#feel like im not expressing this Quite Well so i might rewrite it later

[volot]

mugged... as a traveling merchant in hisui, bandits are most definitely a common run-in, for sure. in a land where you have to scrounge to survive and earn your keep? fend for yourself if you've been cast out or don't belong to a settlement of some kind? reject the notions set and live on your own? of course they're going to go to those lengths, and of course the merchants who travel will be likely targets. volo says outright that he's had experience with the miss fortunes in the past, though how truthful it is in that moment ( ie, if they Did in fact swipe his wares earlier or if he's bullshitting ) -- and how likely it is he's just spilling an unrelated truth in the past or telling a white little lie to give reason to "help", considering he cares less about the wares and more for the fact that they swiped a piece of ancient celestica ruins -- is a little unclear, he knows of them and holds distaste for their actions.

( a tangent, but it's well-worth noting that the coat clover wears is a torn-up, raggedy version of the guild coat. makes you think. )

while he can understand the hardship there and why this is happening -- they've been essentially screwed over by the way this world turns and the climate of it all, are out of arceus's consideration, and are struggling to survive and have to resort to these kinds of extreme means -- that doesn't mean he likes dealing with them any. at least not like this. it's annoying, if nothing else: the possible attempts on his safety, the blockage of travel on the road, the occasional big fuss made by the ginkgo guild when they as a whole are hit, the headcanon i once wrote about marking them with those capsules they'd made... if he's honest, he'd slide them things under the table had they approached him a little more amicably about it all; but that isn't really an option given the circumstances, so he deals with it accordingly.

so, it's a little situational. he'll battle them ( i'm no ginkgo guild merchant if i take that lying down!, he says ) if the situation sees fit and he's on the defense -- and this is generally the case for most cases of him potentially being robbed, or having anyone try and stick their fingers into causing him any sort of trouble. being a merchant for 10+ years means you have to watch your back and fend off any trouble that comes. other times, if the situation is viable to bargain from and he can afford to, then he'll bargain so long as he's assured they won't heckle him further and no harm will come his way; throw up his hands and spin some lies to get his way and play nice, fold his cards because he really does not want to deal with this today, and throw them a bone just to get them out of his hair while playing his usual game of seeming harmless and being so unless provoked. it really depends on the factors of who's around, what angle he can play, and how he's being threatened.

the length of this also really depends on what they're swiping, with anything important to him being much, much more serious and he goes from annoyed to angry, whereas his wares... are a minor inconvenience, and just a conversation to get through with ginter and the guild later, but less of a problem for him out of going through the motions.

in the end, though? i think most of all, he pities them in that looking-down-and-pitying-someone way that he usually does. the life they lead is a pitiful one, scorned by this world, outcast -- so, despite his displeasure for these kinds of run-in's, he'll spare them scraps if he can. he knows hisui certainly won't, and arceus definitely won't, and if he has something they want that really means a whole lot of nothing to him aside from just inventory, he'll part with it if he can, whether a battle waged or not. throw in extra, even.

now, let's not worry about him trying to rob some 15 year old of some plates he essentially manipulated them into gathering for him. he's definitely just in doing so and absolutely righteous for it, right?

[matsumi101]

Who is this Kid?

Crossdressing Fem!Reader Hamilton Insert

Secret

Description:

General Washington has been relentlessly receiving letters one after another that has been requesting two same things over and over again. It’s high time he confronts the writer directly about it, and maybe clear something that he’s been hearing around while he’s at it.

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Warnings: swearing, drinking

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Notes:

> Masterlist

> Read from the beginning.

> “F/N” means fake name and “Y/N” means your real first name

> I don’t think I warned y’all before but I wasn’t really planning on writing chronologically. I’m not sorry lmao

> Surprise Wednesday update! I’ve been reading the rb tags and the replies you guys keep leaving in my story and honestly it makes my heart go 💞 aaa ily guys sm and im glad you’re enjoying the story 🥺🥺🥺

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Taglist (if u wanna be added do tell!)

@thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth  @cutie1365 @girlmadeofivory @i-honestly-dont-know-anymore  @takemyhand-bitch @hamiltrashqueer​

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“Hey, Juggernaut.”

You adjusted your coat before pulling your tent open. “Yo,” you greeted quietly to the soldier waiting in front of your tent. “General Washington calls for you,” he informed you. You nodded and ducked out of your tent, not wanting to wait another second to know what your superior wanted to talk about. You walked at a brisk pace, never stopping until you were now in front of the tent that was noticeably larger than the rest.

You swallowed thickly, millions of possibilities running in your head to as why you were called. A big part of you hoped that it was with regards to your plans, though there was a smaller bit of you that feared that it might be of something else. Not wanting to keep yourself on edge any further, you pushed the tent open and let yourself in.

"Your excellency, sir. You asked to see me?"

You readily saluted at the presence of not only George Washington but the aide-de-camps and officers that were with him as well. They circled a table, where a map and a few mock pieces were laid out for them to view and move around. While John and Lafayette's eyes twinkled with recognition, the others simply stared at your arrival. "Private F/N L/N?" George assumed. He motioned you to be at ease, which you silently obeyed.

"Yes, sir," you confirmed with a steady voice.

George quickly dismissed the rest of the people out of the tent, the only ones remaining were you, him, and Alexander who was busy writing something at his desk at the corner. “I’ve been reading your letters,” George began, moving to get something from his main desk. You immediately tensed as he pulled out a small stack of envelopes underneath. You kept your lips sealed, waiting for the General’s input on your requests.

“You’ve been asking to have the same thing approved for years now,” he began, “and recently, you’re asking for a rather unique position in your unit, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

From the corner of your eyes you could see Alexander perk up slightly at the conversation. He subtly glanced up from his work, his eyes falling on George as the general picked up an open letter that had been lying on his desk. “Let’s talk about the first one,” George announced. “I’ve noticed there was a slight change with your offer.” You licked the bottom of your lips out of nervousness, fiddling with your hands behind you.

“Unfortunately, even I can’t agree to it.”

“If I may sir, why not?”

George looked up from the letter to you. “Women cannot be paid to study, son,” he explained plainly. You tilted your head the slightest, confusion from his statement evident. “Sir, I do not seek for women to be paid to be taught basic medicinal procedures,” you murmured, and that was enough for George to mirror your expression.

“That doesn’t seem to be the message I’m getting from your letter, L/N.”

You opened your mouth to counter, but when a vague memory hit you like a punch in the gut, you couldn’t help but to smack your forehead in realization. “Shit, I am so sorry,” you apologized, the annoyance woven in your voice directed to yourself more than anything. George furrowed his brows at your sudden drop of formality, noticing how you were cursing under your breath as you returned to position.

“I must’ve sent you my draft letter instead of the actual one. The pay that I mentioned in the letter refers to the pay of the nurses, not the education that I wish to be provided to them.”

Your face turned to more of an embarrassed one. “I... might’ve written this late at night so my thoughts merged while I was writing,” you confessed, looking down at the ground. “I apologize for causing a misunderstanding. Writing... has never really been my best suit.” You could feel the back of your neck heat up with embarrassment, and the blood was slowly creeping its way to your cheeks the more you dwelled on your mistake. George huffed, and you could’ve sworn there was laughter that came along with it.

“We have our own weaknesses, son,” he said. “Rewrite your statement, then I’ll have it sent to the Congress for approval. Hamilton.”

“Yes, sir?”

The called man straightened from his seat almost instantaneously. “If you’re not too busy, you can help Private L/N draft his proposal to the Congress tonight?” he requested. You looked at Alexander almost the same time he looked at you. “I take it you approve of his plans, sir?” he asked George, though it came off more of a statement than a question.

“Yes. If our nurses are given the same pay as our male doctors, or at the very least raise it, then there wouldn’t be any need for our officers to resort to... violent methods of recruiting them.”

Your jaw visibly clenched at the last few words, and George wasn’t dense to not notice it. “If we treat our camp followers properly, as we should’ve been since square one, then they wouldn’t be working out of spite or fear,” you pointed out through gritted teeth, “and by teaching them the required medical procedures to treating our wounded, then there would be more hands on our medical team without really hiring more hands.” Alexander nearly beamed at your words and hurriedly wrote something down on a spare piece of paper.

“That’s an excellent point F/N, I’ll make sure to include that in your proposal,” he announced eagerly.

You stared at Alexander with surprise while George chuckled in amusement. “Now, since we’ve cleared all misunderstandings for your first request, I take it we’re good to move on to the next one?” his voice wasn’t as light as when he brought up your first request. “Ready as I’ll ever be, sir,” you replied. George nodded, pulling a different letter.

“Private L/N, I’m sure you already know the contents of your own letters, so I will say right now that I just can’t approve you to a... what is this term you used?”

“Field medic, sir.”

“Right.”

“Field medic?”

Alexander wasn’t really supposed to be a part of the next conversation, but he couldn’t help but inquire about the strange new term he just heard. “Basically a doctor soldier tasked specifically to treat wounded men while on field and pull them out of there,” George explained, and you nodded. Alexander’s face contorted, and you sighed internally as it was the response you already expected to get from someone hearing your concept for the first time.

“I... I don’t get it,” Alexander murmured. “We can bring our men to the backlines just fine during combat, I don’t see the point of having a person to specialize in that.”

You were just about ready to explain, but then George put up his hand to stop you. “I can hand you Private L/N’s letters of proposal for later, son,” George reasoned. Alexander’s face fell, and the man buried his face back to his work. “With all due respect sir, I feel like I am fully capable of putting this concept into action. My endurance is beyond average to run around the field and carry our wounded, all I need left is some proper first-aid training.”

“And we need your endurance in the frontlines!” George retorted. “Juggernaut, you’re our best foot soldier, I cannot afford to send you to the medics.”

You nearly physically recoiled at the use of your nickname. You wore the title “Juggernaut” with pride ever since, and George knew. Your tendency to almost never use your gunpowder and instead resort to close combat was what earned you the nickname, and your commanders made sure to utilize you best for that. Simply put, your fearlessness to be up close with the redcoats was something praised by your fellow soldiers and feared by the enemy.

“Sir,” your voice dropped low. “Many men die bleeding out in the field when they could’ve lived if only someone had been there to pull them out, but the second they’re crippled they are not our standing soldiers’ priority. Moreover, many more die in the tents simply for having infected wounds that could’ve been survivable had someone treated it long before. These men have hopes of coming home to see the end of this war and what follows as much as any of us, even while they lay in their own pool of blood as the rest of the fight ensues around them. Sir, they have lives they want to go back to, too, just like us.”

When you were done talking, the air within the tent was heavy. Was it out of realization or just the sheer weight of your words, no one was quite sure, but the tension was so thick no blade could cut through it. “I can see you are as adamant in saving lives as you are taking them,” George mused, finally breaking the suffocating silence that wrapped around the three of you. He glanced down at your letter, hesitancy clear as day. Between the two of you, it was the sixth one you sent for your proposed role. For every letter of declination he gave you, you rebutted with a new letter no more than two to three days later countering his reasonings. For someone who isn’t the best at writing, you do write a lot, he thought.

“Let my hands be stained saving the blood of my allies than spilling the blood of my enemies,” you responded, quoting your own letter.

George huffed, setting down the letter. “I will... think this through for the meantime,” he announced. You resisted your mouth that nearly quirked upwards at his words; consideration was a good enough sign for you. “Thank you sir,” you breathed. George eyed you carefully, thinking if there was anything else needed to be said to you. “I suppose that will be all for now,” he decided tentatively. He dismissed you, and just after you thanked him for his time and turned around was then he remembered.

“Hold on, Private. I feel like there’s one more thing needed to be discussed.”

You looked over your shoulder, almost fearfully, as you moved away from the tent’s exit. George leaned back, crossing his arms as he looked at you with a nearly blank stare. “I feel like we should address the secret circulating around you,” he pointed out. Your jaw dropped to the floor, a chill striking you from the feet up. A hand flew over your arm as goosebumps riddled your limbs, and you feared the worst.

“What secret, sir?” you asked, your voice nearly returning to normal with panic.

“Juggernaut, I don’t think we need to beat around the bush over this. Other soldiers have seen it, too, and you need to come clean with it.”

Other soldiers? The thought was everything but comforting. You always thought you had been discreet with your identity, but apparently you weren’t based on the General’s accusations. However, you kept your mind straight enough to keep droning on. Maybe it was just a mistake, maybe it was just a false rumor that was meant to drag you in the dirt. Yeah, maybe that’s it. You desperately wished that was it.

“It must be a mistake, sir. Whatever this secret may be must be just a measly rumor to throw me off,” you tried to reason out.

“Would it be considered a rumor if we have a witness?”

Your stomach dropped. So there are people who saw? That was definitely not right. You were always sure to have your corset on, only taking it off inside the tent, and whenever you bathe you made sure you were either alone or the last one out and never surfacing from the water. George glanced over to Alexander expectantly, and for the first time the secretary seemed to not want to partake in the conversation.

“Hamilton here has your verbatim.”

You could feel your palms turn sweatier as the seconds passed. You steadied your breathing, trying to calm yourself and stay reasonable. Alexander stared at George incredulously, as if he was the one who’d been ratted out by their superior. He looked over to you, and despite your seemingly calm stature there was nervousness in your eyes that spoke otherwise. Not wanting to lie, Alexander nodded almost apologetically to confirm. You felt your shoulders sag. Had you been too lax when you discussed about pretending with other disguised women? Or had you been too loud when you were rambling to yourself in your own tent? You feared what was next to follow, but if there was someone who bore evidence of your secret, then it was better for you to speak the truth.

“I apologize for deceiving you, sir,” you conceded, dropping your head. “I am more than willing to accept the punishment for my actions.”

“Funny, I figured you’d know enough the consequences of having more liquor than the daily rations you’re given.”

“Wh... what...?”

You tried to wrap your head around the new information. Liquor... daily rations... was that what General George Washington accusing you of this whole time? “Or is the excess whiskey your secret to your fearlessness after all?” George mused teasingly, and you shot up straight when it finally registered to you. “No sir, that would be my low sense of self-preservation,” you answered hurriedly, jokingly. Thankfully for you, George chuckled at your banter.

“Well, don’t think of dying too early, young man,” George advised lightheartedly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

The tight feeling that was mentally suffocating you the whole time released your entire being. “Though, if it’s any assurance, my stash of vodka hasn’t really been consumed,” you informed. “If anything, I think the only time I made use of it was when I disinfected someone’s wound.” George sat up straight, a curious look flashing in his eyes.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who’d you heal?”

You paused, wondering if you should really say. “It was Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens.” You glanced up, noticing the inquisitive look both George and Alexander held. “If it’s any compensation for my troubles, I can offer some of my personal beverage. Surely, you’d like a shot,” you then offered, swiftly dodging the questions that might’ve followed your prior statement.

“And how will I know this is not a ploy to try on my good side, son?”

“Was I on your bad side this whole time, sir?”

“With the direction your letters were going, you might be at the tipping point of being so with the Congress.”

You laughed uneasily. “Rest assured sir, my offer is all in good faith.” George uncovered the mug that rested on the edge of his table, and you took that as the sign to approach. You pulled out your flask, which had been refilled from the much larger bottle that you were hiding in your tent (you wondered if someone that visited your tent before saw the bottle which led to the accusations), and poured a hefty amount into the mug, much to George’s pleasure. You waved to Alexander with the flask. “Do you want some too, Hamilton?” you asked him. Alexander stared at your flask, then to George, and then to his papers.

“Come on, son. It’s not everyday we have a little extra liquor,” George insisted, a welcoming smile on his face.

Alexander didn’t hesitate to come over to the table the second he got George’s approval. He brought his own cup, and you readily poured him almost the same amount as George. “Thanks, I needed this,” he sighed gratefully, the strong scent already wafting through his nose. The three of you shared a toast, and you took a nice, long swig from your flask. A satisfied growl emitted from each of you, the burning sensation running down your throat.

“Well sir, I should head out now,” you said quietly.

George nodded, and finally dismissed you. “Call the others back on your way out,” he ordered, and you gave a verbal confirmation before pushing one of the tent flaps open. You peered outside and saw that Lafayette and John were talking nearby. You headed to them, waving a hand to catch their attention.

“F/N! The General didn’t chew you out too much, I hope?” John teased.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, I got out alive,” you joked. “The General requests you guys and the other officials to return, by the way.” John chuckled, patting your shoulder as he passed by. Lafayette ruffled your hair before he and John headed out to look for the other officials that dispersed in the camp. You sighed and walked back to your tent, the clashing sensation of relief and anxiousness washing over you.

Your secret was safe... for now.

[kendrixtermina]

Further reactions to "The book of lost tales":

I appreciate that Idril canonically wears armor and does swordfighting.

I feel like I can actually imagine adult!Idril much better now like in armor and with open hair, distraught but ready to fight while babby Earendil does not yet realize the danger...

My first thought is that Earendil was probably cute in that baby chainmail. My second thought is OUCH, Idril and Tuor always made sure their growing baby had fitting chainmail cause they felt the apocalypse might get them at any moment. Imagine that, imagine them having the baby armor fitted every year or so :(

Its fun how much of the basic structure already exists but most of what you'd consider the main characters doesn't exist or is scattered across various minor roles The only Prince anywhere in sight is Turgon - Except for Team Doriath, theyre all accounted for. I suppose Maeglin is kinda there in name only with vaguely the same role & motivation, but looks personality and background all did a 180 since. Luthien is still pretty much "princesd classic" at this point, not quite the fearless go-getter from the final version - markedly this version tells Beren that she doesnt want to wander in the wilderness with him whereas the final one says she doesnt care and its Beren still wants to get the shiny so as not to ask this of her and also for his honor.

I mean in the finished version Id consider the 3rd and 4th gen royals to be the main characters (well, alobgside Team Doriath and the varioud human heroes) and theyre hardly here. Imagine the silm with no Finrod!

Feanor had no affiliation with the royal family whatsoever, and is also generally less super. He's just the guy who won the jewelsmithing competition, not the inventor of the whole discipline. Still seems to have been envisionad as a respected member of the community who gets called to the palace for crisis meetings and is listened to when he stsrts giving speeches. From the first he already has the backstory of going off the deep end (or at least growing disillusioned with Valinor) after a family member is killed by Melkor and theyre still the first to die, but its just some other rando unrelated to the royals

The situation regarding the humans is different - instead of Melkor leaking their existence, its Manwe who explains that the other continents were supposed to be for them eventually. So Feanor goes off on a tirade about weak puny mortals comes off as a more of a jerk unlike in the final version where Melkor barely knew about the humans and described them to the Noldor as a threat. On the other hand in this one, also very much unlike in the finished product, Melkor dupes even Manwe into being unfair to the elves as a whole. In this the final version is a definite improvement, both Feanor and the Valar come off as a lot more sympathetic and though still deceived he's partially right in some things at least, so you have more of a genuine tragedy rather than a simple feud

There is something to the idea of Commoner!Feanor tho. I guess some of this survived in his nomadic explorer lifestyle and how both his wife and mother (who arent mentioned here) eventually were the ones to get that background of being not especially pretty ladies who are not from the nobility but got renown, respect and acclaim for their unique talent and contribution to society, with each having invented things and Nerdanel also being renowed for her wisdom. Hes sort of an odysseus-like Figure in that sense. I suppose later developements necesitated that Maedhros & co. have an army not just a band of thieves, which means they needed to be nobles/lords. That said this being a society where artisans are very respected and half the lords have scholarly/artistic pursuits going, the gap was probably not as big to begin with as it might have been in say, medieval England. Esoecially since Nerdanel's father had been given special honor by one of the local deities and that the social order might have been a very recent thing in Miriel's time. One might speculate that the first generation of Lords started out as warriors during the great journey, or perhaps just Finwe's friend group.

Also found that bit intetesting where the Valar have to deal with the remaining political tensions and effects of Melkor's lies on the remaining population in Valinor... - i guess with the change of framing device it was less likely for news of something like this to reach Beleriand. That, or the existence of Finarfin and his repentance made this go smoother this over in later cannon

Turgon's go-down-with-the-ship moment reaaly got to me. Im half tempted to write a fic where his wife, siblings and dad glomp him on arrival in Mandos. I dont care that none of them exists yet in this continuity i want Turgon to get hugs

I love all the additional Detail that got compressed out in the shift from fairytale-ish to pseudohistoric style especially all the various Valinor magic insofofar as it is compatible with the final version - particularly love the idea of the connection between the lamps and the trees that is now integrated into my headcanon forever

Its actually explained what the doors of night are

If I had not already read unfinished tales or volumes X to XII where this is also apparent, this is where I would say: Ah so the Valar were supposed to be flawed characters. Manwe has an actual arc; by the time he sends Gandalf he finally "got" it. I think in the published silm the little arcs of Ulmo and Manwe are mostly just lost in compression/ less apparent when only some of the relevant scenes got in but not all

It occurred to me way too late that the "BG" chars are the most consistent because theyre at the start and most stories are written from beginning to end. Finwe doesnt get a dedicated paragraph of explicit description until HoME X but my takeaway was that he's described pretty much like I always imagined him anyways/ same vibe I always got from him... charismatic, thoughtful, enthusiastic, sanguine temperament, brave in a pinch but at times lets his judgement be clouded by personal sentiment (though that last bit is more apparent/salient as a character flaw once he became the father of a certain Problem Child) ...i guess this would be a result of jrrt having had a consistent idea of him in his head for a long time.

This means Finwe's still alive at the time of the exodus which is just fun to see/interesting to know... Interestingly he sort of gets what later would be Finarfin's part of ineffectually telling everxone to please chill and think it over first while Feanor simply shouts louder (which is consistent with his actions before the sword incident in later canon where he initially spoke out against the suspiciozs regarding the Valar) - but its not exactly the same, he's more active than Finarfin later in that when "chillax" availed nothing he said that then at least they should talk with the other Kings and Manwe to leave with their blessing and get help leaving (This seems like it would have been the clusterfuck preventing million dollar suggestion in the universe where Feanor is related to him and values him) but when even that falls on death ears he decides that he "would not be parted from his people" and went to run the preparations. I find it interesting that the motivation is sentiment/attachment (even phrased as "he would not be parted from [his people]" same words/ expression as is later used for the formenos situation), not explicitly obligation as it later is for Fingolfin (who had promised to follow Feanor and didnt want to leave his subjects at the mercy of Feanor's recklessness )

Speaking of problem children. It seems the sons of Feanor were the Kaworu Nagisa of the Silmarillion in that originally all they do is show up at some point and kill Dior as an episodic villain-of-the-week. And then, it seems their role got bigger in each continuity/rewrite... probably has something to do with the Silmarils ending up in the title later making it in the sense their story that ends and begins with them. They have zero characterization beyond "fierce and wild" at this point, though in what teetsy bits there is we already have the idea that Maedhros is the leader and Curufin is the smart one/shemer/sweet-talker, though not the bit where Maedhros (or Maglor, or anyone really) is "the nice one". Which I guess explains why "Maglor" sounds like such a stereotypical villain name.

"The Ruin of Doriath" was purportedly the patchworkiest bit of the finished product, but I never noticed and it actually left quite an impression of me upon first reading, the visual of Melian sitting there with Thingol's corpse in her arms contemplating everything thinking back to how they met... she had the knowledge to warn him not to doom himself but couldnt get him to understand it because he doesnt see the world as she does.... After reading this though I wish there was a 'dynamic' rendition that combined all the best bits like, youd have to adapt it to the later canon's rendition of the dwarves, have Nargothrond exist etc. But i mean that just makes Finrod another dead/doomed relative of Thingol's whom bling cannot truly replace, like Luthien and Turin. In the Silmarillion you could easily read it as just an "honoured guest treatment" but here and in unfinished tales I get the impression that Thingol actually did see Turin as a son.

Already you see the idea of trying to make the stories all interconnected but there is less than there will be (the human heroes aren't related yet and there is basically no Nargothrond, which is later a common thread for many of the stories - a prototype shows up in the 'Tale of Turambar' tho complete with half baked prototypes of Orodreth and Finduillas

O boi im not even through yet

[bbclesmis]

Andrew Davies on Les Miserables: ‘I’m rescuing it from that awful musical’

Give Andrew Davies a piece of classic literature and he will show you the erotic desires and deep-rooted anxieties that lurk beneath. Think of the passions he unleashed in the nation’s living rooms when he sent Mr Darcy for a dip in his full-blooded 1995 adaptation of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, or the consternation he provoked when he inserted a spot of incest into War and Peace in 2016.

Yet even to Davies, a new adaptation of Les Misérables – which he claims “will rescue Victor Hugo’s novel from the clutches of that awful musical with its doggerel lyrics” – posed a challenge. Perhaps the biggest question was how to represent the sexuality of its two principal characters: Jean Valjean, the prisoner who breaks his parole (played by Dominic West); and his nemesis, Javert (David Oyelowo) the policeman who hounds him until the end of his days.

Over tea in central London, Davies tells me that he was surprised to discover that, in Hugo’s 1862 novel, neither character mentions any sort of sexual experience, leaving the 82-year-old screenwriter wondering, at least in the case of Javert, whether it was indicative of a latent homosexuality.

“His obsession with Jean Valjean represents a kind of perverse, erotic love,” Davies says. He doesn’t stop there. In capturing the febrile atmosphere of post-Napoleonic France, he also shows how the innkeeper’s daughter Eponine (Erin Kellyman) expresses her desire for the earnest student Marius (Josh O’Connor).

“One of the best things Hugo does is to have Eponine tease Marius with her sexiness because he is a bit of a prig,” says Davies. “So I have introduced a scene where Marius, even though he is in love with Cosette [Valjean’s adopted daughter], has a wet dream about Eponine and feels rather guilty about it. I think it fits into the psychology of the book.”

Another problem that needed solving was Cosette, “a pretty nauseating character in the book”, whom Davies has made “strong and optimistic, rather than just an idealised figure who doesn’t add anything at all.” In the past, he has spoken about how he has turned the more saccharine depictions of 19th-century womanhood he has found on the page into women with the power “to disconcert men”, by injecting into them a little of his own mother’s character. I ask if she also makes her presence felt in Les Misérables. “I don’t think so. Was she like Madame Thénardier?” he wonders, referring to the sometimes violent innkeeper’s wife, here played by Olivia Colman. “No, that would be awful. Although she was quite keen on smacking people. The women in this book are not terribly complicated.”

I suggest that this might not sit well with modern viewers. “Well, I suppose Fantine goes on one hell of a journey,” says Davies, effecting a cod-American accent. “She develops a sort of animal ferocity and that is all because of how she has been treated.”

Davies’ childhood sounds rosy by comparison. No sooner had he started at his Cardiff grammar than he wrote a naughty poem about two of the modern language teachers, which went around the whole school in samizdat. He recites it for me:

He kissed her, she kissed him      

back.  

He took her knickers off and put    

them in a sack.

She took his underpants and put    

them in her bag.

He said: “Excusez-moi, but may I    

have a shag?”

After that, his writing career settled into a slow burn. He studied English at University College London, then moved to Kenilworth, where he met his future wife, Diana Huntley (they have been married since 1960 and have two children) and began teaching literature at the Coventry College of Further Education. He wrote the odd TV play and a whole host of radio scripts – sadly, now all deleted. One 1972 play about wife swapping, Steph and the Single Life, received complaints from those who denounced it as “obscene, disgusting rubbish”.

More solid success came to Davies in the Eighties, most notably with his greatest original work, A Very Peculiar Practice, based on his experiences at Warwick. Heavy on existential gloom, it concluded with the campus being sold to a private American company, which turned it into a defence research base. Never has a series ended to quite such a peal of mirthless laughter and its extraordinary scheduling (9pm on BBC One) was, thinks Davies, a mistake.

At that point, it was hard to imagine that Davies would, a few years later, be the person to turn costume drama into sportive heritage TV. His Middlemarch came first, in 1994, and was followed 18 months later by Pride and Prejudice, one of the most popular TV series of all time. I wonder how he feels about Nina Raine’s forthcoming small-screen adaptation.

“I am very excited about it,” he says. Then he adds, “even though I wish her all the best, I hope it’s not as popular as my one. It gives me so much pleasure when people say, ‘I was feeling rotten and so I just went to bed and put on Pride and Prejudice’. People use it to get over bereavements – I’m better than a priest!”

This is not arrogance. Davies may be sharp, naughty and ironic, but he is embarrassed by anyone who makes a fuss over him. He worries that this month’s documentary about his work, Rewriting the Classics, is “a bit effusive”, and he seems too pragmatic to be affected by writerly insecurity. Is he sensitive?

“I am much less sensitive than I used to be. I remember being cast down when I had a play that went to Broadway,” he says, referring to 1980’s Rose, which starred Glenda Jackson as a schoolteacher and closed after only 68 performances. “Column after column was spent saying how terrible it was. I couldn’t eat solid food for a week.”

He had a similarly bruising experience with the film industry. A decade ago, Davies admitted that he was disappointed that his movie career had not been more buoyant (Bridget Jones’s Diary was a rare success). Talking to me now, however, he is more sanguine.

“And that’s because the writer is king in TV. In film, all the stories that people say, that they pay you a lot of money and treat you like s---, are true in my experience. I have been sacked from several movies without being told. You meet someone at a party and you say you are working on a picture and they’ll laugh and say, ‘No, you’re not.’ It’s not terribly nice.”

Two more Davies adaptations will be shown next year – of Austen’s fragment, Sanditon, and of Vikram Seth’s epic A Suitable Boy. He would love to adapt more 19th-century classics (Dickens’s Dombey and Son and Trollope’s The Barchester Chronicles are top of his list) but before that, we can look forward to his version of the Rabbit Angstrom novels by John Updike, an author whose perceived misogyny might not seem an obvious fit in today’s cultural climate.

“There are a lot of grim things said about Updike at the moment, but he is a wonderful observer of how we all behave,” says Davies. “I don’t think writers are there to be role models, they are there to say what the world is like from their point of view.”

If the number of irons he has  in the fire makes it sound as though Davies is spreading himself too thinly, he displays an air of toughness despite his advancing years and a recent double hip replacement. “I don’t feel old. I had my one-year check-up yesterday and my surgeon pronounced that he was pleased with his work. My hips are good for another 10 years.”

As well as his prolific adapting, I wonder whether Davies has the desire to tell the story of his own life. “I really ought to,” he says. “I would like to start with my parents’ lives, in the early days of their marriage, because something went wrong there.” I ask why and Davies lowers his voice almost to a whisper.  “I think it’s probably something to do with sex.”

Ben Lawrence, The Telegraph, 22 December 2018 (x)

[hillelf]

novel prep: the hostess

not gonna lie, i wasnt tagged in this! but i really like the idea and i thought it would be helpful to me, so i did it anyway.

FIRST LOOK!

1.) Describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator plot)

Four teenagers learn that they have chosen by Fate for a great cause. However, there are people who would do anything to stop them from carrying out their mission.

2.) How long do you plan your novel to be? (is it a novella, single book, book series, etc.)

as of now, i plan on it being one book with four parts!

3.) What is your novel’s aesthetic?

nature, religious imagery, warm colors vs cold colors

4.) What other stories inspire your novel?

ohh thats a good question! a lot of my favorite stories have major differences

5.) Share 3+ images that give a feel for your novel

tbh thats really hard for me! i have a specific aesthetic in mind but i cant think of any specific pics that fit. i think im gonna start tagging stuff with just #aesthetic: the hostess for general things but i do have pics in the tags for the characters!

MAIN CHARACTER(S)!

6.) Who is the main character?

there are four! quinn marton, emerald maryland, cain ornigana, and aerial whitton. each of them get sections of the story that focus on them individually.

7.) Who is their closest ally?

each other and the goddesses ethys and elpys! cain’s moms, too

8.) Who is their enemy?

the goddess adah and her followers

9.) What do they want more than anything?

to enjoy what’s left of their youth!

10.) Why can’t they have it?

they were called to greater things — and there’s an entire society out to kill them.

11.) What do they wrongly believe about themselves?

quinn thinks that she must be the one there to support others, and that she must not ask for help in return. emerald thinks she always has to be strong in order to protect her loved ones. cain thinks they are worthless and unlovable, and aerial thinks everything is her fault.

12.) Draw your protagonist! (or share a description)

i actually draw my protags a lot but am not comfortable with my art to share it yet! so i will describe them.

quinn is black, and has dark brown skin and coily brown hair. she has dark eyes and freckles as well. her aesthetic consists of pale blues, and often wears cute skirts or sundresses. she is short, but often wears heals.

emerald is pale (compared to the rest of them at least) and has long brown hair. she has blue eyes. her aesthetic is lowkey punk — dark jeans, leather or demin jackets, and black lipstick. she is also short, but does not wear heals.

cain is tan and has dark hair and eyes. their aesthetic is dark colors, golds, and earth tones. they have a fun and cute sense of fashion when they feel comfortable enough to express themself. they are very tall.

aerial is black as well as a native islander. her hair is long and braided, and has streaks of purple. she also has dark brown skin, freckles, and dark eyes. she likes to wear skirts, and a lot of purples and white. she is heavy-weight and proud of it; she is average height and the tallest of the girls.

PLOT POINTS!

13.) What is the internal conflict?

feelings of self hatred and self doubt; fear of death; trust issues

14.) What is the external conflict?

people are trying to kill the protags and later wipe out the whole human race except for themselves!

15.) What is the worst thing that can happen to a protagonist?

listen. two of them get shot. one dies and the other is forced to watch while in absolute agony and bleeding out. they all blame themselves for the terrible things that happen. one of them might (almost) get cryogenically frozen? and thats no where near everything. so idk!

16.) What secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story?

why the children of adah want the hostess!

17.) Do you know how it ends?

vaguely? there is a happy ending.

18.) What is the theme?

found family, good vs evil, the inevitability of death, love is always the answer

19.) What is a reoccurring symbol?

marble statues / religious imagery, mountains, azure-naped jays (a type of corvid!), nature

20.) where is the story set?

in a world almost parallel to our own! its as close to modern day as you can get in a world where society has been set back quite a few years due to tragedy. it takes place in a country called eliad, which in a similar geographical place as brazil!

21.) Do you have any images or scenes in your mind already?

GOD, YEAH! way too many. i am very imaginative and i daydream a lot.

22.) What excited you about this story?

the messages im using it to share! and i want ppl to know and love my kids

23.) Tell us about your usual writing method?

LOL what writing method? jokes aside, i mostly daydream, try to write what i daydreamed about, hate how i write it because it doesn’t live up to the original idea / daydream, give up for a little bit, then slowly add to / rewrite it later. its a very slow process!

im not going to tag anyone to do the game since i just did it for fun and not cuz i was tagged! however, i am going to tag my taglist for the hostess so you guys can see all the information. if u want to do it, feel free to say i tagged u!

the hostess taglist: @bbabyapollo @siarven @joysdrop @whimsicallytwisted @pheita @silver-wields-a-pen @lr-sloane

[mysticmikalla]

If it's not too much of a problem, could I request a small fic for Saeran? For example him leaving the Mc without saying anything because he still feels insecure about himself and coming back a few years later to make things up only to find out he has a child? I'm sorry for this roller coaster I just want some angst...

You want angst? You got angst!

Ps, this “small” fic ended up getting quite long bc I got a bit carried away lolol

Pss, shoutout to my girl dahlia for helping me overcome my writer’s block and giving me tons of inspo♥️

Psss; this is the first piece i publish that im nervous about so pls bare with me as i edit and rewrite this over and over lol

***

The mind of Saeran Choi was a hectic place.

Thousand of paradoxical thoughts and fears circled in his head, clashing and colliding into each other, taking form of his worst nightmares or most desired daydreams. It was a never-ending battle for dominance over the boy’s emotions between hope and despair. He’d take several pills for his intense headaches just so he could rest, and he took them much so that it became routine.

His world had always been dark and fuzzy, people taking form of shapes and noises instead of individuals, making it hard to care for someone, or allow them to care for him. He had shut himself in a world of darkness, despair always winning.

Ah, but then there was you. You were an amber in his ashen world, the moon peaking through clouds on a dense night. You came into his life so unexpectedly, and, in the shortest amount of time, because his most precious. You were his one and only treasure in life, the one who could make him feel normal. Who could make him feel human, rather than two opposite sides fighting for dominance.

You alone were able to silence most of the noise in his head. Most.

Despite popular belief and what you read in romance novels and fairy tales, love couldn’t cure all. It couldn’t magically make all of his life-long scars disappear, no matter how much he wished it.

Which is why he left, why he felt like he needed to leave with nothing but a light kiss on your forehead as you slept a note where he scribbled a quick ‘I’m sorry’.

With only a small bag of his belonging and a heart full of hurt, Saeran Choi disappeared from your life.

Your breath was knocked out of your body as the realization that he left, that he left you all alone and wouldn’t come back. Your body shook with broken sobs, your mind raced and hurt with unanswered questions, and your heart broke with what you thought was unrequited love

A tear-stained face became your norm for weeks, the cold space in bed beside you and the loneliness the absence of the love of your life becoming too much for you to bear.

After a few weeks, you started feeling sick in the morning and your cycle was unusually late, the ground of your stability started shaking, and when the little plus sign on the pregnancy test confirmed your fears, it sunk all together.

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t do this alone. You could barely manage to pull yourself together after Saeran left, how were you supposed to take care of a child?

You begged his twin brother to locate him and bring him home, to at least find out if he was okay. You were a mess, thoughts running wild with worst case scenarios of Saeran being hurt, of you never being able to find him again.

Saeyoung was reluctant  at first, knowing that his brother must have had a good reason for leaving you, the one he loved the most, behind.

But after you told him about the baby, the red-headed hacker felt like he had no choice but to tell his brother about him. He could see the deep circles underneath your eyes and how your skin was paler than usual, and he felt as if owed it to you , in behalf of his brother, to help.

It was an old feud, hacker versus hacker, in which Saeran always won. He hid his traces and whereabouts so well, it was as if he never existed. In your insomniac nights filled with delirium, you wondered if he ever did exist in the first place.

Weeks became months, and months became years without him by your side. You desperately tried to recall what his voice sounded like, what his touch felt like against your skin. The galloping of your heart whenever you kissed him was now nothing but a distant memory, a foreign feeling. The only reason you still remembered his face was because of his twin brother who was there to keep you grounded.

Thoughts of him, which before occupied your mind every second of the day, became more scarce as the years went by, until they were a rarity. Your daily life went on, and you couldn’t waste time wondering about your former lover, not when taking care of your child came first.

With Saeyoung and the rest of the RFA supporting you, for the first time in a while you felt as if you weren’t alone.

***

Saeran’s heart pounded against his chest, so aggressively he though he’d might pass out before he reached for the doorknob of your previously shared home. How long had it been? He couldn’t recall at the moment. If felt like only seconds since he had last been here, but the agonizing longing in his chest made it seem like a millennia all at once.

He debated on whether to just open the door and walk right in like nothing had happened, or to ring the door bell and wait outside like a stranger would.

He settled for the latter, hearing the all too familiar bell echo throughout the house. When he heard footsteps coming closer, he felt as if he would collapse. He had dreamed about this moment for the past three years, and now that it finally arrived, he wondered whether or not he could handle to mixture of excitement and nervousness in his chest.

“Coming!” Nothing had ever sounded so melodic as that one word he heard your voice say through the closed door. The longing on his chest was suddenly so unbearable, he had to hold on to the door frame for support.

The door swung open, and his heart stopped.

There you stood. You were already in your pajamas, getting ready for the night. He noted your hair was different, and you looked thinner than you had before. He wanted to embrace you as soon as he saw you before him, but he restrained himself.

How would you react, he worried.

With widened eyes, you took the sight of Saeran in. You could almost mistake him for his brothe now, as his hair, which previously had been bleached white, was now bright red. It was also the first time you saw him without his blue contacts, his amber eyes bright and burning.

“Sa-Saeran?” You sputtered in disbelief. It was you who needed support now, feeling your body grow weak.

“MC,” He breathed, your name rolling off his tongue as if he had been waiting all this time to finally utter it, “I-I’m back.”

Your mind raced to find the right words, to decipher what you were feeling right now at this shocking sight before you, but all you could do was gap at him. The person you loved, dreamed about and ached for all these years stood right in front of you. The man who broke your heart and left you all alone with no explanation was back, and you didn’t know what to feel about it. Rather, you couldn’t just pick one emotion, seeing that you were feeling them all at once.

He couldn’t find the right words, either. He didn’t know how to express how much he missed you, how sorry he was for leaving you alone, how beautiful you looked and how many times he had dreamed of this.

“MC, I think we ran out of diapers, I think I will-” Saeyoung’s voice was cut off at the sight of his brother standing in the doorway. The three of you were frozen in place.

As he took in the sight of the red-headed baby girl in Saeyoung’s arm, Saeran’s jaw dropped and his head spun. He glanced at you, then back at his twin with the girl, and then back at you, incredulous.

Out of all the scenarios he had played out in his head, this was definitely not one of them.

“MC…Is this…” He opened and closed his mouth over and over, unsure of what to say, “You and him…?!”

“Saeran, it’s not-” Saeyoung began, but the boy already fumed, fists clenching beside him.

“You don’t have the right to be angry right now, Saeran.” You finally spoke. They were tranquil and soft, but Saeran felt an intimidating resemblance with a calm before the storm.

He ran a hand messily through his hair, letting out an exasperated sigh, telling himself to calm down. But the hurt in his chest wouldn’t allow it. He was already more agitated than he would have like to be on the first time you two met again.

You and Saeyoung? Together? Thoughts of you and him tortured his mind, being close, being intimate, falling in love…

He wanted nothing more than to stick a needle in his ear and poke them all out with his brain. It hadn’t been that long since he left, and all that time you were the only thing in his mind. How could you have moved on so fast? With his twin, of all people?

“Hey, Saeyoung, can you give us a second?” You pleaded to the red-haired man behind you gently. You could tell Saeran was angry and unsettled at his presence.

“Are you sure?” He asked, eyeing you, your daughter and then his twin nervously. What Saeran couldn’t wrap his mind around was why his own brother was trying to protect you, the love of his life, his MC, instead of him. He should be the one protecting you, not him, never him.

He would never hurt you; not before, and especially not now. Not now that he’s come so far and worked so hard to get better. For you. It was all for you.

“I’m sure.” You smiled up at his eyes behind glasses, touching his arm lightly and reassuringly. The small action made Saeran want to throw up. How did it get like this?

Saeyoung left with the baby, and you and Saeran were alone again. You motioned for him to come it, still dazed by his sudden presence. You still didn’t know what to say, no combination of letters and words sufficing to express how you felt.

“MC…” He began, trying to remember what he had rehearsed in his head a thousand times over. He wanted to explain everything, to let you know how sorry he was for leaving and that he missed you. But deep down he knew there was no way to make up for it.

You shook your head, “Why did you come back?”

He knew you were angry. Your furrowed brows, arms crossed and your lips tugging downwards was more than enough to tell him so, but the words still felt like salt in his already wounded heart. He expected you to be at least a bit happy in seeing him after so long, but you only seemed troubled and hurt. Despite the situation and his worried expression, his heart was almost bursting with happiness at seeing you again. It was the happiest moment of the last three years for him, and he was hoping you’d feel the same, at least a little.

“MC, please let me explain-”

“Explain how you left me?”

“I swear I didn’t mean-”

“How you disappeared for three years without a word? How you left me here all alone, with just a fucking note?!” You raised your voice, heat flushing your cheeks as your anger took over. All those sleepless nights came rushing back, your broken sobs echoing in the back of your mind.

“I had to, MC…” He stood across from you, desperately wanting to close the gap between you and have you in his arms again, “I had to leave. For your sake.”

“I don’t understand,” You shuffled backwards, “I don’t understand! How could that have possibly been for my sake?!”

You were angry. You were furious.

Out of all the times you dreamed of meeting him again and confronting him, never did you imagine he would say he did it for you. You almost rolled your eyes, how cliché.

“That’s why I’m trying to explain it to you!” He was getting frustrated at your own frustration, his voice rising up to match yours, “MC, I wasn’t…I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t half the man I knew I could be. You deserved someone who could have given you everything, and I-”

“But you did give me everything! I was happy with you!” You exclaimed, “I loved you, Saeran, why couldn’t you just see that?!”

“But you deserved-”

“It’s up to me to know what I do and don’t deserve,” You objected, “And I know that what I didn’t deserve was being left alone like that. Nobody deserved that.”

“I know, MC…I fucked up. I know now that what I did was wrong,” He steadied himself, lowering his voice again and regaining the composure he tried so hard to achieve, “That’s just proof of how immature and unworthy I was… It’s why I had to leave, I couldn’t drag you down with me. Everyone was right, I couldn’t make you stay by my side and take care of me. It’s not what you wanted, and I was holding you back-”

“But that’s what I meant when I said I loved you! It meant that I’d stay by you through anything and everything. It meant that I would never leave. But you left, and I thought-” You choked on the words, built up pain from these last few years resurfacing, “I thought that when you left, it meant you didn’t love me enough. Not even enough to say goodbye.”

That old, familiar aching in your chest sparked up again, and soon your tears salted your tongue.

“That’s what you thought?” His eyes softened, his chest squeezing at the sight of you so sad

“What else was I supposed to think?”

“MC, I never stopped loving you.” He took a step towards you, attempting to grab the hands he missed so much, but being met with rejection as you backed away.

“You’re lying. If you loved me, walking away shouldn’t have been so easy-”

“Leaving you that day was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Please believe me, MC!” He cried, his eyes desperately searching for yours.

You bit your lip to keep from sobbing, the ache in your chest upsurging with each word he spoke to you.

“You won’t believe me, right?” His body deflated, “I can’t make you understand, not after everything I put you through…But just please answer me this…How long did it take…For you and Saeyoung to get together after I left?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, “Huh?”

“How long it it take for you to to move o-on?” His voice broke, and now his own tears stained his cheeks.

“Saeran, I don’t-”

“That girl looks to be around three. How many months did you wait before you replaced me with him?” You expected his tone to be angry when he asked you these things, but they were sad, hurt and empty. Broken. Saeran looked tired and defeated, and for the first time since you saw him again, your facade started to break.

God, it still hurt. The whole in your chest was still there. You were a fool for ever believing anything could ever fill it.

“Sae, please listen to me,” You muttered softly, taking a few steps in his direction, his gazed fixed on the ground in refusal to meet yours, “It took exactly nine months for her to be born after you left. She isn’t Saeyoung’s.”

When he finally met your eyes, they were filled with confusion and…hope?

“W-what?”

You let out a small laugh in between your tears, “She’s yours, Saeran. She’s ours.”

His brain buffered, not quite comprehending the words you had just spoken. He stuttered, trying to formulate words but none would come to mind. He…had a daughter.. With you. The gorgeous red-haired girl he had seen previously is half his, and half the woman he loves. No matter how hard he tried, his brain couldn’t process it.

A child? A daughter? He had a daughter…?

You stepped a bit closer to him, lightly caressing his arms. Your touch brought him back from his momentary daze, and he wished you’d never let go. He could never find the right words to tell you how much he missed your skin on his, “There has never been anybody else, Sae. Just you. It was always you.”

While your words meant Heaven and Earth to one brother, the other listened quietly behind closed doors, his heart stuck on his throat. He was happy, truly, that his twin had come back. He knew how much he meant to you, how you missed him everyday during his absence, even when you refused to admit so.

He knew that empty, far away look in your eye would finally disappear now that he was back, but Saeyoung was hurting with each syllable you uttered.

Despite the girl who slept in his arms not being his, and the woman far from his reach never truly seeing him, he felt happy. He found a family through you, helping you raise your baby and being there when his own brother failed to do so. He was helpless as he felt you two slipping away from him and into the arms of his brother. He felt sad and nostalgic at the thought of not being the one you relied on anymore. He even felt a little bit enraged at how easily Saeran had waltzed in your life again.

Saeyoung knew he shouldn’t be having these thoughts. They were wrong, selfish. The two most important people to him were finally happy, so why wasn’t he?

“MC…I’m sorry, I had no idea…!” Saeran finally spoke, the thought of you, all alone while pregnant with his child haunting his mind. Did you cry often? How many times had you cursed him, wishing none of this had ever happened, probably wishing you had never met him?

How could you possibly still love him after that?

“If I had known you were carrying a child, my child…I would have never…Oh God…” His knees grew weak, and he had to slump back on a chair to keep from sinking to the ground. His heart started racing and hands were shaking. He took a shallow breath at a time, his face buried in his hands.

Not again, he thought, not now.

He couldn’t lose control in front of you now. He wanted to show the person in front of him that he had changed, that we was becoming a better man for you. That all of this had been for something. But right now he felt as if he were back to square one, the fucked up little boy who couldn’t even control his emotions.

You rushed to his side, patting his back gently, comfortingly, “Shh, hey. Sae, look at me, please.”

He shook his head, refusing to meet your eyes, “I understand now. I understand why you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” You cooed, moving your hands up from his back to his hair, stroking it in the way you used to whenever he was upset all those years ago. You had tried convincing yourself that you did, you hated him. You insisted on the thought that he no longer had a place in your heart and you would be fine without him. While these thoughts were comforting to you back then, they were false. “I could never hate you, Sae. And you couldn’t have known.”

“But you were alone. I was so selfish, I’m sorry. You must have been so angry-”

“I was angry, yes,” You sighed, “I was pissed, and I was hurt. You weren’t here when I needed you to be, and it hurt because I thought you didn’t love me anymore.”

“MC-”

“But you’re here now,” You went on. The anger that previously clouded your judgement dissipating as soon as you felt his touch again. There still obvious lingering feelings of hurt within you, and they wouldn’t disappear so soon. But they didn’t seem important now.

The man weeping in your arms, the father of your child being back in your life was most important at that moment. Him and Saeyoung being right there with you, as your family, was what you craved the most, and you couldn’t let go of that because of past hurts. There would still be plenty of time to fix what was once broken, to heal what was wounded, but right now you two needed each other. You needed him so desperately it was almost physical, as if your bodies and souls were calling out to each other.

“C-can I see her?” He asked, wiping away at his tears and finally glancing at you.

You smiled reassuringly at him, trying to contain your own tears, “Of course. She’s yours, too.”

Yours. He would never get used to hearing that word.

The redhead finally took the courage to pull you close and wrap you in his arms, the familiarity of the smell of your hair, of the way you clung to his shirt as you hugged him was so overwhelming that a string of tears dropped on your shoulder.

Finally.

“MC…” He breathed through his sobs, “Thank you. I love you, I never stopped. I know I can’t ever make it up to you, but I want to spend the rest of my life trying. So please, if you’ll have me, I’d like to come home. Please,” He cried harder and hugged you tighter, “I want to come home.”

It was hard to talk when your heart was at your throat and your chest bared to him, but you managed to choke out a whisper anyway, “Welcome home, Saeran.”

[ladyofpurple]

GIRL ITS BEEN MONTHS SINCE YOU UPDATED TPOY!! please tell me you haven’t given up on it )-:

I KNOW IM REALLY SORRY OMG

This took a bit longer to answer than it should have because I was trying to figure out how to reply, I guess?? The short answer is basically that writing bits of fic during my exams when I didn’t actually have the time to was super productive, mainly because I Didn’t Want To Do The Thing but my entire future hinged on Doing The Thing and anxiety-driven avoidance is excellent creative fuel, apparently. The problem is, of course, that once I finished and started getting my results back and actually had time to breathe again my brain kinda fizzled out and I never wanted to look at a Word document ever again in my life. Writing is really hard right now, for some reason. And not just TPoy — everything I try to write either gives me a headache, makes every idea I’ve ever had go flying out the window like magic, or looks like absolute garbage to me. (I’ve been trying, though, I promise!!!) There is more TPoY, though!! I swear to God!! It’s just coming along a little slower than anticipated.

The long answer is... a little more complicated and probably more than you’re interested in, and the main reason is the short one anyway. But I’ll put a long answer under a cut just in case (aka the entire history of TPoY lol), since I’ve lowkey wanted to post about it for a while now but didn’t quite know how to? May get a little very personal, I suppose.

Basically, TPoY is and always has been a garbage fic. I don’t say that to disparage my own writing or attempt to elicit praise from anyone: I have always considered it a glorious dumpster fire of experimentation, a ridiculous Frankenstein’s monster of all my favorite ML tropes as a practice run, since it had been so long since attempting to write anything at all. I’m thrilled that people like it, of course! Whenever people send me asks about it my answers always involve a lot of exclamation points and variations on “I AM CURRENTLY SOBBING ON THE FLOOR IN GRATITUDE” because I honestly have no idea how to express how genuinely teary-eyed I get when someone tells me how much they like it, or post a comment. That being said, it was always intended for my own amusement and/or therapy, and that it’s gotten so many bookmarks and kudos and comments is incredibly surreal, even after a whole year.

When I started writing it, I was working through a lot of stuff. My first boyfriend had broken up with me, and as we lived together in his hometown I was stuck there on my own for another year before I could move back home. 2016 was filled with a lot of horrifying shit that kept happening one after the other and I eventually almost had to drop out of school because I couldn’t handle it all. The relationship was pretty toxic but all I knew at the time was that I was scared and alone and heartbroken. 

When I started writing, it was after 8 months of the worst bout of depression I’ve ever experienced, and I still wasn’t well, but I functioned passably enough to start hyperfocusing on things. I had an idea about a fic I suddenly wanted to write, and it would have a happy ending and all, but I could work through my feelings in a way I hadn’t tried to since before my ex and I got together. I pulled a lot of the start of the fic (the rejection, the miscommunication, the avoidance) from my recent breakup, yes, but also from my first rejection, aka the only other boy I’d liked enough to confess my feelings to. We were 17, and he admitted that he knew, and then suddenly we weren’t friends anymore. A year and a half later, I got together with my ex, and suddenly after three years of dedicating my life to “us” on his whims he was ghosting me without explanation.

I see a lot of myself in Marinette at that age. The awkwardness, the enthusiasm, the incredibly obvious lovesick obsession with a cute boy who’s nice to you. I wondered if maybe she would react the same, if put into similar circumstances as I had been. Focus on the self-doubt that would follow, based on insecurities she’s already shown in the show — coupled with your standard teenage hormone-fest —and you’d have a fabulous starter for angstfic and a free therapy session all in one.

The problem with that is nobody knows this backstory but me. People focusing on Marinette’s insecurities is nothing new. Other people are annoyed it’s such a popular trope. And the fact that I’ve chosen to focus on certain aspects of the main characters’ identities for the purposes of a story I started on a whim has been making me insecure for a long time because people in the fandom are tired of those characterizations. I’ve never gotten hate comments —I don’t even remember ever getting constructive criticism on TPoY. But I’m well aware that the plot is far from original and definitely lacking in certain places, and as the comments roll in and the hits go up my anxiety mounts because oh my God I’m that guy in the fandom.

I always intended on focusing on different aspects of their characterizations in different fics to suit the plot, y’know? Not ignoring parts of their personalities, but just... emphasizing other parts. But TPoY is the one most people have read. I have a couple one-shots where I tried to do something like that, with different aspects of their characters, but short one-shots can’t really compare to a 100,000+ word WIP, even if they even slightly compared in popularity (they don’t). So my only notable contribution to the fandom is TPoY. And that makes me anxious.

Then there’s the Frankenstein-like obsession with adding every trope I’ve ever wanted to write in a fic like this. I’ve mentioned before that the original plan for this was, like, 10-15 chapters at most. But every chapter I write I’m like, “But what if I did this???” Like I said, I never intended it to be even remotely popular. The only other fandoms I’ve written for are microscopic in comparison. I had no frame of reference for a pairing this big — all my previous experience was from Fanfiction.net, for Christ’s sake. I assumed I wouldn’t finish it, and even getting to chapter 6 was a surprise. But that hyperfocus somehow held on for dear life and I was banging out chapters like nobody’s business. And people were responding to it. And I think that kind of went to my head a little? Not like in an “I deserve all this attention” kind of way, but more like a “People like?? This thing I’m doing??? I cannot squander this opportunity, I must give them m o r e” kind of way. It was the best I’d felt since the breakup and I didn’t really think I deserved it, so I kind of wanted to... prove I did, I guess, by writing everything I’d ever wanted in a lovesquare fic in hopes that people would keep liking it and me and I’d keep feeling nice. (I mean, I’d planned to add in a ridiculous amount of tropes anyway, I just ended up adding a lot more than I’d planned.)

On the one hand, people go nuts for that shit. On the other, it’s getting harder and harder to justify cramming all this shit into the same fic. This compulsion keeps fucking me over by giving me spur-of-the-moment ideas for sub-plots I never wanted and certainly didn’t properly think through before posting the foreshadowing or setup for — yet at the same time they’re usually thought of and integrated several chapters in advance so I can’t just... leave them out? And part of me kind of doesn’t want to?? And I’m trying with every fiber in my being not to rewrite just the first 3 chapters, let alone the entire fic. A side-effect of my FF.net history at 13 was Never Edit Anything. Yeah, I’ll do some spell-check. Maybe some rewording here and there. Sometimes I’ll post a chapter and come back sporadically over the next few days to change out some punctuation or whatever. But if I don’t like a section after writing for a while? Throw the Whole Ass Chapter out. After it’s posted? This Is Your Life Now.

let’s not talk about how everything after chapter 27 was supposed to go very differently

Never mind that, after writing a hundred thousand goddamn words in a year, one’s writing skill tends to evolve and increase over time. Not just in regards to vocabulary, but with consistency and pacing and structure. This means, of course, that I can’t ever reread my own writing without the Evil Writing Goblin in my brain telling me to start the whole thing over from scratch. It’s fine.

I suppose I could get a beta, but I’m very bad at taking critique and as I’m even worse at talking to people than I am at posting on time I don’t think that would work out very well.

The point of this goddamn novel is that TPoY means a lot to me, probably a lot more than people realize. It’s kinda dumb and very cheesy and absurdly long, but it was the first real thing I did for myself after my whole life fell apart. I will finish it!!

But it’s hard to write it right now. I’m trying— I’m writing four chapters at the same time right now (a bit less than 10,000 words combined at current count). I don’t want to try to rewrite the whole fic or keep “mischaracterizing” the characters or lose the suspense I’ve tried to build (or, God forbid, try to keep interest so hard it hurts the rest of the fic) and risk alienating readers. I can’t stress enough how much these supportive comments mean to me, even on something as silly as a fanfic. But I also don’t want to force myself to write it or write something just because other people might or might not like it and risk alienating me. So I’m stuck at a kind of anxiety-induced impasse with myself that’s just made worse by the fact that I’m having trouble writing anything at all at the moment.

Jesus Christ this was longer than I meant it to be. Please don’t take this as a pity-party or anything. I don’t want sympathy or, I don’t know, reassurance or anything, I just wanted everything to be Out There because it really is the most in-depth response I could give and y’all deserve an honest answer. Some of you guys have been reading since the beginning and I can’t express how much that means to me. I feel really bad when I haven’t updated in a long time, because I know my fic makes some people really happy!

And PLEASE don’t take this as a “STOP ASKING ME ABOUT TPOY GODDAMMIT” because this is the opposite of that. I FUCKING LOVE IT WHEN PEOPLE ASK ME ABOUT TPOY. I L I V E FOR IT. But it sucks when the only answer I have is “I don’t know when it’ll be up, sorry :( ”

I mean, that’ll probably still be the answer I give, unless I by some miraculous (heh) stroke of luck) start hyperfocusing on writing again.

But at least y’all kinda know why now.

[jamest-kirk]

omg since you reblogged the gif-set i just realised how much i need another part of the Almost Human McKirk AU so if you want to, please do it, it's just simply perfect and i love it

ALMOST HUMAN AU. 

Part 1 | Part 2 |  Part 3 |

Living with J.I.M. (or just Jim) isn’t even so bad. Initially, Bones insisted Jim charged himself in his own private room, but after a while of them getting increasingly more intimate at home, Bones one day just moves Jim’s charging station to the bedroom. When Jim finds out, he scans Bones’ face curiously, but he’s all too happy to reward his detective boyfriend for that afterwards.

They’re on a case, back with another murder occurring around androids in the sex industry. They find out it’s because some underground clan started combining human DNA with these sex ‘bots, and it makes them go a bit loopy. Murdering and manipulated loopy. After they catch the culprit, the android in question, unaware as she is, has to be shut down. Bones catches Jim’s glance at that, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” he asks. Jim doesn’t immediately respond. He looks at Bones, slowly nodding. “I would like to be there, when she’s shut down. “Are you sure?” “Yes,” Jim replies.

Bones watches Jim quietly talk to the girl - who has absolutely no idea what’s happening to her or why she’s being shut down. “I promise I’ll remember you,” Jim says softly to her, and then he watches the engineer shut her down. Jim seems quite upset over the whole ordeal, and he doesn’t want to go out for a drink. So instead, they sit at home. Jim quietly sits next to Bones on the couch. “Do you want to talk about it?” Bones asks. “I just… what if something happens to me, and you’re gonna have to shut me down?” “That’s not gonna happen,” Bones says. “But what if-” “It’s not gonna happen,” Bones replies firmly. Jim turns to look at him with both fondness and interest in his eyes. “You care about me,” he says, and Bones huffs, resting his hand on Jim’s leg and squeezing it softly. “We all make mistakes.”

Having lost a leg in an accident, Bones’ synthetic leg doesn’t often calibrate right. When it doesn’t, it causes an annoying dull ache that just kind of stays, and his leg doesn’t always functions so well. For some reason, Bones is also an annoying shit enough so that he never actually fixes it. And so at night, Jim has to listen to Bones grunting under his breath, squeezing the skin of his leg just above his synthetic. It takes a long time before he feels comfortable enough to walk around in just shorts, showing off his synthetic leg. It takes even longer for Bones to be comfortable enough to take it off and let it re-calibrate. It drives Jim nuts, because he’s an android himself, why would he even care about a synthetic leg? “C’m here,” Jim says, after listening to Bones try and stifle his own discomfort. Not just that, the synthetic occasionally beeps and says a: “Calibration Incomplete”. “No,” Bones says, “I’m fine.” “Come. Here,” Jim repeats through gritted teeth, grabbing Bones by his shirt and pulling him in closer, both his hands on both sides of Bones’ leg. “You don’t have to-” “Ssh,” Jim hushes him quiet, “you’re driving me insane.” His fingers dip into Bones’ skin, massaging the sore skin. “You gotta look after yourself, Bones,” Jim says, continuing softly, “your leg needs care, and needs to be charged frequently in order for it to calibrate properly. He explains it for a little while, but when he looks up, Bones has fallen asleep.

Things take a turn for the worse quite suddenly. Bones is in the supermarket to buy food, and mostly to stock up on liquor. Jim is tagging along despite not eating things, because he likes to interact with people, and correct Bones’ unhealthy eating (and drinking) habits. “I’m thinking fries and ribs,” Bones says, and Jim frowns. He doesn’t reply, and Bones mostly ignores it. “D'you want to swing by Spock later? We can see if he has updated charging stations,” Bones suggests, grabbing a small box of coleslaw for good measure. As soon as he turns back to Jim, though, the other looks different. Blue eyes a little darker, and his expression mostly just blank. “Jim?” Bones asks, stunned when the other reaches out for Bones’ throat and throws him backwards against the shelves. “Jim–?!” he asks, but then Jim punches him again. And again. And again. Until finally, Bones reaches out with his good leg, kicking Jim backwards.

“Spock, I need a little help here!” Bones shouts into his phone. “What’s the problem?” Spock asks. “I don’t know- Jim’s malfunctioning,” Bones says, shielding away from Jim trying to attack him or other grocery shoppers. “His system’s been rewritten,” Spock says after a few seconds of silence and Bones hears nothing but the typing on his computer. “Okay, so what do we do?” “Turn him off.” “Okay.” “Permanently.” “What? Spock, no,” Bones says. “Leonard, someone’s accessed his data and is rewriting it as we speak.” “Then stop them,” Bones hisses, “you’re not going to shut down Jim permanently.” “I have to follow protocol,” Spock replies, then he’s silent for a few seconds, “but if you can knock him out, I’ll see what I can do for you to postpone shutting him down.”

Bones does manages. Barely so, and with significant damage done to the grocery store. Jim has a temporary off-switch, like all models, though it’s hard to find and even harder to switch. Bones has to keep Jim trapped to the ground so he can find it. And when he does, and Jim powers down, Bones feels horrible. Not just because of the probable concussion from being hit in the head multiple times, or the possible broken nose, but because he watches the light go out in the eyes of his best friend. It sucks. “C’m here, buddy,” he says, pulling the lifeless body up in his arms, “I’m gonna fix this.”

He watches Spock try for a few days. But every time he turns Jim on, the other seems to be more violent and less responsive to commands. Bones, however, refuses to let him power him down permanently. “Tell me what I can do,” Bones says, “is there another body we can transfer him to? There’s multiple J.I.M.s stored away.” “It’s not the body, it’s the CPU,” Spock says, “if we transfer that, the problem will just happen again but in another body. If we don’t transfer it, you’ll be with a different J.I.M., who has no memories of you, whose synthetic soul might react to things differently. It’s a whole different person, just in the same body.” “Then tell me what I can do,” Bones insists. “I… I guess, if we could track down his maker,” Spock says, running a hand through his hair, “but the one who created these Synthetic Souls, he’s been underground for a long time.” “I’ll find him,” Bones says, grabbing his jacket so that he can get to work immediately. “Leonard,” Spock says, “you and I both know these androids are second class citizens, and they’ll always be treated as such. Loving one, even someone as real as Jim, it’s never going to be accepted. These things are against the law.” Bones narrows his eyes a little, but doesn’t say anything. “All I’m trying to say,” Spock says, “is be careful. Not with falling for an android, but with having other people - the wrong people - find out about that.”

Tracking down his maker takes long. Too long, Bones thinks, and every day he’s worried Jim’s not going to wake up the same again. But Bones finds him. Christopher Pike; a retired robotics engineer and inventor, who has distanced himself to be almost completely off grid. The only reason Bones finds him is because he runs into Uhura; another android, but one who feels oddly similar to Jim in behavior. It doesn’t take him long to figure out that a synthetic soul is behind that, and so he tracks her down until she leads him straight to the older man. “Pike,” Bones says once he finds the other in his own backyard, “I need your help.” “Haven’t heard that name in a while,” Pike replies. “One of the androids at the precinct has been hacked. We suspect his synthetic soul-” Pike huffs at that. “Those bland MX androids don’t have synthetic souls, boy. They’re sheep. Just following orders.” “I’m talking about J.I.M.,” Bones replies, slowly sinking down in a garden chair next to Pike. “Jim,” Pike repeats slowly, “they were all turned off.” “We turned one back on,” Bones says, “he’s a police officer now. No longer a tool for the sex- and espionage industry. He saved a lot of lives.” “I always told them Jim was designed for more than just pleasure,” Pike says. “Can you help him?” Bones presses gently. “J.I.M.s were turned off for a reason, son,” Pike replies, “their synthetic souls… flawed. Couldn’t handle consciousness, love, and devotion. Turned most of them mad, and vulnerable to those wanting to take advantage. It’s probably best if he stays turned off.” “Please,” Bones says, “I tracked you down because you’re the only chance he’s got. He’s my best friend.”

Pike works tirelessly on rebooting Jim. Bones stays by his side all that time, assisting where necessary. So does Spock, and Uhura helps, too. The two of them seem to take an odd liking for each other. Finally, the next time Jim opens his eyes, they look normal. He stares up at the ceiling, mildly confused and taking his time to register his location. “What are we doing in Spock’s lab?” he asks, slowly sitting up straight, “I thought we were going for fries and ribs?” He’s silenced by Bones, who pulls him into a breathtaking hug - one that would’ve been painful if Jim was actually alive and breathing. “Hey, what happened?” Jim asks, gently patting Bones’ shoulder. “Does he not remember anything?” Bones asks when he pulls away. Pike shakes his head. “Had to erase it all. You know, to leave no corrupt data behind.” “Who’s this?” Jim asks. “Jim, this is Pike,” Bones says, “your maker.”

Jim watches Bones and Spock, both talking to Uhura while enjoying a steaming cup of coffee. They’ve given Jim some distance to talk to Pike, though Jim can’t help but sense Bones’ glances towards him a lot. “Thank you,” Jim says, after having been made aware of the situation, “I appreciate you helping me.” “Don’t worry about it,” Pike says, “how are you feeling, kid?” “Fine,” Jim says, “but I’ve been wondering-” “If it’s all real?” Pike asks, “that annoying sense of right and wrong, doubt and hesitation, maybe love for others?” “Yes,” Jim says, a bit stunned. “That’s why we call it a soul, Jim,” Pike replies, “everything you’re feeling, no matter how frustrating or confusing it may seem. It’s you. I created it, but it’s not me who decides which path you take, who you choose to be with, or what your opinion is about things. Everything you feel, it’s all you.”

Coming home feels odd. Like Jim hasn’t been away at all, though the place looks like he has been. Bones’ apartment is a mess of takeout food, research papers, clothes, and empty beer bottles. “You really let yourself go while I was out, huh?” Jim asks, taking off his jacket. Bones shrugs. “I was busy,” he replies. “With what?” “Saving you,” Bones says. “Thought you’d be glad to be rid of me,” Jim says, tossing a few empty beer bottles away, but really, cleaning can wait. So when Bones sits down on the couch, Jim brings him a cold beer, and he sits down next to him. “Maybe the first few days,” Bones admits with a small grin, though Jim knows he’s joking. “Thank you,” Jim says, after a small pause. “For what?” “Not letting them shut me down,” Jim replies. Bones’ arm moves around Jim’s shoulder, and Jim’s more than willing to lean in close. His hands move to Bones’ leg, which probably needs a lot of attention after being neglected while the man was busy trying to save him. “We all make mistakes,” Bones says, and Jim laughs. I love you, is on Jim’s mind, and he considers saying it. But when he looks up at the human, and he leans in to kiss him, Jim’s pretty sure Bones already knows.