself on, he knew that he could never convince Dandy to abandon his troupe, just to come with him. He didn’t want to convince him. If there was one thing Geralt had learned these past weeks, it was that the troupe was a family. He could never expect Dandy to leave them for him.

So he stayed quiet, doing his best to hold Roach in place while Dandy petted her neck.

He nearly startled, when Dandy broke the silence again.

“It’s going to be just the two of you then, when you leave?”

A pang shot through Geralt’s chest, but he forced the bitterness out of his voice when he replied, “It’s been like that most of the time. Roach is a good companion. Doesn’t let herself get hurt by monsters or bandits.”

Dandy gave a thoughtful hum. “She’s not easy to spook then? Is she good with other horses?” Almost like an afterthought, he added, “And loud people?”

Geralt scratched the space between Roach’s ears, keeping his eyes trained on her, even though he knew Dandy wouldn’t be able to tell if he was staring at him either way. He just couldn’t look at him when he spoke his next words.

“There was an incident during Belleteyn a couple of decades ago.” A hollow smile thinned his lips. “Got me into a lot of trouble. Not only me. But…she did get used to my bard. And he was as loud as one could get.”

Dandy started fidgeting with his cane, twirling it and then gripping it tightly again. “So…say, if she were to travel with a group of actors, she wouldn’t be bothered by the noise?”

Geralt’s heart jumped to his throat. “What are you saying?”

He couldn’t mean what Geralt so desperately wished he meant.

“I’m asking you to come with me. Us. The troupe.” Dandy’s hand stilled on Roach’s neck and he lifted his head. His sightless eyes were boring into Geralt, the seriousness of the moment making it hard to breathe.

“Dandy,” his voice was tight and the name burned on his tongue. “You don’t know what you’re asking. Witchers are…most people don’t like us.” Not anymore. Not since Jaskier was gone and his songs got lost to time. “If I came with you, I would only bring you trouble.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Dandy said hotly. “If there’s a place that’s bigoted enough to chase away witchers then I can guarantee they wouldn’t welcome travelling actors either. Not that we’d want to perform for such people anyway.”

“This isn’t just something you can ask in the spur of the moment-“

“You’re absolutely right, it’s not. Which is why I spent a lot of time thinking this through. Do you want a list for why we would be happy to have you come with us? Because I have a list. Mika helped me with it.”

Geralt let out a long sigh, but before he could protest further, Dandy had already straightened his spine and taken on the posture he had used when he had played the pirate in his most self-assured moments.

“You don’t have to stay with us forever, of course. Just for the winter. To see if you like it. It’s always dangerous for us to travel in the snow. You could keep us safe from bandits or monsters while we travelled and help out with setting up the stage when we get to towns?” This was his acting voice. By now, Geralt could recognised the intonation of it in his sleep. Dandy hadn’t exaggerated when he had said he’d thought about this. Clearly, he had taken the time to learn the list by heart. “Or take contracts there. Or you could sell tickets with Kara and make sure no one’s causing trouble over the price. Or you-“

“Dandy,” Geralt interjected softly, but Dandy pointedly ignored him.

“-could help us backstage during performances. That fire thingy and that blast magic of yours could be brilliant light or wind effects.”

Geralt let out a snort. “I don’t think having an open flame on stage is a good idea. And Aard isn’t that easy to control. My brother could maybe do it, but I’d probably blast you right off the stage if I tried.”

Dandy’s brows pinched together, then he shrugged. “That one was Mika’s idea. I told them it was ridiculous.”

“As opposed to the idea that anyone would want a witcher to travel with them in the first place.”

“Exactly.” A grin spread across Dandy’s face. “That is completely rational and there’s not a single argument that could convince me that it’s a bad idea.”

Geralt couldn’t stop himself from returning the smile. Good thing Dandy couldn’t see it, or he’d know that he had already won.

Though years of experience of being chased away and spat at, told Geralt that this wouldn’t end well for anyone, he also knew that winters were a rough time for a witcher out on the Path. Contracts were sparse and the few monsters one would come across, were more vicious than ever, made thirsty for blood from the lack of prey.

There were good arguments for why Geralt should come with the troupe. Deep in his heart, he already knew that he didn’t need those arguments. A part of him had been ready to follow Dandy to the end of the world from the moment that he had first seen him.

Still… “What about Nadine? She’s the one who’d have the last say.”

Dandy snorted, lacking any sort of grace. “Do you have a point? Because I don’t see it.”

Geralt spluttered, “Did- did you just-“

“Maybe,” Dandy said with a cheeky grin. “But you see, I already talked to Nadine about this. And she said, and I quote: ‘If he thinks he’d not be welcome here, tell him I think he’s an idiot and that I will personally kick his arse.’” Dandy left a dramatic pause, before he concluded, “And I would help her with that.”

“Dandy,” Geralt began, but Dandy interrupted him.

“Oh no. I will not hear another word of self-doubt from you. If you don’t want to come with us, that’s fine. But don’t you think for even a second that I would let it stand that you think we wouldn’t want you with us.”

“Dandy,” Geralt repeated softly but with more emphasis. He reached for Dandy’s hand, that was still resting on Roach’s neck and tangled their fingers together. “I will stay with you. For the winter.”

For as long as you’ll have me.

--

Travelling with the troupe was different than anything Geralt had ever experienced. For one, he didn’t have to sleep outside or pray to find an inn that would let him stay. Granted, sleeping in one of the spare wagons, a horrid green thing, in-between props, costumes and parts of the set design wasn’t the most comfortable Geralt had ever been, but it was so much better than sleeping on the freezing ground or having to worry about running out of coin.

But the most notable difference was the feeling of being part of a group. Geralt had his family back at Kaer Morhen, but it was different with them. They all had shared experiences and grief that had brought them closer together. Sure, there were memories of laughing together and just being happy were they were, but the reason the wolves were a pack was because of all the bad things that had been done to them and the need to fight against the bad memories.

For the players, it was the exact opposite. They had become a family out of their shared love for the theatre and it showed. Every once in a while, one of them would just start speaking strangely and it never took long for others to join in. Dandy had to explain to Geralt that they were making a game of only speaking in quotes of past plays and see who would remember the most lines. When Geralt asked why Dandy never joined in these games, Dandy laughed.

“Because I would win and leave them all looking stupid, obviously. You don’t want to watch them sulk over that, believe me.”

Geralt didn’t voice his doubts, but he was almost certain that the real reason for Dandy’s silence was that he didn’t want Geralt to feel left out.

The thing was, Geralt had watched the play about the pirate so many times that by now he felt he should know the entirety of it by heart.

The first time Geralt joined in the game by speaking the beginning of Dandy’s big monologue, he earned himself round-eyed looks and proud claps on the shoulder. Most importantly, he got to hear Dandy’s delighted laughter, that warmed Geralt from the inside, chasing away even the coldest winter wind.

--

Word travelled fast, especially when spread by actors, who made a point of mentioning that they were travelling with the elusive White Wolf to lure in bigger crowds whenever they settled down for a couple of weeks.

Soon, there was barely anyone left in the area, that didn’t know that Geralt was with them. Contrary to what he had feared, no one took that as an invitation to attack the actors. In fact, not a single bandit or thief dared to even look at them in a wrong way.

The protection that came with Geralt made the troupe much more relaxed than they had been in the first days of travel and even Geralt found himself less tense and alert than he would have been, had he been travelling on his own, not even wearing his armour most days during travel and keeping his weapons attached to Roach’s saddle.

He should have known better than to be so negligent.

Because while bandits might see Geralt and realise that attacking wouldn’t be a good idea, monsters only saw the colourful wagons, the tired horses and travellers and found themselves with a feasts on a silver platter.

Geralt should have been the first to notice that something was wrong. He should have heard the slow footsteps of a beast stalking its prey. He should have paid attention to the low humming of his medallion. He should have looked out for things that could take Dandy away from him instead of getting lost looking at him.

As it was, the horses were the first to notice. They started stomping their hooves and throwing their heads back nervously.

Then came the howl. It was dangerously close.

“What was that?” Nadine’s voice was tight with worry and she left her place at the front of their little caravan to make sure no one had separated from the group.

“A wolf?” Dandy suggested tentatively from where he was perched on one of the wagons.

Geralt’s face twisted into a scowl and his hand shot up to grip his medallion. Its low vibration made Geralt’s head snap around, searching for the threat.

“That’s no wolf.” His eyes darted over the treeline not far from them and the obvious tracks their wagons had left in the snow, making them far too easy to follow. “That’s something much worse.”

Dandy sucked in a sharp breath and Geralt wished, he’d be able to say something more comforting, but this was no time for lies.

“You have to go.” Geralt grabbed Nadine by the arm and gave her an imploring look. “Take the horses and run.”

Something fierce flickered through her eyes. “I will not leave a single member of this group behind. That includes you, witcher.”

Another howl, this one even closer than before. Geralt opened his mouth to snarl at Nadine that he was here to protect them, when the first horse fell into a panic.

It reared up, tried to dash away. The wagon it was pulling toppled and fell, taking the horse down with it with a panicked neigh.

Geralt whirled back to Nadine, whose eyes were now wide and full of fear.

“Go,” he pressed on. “Make sure the others are safe.”

For a long second, Geralt though she was going to protest, but then she raised her voice.

“You heard what he said. Get the horses free of the wagons and run!”

Immediately, the actors followed her command. Their movements were hectic and clumsy with panic. Geralt ran over to Roach, grabbing his silver sword and facing the treeline from where the howl had come. His muscles were tense as a bow string while he listened to the actors do their best to get on the horses before they fled. They weren’t fast enough.

With measures steps and a growl that Geralt felt in his bones, the beast left the shadows of the trees. From the distance, it almost looked like a wolf, but it was as big as a bear and instead of a pelt, it showed wiry muscles and claws sharper than any normal animal could have. Its neck was protected by a mattered mane that almost resembled a lion’s. It was a skullwarg, a beast evolved from a monster that should have died out ages ago.

Geralt gripped his sword tighter and ran to stand between the beast and the wagons.

“Geralt!”

Geralt jerked back violently at Dandy’s call. His blood ran cold. Dandy couldn’t run. He couldn’t ride. Not on his own.

“Geralt, you have to come with us!”

Geralt didn’t reply. He tried as best he could to shut Dandy’s cries out, but he continued to call for him, to beg him to flee with them, while the skullwarg stalked closer, baring its teeth.

It took all of Geralt’s strength not to turn around, as Dandy’s shouts became louder and more urgent. From the sounds of it, someone tried to pull him off the wagon and Dandy fought them tooth and nail.

Unbidden, images of Jaskier flooded Geralt’s mind. Jaskier lying on the ground, bleeding because Geralt hadn’t been able to get to him before a griffin did. Jaskier looking up at Geralt while blood dripped out of his mouth and his throat swelled from a djinn attack. Jaskier, lying in his arms, cold and unmoving.

Then the images shifted to Geralt clutching Dandy in his arms, trying to stop him from bleeding out, unable to do anything to stop the inevitable.

He blinked against those images, forced them away. He couldn’t let them become reality. Not yet. Not as long as he could stand between Dandy and death.

“Mika!” Geralt shouted without turning away, trusting that the actor was still close enough to hear and listen to him. “Get Dandy on Roach. Ride with him as far away as you can!”

“Geralt, no!” Geralt had to squeeze his eyes shut to drown out Dandy’s pleas. “No, Mika, don’t- We can’t just leave him. Geralt!”

Geralt opened his eyes just in time to see the skullwarg break into a sprint. Geralt widened his stance and faced the beast head-on.

The skullwarg jumped. Its claws grazed Geralt’s shoulder, just as he swung his sword, missing the opportunity to roll beneath it as he had learned. Staying in one place put Geralt at a clear disadvantage, but he couldn’t risk letting the beast get closer to the others.

He swung his sword mercilessly, evaded bites and claws, silently begging the others to hurry.

Fire erupted in his shoulder. Teeth like daggers buried into his flesh, dragging him down. The unexpected force flung his sword out of his grip. One of the beast’s paws pinned his arm to the ground.

The shouts behind him grew louder, more worried.

The beast’s breath above him smelled like decay and death. He needed to use igni, if he wanted to make it out alive.

But the horses were still near enough to become more agitated by the flames. Dandy was on one of those horses. If he fell because of Geralt and got left behind, there was little chance of him surviving.

Blazing agony shot through Geralt’s shoulder, as the skullwarg tore its teeth out of it again. Geralt panted and ground his teeth against the pain. He had to focus. He had to stay alive so he could protect the others!

He brazed himself for another attack. The beast’s maul snapped at him again. In the last second, Geralt threw his free hand up just enough to form Aard. The movement burned in his shoulder and left him gasping for air, but the shock of the blast that flung the beast to the side, bought Geralt a few precious moments. He pushed himself back up and darted to his sword.

Behind him, he could hear the clapping of hooves, as the horses sped away. Hopefully, the actors knew better than to return anytime soon.

If Geralt didn’t make it, he hoped that at least he would be able to buy them enough time to get themselves to safety.

Geralt watched with a tight jaw, how the beast shook its head and stood back up with a low growl. Without warning, the skullwarg charged again.

Geralt ducked behind one of the wagons, but the beast didn’t crush against it, as he had hoped, but rounded it in two quick jumps.

It was too fast.

Geralt wouldn’t be able to fight it with just his silver. Still, he slashed at it again in blind desperation. The blade came away bloody, but Geralt’s shoulder screamed with every swing, the edged of his vision going black with every time the pain flared up. He wouldn’t be able to last long like this.

Another hit. Another. Claws grazing his forehead as he tried to duck under the attack.

Blood dripped into Geralt’s eyes, dying the world red. Red. Red.

Like Jaskier’s blood. Like Dandy’s.

Geralt staggered forwards, sword lifted high above his head. His foot caught on something lying on the ground. It was Dandy’s cane.

His heart splintered like wood beneath an axe. He had lost his cane. He needed it. Geralt had to bring it back to him…

He shook his head, trying to get his mind to stay with him. He couldn’t risk getting distracted.

The skullwarg leaped towards him and rammed its head against Geralt’s chest. All air was pressed out of Geralt’s lungs, leaving him gasping.

He threw his arm up and a burst of flames burst out of his palm. The beast whined as his mane became bright red with flames. The fire flickered in its black eyes. Geralt panted and fell to his knees as he watched the best howl in pain and fury, running in circles to get the flames to stop devouring him. With a crash, the skullwarg collided with the wagon that had toppled before.

A roar, as the wood caught fire. Dandy’s living going up in flames.

“No.” Geralt’s eyes widened. The beast didn’t stop. Mindless in its fear, it bit at its own body, twisting and jumping, uncaring of where it went.

Geralt couldn’t let it set fire to any more of the wagons.

He ran, before he could think about what he was doing and jumped, barrelling into the beast and bringing it down with him, crashing against the wheels of another wagon. A crack went through the wood. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Geralt recognised the green paint as the wagon he used to sleep in.

Sharp agony tore him out of his thoughts. Claws dug into Geralt’s flesh and teeth tore into him, but Geralt couldn’t think, couldn’t stop to fight off the pain or the relentless attacks. He pressed the skullwarg to the ground with his own body, clenching his teeth against the pain of the flames licking at him. He dropped his sword, using his hands to shovel snow onto the flames. He had to quench them. Dandy couldn’t return to find his life burned down to ash.

He couldn’t waste a single moment.

Fire. The other wagon was still burning. The flames could easily devour the other wagons if Geralt didn’t do something. The smoke stung in his eyes, making it impossible to see.

Without thinking, Geralt threw another blast of Aard at the burning wagon, bringing a wave of snow with it and pushing the wagon away from the others.

The force of the blast pushed Geralt unexpectedly against the wagon he had crashed into before.

Another crack came from right behind him.

The skullwarg whined beneath him, thrust its ugly head to the side, desperate to get free. A shadow descended over them.

Geralt turned just in time to see another wheel of the wagon break from the force of the Aard.

He had no time to think, no time to get himself to safety. Still, Geralt threw himself forwards, trying to get away before the wagon came crashing down on him.

The wagon met the ground with an ear-splitting crash. The whining of the beast cut off abruptly.

Geralt was pressed to the ground, all air escaping him. He felt splinters tear his skin open, felt his own blood dripping to the snow below. The pain hit Geralt a second later.

It felt as if his whole body was crushed. He couldn’t breathe.

He tried to move, tried to push the wagon off him, tried to crawl out from beneath it.

He didn’t make it more than a few feet, just enough that his fingers met the cane that lay abandoned in the snow.

His fingers closed around the cool wood, holding it like a lifeline.

Geralt’s breathing was shallow, every intake of breath felt like swallowing shards of glass. He could do nothing but welcome the numb darkness that welcomed him in its arms.

[isitgintimeyet]

Just a Friend

Sorry you’ve had to wait a few more days. i had a much needed few days holiday in Devon. And I realised it was the first time since February that I’d travelled more than 20 miles from home!

Anyway, we’re on to chapter 7. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta.

Previous

AO3

Chapter 7: From Feedback to The Force

I can see it clearly in my mind’s eye. A converted barn, situated at the end of a leafy country lane, surrounded by fields full of cows and maybe a horse or two. Jamie’s office will be at one end— all exposed beams with classic mahogany and leather furniture. Perhaps chickens will be roaming around outside as tractors pull up to deliver vegetables straight from the neighbouring fields.

This image begins to fade as I follow my Sat nav instructions and take the next junction off the motorway. Country lanes look to be few and far between in this urban sprawl. Signposts along the tarmacked road point to a series of industrial estates. At the fourth such sign, I’m instructed to turn left and in three hundred yards will have reached my destination.

Having parked up, I make my way towards the large, uninspiring building which resembles some sort of aircraft hangar. Its grey concrete and corrugated iron walls match the overcast sky and the roughly surfaced car park. The only colour in this landscape is provided by the bright orange FraserFood logo emblazoned above the loading bays.

There’s a single door to the right with an intercom. I press it and wait a few seconds.

“Hello, there.” A cheery voice greets me. “Can I help ye?”

“Yes. Hello, I’ve an appointment with Ja— Mr. Fraser, Jamie. It’s Claire Beauchamp.”

“Aye, come on through. Jamie is expecting ye. Down the passage and third door on the left.”

I step into a long corridor, painted an unoriginal white. Fluorescent strip lights hanging from the ceiling cast a harsh brightness. The floor is covered with grey carpet tiles.—the same as in thousands of other working offices across the country.

What sets it apart and brings character to the otherwise anonymous environment is the artwork. Colourful photographs line the walls — a bowl of strawberries, their red glossiness accentuated by the white porcelain; a perfect corn on the cob, rivulets of melted butter flowing around the kernels; a plate of steaming tagliatelle, the parmesan shavings falling gently onto the pasta. Then, as I move further towards the office, the photographs change to a series of images that I instantly recognise, La Boqueria, one of the food markets in Barcelona.

I pause for a moment in front of a picture of one of the stalls selling spices. Strings of different chillies cascade down from the metal frame of the stall. The vibrancy of that market was intoxicating, the noise, the colours, the aromas. I remember wandering from stall to stall snacking on fat, juicy olives, slices of spiced ham and wedges of refreshing melon, just soaking up that atmosphere.

My stomach automatically rumbles at the memory just as Jamie steps into the corridor.

He laughs at this unconventional greeting. “And good day tae ye too. Ye found us alright then?”

“No problem. Sat nav brought me straight here. It’s—“ I stop myself before I say any more, but, as usual, my glass face gives me away.

“C’mon. What is it? It’s no’ what ye were expecting, is it?”

“No— yes—no. It’s fine. It’s just, well, I was expecting something more, er, rural… rustic, you know.”

He sighs, but I can tell that he’s not offended. “What, ye mean like on a farm? Wi’ chickens running around? And tractors bringing the vegetables straight from the fields?”

I nod, feeling not a little bit foolish.

“And down a wee winding country lane, that yer lumbering great vans and lorries have tae drive along? Wi’ no easy transport links fer all the deliveries? And having tae deal wi’ all the food hygiene standards in some great old barn?” He laughs. “Trust me, it may no’ be photogenic but it’s the best place fer the business.”

He takes my arm. “Let’s go intae ma office and I’ll make ye a cup of coffee.”

My stomach rumbles once more. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any of those lovely Spanish biscuits too, have you?”

*********

The display of colourful photographs continues in Jamie’s office. I don’t recognise the scenes, but, I’m guessing these are more local— fields of corn bordered by old drystone walls, hedgerows bursting with dark jewel-like brambles. I pause at a picture of an ancient stone mill, the calm water of the mill pond reflecting the rundown building perfectly.

“That’s a bonny picture, is it no’?” Jamie’s voice is low in my ear.

I turn around. He is standing behind me, gazing intently at the picture.

“It is. Where is it? I’m guessing it’s somewhere here in Scotland.”

“Aye, it’s the old mill at Lallybroch.”

“Where you grew up?”

He nods. “Generations of ma family used that mill tae grind flour fer them and their tenants. It’s empty inside now. The wheel has long since rotted away. Jenny and I would escape there whenever chores were tae be done. She took the photo, weel, most of the photos here actually.”

I study the photograph more closely. “She’s very talented as a photographer. Is that her job?”

“She’d love tae have done that, but once she married Ian and the bairns started appearing, she hasna got the time. Mebbe one day.”

He moves past me towards his desk and I catch a hint of his musky cologne. I find myself comparing it to the slightly synthetic cologne that Frank always favoured. I decide that Jamie’s is preferable. It’s more real, somehow, earthy and, well, more masculine.

“... does that sound ok?”  

I realise that whilst I was considering male scents, Jamie had been asking me a question. “Er, sorry, I was miles away. What did you say?”

“Am I really that boring tae ye?” He laughs. “I said I would make ye a coffee and invite Rupert tae come in and join us. He’s our Head of Product Development. Will ye no’ take a seat?”

I sit down on one of the chairs arranged around a circular meeting table and take a good look at the office while Jamie makes a phone call. The walls and ceiling are the same uninspiring white, livened up by all the photographs. There’s a couple of framed photographs near Jamie’s chair that seem to be more personal. I’m too far away to be able to see clearly, but they look like children... his nephew and niece perhaps?

Jamie’s ‘L’ shaped desk is made of grey wood, as is a tall bookcase and this meeting table. Simple, but clearly a considered purchase, no haphazard grouping of random furniture. The desk itself is remarkably free from clutter— just a laptop with two huge screens and a black leather document wallet. The contrast to the clutter on the desks in my office and home couldn’t be greater. Not that my clutter isn’t important to me—a collection of pots and dishes from my uncle’s archaeological digs plus a paperweight and letter opener that I remember, as a young child, at my parents’ house. Then I realise, looking at the family portraits surrounding Jamie’s desk, that he doesn’t need to gather mementoes from the past. He has a living, breathing close knit family creating memories all the time.

I’m well aware that most of my friends have more of a family than I have, or have ever had, and generally I’m fine with that. But every now and again it hits me right in the gut—this pang of...not loneliness, but more of being disconnected, rootless.

Before I can dwell on this,  there’s a faint tap at the door. It opens immediately and a woman stands in the doorway.  She’s easily past retirement age, quite short and… is sturdy a polite descriptor? Well, short and ‘motherly’ in appearance.

She’s very smiley too. Her eyes crinkle as she grins broadly before speaking. “Jamie, lad. I’ve come tae see if ye both want a coffee. I dinna mind making it. And mebbe a few biscuits?”

Jamie steps away from his desk. “Ah, Mrs. Fitz, how d’ye always ken what I want? Coffee would be grand. And fer ye Claire?”

“Coffee, please. Lovely. White, no sugar. Thanks.”

She looks at me for a moment before Jamie makes the introduction. “ Claire, this is Mrs Fitz. She’s worked wi’ me since I started and I dinna ken what I’d do wi’out her.”

He reaches across and pats her arm gently.

“Mrs. Fitz, this is Claire, a friend of mine. She’s been trying out our Spanish dinner party menu and has come tae meet wi’ Rupert tae give him her opinions.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fitz.” I hold out my hand.

She takes it in both of hers. “And it’s lovely tae meet ye too, Claire.”

She turns away and heads out the door.

“Right-oh. Two coffees it is then,” she says clearly, then carries on muttering under her breath as she leaves. “Friends, is it, then? A bonny lass, sure enough…”

Jamie smiles apologetically. “Mrs. Fitz can be a bit, weel...she’s been working with me a long time. She’s like a second mother tae me…”

He leaves the sentence unfinished, but I know what he’s thinking. Why can’t people understand that we’re friends, that’s all?

*******

Rupert is a complete delight, but somehow not what I was expecting. He rushes into the office just as Jamie and I are drinking our coffees. Nearly as tall as Jamie but quite a bit broader with a large beard, like an overgrown teddy bear, and clad in a sweatshirt and baggy ill-fitting jeans, he looks as if he would be more at home on a rugby pitch rather than in a development kitchen. With Jamie now standing next to him, the office suddenly feels rather small.

Jamie makes the introductions and we settle once more around the table. Rupert places his notebook and pen on the table.

“Ye dinna mind if I take a biscuit or two, do ye?” He asks, with a smile. He knows how tasty they are.

Jamie and I shake our heads and Rupert reaches out and takes two in his large, fleshy hand. He starts to eat, sprinkling crumbs all over his notebook.

“Ye canna take me anywhere,” he says as he tries to sweep the crumbs into his hand.

Jamie laughs and playfully punches Rupert’s shoulder. “Weel, ye can… but only the once, mind.”

There’s an easy camaraderie between the two of them. I’m guessing that Jamie has worked with the same people for quite a while. It’s good to see.

Rupert swallows, picks up a tissue and wipes the stray crumbs from his beard.  “Right-oh. So, Claire, thanks fer doing this—“

“No, I should be thanking you. It was a great meal.”

“Weel, glad tae hear that, but I would appreciate any improvements we could make. Is there anything we need tae change?”

I’ve been racking my brains all the way here, trying to think of something constructive to say rather than just reeling off a list of compliments, nice as that would be for Rupert and Jamie. And, honestly, I don’t know what more I can add. The food was excellent, the wine matched perfectly and the olives were a thoughtful addition.

I tell them all this and Rupert solemnly notes it all down. Sitting there, side by side, elbows almost touching, they look for all the world like two proud parents being complimented on their child’s talents. But they have every right to be proud.

“And nothing else?” Rupert persists. “Nothing we could do better?”

“Well, a couple of tiny suggestions. Maybe a few more pictures with the recipes would help. I’m not the most gifted cook.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jamie trying to suppress a smile. He’s never seen me in the kitchen, maybe he’s imagining me as some sort of culinary disaster area. I vow to prove him wrong at some point.

“And,” I continue as Rupert scribbles in his notebook. “Perhaps add a couple of suggestions to complete the Spanish night. I made sangria to start the evening. Could you add a recipe for that?”

Rupert closes his notebook with a flourish. “Right then. Thank ye sae much fer that. Glad yer friends all enjoyed the food.”

He stands up, shifting the table as he does so.

“Weel, bye then, Claire. Lovely tae meet ye. Hope tae see ye again.” He shoots a quick look across at Jamie before leaving.

“Rupert’s a lovely guy,” I comment as the door shuts behind him.

“Aye, he is that,” Jamie shifts in his seat. “Listen, I need tae ask ye a favour.”

“Another one,” I joke. “Wasn’t the dinner party enough?”

I add a sigh, purely for dramatic effect.

“Ye can say no if ye want tae,” he continues. “But I was wondering… weel... Ian, that’s Jenny’s husband, his rugby club is having a charity dinner dance a week on Saturday. Jenny’s bought two tickets fer me and a plus one. D’ye fancy it? It would help me out of a wee bit of bother with ma sister.”

Now I’m intrigued about his “wee bit of bother” with Jenny. I don’t want to end up in the middle of some sibling squabble.

“How so?” I’m not giving an answer straight away. At least not until I know what the bother is.

“Jenny bought the two tickets fer me a couple of months ago. I think she was assuming I would bring Laoghaire. But ye ken what happened there. Anyways, she asked me yesterday about it, and ever so casually suggested I might bring Kelly— that was ma date the other night.”

The pattern of Rupert’s crumbs on the table appears to suddenly be of great interest to him. He studies them intently as he talks, his ears turning slightly pink as he does so.

“And?” I prompt him.

“And, I told Jenny that after Laoghaire and I broke up, I didna want tae disappoint her about the dinner and so I’d already asked ye tae come along. As a friend,” he hastily adds the last part.

So, what do I decide? I do love the opportunity to have a bit of a dance and rugby club dos are usually a bit of a laugh, in my experience. And of course, I know Jamie is offering as a friend, so I’m not worried about that.

“Why don’t you want to ask Kelly then?” I want the full story before I give him my answer.

“She’s a nice enough lass but I didna think we had any spark. Plus she was trying too hard. Fer example she asked me what films I liked, then when I told her, she was all ‘no way, they’re ma favourites too’.”

He adds gestures at this point, to demonstrate Kelly’s actions, one hand flapping excitedly, the other resting on my sleeve, lightly stroking through the fabric of my shirt. It feels—

“Apparently we have exactly the same taste in films, music, food, drinks, television and holidays,” he continues as he sits back and folds his arms.

“Sounds like a match made in heaven to me.” I joke. I can still feel the sensation of his hand on my arm.

He looks up at me and frowns. “I’m no’ joking. Ye would be helping me if ye came as ma plus one.”

“Ok then. I do know that I’m not on call. I can come and be your wingman, if you like. Just one question. What are your favourite films?”

“Star Wars.”

This wasn’t the answer I was expecting. He doesn’t seem like a typical fan. Maybe he has a dark side that I haven’t yet seen, with a secret stash of Star Wars figures and multiple light sabres.

“I’ve never watched any of them.” It’s true. I seem to be in the minority but I just don’t get the appeal.

“And I can tell from yer face exactly what ye think of them. But they’re classics, weel most of them, anyway,” he starts to enthuse.

I shake my head. I can’t see that he will ever convince me.

“Well, Sassenach, have I got a treat in store for you!”

And, worryingly, it seems that he’s up for the challenge.

[stewblog]

The Top 10 Movies of 2021

For all the fretting about the sustainability of The Theatrical Experience expressed throughout 2021 (and to be certain, the future of it all is still no sure thing), this year was a surprisingly fantastic year for movies. Granted, some of the year’s best either barely played in theaters or straight up never came to one near you. But all the same, there were so many good movies that it was hard to whittle this list down to just 10. As always, please note that I consider these my favorite movies, a line of demarcation that may not necessarily intersect with what could be considered “the best” (itself an almost wholly arbitrary designation). So without further ado, my Top 10 Favorite Movies of 2021

10.) Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon A Time - The fourth and final entry in Hideaki Anno’s Rebuild of Evangelion series, the gorgeously animated Thrice Upon A Time is both a thrilling, emotionally engaging sci-fi action film and a fulfilling endcap to the fascinating experiment of a director re-examining his own seminal work, reflecting his own evolution and maturation across the decades. Thrice is a barn-burner of a movie that will be inscrutable to anyone not already intimately familiar with Evangelion, but for me there was little else like it this year (or any year).

9.) The Matrix Resurrections - I’m not sure what I expected out of a fourth Matrix movie but it wasn’t this. It’s a bold, brash, defiant, intensely personal film that turns every expectation sideways before defiantly going its own way. I have issues with various aspects, but as a whole I absolutely adored Lana Wachowski’s return to these characters and concepts she so clearly loves. Full review here.

8.) Spider-Man: No Way Home - There are about a hundred different ways this movie could have been a disaster. At best I largely expected it to be a fun but jumbled and overstuffed bit of fan pandering, what with its roping in of villains from Spider-Man movies past. And yet director Jon Watts threaded this needle with a level of skill and precision that kind of knocked my socks off. This is one of the absolute best Spider-Man movies yet, delivering not just fun thrills, but a story that feels as true to the comic book version of Peter Parker/Spider-Man as we’ve yet seen.

7.) Luca - One of Pixar’s best movies is also one of its most low-key. This tale of sea monsters hiding in plain sight has plenty of humor and gorgeous animation, but as much heart as any of the studio’s top tier films. This movie is going to age tremendously well and I look forward to revisiting it regularly in years to come. Full review here.

6.) Pig - “Nicholas Cage is a disheveled, disgraced former three-star chef who has to find his beloved pet pig” sounds like the logline for a ridiculous Saturday Night Live sketch. It shouldn’t work, much less as a straight-faced drama. Pig is a movie that is somehow simultaneously gentle and calm, and yet filled with anger and grief and passion and empathy and sadness. It’s one of the best performances you’ll see from Nicolas Cage as he further proves why he’s one of the best out there.

5.) The Last Duel - This movie may be one of the year’s biggest bombs, but that should in no way detract or distract from the fact that it’s a captivating piece of cinema and further proof that at age 84 Sir Ridley Scott can still direct circles around someone half his age. It’s a harsh film, to be certain, but one no less relevant to modern society and culture.

4.) Dune - I’m still in shock at how much I loved Dune and how genuinely great it is almost despite my utter apathy toward the source material. If you didn’t get the chance to see this on as large a screen as possible, pray for an IMAX re-release because Dune truly delivers one of the most arresting movie experiences of the year. Full review here.

3.) tick, tick … BOOM! - In no way did I expect “the guy who made Hamilton directed a biopic about the guy who made Rent” to result in one of my favorite movies of the year, but tick, tick … BOOM! is outstanding so here we are. Lin Manuel Miranda’s feature film directing debut is kinetic, emotional, heartfelt and celebratory. Andrew Garfield gives one of my favorite performances this year and I was shocked to discover how well he can sing. 30/90 is the earworm of the year.

2.) West Side Story - On its face, a remake of West Side Story feels kind of pointless, but this is just further proof that you should never lose faith in a master like Steven Spielberg. His remarkable career has already gifted us so many genuine classics and I have no hesitation saying this belongs right alongside all of them. Full review here.

1.) In & Of Itself - This one is a bit of a cheat as it’s not technically a movie, but I don’t care. This is my list, deal with it. Simply put, this was the best thing I watched all year, hands down.

It’s hard to know what to say about this, both in terms of preserving the mystery and mystique of it for those who haven’t watched it but also just in terms of precisely what it is. I could list all of the elements found within it. I could tell you that Frank Oz (yes, the master Muppeteer) directed this filmed version of a one-man stage show that ran for more than 500 performances in NYC. I could tell you details and describe portions of it that made my jaw drop and my eyes well up with tears, often at the same time. But being taken along this unexpected journey is part of what made it so very powerful to experience on first viewing. So my advice, if you’ve read this far, is to stop reading, carve out about 90 minutes of uninterrupted time and go watch this in full (on Hulu where it’s streaming) as soon as possible. Go into it knowing as little as possible. Then come back and read the rest of this. (Or keep going. The choice is yours, really.)

Suffice to say that I have never before and will likely never again watch something quite like what Derek DelGaudio has created. It was emotional in ways I wasn’t sure would or could translate through simply watching a performance like this outside of a live, in-person setting. DelGaudio is an impeccable performer, but he never allows his showmanship or the spectacle of the moment to ever outweigh or overshadow the emotional throughline that permeates every minute of the show.

As someone who has struggled to truly understand every facet of who I am and what I do and what I am able to give to the world and those around me, In & Of Itself connected with the core of that struggle in a way few other pieces of art have in the last several years. It’s not that I received some brilliant flash of internal illumination. Frankly I have no expectation of that ever happening. Rather, the core of In & Of Itself is one of empathy, grace, perseverance and reflection.

If nothing else, In & Of Itself is both timely and evergreen because it is a reminder that everyone, all of us, indeed contains multitudes. That inherent complexity is what makes us impossible creatures, for better and worse.

Runners up:

Malignant, Val, Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, No Time To Die, The Mitchells vs. The Machines, Judas and the Black Messiah, Ruroni Kenshin: The Final, The Harder They Fall, Last Night In Soho, The Paper Tigers, The French Dispatch.

[liujinhee]

[ Kyuhyun/Reader ]

plotting an us (working title)

Word Count: 2,622

Summary: Art student y/n, theatre student Kyuhyun one shot

Uh, so this was supposed to be a y/n fic, but I think I gave the character so much personality that they qualify better as an OC? Haha... im sorry guys :')

-

There was little use in trying to reason with yourself why you travel two hours every weekend to the Penguin Ice cafe. Cafe menus were unreasonably expensive, and Penguin Ice was located in the heart of the city, where the population was far too saturated for your liking.

Then you hear the familiar voice saying the words Welcome to Penguin Ice cafe, and you know you'll be coming back next weekend regardless.

You walk straight up to the counter—even if you had a crush on one of the part timers, it didn't mean your judgement was clouded enough that you'd drop by during rush hour just to see him. At 4pm, the cafe was quiet, a few patrons scattered in different corners.

When Kyuhyun's gaze falls on you, his professional smile softens into one you now recognize as warm. “Single scoop of matcha and vanilla with sprinkled topping, having here?”

“Got it in one.” You return the smile, hoping it isn't too wide. The way your feelings tend to write themselves on your facial features has never done more good than harm thus far. Digging into your pocket, you hand him the bill; never the exact amount, if only for the selfish reason of wanting him to drop the change onto your open palm.

And he does. “Here's your change,” Kyuhyun sings in that merry tune you know by heart.

“Someone's in a good mood.”

He makes a show of scanning the bar, which currently only has him manning it, before leaning forward. He's not close enough that you feel his breath, but still close enough that your heart rate picks up as he tells you in a hushed whisper that fails to contain his glee, “It's payday.”

You snort at that, even though you already had your suspicions. Kyuhyun simply gives you a cheeky grin and wags his brows, seemingly pleased to have shared that little tidbit. Your hand twitches with the instinct to reach out and ruffle his hair, something you're not quite able to do to someone you can barely call an acquaintance. So you settle for a Congratulations, to which he bows dramatically, My heartfelt thanks, before twirling away to prepare your order.

He may be majoring in theatre, you think. Or at the very least, hold an interest in it. It's not the first time the two of you have exchanged words in such a manner, nor do you believe it'd be the last. As you watch him drop a generous scoop of ice cream into a cup, you wonder if you should ask him today. Something like, What school are you from? What's your favorite ice cream flavor? Do you want to catch the next musical that comes?

But they all feel like questions that'd make your existing dynamic awkward. In a way, you already consider Kyuhyun a friend, despite not knowing anything about him other than his name, which you got from his name tag, and that he only works on weekends, which is written on their blackboard under the Shifts section. 

Once again, you spend too much time overthinking, and your order is ready before you come to a decision, Kyuhyun extending the cup to you with a gentle hum. Your mumble of thanks matches the tone of his hum, and your feet bring you to your usual seat, empty as it always is. Customers aren't the biggest fans of seats by the entrance, after all; the constant opening and closing of the door can get annoying. It doesn't bother you, however. As much as you dislike crowds, you find comfort in the buzzing of human activity.

And, well, if the seat provides you a good view of the bar where Kyuhyun busies himself with cleaning up, that's just a really big bonus. Once you're satisfied with the angle of your chair, you bring out your pencil and sketchbook, flip to a fresh page, and begin sketching.

It's not always Kyuhyun. Scenery fascinates you, and you've long since lost count of the cityscape, the parks, the rivers that you've drawn from memory and imagination. But it's always when the imagination starts that Kyuhyun joins, somehow making his way into the scenery.

This time, you’ve sketched him barefoot by the beach, laughing as he splashes seawater up a silhouette with his foot. It’s an imagery that comes easily to you; Kyuhyun with his friends out having fun together. He seems like the type of person who is able to get along with everyone, and you're near certain he is.

You scribble down the date and your signature like you do on every piece of art, leaving out your name. The ripping of the page is quiet, barely audible over the music; the edges of the paper imperfect, but they always are. 

As you rest the paper under the now empty cup, you can't help but imagine how Kyuhyun would react to the sketch this week. He hasn't shared his thoughts on your sketches since that first time nearly three months ago, when you'd come to Penguin Ice with your friends for a birthday celebration.

I like the way you sketch, Kyuhyun had told you as he served the tray of sundaes ordered by your table. Art student?

Yeah, you'd answered after a moment of shock, watching how the man's eye was trained on the lines of your sketch. Understanding that it was genuine praise. Your eyes had fallen to his askewed name tag, committing his name to memory. And, um, thanks. He'd tipped his head in acknowledgement, set down your orders, and returned to his post.

Looking back, it might've seemed like nothing. But to the you back then who had been dealing with self doubt, the words of a stranger had been everything you needed to hear and more. While your friends chit chatted and ate, you'd done up a quick sketch of the cafe, and left it on the table with a short thank you note addressed to Cho Kyuhyun.

The next time you'd come, it had been because another friend was curious after seeing your post about the cafe before. Even then it had been Kyuhyun who took one look at you and went, Ah, the art student! Right? The memory of that moment still makes you chuckle now. It's in his recognition that Kyuhyun started becoming more than a part timer at a cafe in the city for you.

Now, as you wait for Kyuhyun to turn away and busy himself with cleaning before sneaking out of the cafe like a protagonist in a cliche romance drama, you wonder if this plot will ever advance, or if this is but a draft that will not live to see a happy ending.

It doesn't really serve as a surprise when you come across Kyuhyun at a local arts festival you are a participant of. You've thought about it, the what if. What does surprise you, is how you come across him.

There's an event pamphlet, of course, but you're also not the type of person who focuses on details like the musical cast names. It's not like any of them would ring a bell, since they're students. Except one of them does. You don't connect the dots at first, too tired from hours of live sketch after live sketch for customers. Then you hear it, his My heartfelt thanks, and the thought is formed.

Can it be? You reach into your back pocket for the pamphlet and flip to the musical lineup for today. Sure enough, printed in bold is the name Cho Kyuhyun along with a photo of him. Gods, does he look cute in casual wear. You're staring hard at his photo when he rips your attention back to him with his vocals.

While you wouldn't go as far as to call yourself a theatre enthusiast, it's not like you haven't been to musicals. You have, and you enjoy them when you do. Paid hundreds of bucks for a good three straight hour sitting of a show that'd live in your memories for decades to come. And when Kyuhyun sings, goosebumps rising along your arm midway through the first line, you know that's the kind of level he'd belong on in the near future. That's how good he is.

You're in awe, then you're in wonder, and then maybe, just maybe, you're falling in love with the theatre student and part time ice cream man Cho Kyuhyun. The sudden realisation startles you, but you accept it just as quickly. Little as you may know, it's enough for you to have developed feelings for him, and you feel it growing stronger every passing second in your mind. Your fingers itch with the need to capture this moment forever in the form of a painting.

Then the musical comes to an end, the cast coming together, hands joined as they bow their thanks while the audience reciprocates with thundering applause. Your eyes are still on Kyuhyun as the curtain falls, but you're certain he hasn't seen you in the dark. Nor would he know or have reason to be looking out for you.

You're out the moment you're able, zigzagging through the night crowd back to your post in a rush. It's not that you're late to return, nor will your neighbor mind even if you were. You simply need to pick up a pencil right now and bring to life the visuals buzzing in your head. It's been a while since you've felt this adrenaline rush under your skin. 

This is going to be a masterpiece.

-

You drown yourself in the canvas, skipping your weekly visit to the Penguin Ice cafe for the first time. There's only one reason for it: you don't want to override the memory of seeing Kyuhyun on the stage. A side you've never seen before, a temporary skin he wears so well one may be fooled into thinking it is his own.

There's a moment when you wonder if you'll ever finish the painting—each time you think you're quite about done, the paint setting for the last time, there's something new to add or to revise. You want to make it perfect, but in art, nothing ever is. Still, it is through willpower that you drop the brush for good, stepping back to take a good look at your painting.

It's… well, there’s no other way to say it: it's the man you saw on stage that night. It’s as close to what you wanted to express as you think it can get. The desire, the urge to convey your admiration for Kyuhyun grows overwhelming, and you rush to hold down on the power button of your phone. It’s 7:12pm on a Sunday. Which means there’s a good chance Kyuhyun will be there. They close at 10pm on weekends… can you make it?

It's worth the risk, you decide. You've got to be stupid at least once in your life (or many, but that's not how the saying goes, see). You wrap up the canvas carefully, yelling to your parents that they don't need to buy your share for dinner later, and rush out the second you feel presentable enough for public appearances.

Kyuhyun stares at you unblinking, and you do the same. It's easy to get lost in the reflection you see in them—and he blinks, light returning to his eyes.

“Hey,” he greets, but behind it you sense the question.

“Hey,” you return between pants.

“We're closing,” he says slowly, as if you can't tell from the flipped chairs and cluttering of washed utensils, “But if you're okay with on the go, I can bring out the tubs.”

You shake your head wildly before Kyuhyun can go grab said tubs. “That's not why I'm here.”

When you don't elaborate, he nods once and prompts, “Okay… So you're here to…”

“Pass you something. I can wait till you're off work. If you don't mind, I mean.” You're babbling, and you just know your face is a deep shade of red from nerves and embarrassment. To his credit, Kyuhyun doesn't judge despite his wrinkled brows, and gestures in the direction of your usual seat. So that's where you head. And you wait, your mind too crowded and thoughts so jumbled that you blank out until someone taps you on the shoulder.

“I'm done here,” he says, but now your brain short-circuits for a different reason. Kyuhyun in a plain t-shirt and shorts with a bag slinging across one shoulder shouldn't be anything worth ogling over, but it is. Even more so than the photo you'd seen on the pamphlet. You struggle to remember how to string words together and give him an answer, digging into your backpack for the thing you're here to hand him but can't quite remember what.

Then your fingers brush against the cloth holding your canvas, and you're reminded of your purpose. Right. With your heart slamming against your chest, you carefully pull out the painting you spent a week on, all while watching for any changes in Kyuhyun's expression. He has that cute frown that suggests he's confused, and you bite back a smile as you extend the canvas in an offering.

“For me?” 

The laugh breaks free from you as he accepts it with a cautiousness you've never seen. “

“Is there… something here?” He wonders aloud, gesturing between the two of you. His question is innocent enough, but then you see the way he's nibbling on his lower lip, the way he's peeking at you from under his long lashes—why are they so long anyway, you briefly wonder.

“An empty space,” you quirk, still somewhat afraid to take the leap, but unwilling to leave his question hanging in the air. 

Kyuhyun is instantly right by your side, the sleeves of your t-shirts brushing against each other, his body heat radiating off him this close. You feel yourself stiffen before you relax, easily growing used to this new lack of distance.

“So that's fixed,” Kyuhyun says after four beats of silence. “Anything else?”

“Hmm,” you hum to stall time as you think of other quirky answers to give, but it seems that isn't something Kyuhyun is willing to take a second time. His steps grow wider as he makes to stand in your way, forcing you to look up at him. He isn't exactly tall per say, perhaps a 1.8, but you're simply leaning toward the other end of the spectrum. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

He smiles, small and shy and hopeful. “It'd be really embarrassing if I'm reading this wrong, but are you interested in me the same way I'm interested in you?”

And now it's you who's worrying your lower lip, question after question clogging up your mind about all the things you can say that will ruin any possibility of the two of you—Then you look at Kyuhyun again, and realise the man’s likely feeling the same, to some extent.

Licking your dry lips, you decide to go for it. “If by that you mean—” you swallow before you're sent into a coughing fit because of your salivary glands, “—The I want to hold your hand on a date kind of interested… then yes.”

“Who said anything about dating?” he teases, and before your brain even registers the words for you to feel disappointed, he continues, “I think we should start with self introductions first, shouldn't we? After all, I still don't know your name.”

“Okay then.” Kyuhyun clears his throat, his posture tall and grand before he gives a graceful bow, hand extended. “Would you do me the honor of exploring the potentials in this budding relationship?”

It seems like the plot is moving forward, after all.

[writersplanetarium]

Facade: New Beginnings

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 11 Part 12

Aelin and Rowan: The Burning Hatred Between Them

Aelin sighed as she spotted another article about her and Rowan. It’d been a few months since she’d gone and spilled the beans, and the news sites were still talking about it. She and Rowan had since developed a... friendship of sorts. After they’d confessed to each other what they hadn’t dared tell anyone else, they found themselves in a sort of in between place with each other, not sure whether they were going to settle for being friendly coworkers, aquaintences, or close friends. Aelin was trying for friendship, and he wasn’t pushing back, which was a good sign.

Now that they were actually getting along, the articles were pointless, but Aelin knew if she went out now and said they’d made up, it’d seem like a publicity stunt. Oh, who was she kidding, she knew no matter when she did it, it’d seem like a publicity stunt. It had worked in their favor though. They were still the hot topic, especially since everyone was loving the new season of the show and their character’s budding romance.

She had even missed him a little when he went home to spend the holidays with his family. However, with Rowan gone, Aelin could have a party at her house, so she had everyone over for the holidays and not risk upsetting the delicate balance of their relationship. It was a nice, family-friendly party filled with all her favorite people. And yet somehow she found herself looking out the window and sighing at the empty house next door.

She tried not to let her mind linger on the man. Tried not to think of how he’d started waving at her when she’d drink her coffee on her porch before his morning run. Tried not to think about how she’d catch him taking the garbage out at ungodly hours of the morning rather than the night before like a normal person. Or how he’d always get his mail after he’d been working out, so he was sweaty and shirtless. She definitely wasn’t letting herself think about any of that.

But now Rowan was back, the holidays were over, and they’d gotten their new scripts. He’d come right over once he’d put his stuff away and eaten dinner for the reading. And despite their new friendship of sorts, Rowan scrunched up his nose at the first scene, and Aelin finally set her phone aside, putting the articles out of her mind.

“Really?” He asked, “A sex scene right off the bat?”

“We’re supposed to be in love, Rowan, what did you expect?” She laughed, “They’re giving the people what they want.”

“But why does it have to be sex? There are more ways to show affection, to show they’ve grown closer.”

“Yes, but this is the most fanservicey,” Aelin said. She prodded his leg with her foot. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll be gentle with you. I only bite a little.” He rolled his eyes but seemed to be fighting a smile.

“Let’s just get on with it. Your line’s first,” he said.

“You mean the various sounds of pleasure?” She teased. He gave her a flat look. “Okay. Okay. Let’s see.” She flipped open the script. In the middle of their intense moment together, a loud knock on the door startles them both. Charlotte speaks, breathlessly. ”Who is it?” Aelin called.

“It’s Henry,” Rowan said, reading Fenrys’ part. Charlotte and Daemion give each other a panicked look as they see the time and notice they’re late.

“Just a minute!” Aelin said with a bit of franticness in her voice. They both jump out of bed, Charlotte clutching the sheets around her, and Daemion grabbing his underwear from just beside the bed, the both of them racing around the room to get dressed. “Dae, where’d you throw my underwear?”

“I didn’t throw them anywhere,” Rowan replied, “You did. Check by the dresser.” Charlotte continues to look, not checking by the dresser.

“Seriously Dae, I need-” She turns, finding Daemion half-dressed, holding her underwear up by a finger.

“I told you to check by the dresser,” he said.

“Whatever,” she laughed. Charlotte quickly dresses and pulls her messy hair back before turning back to Daemion, who’s dressed as well. She steps closer to him, lacing their fingers, pulling him down to her. “I’ll catch you later.” She kisses him intensely, and when they pull apart, neither seems to want to let go. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he replies.

“I love you most,” she says. They part fully and Charlotte grabs her bag and puts it on. She makes her way to the door where Henry is waiting. “I do expect you to finish what you started.”

“Always,” he says. He presses a quick kiss to her neck before letting her slip out of the room to meet with Henry. We see him give a fond look at the door, thinking about the girl who just slipped out of it.

“Aw, that’s cute,” Aelin comments. Rowan makes a small sound of half agreement, clearly just wanting to keep working.

So they did. They went through the rest of the script, reading through their lines. It was... odd, now, though. It was easier to read scripts and act with him when she hated his guts, but now... Now it had a different energy to it. Now... it was more tender. Awkward. They were practically friends now, and she had to pretend to be in love with him. To want him. Though if Rowan picked up on the feeling, or felt anything was off himself, he didn’t mention it.

So Aelin brushed it off.

“You want something to drink?” She asked as they finished off the episode.

“Sure,” he said, reclining into her couch, “What have you got?”

“Water, wine, apple juice, and milk.”

“Water’s fine,” he said. She nodded, grabbing him a cup of water and pouring herself a glass of wine.

When she returned to her living room, she caught sight of Lysandra in her kitchen window, grinning like a lion that just caught a gazelle. Rowan was flipping through his phone, so he didn’t notice her staring, but Aelin most certainly did. She saw her best friend lift her phone, and Aelin knew she was texting her.

“Thanks,” Rowan said, his eyes still on his phone as she set the cup down. Aelin’s phone buzzed, and she scowled at Lysandra but picked it up anyway.

It looks like a certain SOMEONE is getting quite comfortable on your couch

He came over to run lines, Lys. Trust me he’s not getting too comfy.

Well he didn’t just run out as soon as you were done. That’s a good sign

It’s weird being nice, and then having to pretend we’re in love. 

You two have a new dynamic now. You just have to adapt your acting to suit it. Which you’ll get the hang of in no time. I mean if you can pretend to be in love with him when you hate him, you can do it when you like him. You’re both professionals, so if you’re worried about him thinking you LIKE like him, remember he knows you’re acting.

Aelin rolled her eyes.

I can see you rolling your eyes, you know.

Aelin laughed lightly.

I’m not worried about anything. It’s just... different. 

Embrace the change, Ace, embrace the change.

Aelin looked up at Lysandra through the window and her friend winked before heading deeper into her house where Aelin could no longer see her.

“You want to watch something?” Aelin asked, taking a long sip of her wine.

“Do you have anything good?” He asked.

“By your standards? No,” Aelin said, “But even grouchy old men like you need to enjoy a movie so bad it’s good every once in a while.”

“I’m barely older than you,” he said with a flat look.

“Old. Man,” she said again with a grin, poking him in the arm with her foot just enough to nudge him. He rolled his eyes.

“We’re going to watch an awful movie,” Aelin said, “And you’re going to love it.”

“Are we to the point yet that you can force me to watch bad movies?” He asked. She picked up the remote.

“Just got there, Buzzard.”

********

Rowan glanced at Aelin as she watched the movie with mirth in her eyes. It was awful. Cheesy times ten with the most Rom Com dialogue he’d ever heard. It reminded him of his first movie, an awful thing that filled him with regret every time he thought about it. But... he liked watching it with Aelin. Despite the fact that he’d never admit it out loud, she was actually pretty funny, and her commentary amused him to no end.

“Yes, of course I’ll go on a week long vacation with you, man I’ve only known for three days.”

“Yes, definitely walk up and stand that close to me while I’m not looking.”

“Of course I’ll marry you after not even knowing you three weeks! We’re soulmates.”

It actually made him smile. It was a nice shift from the awkward tension earlier while they read their lines. It hadn’t gone badly, but it sure as hell just felt... different. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but where things used to be all spark and anger fueling them to try and be better, they were just... there with each other. Somehow, the comfort brought discomfort that the movie helped to reduce.

“You enjoyed that,” Aelin said, moving closer to him.

“I did not,” he lied.

“You did too!” She laughed, “You liked that! You thought it was fun. Look, you’re smiling.” She poked his cheek and he rolled his eyes, dropping the smile.

“I’m going home.”

“No!” She said, grabbing his arm, “You have to stay and watch more bad movies with me.”

“I have to do no such thing,” he said, “Besides, it’s getting late, and you’ve had a whole bottle of wine.”

“One more movie,” she said, “Just one more. This one’s the best.”

“Aelin-”

“Too late, it’s already playing,” she said, picking up the remote and selecting the new movie. He rolled his eyes, but watched anyway.

Usually when he went back home for the holidays, he was glad to be away from Aelin. His family could get crazy, for sure, but they didn’t blast their music so much he could feel it in his feet over a hundred feet away. But this time... He’d actually wanted to come back to her.

She didn’t move back to her spot as the movie started, having made herself comfortable with barely a foot’s worth of space between them. So close he could smell the mix of her jasmine soap and the wine she’d downed. He promptly ignored it. 

She was going strong for the first thirty minutes with her witty remarks and full laughter, but at around forty five minutes it started to die down and her laughter turned to huffs and her sentences turned to words, trailing off to less and less until her head hit his shoulder.

“Aelin?” He looked over at her. She was out cold. He let out a sigh, grabbing the remote. He hit pause on the movie and shifted, gently laying her down on the couch. He tucked a pillow under her head and pulled the blanket off the back, laying it over her.

He turned on his phone’s flashlight as he shut off the TV so he’d be able to find his way out. He paused when he looked at her sleeping, peaceful figure in the dark, only the moonlight coming in through the window illuminating her. He patted her head gently, pushing her hair out of her face, before making his way back home, collapsing into his bed to find himself with dreams filled with that familiar bubble of laughter.

Tagged:

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LMK if you want to be tagged!

[elfandomdelpandicornioyeldorito]

Chapter 4. Epiphany (Willow Series)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Valentina Rivera (OC)

Word count: 1478

Trigger Warning: angst. Language, emotional distress and problems, mentions of anxiety, insecurities and love advises.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any Marvel character, only the Original Characters are mine. English is not my mother tongue.

General Masterlist - Willow Series Masterlist- Abuelita Rivera Spanish Lesson- The Val Playlist

Gifts and pictures aren’t mine

Around three months, that was the amount of time that Valentina had spent outside her magical hut, her grace time was over, her vacations finally ended, she needed to get back on track with school, research and family calls.

Fortunately, Mr. Mkanthama stayed in Wakanda with them, being their research tutor and professor, but was also able to find a way to put them in one of the Wakandan Universities as the first exchange students, so they can keep studying.

Her research mates were mad when she came back to the apartment in the city, they claim that she was a bad friend for leaving in the name of her mental health, it turn out that they weren’t the good friends that she believed, all of them left as soon as they could, renting other places with their money as far away from her, and applying the ice law, Valentina was completely alone this time, but it wasn’t the first time someone did that to her.

"Sure you are fine? You stay the whole day since the start of the semester in this auditorium listening to me" Mr.Mkanthama walks up until reaching Val, in the last row, eating an instant soup and working on some assignment in her laptop.

"The rest of the people I came with are acting like children because I left like four months for the sake of health, and I don’t want to stay at the apartment with my thoughts, that shit is dangerous"

"Language"

"Sorry"

"What are you working on?" the man sits in the space next to her

"Happy you ask. Well, the last class we discussed about sentient weapons and your assignment is about when and how there exists a line between a sentient weapon and an intelligent weapon, right?" the man nods" Well, intelligent weapons needs from algorithms that at the same time learn the social abilities from the internet, what they mimic is not natural and doesn’t look natural but, we have sentient weapons like The Vision, and along all this time since its creation we all can see how much socially has involved and is capable to also be emphatic, and that’s the key, the ability to understand and respond to people's emotions, sentient weapons are capable of learn without being connected to the internet, they learn like a child, and that makes them almost humans. So, the discussion now is if we need laws or legal responsibilities for the sentient weapons. Why? Well, if they can learn and develop the same sense of ethics and values as a human, that means that they have hundred percent of right over their bodies and can choose if they want to be turned into weapons or not"

"So, you are trying to develop the same rights and responsibilities that people have in sentient weapons even if they are weapons?"

"Yes and no, if they are able to think by their own with no web trends or biased ideology they can chose the moment in which they want to stop being weapons"

"You are open a philosophical debate here"

"You know it's me when this kind of subject appears" they both laugh.

At the end, as always, Val felt confident about what she was writing, but once again alone with her inside voice, she wasn’t feeling that confident of her life decisions.

It was 2pm when Val arrived at her silent apartment, tired and with her head thinking in thousands of things and nothing at the same time. She climbs to her bed, with the cellphone in her hands and headphones on, when the call finally comes, she answers.

"Hola abuela" she greeted over the phone

"Suenas como mierda" Valentina chuckles" Espero que sea por algo bueno"

Valentina sighs.

"Kind of. I have a question for you"

"Tell me"

"How do I know that I fell in love?"

"Well, I have a checklist."She takes a pause" you feel comfortable with that person? Do you like to spend time with him? Do you like to share what you like with him? Do you think about him when you are not close to him?"

"All of them are yes"

"Then yes, you are in love, mija"

"What happens when I kiss that person in a stupid impulse?"

"¿Qué hiciste qué? ¿Como que besaste en un impulso? ¿qué piensas? ¿Cómo pasa eso?" the voice of her aunt Gloria suddenly appears, that moment she knew she was screwed.

" I was leaving town, the town i met him, but i never told him why i was leaving… and i felt so nervous of being that close to him that i kissed him with no warning… and then left…"

On the other side of the phone, Val was able to hear her aunts, her grandma, and even her brother Miguel, all of them arguing about how stupid she was in not telling him that she liked him, that she would love something with him.

If she had only told him the truth, she wouldn't feel so broken and devastated to leave him, and possibly not see him anymore …

She didn't know who took the phone and walked away from the crowd until that person spoke.

"Hey, I heard, how are you actually feeling? " Val heard the voice of Miguel.

"Honestly? Very high in anxiety, i shouldn't had to kiss him that way"

"How do you feel when you two are close?"

"Is nice, he listens… like for real, he notices the details of the stories. I feel peace close to him, but also I feel nervous because I don't want to screw it. I think of him 24/7…"

"That, that is love, so do yourself a favour, the next time you see him, you tell him what you feel for him"

Valentina suddenly feels guilt, Bucky was healing, what if she just made the process or the wound worse? What happens if he just was polite? What if he felt uncomfortable around her with the kiss?

"Migue… i don't know…"

"No, you know. Think of mom, she always said that tienes que agarrar el toro por los cuernos, yes? Then do that, tell him the moment you got the chance, and if he doesn't feels the same, the ones that lose is him"

Tears began to fall from her eyes, and suddenly she felt overwhelmed, anxious. She wanted to get back home, to travel back in time and speak with her mom about Bucky and what she felt, to put an end to all her questions.

Question. All in Buckys head since he was defreeze and since the departure of Valentina are questions.

His head was in a stormy cloud asking himself if he was the reason why Val left with no explanation or goodbye, if she somehow found his past and now left because was scared, or because she hated him for who he was and the things he did. Bucky still wasn’t able to understand one thing, and that was the kiss. She kissed him, they both kissed like flustered catholic teenagers one night before she left, did he surpass some line and didn’t know?

It was another day doing farm work, under the strong sun and the impossible heat, the man looked in the direction of the hut, which was now empty. He felt something in his heart when she didn't arrive at 4pm like before, he also felt disappointed when he turned around believing that he listened to her voice but she was nowhere to be found. That was his routine now. Wanting her company and finding nothing at the end, and that hurts deep in his chest. He felt something similar before Wakanda, when he was a HYDRA fugitive, wanting and craving for company, a silent cry for help but finding nothing more than his intrusive thoughts at the end of the day.

Time just pass, day or night, it felt the same for him, a tasteless routine: go to sleep, wake up in the middle of the night surrounded by his thoughts and nightmares, staying in bed watching his surroundings, stepping out of the bed early, farm work, eat, going to bed again. He even forgot how much time has passed since he was all alone by himself with no happiness or light in it.

He felt like a coward, unable to let his feelings show to the women that never accused him for his past, saying that he loved her was too early, but he indeed felt something, something that he didn’t feel since a lot of years ago and that was love.

The only different thing that day was the arrival of T’Challa and Okoye, the king placed a safety box on the bales of hay, in it, his new arm, he knew what that meant.

"Where 's the fight?" he finally asks.

Tag: @pinkpondofasgard @invisibleanonymousmonsters @dance-dreamer @americasmarauders @autumn-and-rain