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davidfarland · 2 years

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Many new writers don’t know when to stop polishing a manuscript and move on to the next. Part of the reason for that might have to do with Ernest Hemingway.

Hemingway and His Legacy

Years ago, a writer asked Hemingway, “How many times should I rewrite a manuscript?” Now, Hemingway hated dumb questions, so he answered “Oh, at least 60.”

He loved doing that to writers. On one occasion, a writer asked him what kind of chair he preferred to sit in, as if perhaps the brand of furniture that an author had planted his butt on might somehow confer literary genius.

Hemingway answered, “I don’t sit when I write, I stand.” And a generation or writers began to write standing up. The problem with that is that you can go to any one of Hemingway’s old homes or offices, and see the chairs that he sat on.

On another occasion, a writer asked him how long she should wait between drafts when revising, so that she would be able to look at her story “cold.” He suggested that it should be two years.

Think about it. If Hemingway did sixty drafts of a novel and waited two years between each draft, he would have never finished a single book. Don’t listen to bad advice, even when it comes from a genius.

When I First Started…

I used an old typewriter. I didn’t like it. I had to really bang the keys hard, it was noisy, certain keys didn’t work well, and the type was uneven. Because of this, doing rewrites was difficult. I’d type out a draft, make extensive corrections on the page with a pencil, and then try to type out a perfectly clean copy.

Using that system, it would have been foolish to repeat the process sixty times. Because of this, in the 1920s and 30s, a professional writer would typically try to learn to write a finished copy in a single draft. It was simpler to write out a nice outline in longhand, and then thoughtfully type out one clean draft, than to retype a piece over and over.

The first electric typewriter was invented in the early 1900s, but they didn’t begin to become in wide use until the 1930s, and really took off in about 1960 with the IBM Selectric. These models made rewriting much easier, and authors began to revise more.

Of course with the development of computers, revising became quite easy. My first computer would allow me to put only 2 pages of text on a disk, but by the late 1980s I was able to get first a whole chapter, and then with the addition of a hard drive, an entire novel in a single file. It wasn’t until then that rewriting became so easy that it became problematic.

As an Editor…

I’m looking for stories that have some originality, that carry an author’s own voice, his odd quirks. But when a new writer begins showing a manuscript around to members of her workshop and polishing it further and further, eventually the author tends to lose her own distinct voice. The result is, that the story can become less interesting to me as an editor with every draft.

How Many Revisions Do I Need?

That’s a personal question. Each published author might develop his or her own standards. I typically go through a novel three times before sending it to my editor, though key scenes might get another polish or even three more.

As I rewrite, I try to avoid changing both the voices of my characters and my own narrative voice. Rather than polishing away the differences between voices, I think it’s better to look for ways to heighten the unique characters in the tale.

In fact, on one of my last rewrites, I do what I call a “voice edit,” where I go through key characters person by person to make sure that their voices are consistent. I almost never look at a scene more than five or six times. Yet I know some writers who will polish a scene 20 times or more, making it a little less interesting each time. Don’t do that.

Why? You’ve got other books to write! By the time that you’ve revised a novel half a dozen times, you’re probably not really making it any better.

When You Feel Good About It, Submit It.

Now, when many writers get a rejection letter, they’ll begin to feel insecure about a tale. Don’t let that happen. The world is full of great novels that were rejected over and over again. Harry Potter went to all of the world’s biggest publishers before it finally found a home. Dune was rejected dozens of times, as were dozens of other great novels.

The proper response to a rejection is to send the story out to a different publisher—not to rewrite the tale.

So don’t fiddle with your language. There are times when it might be wise to make a “substantial” revision, one where you change the very bones of a story. For example, you might decide to write a new opening scene, or extend a climax, or something like that. In that case, it’s like re-setting the bones of the story, not applying new lipstick to the face of it. You’re fixing the underlying structure.

For example, years ago I was walking down a hallway at a convention, and I heard an editor talking to a young writer. He was describing the problem with the author’s story, and he said, “You know what that story needs? It needs something big, a world exploding or something right in the opening.”

Now, it so happened that I had written a little short story about a terrorist called “The Sky is an Open Highway.” It wasn’t much of a story, but it did have a world exploding in it. In fact, that very editor had rejected it a few months earlier.

So I added a new scene where a world explodes on page 1, and then sent it to that editor. I was rewarded with a contract a couple of weeks later.

Now, that new scene was a “substantial edit.” It changed the nature of the story, signaling to the reader exactly what the story was about. But I didn’t polish the rest of the tale. I already knew that it was good enough.

We’ve had so many special guests this year on www.apex-writers.com! Including Kevin J. Anderson, contributing writer of the Dune Series, Dan Wells, author of I Am Not a Serial Killer, and prolific Sci-Fi/Fantasy writer Brandon Sanderson!

You can see these guests and all our past guest recordings by joining www.apex-writers.com!

In addition to our weekly guests, you’ll have access to over a dozen courses that will teach you how to write from plotting an outline, to our all new course on Powerful Endings!

Also new to Apex Writers is our Discord server where you will join over 600 members who are taking part in daily writing sprints, brainstorming sessions, group critiques and more!

All of this is available with either a monthly or yearly subscription at www.apex-writers.com

Come and join us! You’ll fit write in!

#writing #writers #writing tips and tricks #writing coach #writing mentor #writing lessons #writing advice #writing help #editor #creative writing #writeblr #writeblogging #nanowrimo

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andmaybegayer · 3 years

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psycholonials, huh?

man this is a good story anyway here's a way too long self-indulgent note-to-self that I didn't want to do on my typewriter.

I haven't gone and checked if there's more to it yet, I don't think there will be and I'm pretty happy with the way this has concluded so I can do a Thoughts On Post.

First up I never understand people who keep trying to dunk on Hussie. Nothing you can do to him is worse than what he has done to himself, which is to say being popular on the internet.

(Oh huh there's something in the Load Save menu, brb)

Oh okay that changes that segment a bit. There's a postscript. I'll put spoilers and whatever under a cut for the most part.

This game ping-pongs very rapidly between the very big and the very small, very elegantly and effectively. I think a lot of people don't give Hussie credit for writing a story that managed to hold an audience as large as it did for as long as it did, Homestuck is very easy to dismiss as dumb fandom bullshit, but it's an extremely earnest piece of work if you think about the author instead of the characters.

I mentioned that I expected the "locked choices" thing to be a bait-and-switch, which of course panned out. Nothing presented that obviously in a story like this would ever be straightforward. I hadn't hit on the "Z is the narrator" bit but I wasn't really staying on top of game lore for this one.

The final arc touches a lot of places that I think about frequently, hopefully because everyone thinks about them a lot and not because I have some kind of Hussie brainworm.

There's a brief segment about countries and what it means to Be From One and why and how people Go To Another One and generally about what you are responsible for, which sort of aligns with a thing I wrote a while ago after I learned about the Leningrad Seed Potatoes. I think about this a lot! Especially since it seems ever more inevitable that if I want to use my abilities to their fullest I'll have to go away. There's no silicon foundries around here.

The other discussion goes all over, from large-scale geopolitics down to very intimate personal problems. I appreciate that, stories that try to stay at grand scale 100% of the time lose a lot of the value you can get by bringing the side effects of the grand scale down to human size.

It's absolutely clear that some of this is autobiographical. "Started an extremely large community that has an outsized influence on all sorts of things that eventually causes serious problems for you and those around you" I wonder what that could be about. Hussie is basically the joker of fandom after 20+ years of doing this and we really do live in a society.

There's the whole bit about how the whole situation basically vanishes when you log off, which, yeah. Trump's twitter got deleted and I think I maybe see his name once a week these days, rather than the four times a day I heard people say it out loud just last year. Many Big Things are only Big Things when you're embedded in the community, and I always think about this when I see a twitter trend with "12 million people posting about this!!!!!!!" which is an utterly trivial number of people in a world of eight billion. Black Lives Matters is easily one of the biggest things on Social Media at the moment and they just had a huge win but according to my twitter feed there's 1.1 million tweets about that cop and that's... nothing. A fraction of a fraction. The Biggest Twitter Account has like 100 million followers. A nothingburger, one in a hundred people.

And a pretty good ending. I had a bit here but I saw the epilogue which leads well into...

The epilogue is well timed and well placed: like if undertale had more subtlety. It says very little that's new, but if you maybe didn't catch something or didn't think it was emphasized enough, here it is. There's no doubt someone out there who did what I almost did, just quit the game and delete it without even trying to see if there was an alternate path. I had already assumed there wasn't, it just wouldn't fit with the story. Deleting the save files is a good touch, and unlike some other games, I trust that there's nothing hidden in a replay that this is egging you to try. Psycholonials was a very honest game for the rest of its run. I'm not about to distrust what it says now.

I wrote another hideously unfocused emotionpost a while ago about Evangelion and The Importance Of Trusting Yourself To Be Valid, which is most of what I took away from Evangelion at the time, and I stand by a lot of that. This aligns in some ways, in that the importance of being recognized by others can't be the only thing you base yourself around, but it can help.

Like, Toby Fox was able to make Undertale the way it was because he had a sound understanding of Fandom from another 20 years of Being Online, of which like 10 of them were with Homestuck. Hussie has seen a lot of shit happen with his work. I think this is partially as /clear/ as it is because ambiguity (PEACHY) is the route to madness when dealing with audiences this big.

I don't know what happens next for Hussie, from here. It sounds almost like an announcement of retirement. I don't really care, but I will say that I unironically enjoyed it while it lasted.

#psycholonials #video games

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malmuses · 4 years

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The lovely folks who have been reading along with Russian to the Altar had been asking for a little bit of Cas POV. They want to know if he’s having the same experience as Dean, or if this is different on his side, what he’s thinking, how he feels.

Well.

I obliged.

However, I don’t think that this was quite what was hoped for when those requests first came in...but it is what worked best for the story, at present, and I think it’s a valuable insight for readers to have during the upcoming chapters. So here ya go, lovely readers.

***Spoilers for Russian to the Altar below the cut!***

The heavy winter comforter that Dean had outfitted his guest room with suddenly felt suffocatingly hot, to Castiel.

Guest room. It hadn’t felt like a guest room for months. It had felt like his room, his home. But now Castiel lay paralyzed in the dim moonlight that seeped through the window at the front of the house, overlooking the street beyond, and it didn’t feel like his home anymore. Perhaps it never had been. Perhaps he’d only been fooling himself. It hadn’t been about the room, though, of course. It wasn’t the furniture, rescued from estate sales and done up on Dean’s own time, or the freshly painted walls, or the books on the shelves, or the typewriter at the desk. None of those had been home.

Dean had been home. Or so Castiel thought.

The wan moonlight, often romantic and soft and pretty, was nothing but mocking. Dean’s breaths weren’t even on the other side of the bed, he was still awake. He probably wanted…he probably wanted, needed, to talk some more. To be comforted. Dean was often chatty, very snuggley and affectionate after they scened together—Castiel loved it. But right then, every inch of his body that Dean was touching felt like an uncomfortable brand, the heat and the weight of him too much.

Castiel twisted, pulling his arm out from underneath Dean and pushing back the covers, hoping, praying, that Dean couldn’t hear the way his breathing had notched up and become uneven.

“Cas?” Dean mumbled, sleepy. “Y’okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Castiel said quickly, reaching out to smooth a hand over Dean’s shoulder beneath the bedding. “Sleep. I just need to use the bathroom.”

The lie felt wrong on his lips. Why, when all they’d done for months was lie? Why, when everything that had mattered was just false words?

Castiel wanted to snarl at himself for being so dang melodramatic, but it was all he could do to walk steadily to the bathroom and not let his steps falter. The door closing behind him was a precious gift, a couple of inches of wood that hid him and allowed his shoulders to slump, allowed his face to crumble, and didn’t expect him to lie.

Castiel pressed his bare shoulder blades back against the cool wood. He rested there for a moment as the carefully held nonchalance melted from his posture, and then allowed himself to slump downwards. He slid slowly down the door, pulling up his knees, one arm wrapping around his naked shins to pull them close while his other hand tried, feebly, to clamp his lips shut against the heaving breaths that had begun hissing through his teeth.

His face crumpled, and he was done; with no energy left to hold it in, all Castiel could do was reach over and quickly turn on the tap in the bathtub, flipping it over to the shower. Water thundered down, loud in the dark, empty room.

Maybe the sound could cover his shaking sobs. Maybe it could hide him for a little longer.

Cas had no idea how long he sat there in the dark. He lost track of time.

His cheeks were sticky with tears, his teeth hurt from grinding together, trying to bite back the sobs, and his shoulders ached from shaking. Slowly, slowly, as his breathing eased and he felt like he could actually begin to fill his lungs, Castiel let go of his knees, beginning the long, arduous, Everest-like climb back to his feet.

It seemed to take everything he had to stand back up, but regardless, he reached over and finally flicked on the light. The room was steamy from the shower running. Castiel leaned on the edge of the sink, reaching out the smear the mist from the glass so that he could see himself beyond. His hair was wild from being tugged at while he cried, and his eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. Castiel swiped angrily at his face; he looked like an idiot, but he couldn’t help the tears.

He felt like an idiot.

One foot at a time, Castiel climbed into the shower, his feet squeaking on the bottom of the tub. The water was a little too hot, but he didn’t care. Maybe it would sear away the heavy feeling that was pulling him down.

Castiel stood for long minutes with his features turned up into the spray, letting it beat against his face, his eyes squeezed shut. His hands hung limply at his sides, his shoulders slumped, and he merely stood, breathing in the steam, his thoughts chasing him around his own head.

“About us,” Dean had said, and for a moment—one precious, light moment—Castiel had believed.

Believed that maybe Dean felt the same as he did.

Castiel leaned forward, pressing his damp forehead against the chill tile of the wall. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought. He’d let himself begin to think that Dean’s feelings were changing, recently.

Since their immigration interview, since they’d celebrated and kissed and made love in Castiel’s bed…he’d really thought that it all meant something. That now, maybe with the interview out of the way, that they’d grown closer, that they were making progress.

It turned out, that was all in Castiel’s head. Dean didn’t see this the way he did, clearly.

It was his own fault—he couldn’t be mad at Dean, you couldn’t be angry at someone for not loving you back. He was mad at himself, though. For letting this happen, for falling so far with no safety net below.

Grabbing blindly for his shower gel, Castiel squeezed a big dollop into his palm and began to robotically wash down his arms and chest. He tried to scrub away the ache in his chest, but he had no more luck with that than he did the much more physical ache in other parts of his body.

Letting out a sigh into the water, Castiel shook his head. That had just been one in a series of his dumb mistakes, it seemed.

Raking shampoo through his hair, Castiel told himself that the bubbles were stinging his eyes. It definitely wasn’t that he had an overwhelming urge to cry some more.

Every time he let himself think that he and Dean were on the precipice of something…he always fell down the cliff.

He wasn’t sure he could get back up, this time.

Of course, just the thought of leaving brought nothing but more aching in his stomach, more burning in his eyes, and more thumping of his heart against his ribcage.

I’m such a fool, he thought miserably.

Castiel focused on getting clean, washing away the salt of tears and the musk of sex, sluicing away the lube and the sweat that less than an hour before had felt so different. He’d been so happy.

He couldn’t remember when he’d fallen in love with Dean.

A full-blown crush had developed within days of meeting him, of course—Dean was gorgeous, and funny, and far more talented than he gave himself credit for. He was also kind, and generous—and yes, grumpy, and sarcastic, and stubborn, and hot-headed, and prone to being messy, and drinking too much when it suited him. But he had a fierce love for his family and friends, he was loyal and he was always putting others first…and that crush had exploded in a shower of butterflies before Castiel had known what hit him. He’d never stood a chance.

Loving Dean felt inevitable.

To be rejected, then, not only not to be loved back but to be constantly reminded of the fact by Dean’s own words…that was torture. It had been the stupidest thing he’d done—Castiel now knew—to give in to the physical connection between them both.

Oh, it was fantastic. Incredibly hot. They were almost ineffably compatible, sexually.

But it ripped Castiel’s heart out every time, and left it beating alone on the floor.

Castiel just couldn’t say no to Dean, in any way that mattered.

And now he was paying for it with his heartbreak. He knew he should leave. He knew that this, this feeling, this broken, desperate collapse on a bathroom floor that had led to him sobbing in the shower…this was no way to live. But…

But.

Sometimes…no, often. Castiel was sure, so sure, that he had it wrong.

The way Dean looked at him…the way Dean held him back. The way his forest green eyes softened every time Castiel came near him—Castiel could gaze at those eyes for hours. Dean’s eyes were the green of summertime, and they could revive Castiel’s dried up soul no matter how long his day had been.

He couldn’t be imagining all of that, could he?

Conscious that he’d been standing in the shower much longer than the average person should, Castiel reached out and wrapped his wrinkled fingers around the knob, turning off the water. Pulling back the curtain, he soon realized that in his pathetic state, he hadn’t checked if there were any towels.

So Castiel stood, shivering on the shaggy bath mat, dripping dolefully dry while he worked up the courage to head back to bed.

He didn’t have it.

So, eventually, Castiel rubbed his tired face and turned off the light. He’d grab some pants and head downstairs, stretch a little, meditate. Try and center himself and make sense of his head. Try to find reason, and work out if…if he was strong enough to keep putting himself through this, to keep waiting. Keep hoping.

There was no sleep for Castiel that night.

***

Yes, I popped that gif in there because it hurts me and sometimes pain should be shared.

Cling on to that happy ending, folks...it’s coming <3

Also, please don’t throw things at me. I have squishy parts.

- Mal <3

#destiel #my writing #russian to the altar

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nobody-wants-ice-cream · 4 years

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Everything Wrong With The Umbrella Academy. Episode 6, The Day That Wasn’t.

We Only See Each Other at Weddings and Funerals

Run Boy Run

Extra Ordinary

Man on the Moon

Number Five

Disclaimer: This is all in good fun! I wanted to do a really nitpicky re-watch of the series and found some really cool and interesting things I didn’t notice before. This is meant to have a Cinema Sins-esque tone. However, I did take off a lot more sins than Cinema Sins would have because I do genuinely like the series and the people that made it possible. So all of the good things got one sin off and all the bad things got one sin added. This is a really long post, so grab some popcorn. If there’s anything that I missed, feel free to add it!

I would also like to add that normally you wouldn’t watch a show this way. I am purposefully looking for mistakes, easter eggs, and other things that we’re not supposed to notice. I am watching not with the goal of entertainment, but for analysis. So most of the things that I sin, I am seeing for the first time.

Also, no I can’t do better. I am in no way qualified to give this level of criticism about anything.

[Today we got the s2 release date!! I am so excited. To answer any questions about that, I will probably do a season 2 version of this a year after it comes out. Since some of my sins involve fandom and any fic tropes/theories we might come up with, I want to make sure that has time to happen.]

The Day that Wasn’t

Only Dave notices Klaus coming to Vietnam via briefcase. The flashing blue lights and loud “oof!” isn’t loud enough to wake anyone else up. +1

Cody Ray Thompson’s workout routine. -1

“Katz” isn’t a fandom thing! The dude that is yelling at all the soldiers and Klaus to get ready (some sort of commanding officer?) calls Dave “Katz”! -1

Klaus is so confused that he just puts the pants on without really questioning it. What the fuck was going on in Klaus’s head? +1

Where is Ben? +1

Right where I’m paused Klaus’s face is hilarious. “It was at this moment Klaus knew. He fucked up” -1

The Power of Boners is what keeps Klaus in the fucking Vietnam War. +1

For all future Dave sins, I am calling it The Power of Boners because Dave gets one line. As soon as the show corrects this and shows us why Dave was so wonderful, these remain sins. Sin for the show for not providing more Dave content. +1

Overly saturated forigen country cliche. +1

Seriously, why is Vietnam so orange? +1

The Doors. -1

This one shot in the foreground of the girl with white boots. I want those boots so badly. Costume people, where did you get them? Sin until I know, damnit! +1

Cool white boots are cool. -1

Klaus’s dance moves. -1

Klave. -1

Scene does not contain a lap dance. +1

Or any other indication that Dave and Klaus didn’t just make out once and decided to remain friends. Please give me more Klave content show. If anything, just to flesh out this character who motivates Klaus for half of the season. +1

Luther barges in on people in the bathroom. He has six siblings! Anyone with at least one sibling knows that barging in on people in bathrooms is a shitty move. Heh, shitty move, bathroom, get it? +1

Klaus’s face when Luther deadpans “the world’s ending in three days”. It’s the face of someone who completely forgot about that since he’s been in the 60s for ten months. -1

Also, the way Luther tells Klaus “the world’s ending in three days” is the same way I might tell my brother that it’s time for dinner. +1

“Five’s a little- [coo coo whistle]” Emmy Raver-Lampman kills this line. -1

Luther’s face when Allison asks “what did Five even see?” brings me so much joy. That is the look of complete panic. Love that. -1

Luther can’t lie for shit. Checks out. -1

Anyone with siblings can relate to Diego, Allison, and Klaus’s reaction to this bull. -1

The dramatic music leading into the little “we died” followed by a sip of coffee. Priceless. -1

Title umbrella scares the shit out of Klaus! -1

Comic power foreshadowing? Sin until we get answers. +1

Foreshadowing that Five is in HQ by sending orders that don’t follow the same format as the rest of the ones on the shoe. Fiveshaddowing? -1

Kate Walsh plays an excellent villain. Part of that evil demeanor is getting all up in Five’s personal bubble. This is the closest Five has been to someone in the entire show without any injury or being drunk. -1

The Handler is creepy. +2

Five makes demands after setting foot in the building for less than one minute. +1

The masks from the comics are on the wall in the briefcase room. -1

Based on the two agents we see in the briefcase room and Hazel and Cha Cha, the uniform of the commission assassin is a blue suit, yet all of Five’s are grey or black like management. Inconsistency. +1

Typewriters. I hate those things. +1

I think Aidan Gallagher forgot what he was doing in this scene. His expression doesn’t look like Five, it looks like some kid who is letting a math lecture wash over them. You could make the argument that Five is sort of letting this wash over him too, but I would call bullshit. Five knows how dangerous of a situation he’s in right now. He shouldn’t look this calm. +1

The Handler touching Five’s face. +3

Dot has the “i’m in danger” expression when meeting Five because Dot let Five live in hell for 45 years. Five also looks like he wants to kill her. Great acting, Patrice Goodman. -1

Five’s expression when Dot says “No hard feelings” brings me so much joy. And fear. -1

The Handler makes Five the teacher’s pet on his first day by calling him leadership material in front of his new coworkers. +1

Kate Walsh was temporarily directed by Tim Burton for this scene. +1

That weird look one of the commission management people gives Five once Five sits down and starts working. I don’t like it, I don’t like it! +1

The Hargreeves mansion looks really fucking chaotic on the roof. I don’t like it. +1

Leonard’s face at finally being allowed inside the Hargreeves mansion. Just the right dose of satisfied and creepy. Well done, John Magaro. -1

Leonard is raising so many red flags that he may as well be a stop sign. +1

Umbrella Academy action figures. Oh, Reggie. +1

Luther has to explain that everyone in the whole world dies and not just them. The Umbrella Academy School of Delayed Reactions due to Stupidity was too long of a name so Reggie shortened it to The Umbrella Academy. +1

Allison’s right, Vanya isn’t being fair. However, Allison isn’t specific about how Vanya is family but Leonard is not. Sin for both of them for being dumb as hell. +2

“I’m gonna go find Vanya” “There isn’t time, we need to figure out what causes the apocalypse” irony. +1

“Nuclear war” cited as one of the possible causes of the apocalypse. Comics fans, enjoy this sin off. -1

“But I’m thinking this is about the Moon, right?” well yeah, but not for the reasons you think. Foreshadowing the moon. -1

That creepy portrait of Five behind Diego. No, not the big one, the other one by the bar. What the fuck, Reggie? +1

Leonard steals the action figure of The Monocle (reggie for those who don’t know the comics), which symbolizes the way Leonard feels he is controlling the Academy through Vanya. -1

Leonard is creepy. +1

Ben doesn’t realize that Klaus is going through withdrawal despite seeing it the day before. Sure, Ben could have been more focused on the tourture, but because Ben points out Klaus’s withdrawal by name in Man on the Moon, we can assume he noticed and that this is a continuity error. +1

Vanya’s powers affecting the world around her as soon as she is a safe distance away from the academy because reasons. Seriously, there should have been at least something while she was confronting her siblings. Show plays fast and loose with the rules of Vanya’s powers. +1

“If you tie me up after.” “Come again?” Diego and Klaus have the most sibling like relationship on this entire show. -1

Klaus’s Diego impression. -1

Excessive use of the word “bro”. One sin for every time I have to hear it in this scene. +2

“Mr. Five”. Is Five’s first name “Number” or did he not give the Commission any other name? Does this imply that he doesn’t go by Five Hargreeves? +1

This is one of the few scenes where Aidan Gallagher no longer looks like Aidan Gallagher and instead looks like Five. Acting. -1

Dot is really trying to get murdered. Don’t engage the man you put through hell for almost fifty years, moron. +1

The Handler has nothing better to do than to stalk Five. Does this lady have a job or did she take the day off specifically for this? What was she doing in the tube room?+1

The origin of “deadly little thing” is fucking Gloria? Really, fandom? +1

Five is too good of an actor. I understand why Aidan Gallagher might make some of these choices as an actor but I don’t understand how a man who grew up alone in the apocalypse can act this well. +1

The Handler keeps singling Five out in front of his coworkers. +1

The Handler’s arm around Five’s shoulders. +1

Creepy dude is back. I’m not even going to try and look up this guy’s name, but the expression suggests something I don’t want to think about. +1

Creepy guy’s name is Herb. Of course it is. +1

The file Five picks up just has a smiley face inside of it, which suggests that the Handler put it there as a red herring. Nice touch, show. -1

Gender neutral bathrooms. -1

Five’s expression when the Handler continues talking to him as she is peeing. -1

The Handler talks to Five while peeing. Gross. +2

His expression when she starts coughing is so funny. -1

Rugae +1

The Handler peeks over the door of the bathroom stall. +10

Cha Cha says, “Sure, shoot” when Hazel asks if he can ask her a question. +1

Where did the gunshot come from if Cha Cha didn’t shoot Hazel? I get they’re using it to make us think that she did, but there is no other explanation for the noise. +1

Luther frantically searching for his moon research makes me very sad. +1

Also, I’m kind of bored with this episode at this point. It’s such a low episode with the only interesting parts that make me as excited as the last episode Number Five, being the Commission parts. Everything else is kind of boring. Pick up the pace, show. +1

Reggie is a dick to Luther. +7

Luther looks so lost and broken and sad. I’m sad. Fuck you, Reggie. +1

Why the fuck was Luther carrying an axe?? +2

And rope?? +2

When and where did Luther find the time and money to get the engraved gold locket for Allison? This interaction is so full of plot holes and stupidity. +1

However, Cameron Brodeur and Eden Cupid do well with this dumb writing. -1

Seriously, who wrote this scene? The fact that I can’t bring myself to care about what is going on right now says a lot. +1

Reggie jump scare. +1

Cliche record scratch. How did that happen? Did Luther or Allison bump into it? Sin for lack of clarity and for destroying a record. +1

“Fun and games are restricted to Saturdays between noon and half past noon” Reggie is a dick to his children. +7

Klaus and Diego bonding. Literally? -1

Ben is in this scene! -1

I forgot how weird the soundtrack is for this scene. It’s too ominous. Scoring is important. +1

“Dave must have been a very special person to put up with all your weird-ass shit.” -1

“He was kind and strong and vulnerable and beautiful” that’s great, show. Why don’t you show us that instead of having Klaus say it. Just once scene where Dave shows these qualities so that he’s a real person instead of someone created to drive Klaus’s storyline? Please? +1

I feel really bad for Ben in this scene. From Ben’s perspective, he wasn’t good enough to motivate Klaus to get sober, but this random guy was. Ben angst. +1

Also, Justin Min manages to convey this without any lines. Major props. That takes some serious skill. -2

Bro. +1

“Everyone I like is already dead”. Fridging. +1

I can’t tell if this is Ben walking away or if this is the transition between Diego and Klaus’s point of views. If this is meant to imply the pov switch, It would have been easier to have Ben disappear from the same spot. If it’s Ben walking away because he can’t take being told that he isn’t good enough to get sober for, Ben angst. Either way, it’s a sin. +1

“Aww shit! I need to pee.” Diego’s expression is amazing. -1

“If this [having powers] is even true, everything I know about myself would be different.” That is Vanya’s storyline in a nutshell. This line is really underrated. -1

All of Leonard’s lines point towards the book. All of them. Which makes total sense. -1

Vanya is starting to show more sass and personality because the pills are gone. I wish fanfic writers would explore this. Including myself, I am sinning fanfic writers for not taking into account how cool Vanya is without the meds. +1

“I’m sorry you got stuck with the ordinary one” See! +1

“Ordinary” This word keeps coming up. Probably because of the whole rumor situation that we’re not supposed to know about yet. Rewatches are fun. -1

“My life is so weird” “I like weird”. And if you weren’t such a colossal creep, Leonard/Harold, I would like you too. This line is super sweet. Sin for manipulation. +1

Ellen Page isn’t my girlfriend. Have you seen this scene recently? She looks so cute/hot/beautiful here. +1

No transition, just straight from Leonard and Vanya kissing to The Handler slurping her smoothie. It’s jarring. +1

I want to know why they decided that killing Archduke Ferdinand would start World War I. Noodle incident. +1

“I had a bad Twinkie in the apocalypse once. Kinda put me off desserts.” Yet you still ate the fluffernutter sandwich, Five? +1

The Handler’s office is really cool. Once again, set designers you win this one. -1

Why would Five go straight for a decade instead of a flavor? How does something taste like the 1950s before it tastes like a popular candy from the time for example? +1

The suit is blue like the rest of the time travel assassins have. This suggests a uniform that the Commission didn’t make Five wear before, and suggests a sort of power play. Details. -1

The Handler is a fucking creep. +1

“M26 grenades from the Vietnam war”. This is the comment that sparked the theory that the Commission killed Dave. I want answers. +1

The candy that tastes like the 50s is really chewy. Why is Five still chewing it? +1

The Handler gives Five a pistol and he doesn’t immediately shoot her, which suggests that the pistol is empty. So why was the grenade still operational if the other weapons were not? You would think she would make sure that the grenades couldn’t be used against her. +1

The Handler is a fucking creep. I think Aidan Gallagher was a little uncomfortable in this scene. The look in his eyes isn’t something you can fake. +1

Kate Walsh is an awesome actress. -1

Out of all the candies in the bowl, Five conveniently takes one that is an actual candy and one that is a tracker. +1

So I want to talk about Luther. I think the show did him a great disservice by setting up his story this way. Compared to the Commission stuff, Luther’s story arc doesn’t seem important, hence the “Dad sent me to the Moon” jokes. If this was in a better order, then maybe the fandom would like Luther more. Not that I know what that order should have been, but it definitely shouldn’t have been this one. This whole episode seems kind of disorganized and Luther’s character suffers for it. After this sin, I’m going to shut up about it, so I’ll just add a few and move on. +5

“Four years of my life. A lie” “What an asshole” That’s a bit of an understatement, Allison. Seriously, this Moon research has got to have some value to it. Luther was studying the moon for four fucking years. Who knows what kind of crazy shit he could have found out about the moon’s atmosphere and what the Earth was like when the moon split from it. Those soil samples would tell us a lot about what the developing planet Earth was like. Luther’s moon research is important scientific material. And Reggie just locked it away. +3

This scene is excellent independently. Tom Hopper and Emmy Raver-Lampman play off each other extremely well. -1

“Can I show you something?” +1

The tools in the greenhouse have not moved in seventeen years. +1

And neither has the dust free record player. +1

Two cans of generic cola from seventeen years ago. And these two morons drink them. The family brain cell is dying. +1

This is such a sibling moment. Trying to do something nice and then it all goes up in flames? Sibling. Culture. -1

You know what isn’t sibling culture? The fucking locket. +3

This is a really human moment for Cha Cha. Burning the note shows that deep down, she cares about Hazel. -1

However, I don’t understand why she’s so pissed about Agnes. Is the show trying to ship Hazel and Cha Cha? Because that would be a stretch and I really don’t see it. +1

Klaus asking for one last hit is believable. Diego’s reaction is really good too. Well done. -1

Klaus’s ptsd. Putting my boy through trauma. +1

The wound on Dave’s chest has to be an exit wound. He was behind the barrier, so there’s no way he could have been shot from the front by the enemy. Someone (like a Commission agent) shot him from the back. So I guess we sort of got answers? I’m going to sin this until we know for sure. +1

Klaus is distraught. My poor boy. +1

Why is the chandelier still on the ground? You would think somebody would have attempted to pick that up at this point, right? It’s been two days. +1

Grace’s more relaxed hairstyle shows that she isn’t under Reggie’s strict control anymore. The tight pin curls are now replaced by gorgeous waves. Symbolism, well done hair stylist. -1

Grace lies because Pogo is standing behind Diego. Otherwise, I think she would have told him the truth right then and there. Secrets. +1

Yo, @ Luther. Who the fuck eats a hot dog like that? +1

Also, it was bright daylight when Diego was talking to Grace and now it’s pitch black out. What happened in those hours? +1

Talking about their regrets, Allison says “we can’t go back”. Insert every season 2 headcanon and the whole “Where are they?” tag line from the season 2 promos. +1

Allison attempts to see the silver lining of child abuse. This works and is a valid coping mechanism that I think is totally in character. Well done, writers. -1

The kiss on the cheek is very “this is the last time I will see my sibling whom I love very dearly and who also loves me for me”. This should have been it for Allison and Luther kissing because it’s a really good moment. -1

I love the dancing in the moonlight scene because it’s a reference to something from the comics. -1

The choreography is really, really good. Emma Portner fucking rules. -1

And I love the earrings that Allison is wearing. No joke, someone please tell me where I can find them, they’re adorable and I would love to have them. -1

However, the show made us see two sibling characters kiss. In a very romantic way. +15

And it’s very clear that this kiss happens outside of the fantasy too. +15

Also, without the lights and the music, were Allison and Luther just two weirdos dancing in the park to nothing? +1

The transition to get back to the Commission is really good. -1

“Gloria. The Handler knows that Five is up to something. Get this to Hazel and Cha Cha immediately.” Was the extra info about Five necessary? I feel like a regular person wouldn’t say that. +1

Gloria doesn’t know who the second best assassins are. +1

Five gets that stapler out of nowhere. This goes back to his unexplained power from episode 1, but now the question is: Is this switching power stapler based? +1

Five’s expression when he finally gets the name of the man who will cause the apocalypse. -1

And now we know the origin of the terminate Hazel message. Five, you clever bastard. -1

Did we see the terminate Cha Cha message before this? I can’t remember. If we didn’t then it’s a great reveal. If we did, then I didn’t care enough to pay attention. [I looked back] We didn’t. Great reveal. -1

Five, hide your bodies better so they don’t start waking up for comedic timing. +1

The comedic timing of Gloria waking back up. -1

“You’re a first rate pragmatist!” no he’s not. Have you been paying attention to Five’s character at all, Handler? If he was, then he never would have broken his contract because he was safe in the Commission.+1

Also, this is what a lot of fanfic writers base Five off of. Not his actual character, this fucking line. Sin for the fandom. +1

Why did they have to split up this scene? The Handler just attempted to shoot Five and now we’re supposed to care about Mom and Diego?? +1

Grace finally gets to tell the truth! Sin for Pogo and Reggie for forcing her to lie. +1

The truth. -1

The Commission desk people do care about Gloria. Caring. -1

Vanya finding Reggies book. This could have been the original trigger to the apocalypse in the first timeline. I want answers. How did it go down originally? +1

Dave! -1

“I do owe a debt. But it’s not to you.” This is one of those lines that will be referenced in a future season. “See, [this character and/or relationship] was referenced in season 1” or something like that. This is my favorite Five line, too. -2

Five once again stands too close to an explosion. Fuckin’ run, dude! +1

The ending of this episode reminds me of the “and it was all just a dream” ending that 5th graders write. Nothing in this episode has any consequences. +3

And I am adding back the sins I took off and then some for the important bits like Diego and Klaus bonding, Grace telling Diego all the secrets, and Klaus seeing Dave. +4

Wednesday. 8:15 A.M. (...again). The time stamp is pretty good though. -1

“What gives us a win this time?” And then Five appears. -1

Five snatches Allison’s coffee. And he should be bleeding from the shrapnel wound. +2

Allison’s face when Five snatches her coffee. -1

Diego, Luther, Klaus, and Allison are all watching Five stumble weird and chug Allison’s coffee with the funniest expressions. I want to know what they were thinking. Ya know, beyond “What the Fuck?”. +1

Those expressions, though. -1

“So if y’all don’t get your sideshow acts together” Five this whole season has been you saving the world and everyone else as a sideshow act. That’s gonna take a lot more effort than saving the world. +1

Aidan Gallagher fucking nails this scene. Expletive required. This is why I respect him as an actor. This scene would have been so easy to over act, but he kills this monologue. -5

If you look closely at Five’s hair, it looks sort of like the triangular shape from the comics. I can’t tell if that was intentional, but it was a good detail. Hair department. -1

“Who the hell is Harold Jenkins” followed by a coffee slurp. That is how they end the episode? Really? It would have been stronger without the coffee. +1

Season 2 comes out on July 31, 2020! I got the announcement just as I was finishing this episode! I’ll take off a sin because we finally know! Whoop!! -1

Overall review:

After the powerhouse that is episode 5, this episode feels odd and out of place. My favorite parts were the Commission parts, and everything else felt like an interruption. Even more so when you consider that the commission parts are the only parts of the episode that actually happened. Sure, it’s great character building, but without any consequences, it feels cheap. I feel like I’ve said everything I needed to say, so I won’t get crazy with the analysis. I would say more if anything in this episode actually mattered.

Total: 112

Sentence: The Umbrella Academy of Reacting to things Slowly due to Stupidity. Say that 10 times fast. Then I will undo all your hard work through the power of time travel. Seriously, fuck this ending.

#The Umbrella Academy #all in good fun #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #dave katz #leonard peabody #harold jenkins #the handler #dot #gloria #the commission

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obsidiancreates · 5 years

Text

Not The Usual Kind Of Haunted Manor

(Did I write the prompt I meant to respond to? Nope. Did I write the fic I meant to write? Nope. Did I go to sleep like I should have many hours ago? Nope. Did I write a really long crossover fic for two of my favorite YouTube channels? You bet your ass I did.)

“Okay okay! Johnny, I’ve got the camera out!”

“Oh, are we rolling sir?”

“Yeah, yeah, do the intro!”

“I- oh dear, I’ve forgotten it again.”

“Johnny!”

“I’m sorry sir!”

“Well just- just make one up, I guess.”

“Alright, um... HELLO! Hello all our... little... bites of P.I.E...”

“Oh, gosh. That’s terrible.”

“You put me under pressure!”

“Okay, just keep going! Explain why we’re here!”

“Ah, yes, right! Um, I am Johnny Toast, and I’m here with my friend Johnny Ghost, and today, we are investigating this haunted mansion. Ooooooh, spooky!”

“That’s good, that’s good!”

“Yes, today is a truly paranormal adventure! This place, known as... um...”

“Oh, uh, Markiplier Manor.”

“Yes! Markiplier Manor, is said to be extremely haunted!”

“Okay, and... cut!”

“Did I do alright, sir?”

“Yeah! I mean I’ll have to edit out a lot of stuff in post but I’m- I’m sure it’ll be fine! Now, let’s go inside and get some cool creepy footage!”

“Right, sir.”

Johnny Ghost lowered the camera and walked into the manor, Toast following close behind. ghost looked around, and then sneezed. “Ugh! It’s so dusty!”

“Well, it is haunted,” Toast said, walking over to a broken mirror in order to inspect it.

“Why do haunted places always have to be all dusty and gross? Why don’t the ghost’s just clean up a bit?” Ghost looked down at the floor. His eyes fell on a dark stain marring the wood. Then they traveled up, to a balcony just above. He shivered. He had a very bad feeling about this place.

“It would be pretty awful to be dead and still have to do chores.” Toast peered closer at the mirror. Something... it almost looked like something was moving inside of it...

“I guess so.” Ghost spotted the staircase leading to the balcony. “I’ll be right back, just going to to shoot some b-roll!”

“Alright, sir.” Something was definitely moving in the glass...

Ghost walked up the stairs. Come to think of it, they really shouldn’t have lead to that balcony. They just weren’t in the right spot. But somehow, they lead directly to it.

Another dark stain greeted him, this time splattered on the wall. He got out the camera and filmed it for a second, and then he filmed the hallway. He kept filming as he descended the staircase. “Johnny! I found some more blood! I think you should stand in front of it... while you... talk...”

Ghost crinkled his eyebrows, confused. “This isn’t the same room from before...” he mumbled.

He now stood at a... a different front entrance? But there was no mirror, and no Johnny.

He stepped off of the staircase and into the front hall. To his left was what was maybe a living room, and to his right was the front door. He couldn’t tell if it was the same front door, but it was a front door. In front of him was a different staircase, one that curved a bit on it’s way up.

“... Johnny?” he called, nerves making his voice quiet. “Johnny?” he tried again, louder.

Nothing.

“Okay. No, sure, this is fine.” He straightened his posture and put on his most confident voice. “I am Johnny Ghost, paranormal investigator extraordinaire! It’ll take a lot more than weird moving rooms to scare me!”

He turned around and was met by the face of a rotting corpse.

“AHHHHHHHH!” He ran to the curvy staircase and ascended, still screaming. He ran into a room at the end of the upstairs hallway and slammed the door shut. “Holy crap,” he breathed. He leaned his head against the door. “Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap.”

He stood up straight again and cleared his throat. “Ahem! Right! Not scared at all! Professional ghost hunter. I’m fine.” He turned around to look at the room he was in, and his shoulders sagged. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The room was decorated for a seance. A table stood in the center, adorned with a spooky tablecloth, tarot cards, and a crystal ball. A crumbled piece of paper lay on the ground beside on of the two chairs, small but somehow attention grabbing. Dark green curtains covered a window behind the chair with the crumpled paper.

Ghost pursed his lips. “You know what? Fine! Sure! Why not? Of course I ended up here.” He checked to see if the camera, which he’d somehow kept hold of the whole time, was still recording.

It was.

He panned it around the room. “I mean, might as well while I’m here,” he muttered.

Then, for a split second, two figures sat in the chairs.

One was a woman, glowing red, watching the other figure intently.

The other figure was... human, that’s all Ghost could tell. It had a face, and eyes, and a nose, and a mouth, but they weren’t... they weren’t proper features. They didn’t make a person’s face, they just made... a face. Anyone’s face, no-one’s face. They’re eyes were closed, and they seemed to be concentrating on something.

They only lasted for a second before they blinked out of existence. In that time Ghost jumped back and started to yell, but it died in his mouth when they went away.

“What the heck...”

Toast put his hands on his hips. “Hello? Hellooo in there? I can see you moving around.”

The shadow in the mirror stopped, and... well, he couldn’t be certain, but he was pretty sure it turned to stare at him.

“Ah! Hello! I am Johnny Toast, of P.I.E! Me and my friend are here investigating all the reports of hauntings! Are you a friendly ghost?”

The shadow didn’t speak. It didn’t move. It just stared.

“I’ll... take that as a yes. Um, can you speak?”

It stayed still for a moment. Then it shook it’s head.

“Oh, darn. It would have been a lot better if you could. Well, may I ask how long you’ve been trapped here?”

The shadow took a moment, and then shrugged. It seemed almost like it was on a delay, like it wasn’t experiencing time the same way Toast was.

“You don’t know? Oh dear.” Toast pat his pockets. “One moment, sorry.” He pulled out a small pink notebook and a pen with a macaroni shaped clip. He wrote down a few notes. The shadow watched patiently.

“Right then! Sorry about that, I want to make sure I remember this for when Sir gets back. So, did you live here, when you were alive?”

The shadow shook it’s head.

“No? So why were you here?”

The shadow traced a triangle shape in the air over it’s head. Toast blinked, confused. The shadow repeated the motion, paused, and then shimmied it’s shoulders.

“A... party?” Toast guessed.

The shadow nodded.

“Oh! Was it a good party?”

He couldn’t see the shadow’s eyes, but he could feel the condescending glare. A no to that question, then.

“I should have guess as much, I suppose. Did you die on accident?”

The shadow stayed still for a lot longer this time. Toast began to wonder if the mirror had lost connection. Maybe Ghost Skype was having some issues.

Then the shadow shrugged.

“You... don’t know?”

It held up both it’s hands, palms open flat and facing up. It raised one palm, and lowered the other, then repeated in reverse.

“Both at once?” Toast tilted his head.

The shadow nodded.

He wrote it down. “Oh my... what happened here?”

Ghost had left the creepy seance room, The layout of the house was even more confusing to him than why Spooker still worked for P.I.E. Hallways lead to more hallways, doors on the first floor opened to doors on the second and vice versa, windows were on walls that should have lead to the outside...

He opened another door. He stepped through, and found himself standing by a pool.

He was still filming. This episode would for sure get good ratings. Then maybe he and Toast could stop making this dumb TV show and go back to actual ghost hunting. If only...

He looked at the pool. “Okay... Ahg!”

A body appeared in the pool. It wore a red robe and stared at him, unblinking. Ghost gave a little wave, unsure of what to do.

Then the body vanished. Ghost nodded shakily. “Okay. Okay.”

He felt an arm sling around his shoulder. He jerked away and point the camera, shouting yet again. A man in some kind of... old timey military uniform was looking at him. He had a big, bushy mustache, and round yellow-tinted glasses.

“Life needs a bit of madness, as I always say!” the man said. Then he faded away, though Ghost’s fear remained firmly fixed on his face.

“Okay, no! No, I’ve had enough of this place, and it’s creepy... hologram ghost, or whatever! JOHNNY!” He ran back inside. “JOHNNY!”

He ran down a hallway. And then suddenly he wasn’t in a hallway, he was in a small library or office room. Paper and books littered the desk, and a corkboard with cards and yard tacked up on it immediately drew his attention.

“What the heck is all this?” he whispered. He put the camera down so he could look closer.

There were a few cards that seemed to be about... whoever had lived in the house. All the names were scratched out, as well as the faces, leaving only the people’s titles as identifiers.

The Actor, The Mayor, The Colonel, The DA, The Seer, The Butler, The Chef...

Clearly there had been a detective as well, given the amount of information the board held.

Arrest records. Personality profiles. Lists of motives, opportunities, possible accomplices...

One Post-It had a drawing of someone dabbing. Ghost decided to ignore that.

He turned to the desk. An old typewriter was barely visable under all the paper. He picked one up and read it.

‘Don’t trust The Seer, Don’t trust The Seer, Don’t trust The Seer-’

The sentence repeated itself, the only thing written on the page.

The only thing written on any page.

Ghost dropped the paper like it was on fire, grabbed the camera, and ran out.

Toast looked up from his notepad. “So, you attended a party here a number of years ago, were accidentally mur-”

The shadow frantically shook it’s head and put a finger to where it’s lips should have been.

“Oh, okay then, um... accidentally killed?”

The shadow nodded.

“Right. You became trapped in this mirror somehow, and are now stuck here. I’ve got that all right?”

It nodded again.

“Did someone trap you here?”

Another nod.

“Was that an accident too?”

The shadow stared at him, and Toast felt a sort of sadness coming from it. It slowly shook it’s head, the feeling of despair becoming much stronger.

“Oh... it was someone you knew, I’m guessing?” Toast said softly.

One quick nod.

“I’m so sorry.”

The shadow shrugged.

“I wish there was some way for me to know what really happened,” Toast said. “Is there maybe... a journal or something, laying around?”

It shook it’s head.

“Darn it. More yes or no questions, I suppose.”

Ghost stopped.

He’d somehow gotten back to the balcony that had started his whole ordeal.

Now three people stood before him, though none of them seemed to see that he was there.

One was the military man from before, that must be The Colonel. One was the featureless figure, but when he peered closely he could see a pin with the letters DA on they’re chest. One was... okay, that had to be the detective, he was wearing a funny detective hat and everything.

The Colonel and The Detective shouted at each other, both point guns at the other. The DA was standing beside The Colonel, pulling at his sleeve, seemingly begging him to stop. Ghost couldn’t tell what was being said. It all sounded muffled, and echoy, like they were in a cave and their mouths were full of cotton.

The Colonel shot The Detective, who slid down the wall, leaving behind the dark stain Ghost had seen before. The DA tried to wrestle the gun away from The Colonel, but it went off, shooting a bullet into the DA’s stomach. The Da started to fall back, and then fell off the balcony. The Colonel reached out, trying to grab onto them, and this time Ghost could understand the words that were shouted.

“It was an accident!”

There was the sound of a crack, and then the scene vanished.

Ghost stood, mouth agape.

That was only part of the story, he knew. There was still The Actor, The Mayor, The Seer, The Butler, and The Chef.

What had happened to them?

He was snapped out of his thoughts when a familiar voice reached his ears.

“JOHNNY!”

He ran over to the railing and leaned over. Toast appeared below him a moment later.

“There you are sir! You’ve been very quiet!”

“Johnny, you will not believe what I’ve just been through! I’ll tell you on the way home, we’re getting out of here!”

“Alright, come down sir. I just need a moment.”

Ghost looked over at the staircase and squinted at it suspiciously. Then he looked down again.

Yes, there was a bloodstain on the floor. Yes, he was pretty sure that crack had been the sound of a breaking neck.

But... he really didn’t trust those stairs.

He jumped up over the railing and braced himself.

“OW!”

Toast looked away from the mirror. “Are you alright sir?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine! I think I just broke both my ankles, and I can taste my own socks, but I’m fine!”

“Oh dear.” He turned back to the mirror. “Thank you for all your information. I’ll try to visit again another day and see if I cn help get you out of that mirror.”

The shadow shook it’s head.

“What? Why not?”

The shadow pointed at him, then at itself, and then put it’s hand on the glass. It tried to pull away, but it acted like it was...

“Stuck? I’ll... I’ll get stuck here? Like you?”

The shadow nodded.

“Well... if you insist. Ghost might send one of our interns when he hears that, though. Fair warning if he does, Spooker can be a bit... um... loud. And not um, not the smartest.”

The shadow nodded. Then it waved.

“Right, yes. Goodbye to you too.” Toast waved, then walked out into the front hall.

“-and then the DA fell over the railings and down to the ground. I think that’s where the blood stain came from.” Ghost kept his eyes on the road as he drove and spoke, but they flicked over to Toast for a second to see his reaction to the tale.

Toast nodded, deep in thought. “I wonder who the person in the mirror was. Could have been any of them.”

“I mean, only the DA didn’t have a real face. Maybe it was them.”

“Maybe...” Toast turned around and looked at the camera sitting in the backseat. “Do you think we should air this one, sir?”

“What? Why wouldn’t we?”

Toast looked at him. “Something just feels very off about the whole thing. More... serious than our other cases. I don’t think it fits.”

Ghost scoffed. Then he thought about having to edit that footage, having to put Toast’s voice over telling the story over the shots of the never-ending hallways, having to relive that whole experience again through the screen...

“Maybe not,” he relented. “But that mean you’ll have to get another load from your grandmother.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be alright with her,” Toast said.

They both fell into silence for a few miles.

Finally, Toast broke it. “Can I drive for a bit?”

“Wh- no! I don’t want the tires all covered in roadkill again!”

“I got that fixed!”

You got- how do you fix being a roadkill magnet?!”

They lapsed into their usual bickering as they drove farther away from the cursed mansion, not knowing how lucky they were that they hadn’t met the other attendees of that party from so, so long ago.

Or rather, what the other attendees had become.

#VenturianTale #Markiplier #Who Killed Markiplier #wkm district attorney #Johnny Ghost #Johnny Toast #Markiplier egos #(sort of... not really but sort of)#P.I.E #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic #This took me *hours*#And it's not even close to what I meant to do #But ah well

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wwounu · 5 years

Photo

Still in shock, you continue to ask Seokmin questions ever since he has taken you upstairs to his comfy studio, asking you to take a seat as he takes a small break, cleaning the room.

“How long have you been doing this again?”

“Two or three years?” Seokmin replies, leaning more to a question than a statement. “Something like that.”

“Oh cool. Pretty long then.”

“Yep, it’s crazy thinking about it… Really crazy…”

“Aren’t there any clients after me?”

“Nope. My shift would be over right now since I usually work at the dog cafe this time, but I called in that I was sick so shush don’t tell anyone.”

The male lifts a finger to his lips, his lips forming a curl.

“So!” He claps his hands after your giggle. “You can get as much as you’d like. We can be here all night — What would you like to have?”

He’s now seated, in the middle of putting his gloves as you speak. He swivels in his chair to get a plain book and pen, opening to a clean page.

You awkwardly begin, “Uh… I’d like something simple — and hidden — so no one can notice it upon first glance.”

“I get you, ‘small and simple’.” Seokmin jots down his words in the book. “Anything else?”

“I’d like it to be a flower.”

“Ah, of course! Anything in particular?”

“A cherry blossom.” You cringe once saying it aloud. “I must sound basic right now, but I’d like to keep it minimalistic. Maybe not so much because I want there to be detail, but I think the blossoms should be the focal point of it all, while they’re growing scattered on the branch…”

Not knowing why, your voice says away at the end, watching Seokmin’s hand move left to right.

“So like this?”

He holds up his notebook, showing an ideal sketch of the tattoo you imagined perfectly, and you hum in agreement. “Damn, you really get me.”

“I guess I do.” The man grins. “That would look great on the ankle I think. It’ll sting a bit, are you ready for it? You can choose anywhere else if you want.”

“No I’m good with your decision, I trust you.”

Seokmin pauses at your final words, almost zoning out, but he eventually comes back on earth and gets himself started. “Attagirl!” He laughs, getting straight to work

A few minutes in and the silence is unbearable for you. You didn’t want to distract Seokmin either, but you quietly say, “Can I talk while you work? I don’t want to ruin your focus or anything.”

Seokmin hums. “Feel free too. I love talking to clients about anything — And you as my client makes it even better.”

“What made you want to start doing all of this?”

“It came out of nowhere, really. Soonyoung was busy doing thumbnails for a drawing of his, I think it was a back tattoo? For one of his characters, and I would it pretty cool, asked if I could contribute to some ideas. I think he only told me to go for it because he couldn’t care less.”

“And then?”

“I get to work too and after a few songs yada yada, I show him my ideas and stupidly start talking about the details I included. It was rushed but I don’t think Soonyoung realised that — You should’ve seen his face! I felt intimidated and proud. Next thing you know it, he tells me I’m really good and that I should be a tattoo artist. And now look at me! A very stupid story, but it’s close to my heart.”

“Cool! What do you prefer to do on people?”

“I’m cool with anything but I love doing complex tattoos — people are always satisfied when I do them, it feels really great helping them. But when it comes to myself, I prefer something uncomplicated.”

“Hm, why?”

The male snorts, rubbing his nose shyly. “Mainly just the backlash and looks from everyone… Plus I don’t think big, bold tattoos would look great on a guy like me-“ He’s stopped by the slip of your laugh, which is caught on by Seokmin too.

“Don’t your friends know about this? That you do this for a living?”

In reply the male chuckles. “Well… At first they didn’t, I wasn’t vocal about it and everyone already knew about my jobs with dogs. I think hearing about me being a tattooist would freak them out…”

“Tell me about it!”

“On one night my four friends were gathered somewhere near the parlour to hang out — at the time a friend was new to the city so they brought him there often to familiarise himself as the others were regulars…”

“My friend — Wonwoo; the new one back then — told me that he heard my laugh a bit away from the parlour and ‘knew my laugh but didnt at the same time’. He gets closer to the studio, and I don’t realise his presence, and he sees me laughing with some guys I’m close to while adding another tattoo onto his sleeve of ink…”

“With someone like Wonwoo, he doesn’t look like the strongest man but never underestimate him…” Seokmin shudders, flashbacks in his mind. “Um anyway, he has really bad eyesight and was too lazy to step into the parlour so late at night, but he apparently mistook me as Soonyoung because of our smilier hairstyles and laugh. Plus, it’d make sense for Soonyoung since the latter’s an artist, but even Wonwoo knew that Soonyoung wouldn’t do something like that at all…”

“At that exact moment, Soonyoung texts Wonwoo asking him to convince Minghao — Our model friend — to be his model, which didn’t add up for Wonwoo, and it was by the time Vernon yells out his name, wondering why he’s there, and I happen to hear it, seeing the two of them stare at each other Wonwoo stares at me, followed by Vernon, before yelling out my name in shock...”

“Apparently I’m ‘way too precious for that’ which is why they were all in disbelief. Only Joshua and Soonyoung knew about it before the accident, and apparently Jihoon too since he wasn’t phased by it.”

“I wouldn’t blame them,” You agree, smiling. Seokmin pouts but eventually smiles afterwards. “So have your friends asked you to do tattoos for them?”

“Here and there. Minghao asked me to do an infinity dragon for him in return of a favour. Other times it would be dumb tattoos my friends would want and I’d have to refuse the offer… Especially when it’s Soonyoung!”

Now adding the colour — and mainly because you had stopped distracting Seokmin from your non-stop chattering — you feel the pain come through on your ankle.

You’ve tried so hard not to feel the pain (as well as kick your foot due to how sensitive that area was), but the male puts you at ease, hushing you and telling you how good you’re doing.

A few more moments, chatting to Seokmin here and there, and you finally hear the “Ta-da!” From the latter.

“How does it look?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Grinning, Seokmin grants you to sit and passes you a mirror, seeing the tattoo more clearly. “So…?”

“I don’t know what to say-“ You stammer, “It looks amazing! You’re amazing Seok’!”

“Ah, don’t flatter me…” He huffs, resisting his smile. “I’m just happy you like it. Oh, but I need to give you some heads up before you can enjoy your tattoo.”

You nod, letting Seokmin protect the tattoo with a bandage, watching him do the process before he sits back down again, cleaning his studio once again.

“Don’t take the bandage off after a day. Take extra care with it, sometimes the ink takes a while to settle, so no long showers or baths, and keep the tattoo dry — It’s better to gently wash over it frequently, but don’t go crazy with it though…”

“Got it. What else?”

“Do be aware that it will itch, so I beg you not to scratch it since it’s the ankle and that’ll definitely do a thing or two to you. It’ll be hard but I believe in you! Also, use moisturisers too. Do this for two to four weeks and you’ll be all set!”

You hug the male, thanking him countless of times before you let go. You couldn’t thank Seokmin enough. After letting go, you pay for the tattoo and he asks you to stay around as he cleans up the parlour.

What ended up feeling like an hour suddenly turned into six, with the sun beaming its golden hour and the streets filling with more people while you converse with Seokmin, listening to his oddly fascinating dog walking stories.

“What other tattoos do you have? I’m kinda curious now.” Casually, you look outside the window and notice the sky gradually turn darker. When you turn back to look at the male, he scares you another time as to how close he was. “I swear you need to stop scaring me like that.”

“Sorry!” He chirps, humming a little at the end. “Should I tell them in order?”

“Alright,”

He shows you each inked drawing one by one.

The first tattoo was one you’ve already seen. An inked outline of a sunflower, running down his inner left bicep. As it was his first, he was scared what the outcome of his tattoo would be, since the what ifs wondered in his head and that a mistake will be made, yet things went the opposite for him — in a good way — and the old man who tattooed him became somewhat of a father to him as he was desiring to become a tattoo artist.

The second, a tiny doodle of a puppy’s slanted eyes, upside-down triangle nose and ears shaped in an ‘M’. That was his first self-made tattoo, located on his ankle. And of course it was directed to his unconditional love for puppies. For a first try, it wasn’t that bad — The tattoo was mainly credited to Soonyoung who drew the tiny doodle in the exact location (You had no idea how he managed to draw on his ankle, but you went with it), which Seokmin looked at afterwards and thought ‘This is nice’ and behold the tattoo.

And for credit, he had his friend put his initials — ‘KSY’ — to tattoo it additionally, just to the corner of the tattoo itself.

Thirdly; A constellation. Seokmin had to remove his shirt for this one, which was awkward at first, but the awkwardness was taken away the moment you laid eyes on his shoulder blade to the right hand side. The tattoo didn’t have a special meaning to it, but as it’s Aquarius, he got it as he was one himself (quite obviously).

‘Say yes’ was what you remembered about his fourth tattoo. Just underneath his inked constellation, it was tattooed in a typewriter font. Briefly, he explained that it was a duet he had to with his friend for Jihoon’s project. All he said was that it hit home, which you thought he was going to continue, but he fell silent for a few beats and his shirt back on.

“Finally,” He heaves, the mood feeling heavier than usual, “this.”

He lifts up his left arm, stretching it out to move his sleeve, revealing the small tattoo you had a glimpse on his wrist.

“It’s a — uh — lock. It’s really small, you can’t really see it. I did it myself. It-“ All of his words sounds disjointed, panicked, “It means a lot.”

With the vague description, he didn’t look like he wanted to go further, and it was only for you to respect that. If it meant a lot, then it’ll take time for him to tell you. One day, maybe, one day.

He acts more quiet now, with less words and less liveliness in him. It was a long day for the both of you, and you didn’t want it to end on a bad note.

Fiddling with his hands, Seokmin doesn’t acknowledge your head weighing on his shoulder.

“Sing me a song Seokmin.”

“A song? My singing isn’t that great…”

“Either way — I like your voice, I want to hear it.”

“But…”

“Just sing to me, I won’t judge, you have a pretty voice. ‘If I’m good at it, I shouldn’t hide it’,” You mimic his words, choking a laugh out of him.

He silent for another moment, then begins to softly sing the lyrics to Half Moon to you, going falsetto when he reaches parts where it would be more pronounced at, and adding a breathiness to his singing. To you, it felt like you were on the moon — lost in space — because of his singing alone.

And your eyes begin to get heavier, Seokmin’s voice lulling you to sleep. You did it; You made the day end well. And for you and Seokmin, neither of you wanted to ruin it.

OPPOSITES ATTRACT PART TEN — Tattoo Artist!Seokmin x Florist!Reader

finally back to updating! (hopefully...)

one • two • three • four • five • six • seven • eight • nine • ten • eleven

masterlist

#seokmin #lee seokmin #seokmin au #seokmin texts #seokmin imagines #seventeen seokmin #dokyeom #dokyeom texts #dokyeom imagines #seventeen #seventeen texts #seventeen imagines #seventeen opposites attract au #kpop #kpop texts #kpop imagines #tattoo artist!seokmin

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rational-mastermind · 4 years

Text

It Doesn’t Hurt

Ch 4/5

Siobhan was waiting patiently by the car, took one look at me, and instantly became concerned.

“Oh no.. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I got in the car. “We’re heading back to the shop.”

She frowned a moment then came and sat beside me. We took off for the shop and as it should be expected when one drives through England, the traffic made it difficult to progress. It was turning out to be a rather long, frustrating day.

My mind wouldn’t let go of what Claire implied, and while granted I was sore that the one person in the office who didn’t talk about what I did even started to mention it so casually, what really hurt was how it was such a clear and distinct reasoning for my past actions that have led me to where I am today.

I kept my distance from others, shutting them out, because I was the one who killed AJ.

I have this horrible, crummy, bloody job because I was the one who killed AJ.

I couldn’t sleep a single wink at night because I was the one who killed AJ.

I went to the Clanbronwyn Hotel because I was the one who killed AJ.

I couldn’t move on with my life, because I was the one who killed AJ.

I was dumb for thinking about having any kind of a relationship after this mission. After this is over, she’ll be running her own store and going to college, while I’ll still be hunting down poltergeists and fending off the anxiety and insanity that threatens to consume my mind, day after day, night after night.

It didn’t matter if she actually did like me.

It didn’t matter if I actually liked her.

Because I was the one who killed AJ.

I entered Defoe Manor, got too close to the idol, and killed Andrew Jarvis and Philip Harty and from that alone, my life can neither progress nor reset. If I hadn’t been so careless, they would still be alive. Simone would still be alive. Abed would be too.

But that can’t be.

Because I was the one who killed AJ

And it hurts.

“TRILBY.”

Like pulling my head out of the dark waters, Siobhan’s voice cut through my thoughts and I actually jumped in my seat. I looked back at her and she was worried.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I lied and realized I may have said so a little too fast because obviously Siobhan didn’t buy it.

“Bull. Now really, what’s wrong?”

I sighed and rubbed my tired eyes.

“I’ve just been having a long day.” I explained. “I mean, I started it with being accused of taking part in a masochistic cult. I think that really sat the tone beautifully for my whole day.”

“Oh..” she deflated a little, and I could see the guilt sweep over her face. “...That was pretty harsh of me, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t blame you. You really don’t know anything about me.”

There was a moment of silence before Siobhan hesitantly began.

“I could... try to get to know you.” she offered.

“Siobhan I’m currently in the process of not wanting to know me.” I said flatly. “I’m not a part of a cult, mind you, but I do have a darker history and I’m not one for indulging in it.”

“I wouldn’t judge you, honestly!” she persisted. “I’ve been wanting to get to know you, Trilby. The real you. The you behind the hat.”

“Siobhan...” I sighed for what felt like the hundredth time today.

“I know we all have troubles in our past, and decisions we probably regret, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. Even when I was skeptical of you earlier, I didn’t really think you could be so bad.” she smiled a bit and I internally cringed at her next words. “Abed really liked you too, and he was a pretty good judge of character. He wouldn’t have liked you if you were anything too far gone.”

Apparently today I was meant to wallow in my guilt and regret. Abed was such a good hearted and foolish man. I honestly wasn’t sure if he was fully aware of any evils in this world until I came along and ruined it, like everything else.

My mind was pulled back to when I last saw the man alive. How depressed he looked.

“You took one companion of mine away and now you want another.”

At the time I was somewhat puzzled by his words, too focused on finding out what was going on to really pay attention, that only now do I realize what he was thinking before his death. I had gone looking for Siobhan, and spoke with her privately in her room. She had passed out on the bed. Of course I knew what had really happened, but looking at it, from Abed’s perspective, I grimaced. He must’ve felt abandoned. Alone. Forgotten.

It hurts.

“I really don’t think Abed thought of me so highly.” I said, unable to mask my own depression. “And honestly, Siobhan? I know you’re trying to help but it’s not working. After all, if it wasn’t for me, he would still be alive, wouldn’t he?”

“Well what do you mean?”

“If I had kept a closer eye on you two, if I had just told either of you what was really going on.. Maybe you would’ve been able to escape the hotel. Maybe Abed would’ve still been alive if it weren’t for me.” I shrugged helplessly.

“Trilby, you’re not responsible for Abed’s death.” Siobhan sighed a little. “It’s not your fault.”

“What if it is? What if I did something- anything- differently?”

It hurts

“Woulda-coulda-shoulda.” Siobhan replied with a shrug of her own. “It’s like I said last month. People die. You can’t feel responsible for it forever. Is this what’s been bothering you?”

“A million things have been bothering me, but since that’s the current subject, yes. It was all such a blur… I don’t know, maybe there was something I could’ve done. Maybe I didn’t do my best.”

It hurts.

“You can’t help that some tall demon was going around and hurting innocent people. That wasn’t your doing.”

“Then why do I feel responsible?!” I snapped and then groaned. “I’m sorry.. I shouldn’t yell like that.”

It hurts.

“Trilby.. You’re the only one beating yourself up over it.”

“No I’m not.”

“You’re the only one baring this responsibility. No one else blames you but you!”

“Because it’s my fault.” I said through gritted teeth.

IT HURTS.

“IT’S. NOT. YOUR. FAULT.” she said, adamantly.

I suddenly slammed on the brakes, as we have arrived at our destination. I was in a hurry to leave the car.

IT HURTS.

“And what if it is?” I growled. “Maybe it is my fault! Maybe I should feel responsible for what happened!”

IT HURTS.

I could hear Siobhan slam the door and follow after me, clearly growing frustrated.

“Then what good would that do?” she asked as we made our way into the store. “All you’re going to do is make yourself feel horrible!”

“I do feel horrible!”

“Of course you do!”

“It hurts!”

“Then why let it hurt?!”

I finally whipped around and raised my voice, all of my frustration and anxiety rearing its ugly head as I snapped.

“BECAUSE I’M THE ONE WHO KILLED AJ!”

Before I realized how stupid I was being, the shop shook once more and the wails of the undead immediately filled our ears. Things began to fly off the shelves again, swirling around us. Several shadows became more and more visible, joining in the madness. Siobhan accidentally bumped into me, trying to dodge a flying typewriter.

“Siobhan, look out!” I quickly ducked out of the way of a launched rotary phone.

I looked up and saw one semi-transparent form step out from among the madness. He had a broom mustache and a scar that traced down from the crown of his head over his eye. His entire torso was missing, jagged pieces of ribs sticking out under the folds of his clothes. Judging by the vague shapes that made up his uniform and the massive size and build he carried himself with, I was only left with one guess.

Chief Brutus J. Ustyss.

I carefully held Siobhan at arm’s length, knowing full well what was about to happen next.

He came charging, a fist flying. I managed to duck out of the way. Without fully thinking, I tried throwing a punch myself, knowing full well that I’m by no means a fighter, but whether I knew how to fight or not, it wouldn’t have mattered.

Because my hand passed right through his body, suddenly covered in icy coldness.

“Oh shit.”

A large fist was met with my jaw and I hit the floor, only dimly aware of Siobhan’s scream in fear.

I tried to shake my head clear of the throbbing pain, and looked up only to find Brutus about to pound both fists into me at once. I rolled out of the way, brushing up against the icy cold barrier countless other ghosts have created for us. Immediately hands began to grab at me and tried to pull me in, digging claws into my shirt, but I tore away.

A saw a china tea set come flying at me and dodged it in time, narrowly avoiding the shattered remains of a broken saucer.

Despite my best efforts, I knew I couldn’t keep dodging him, nor the flying debris of the antique shop, forever. And there was no time to create a banishment ring.

My brain was scrambling, trying desperately to find a solution to this when suddenly I hear Siobhan shout.

“Trilby look out!”

I looked, barely had time to register the grandfather clock that was flying at us before I felt Siobhan’s body colliding with mine. There was a loud bang, a sharp pain in the back of my head, and suddenly the world was black and still and silent.

But I wasn’t knocked out.

Pain throbbed through out my head while my eyes adjusted to the scare light that crept through the cracks. I could hear Siobhan and myself wheeze, trying to regain our breaths.

“Trilby, you alright?”

“I think so.. You?”

“I’m alright. I… I think the ghost stopped.”

I realized I was pressed back against something wooden, and when I tried to stand up straight, my head hit some kinda pole. I tried to feel out my surroundings.

“Where are…?”

“I think we’re in one of the old wardrobes.” Siobhan answered, I could hear her feeling things out as well. There was a moment of rattling. “Oh.. Ohhhhhh nooo..”

I didn’t like the sound of that groan.

“What?”

“I think this is that one that locks automatically...”

All I could do was stare at Siobhan through the darkness. A comical look of disbelief if she could see it.

“...And where’s the key?”

“...behind my desk... On a ring with a bunch more.”

I sighed and allowed my head to drop against the apparent door in front of me.

“Can today be any worse?”

“Well.. I think that ghost stopped. Maybe if you’re out of sight, you’re out of mind?”

“Hurrah. Now he won’t murder me.”

“Well I could tell you how it could be better.”

“And pray tell, what would that be, Ms. O’Malley?”

“You could start by telling me what the hell’s been going on with you?”

I heaved a great sigh, far too exhausted and frustrated for this round-about again.

“I’m just.. I’m not having a good day, Siobhan..”

“No shit, Sherlock.” she snapped back at me and then sighed. “Trilby, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

I huffed and rolled my eyes. I was decidedly fed up with everything at this point.

“Fine, you want to know what’s wrong? Everything is piling up on me right now and I can’t reasonably deal with any of it!” I began to vent. “I went to talk with Claire and apparently the Chief is the only one who’s keeping all the other ghosts, who knows how many, at bay! So I couldn’t do anything in that fight, even if I wanted to! “Then talking further along with Claire, I’m led to believe that apparently I get all the worst jobs my employers have to offer because I’m the one held responsible for the death of one of their operatives, who wasn’t exactly the best at his job anyway if he was going to be murdered by a retarded child’s ghost! If I hadn’t stepped foot in that manor, my life would be a hell of a lot more sane than it already is! I wouldn’t have blood on my hands! I wouldn’t have gone to that forsaken hotel! I wouldn’t be responsible for the death of so many innocent people!”

“Trilby! Trilby, you’re NOT responsible for anyone’s deaths!”

I would never admit it to her, but I could feel hot tears sting in my eyes and I fought to keep them from spilling. My body shook. I felt so torn apart. I felt her hands gently rest on my shoulders, guiding me closer to her.

“But I’m the one who killed-”

“It wasn’t you.” Siobhan interrupted me, her voice kept low and soothing. “It was the ghost, wasn’t it? The ghost of Defoe Manor?”

“Well.. Yes..”

“It used your hands.. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t your fault.”

I could feel her gently guiding me until our foreheads touched.

“Trilby.. Look at me.”

I hesitated, but finally complied. I looked up and saw her dark green eyes, shimmering back at me. The light between the cracks barely catching in them enough to reflect the slight hues of brown that made it sparkle. She was concerned. I couldn’t blame her. But suddenly I couldn’t think of any way to string together the proper words to tell her all the awful things I was feeling. The thoughts that had been plaguing me for days. Weeks.

“It was never your fault.” she repeated.

I knew a part of me deep down wanted to believe it so fervently and I leaned more into her, as if somehow being closer would make it more true.

“Siobhan..” the other part of me still felt hesitant. Still held doubt. I wanted to get as much of it cleared out as I could. “Why do you care so much? What does it matter to you how I feel? It’s.. Not like we’ll ever see each other after this.”

“We could..” she offered with a small smile. “Whenever we have free time. You could drop by. Weekends. After hours. We could go for walks. Sit on the couch with tea. Talk... Read.... Or..”

And suddenly, without thinking, our lips met.

I couldn’t tell who dove in first, but before I could fully think it through, we were kissing. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the fight. Maybe it was something else. My mind tried to tell me how inappropriate and stupid this was. The rest of me told it to shut up. Too desperate to finally feel something good. To just have this one nice thing to myself.

Our lips brushed against each other and hers were just as soft as I thought they were last night. Gentle hands raked through my hair and I was vaguely aware that my hat had fallen off outside the wardrobe. I carefully pulled Siobhan closer as we continued. Her arms wrapped around me.

We stopped for a moment to breathe, my brain was scrambling to understand why or what we were doing, but all I could really focus on was how warm her cheeks felt, so close to mine, and how she smelled like apple cider.

This time she kissed first, but it didn’t really matter. All that did matter was the growing warmth between us as we continued. My hands began exploring her, the same as hers did me.. I was fond in discovering how soft her glistening red hair felt, gliding between my fingers. Shivers raced up my spine in time with her gentle hands.

It was exciting, sweet, and passionate, and for a while, the world outside of these closed doors was left behind us, for the sake of this moment. Focusing solely on the way she felt against me. The way she shivered under my touch, her soft lips pressing feverishly to mine.

The way my heart swelled and my head made light and dizzy was almost as intoxicating as the way she giggled and sighed as my lips traced up along her jaw and down her neck.

I was met with a nose full of her green turtleneck and the dusty smell of old books. I rolled my eyes a little, knowing this simply wouldn’t do, and pulled it away only to kiss at the silky softness underneath. This, of course, was rewarded with an admittedly adorable squeak.

“Trilby! how ungentlemanly of you.” Siobhan teasingly scolded.

I chuckled, a little breathless myself, and could feel my face grow warm.

“W-Well..”

She giggled and pulled away, leaving me wanting for a moment. Before I knew what she was up to, she was back in my arms, sans sweater. The warmth in my cheeks began to spread to my ears as I was made well aware what difference a tank top or a sweater makes. And before I could really focus more on that, she was returning the favor, sparking new waves of shuddering delight and effectively plunging my brain into a heady fog, in which I was happy to leave it.

Eventually at some point my waistcoat made friends with her sweater, tangled under our feet. But I couldn’t care less. All I could really focus on was where her lips traveled, as they continued their own exploration further down, past my neck, whilst mine were buried deep in her red hair, breathing in her soft and sweet scent that reminded me of autumn evenings.

Her hands traveled lower still and whilst mine felt out the hemline of her tank top and the smooth arch of her back as she leaned close into me.

I was so caught up in the way everything felt that I had no earthly idea what was going on outside of the wardrobe. Time was illusory. That is, until I suddenly ran out of it.

“Trilby! It wasn’t your fault!” Claire’s voice suddenly pierced the moment, leaving it to die quickly and painfully.

Siobhan and I looked at each other only a moment before I quickly bent, to the best of my abilities in the cramped space, to grab my waistcoat and began cleaning myself up.

I stood up and was sharply reminded of the coat hanger railing above my head.

“Ow!” I tried not to bump the walls too much either, suddenly finding the small space to be far too cramped for me to move around in.

“Trilby? Where are- OH.” Claire’s voice indicated she knew a little too much.

“Claire, it’s not what you’re thinking!” I quickly replied, face burning hotter than before. It didn’t help that I had to button up my shirt as well. “It was the ghost! He- W-we-”

“Should I uh… just let you two…?”

“No! No, no, Claire, listen, we really should get out of here.” I said, trying to ignore the fact that Siobhan still had her arms wrapped around me and trying to keep a steady voice. “This thing is locked. Th-the key should be behind the counter.”

I felt Siobhan kiss at my collarbone and fought with all my will to not let my voice crack. I tried pushing her off so I could finish buttoning up.

“Siobhan, stop it.” I hissed at her, as quietly as I could.

“It’ll take her a while to find those keys. We have a few minutes.” she whispered, barely audible, back. I could feel her grinning against me and I shuddered with conflicting emotions.

“Found them!” Claire’s voice rang out cheerfully, suddenly bringing everything to a screeching halt.

We looked at each other for only half a second before Siobhan finally started rushing to pull on her sweater while I tried to straighten myself out.

By the time Claire opened the wardrobe, Siobhan and I were standing apart from each other. I tried to look composed and stepped out with slight cough. Claire, obviously, was waiting for me with a mischievous grin.

“Hi, Claire. Thanks for that.” I said.

“So, were you two um… Having fun?” she asked, playfully.

“Nothing happened.” I said flatly.

Claire only had to look me up and down before I caught on and corrected any mistakes. Claire scooped up my hat from the floor and offered it to me.

“Right, so nothing happened.” she teased.

“NOTHING.” I hissed and snatched it away from her.

“Aaannnyway.. so what DID happen?” she asked.

“Trilby accidentally uh.. Triggered the ghost again.” Siobhan explained, fixing up her ponytail. I couldn’t help but also notice how flushed her cheeks were.

I looked over and saw the grandfather clock that flew at us earlier. I quickly moved to stand it back up, finding only the glass broken. Everything else seemed fine. Siobhan sighed with some relief.

“I don’t think Brutus is going to want to talk about leaving peacefully.” I surmised. “Even if we do pull rank on him.”

“Hm.. Then what should we do?” Claire asked. “Banishing circle?”

I looked around the antique shop and sighed. It was cluttered and messy and made worse by the previous skirmish.

“That could get some, but not all the ghosts.” I guessed to the best of my ability. “And that’s if we can clear the floor well enough for a ritual, to start with. We would get Brutus.”

“But then how do we guarantee exorcising all of the ghosts under his control?” Siobhan asked.

I looked at the tears in my shirt’s sleeve, remembering how eager and desperate the others were to get a hold of me. Most of them were likely violent and dangerous criminals.

“Well.. We could try a big one.” I offered.

“The counter’s in the way.” Claire gestured towards it. “And some would probably still escape anyway. We need to get them all.”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. This day was certainly becoming taxing. Claire tapped her foot and began pacing back and forth.

“Well maybe we can try, like.. A lot of them?” Siobhan was asking. “We can clear the floor.. It’d… Mean moving everything downstairs, but we could make more space.. And cover the area?”

“And if they try to escape?” Claire argued. “They could try to leave the shop. The plot’s supposed to cover the block, right?”

“Well it starts at the sidewalk and runs from one end of the street to the other, and covers the shops behind this one on the other side of the street.”

“Right, so the ghosts could move around on any part of that land. They’re only kept here because the basement is Death Row. It’s where Brutus would’ve dragged me had he successfully killed me.” I throw out.

“Right. That’s also why he stopped when I dragged you out the first time.” Siobhan explained, giving me a glance. “As soon as you left the plot, he stopped. Then Claire and I took you upstairs.’

“So we’d have a better chance of getting them all if we were to cover not just the floor, but the walls and ceiling as well.” I said.

“But then we still need to lure them out.” Claire intoned.

“What do you mean?” Siobhan asked.

“I mean we can’t just wait for the ghosts to wander in on their own. Someone would have to invoke them. But since this guy’s obviously violent, it’d be dangerous. And he disappears as soon as the criminals are either dead or gone.”

“So we need a way to keep the bait safe and stay here in the store while everything is going on…”

After a moment of thought, we all came to the same conclusion.

“Salt ring.”

After that, it was agreed that I would be bait. Claire was apparently too clean for the job and I wasn’t about to risk Siobhan’s health. We spent the day clearing out the shop and Claire offered to pick up chalk for tomorrow.

#Chzo Mythos #Trilbhan #Trilby Somerset #Siobhan O'Malley #Rational writing #my writing

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everly-kindred · 4 years

Text

Eve’s Diary - Entry #55

Date: 28th of March, 2027

Dear Diary,

It’s been a little over a week since I’ve last written in you, but a lot has happened. Mostly just classes and stuff this time, thankfully, and nothing particularly bad. It’s been kind of nice, actually. It’s been raining and warming up, and I’m really excited about spring. I love the sound of the birds and the bugs singing! It’s been really relaxing to hang out outside, or in the Common Room with the windows open.

So I wrote Talula about what happened with Abigail, and she said I shouldn’t do anything because I helped fix the situation… But also I caused it! So I still feel guilty, but I think I know what I’m going to do. I asked Marigold to help me make some chocolate chip banana bread for all of them. I want them to know that I’m sorry, you know?

Class wise, we’ve been doing a lot of stuff! I’ve sort of been tuning out what’s been going on in History of Magic, which is really dumb because I actually really like that class. Just, the past two weeks I’ve been in kind of a fog, and I’ve had a hard time focusing. Same with Ancient Studies… I don’t really remember what we talked about in that class this week. Also Magical Theory… We were talking more about wands, their bonds and woods and cores… Winning wands and that sort of thing. But I’ve been getting distracted there, too. I got to sit next to Ruby in one of them, though, which was nice!

We’ve had a couple herbology classes. The first one, we dealt with leaping toadstools and Christmas roses. The leaping toadstools were very cute, I think. I miss the section we had been doing on toadstools at the beginning of the year, to be honest. In the second one, I went with Ruby and we talked about faeries and toadstools that were living and could like… move and talk and stuff, because of the doodles I had been doing. In that class, we talked about poison ivy and cattails. Ruby and I went to work with the cattails, and he exploded a bunch and got the white fluff everywhere, which reminded me of when I used to do that by the creek when I was younger.

In Arithmancy we’ve been talking about the butterfly effect. It was a little confusing for me at first, but I think I’ve gotten the hang of it now. Professor Rask had us write out an example about the butterfly effect, so I wrote out this:

You're playing Gobstones... and then one of the gobstones rolls away, into this crack in the wall. You try to fish it out but realise it went through the crack all the way to the other side, and on the other side of the wall is the courtyard. So you go around to try to get your gobstone, when you see a fairy has picked it up and is flying off with it. You chase the fairy all the way to the forest, so focused on getting your gobstone back that you don't even realise where you're going. And then you chase the fairy and have to fight it to get the gobstone back, and by the time you get your gobstone back, you realise you're lost in the forest.

Being lost in the forest could probably mean death, but for the sake of this scenario, we'll just say that you find your way back and are late for class, and also your uniform is in tatters. All because of a gobstone.

So yeah! I think I understand it now. I’ll have to see if Rask gives me any grades on it.

In Care of Magical Creatures we talked about Phoenixes, which made me very happy and made me think about Maxine a lot more. I actually dreamed I was her, and had wings to fly with last night! I still think it’d be wonderful to fly with wings. I love flying on brooms of course, but yeah. Big, powerful feathery wings. Or, if I was tiny, delicate fairy wings!

In Vikander’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class, he had us take a portkey and go through this maze thing. At first I was paired up with Marigold and two other Hufflepuff girls, Brandi and Aleena. A lot of the obstacles were solvable with first year spells, but my wand didn’t work at all! And then we came to these gate things, and this shadow said one of us had to stay behind, so I volunteered because I was basically useless. It was scary at first, but if I pretended the shadow was my dad in a halloween costume, spooking me like he always tries to, it wasn’t so bad. Marigold thinks the shadow was just Vikander in a cloak.

Anyways, the shadow grabbed me and separated me from them, but then I found Essa, and eventually we found Aloy, who seemed really upset. I don’t think we found the right way out, because we ended up under this grate and had to shoot sparks up which, now that I’m thinking about it, was one spell I managed to actually do. And then Vikander got us and said we were late. The shadows were whispering about how we were promised to them or something, but we got out, and were actually the last ones, which is a little embarrassing.

In Cavanaugh’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class, we’ve started talking about Boggarts, and I think we may be dealing with them next week. I might get out that potion Bonnie and Persephone had brewed me for the occasion… would that be cheating? I guess I should ask the professor.

We talked about stars and such in Astronomy but I find it hard to remember numbers and the names of the planets and stars and constellations. I think I’ve just gotten very day-dreamy lately. I’ve been finding it harder to pay attention.

In Transfigurations, we practiced Colovaria some more but I couldn’t get it right. This Ravenclaw girl turned my desk purple, though! And in Artificer Club, we played this giant game out on the pitch. It was sort of like if tic-tac-toe and wizard’s chess crossed together and made one game. Like the board and pieces looked like wizard’s chess but the way the game worked was like tic-tac-toe.

In Dragonology, we’ve been talking about Dragonology as a career and famous Dragonologists, which has been kind of fun. I don’t think I’d want to be a Dragonologist, but it sounds interesting anyways.

I went to Music Theory with Aures but we were just reading stuff out of a book so I had a hard time paying attention in that class, too. Though, I did start thinking about starting another Dungeons & Dragons campaign while I was in that class, and realised there’s another sound to add to my list of sounds I really like, which is the clickity clack sounds of dice rolling.

In divinations we’ve been doing automatic writing. I decided to work on a typewriter with Marigold, and last week, I saw the words foe, woe, 3b (Three Broomsticks?), hive, and hedge. I didn’t translate any of it, though, just thought about what it might mean. This week, I asked if I’d do good in dueling today, and I got the word ‘sky.’ Which, when I translated it, talked about success! So hopefully that’s a good sign. I won my first dueling match last week actually, against Briony! I’m about to go to dueling now, and I’m really eager to try again and see how I do. I feel much more… confident and excited than I did before, even if my wand has been giving me a hard time. So anyways, I should probably go to dueling!

Much love, Everly

[ Eve’s Wiki Page ]

[ Flickr ]

#harry potter #hufflepuff #magic #witch #diary #magical #witchy #witchcraft #journal #hogwarts #secondlife #second life #mischief managed

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 5 years

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Eel River Inn (4/?)

In the morning, Bucky wakes to the sound of an Underwood typewriter clacking away and the smell of coffee. If it weren’t for the soft bed, he might have thought he fell asleep in the company Clerk’s tent again. But there weren’t gunshots there was only muffled swearing as you banged away. He smiled a little, Ah, the artistic process, he thought. So majestic. You groaned and he heard a soft thud that sounded distinctly like a forehead on a desk. It’s going well, he snorted.

He followed the sound down the hall, running his fingers through his hair and yawning, “Doll?” he said, nudging the door open, “You okay?” Your answering groan makes him chuckle as he leans against the door frame. You’re holding a cup of coffee and looking like you’re about to throw the typewriter out the window. The early sun is shining on your hair like a halo and you’re wearing a t-shirt and panties, a pencil behind your ear and a riotous mane of hair fall past your shoulders. His own grumpy and rebellious angel. You turn and look at him, your lips curling in a soft smile, “Did I wake you?” He crosses the floor to you, looking around your office, “I could have gone back to sleep. Clicking Keys and some swearing won’t keep me awake, I slept through worse in the army.”

You nod and pull him down for a good morning kiss, you taste like coffee and he sighs, “You taste like heaven,” he says huskily, “is there any more coffee?” You nod, “In the kitchen next to the fridge.” Bucky kisses you one last time and brushes hair out of your eyes. You look so beautiful all sleep rumpled and rosy-cheeked. He leaves you to your work and heads downstairs. Your house is cozy. He didn’t spend too long sightseeing last night but now as he sips his coffee, he’s curious. He looks at the framed photos. You with various teams. One where you have a lab coat. One where you’re lighting a cigarette with a torch with grease on your face. You look too young to even be smoking in this century but it suits you somehow. You look half feral. He wonders what you studied. He wonders why pictures seem to be missing, there’s a gap noticeable only by the length of your hair. He wants to know why you’re a writer that doesn’t seem to have spent much time writing before recently. He hears your feet on the stairs and he tried to look nonchalant but you’re smiling and it’s knowing. It makes him blush.

“You’ll never in a million years guess what I studied in college,” you tease. You smile at him over a fresh cup of coffee and he cocks his head, looking from you to the pictures, “Something with grease,” he guessed? You smile, “Next-gen mechanical engineering.” you tell him. Bucky quirks an eyebrow, “No shit?” You laugh, “Nope,” you say, “Been working on a proper solar sailor out in the barn for the last 5 years... it helps break up the writer’s block.” The look on his face, trying to play it cool but internally screaming makes you giggle. “Gimme a minute to put on pants... and some shoes. I’ll show you.” Bucky doesn’t know what a solar sailor is. He doesn’t really care. But he wants to see it. He wants to put together your puzzle.

He follows you upstairs, watching as you pull on clothes. Torn jeans and a black t-shirt. Sturdy work boots. He pulls on his own clothes and pulls you into a slow kiss, “I always liked smart girls,” he says smiling. You grin, “You ain’t seen nothing yet, handsome.” You take his hand and lead him to the barn. It’s unassuming. Bucky had thought it was just a storage shed. A place where you kept a lawn mower and maybe some old junk. He didn’t expect what he saw when you rolled the doors open.

It was a fully functional workshop. Nearly on par with Stark’s. You pull levers and counterweights release, lowering the skeleton of your Solar sailor to the work table. It looks like a surfboard with a sail on it. The fabric of the sail glitters with tiny golden sequin looking things and he looks at you in askance. “I really loved the movie treasure planet as a kid,” you say shrugging. Bucky smiles a little, he doesn’t know what that is either but you’re looking at your creation with pride. “What does it do?” he asks. You smile up at him with a look that just screams “trouble”. “It flies,” you say, “Or at least it will. Maybe another 300 odd hours of fabrication.”

Bucky tilts your chin up and kisses you, “So, this all begs the question... How do you go from Next Gen Mechanics to Young Adult Author.” He’s smiling until he notices a flicker of uncertainty in your face. The woman who spills neuroses and insecurities on paper as characters in a story is hesitating to tell him. He waits patiently. God knows there are things in his past he doesn’t want to tell you.

“That is a very long story,” you say softly. “I got time, baby,” he says, kissing your forehead. You nod, turning away from him, going to your work table. The soldier pulls up a stool and folds his arms, watching your hands. They’re aimless, seeking distraction. But he waits until you find your voice. “I always loved science,” you say. “I was fascinated by it. By the idea that we put a man on the moon with less technology than I had in my gameboy. That I could make those things if I had the plans... I started with shop classes and shit. Moved on to robotics. Studied everything I could get my hands on.” Bucky smiled a little. He could see that. A cute little girl in a baseball cap covered in grease under a car, gleefully tearing it apart to see how it worked.

“I skipped a couple grades, and my high school trig teacher slipped me a flyer one day. Something for a bot battle. So I put a crew together, me and a couple dumb asses from my shop class you know? I just needed them to lift shit really. Lift shit and look scary. I was all of 5ft tall and about 100 pounds with a backpack on... And 15. Having some muscle on my team didn’t seem like a bad idea.” That made Bucky chuckle. You were still small but there was about a decade of lean lithe muscle packed onto your frame. He’d felt it when he’d carried you to bed. “So we went. And we won... And we kept winning. Scored me a full ride to MIT. At least in theory.” You reflexively grind your teeth, “My funding got pulled about halfway through but I stayed the course. I pulled out loans. A lot of loans.”

“So when the government think tank offered me a job, I said fuck yeah.” you snort. “First thing they did was pay off my loans. All 150,000 worth. Like that. I should have known better.” You sigh and glance at Bucky, “I was barely 21. They offered me money, good money. More money than I was gonna make anywhere else. More money than I knew what to do with after growing up on welfare and free school lunches.” Bucky wants to wrap his arms around you but he doesn’t. He stays still and waits. The story is about to take a turn, he can feel it. It hurts already and he doesn’t want to know.

“They wanted results. Weapons. Defense tech. Anything they could get. Anything we could make. It was merciless. Endless. And I couldn’t take it. What they didn’t know... What I didn’t know. Was that the mood shifts I’d been self-medicating with Adderall and nicotine gum weren’t just a personality quirk. It was an unchecked bipolar disorder with a dash of ADHD and generalized anxiety thrown in for fun. When I dropped my basket I didn’t just drop it... I lit that shit on fire and laughed.” You chuckle darkly, “I’d been awake so long I hallucinated a giant purple weasel named Terry... That fucker still owes me $50 for surviving jumping off the catwalk railing.” Bucky tenses, an old instinct to kill rising. They’d trapped you and drove you to insanity. The fucking bastards.

“Turns out, unbreakable contracts break pretty easy when you lose your mind,” you say shrugging, “And I’m not the only one... I spent two years getting put back together. Some of my team is still locked up.” You swallow hard and take a deep breath. “The books came later. Shit I hallucinated. Shit I wanted to read. Anything to keep my mind occupied when I couldn’t sleep. An old teacher of mine sent some of the stuff I’d written to a publisher after I talked to her about it and here we are.” You smile a little and look up at him uncertain and shy. Scared. “If you want to run, I wouldn’t blame you. My life is a mess.”

Bucky stands slowly and holds his arms out, “Sorry, Doll,” he says, “If you think a mental break down is gonna send me running you got another thing coming.” When you close the distance between you he hugs you to him and kisses the side of his head, “I spent the better part of 70 years a brainwashed assassin,” he murmurs, “There’s nothing hiding in your mind that could possibly scare me more than the things I don’t quite remember.”

#Bucky Barnes #Buckyx reader #soft bucky #angst #mental illness

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thesinglesjukebox · 5 years

Video

youtube

RED VELVET - ZIMZALABIM

[5.86]

The magic doesn't work on all of us...

Mo Kim: Think of Red Velvet not just as the concept but as the cake. Equal parts alchemy and art: sugar-rush feelings baked into sinister recipes, measured with baker's precision. Think of how they've experimented over the course of an eclectic discography to hone this approach. The way "Ice Cream Cake" captures heads-over-heels longing in a chorus that explodes like Mentos meeting Coke; the way "Peek-A-Boo"'s rhythms wax and wane in the same way its subjects consume then dispose of new lovers; the way "Dumb Dumb" ties infatuation and anxiety into an ink-stained typewriter ribbon before shredding it into so much confetti. Some listeners may balk at the funhouse of sounds "Zimzalabim" rushes through, from marching-band reverie to witchy incantations to buzzing EDM banger to flowerbed of lush vocal harmonies, but the song holds together best as a roller coaster ride through the themes that have defined Red Velvet's work over the last five years: Irene implores us to be bold and rock the world, Seulgi reminds us to have some fun along the way, and Wendy's voice soars like the dreams that bring out the light within us. And then, before we've even gotten our safety belts off, they're "na-na-na"ing all the way back to their first single, and we're chanting in Simlish along with them. If that ain't the magic of a pop song, what is? [9]

Jessica Doyle: The world was not exactly crying out for "Red Velvet redoes 'Hollaback Girl' with a circus theme and a couple more ideas in the lyrics," but if that had been the result, it would've been fine, if underwhelming. But that grinding flat siren in the background, as if someone recorded Big Bertha while she was stuck, is flat-out unpleasant to listen to. How do you recommend a song by saying, "Well, actually, two-thirds of it isn't actively repulsive to the ear"? As to what the members themselves think of it, who knows, but Wendy's "Zimzalabim!" at the start sounds to me like it's in the same tone, and with the same emotion behind it, as I've heard my kids' teachers use when they say, "Let's get ready for Milestones!" [2]

Will Adams: So much of this reminds me of "Electric Shock" -- the cadence in the verses, the LMFAO-esque electro skronk, the general oversaturation of every detail -- that I almost can't believe I'm hearing this in 2019. But a sugar rush is a sugar rush, and damn if that titular hook hasn't started pinballing around my head without warning for the past few weeks. [6]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Jeez, has it really been six and a half years since "I Got A Boy"? [7]

Alex Clifton: I'm not sure which is worse: the opening thirty seconds, or the implication that Wendy is a flat earther. [4]

Alfred Soto: As usual "Zimzalabim" has more ideas in its first thirty seconds than the average track, and the pre-chorus can't stop won't stop. Red Velvet could've stopped there. Then the chorus becomes a mantra. [7]

Iris Xie: I like how the song can't make up its mind about what it wants to be, because it's so disjointed and frenetic, but it misses the chance to transcend above being a mashup of girl group history. In a just world, "Zimzalabim" would have been a special stage group collaboration song for both f(x) and Red Velvet, where Krystal and Seulgi can finally combine their all-rounder center power, Sulli and Joy pose together as beautiful, tall "fake maknae," Luna and Wendy would riff their vocal talent off each other, Amber and Yeri would rap and ham it up and show off all of their social media contacts, and Victoria and Irene are the gorgeous visuals. The stage would be called f(ReVe), it would be a 10 member powerhouse that showcases their blend of styles, and then Girls' Generation would go onto the stage and greet them with matching flower bouquets and it would just be a scene of girl group madness with immense joy. Maybe later, one of the Brown Eyed Girls interviews them on a variety show later and they make comparisons between the similarities of "Zimzalabim" and "Abracadabra" and then do a cute mash-up of their dances and be very supportive, and then go on and perform it as a special stage. But no, we don't live in that world of second generation special collaborations and variety show hijinks anymore, because that age of K-pop is long gone now. Instead, Red Velvet has to carry the weight of all the SM girl groups before them, by doing a "Happiness" redux that is refreshed with the intro from CSJH the Grace's "One More Time, Ok?" updated for 2019. The abrupt changes will invite Girls' Generation's "I Got a Boy" comparisons, but I find that "Zimzalabim" pulls more from its inversion of the vocal stylings and arrangement of the first half of f(x)'s "Zig Zag." Overall this is pulled together with the dissonance found in f(x)'s "Love" and using a similar EDM synth from "Red Light." This results in the entire song sounding like it is designed to be an intro into some kind of show, which makes sense considering that Red Velvet is releasing a three-part album where this song is the first single, and it's not like SM hasn't done reworks of debut songs for mid-career victory laps. The monotone, husky chanting of the title contrasts with the peppy verses and works with the chimes to try to hypnotize the listener into a hollow trance. The bridge is pretty much a mashup of the Brown Eyed Girls' "Abracadabra" bridge together with Luna's astronomical adlib in "Red Light," but afterward, "Zimzalabim" dives off the rollercoaster ride and goes up a panicky few notes for its final chorus before launching into a more riotous take on f(x)'s "Electric Shock" nananas and leading to a disruptive end. If "Zimzalabim" represents how Red Velvet is finally taking up the experimental spot that f(x) has long been forced to abdicate, this is not a bad choice, but the song lacks the effortless charm that I expect from them both. It's actually not strange enough or fresh enough, for either group, and its seams are too broken and getting in the way of the truly weird song it could have been. [6]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#Red Velvet #pop #Kpop #music #music review #writing

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davidfarland · 5 years

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When to Stop Polishing a Manuscript

Many new writers don’t know when to stop polishing a manuscript and move on to the next. Part of the reason for that might have to do with Ernest Hemingway.

Many years ago, a writer asked Hemingway, “How many times should I rewrite a manuscript?” Now, Hemingway hated dumb questions, so he answered “Oh, at least 60.”

On another occasion, a writer asked him how long she should wait between drafts when revising, so that she would be able to look at her story “cold.” He suggested that it should be two years.

Back when I first began writing, I used an old typewriter. I didn’t like it. I had to really bang the keys hard, it was noisy, certain keys didn’t work well, and the type was uneven. Because of this, doing rewrites was difficult. I’d type out a draft, make extensive corrections on the page with a pencil, and then try to type out a perfectly clean copy.

You see, as an editor I’m looking for stories that have some originality, that carry an author’s own voice, his odd quirks. But when a new writer begins showing a manuscript around to members of her workshop and polishing it further and further, eventually the author tends to lose her own distinct voice. The result is, that the story can become less interesting to me as an editor with every draft.

So the question is, how many revisions does a novel or short story really need?

In fact, on one of my last rewrites, I do what I call a “voice edit,” where I go through key characters person by person to make sure that their voices are consistent.

I almost never look at a scene more than five or six times. Yet I know some writers who will polish a scene 20 times or more, making it a little less interesting each time. Don’t do that.

Why? You’ve got other books to write! By the time that you’ve revised a novel half a dozen times, you’re probably not really making it any better.

So when you feel good about it, submit it to editors.

The proper response to a rejection is to send the story out to a different publisher—not to rewrite the tale.

So I added a new scene where a world explodes on page 1, and then sent it to that editor. I was rewarded with a contract a couple of weeks later.

And the Plot Thickens (Masterclass) - Closing this Week

March 7th - 9th I will be teaching a masterclass in Provo, Utah that will be focused on crafting a powerful plot. Learn more or sign up here. This week is your last chance to register. I have a couple more spots still available.

Get $100 Off a Full Edit - Last Chance

Hi everyone! Kami, here! Dave’s past assistant of nearly seven years! I’m now doing freelance editing at my site FawkesEditing.com (where I work under an online alias, September C. Fawkes). I also run an award-winning writing tip blog, and you can see an index of all my tips here: https://www.septembercfawkes.com/p/writing-tip-index.html

Right now, I’m offering $100 off a full novel manuscript edit when you book with me (🎵Because it is my birthday (soon) 🎶). Offer ends TOMORROW, March 1st. I'm nearly booked up with this offer but might be able to squeeze in a few more. Of course, if you need editing work in the future, please consider me regardless of the offer being over ;) Feel free to "bookmark" my site. For the deal, just mention you saw this in Dave’s newsletter.

My approach to editing has been described as "thorough," "precise," and "kind." But you can learn all about me and my services at FawkesEditing.com I’d love to help you take your manuscript to the next level!

#Writing tips #writingtip #writing tip #writing tips and tricks #writeblr

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madebyleftovermuses · 5 years

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On this weeks dumpster fire

Chapter Forty-Six: The Red Dahlia

Jughead finally using the typewriter

Getting some noir feels

FP knows Jug is lying

Betty hashing out her theories to her dad

You get poison, you get poison, everyone gets poison!!!

Is Penelope like a black widow or something?

Finally, they’re doing some construction work!! It seems like it’s been forever since Andrew got the contract

So, it was a hit?

When are you finally gonna get out from under your father, Veronica?

The fact she really had to state the fact she loves her husband is some bullshit

I love how they had Mark’s wife play the mistress

“You have joined us, Betty” uh actually I want to accuse you of murder again

Back to the usual Cheryl I see

It seriously pisses me off that Veronica says she wants to get away from her father’s business but then jumps right in

Of course, Penelope owns the Maple Club 😒

Josie shouldn’t be dealing with Archie’s dumb ass

Though the cold shower thing was amazing

Pufferfish Venom, fun

Josie our here giving good advice to Archie

Josie’s face when he started talking about the cabin

Or maybe Hermione did that shit on purpose

Noooo, burn it down, all of it

Why have the seizures only affect the females?

That stupid egg. I thought it was destroyed

No one stays dead and everyone is so fucking unfaithful!!

So, did Hermione put a hit on her husband?

Don’t frame FP, you bitch!

Surprise motherfucker! Everyone is alive

“Oh! My!” Really Curdle?

FP knows everything?!

Damn it, FP!!

Being sheriff is now a form of payment

We need Alice’s help? Or Betty’s?

This is why villains don’t get away this shit. They talk about their whole life story

You saved him! you idiot!

It’s Alice’s help they needed

Blaming Tall Boy

Yes, your mom put a hit on your dad

Ronnie’s face when Reggie talked about Bad Boys 2 is the same look I give my boyfriend when he tells me I should watch 1 & 2

It’s never what it seems

So, they are gonna finally be friends? Cause they never were they kind of just jumped into bed together

Liar! Hiram is a liar and still plotting to destroy him

Fuck! could have made a bonfire party out of that!

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dingoes8myrp · 5 years

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Gilmore Girls: Being Dad Takes Practice

This is a one-shot Gilmore Girls fanfiction set sometime after A Year in the Life.

Stars Hollow never changed. Every time Jess visited it was like stepping into a time capsule. 2002: perfectly preserved.

The streets were vacant, which was typical after midnight in a small town. Creepy, maybe kind of cool. He couldn’t decide.

His Jeep Cherokee was the only car parked at the diner. Slightly eerie.

He was hauling his rucksack and laptop bag out of the back seat when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Of course,” he muttered.

He’d been driving for about three hours bored out of his mind, plenty of time for a phone call, but someone picked this moment to call. Probably Jason or Shawn trying to get him to come out to some bar, forgetting he was out of town.

By the time Jess unlocked the door to the diner his cell phone had stopped vibrating, and he promptly forgot about it.

He re-locked the door and headed up to the apartment, flipping on the overhead light. It was basically one room with a few strategically placed pieces of furniture. How Luke ever got Lorelai to go out with him after taking her back to this place was still a mystery.

Jess stopped at the bathroom to take care of some long-drive-related business. His next move was to dig his comfiest pair of sweatpants out of his bag. He emptied his jeans pockets onto the desk: keys, wallet, phone. He heard the damn phone vibrating as he changed into his sweatpants.

“Ugh. Really?”

He folded his jeans and set them on the edge of the bed. He noted the fresh comforter with a decidedly feminine but subtle floral pattern. He made a mental note to thank Lorelai. There was no way Luke would have picked that comforter out, or made the bed in a style he could only describe as aggressively hospitable. That bed had definitely been made by someone who’d spent the bulk of her adult life in the hospitality business.

Jess picked up his laptop bag and pulled out a rumpled manuscript he’d come across at work. They didn’t get a lot of hard copy submissions these days. Mostly digital. The typeface had caught his attention. There was a slight unevenness to the lettering that made him think of a typewriter. This thing was old school. Someone had bought paper just the right tooth and heaviness, typed and re-typed pages at a typewriter, roughly bound it themselves, and mailed it. Enough time had been put into this draft, it deserved to be read by somebody.

He was supposed to be writing. That was the whole point of this particular excursion.

Well, he didn’t need to write the second he got there. He could take a few minutes to flip through a piece he hadn’t gotten to before he left work. Sure. That was fair.

He sat in the rickety wooden chair that clearly wasn’t meant for comfortably sitting. He’d have to grab a chair with a cushion from downstairs or something.

He’d just flipped past the cover page when the phone vibrated again. A short burst this time. Probably a text. He ignored it and started reading “Firehouse” by Edward Ray.

I was eight years old the first time I saw a fire. A real fire that swallowed a house. It was my neighbor’s house. I’d seen it every day for as long as I could remember. Mrs. Ellis always smiled and said hi to me. She was the nicest lady in the neighborhood. I watched her house disappear in front of my eyes. The air smelled like burning wood for days and Mrs. Ellis never scrubbed the smoke smell out of her favorite robe.

The phone again. Jess’s eyes ticked over to its illuminated screen.

That was one too many phone buzzes too late at night.

He picked up the phone and swiped the screen to read the alerts.

2 missed calls.

1 new voicemail.

1 new text message.

He checked his missed call log and found a number he didn’t recognize.

He read the text message from the same unknown number.

Hey Jess. This is Logan. Sorry to bother you so late. I’m sure you’re asleep. If you get this please call me back. Not quite an emergency, but definitely important.

Jess frowned. He didn’t really talk to Logan Huntzberger much on a social level. They both came to the same family gatherings on occasion and they were mostly cordial, but he wasn’t somebody Jess exchanged texts and phone calls with. Jess called up his voicemail and listened. Logan’s familiar lighthearted tone came through, but there was a slight strain to it that was a little alarming.

“Hey, Jess. It’s Logan. I thought maybe I had the wrong number until I heard your voicemail message.”

A piercing scream in the background made Jess wince. Little Lori Gilmore was only really fussy when she didn’t feel good. But, she was hands-down the worst patient he’d ever encountered.

Logan’s voice had gone softer and sounded far away.

“Okay, sweetie. Shh, it’s alright. We’re gonna get through this, little lady. Promise.”

Jess could picture him cradling the red-faced toddler, trying not to drop his sleek cell phone. There was a fumbling noise on the other end.

“Hey, sorry. You probably heard that. Miss Lori is not a happy camper and, uh…”

Logan gave a nervous laugh into the phone.

“I gotta tell you, I’m struggling here. I know Rory’s got that D.C. thing so I’m trying not to bother her, and I don’t want to freak out Lorelai if I can avoid it.”

There was another tiny but definitely unhappy scream from Lori in the background.

“I, uh, I gotta hang up. Please call me back if you get this. I’m just… I don’t know, man. Help me out, here.”

By then Logan’s normal too-thick charm had worn off and he simply sounded tired and desperate.

Jess cut off the voicemail and sighed heavily. He couldn’t say he was terribly fond of Logan, but the guy was trying. He saw Lori every other weekend like clockwork. He came to every birthday and almost every holiday. The only time he’d ever canceled was that time he’d taken a client to a sushi bar in Denver, which had led to what Rory had referred to as “bathroom-destroying food poisoning.”

It wasn’t enough, in Jess’s opinion, but it was consistent. It was an effort, and that counted for something.

Regardless of how Jess felt about Logan, Lori was one of his favorite humans on the planet. She was definitely a Lorelai. She was bubbly and excitable, at times hyper as the Tasmanian Devil. She was stubborn, strong-willed, and smart. She was such a pleasant kid to be around, and it sucked that she was sick.

Logan could feel the heat coming off Lori as he held her. Fever. That was definitely a fever. Right?

Or was she just worked up from crying all night? That was a thing, wasn’t it?

Thermometer. He needed a thermometer.

Did he have a thermometer? He couldn’t remember.

He cringed as Lori screamed right into his ear and her little sobs shook her whole body.

“I know,” he cooed. “You poor kid.”

He bounced her gently as he paced his apartment. Well, it wasn’t really his apartment. It didn’t feel like his yet, anyway. He’d had it carpeted and furnished, but he hadn’t gotten to spend a lot of time there yet. It didn’t have a lived-in feel.

Logan was singing quietly under his breath. When had he started singing?

“What would you do if I sang outta tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me? Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song. I will try not to sing outta key.”

Her sobs softened a little, so he kept singing, kept rocking. He kissed her head and remembered something about kissing a kid’s head to see if they had a fever. Who had told him that? Surely it never would’ve occurred to his mother. Had he seen it on TV?

It didn’t matter. He’d try it.

Her head still felt hot. Fever. Definitely a fever, he decided. He didn’t know how bad a fever. Could you take a kid to the ER for a fever? Should you take a kid to the ER for a fever? Was that a panicked parent faux-pas?

Who the hell else could he call?

His cell phone rang and he looked around frantically.

“Where is it?” he gasped.

He checked his pockets, the counter, the coffee table. All the while it rang and rang.

“Alright, where’d your dumb dad leave his lifeline, Lor?” he muttered.

He found it on the kitchen table. He must’ve paced his way out there at some point. He felt a flood of relief when he saw Jess’s name come across the screen.

“Oh, thank God.”

He answered the call, cradling Lori carefully in one arm.

“Jess, hey.”

“Hey. What’s goin’ on?”

Jess sounded like he always did: kind of bored and slightly annoyed to be speaking. But Logan was happy to hear that voice.

“Oh, man. I’m unraveling over here,” he admitted. “I have Lori at my place. Well, my new place, and she seemed fine until about two hours ago. She just woke up screaming. I gave her some juice and some Cheerios to see if maybe she was hungry. Big mistake. She threw up everywhere, so I dealt with that. Then I changed her and that was another natural disaster that has yet to be named. But we dealt with that and she seems to be doing okay with the water I gave her. But she’s just miserable, and I think she has a fever. But I don’t have a thermometer – I don’t have anything here, man. I don’t know if I should maybe take her to the hospital or…”

Panic had been rising significantly in Logan’s voice as he talked, and Jess had listened carefully to pull out the facts.

“Okay, slow down,” he broke in. “How long ago did she throw up?”

“Uh… About an hour.”

“And the diaper situation?”

“Same.”

“Alright. What’d she eat today?”

“Uh… This stuff Rory packed. She didn’t seem to want to do a meal, so she was kind of snacking here and there. She had some yogurt, some cereal with milk, cereal without milk, applesauce. I tried to cut up a banana for her, but she didn’t go for that.”

“Oh, yeah. She doesn’t seem to like the texture,” Jess said. “Loves to mush it into the couch, though.”

Logan laughed.

“Yeah, I lost track of the banana pieces. That’ll be a fun surprise later.”

Jess sighed on the other end.

“She could just be sick. It happens. Do you have any liquid Tylenol or Motrin, anything like that?”

Logan tried to think.

“Uh, hang on.”

He set the phone down on the coffee table so he could hold Lori while he dug through the bag Rory had left him. He pulled out a storage bag with what looked like a medicine bottle in it.

“Flintstones vitamins,” he muttered.

He also found cream for diaper rash, band-aids, and a tiny tube of sunscreen. He rocked Lori as she let out another wail. He’d almost gotten used to it at this point. Logan walked quickly to his bathroom, knowing it was useless, but he had to check. After ransacking his medicine cabinet and bathroom cupboards, he finally got back to Jess on the coffee table.

“Jess?”

“Yeah.”

“Man, I got nothin’.”

There was a stretch of silence just long enough to make Logan’s heart pound just a little.

“Where’d you say you were again?” Jess asked.

Lorelai sat curled up on the couch in about four-thousand blankets.

Okay, it was more like four, but she’d literally grabbed every blanket she set her eyes on and wrapped them around herself like some crazy blanket hoarder. Crumpled tissues littered the coffee table. She’d given up on trying not to contaminate her surroundings as soon as Luke started sneezing.

The kettle whistled in the kitchen where he was making tea. They’d both given up on sleep hours ago, and they’d moved downstairs when trying to sit up in the bed failed to prevent the post-nasal drip or stave off the nausea.

“Alright,” Luke announced. “I double-brewed you a chamomile and put some ginger in there. It’s gonna taste disgusting, but there should be enough honey in there to make it tolerable.”

His gruff voice was hoarse and nasally. He set the red mug down in front of Lorelai and she rested her head back against the couch cushion.

“Ugh. What happened to the foamy chai?”

“That has caffeine.”

“So? I like caffeine. Caffeine and I are the oldest of friends. I could genuinely argue that caffeine was my first love.”

“And milk.”

“What did milk ever do to you?”

Luke grimaced as he sat down. His muscles were aching.

“Milk creates phlegm,” he explained, “which isn’t good when you’re already making your own.”

He gestured toward the tissue massacre on the table.

“It’s also bad for nausea,” he concluded.

He sipped his own plain mint tea. Lorelai sighed and picked up the mug.

“Fine. But this better make me feel better,” she muttered.

She sipped it. It was indeed disgusting and it did not make her feel better.

The doorbell made them both jump and look at each other.

“Are we expecting anybody?” Luke asked.

He genuinely wasn’t sure. Suki tended to drop by at odd hours. Sometimes Lane, but she normally called. Lorelai stared at the door.

“No. I don’t think so.”

Luke stood up, putting down his mug.

“What are you doing?” Lorelai hissed.

Luke paused mid-step around the coffee table.

“I’m answerin’ the door,” he said.

Lorelai looked horrified.

“Uh, no you’re not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Luke! Have you paid any attention at all to any horror movie ever made?”

Luke rolled his eyes as he headed for the door.

“No.”

Lorelai stood, shuffling past the coffee table trying not to drop any of the blankets and failing miserably. She trailed a train of blankets behind her as she tried to beat Luke to the door.

“Luke! Stop! We can’t answer the door if we don’t know who it is!”

“How the hell are we gonna know who it is if we don’t answer the door?” Luke demanded.

“Liv Tyler!” she cried.

Luke stopped and turned to her, a confused look on his face.

“Excuse me?”

Lorelai coughed and held up a finger to tell him to wait until she stopped. He did, but he glanced over his shoulder when the doorbell rang again.

“Lorelai.”

“Liv Tyler,” she repeated. “Liv Tyler got murdered horribly by those creepy mask people in The Strangers.”

“Oh my God,” he groaned. “What are you talking about?”

Lorelai smacked his arm.

“The Strangers! Liv Tyler and Scott Speedman go to this cabin and he’s in a tux, she’s in this beautiful dress, and he has everything all set up with candles and rose petals…”

Luke gave up and turned back toward the door. Lorelai got the rest out in a rush.

“And it’s super romantic and awkward because he asked her to marry him and she said no, but then somebody rings the doorbell and Scott Speedman answers and it’s this creepy girl and she’s all ‘Is Tamra home?’ but they don’t even know Tamra.”

“I’ve aged fifty years standing here. What is your point?” Luke barked.

“They got murdered, Luke! Like, really hardcore murdered. I am Liv Tyler in this scenario, and it’s worse for her because she didn’t even answer the door and she got murdered anyway.”

Luke paused to think about that.

“Wait a minute, if they both got horribly murdered, how is it worse for her than for him?”

Lorelai sighed, annoyed.

“Because she wasn’t the one who answered the door, inviting the murder into the house!”

With a huff, Luke opened the door.

Jess blinked back at him.

“Hey. Sorry, I thought you guys were up.”

“We are,” Luke said. “What’d you just get in? You get into the apartment okay?”

Jess frowned.

“You didn’t get my texts?”

“No,” Luke said. “What texts? What’s goin’ on?”

Lorelai came up behind Luke. Her nose was red and raw.

“Hey Jess,” she said. “Everything okay?”

“Here, come in,” Luke said.

He stepped aside. Jess took in the scene as he walked into the house.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

Luke shut the door.

“What? Oh. I dunno, some kind of bug.”

“The flu,” Lorelai insisted.

“It’s not the flu,” Luke argued.

“It feels like the flu!” she called.

She coughed as she headed back to the couch, flopping down with her mountain of blankets.

“We got flu shots. It’s not the flu,” Luke said.

“Actually, just because you get the shot that doesn’t mean you won’t get the flu,” Jess said.

Luke gave Jess a wide-eyed look.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispered.

Luke had been trying to convince Lorelai she didn’t have the flu, even though admittedly it did feel an awful lot like the flu.

“See? I told you!” Lorelai said.

“It’s not the flu!” Luke called.

He coughed and Jess backed up a step.

“Well, this explains Lori,” he muttered.

Luke frowned.

“Lori?”

“Yeah. Logan’s got her and she’s sick.”

“Oh no,” Lorelai said. “Oh, poor Lori.”

“Poor Logan,” Luke added.

“Oof. Yeah, that’s not gonna be pretty,” Lorelai agreed.

Jess shoved his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Yeah, he needs something for her fever. I guess he hasn’t completely moved into his place in Hartford yet. I figured I’d run him over some stuff.”

Luke and Lorelai looked at one another and Luke studied Jess.

“You’re gonna run a few things over to Logan,” he repeated.

Jess looked from him to Lorelai and shrugged.

“Yeah.”

Lorelai laughed.

“Oh, boy. If my granddaughter wasn’t sick and I wasn’t actively trying not to puke this would be a little funny.”

“Wait, why’d he call you?” Luke asked.

Jess sighed.

“He didn’t want to bother Rory ‘cause she’s working that thing in D.C., he didn’t want to freak you guys out, so he called me. Anymore questions? Can I loot your house for sick toddler supplies now?”

“Okay, but leave the liquor and the cash,” Lorelai said. “I got big plans for those.”

Logan’s right shoulder was killing him. Any time he put Lori down she started screaming. At least if he held her she seemed to stop now and then. Singing seemed to help, too, but he was running out of songs he knew all the words to.

“Alright, how ‘bout this one?” he said. “Dear Prudence, won’t you come out to play? Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day. The sun is up, the sky is blue. It’s beautiful and so are you. Dear Prudence, won’t you come out to play?”

He searched his brain for the words.

“Dear Prudence… Dear Prudence… Fuck, how’s the rest go?”

He cringed and looked down at his daughter, her face all red and puffy.

“Ooh. I probably shouldn’t say ‘fuck,’ huh? That’s probably a bad dad move.”

She scrunched up her little face, her lower lip trembling. Logan held her close to his chest and rocked her.

“Okay, no more Prudence.”

Logan’s apartment was in Hartford. Expectedly, the building was nice. Modern. It didn’t have the charm of the New York City apartment building Jess lived in that dated back to the 1800s.

Logan buzzed him in as soon as he rang. Jess hopped into the elevator carrying a grocery bag of supplies in one hand and a big stuffed bunny in the other.

When Jess knocked he heard Logan’s quick footsteps and Lori’s inconsolable crying. Logan opened the door with Lori in his arms. They both looked worse for wear. Logan gave a strained smile.

“Please tell me you’re here to rescue me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jess said.

He came into the apartment and shut the door.

“I just… I can’t get her to stop crying,” Logan said. “I mean, she has these, like, tiny moments where she stops for a second, but I think it’s just to get more air.”

“Yeah, when she’s sick she’s a totally different kid,” Jess said.

He set the bag and bunny down on the coffee table.

“Want me to take her for a minute?” Jess asked.

“Yeah, go for it,” Logan said.

Logan carefully handed Lori over and Jess held her against his chest.

“Hey, sweet baby girl,” he said. “What’s going on, pal?”

Lori buried her face in his neck and he touched her head and her back. She was sweating and warm. She sobbed and cried. Jess moved side to side to rock her a bit.

“Alright, you’re okay,” he said.

He turned to Logan.

“Go into that bag right there and get the thermometer please.”

Logan nodded and rifled through the bag. He came back with an ear thermometer. Jess took it.

“You turn this on, wait for it to start flashing, then you put this part in her ear, wait for it to beep.”

Logan nodded and watched as Jess took Lori’s temperature. When it beeped they both looked at the screen.

“Oof,” Logan said. “A hundred and two.”

Jess handed him the thermometer.

“Yup. Go back in the bag and get the Infant Tylenol and the little plastic syringe.”

Logan pulled out the box of Tylenol and read the back.

“So I just suck it into the syringe. Got it.”

Logan went into the kitchen to prepare the dose while Jess rocked Lori. She still fussed, but she’d stopped screaming. Logan came back with the syringe.

“You gotta show me how you got her to stop crying,” he said.

“I just rock her side to side like this. Almost like you’re swaying more than rocking. Puts her to sleep too.”

Logan handed Jess the syringe.

“I’m assuming there’s a technique to this.”

Jess smiled.

“Not really. Just hope she swallows it before she realizes it tastes like shit.”

Jess held up the syringe in demonstration and Logan watched as he repositioned Lori and put the plastic syringe between her lips. In a moment the liquid was gone.

“Look at that. What a trooper,” Jess said.

He shrugged, handing Logan back the syringe.

“That’s all there is to it.”

Logan nodded.

“That’s gonna take care of her fever?”

“It should,” Jess said. “Just wait and see. I also brought some other stuff and that bunny’s one of her favorite snuggle buddies.”

“Awesome. Thanks, man.”

Logan stretched his neck.

“Hey, do you mind if I hit the bathroom?” he asked.

“No. Do what you gotta do,” Jess said.

He sat down on the couch with Lori.

Rory took a break from typing to wipe her nose, which had been running pretty steadily for most of the day. She tried to focus on the piece she was writing. Her laptop screen seemed so bright. Her eyes stung.

Her phone dinged on the bed beside her and she picked it up to read the screen.

Mom: What does the flu feel like?

Rory frowned and typed out her reply.

Rory: Dare I ask?

Lorelai: Does it feel dizzy and sweaty and maybe slightly pukey?

Rory called her mother, who answered immediately.

“Hi. I might be dying.”

Luke yelled out in the background.

“You’re not dying! She’s not dying, Rory.”

Rory tried not to laugh.

“Well, now I’m all confused.”

Lorelai sighed.

“We’re sick, kid. Like, really sick. Room spinning, head throbbing, stomach churning. Luke’s bones are aching.”

“Ick.”

That didn’t bode well for Rory’s runny nose.

“Indeed. Huge ick,” Lorelai agreed. “And I need to apologize in advance for infecting Lori.”

“Lori? Oh, no!”

“You promised you wouldn’t say anything,” Luke called.

“I can’t not tell her, Luke!” Lorelai replied.

“Tell me what? What happened?” Rory asked.

“All I know is she’s sick. I’m expecting a full report soon.”

Rory stood from the bed, laptop forgotten.

“How sick?” she asked.

“I don’t know, honey.”

She broke away for a coughing fit and Rory had to hold the phone away from her ear.

“Mom?”

She heard Luke talking, but didn’t catch what he was saying.

“Hello? Mom? Luke? Axe murderer?”

“Hey, Rory,” Luke said. “Sorry. Your mom’s hacking up a lung because she dumped my tea in the sink.”

“What?”

“That tea was disgusting!” Lorelai called.

Another coughing fit commenced in the background.

“Is she okay?” Rory asked.

“Yeah. She’s getting a cough drop out of her purse.”

“Oh, God. That could take a while.”

“Oh, she dumped it all over the floor already.”

“Yikes.”

Rory looked out the window of her hotel room. There wasn’t much of a view. She was on one of the lower floors, so she could see a dumpster and a parking lot.

“So, what happened with Lori?” she asked.

“Well, Jess came by--”

“Jess?”

“Yeah, I guess Logan called him to ask for some help.”

Rory creased her brows, not sure she understood correctly.

“Logan called Jess?” she asked.

“I know, must’ve been desperate.”

“Why wouldn’t he call me?”

“I guess he didn’t want to worry anybody. Maybe he’s embarrassed. Kid’s used to being good at everything. But, being dad takes practice, you know?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“He’ll get it,” Luke said. “And Lori’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be a rough night, but she will get better and she will be fine.”

Rory smiled.

“Thanks, Luke. I’m gonna call Logan.”

“Oh, you can’t call Logan because your mom promised not to tell you.”

Rory rolled her eyes.

When Logan came out of the bathroom Jess was sitting on the couch holding Lori, patting her back with the TV on low. Logan looked at the screen.

“What’s this, Law and Order?” he asked.

“Doesn’t matter what you put on. She likes the TV. I think if it’s too quiet it freaks her out.”

“Right,” Logan said.

He studied the other man, who looked so natural sitting there holding Lori, so calm. Logan was a mess. He felt a pang of envy, but he also felt humbled.

“How do you do it, man?” Logan asked.

Jess looked up at him.

“You’re good with her,” Logan said. “Look at her, she’s feeling like crap but she looks so relaxed, ready to sleep.”

Jess shrugged.

“I’ve just had more practice,” he said.

He looked at Logan for a moment.

“I just know her routine, what she likes, what she doesn’t like. You just need more time with her.”

“Yeah, well, if I could clone myself that’d be no problem.”

Logan flopped down on the couch beside him and looked down at his daughter.

“That’s the thing,” Jess said. “It will be a problem.”

Logan frowned at him.

“Right now she doesn’t get it,” Jess said. “She’s little. All she knows is who’s around a lot and who’s not around a lot. So you have time to figure out who you want to be. You wanna be the guy his daughter wants at all her soccer games and birthdays? Great. Then be that guy. Or you’re gonna be the guy who works a lot and sends her expensive gifts she doesn’t want because you don’t know what she likes.”

Then Jess looked up, and Logan was ready to be mad at him. But the look on Jess’s face was sincere and warm, if a little hard.

“Don’t be the guy she can’t count on,” Jess said. “You don’t have to know what medicine to give her, or what her favorite stuffed animal is. You just have to be there.”

Logan nodded. Jess shifted to hold Lori out to him.

“You wanna take her?”

Logan was nervous to disturb the tranquility that had descended since Jess came in the door.

“She might start screaming.”

“She might,” Jess agreed.

Logan considered it and sighed.

“Alright, Lori. Cut your dad some slack. He’s kind of a dipshit.”

Jess handed her over and Logan cradled her like Jess had. She stirred and fussed, so he put her back on his shoulder. Jess stood.

“Keep an eye on the fever,” Jess said. “If it doesn’t come down in a few hours, call Rory. You might have to take Lori to the hospital, and Rory will be pissed if you don’t tell her.”

Logan nodded.

“Let’s hope we don’t have to go that route.”

Jess watched him for a few seconds.

“I’m gonna get going,” Jess said. “You got this.”

Logan smiled.

“Thanks, Jess. Seriously.”

Jess gave a nod and headed out the door. As he shut it he heard Logan singing to his daughter.

#gilmore girls #jess mariano #logan huntzberger #lorelai gilmore #luke danes #rory gilmore #fanfic #dingoffgg

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