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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 4 years

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Star Trek: The Characters

Storytelling, especially where it regards movies and television, is always evolving.

Whether it’s in deeper themes, better effects, different genres, or evolving archetypes, there is always something that is changing, except, perhaps, where the importance of characters are concerned.

Characters are an integral part of storytelling, particularly where it concerns television. When it comes to television, the setup is everything, and the characters are part of that setup, that ‘home base’ that the audience returns to at the start of every episode. The characters are the people that the audience gets to know, who star in each adventure. Characters are what holds the audience’s investment, the reason fanbases tolerate bad episodes and praise good ones. In the end, the main characters keep an audience’s attention, making each episode, even the bad ones, enjoyable.

In short, characters can make or break a television show. It is vital that they be likable, or at the very least, interesting, lest the audience utter those eight deadly words:

I Don’t Care What Happens To These People.

Once those words are uttered, it doesn’t matter how gripping your narratives are. The viewers will start to leave.

See, while a film can get away with some lesser characters by distracting with an interesting concept, set-piece or a fast-paced story, television can’t. Thanks to a smaller runtime and a smaller budget, television, by necessity, tends to be character based. As a result, the main cast of a television show has to be able to work in multiple stories of different kinds.

This means that writing for characters on television can be pretty difficult.

The best television characters tend to merge two ideas together: That of relatability and entertainment value.

You see, television, like all stories, tells stories of exaggerated versions of reality, especially in the cases of science-fiction adventure shows like Star Trek. The only way to make an audience buy an unbelievable world is to create believable characters to place in that world, that relatability in the stories and characters. When we see McCoy’s frustration, or Kirk’s boldness, or Spock’s reservedness, we see elements of ourselves, our own personalities and lives. It is vital to make characters seem real, if not realistic.

The question is, does Star Trek manage to do that?

That’s the question we’re going to be answering today. Let’s take a look, starting with the Captain of the Enterprise Crew: James Tiberius Kirk.

Kirk truly was The Captain in every sense of the word. A Reasonable Authority Figure who did far more adventuring than realistic counterparts would have, Kirk was an Action Man, level-headed, dutiful, and always loyal to his ship and his crew. A Bold Explorer (it’s in the job description), Kirk, while not fearless per say, took the Chains of Commanding quite seriously, and would often face down hugely powerful beings, power-mad computers, or other forces beyond him in order to save his crew. A Determinator to the last, known for his interesting ways to think outside the box and refusal to accept a ‘no win scenario’, he is the unquestionable Hero of the show, the Leader, who often throws the rules aside to do what he feels is right, in a constant battle To Be Lawful or Good. He was a Charmer, an expert fast-talker, and very smart. In later installations of the franchise, Kirk would become a Living Legend, much as he became in our own pop culture.

All that being said, the common cultural image of Captain Kirk isn’t quite right. Allow me to adjust it, as best I can.

More than any other character in Star Trek, or perhaps the history of television in general, Captain Kirk is possibly the most misrepresented character of all time. Since the ‘60s, Kirk has evolved into an icon of heroism, machismo, and brash boldness, with even the recent Star Trek reboot depicting, not Kirk, but rather, the distorted, separate idea of Kirk in the modern light.

This idea, quite frankly, is just not right. While Kirk did have his share of romances, he was no womanizer, often entering into dubiously consented-to relationships reluctantly, in order to save the ship. The relationships he did actively pursue, he threw himself into wholeheartedly, and he was just as crushed as the other party every time they fell apart (for proof, watch City on the Edge of Forever or The Paradise Syndrome). Kirk was no player. As a matter of fact, he was a deeply compassionate man who respected the women in his life as much as he respected Spock and McCoy. It just so happened that the women in his life tended to not stick around, unlike his one true love: The Enterprise.

Even his reputation of the ‘Cowboy Captain’ isn’t accurate. As I mentioned before, Kirk was defined by compassion. His moments of ‘rule-breaking’ wasn’t to impose ‘the way he thinks things should be’, it’s because Kirk cannot bear to watch helpless people in trouble. The few times where he does break the famous ‘Prime Directive’ (To not interfere with less developed races) is to help. Kirk was a deeply moral character, determined to not stand by while people were taken advantage of. He wasn’t rash, either. While it may be accurate to say that the ship’s doctor, Leonard McCoy, was a bit on the hot-headed side, it is entirely inaccurate to accuse Kirk of the same. Kirk was an extremely smart man, a level-headed captain who was an expert at thinking fast. He trusted his instincts, but he trusted his advisors too, often finding a balance between McCoy’s impulsiveness and Spock’s cold rationality. Kirk’s intelligence and competence is often lost, overshadowed by his more extreme companions, and some audiences have forgotten the truth of Kirk’s character: a cunning problem-solver capable of saving the day under enormous pressure, whose decisions are far from based in irrationality. He is a romantic, duty-bound to protect his ship and crew, greatly exaggerated and mis-characterized in the years following his captaincy.

As such, Kirk was a well-rounded, balanced character, far more three-dimensional than the modern idea of him tends to give him credit for.

That’s all well and good, sure, but how does he fit as a main character in a television show?

As a matter of fact, absolutely incredibly.

Kirk serves as a wonderfully effective lead, compelling, entertaining, and interesting. Infinitely more developed than most leads of his time, and even more modern examples, Kirk was a game-changer, a revolutionary kind of protagonist who just worked. The perfect balance of the main trio of the series, Kirk is the perfect face for Roddenberry’s ideals: a hopeful pragmatist, an idealist who proves the best of humanity: compassion mixed with intelligence, boldness combined with understanding. A man of action surrounded by True Companions, Kirk was an extremely gripping protagonist who felt intensely, a perfect person for the audience to connect to and be invested in. He drove the stories, opposed the villains, and always saved the crew, as a hero should, but it’s important to note that Kirk was hugely human, possessing many of our greatest attributes, but some of our failings as well. He wasn’t perfect. Sometimes he made the wrong choice. In the end, though, he was us, or us as we should strive to be: always learning and helping, and always reaching for the stars.

But of course, Kirk wasn’t alone in his position as the ‘lead’ of the show. It’s doubtful the show would have survived in the popular culture as well as it did if it weren’t for his support team, his True Companions: Dr. Leonard McCoy, and, more famously: Mr. Spock.

If Kirk represented the best of humanity, Spock represented the critique of it. In a previous article, I pointed out that Spock exists as a very unique character: a half alien, half human crewmember who, while equally valuable to the script and the characters as Kirk was, served a different purpose: to point out and explore humanity from the outside.

Like I’ve mentioned before, Spock is a different sort of character than Kirk is. Where Kirk is a demonstration of the best of humanity as we see it, Spock is a demonstration of humanity as someone else might. He served as a criticism of the human condition, a character at war with himself and his heritage, split between the emotional humans, and the rational Vulcans. Spock is the Number One, almost Comically Serious as he eschews his more illogical half and chooses to embrace the stoicism of the Vulcan people. A Gentleman and a Scholar, Spock has Hidden Depths, a heart of gold and deep emotions that he usually succeeds in hiding.

Most of the time. More on that in a minute.

Spock’s role in the show was The Smart Guy, the Stoic who had all the answers, all the statistics. He was the champion of impartial logic, of cold rationality. His job was to give Kirk the hard answers, to bring to him the facts and give him their options, especially the unforgiving ones. He is the cold to McCoy’s hot, a stern-faced, cold-blooded computer.

Or is he?

Much like Kirk, there is a lot more to Spock than meets the eye. While the cultural perception of Spock has often mutated into a parody of itself, much as it has done to Kirk’s reputation, Spock remains a much deeper character than he, or a brief skim of the series, lets on. As I said earlier, Spock is at war with himself, uncomfortable in his own skin. He insults humans for their humanity, but has strong, deep friendships with them. He is not above expressing frustration and their emotional natures when pushed (usually by other forces that knock his guard down), but isn’t frustration a human emotion?

Spock is a bag of contradictions, a supposedly emotionless master of sarcasm, a man without feeling who invites his close friends (emotional humans) to a private Vulcan ceremony, a cold-blooded creature with undying loyalty who occasionally makes ‘illogical’ decisions that would make Kirk proud. A lover of music and a sympathizer to space hippies (Not one of Star Trek’s better episodes, admittedly), Spock was an outsider who fit neither fully as a Vulcan or Human, a person who was struggling to find his place in the universe.

At first, this seems incongruous with the ice-cold exterior he projects, however, rather than being an example of inconsistent writing, it’s a shining example of development and nuance.

You see, Spock never gives up his following of logic. He just begins to approach it differently.

Spock’s style changes slightly as Star Trek progresses (most notably in the films, released ten years after the show’s final season), from cold, ‘computer’ logic to something else: human logic.

One thing of especial note in the original Star Trek show is that you could see characters visibly affecting one another. Kirk, Spock and McCoy all influenced each other in the ways they thought, reacted, and planned, and worked best as a unit. In this, the humanity of the main cast affected Spock in his slow, reluctant appreciation of human merits. In time, Spock began to make one or two decisions based on human logic, intelligence and emotion. In episodes like The Menagerie or The Galileo Seven, Spock makes decisions that seem out-of-character for him, based in emotion.

Spock is, in many ways, Star Trek’s best known and favorite character. The most visibly recognizable, as well as the most distinct, Spock is given more episodes exploring him than any other character, with installments like Amok Time and Journey to Babel, (the latter of which we explore his parents, and discover why it is that Spock has such a hard time with his human half) helping to examine Spock as a character.

The end result was a beloved science fiction icon, Kirk’s right hand man, an analytical, fascinating character as well-crafted and loved as Kirk himself.

Spock and Kirk are often remembered fondly, and are typically considered the most memorable and iconic characters of the franchise, but they don’t work alone. Their dynamic is as effective as it is because of balance. Spock is one extreme, and Kirk is the middle, but it’s no good without the other extreme: Dr. Leonard Horatio “Bones” McCoy.

McCoy is all hot-blooded human, the third of the main Power Trio. An old-fashioned competent doctor who wasn’t entirely thrilled with deep space, McCoy is a deeply emotional character, duty-bound to follow his morals. He clashed with Spock regularly, routinely criticizing him for his perceived lack of emotion. Despite the fighting, McCoy respected Spock greatly, counting him as a close friend, despite their arguments and different perspectives. A cantankerous pacifist (though not above getting into the action when needed), McCoy is a Super Doc and a Sarcastic Devotee, a Grumpy Old Man who serves as the Heart to Spock’s Brain (hah!), a man who values Honor Before Reason who values the Good Old Ways. He’s a Determined Doctor who does everything he can for his patients, and a Deadpan Snarker to the point where he can match Spock in verbal sparring.

Bones represents the unpolished rawness of humanity, getting carried away with his emotions sometimes, but always with the best intentions. Another Jerk with a Heart of Gold, McCoy’s gruff nature accompanied a deeply moral man, very concerned with human empathy and doing the right thing. No philosophical discussion was complete without McCoy’s two cents, telling Kirk what he thought the right thing to do was. He was the quintessential Knight in Sour Armor, who would follow Kirk to the ends of the earth, complaining the entire way.

Despite the fact that he’s not as well-known as the other two members of the Power Trio, Bones was a vital component to the True Companions dynamic. His Vitriolic Best Buds relationship with Spock made up one of the most interesting and compelling dynamics on the show, serving as perfect counterbalances to one another. However, although his most famous role in the show was arguing with Spock (and delivering phrases such as ‘He’s Dead, Jim’), there is another, equally important position that he held in the trio.

McCoy served as a foil to Kirk, as well as one to Spock, a confidante, a close friend, providing perspective. While Spock was focused on the logic, Kirk on the best thing for the mission, McCoy’s focus was purely on the ‘patients’, the people, the right thing to do. No matter the situation, McCoy was the closest to empathy with the people involved, and provided the audience with another surrogate, saying the things that the viewers are thinking.

While not being a terribly big fan of space (and liking transporters even less), Bones was the epitome of the Frontier Doctor to the stars, taking care of every patient, even if they weren’t humanoid (Devil in the Dark) or a heavily pregnant woman who refuses to listen (Friday’s Child). McCoy was painfully human, reminding us of our most problematic traits while also holding onto that wild, fiery compassion that made him so incredibly humane, relatable, and understandable, making him just as vital to the Enterprise and her crew as Kirk or Spock.

The trio worked best together, providing a perfect main cast for an audience to follow. The formula was an interesting one, allowing the audience to hear separate viewpoints and ideas, listen in to the philosophical banter, and truly feel the strong friendship holding the leads together. The dynamic between them was powerful, an extremely vibrant bond that connected all three very different characters.

The result? Extremely dynamic characters that remain iconic and memorable even to this day.

But the cast didn’t stop there.

The other characters of Star Trek, while not quite possessing the pop-culture iconography of the main trio, still hold their own rather impressive cultural footprint.

None more so than the chief engineer, Montgomery Scott.

Scotty’s job was to be a miracle worker, solving impossible problems in impossibly small amounts of time. Whether it was the transporters, the phaser banks, the shields, or the engines, Scotty was the man for the job. Nobody had a better understanding, or love for the Enterprise than Scotty (except maybe Kirk). He was the king of outside-the-box solutions, and had the Enterprise jury-rigged to push her past her limits more times than can be easily counted. As the name implies, he was also Scottish, and extremely stereotypically so. Kilt, whiskey, haggis and all, Scotty was extremely proud of his heritage (though not quite as much as Chekov). Fitting the traditional stereotypes, Scotty had a fiery temper, with a Berserk Button triggered by any insult to the Enterprise. A Gadgeteer Genius (and the inventor of Scotty Time) as well as a Genius Bruiser, Scotty was both the brains and brawn, more than capable of holding his own in a fight, or thinking of a new, creative way to push the Enterprise past her capacity.

Scotty also held the distinction of being third in command, routinely taking the Captain’s chair when both Kirk and Spock were in the landing party. He was also the focus of a few episodes, making him a rare character with a Day in the Limelight, with episodes such as Wolf in the Fold, The Lights of Zetar, By Any Other Name, and The Trouble with Tribbles giving him a little more screen time and story than is typical. Scotty was an indispensable member of the crew, a life-saver on more than one occasion, and another of the legendary, iconic characters of the original Star Trek.

But it didn’t stop there.

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura was another prominent character. As the ship’s communications officer, she codified the term ‘Bridge Bunny’, although she proved herself far more useful than she’s typically thought of. Whenever given the chance, Uhura is a capable Action Girl, intelligent, witty, and good at her job, being extremely fluent in multiple languages. She too got her days in the limelight, with episodes such as Mirror Mirror, The Gamesters of Triskelion, and The Trouble with Tribbles giving her more to do than just sit at her station and say ‘hailing frequencies open’. Uhura was Silk Hiding Steel, not typically in the heat of the battle, but tough as nails when she had to be. (I’ve talked about Uhura’s extensive influence on the real world in the Legacy article, but even that doesn’t scratch the surface of what Uhura’s impact has been.)

There were others on the bridge crew of equal importance, including the ship’s helmsman, Hikaru Sulu.

Sulu was a level-headed officer, amiable and cultured, with an extensive knowledge of botany, fencing, and antiques. Yet another Deadpan Snarker (it must run in the cast), Sulu is another Genius Bruiser, as skilled in fighting as he is in his piloting, with a great sense of humor. He is given special attention in episodes like Mirror Mirror and The Naked Time (Albeit as evil, and Brainwashed and Crazy), but often got great character moments in multiple episodes (especially Shore Leave). A reliable officer and loyal to the core, he made an interesting character by himself, although he did end up forming a fun ‘Those Two Guys’ dynamic with the youngest of the cast, Pavel Chekov.

Chekov was introduced in season 2 as the navigator of the Enterprise. A bright young man with a fierce, passionate loyalty to Mother Russia (which evidently invented every good thing known to man), Chekov tended to be at the receiving end of a lot of the embarrassing agony in the series (mostly because Walter Koenig had a great scream). Also serving as a relief science officer, Chekov was plenty smart, if a bit of a Cloudcuckoolander, and the king of Cultural Posturing. Reckless and impulsive to balance Sulu’s calm good humor, Chekov’s temper tended to get the better of him. Like the others, he’s given a bit more screen time in episodes such as Mirror Mirror, The Trouble with Tribbles, The Way to Eden, The Deadly Years and Spectre of the Gun, but got to shine in plenty of other episodes, demonstrating his capabilities (despite being ‘The Intern’ and the Plucky Comic Relief) as a competent officer. Unsurprisingly, he was yet another Deadpan Snarker, lending his style of jokes well to bounce off of Sulu’s drier humor.

But there was more to the crew than the bridge.

Another crew member of note was Christine Chapel, one of the nurses who operated in the sickbay. Chapel was notable for having an attraction to Spock, as well as being another in the long line of Enterprise Deadpan Snarkers. One of the most caring of the Enterprise’s crew, Chapel was given larger roles in episodes like The Naked Time, What Are Little Girls Made Of?, Amok Time, and Plato’s Stepchildren.

Arguably though, one of the most important characters in all of Star Trek was the Companion Cube: the Enterprise herself.

The Enterprise was one of the most powerful ships in Starfleet, a character in her own right. The epitome of the Cool Starship, the Enterprise was well known for Explosive Overclocking, and always coming through in the end (with a little help from Scotty). A Lightning Bruiser of a ship, the Enterprise became as legendary as her captain and crew, as beloved as the characters themselves to the point where one of NASA’s shuttles was named after her.

The characters of Star Trek are legends, both in and out of universe, and they are for a reason. No member of the crew is useless. Everyone has a purpose and a job to do, and each was distinct and unique. No two characters were the same, and each brought their own special personality and abilities to each episode they appeared in.

And that’s what made the drama of the show work so well.

Each character felt real, memorable and genuine. We as an audience worry for them with each danger, and cheer with each victory. We liked these people. We cared about what happened to them.

And they worked.

In each scenario and situation, the characters found new and interesting ways to deal with the circumstances, while never losing the core elements of their personalities. That’s important, hugely so. These characters were loved, and still are, for a reason. They work very well as characters, both in main and supporting roles, providing entertaining and compelling figures for the audience to invest in. The balance between relatability and entertainment was hit perfectly for every single character, allowing everyone to shine in their own ways in each episode. They felt real, and in the end, that’s the point of a character.

After all, one doesn’t get to be some of the most iconic television characters of all time by being boring.

Thank you guys so much for reading! Join us next time as we discuss Star Trek’s place in the times and the culture. If you have anything you’d like to say, don’t forget to leave an ask! I hope to see you all in the next article.

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im-fairly-whitty · 5 years

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The Witcher Wolf 2: Geralt’s POV

It's been two weeks since Geralt drove Jaskier away from him on that mountain top and Geralt's been doing his best not to think about it by accepting every contract he comes across. But when a job goes badly he find himself cursed into the form of an injured wolf and is then saved by none other than Jaskier himself, who has no idea that the animal he's taken under his wing is his own witcher.

Geralt must now try to alert Jaskier to his real situation and adjust to his new life traveling with the bard, learning several hard but very much needed lessons along the way.

Thank you all for your lovely support and comments on [Part One]! I was going to make part two another oneshot but it keeps getting longer and it feel right to break it into two chapters so here you are, extra content for you all. :)

I wanted to try to focus on scenes that happened in between the ones in Jaskier’s POV so be sure to go back and read that one if you haven't already so you can see where the timelines weave through each other.

Chapter 1

“Good girl Roach, good girl.” Geralt said, panting as he patted the horse’s neck, leaning heavily against her side.

The mare tossed her head, ears still twitching nervously toward the massive carcass toppled in the middle of their camp. Geralt’s eyes stung as the cat elixir slowly wore off, but he could still see faint wisps of steam rising from the hot spilt blood into the cold night air.

Geralt heaved another deep breath and pushed himself off Roach, straightening his back with a crack as he tiredly made his way to the felled creature to get a closer look now that the ugly thing wasn't lunging for his jugular.

And it really was quite ugly, some twisted amalgamation that could have been part boar judging by the tusks, part griffon by the sleek winged body, perhaps even part spider by the dozens of glossy jet-black eyes scattered across its face. At first glance in the dark he’d thought it might have been a fiend, but that assumption hadn’t lasted more than an instant.

At Geralt’s age it was very rare for him to see a creature he didn’t know the name of and even rarer for it to ambush him in his own campsite. He didn’t like to think how close a call it had really been this time, he was lucky he’d already been preparing for the hunt or else it might have been him lying on the ground. Geralt had been accepting any contract he saw for the last two weeks ever since the dragon hunt, eager to get his mind off...things...but with this one he’d assumed the villager’s descriptions had been laced with exaggeration.

They quite clearly hadn’t.

“It reeks of magic.” Geralt said to Roach, placing a boot on the monster’s side and heaving it over with a hefty shove. “Whatever it is, it didn’t come about naturally, that’s for sure. But not something that’s been cursed either I think. I’d wager this was some lunatic’s pet project, magically bred from the start.”

“More pet than project, I can assure you.”

Geralt spun, his sword unsheathed and leveled in an instant, his sword tip pointed at the man who’d appeared at the edge of the clearing behind him. And he must have literally appeared out of thin air, otherwise Geralt’s heightened witcher senses would have detected him a mile off in this state, the dregs of his hunting potions still flowing through him.

“Care to elaborate?” Geralt asked warily, shifting his stance slightly as Roach wisely startled away from them, taking cover in the thick trees beyond the clearing.

The man wore what looked like two expensive outfits of very different and clashing styles mixed into one ensemble, all useless ornamentation and rich textures in swathes of periwinkle and burnt orange. Laced in between were chains dripping with bones, trinkets, and what looked suspiciously like human fingers. Geralt wasn’t sure at all how the man managed even to move in such a cluttered get-up, but his frantically humming medallion was more than enough to let him know that the man wouldn’t have to move at all in order to pose a deadly threat. That and the fact that the man’s scent matched the slain creature’s.

“I’d say the time for elaboration is far past.” The man said, something between anger and grief coloring his voice.

Geralt blinked and the man was kneeling beside the creature, stroking its bristly gold hide as if it were a beloved housecat. Geralt’s too-slow heartbeat picked up a bit at that show of speed, he hadn’t even seen the man move at all.

“You a mage?” Geralt asked, trying to cast his mind back to if he’d ever seen Yennifer display the same ability, but each mage’s favorite tricks seemed to be determined more by their personal style rather than any one curriculum.

“Don’t be crass.” The man said, squinting hatefully at Geralt. “I have far too much self respect to be counted among those political chess players. I much prefer caring for my pets, like poor Truskawka here who you’ve slaughtered. Do you have any idea how many generations it’s taken to perfect her bloodline? And now look at my poor strawberry, cut down in cold blood, just before she was about to have a litter too.”

“Your poor strawberry weighs four tons and has been disemboweling travelers for weeks now.” Geralt said dryly. “Should have kept her on a shorter leash if you really cared for her.”

“I’m not about to take advice on caring from you White Wolf.” The man said, looking Geralt right in the eyes in a way that made a sticky cold feeling drip down his spine. “Your kind only know how to harm.”

With a certain collection of songs ragingly popular across the continent it wasn’t unusual for Geralt to be recognized by his medallion and white hair alone, but he had a creeping feeling that somehow this man didn’t know his moniker because of a tavern tune. He also had the feeling that he somehow knew more about him than just his title.

“So if you’re not a mage then what are you?” Geralt asked, raising his sword a bit, quickly tiring of this increasingly unsettling conversation.

“Angry.” The man said, glaring at Geralt and snapping his fingers in a blinding flash of white light.

***

Geralt was no stranger to passing out in battle—it was something you got used to when you made a profession of competing with monsters to see who could lose the most blood last—but he had never woken up running before.

At first he thought he was dreaming as he slowly filtered back to consciousness, his senses gradually coming back to him as air whipped past him, a dirt road under his feet, but suddenly everything clicked back into place and he skidded to a stop. His chest heaved as he looked around, blinking hard to try and get the last tendrils of grogginess out of his mind.

The sorcerer. He growled as he scented the air, remembering what had knocked him unconscious.

The first rays of sunlight were starting to scrape up across the grey clouds on the horizon, signaling a dawn that meant he must have been wandering blindly for hours by now. The blasted magician must have hit him with some unusually strong spell to disorient him like that, most magic simply rolled off a witcher, but the man had seemed extremely upset at his “pet” having been dispatched. Geralt just had to hurry his way back before he-

Geralt stumbled as he took a step forward, his legs suddenly feeling strangely uncoordinated. He fell on his face, rolling onto his shoulder with a growl that suddenly sounded entirely different than his usual ones.

He looked at his hands and blinked in shock at the large white paws he found instead. He twisted around to get a look at the rest of him...

...only to see the massive white furred body of a wolf.

Geralt sat frozen in the middle of the dirt road, feeling his ears swivel back in canine shock as he struggled to process his discovery.

Well. He’d been right about it being a strong spell he’d been hit with.

A very strong spell.

Geralt got to his (four) feet and shook himself, wincing only momentarily at how disarmingly full bodied the shake was. He was a witcher, he’d seen hundreds of transformations far more gruesome and unsettling than this. He could handle a sorcerer with a sense of irony, he just had to find him and either barter or threaten his way to a cure.

He sniffed the air, nose...er...snout scrunching at how different it felt. He seemed to still have his unnaturally sharp witcher senses, which was a relief, but it still felt different. Somehow. Like...like when he had to buy a new riding saddle. It was still technically a saddle, but different feeling all the same.

He snorted at his own metaphor, the noise coming out in a huffing sneeze. He could practically feel Jaskier’s laughter at both his metaphor clumsiness and at him discovering in that moment that wolves did not roll their eyes, his head instead tipping up and to the side a bit when he tried.

Leave the metaphors to me Geralt, can’t have you putting me out of business with your unprecedented lexical brilliance.

Geralt huffed again, ears flicking back at imaginary Jaskier’s teasing. He scented the air again, searching for the sorcerer’s scent as he did his best not to think about the bard, where he was, or if he was safe. Something he’d gotten in the habit of trying very hard not to think about for the last two weeks.

Besides, he told himself yet again as he trotted down the road, following his own scent trail back the way he’d come, in the end it really was for the best that they’d split up. Jaskier was always annoying him and getting in the way, and...playing that lute incessantly...and...and getting hurt...and...

Geralt’s ear flicked as he heard footsteps approach and he lifted his head to see several men emerge from the woods. They were laughing and chatting amongst themselves, armed with bows and arrows, one had a brace of rabbits slung over his shoulder. An early morning hunting party returning from a successful forage no doubt.

They seemed harmless enough. Being a witcher meant Geralt had built up a sense for what people would end up causing him trouble or not, and with these men he could easily just-

Wait. No.

Geralt remembered the vitally important and brand-new piece of his daily social puzzle an instant too late, and one of the men spotted him.

“Wolf!” The man shouted, knocking an arrow at his bow with expert speed.

Geralt threw himself sideways into the bushes, hearing the whistling hiss and thwack of an arrow lancing into the dirt where he’d stood. He gathered up his limbs as quickly as he could and dashed into the undergrowth, pelting away from the road and the hunters.

He bared his teeth at himself as he ran. Stupid stupid stupid. He was a wolf, an animal. Had he really subconsciously assumed the men might simply ignore him with uneasy sideways glances like they did normally?

People barely tolerated him when he could speak, there was going to be no thin mercy or stiff civility extended to him in this state. He didn’t even have weapons to fight back with. No elixirs or magic signs or even opposable thumbs to save him now. If he didn’t find the sorcerer soon he was going to-

A white hot pain slammed into his shoulder, sending him tumbling into the bushes and sliding haphazardly down a rocky embankment. He gritted down a yelp of pain as he slammed against boulders at the bottom of the dry streambed, decades of training pushing him down and close to the deepest shadows of the boulders as he forced his frantic breathing quieter.

“I think I hit ‘em!” A voice shouted from above. “Dunno where the bastard went, but I swear I hit ‘em.”

“You? Hitting a running wolf?” Another voice guffawed, the bushes rustling. “Your head’s gotten too big from your flask.”

“Shove off, didn’t I get two rabbits this morning?”

“Only because one was old enough to practically roll over on your boots.”

Geralt’s ears twitched as the laughing voices slowly moved away, the sound of crashing brush receding as the hunters took their conversation back to the main road.

As his adrenaline started to ebb Geralt could feel the pain in his shoulder far more clearly, the burning ache creeping across him as he turned to get his first look at it in the growing light of the morning. He knew it was an arrow, had had arrows in him before, but it still didn’t make it much easier to see the blasted thing sprouting from his shoulder.

Especially since he was realizing with a sinking feeling that he had no idea how he was going to get it out.

He could feel a doggish whine spring to his lips as he pushed himself to his feet and accidentally put weight on his bad foreleg, but he choked it back out of habit. He was still in the middle of nowhere with enemies nearby, he couldn’t do anything to further expose himself to danger until he was somewhere safe.

Geralt felt his tail tuck between his legs a little as he looked around, scenting the unfamiliar air. There was certainly no chance of him getting back up the steep embankment, it was going to be enough of a chore to even walk at all across even the uneven rocky stream bed.

He had no way to get back to the sorcerer, no medical supplies, no equipment or way to get to a town where he would be able to find any of those things. Not in this state.

He grit his teeth as he forced himself to take an unsteady step forward. He was a witcher, he could do this. He’d survived this long, hadn’t he? All he had to do was focus on surviving one more hour, and then one more hour after that. That’s how he was going to get through this.

It took some doing to figure out walking on three legs after only having just managed with four, but soon Geralt had picked up an unsteady pace that was getting him across the riverbed in search of cover. He was going to survive this, he was going to be fine.

***

Geralt had now gone three days with that bloody arrow in his shoulder and had long since stopped pretending that things were going to be fine.

He’d managed to wander his way out of the stream bed, had managed to narrowly avoid some drowners he normally could have dispatched without breaking a sweat, and had managed to chew off half the arrow shaft in his exhausted frustration at not being able to treat his own stupid wound which had definitely only made things worse for himself.

Not that he really cared too much anymore though, because at this point he’d logically thought through his situation and had begun coming to terms with the fact that this was was how it ended for Geralt of Rivia. As a wolf he was completely cut off from both outside help and being able to help himself. No one would come looking for a witcher who had last been seen two weeks ago, he’d gone long months before without seeing acquaintances.

He curled up a little tighter in the clearing he’d settled in a few hours ago, the never-ending pain in his shoulder dully pulsing along with his heartbeat. He knew his witcher mutagens were valiantly fighting back infection as well as they could, but he wasn’t invincible. After three days with a wound that kept opening and bleeding around the arrow shaft he knew it was probably only a matter of hours before something deep and deadly finally set in, and that would be the end of it.

The only silver lining he’d been able to find was that as a wolf four days without food or water hadn’t taken the same toll it normally would have. Not that it kept him from forlornly scenting the prey animals that trailed through the brush around him, maddeningly close and completely out of reach.

Geralt stared at the ground, head resting on his useless wolf paws.

He missed Roach, having been unable to stop worrying about her being left alone in the woods with the psychopath who’d cursed him. Hopefully she’d at least stayed far enough away that he’d ignored her.

And he missed Jaskier.

Geralt let out a long whine, having given up being quiet a day or two ago. He never liked to admit it to himself, but as the years had gone by Geralt had come to enjoy his times traveling alone less and less.

As gruffly as he treated his bard sometimes he always felt more lonely than usual whenever they parted ways, somehow missing the man’s incessant prattling and singing and bothering and smiling and interfering. There was no way to count how many wounds Jaskier had stitched up for Geralt over the last twenty-two years too. His careful, even stitching and gentle chastising left far less of a scar than Geralt’s rough and hasty work always did.

And now the last time he ever saw his bard would be that awful day on the mountain, something that still made his stomach sour whenever he accidentally forgot not to think about it. Of the way Jaskier’s face had fallen. Of the immediate regret Geralt had felt, but that he’d smothered down under his anger. Of the way he hadn’t immediately tracked Jaskier back down the mountain when the bard hadn’t returned by the next morning.

Because for the first time Jaskier had actually left after Geralt had snapped at him. And how could Geralt follow after him if he’d really left?

But it didn’t matter anymore, because-

Geralt startled into a surprised snarl as his flagging senses warned him of danger too late, his attacker already nearly falling on top of him. He lurched painfully to the side, a shot of adrenaline coursing through him as he spun to see...

...Jaskier?

Geralt blinked in shock as Jaskier tumbled to the ground across the small clearing from him, yelling and clutching at his lute like a shield, looking as surprised at Geralt was.

“Sorry, very terribly sorry to bother you.” Jaskier said weakly, smelling of fear. “I was trying to find someplace to camp and I was wandering and wasn’t looking where I was going and I didn’t mean- Really that arrow business looks like it hurts, how long have you had that nasty thing stuck in you?”

Geralt’s brain scrambled to process what was happening. Jaskier was here and talking to him normally, did he recognize him despite his canine form? Had Yennifer somehow sensed what had happened and sent Jaskier to fetch him?

But no, it couldn’t be, not with the fear he could smell on Jaskier. Jaskier was frightened all the time, but Geralt had never smelled Jaskier’s fear directed at him before. It made him feel sick. Jaskier must really think he was just a regular wolf.

Perhaps it was the fact that Geralt had just resigned himself to death only to be shocked back to hope, or the fact he’d gone four days without food or water, or just the surreal feeling of it all, but instead of reacting intelligently he found himself just watching the bard, tucking his aching wounded leg closer.

“Say you’re not bad for a wolf.” Jaskier said, his voice getting softer as he started to edge closer. “What if I took a look at-”

Geralt’s habitual annoyance with the bard resurfaced all at once, resulting in a growl that stopped Jaskier’s approach. What on earth was he doing? If Geralt really was a wild injured animal then his current behavior would be the perfect way to get his face bitten off. How Jaskier survived when Geralt wasn’t around to yank him back from poor choices was truly beyond his comprehension. If Geralt could speak right now he’d be getting the lecture of his life.

But Jaskier, being Jaskier, was of course stupidly undeterred, instead keeping his voice puppy soft and high pitched as he rambled on, even digging some dried rabbit meat out of his pouch and tossing it to Geralt.

For a moment Geralt was tempted to mock lunge at the bard, give him a bit of a scare to try and teach him some badly needed self-preservation. Teach him to stay away from things that would only harm him.

…just like he’d done on the mountain?

The uncomfortable realization jolted enough common sense into him that he ate the rabbit jerky without protest and lay still, allowing Jaskier to approach. Larger concerns about Jaskier’s sense of danger aside, Geralt was not a real wolf, and he did very badly need help. If Jaskier had found him and was willing to provide that, then Geralt would be a fool not to shut up and accept it.

“That’s it, there’s a good boy.” Jaskier said gently, getting close enough to pet him, which Geralt endured long-sufferingly. “You know I’m not sure you’re much of a wolf at all. There’s no way I’d still have both my hands at this point if you were really wild. For which I thank you by the way, playing the lute one-handed isn’t a skill I have much interest in picking up. You act more like some kind of massive dog, did you have a human family that raised you? Have you been abandoned by your person?”

Geralt still smelled fear, but not nearly as strong as Jaskier’s curiosity and excitement now. The fool was probably already planning a song about this.

Geralt growled at him. Just get on with it already.

“You know you remind me very much of a friend of mine.” Jaskier said with a wry smile that quickly dropped away. “Or, acquaintance I suppose, he never did anything but growl either. In fact you’re probably much more in tune with your emotions than he is I’ll bet, although most rocks probably are if I’m being strictly honest. The man’s really a complete imbecile.”

Geralt snarled, tired and insulted. Did Jaskier bad mouth him behind his back to every woodland creature he met? It was no secret Geralt wasn’t as outwardly emotional or articulate as some people, gods knew Jaskier had never hesitated to tell him so. Albeit in far more teasing terms than this.

“Alright, so here’s my terrible plan.” Jaskier said, ignoring his snarl entirely. As usual. “I’m going to try and remove this arrow, which is going to hurt terribly, and then I’m going to patch you up. I’d be extremely grateful if you didn’t dismember me in any way while I do, but if you can’t help yourself I suppose that’s fair.” He shrugged. “I’m not in a very self-preserving mood at the moment, so I suppose a final act of misguided heroism isn’t the worst way to go. The last white wolf I hung around mauled me emotionally, so actually it would be terribly poetic if you did finish the job physically.”

Geralt’s growl trailed off at that. “Mauled” was a bit harsh... Geralt had gotten angry, had taken out his anger on Jaskier unfairly yes, after two weeks of regret Geralt was willing to admit that. But Jaskier’s wry tone of voice wasn’t the kind he used when he was exaggerating for dramatic effect.

Had Geralt been able to speak he probably still wouldn’t have, choosing to sidestep the uncomfortable emotion. Thankfully as a wolf he didn’t have to choose, instead focusing on sitting still and quiet as Jaskier finally finally set to work removing the arrow from his shoulder and treating it, rambling the entire time as he always did when he helped patch up Geralt. Geralt was too focused on gritting his teeth against the pain to hear most of what Jaskier was saying, but found himself grateful for the familiar chatter nonetheless.

“There we go.” Jaskier said as he finished wrapping the wound. “Nothing like impromptu feral veterinary care to get the old heart pumping, eh?”

Geralt sighed quietly, exhaustion and relief sweeping through him to finally have the wound cared for. He wished he could mutter his customary “thanks.”

“You’re sulking.” Jaskier accused, petting his head.

Geralt huffed, shaking off the patronizing hand. He was not sulking, he was tired. And a wolf.

“Yes you are,” Jaskier insisted with a smile. “I know that look anywhere. Probably terribly embarrassing to be the king of the forest and have to accept help from a lowly human bard eh? Well I suppose wolves aren’t really the king, not if there’s griffins or something about.”

Geralt stared at him, all kinds of blunt corrections about biologically correct monster food chain structures running uselessly through his head. Instead his annoyance had to be communicated by shifting himself to face away from the bard and his obnoxious declarations.

“That settles it.” Jaskier declared as he started to gather sticks, evidently unbothered by Geralt’s huffing. “I’m calling you Geralt Junior. The both of you would get along splendidly in your stubborn grumpiness.”

Geralt looked up. He was Geralt, if he could just get Jaskier to realize that.

“Geralt Junior? You like that name?” Jaskier asked with a grin, seeing his reaction.

Geralt hauled himself to his feet. His shoulder was already feeling better as it started to mend in earnest, but not fast enough, making him stumble when he tried walking toward Jaskier.

“Whoa whoa hey, settle.” Jaskier said quickly, dropping his armful of sticks and kneeling beside him, carefully pushing him back down. “Lay down, stay. You shouldn’t be walking any more tonight, you’ve got to heal alright? Lay down boy, do you know commands?”

Geralt stayed down with a growl, hiding his nose under his paws in frustration.

“That’s right, you go back to sulking, Geralt Junior.” Jaskier said happily, evidently none the wiser as he tried to pet Geralt’s head again.

Geralt shook his hand off, trying to focus on said sulking. If he was going to get Jaskier to realize it was really him he was going to have to try harder.

***

Geralt woke up long before Jaskier did and decided to celebrate his shoulder already feeling far better by scratching around in the ashes of the fire. It was messy, but by the time Jaskier woke up he’d managed to scratch out a decently legible “Geralt” in charcoal across the ground.

Not legible enough though apparently, since the bard of course barely even glanced at his work as he cheerfully greeted him upon waking. Geralt felt fully justified in his sulking after that, sticking around only long enough for his bandages to be removed before trotting off into the trees to find a stream for a much needed swim, not having bathed since before slaying the beast that started this whole mess nearly a week ago.

The bath ended up lifting his spirits far more than anticipated, the ashes and blood finally gone and his fur coat drying to an ivory shine in the summer sun. His upswing in mood definitely also had to do with the fact that the pain in his shoulder was quickly fading and that he was no longer hopeless and alone.

It was easy to keep tabs on Jaskier’s noisy progress down the road throughout the day, making it simple enough for Geralt to keep nearby as he wandered the woods. Now that he was finally able to move freely again it only made sense that he take a day on his own to really get used to how this new body worked.

By the time evening arrived Geralt was capable enough to hunt down a couple rabbits with no weapon but his teeth on his way back to Jaskier for the night, and the look of delighted surprise he got for it nearly made the last four days of pain worth it.

“So you’re not sick of me after all, huh?” Jaskier grinned. “I’m truly flattered you know.”

Geralt allowed himself a single tail wag in place of a smile as he dropped the rabbits at the bard’s feet. Had Jaskier actually thought he’d gone? That he wasn’t going to come back for him?

The silly bard.

***

Geralt was used to entering towns and villages with a sense of cautious unease, a lifetime of being a Witcher having taught him the hard way to be on guard around humans, but he couldn’t recall the last time he’d been afraid like he was as he went into town with Jaskier the next day.

Perhaps it was some element of animal caution that came with his new form that had him so on edge as he stuck to his bard’s side, but mostly it was the knowledge that he was literally helpless if something went wrong.

As a Witcher he could bully his way through most trouble with a stern look at best and his twin swords at worst, but as a wolf the only defense he had against the wary eyes of the villagers around him was Jaskier’s reassuring presence and the “collar” around his neck. If something went wrong Geralt wouldn’t even be able to defend himself without putting Jaskier in danger of retaliation. There would be no galloping off on Roach this time, whatever happened would result in Jaskier taking the full consequences.

And yet Jaskier still pressed on, letting Geralt even come into the inn with him and vouching for his character despite not at all knowing that Geralt wasn’t really a wild animal after all. All in all the bard’s behavior was reckless and stupid, this kind of thing never would have been allowed had Geralt been a person, but as it was he could only be grateful for it. He’d die before admitting that the thought of being left out in the yard where any number of humans could take another shot at him while defenseless terrified him. The least he could do to show his gratitude was to shoulder his pride and play along with Jaskier’s plan, acting as tame and doggish as he knew how in order to gain the innkeeper's approval.

And it worked, the innkeeper handed over a room key and Jaskier was soon leading them to their room, dumping their things on the low bed and smelling of as much relief as Geralt felt.

“Well it’ll be supper time soon, so I’d better head downstairs to earn some coin.” Jaskier said, unpacking his lute from its case and tuning a few strings. “It might be best for you to stay up here since I don’t know how many people will be around tonight.”

Geralt got to his feet from where he’d been lying by the fireplace, leaning against Jaskier’s leg and looking up at him as pleadingly as he knew how. He’d noticed himself becoming far more outwardly expressive than normal, but with no other form of communication available to him he had no other choice. Monosyllabic grunts giving way to overstated body language to get his point across in ways Jaskier would hopefully understand.

“...or you can come down with me.” Jaskier said with a wry smile at his behavior, petting his head. “Really Geralt Junior, I had no idea wolves were so clingy. I certainly wouldn’t mind the company though.”

Geralt shook himself with a whine. He wasn’t being clingy, he just didn’t want to be left alone locked in a room all night. Could he really be blamed for that?

As they descended the stairs to the main area Geralt looked around at the evening crowd of patrons, scenting the busy evening air. Normally at this point he’d leave Jaskier to set up shop in the center of the tavern area and head to the back of the room. Somewhere out of the way that he could keep an eye on the bard’s performance while being left alone to his own meal and drink in relative peace. As popular as Jaskier’s witcher-themed songs were, he knew that having a real witcher sitting beside him would only hurt his chances at getting coin. No, much better for both of them if Geralt minded his own business in the back of the room.

Besides, he didn’t mind the frequent moments he’d catch Jaskier looking for him in the crowd during his performances, meeting his eye with a smile and a wink.

But tonight was different, and as Jaskier settled on a stool and cheerily began playing his lute Geralt found himself curling up at the bard’s feet. Jaskier started off with a jaunty tune that soon got the crowd’s attention, people looking up from their conversations and meals with smiles to get a look at who was performing tonight. That didn’t surprise Geralt one bit, in his (very) private opinion Jaskier was the most talented performer he’d seen or heard in all his decades of travel, especially as the years had gone on to sharpen his talents.

What did surprise Geralt was how long the audience’s gazes lingered not on the bard but on him. Specifically kind, surprised and intrigued expressions.

Geralt fought to keep from ducking his head, forcing himself to remain stoic as onlookers started to gather as Jaskier’s performance went on, but it was starting to get downright unnerving.

Because no matter where Geralt looked in the crowd he couldn’t find a single look of disgust, annoyance, or fear. Not even a nervous attempt at casualness, the expression he was most used to seeing directed at him. It almost made Geralt wonder if he’d become invisible on top of becoming a wolf, it made far more sense for these kinds of expressions to be directed at Jaskier.

“Doggie!”

Geralt’s ears pricked and his head tilted a bit as he heard an excited young voice in the crowd, small enough that likely only he could hear it over the noise. He peered through the legs of the audience to see a little girl straining to get away from her mother, pulling toward him.

“Sarah no, you don’t know that dog and his owner is performing, you stay right here.” came the hushed voice of her mother from the back of the crowd.

“But I want to pet him!” The girl cried. “He’s nice!”

Geralt saw the moment that the little girl squirmed out of her mother's grip and as she slipped through the crowd. His eyes were still wide in shock as she threw herself right at him with a delighted giggle. Geralt sat stock still for a long moment.

He had...never...been hugged by a child...

Never.

He’d saved hundreds over the years of course, from all kinds of dangers. Had even carried them, screaming, crying, and all too often silent with death back to their parents to be handed off as quickly as possible. Sometimes in exchange for a hurried thanks, sometimes a gruff dispute over coin, sometimes for nothing more than a frightened slur thrown back in his face to get away from them.

Because everyone knew that witchers stole children, all the important bedtime stories and old wives tales said so. Children and cats always knew a Witcher was coming before adults did too, their simple natures sensing something unnatural approaching, sending them scrambling out of the way with instinctive fear. Geralt had never thought to resent children for being frightened of him, they were vulnerable and needed to be cautious in this world. This was just the way things were. It was no blow to him.

But as the little girl hugged his neck and whispered delighted childish praise in his ear he felt something inside him give way, opening an empty, hollow place in his heart he hadn’t even realized was there. But one that must have been there this whole time.

A happy whine escaped him and his tail swished across the floor as he nosed at the little girl’s ear, making her laugh. Had he ever made a child laugh?

He found himself thinking, not for the first time, about his child surprise. The promised child bound to him by an ill-worded agreement and supposedly destiny. The young prince or princess would probably be about the same age as the little girl by now, wouldn’t they?

But then all too soon her mother was there, yanking her away from him crossly, apologizing to Jaskier as she hauled her daughter back.

“Not a problem ma’am, as you can see he’s quite tame.” Jaskier said with a dazzling smile.

As Geralt came back to himself and looked up at the bard he realized the poor man reeked of well-hidden fear. If Geralt could have laughed he would have, instead panting happily. Because of course Jaskier had only seen a young girl fall on a wolf of unknown character that he’d stupidly brought into a tavern, trying to pass it off as an old pet. Geralt was glad he had, and the bard of course had had nothing to worry about, but just the same he was aching to be able to tease Jaskier for the scare he’d gotten.

Jaskier quickly picked up the rest of his song, ending his performance well enough to get a hearty round of applause that ended in a more than decent offering of coin before the crowd happily dispersed.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you for being so tame.” Jaskier said in a hushed tone, dropping to one knee in front of him and stroking his head. “Gods above, I thought we were finished for a moment there, you’re truly a magnificently patient beast.”

Geralt ducked his head away from the attention, but really only on principle at this point. His tail was still wagging as he followed the bard to the table where the innkeeper had set out a meal of stew for Jaskier, and a wooden bowl of scraps for Geralt.

Had Geralt not been in an excellent mood he might have managed to become gruff at having been reduced to eating his meals on the floor. As it was he didn’t mind terribly, and really it certainly beat some miserable excuses for meals he’d endured out in the wilds in his time.

“Can I pet your dog?” Asked the man eating across the table from Jaskier.

Geralt looked up, glancing at the man who smelled of ink and parchment, a pair of spectacles perched on his nose.

“He reminds me of a hound my father owned and he seems agreeable enough,” the man continued with a smile. “But I’d rather ask first than be bit second.”

“I...of course.” Jaskier said, pulling on a smile through a mouthful of stew. “I wouldn’t have brought him in if he weren’t friendly.” Geralt could smell a bit of nervousness from him.

“Well he certainly is a magnificent beast.” The man said, reaching over to scruff the fur between Geralt’s ears. “I bet he puts some fine catches on the table after hunts.”

Geralt accepted the petting with a stoic look, not so much as shaking off the man’s hand. He could smell the relief and happiness on Jaskier.

“Oh Geralt Junior’s not much of a hunter.” Jaskier laughed, relaxing as he launched into his fiction. “He can take care of himself well enough I suppose, but really he thinks he’s a lapdog. You know my sister used to read him bedtime stories when she was young, it’s a miracle I was able to steal him away to travel with me instead of her keeping him.”

Geralt sneezed in amusement at the tale of Jaskier’s invented sister.

“Geralt Junior?” Another man at the table said with a guffaw. “I get it now, after the witcher you sing about? That’s a clever joke if I ever heard one, white wolf indeed.”

“Well where’s his silver sword then?” A woman said cheerfully, coming up from behind Geralt and stroking his back without so much as a warning. “Such a handsome witcher wolf needs his tools of trade don’t he?”

“I’m afraid all he’s slain are the hearts of those who offer him treats. And the occasional rabbit.” Jaskier laughed, warmed up to his audience. “His silver coat is far more useful than a silver sword in his line of work.”

“Well he’s excellent at his trade.” The woman laughed, slipping Geralt a bit of sweetbread from her pocket. “Consider me slain by the mighty white wolf. Oh and look at him taking the bread all dainty-like with his teeth. Afraid he’ll bite my fingers? What a gentleman.”

If Geralt properly considered the positive attention he was currently drowning in he was going to become dizzy with it. Instead he focused on eating the sweetbread, which was followed by a bit of ham from another admirer, and a bit of jerky afterward by another.

The little girl had been one thing, but this much attention was downright mystifying. It was beginning to border on actually terrifying even, sending his heart beating faster than it did when he faced down griffins.

What Geralt was used to was people being careful not to even brush fingers as coin was exchanged, afraid they’d catch mange or worse from touching a Witcher. Aside from a hearty pat on the shoulder once in a blue moon from a particularly gutsy short-term adventuring partner, Geralt was used to only getting affection at brothels where he paid extra to girls who managed to hide their discomfort from their expressions. (But never their scents.)

But now it seemed like the entire village was trying to get their hands on him, and not even to try and drive him out.

Geralt found himself pressing against Jaskier’s leg under the table as the attention really began to become overwhelming, but luckily the bard seemed to pick up on it, looking down at him with concern and resting a calming hand on his flank. Jaskier may not realize that his wolf was enchanted, but nonetheless the bard had always had an uncanny knack for picking up on Geralt’s moods without a single word spoken.

“Well you’ve all been perfectly lovely, but I’m afraid we must take our leave for the night.” Jaskier said, getting up from his seat and bowing grandly to the table. “We wish you all a lovely evening and hope to see you tomorrow for our next performance.”

Geralt kept close to Jaskier as they climbed the stairs to their room for the night, already feeling better once they were out of sight.

“So not a huge fan of people for too long. That’s alright, we can be more careful in the future, no sense in you hanging around people if you aren’t enjoying it anymore.” Jaskier said with a smile, rubbing Geralt’s head.

Geralt tail wagged slow in gratitude as the bard looked through his pockets for the room key.

“Well tonight’s over my friend and you’ve done magnificently.” Jaskier yawned as he unlocked their door. “We’ll curl up in bed and that’ll be the end of it. I can’t tell you how excited I am for a real bed. I can only assume you’ve slept on one before, I highly recommend them.”

Geralt’s tail kept wagging as they entered the room, greeted by a warm fire and a clean smelling mattress. Over the years he and Jaskier had shared a bed dozens of times when inns were small or coin was short, even sleeping rolls out in the wilds when the weather was too cold for the bard to safely sleep alone. That was a warm and familiar kind of touch that Geralt never tired of, even though he’d never admit it.

In fact, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t exactly been as starved for touch as he’d thought. Jaskier was forever touching him whoever they were together: grabbing his arm, leaning against him, helping shuck off his armor at night, sharing a bed, stitching him up, even helping him bathe when he was particularly incapacitated, or they were to attend an important social event.

Jaskier’s touch had never felt overwhelming like the villager’s had. In fact Geralt had perhaps taken it for granted, so comfortable with it and expecting it to the point of no longer appreciating it properly.

He’d never once thanked Jaskier for making him feel like a real person who could be so casually touched.

That...seemed unfair of him...

“You perfect thing.” Jaskier said with a yawn, closing the room door behind them. He scratched between Geralt’s ears.

Geralt nearly ducked away in guilt but didn’t. After all, it seemed very likely that there wouldn’t be any other possible way than this that he could use to apologize to the bard for a long time.

[Read Chapter 2]

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #wit writes #the witcher wolf

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dragonkeeper19600 · 5 years

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What is the Medicine Seller?

The subjectivity of Mononoke is a large part of what makes the series unique. But, one of the biggest mysteries that the show leaves unanswered is what exactly the Medicine Seller is supposed to be. From his weird powers, traits, and appearance to the fact that he clearly doesn’t age, it’s an understatement to say that this isn’t a normal guy. All kinds of theories have been floating around about the Medicine Seller’s true identity, that he’s a onmyōji, a god, or some kind of benevolent mononoke.

However, for my money, looking at all the evidence combined from the show and Japanese mythology, I’ve concluded that the Medicine Seller is most likely a kitsune.

Now, I feel like most anime viewers have at least a cursory idea what a kitsune is, but just to recap: “Kitsune” (狐) is the Japanese word for fox. Traditional Japanese folk beliefs attributed all sorts of mysterious powers to foxes, including shapeshifting, creating illusions, and warding off evil spirits. Taking cues from ancient Chinese lore about fox spirits, kitsune have captured the imagination of Japanese artists and storytellers for centuries and continue to do so in the present day.

I’m far from the first person to come up with the “Medicine Seller is a fox” theory. It’s the only theory cited on the admittedly bare-bones Mononoke Wiki, and numerous commentators and Tropers have speculated that our favorite flamboyant exorcist might be a fox in disguise. So, allow me to take some time to display all the compiled evidence as to why I think this is the most plausible theory.

Let’s start with the obvious: The guy looks like a fox.

The red markings on his face are very reminiscent of the red paint you see on the traditional kitsune masks people wear around festival time. These markings are highlighted in the anime’s opening, so you can really see the similarity.

His long ears and fangs could also be considered vulpine.

The literature is rife with examples of foxy traits showing through a kitsune’s human disguise, especially when they’re startled or caught off-guard, such as ears, a tail, or canine teeth. We’ve never seen a tail on the Medicine Seller, but who knows what he’s hiding under that robe? I’ve also seen some sources claim that the tail will be revealed if you see the kitsune’s reflection or shadow. We haven’t seen either, so who knows?

Secondly, there’s a hierarchy to keep in mind when thinking about Japanese foxes. Some kitsune are holy messengers while others are malignant spirits that bring ruin to humans. Some are merely pranksters, using their powers to pull hilarious tricks on unwitting humans, sometimes to teach them a lesson but often just for shits and giggles.

Holy, high-ranking foxes are said to be messengers of the Shinto god Inari, the rice god and the patron deity of merchants and sword smiths.

Pictured: A merchant with a sword.

Fox statues like the one pictured above can be seen standing guard in front of Inari’s shrines, where they are said to ward off evil. The A-to-Z Online Buddhist dictionary has this to say:

“[T]he fox is associated with the concept of Kimon 鬼門, literally “demon gate,” a Japanese term stemming from Chinese geomancy (Ch: feng shui). In Chinese thought, the northeast quarter is considered particularly inauspicious. It is the place where "demons gather and enter." This belief was imported by the Japanese and is referred to as Kimon. Kimon generally means ominous direction, or taboo direction. In Japan, the fox is considered a powerful ally in warding off evil Kimon influences. Fox statues are often placed in northeast locations to stand guard over demonic influence, and two foxes typically guard the entrance to Inari Shrines, one to the left and one to the right of the gate.”

He may not be a statue, but “warding off demonic influences” is basically half of the Medicine Seller’s job description. He often uses seals, salt, prayer, and other methods accessible to humans, but the Bakeneko arc of Ayakashi clearly shows he can keep a mononoke at bay just by flexing really hard.

Yokai.com goes into some detail about the various ranks of kitsune, from the lowliest trickster to the most divine guardian. One rank of kitsune of particular interest to me is called the Kiko (気狐), a servant of Inari that has evolved to the point where it no longer has a physical form. Many Kiko adopt human disguises, but they have not yet ascended to a heavenly plane and so remain on Earth serving Inari’s will.

We have never seen the Medicine Seller eat, drink, or sleep. There is, however, one physical need that he does indulge in.

If you get my meaning.

Pictured above is the Medicine Seller’s extensive shunga (春画) collection. Shunga is Edo period porn, and it wasn’t exactly uncommon for merchants to be carrying volumes of shunga on their person. However, 20+ volumes seems a bit excessive to me.

It’s a trait that doesn’t come up all that much in Mononoke, but the first episode of Ayakashi’s Bakeneko arc reveals that the Medicine Seller is a bit of a horny bastard. He trades info on various virility and fertility medications with Kayo, a conversation that involves a lot of whispering into her ear. He was about to share his porn with Kayo before they were interrupted. I’m convinced that if Sato had entered the kitchen ten minutes later, she would have found the two of them fucking on the floor.

As anyone who's watched Naruto can tell you, kitsune are often associated with sex. Inari, among other things, is also a fertility god, and there are many stories of kitsune adopting human form and seducing unwitting mortals, running the full gambit from the horrific to the romantic. A good chunk of these stories involve the kitsune marrying their human beau and even bearing his children in some cases.

Most stories of this nature center on female kitsune, but it’s not like male kitsune don’t exist. The popularity of sexy fox women can probably be chalked up to male-dominated Edo society, but more and more male kitsune have been sighted in modern anime.

I believe we can add Mononoke to this number. Practically every woman in the series creams their pants at the mere sight of the Medicine Seller, and it doesn’t seem that their attraction is one-sided. The Medicine Seller has all kinds of sexual tension with Kayo in both series. And, if you look closely, you can spy some romantic tension with Ochou as well. There’s little doubt that the Medicine Seller is attracted to human women and is even capable of falling in love with them. However, due to his role slaying mononoke, it is unlikely that he can ever settle down and marry one the way many other kitsune do.

Personality-wise, the Medicine Seller is also reminiscent of a fox. Like I mentioned above, kitsune are often tricksters by nature. Although the Medicine Seller never acts in a needlessly malicious way, he does like to dick around with people. A lot of the aforementioned tension with Kayo takes the form of teasing banter.

Keep in mind: It wasn’t him who changed the compass. Which means he’s being vague for no other reason except to mess with Kayo.

He also spend a good portion of his arc in Ayakashi trolling the Sakai household, especially Odajima. And do we even need to mention his gambit in the Nue arc?

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So, his appearance, relationships, and personality are all decidedly fox-like. What about his powers? Well, in the Nopperabou arc, we get a pretty clear hint that the Medicine Seller’s physical form is just an illusion.

The Masked Man’s attempt to take away the Medicine Seller’s face failed because that wasn’t his real face. He outright compared his face to a facade. Since it was just an illusion, it was easy for him to change it back. It should also be noted that the Nopperabou, the faceless ghost, often appears not as an independent spirit but a hilarious prank that other yokai like to pull on humans. Tanuki, Manji (badger spirits), and, yes, even Kitsune have used the image of a faceless human being to scare humans. This is getting into fan wank territory itself, but it is entirely possible that the Medicine Seller is all too familiar with the art of face removal, having pulled that trick himself in his younger days.

That the Medicine Seller’s body isn’t real could also explain the nature of his Other Self. During his first transformation sequence in Ayakashi (which is repeated in the Nue arc), we see the markings on his face and robes disappear.

Before gold markings reappear on his Other Self.

It might be possible to think of this “transformation” as more of a body surf. The flowing markings could indicate the presence of the fox spirit as it moves from one body to the other. This is a good time to point out that gold eyes are said to be another common trait of kitsune, and white fur is indicative of an Inari fox. The Other Self’s long white hair may be a hint as to his divine nature.

Now, with all his powers and religious motifs, is it possible that the Medicine Seller is not a fox but in fact Inari himself? I did briefly contemplate that possibility, but I ultimately decided it probably wasn’t true. The Medicine Seller’s powers have limits that I feel a high-ranking god like Inari wouldn’t have. It looked like he did serious damage to himself trying to hold back the bakeneko in Ayakashi.

Ouchies.

Rather than being a human avatar of Inari, I find it more likely that the Medicine Seller is a kiko carrying out Inari’s will. In his first appearance in Ayakashi, some men spot the Medicine Seller standing outside the Sakai household, apparently talking to himself.

At the beginning of Mononoke’s first episode, he does the same thing outside the inn. His mouth is moving, but we don’t hear what he’s saying.

In both cases, the men who see him try to call out to him to get his attention, and in both cases he ignores them. He never says who he was talking to, and nobody ever asks. It is strange, however, that he always shows up just where a mononoke is going to be, even when he doesn’t seem to know anything about the mononoke before he arrives. Could it be he is actually receiving instructions from Inari? Inari might be telling him where to go, and the Medicine Seller figures out the rest from there. He can’t know about the mononoke’s form, truth, or reason yet, otherwise he’d be able to slay it right away. How else would he know where to go unless he was being told?

Of course, there are other possibility as to who he could be talking to. It could be his Other Self, if you hold the theory that the Medicine Seller and the Other Self are separate entities (which I don’t, so much). I also contemplated whether it was the sword he was talking to, but the sword is in the trunk. For my money, communing with a god seems the most fitting.

According to Shinto beliefs, foxes can live for up to 1000 years, which would explain why the Medicine Seller is still around after centuries have passed. But, what happens after the millennium is over? At that point, a kitsune sprouts its final, ninth tail and ascends to the heavenly plain, leaving this earth behind. I personally believe that the Medicine Seller has been tasked to wander the earth for 1000 years, slaying mononoke until his time is up. At that point, he’ll become a being as powerful as a god, but until then he must learn to truly understand humanity. Only once he has become thus enlightened will he be able to ascend.

This, I believe, is why the Sword of Exorcism can only be drawn once he’s learned the mononoke’s form, truth, and reason. He can only slay the mononoke if he comes to truly understand it and sympathize with it. It’s all part of a thousand-year long learning process in addition to aiding humanity.

And once he’s done, some day centuries from now, perhaps another young fox will take up the sword and walk through man’s despair, putting the souls of the anguished to rest.

It’s a lonely destiny, but it has its perks.

頑張ってね。

#mononoke #medicine seller #kusuriuri #theory #kitsune #fox #shinto #inari #ayakashi samurai horror tales #headcanon

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snowbellewells · 6 years

Text

Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)

Hello Everyone! I’m presenting the first installment of my second CSSNS offering: my werewolf MC. The idea for this fic has been in my head a long time, but I really needed this event to finally make me put pen to paper and give it a try. Though I love reading werewolves in stories, I haven’t really tried to write them myself before – so I hope I have done it justice. Also, don’t think I’ve forgotten that this is a CS event, just because Killian doesn’t physically appear in this prologue. You get a hint that he’s nearby, and I promise you’ll see him soon.

** Other things to note: Graham (and a few other characters from earlier in the show’s run) play larger parts in this divergence from early season two than they did in canon. If it seems like there’s a lot of set up in this first bit, that’s why. I’m trying to explain how some of them are still around and how it fits together differently from canon. Basically – in most respects – we’re at very early season two, the curse has just lifted and everyone knows who they are again, except Graham is still alive (how gets answered as we go along) and Emma and MM don’t go through the portal to the Enchanted Forest. Rumple never turns the wraith loose on Regina because Belle hasn’t been found; therefore the portal isn’t open for Emma to be pulled into.

I don’t hate Regina. However, it did bother me that she never even had to apologize or show real remorse for what she did to Graham – nor did it makes sense to me that no one ever seemed to figure it out, even once the curse broke and they knew magic existed. Since Graham is still around in this and has his memories, what happened comes out, and Regina does stay more of that conflicted, but still vindictive and dangerous, character we saw in season one and throughout season two.

I think that’s it for now… I hope you will enjoy and come back next week. I aim to post every Friday for the duration of the story, which as of now I am estimating will be around 10 to 12 chapters.

Don’t forget to send @wingedlioness some major praise and flailing for her AWESOME art to go along with this. The two she did for this first part make me feel like my fic has a movie poster!! (I only pray it lives up to the hype!!) She did others for me that I will post with the parts of the story they accompany.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @laschatzi @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @linda8084 @bmbbcs4evr @ps1473-4 (Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for this fic as well.)

By: @snowbellewells (TutorGirlml on ff.net)

~~ prologue: leaves on the wind

The crisp fall air of late September blew Emma Swan’s long, golden curls back over her shoulders and off her neck, tangling them together and causing a shiver to skitter through her as the chilly breeze of early evening glanced along her bared skin. Even as she clattered down the front steps of the diner, eager to get out of the rather close and over-warm space and the heavy, grease-scented air, she still felt it: the sense that had been following her around lately, more than any simple gossip or slander would account for, resting heavy on her shoulder, of being watched. Glancing around the outdoor seating area of Granny’s and down the quiet main street, deserted but for a few leaves blown here and there and Marco tinkering with the sign that hung over the door of his repair shop and pausing on his ladder to offer her a friendly wave and doff of his cap.

Emma tried to shrug off the troubling impression; eerie though it was, she wasn’t sure that it wasn’t just some manifestation of her own jumbled thoughts and fears, a tingling in her bones that had been discomforting her ever since the curse broke, almost a week ago now. Willing her hard-earned nerve and bravado to reassert themselves, Emma rolled her eyes at herself and how she had just mentally referred to the curse that had changed everything she’d come to know on its head as casually as if it were laundry day or a trip to the movies – just a regular little life-altering occurrence – and gathered the still warm carryout bags Ruby had pressed into her arms just a moment before closer to her chest as she picked up her brisk pace down the sidewalk. Something in her psyche wanted to kick her for running as she left Storybrooke’s most popular eatery behind her, but Emma honestly wasn’t in the mood.

The tiny hairs along the back of her neck prickled as she crossed the opening of the alley between Gold’s pawn shop and the library. She threw a glance down the dim space, but told herself to relax and blew out a frustrated breath before squaring her shoulders and moving on. Whatever sort of creepy premonition vibe she was picking up on lately, it simply had to be in her head. For one thing, this was the smallest, sleepiest, stuck-in-the-eighties town ever; beyond fights at the local watering hold between whom she now knew were three of her mom’s dwarves and guys she had learned were Jack Sprat, Tom Thumb and a definitely not-so-little Jack Horner, and the occasional clichéd kitten up a tree, nothing ever happened here – or at least, nothing of the normal criminal variety. Besides, she already knew who the supposed villains were – and she was well-acquainted with the fact that skulking around subtly wasn’t any of their styles.

No, the sense she felt was probably that same one she had experienced some time back, when Mayor Mills had run her smear campaign trying to overturn Emma’s appointment as deputy. Then, it had been judgmental eyes on her back and whispers that ceased when she walked into a room; now it was awkwardly hushed awe and averted eyes or slight bows when she tried to approach a group casually, and still the constant scrutiny – ill meant or not – and whispers, probably about how unprincess-like she, as their long lost princess, had turned out to be. In any case, the way it made Emma’s skin crawl uncomfortably really didn’t change that much from one case to the other.

Curling she and Graham’s dinner more protectively into her elbow, Emma sighed resignedly as she walked on, kicking at a stick on the pavement at her feet. Thinking back to those unpleasant weeks when she had almost given in, packed up, and moved on, the upheaval of the last several days didn’t seem quite so intense. Back then, it had seemed as though she was clinging to her tenuous bond with Henry by such a fragile, thin thread. Graham offering her the deputy sheriff position – and thus a legitimate reason to remain in town – had been a genuine boon, and when it had seemed as though that might slip through her fingers too – as good things always seemed to do in her life – Emma had almost hit the road once more. She’d been so close to taking off back to Boston, or anywhere really, it didn’t matter… she was always going to be alone.

No matter where she went, people never truly changed that much. Emma had learned that long ago, though Henry’s boundless optimism and the quaint little town’s charm had almost let her forget. It never got easier to ignore the labels that had followed her for most of her life – brought back to glaring focus by the newspaper expose Henry’s adoptive mother had ordered in her bid to see Emma ousted from her new town role. ‘Runaway’, ‘Thief’, ‘Orphan’, ‘Hussy’, ‘Teen Mom’, ‘Jail Bird’…those nasty words dogged her steps for the few days after the paper’s publication in the suspicious narrowing of eyes and disapproving pursing of lips as much as in any audible speech. For all too many moments, it had looked as though the little berg she had begun to hope could be a real home was going to turn its back on her. No matter how far or fast she ran, the barbed tips of both truth and rumor about her never failed to pierce Emma’s hard-won armor. She might be good at pretending the wounds didn’t sting, but she knew now more than ever that she would do well not to forget just how quickly the tide of public opinion could turn.

Even now, with the curse broken, and her tentatively coming to believe that she had not been an unwanted infant abandoned carelessly on the side of some deserted road, the lost little girl inside her still flinched at cruel jabs both real and imagined; there would never be enough time passed to make that completely go away. The childhood and adolescence she had weathered was an inner wound that would always draw blood – even as getting to know Henry, his forgiveness for her giving him up, his boundless blind faith in her, and meeting her parents after all the years lost, and learning how desperately they had indeed loved and wanted her, how they’d had no other choice but to give her what seemed her best chance and believe they would be reunited someday; even all those truths being brought home to her couldn’t undo everything else she had known before.

Upon reaching the sheriff’s station at last, Emma raised her chin from where she had buried it in her collar against the chilly wind and her hair being whipped across her face and into her eyes. She turned the knob and pushed into the station’s dingy and antiquated entryway, also finally shedding the odd sensation of eyes following her as she entered the squat cinderblock building. She could feel her mood lift slightly almost at once. In truth, this was the first job she had genuinely enjoyed doing in years – not only because she was good at it and got paid well, but for the fulfillment and sense of purpose it brought. Clearly, Graham had needed the second pair of hands; they’d be putting the filing back in order until next December, and the man couldn’t make a decent pot of coffee without somehow getting grounds in it to save himself. Still, he respected her and they worked well together. Emma was determined not to let down her guard and grow too comfortable again, but this sleepy little hamlet could almost feel something like a place to belong – not a description she would ascribe to any of the other places she had landed before.

A wry smile curled her lips just before she called out to let Graham know she was back with their food. She certainly wouldn’t take back Henry’s appearance on her doorstep and his bringing her here – whatever happened next. And watching the first real friend – outside of her 10-year-old and her own mother – she had made in years muttering to himself in his office, rifling through the haphazard piles of paperwork stacked all over his desk and running an occasional frustrated hand to swipe his errant curls off his forehead, she grinned even more warmly. They had exchanged one kiss – some months back now – but had decided to simply remain friends rather than risk the comfortable working relationship they shared and Henry’s hurt, as he cared so much for both of them, if it failed. They had somehow managed to simply go on as if it were a one-time gesture of affection and remain the partners and friends they were – for which she was constantly grateful. Graham was warm, open, supportive, and just lighthearted enough to crack truly awful jokes simply to see her roll her eyes, snort, and smile, but he was also capable and as driven as she was, determined to do their jobs well and protect those in their charge.

Stepping into the doorway of the lamp lit office, Emma had raised her hand to knock on the frame, but Graham looked up alertly before she could even complete the motion; hazel-deep eyes finding hers unerringly as if he had sensed or scented her presence before it could be humanly possible. She used to marvel at the uncanny ability her boss possessed; be it hearing, smell, or some other awareness, it was impossible to sneak up on him or catch him by surprise. Of course, now that the curse was broken, Emma knew, though she was still trying to wrap her head around it, that it was his werewolf nature allowing him that ability – his lupine senses were heightened and made him effectively alert and aware of everything. Smirking slightly she had to admit to herself that wasn’t at all a bad skill set for a sheriff to possess.

Shuffling forward almost bashfully, Emma held out the to-go bag in explanation, even as Graham waved her in without question, a welcoming smile on his scruffy face and stood to pull the visitor’s chair facing his desk over to the end of it where they could eat together more comfortably. Graham took the still steaming brown bag that Ruby had handed her with an understanding and apologetic smile not five minutes before and began to spread their meal out on his desk. They’d shared their evening meal right there nearly every night they both worked since he had hired Emma, and it was a settling bit of routine normalcy that soothed her jangled nerves as she sunk into the seat before her.

Graham looked up at her with a grateful crooked smile and the bright eyes that Emma would challenge anyone not to be charmed by (there was a reason she had kissed him that one time after all). “Thank you, Deputy,” he quipped, a playful emphasis on her title. “It was definitely time for a break.” He gestured at the stacks of files and paperwork all over his desk at those words.

Once they had both settled into their seats, Graham didn’t hesitate to take a huge bite out of the Philly Steak hoagie he’d ordered, munching happily and even closing his eyes in bliss with a low hum of satisfaction deep in his chest. For a moment, Emma could only watch, trying to remember if her friend – for all that he looked so trim and wiry – had always had such a voracious appetite and she merely didn’t notice before, or if it was a trait of his recently reacquired wolf within. She was still sometimes too stunned to believe that both he and his adopted sister Ruby, her two closest friends in Storybrooke beyond her parents (that was taking some adjustment too) could both shift into large wolves by the light of the moon. They had been born with the ability in the Enchanted Forest, and that side had merely been buried along with their true identities while under the curse. It was why Graham’s birth parents had abandoned him in the woods – or so he had told her, as he could only assume when he didn’t even remember them – to be found by a preteen Ruby on one of her nightly runs and brought back to live with she and Granny, folded into their little family as simply as if he had already belonged there. Emma had yet to see either of them transform, but she also knew in her bones that neither of them would lie to her. She had simply attempted to reconcile this one more bit of her new normal in her mind and move on without treating her friends any differently; even if, in moments like that, she did gawp at them in wonder. “That good, huh?” she finally managed with a chuckle, amused enough by his good natured enthusiasm and almost child-like joy to put aside her own cross mood and paranoia of being followed.

Then, she bit into her own first taste of Granny Lucas’ unparalleled onion rings and let out her own ecstatic moan at the hot, crisp, greasy goodness on her tongue. Graham laughed out loud in response, the whooping, uncalculated ring of it doing much to completely repair Emma’s clouded outlook. “I don’t know,” the sheriff countered her previous jest saucily, “you tell me.”

Emma nodded enthusiastically, her own eyes alight as well, and her mouth full of her first buttery toasted bite of Granny’s grilled cheese. When she could speak again, she conceded gladly, “Yep, you’re right. Granny’s is the best – and Ruby slipped bacon on here for me again. It’s like Heaven between two slices of bread!”

Graham snickered at her creative praise, and the two of them settled into a comfortable silence, busily munching on the food spread out before them and humming in pleased enthusiasm. Once they were finished, Emma began gathering up wrappers and napkins as Graham sat back contentedly in his chair, wiping crumbs from his front with his hand and grinning at his deputy in full-stomached satisfaction. “Well, that hit the spot,” he stated cheerily, eyes sparkling when she nodded in agreement with his words. He paused a moment, as if uncertain whether he should voice what he was about to say or not, then added, “I’m glad. You look a lot happier than you did when you first came back in here.”

Though she truly attempted not to – had long since decided in the months she and Graham had worked together side-by-side that the good hearted sheriff was trustworthy – Emma felt herself stiffen and begin to close off. She didn’t need any more concern over her emotional state and how she was dealing; her mother was doing enough of that to serve for a dozen people. The barrier she threw up was almost involuntary, no matter how well-intentioned she knew her boss was. Old habits were hard to break, and even more so when she felt half the time as if the town’s very borders were closing in on her, that she would never find “normal” again, and as if her every move was being scrutinized and probably coming up well short of what must have been expected in a long lost royal.

To his credit, the soft-spoken lawman didn’t push and delve into further questions. He backed up slightly, hands raised in appeal, before lifting a file from the stack before him and turning to put it in the corner cabinet, offering her a bit more space as if he had read her mind. ‘No, more likely he sensed the fear or frustration on me,’ her mind supplied unhelpfully, remembering his heightened shifter senses once more. Though he had his foster sister, and Granny, and Henry blatantly adored him, trailing after the sheriff or begging him to ride along on patrols, Graham seemed like a somewhat reluctant loner himself. Emma sensed he understood self-protective walls and keeping others at arm’s length all too well, even if she didn’t know everything he had been through. He might be willing to listen, but he clearly wouldn’t force her to talk.

She could ask him how he seemed to know, seemed to be on the outside looking in, but it really wasn’t fair when she was unwilling to share in return. Ruby had explained to her once – on an ill-fated girl’s night that only she and Ruby had made it to the end of – Mary Margaret and Ashley ducking out embarrassingly early – that shifters like them could only be contained for so long, and that though he had loved she and her gran and been happy with them, he had mostly returned to the forest when he came of age, living off the land as a skilled huntsman with a wolf he considered his brother at his side. It was only after a month when he hadn’t stopped in for even a supper or a quick visit, that they learned he had been commissioned for a job by the Evil Queen – and when he had failed to return, she had feared him dead. It wasn’t until befriending Snow White and hearing she and Charming’s whole story put together that Ruby had learned the fate of her adopted sibling was much worse: he had been made into one of Regina’s heartless black knights, his very mind and will subject to her whims and control.

Henry had told Emma all this as well, long before her waitress friend confided in her with newly-restored memories post-Curse, but Emma hadn’t truly believed him at the time, merely nodded along to humor her highly imaginative son as he’d flipped through his storybook not long after she and Graham had shared their single, ill-fated kiss. Graham’s collapse just afterwards, her panicked 911 call and what the confused Dr. Whale had vaguely labeled some sort of isolated cardiac event, had given cooler heads time to prevail where taking the romantic feelings behind that kiss much further had been concerned. At the time, Emma hadn’t questioned his awed “I remember” epiphany, chalking it up to disorientation from his impending health episode. Now she knew that somehow his memories had been returned to him before the curse breaking did the same for everyone else in town. Henry had been thrilled, and she knew that Graham had listened to her son seriously after that, truly joined his “Operation Cobra”, because he knew Henry was right, and wanted to help bring everyone back to themselves as well. He just hadn’t attempted to share it with her, knowing she would think him crazy and that it would push her even further from the truth. Instead, he had bided his time, and helped where he could, waiting and hoping and believing until the Savior could no longer deny who she truly was.

It made Emma chuckle lowly, and shake her head in amused disbelief; their whole world had changed, and yet here stood her friend, patiently waiting as he always had. He turned to look over his shoulder at her sound from where he stood at the open filing cabinet, head tilted to the side as he studied her curiously, until Emma finally admitted, “Yeah, I wasn’t in the best mood. It felt like everyone in the diner was wondering how I could possibly be their Princess. My parents keep fussing over me and trying to make up for 28 years in a week, and we still don’t know where Regina’s hiding or what she might be plotting next. It’s just…it’s a lot….that’s all.”

She blew out a breath, still not sure what compelled her to open up exactly. To her intense relief, Graham didn’t try to offer empty platitudes about it all being fine and not to worry. He merely nodded in understand, adding, “I’d imagine so. Our world back in the Enchanted Forest – your own family even – wasn’t real to you at all, and now it’s all been dumped in your lap.”

Emma bit her lip to hide its almost quivering a little at the emotion he summed up so succinctly. She wasn’t used to feeling so shaky and out of her depth – and she certainly didn’t like it. That didn’t even begin to factor in the weird sensation of being watched that she had experienced repeatedly, nor of being followed, though she kept feeling it crawling up the back of her neck the last couple of days. That had to be just a reaction to the other upheavals around her –if she could only convince herself of that fact.

Suddenly, Emma had to get out. The pressures of wondering what the Evil Queen might throw at them next, how to keep her son safe – while at long last getting to actually learn to be his mother, trying to reconnect with her own parents, and trying not to disappoint everyone else looking on, was overwhelming her once more. The walls of the station seemed to be drawing in, along with the suffocating weight of all that responsibility mentally added up as well. It really was more than any one person – a sane one anyway – should be expected to handle at one time.

Luckily, it had taken her long enough to fetch their dinner, that a quick glance at the clock back out into the main room over the coffeemaker and microwave showed that it was nearly quitting time anyway. She needed to get back to her room at the loft – if only for five minutes completely to herself to put her head back on straight – before she hyperventilated.

Before she could voice some excuse about the supper not sitting right or needing to help Henry with his homework, Graham looked up at her again, warm gaze concerned and voice soft in understanding, “Emma, you don’t look like you’re feeling well…”

She started to protest, even as she had been about to claim just that, but she didn’t want to seem like she was slacking, nor for her distress to be so obvious. She used to have a much better poker face. Graham waved off whatever comeback she was about to voice anyway. “Seriously, this place is so quiet they shouldn’t pay both of us to be here anyway. I’m closing up myself as we speak. I’ll put the phone on rollover to our cells at 9:00, and then I’m heading out too. You’re only gaining about twenty minutes.”

Shaking her head at his once more almost unbelievable kindness, Emma didn’t even try to protest further. Instead, she slung her jacket back over her shoulders and nodded her acquiescence as she stood. “If you’re sure,” she finally caved, “but make me return the favor sometime, okay?”

“Done,” Graham assured her, his expression genuine and further comforting her that he didn’t resent the early exit or her needing some time to regroup.

Another minute, and she was out the door, hesitating but a moment on the curb outside to button up her red jacket and pull her knit beanie down over her ears against the chill in the late September breeze. She stepped out briskly, crossing the street and picking up speed as the night had already lengthened into dark and the air had gone chill. It was only as she passed by the storefront with Dr. Hopper’s offices above on the second floor that a scuffling noise caught her ears enough that she turned sharply, peering once more down a narrow alley between buildings. She could have sworn the shadows shifted as something – or someone – drew further back out of sight. Emma tried to focus on the area where she had seen movement, practically holding her breath as she stared into the hovering blackness. Whatever had alerted her was clearly long gone though. She wasn’t running around in the night alone chasing what was probably a stray cat, nor was she going to let her jangly nerves imagine even more monsters than the ones she had already learned were real.

Turning back to face the street, Emma made herself move on toward the home she shared with Mary Margaret – and now David and Henry too. She couldn’t help the foreboding that skittered up her spine; no matter how many times she told herself she wasn’t being followed, that nothing was there, she was no longer sure that reassurance was true.

As if to seal her unease, just as she closed her fist over the door handle to enter their building’s stairwell up to the loft, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end in the night stillness. And it was then that a stark, shivering note rose on the chill air – coming from the nearby forest at the edge of town, but carrying in a haunting, wild cry, clear as a bell. It was the howl of a wolf, letting them all know it was there.

#cssns #cs au mc ff #run to me (in the dead of night)#prologue

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7r0773r · 6 years

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The Gift by Vladimir Nabokov, translated by Michael Scammell & Dmitri Nabokov

If I were to return now into that past, enriched in but one respect—awareness of the present day—and retrace exactly all my interlooping steps, then I would certainly notice [Yasha’s] face, now so familiar to me through snapshots. It is a funny thing, when you imagine yourself returning into the past with the contraband of the present, how weird it would be to encounter there, in unexpected places, the prototypes of today’s acquaintances, so young and fresh, who in a kind of lucid lunacy do not recognize you; thus a woman, for instance, whom one loves since yesterday, appears as a young girl, standing practically next to one in a crowded train, while the chance passerby who fifteen years ago asked you the way in the street now works in the same office as you. Among this throng of the past only a dozen or so faces would acquire this anachronistic importance: low cards transfigured by the radiance of the trump. (p. 41)

***

“Leave Pushkin alone: he is the gold reserve of our literature. And over there is Chekhov’s hamper, which contains enough food for years to come, and a whimpering puppy, and a bottle of Crimean wine.”

“Wait, let’s go back to the forebears. Gogol? I think we can accept his ‘entire organism.’ Turgenev? Dostoevski?”

“Bedlam turned back into Bethlehem—that’s Dostoevski for you. ‘With one reservation,’ as our friend Mortus says. In the ‘Karamazovs’ there is somewhere a circular mark left by a wet wine glass on an outdoor table. That’s worth saving if one uses your approach.”

“But don’t tell me all is well with Turgenev? Remember those inept tête-à-têtes in acacia arbors? The growling and quivering of Bazarov? His highly unconvincing fussing with those frogs? And in general, I don’t know if you can stand the particular intonation and the maudlin endings of his chapters. Or should we forgive all his sins because of the gray sheen of Mme. Odintsev’s black silks and the outstretched hind legs of some of his graceful sentences, those rabbitlike postures assumed by his resting hounds?”

“My father used to find all kinds of howlers in Turgenev’s and Tolstoy’s hunting scenes and descriptions of nature, and as for the wretched Aksakov, let’s not even discuss his disgraceful blunders in that field.” (pp. 72-73)

***

Have you ever happened, reader, to feel that subtle sorrow of parting with an unloved abode? The heart does not break, as it does in parting with dear objects. The humid gaze does not wander around holding back a tear, as if it wished to carry away in it a trembling reflection of the abandoned spot; but in the best corner of our hearts we feel pity for the things which we did not bring to life with our breath, which we hardly noticed and are now leaving forever. This already dead inventory will not be resurrected later in one’s memory: the bed will not follow us, shouldering its own self; the reflection in the dresser will not rise from its coffin; only the view from the window will abide for a while, like the faded photograph, fitted into a cemetery cross, or a trim-haired, steady-eyed gentleman in a starched collar. I would like to wish you good-by, but you would not even hear my greeting. Nevertheless, good-by. I lived here exactly two years, thought here about many things, the shadows of my caravan passed over this wallpaper, lilies grew out of the cigarette ash on the carpet—but now the journey is over. The torrents of books have gone back to the ocean of the library. I do not know if I shall ever read the drafts and extracts rammed under the linen in my suitcase, but I do know that I will never look in here again. (pp. 144-45)

***

When the French thinker Delalande was asked at somebody’s funeral why he did not uncover himself (ne se découvre pas), he replied: “I am waiting for death to do it first” (qu’elle se découvre la première). There is a lack of metaphysical gallantry in this, but death deserves no more. Fear gives birth to sacred awe, sacred awe erects a sacrificial altar, its smoke ascends to the sky, there assumes the shape of wings, and bowing fear addresses a prayer to it. Religion has the same relation to man’s heavenly condition that mathematics has to his earthly one: both the one and the other are merely the rules of the game. Belief in God and belief in numbers: local truth and truth of location. I know that death in itself is in no way connected with the topography of the hereafter, for a door is merely the exit from the house and not a part of its surroundings, like a tree or a hill. One has to get out somehow, “but I refuse to see in a door more than a hole, and a carpenter’s job” (Delalande, Discours sur les ombres, p. 45). And then again: the unfortunate image of a “road” to which the human mind has become accustomed (life as a kind of journey) is a stupid illusion: we are not going anywhere, we are sitting at home. The other world surrounds us always and is not at all at the end of some pilgrimage. In our earthly house, windows are replaced by mirrors; the door, until a given time, is closed; but air comes in through the cracks. “For our stay-at-home senses the most accessible image of our future comprehension of those surroundings which are due to be revealed to us with the disintegration of the body is the liberation of the soul from the eye-sockets of the flesh and our transformation into one complete and free eye, which can simultaneously see in all directions, or to put it differently: a supersensory insight into the world accompanied by our inner participation. (Ibid. p. 64). But all this is only symbols—symbols which become a burden to the mind as soon as it takes a close look at them. . . .

Is it not possible to understand more simply, in a way more satisfying to the spirit without the aid of this elegant atheist and equally without the aid of popular faiths? for religion subsumes a suspicious facility of general access that destroys the value of its revelations. If the poor in spirit enter the heavenly kingdom I can imagine how gay it is there. I have seen enough of them on earth. Who else makes up the population of heaven? Swarms of screaming revivalists, grubby monks, lots of rosy, shortsighted souls of more or less Protestant manufacture—what deathly boredom! (pp. 309-10)

***

The real writer should ignore all readers but one, that of the future, who in his turn is merely the author reflected in time. (p. 340)

***

Suddenly [Fyodor] imagined official festivals in Russia, soldiers in long-skirted overcoats, the cult of firm jaws, a gigantic placard with a vociferous cliché clad in Lenin’s jacket and cap, and amidst the thunder of stupidities, the kettledrums of boredom, and slave-pleasing splendors—a little squeak of cheap truth. . . . Oh, let everything pass and be forgotten—and in two hundred years’ time an ambitious failure will vent his frustration on the simpletons dreaming of a good life (that is if there does not come my kingdom, where everyone keeps to himself and there is no equality and no authorities—but if you don’t want it, I don’t insist and don’t care). (p. 358)

#vladimir nabokov #book quotes

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dsfsposts · 3 years

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The Ultimate Guide to Waterproof Dry Bags

Dry bags are a must-have piece of gear for any outdoor adventurer. While they are simple, easy to use, you’ll find there are many different styles, sizes, materials, and features that go into them. I hope to guide you through the decision-making process with this ultimate guide to waterproof dry bags. Let’s get started!

If you’re just looking for our best dry bag recommendation, check out Gold Coast gear for all sizes and colors.

What’s a Waterproof Dry Bag?

As the name implies, their primary job is to keep any piece of outdoor gear dry. The bag is a flexible container, typically with a roll-top closure. Roll-top Dry Bags provide a Watertight enclosure by the way they are secured. Instead of a Zip-top or zipper type of closing mechanism, the bag is secured by rolling down or dog-earing the top at least three times, them clipping the buckles together.

We will go over other ways of securing a dry bag, but the most reliable ones are closed with a roll-top seal. The reason Mountaineers prefer this over a zipper and zip-top closing style is that a rolling top is virtually indestructible.

Two pieces of fabric being pressed together won’t wear out like a waterproof zipper. It will perform the same in a cold environment (unlike a zipper) and can easily be closed with gloves on.

Who Uses Dry Bags & What Are They For

Waterproof dry bags are one of the most common items for many outdoor activities. It’s easy to see why, over the years, many people have adopted them.

Backpackers: Wanting to separate valuable gear keeping it clean and dry. Have multiple smaller dry bags of different colors help keep them organized.

Water Sports: It’s ubiquitous to find a large waterproof dry bag on a Kayak or Canoe. Waterproof backpacks are used for paddleboarding or SUP for short. Large dry bags are also routinely used for rafting as well.

Camping: Dry bags are used to keep wet gear separate from dry clothes. Small dry bags can hold electronics, keeping them safe from water and dust.

Alternative Uses: Using them as a pillow, gathering water, a bear bag, and a boat anchor.

These are just some of the uses for people that need to protect their equipment.

Different Closing Dry Bag Styles

Closing roll-top dry bags is recommended, but let’s look at other ways of closing them. Let’s compare the zip-top and zipper closing bags to the roll-top.

Zip-Top or Ziploc Closing Dry Bag

This type of bag is excellent for smaller, lighter items that fit nicely in the small pockets of a backpack. I keep a few Ziploc bags whenever I go hiking to keep my toiletries clean. The problem with this closing mechanism is when you have larger, more substantial items.

With heavier gear rolling around in a Ziploc bag, the top can easily blow out. If you close a Ziploc bag with air in it, a small amount of pressure will pop the bag right open. A roll-top dry bag won’t do this. If enough force is applied to a roll-top style bag, the seams will blow out before the top will.

Cold weather will make the zip-top stiff and hard to close. While they will be fine in most temperatures the cold weather will affect the performance.

Freegrace sells a dry bag that has a zip-top combined with a roll-top. While this isn’t necessary or really adds any extra protection, they claim it’s for added security. They also note that in cold weather, the zip-top won’t perform well, and oil needs to be applied before closing the bag.

Waterproof Zipper Dry Bags

A true waterproof zipper will not leak, but the problem is many so-called “Waterproof Zippers” are merely water-resistant. This kind of zipper will let water leak in if they are exposed in the rain or dropped in water long enough. Bag manufacturers do this to save on costs because true waterproof zippers are expensive.

Another downside is that waterproof zippers are stiff, so they don’t slide easily like the normal zippers we’re used to using. This can be a real pain in cold weather as the zippers will be even stiffer. Lubricating the zipper can help with this stiffness.

As with zip-top bags, zippers can blow out when overstuffed. If this happens while you’re out on the trail, you could be stuck with a useless bag for days.

The last downside is that zipper bags are difficult to close with gloves on. In cold weather, the zipper will stiffen up, making it even hard to close with thick winter gloves.

How to Choose The Best Dry Bag

Before we look at different sizes of dry bags, we need to choose a material first. Dry bags generally come in two different categories, thick heavyweight or thin ultra-lightweight material.

Thick Dry Bags

Some dry bags are heavy, but they’re built to take a beating. Take a look at a dry bag made from 500D PCV Tarpaulin for durability. It’s tough, but at the downside of being very heavy and inflexible. These kinds of dry bags are usually recommended as “best value” because they last for years in harsh conditions.

Benefits Of Having A Waterproof Backpack

One of the most infuriating things about going camping, backpacking, or hiking during the rainy months of the year is reaching your destination and finding all your gear and equipment soaked through. And it doesn’t even have to be raining for you to experience this. Sometimes, crossing a river or a creek or walking under a waterfall is more than enough for this to happen. That is why many knowledgeable and experienced camper or backpacker knows how important it is to have a reliable waterproof backpacking or hiking backpack.

A waterproof backpacking backpack or camping backpack comes with many benefits that you wouldn’t get from a typical everyday backpack. However, some of the latest waterproof backpacks imbued with the best waterproofing technology can be quite expensive which is why some people are on the fence when it comes to purchasing one. If you are looking for a reason or two as to why you should invest in one, we have outlined the best ones below for you. But before we dive into our top reasons why you need a waterproof backpack, let’s go over a brief description of what it actually is and how it is different from another popular type of outdoor backpack, the water-resistant backpack.

The Best Waterproof Duffel Bags: Duffel Dry Bags for Travel & Outdoors

If you've ever been concerned about your belongings getting wet while traveling or spending time outdoors---a waterproof duffel bag is your secret weapon. These durable and fully waterproof bags are ideal for situations when you just need the ultimate protection.

A versatile travel backpack is great for everyday travel, but when you need to keep your gear safe from even the most extreme conditions, dry bag type duffels are a much better option.

When traveling, especially in foreign climates, you just don't know what conditions you'll find yourself in---and who knows what happens to your bag in transit. I've learned to be better prepared and safe, than sorry.

I've taken 10+ hour overnight bus journeys only to arrive at my destination finding that my luggage was moved from the secure and dry under bus storage to the top roof rack! Thankfully on this trip I decided chose decided to take my The North Face Base Camp Duffel, which keep all my belongings dry---even through a wet and rainy night.

Your average travel backpack and luggage are great for the casual traveler, but if you are one who seeks adventure and outdoors, they often just don't cut it.

Most travel bags will do a decent job keeping your gear dry when exposed to light rain, but a fully waterproof bag will ensure your stuff stays dry---no matter what.

Cooler Bag Technology

The original ice chest was made out of galvanized metal. Later versions were made from hard plastic. They were double-walled with a layer of dense Styrofoam in between which helped to keep the contents cool. Today's ice chests are still made this same basic way.

Styrofoam was a suitable insulator, but it had to be relatively thick to maintain internal temperatures for an extended period of time. And, of course, Styrofoam is easily dented and broken, so it had to be encapsulated in a hard shell to prevent breakage. As such, ice chests have to be rigid.

By contrast, cooler bags are not rigid. Instead, they are usually made from heavy but flexible fabrics, like polyester, on the outside. The inside is lined with heavy duty foil. In between the outer and inner layers are layers of materials like flexible foam, which are thin but dense and have the ability to maintain internal temperatures for several hours. This technology allows for a bag that is flexible and thin and, therefore, easy and convenient to transport. Also, unlike their rigid predecessors, cooler bag can be manufactured in a wider variety of sizes and shapes.

How to get abandoned, lost and discarded ‘ghost’ fishing gear out of the ocean

Fishing gear and plastic marine debris is a growing global issue. Abandoned, lost or discarded fishing gear — often called ghost gear — can contribute up to 76 per cent of all marine debris found during beach cleanups.

Estimates of the weight of abandoned fish gear vary widely by region and by type of gear used. One study retrieved 14 tonnes from the northwestern Hawaiian Islands. In one fishing region in Nova Scotia, an estimated 22 tonnes of fishing gear remains at sea. Overall, an estimated 640,000 tonnes of ghost gear is lost globally in the oceans every year.

This derelict fishing gear continues to catch fish, including commercially valuable and threatened species, and other marine fauna. For example, ghost gear, especially nets, are responsible for entangling seals and sea turtles. One abandoned fishing net in Puget Sound in the United States is expected to catch two invertebrates per day, one fish every three days and one seabird every five days.

It also costs fishers. Ghost gear reduces catch rates and cuts into profits, it is expensive to replace and it can be dangerous — getting tangled in propellers and snarling anchors.

What Makes a Good Fishing Cooler?

Fishing cooler bag generally spend a lot of time in the sun and around the water, so it’s important that these coolers are both rust resistant and UV protected. Other benefits of a true fishing cooler will be the added insulation as well as odor and stain resistant materials. A good fishing cooler will also need to come equipped with a good seal to protect ice retention. There are many great fishing coolers to choose from, but have you ever thought about an insulated fish bag? These insulated bags can be a great alternative depending on how you plan to use your fishing cooler.

What is a Fishing Bucket?

Fishing bucket is frequently used by professional fisherman for the simple fact that they have been proven that the original weight of a fish can be maintained by placing it in an insulated bag with ice. Good insulated fish bags are lightweight, weighing much less than even small coolers. UV resistant, they are designed to hold ice all day; keeping your newly caught fish fresh for hours. These insulated fish bags should be leak proof and should be constructed in a way which makes them easy to clean. So, which is the best choice for your next fishing trip? Let’s take a look at the pros and cons of both.

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superstarstrategies · 4 years

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17 Top secrets for selling a home fast

Selling a home can be a real slog at the best of times, but in the current market it’s particularly difficult and sellers need to pull out all the stops to make their properties stand out from the competition and ensure it doesn’t languish on the market interminably.

This is according to Jill Lloyd, Veteran Agent and Area Specialist in Claremont and Clarepark for Lew Geffen Sotheby’s International Realty, says:

Appointing the right agent to partner with is important, but it’s equally important for sellers to take an active role in the process as there are numerous things a homeowner can do to significantly facilitate the sale.

“In an oversaturated market, sellers cannot afford to sit back and simply wait for that one buyer who might be able to see past the flaws to the home’s potential or recognise a rough diamond in a sea of worthy competition.

“There is undoubtedly an element of luck to selling a home quickly, but if you’re doing everything right and working closely with your agent, it’s only a matter of time before the right buyer will come along.”

Lloyd shares 17 tried and true tips to ensure your property stands out from the crowd in a tough market, selling as quickly as possible for the highest possible price.

1. Research and prepare: Before you contact an agent, do your homework and research the market in your area. What are similar properties selling for, what features are popular, which listed properties stand out for you and why?

2. Play the agent field: Good agents are worth their weight in gold, but the wrong agent can just as easily scupper a deal. Interview at least two agents and don’t be won over by the highest valuation received, especially in a tough buyer’s market when the highest valuation is usually not the best valuation.

Rather select an agent based on their skill sets, local market and area knowledge, the company’s marketing ability and their track record in your neighbourhood.

3. Pocket your pride and price your property right: You can’t afford to price yourself out of contention, especially in a strident buyer’s market. If you have appointed a strong agent, you should trust them to guide you. Remember that there is a difference between market price and the bricks and mortar value - and there is always a ceiling to what the market is willing to pay. Rather create a bidding war with competitive pricing than have your home sit on the market for ages with no offers.

4. Touch up – but don’t over-upgrade: Quick fixes always pay off, but you are unlikely to see a return on investment for major make-overs just before selling. Make sure all fixtures and fittings are working, replace broken door handles and fix leaky taps. If possible, give the interior and exterior a fresh coat of paint, but stick to a neutral palette so that the new homeowner can add their personal touch and splash of colour.

5. Don’t underestimate the importance of the kitchen: It literally is the heart of the home and it’s the one room where you can splurge a little more when touching up - and recoup most of the money. If you have a little extra cash, buy one quality stainless steel appliance because when people see one high-end appliance, they assume all the others are also good quality. It will also update the kitchen nicely.

6. You only have one chance to make a good first impression: Before setting foot inside, a buyer will already have formed an impression and judged your home, so don’t neglect to spruce up the kerb appeal. Paint the fence, mow the lawn and it’s never a waste of money to plant some flowers or greenery if your garden is bare. Entryways are also important so make sure your front door is presentable and if you have a porch, outdoor furniture and a pot plant won’t go amiss.

7. Professional photographs – and plenty of them: With so many properties on the market at the moment, you need to grab potential buyer’s attention and the best way to do this is with quality photographs that show your home to its best advantage. A meagre selection and pictures depicting mess and clutter will ensure your home attracts very little interest.

8. Compare your advert with others: Have a look at your property ads online and compare them to other similar properties in the area. Particularly examine the photos, what the lead image is, how big the rooms look and also read the property description. If yours doesn’t stand out from the others, ask your agent to amend the advert.

9. Keep it light and bright: Good natural light features on most buyer wish lists so maximise the light in your home by cleaning the windows, tying back curtains, opening blinds, increasing the wattage of light bulbs and trimming bushes and trees outside windows. A light, bright and airy home is much more sellable.

10. Be flexible with viewing times: Yes, it’s a pain, but the sooner you let prospective buyers view your home, the sooner it will sell.

11. Always be show-ready: You never know when your buyer is going to walk through the door and it’s very possible that he or she will want to view at short notice. Don’t leave dishes in the sink, make sure the bathrooms are always sparkling and that bedroom floors are sock- and underwear-free.

12. Never show the property yourself: It may be true that no one knows your house better than you, but viewing properties when the owner is at home can make buyers feel very uncomfortable. They are also less likely to ask questions or voice opinions for fear of offending the homeowner. Rather give your estate agent a set of keys and schedule viewings for when you can be out the house.

13. Make it Experiential: Potential buyers should be able to imagine themselves living in your home so make it as inviting as possible. Try to stimulate all the senses with enticing aromas like freshly baked biscuits, brightly coloured flowers, set the dinner table with good china. The goal is to make people feel reluctant to leave the warmth of your home.

14. De-personalise your home: This is very important because the more personal items in your house, the less potential buyers can imagine themselves living there. Pack away photographs and personal clutter, keep the fridge clear of kid’s drawings.

15. Half-empty closets: Storage space is one thing every buyer looks for and over-stuffed cupboards will give the impression that there is insufficient storage in your home. If possible, take half the stuff out of your closets then neatly organise what’s left. Buyers will inevitably snoop, so make sure all your wardrobes and cabinets are clean and tidy.

16. Clear the garage: Yes, it’s the perfect place to hide the clutter from the house and its where you store all the things you seldom use, but rather take the opportunity to clear it now to make a better impression and save yourself the hassle when you move. A messy garage will detract from the effort you make in the house.

17. Conceal the pets: Not everyone is a dog- or cat-lover and being welcomed by wet licks or stumbling over a smelly litter box could put off a keen buyer. If possible, take the mutts with you when people are viewing – or spoil them and take them for a walk.

SOURCE: www.privateproperty.co.za

#real estate agent #real estate #property #property market #training #development #consulting #coaching #mentoring #one day workshops #for sale #to let

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silverjewelrypping · 5 years

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What is the quality of the earrings?

Who benefits from the prettiest earrings if it harms health? Burns, itches or flakes the ear hole, loses even the noblest piece of gloss. But how do I recognize high quality jewelry?

The material - the main role in earrings

It is not the shape and color, but the material that determines the quality of a piece of jewelry. It is all the more worthwhile to take a careful look at our small material guide.

Beware of Nickel

Whether in eyeglass frames, scissors, buttons or jewelry - nickel is omnipresent. The material is even present in lettuce and chocolate. There is nothing wrong with nickel either. An overdose is questionable. There is a dangerous amount of nickel in inexpensive costume jewelry. It is not for nothing that allergic skin reactions such as swelling, redness, burning, itching or pustules often occur during or after wearing. Your skin defends itself against the chemical element.

Since a striking number of jewelry wearers are allergic to nickel, there is now an EU nickel regulation. This determines how many grams of nickel a week can come into contact with the skin. A maximum of 0.2 micrograms per square centimeter per week is recommended for earrings. Jewelery that significantly exceeds the guidelines should be used with caution.

Surgical Steel

A good choice for earrings is surgical steel, also known as 316L. Behind it is a rust-proof stainless steel with a low nickel content. The material convinces with its exemplary anti-allergic properties. It is not for nothing that it is ideal for first and follow-up earrings.

But why is one actually talking about surgical steel? Quite simply: The material is also used in medicine, especially in surgery. When it comes to surgical grafts, the anti-allergic steel is expressly desired. After all, the grafts should remain in the human body for a lifetime without causing health problems.

Titanium

If a material is good for the skin, it is titanium. Since the robust classic is absolutely corrosion-resistant, it achieves 100 percent biodiversity. In other words: it is exceptionally skin-friendly. It is not without reason that medicine has sworn by titanium for decades. Whether new hip joint, dentures or heart valve - Titan is a medical all-rounder.

If allergic reactions nevertheless occur after contact with titanium, it is usually not due to titanium, but to small impurities. Even pure titanium is not immune to them. Titan allergies are not yet known - good news for allergy sufferers.

Silver

925 Sterling Silver is also suitable for sensitive skin types. Even allergy sufferers rarely report unpleasant side effects after wearing silver jewelry. However, only a few pieces of jewelry are made from 100% silver, not even sterling silver. Mixed metals are added. And the more mixed metals in the game, the higher the allergy risk.

Plastic

Fashion jewelry likes to use plastic. Compatibility often leaves something to be desired. Our tip: If the manufacturer's description does not allow any conclusions to be drawn about the origin of the plastic, you should look around for other accessories. In addition, plastic jewelry quickly loses shape. In the cold, the material bends or splinters.

The Processing - The Devil Is in The Details

High quality earrings are keen on details. Whether handmade or cast - everything is just right here. The jewelry manufacturers work meticulously towards a noble finish. This care cannot always be said for cheap or mass-produced goods. They are often cast thicker; metal remains stick out or the individual metal seams are too clearly recognizable. They lack finesse. The reason: Inexpensive costume jewelry is usually not reworked. These processing errors testify to inferior quality: dirty eyelets rough, unsuitable mechanics (hooks that are too thin without locks; poorly processed ear nut with imprecise material clamping) lifelessly glued on gemstones.

The price - a subtle quality feature

More expensive earrings are the better one? Unfortunately, it's not quite that simple. Even a cheap pair of ear studs from the nearest drugstore sometimes turns out to be a stroke of luck. But sometimes you are completely wrong. INR 300 for stunningly beautiful, durable and well-tolerated earrings is anything but a matter of course.

The price-performance ratio often creates clarity. High-quality, handmade earrings made of fine materials such as sterling silver, pure diamonds or valuable colored gemstones cost only INR 300 according to the price tag? Either the dealer is very generous, or something is wrong.

It is the other way around: fashion jewelry with a high nickel content and colored gemstones made of plastic costs INR 3000 ? Somebody wants to pull the money out of your pocket. Neither the material nor the workmanship justifies the unnaturally high price.

The provider - a matter of trust

With cheap earrings, the choice of the dealer is usually irrelevant - different with high-quality jewelry. If you are looking for solid gold diamond studs or earrings, you do not choose any provider - especially not online. There has to be a certain amount of trust.

At best, you have already had positive experiences with a jewelry retailer. The service was good, the piece of jewelry corresponded to your personal wishes. Here you can safely order again.

It becomes more difficult with unknown providers. Follow up with friends, family and colleagues. Maybe someone from your close circle of friends has useful things to report. If not, study customer reviews. Most buyers are satisfied with your piece of jewelry. Sounds good, maybe you are too. Quality and security seals are also a sign of authenticity, just like meaningful product photos and detailed product descriptions.

From gemstones to pearls - the subtleties of earrings

Simple earrings are content with a straightforward design. Bells and whistles are not important to them. But of course, there is another way: Decorative highlights such as pearls and gemstones give the little treasures a special twist. But there are also huge differences in quality in the accents. It's worth taking a look twice.

Pearl Earrings

The most feminine of all jewelry is the pearl. It gently refines the skin. But pearl is not just pearl. Natural and cultured pearls have the greatest value. After all, they mature naturally in mussels.

Its trademark is imperfection. Small flaws such as cracks, discoloration, dents, lackluster spots or indentations characterize the shimmering natural beauties. A perfectly rounded pearl is the exception. It is precisely this beautiful imperfection that distinguishes the real pearl from the artificial pearl.

The synthetic pearl is simply too beautiful to be real. Their round shape looks almost flawless. The industry helped here. However, this does not mean that artificial pearls cannot look fantastically beautiful. Even fashion icon Coco Chanel bravely reaches for the synthetic beauties.

If you want to know exactly, consult the A-B-C-D system from Tahiti. The evaluation grid determines the quality of the pearl: A: Congratulations. You are holding a pearl of the highest quality. The piece of jewelry is almost flawless. Only tiny flaws characterize the sensually shiny surface. B: Good choice: your pearl is of excellent quality. At least 75% of the area is flawless. There is also a medium to strong chandelier. C: Not bad: Your pearl impresses with a medium luster and a flawless surface of at least 60%. D: The lowest quality level: Several small defects are visible on more than 60% of the surface. This pearl is not suitable for jewelry making.

Earrings with Precious Stones

Whether timeless diamond, intense ruby, mysterious emerald, mystical onyx or invigoratingly fresh aquamarine - gemstones are the crowning glory of the earrings. With them, every noble piece looks even more noble. But how do you recognize their value? The four Cs help you determine:

Carat

Color

Cutt

Clarity

The carat

The expert calls the weight of a gem carat. And the more carats a gem has, the higher its value.

If you want to determine the carat of your gem, you don't necessarily have to go to the jeweler. The kitchen and letter scales also provide reliable information about its weight.

The shade

Colorless diamond is the rarest. Its rarity also explains its considerable value. The further the color of a gemstone is from colorless, the lower its value.

Diamonds in bright colors such as red, blue or green occur almost as rarely in nature. These so-called fancy colors are of exceptional value.

The cut

The most valuable cut is undoubtedly the brilliant cut. It lets the gem shine in at least 57 symmetrical facets. The light breaks in its artistic structure from all sides. The sensual play of light is of such a unique beauty that we also use the word “brilliant” in everyday life. If we find something great, we speak of brilliant.

Other precious cuts are the rose, oval, stair, emerald and scissor cuts. The incoming light is reflected in its many facets in an almost magical way.

If you like it more subtle, choose earrings with smooth cut gemstones. Whether spherical stone, cabochon or tumbled stone - the flat variant is made for simple earrings.

The purity

In our ideal, the gem is transparent and translucent. Of course, there is this ideal, but reality says something else. Gemstones are often shaped by inclusions. Some so much that they are completely opaque.

The basic principle is the clearer and more translucent the gem, the more valuable it is. But there are exceptions: Some gemstones are so precious precisely because of their rare inclusions. This is the case with mineral needles. Chatoyance such as the tiger or falcon eye are also very popular.

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itsbarbarahall · 5 years

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A Graduation Gift that Stands the Test of Time, Pearls

Cultured Pearls and Sterling Silver Earrings €35

A lot of time, talent and hard work went into getting the graduate where she is today. Mark the occasion with something more memorable than money...gorgeous pearls. Learn how to choose an affordable, quality pearl pendant, pearl strand, pearl earrings, and Pearl Bracelet

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Ah, graduation. A lot of hard work, time, talent, money and drive have led to this point: a milestone that will be celebrated, photographed and remembered forever. Whether from high school, college, law school, medical school, or what have you, graduation is a wonderful time of excitement and change.

How to mark the occasion? You can always write a check. (What new graduate doesn’t need money?) Before you whip out your wallet, however, remember that cash is practical, yet very impersonal. Because you’re reading this, it’s a good guess that the graduate is a special woman in your life, she worked hard to get where she is, and she deserves a graduation gift that is truly memorable.

How about something memorable, practical, meaningful and beautiful? Try pearls.

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Pearls—whether pearl studs, a pearl pendant or a beautiful pearl strand—is a classic and wonderful addition to any woman’s jewelry box. Whether she’s heading off to college, interviewing for jobs, about to embark on a career, or planning a wedding, the recent graduate can wear pearl jewelry for instant polish. Added bonus: She’ll remember you every time she wears them.

Which pearls to choose Pearls come in many beautiful styles, shapes and designs, but for graduation, a simple classic style that will stand the test of time is best. (They don’t call them staples for nothing.) Because classic pearls are so popular, there are a variety of options from which to choose. The following are classics she’ll reach for again and again.

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• Pearl stud earrings: The great thing about pearl studs is that they go with everything. Round, white pearls with a rosé overtone flatter most skin types, and make a wonderful addition to any jewelry box. Some stores even carry pearl studs for non-pierced ears.

• 16 inch pearl strand: A matched pearl strand is a jewelry staple for a reason: it’s a classic—not to mention a no-brainer accessory that a woman can reach for to instantly add polish to an outfit. Shorter strands worn closer to the throat draw attention to the wearer’s face and skin; with their dewy complexions, young women look fantastic in pearl chokers. This style sits close to the throat and looks great with a business suit, v-neck sweater, tee-shirt or open-collared dress shirt. • 18 inch pearl strand: This slightly more versatile, “princess” length necklace can be worn with most any neckline, and will serve the graduate well throughout her life. The princess length is a very popular choice for a great reason: it works well with everything from turtlenecks to sweaters, business suits, dress shirts, and more. • pearl pendant: A pearl pendant necklace featuring a single, large pearl is a great option that can be worn with many different styles. Choose a thin sterling silver or white gold chain for a modern look. • pearl bracelet: A perfect complement to a bold watch, and slightly more affordable than a pearl necklace, a pearl bracelet adds polish and class. • pearl ring: A pearl ring can make quite a bold and sophisticated statement, especially when the ring features a single, large pearl. The only downside to buying a ring is that you need to know the graduate’s ring size. Classic pearl rings look fantastic with both white and yellow gold.

Many retailers and online stores sell classic pearl jewelry in sets. Not only is this great because you pay less for the set than if you purchased a necklace, earrings and bracelet separately, but buying a pearl jewelry set provides the added bonus that the pieces will match.

What to look for No matter which style you choose, or whether you buy pearls from a local jewelry store, large retail chain or Internet store (which should offer adequate descriptions of what you’re buying along with a money-back guarantee), keep in mind these tips when you’re shopping for pearls and you won’t go wrong: • You’ll pay more for larger pearls. In general, a larger pearl takes longer to form, and the chances of finding a perfectly round, large pearl are slim. After the 7.5-8mm mark for freshwater cultured pearls and akoya cultured pearls, the most popular pearl types, prices rise dramatically. A 6.5mm strand is both lovely and affordable—and perfect for young women. • Pay attention to luster and surface. Pearls should have a high luster, or surface sheen, meaning they reflect light well. They should also be free from large blemishes such as chips and pits, although small blemishes are acceptable. An absolutely perfect strand is likely faux. Pearls are, after all, a natural product, and small variations are to be expected and do not detract from the pearls’ value. • Round is the hands-down favorite shape. While baroque pearls are gorgeous, and button and coin pearls are modern and affordable, when it comes to classic pearls, round is still in. To check that pearls are uniformly round, ask the jeweler or read the Internet description. If you can handle the strand, roll it on a table. Matched pearls will roll smoothly. • Thickness is important. Most pearls sold today are cultured pearls, and the best ones are formed in oysters or mussels that have been implanted with small, mother-of-pearl beads and mantle tissue or mantle tissue only and left in the water long enough for a sufficient coating of nacre to form. Avoid pearls that have been implanted with large plastic or glass beads or harvested prematurely; they will flake and peel easily. • Pay attention to uniformity. Make sure that pearls in a piece of jewelry are the same size, color, shape and luster. • Beware: Some jewelry makers try to hide smaller or imperfect pearls near the clasp. • Choose color carefully. Pearls look best if they flatter the skin tone of the wearer.

Follow these pearl-buying tips, choose wisely, and your graduate will have a jewelry staple she’ll treasure forever.

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#graduationgift graduationgifts pearls pearljewelry choosingpearls culturedpearlsfreshwaterpearlsaffordablepearls pearlsets pearlpendants pea

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stillthewordgirl · 7 years

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LOT/CC fic: Just One Night, ch. 5 (of 6)

When Team Legends returns to Central City for Barry and Iris' wedding, Sara jumps at a chance to do something, anything, else.

She doesn't even remotely suspect where that decision will lead her. (Or to whom.)

Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net. Many thanks to @larielromeniel for giving this a read!

"Is it crashing if you have an invitation?"

"Well…you didn't RSVP, right?"

"Nope." Leonard had smirked at her. "And I even have a plus-one."

"Seriously? How the hell did you rate that?"

"I have no idea. Thought I'd be too much of a threat at the singles table, I guess."

"Keep flattering yourself, Len."

Sara, pulling her dress out of its bag back at the deserted STAR Labs, shakes her head, smiling at the memory. Leonard had seemed uncertain about her impulsive idea at first ("I don't want them to see me quite yet, Assassin…") but Sara's promised him there's a way of "attending" that will maintain his secret for the time being and yet give him the bragging rights to let Barry Allen know that he'd been there after all.

And the chance to see his sister, even if he doesn't speak to her quite yet.

"What do you mean, Lisa's back in town? She left right after Barry told her...told her..."

"Cisco said she was getting in right before the wedding. He invited her, but only heard from her today. In hindsight, I think he probably wanted me to tell you."

The dress isn't much the worse for wear for its time folded up in her duffel; Gideon, at this point, knows to create clothing that can stand up to most everything they can throw at it. Sara smooths the silky dark blue material out, smiling, then runs a hand through her hair before grabbing a brush out of her bag. She'd already taken a quick shower and if there's one bit of nonviolent, practical knowledge she'd retained from the League, it's how to quickly blend in with any given situation.

Like someone else she knows.

"You have a suit handy, Crook?"

"Gotta be ready to fit into lots of different environments in my line of work, Assassin."

"Good. Better if we blend in. Can you get us into STAR Labs? My dress is there."

"What do you think?"

"I think we need to get going. There's not that much time left."

When she steps out of the bathroom where she'd gotten dressed, Leonard is waiting there, leaning against the wall and looking too debonair for words in a midnight-blue suit and snowy white shirt. He straightens when he sees her, and the look in his eyes makes her really sorry she didn't go for the first option that had popped into her head earlier, when he'd said they had only one night.

It'd involved less crashing a wedding and more crashing... well... into a bed. Together. No clothing involved.

But, for all the flirting and innuendo and god-I-missed-you background tension of the past five hours, he hasn't brought up anything of the sort himself. No "you and me," no attempt at stealing a kiss. (She'd known, after all, that he was a hell of a thief.) Perhaps he's changed his mind. Perhaps something seen in the Time Force had changed it for him. Perhaps...

Perhaps she's thinking too much.

She'd swear the heat in his eyes isn't imagined, but "nice dress," is all he says.

"Nice suit." Her attention is caught by the tiny package, wrapped in gold paper, that he's flipping through the fingers of one hand. "What is... oh, no you didn't..."

He stops, and the package vanishes somewhere she can't see. The smirk, however, grows wider. "What?"

"You asshole." But there's no heat in the words, just a bit of grudging admiration. "You managed to grab something at the museum anyway, didn't you?"

"Maybe." Stepping forward, he smirks down into her eyes. "Nothing too valuable. Just big enough to make a point. Barry will return it with many apologies; no harm done."

"You," Sara informs him, poking him in the chest with a finger, "are a jerk. One that cleans up nicely, but... still." Poke. "Jerk."

One long-fingered hand snakes up and captures her finger, and hand, imprisoning them. "Mmm. You think so, do you?" His eyes are glinting as he looks down at her. Sara glares up at him, trying not to smile—or think too much about the first option.

She sees an odd expression cross his face, and he moves a little closer, tilting in head, bringing his face a little closer to her upturned one. There's a question in his voice as he says, "Sara..."

"Ahem."

Neither of them is used to being snuck up on. But Harrison Wells has managed it quite well.

Sara doesn't do anything as amateurish as jump, and neither does Leonard. But they both step back—OK, a bit abruptly-and then turn to look at the man who's paused in the doorway to the Cortex.

Wells has a perfectly deadpan expression on his face as he stands there watching them. "Ms. Lance." He nods to her. "I see you've found our sometime-visitor, part-time pain in the ass." His gaze switches to Leonard. "And Mr. Snart. If you must persist in wandering around in here like you own the place, I'd appreciate it if you'd let Barry give you the key he keeps offering." There's a touch of asperity in the dry tone. "All this breaking and entering is hard on the security system."

"Well, I don't know. What fun is that?" To Sara's surprise, there's actually a touch of humor in Leonard's voice as he folds his arms and regards the other man. "Ditch the party so soon? Just couldn't take it anymore? I thought you told Barry you wouldn't bail."

"I'll have you know I came back here to check on an experiment that's running. And to make sure there were no intruders." The irony is heavy in his voice as he points at them. "And look! Intruders. Good thing I did."

Leonard snorts, unimpressed. "Not going back, then?"

Wells' expression shifts suddenly to uncomfortable. "I actually…promised Snow…that I would. So..." He rebounds, narrowing his eyes at Leonard before they flick over Sara and then back again.

"You know you can't go home yet," he tells the crook. "Not that I wouldn't be thrilled to dispense with resetting security three times a day—and I'd be extremely pleased never to hear another cold pun again."

Sara, startled, glances up at Leonard at Wells' use of the word "home"—apparently meaning the Waverider—and sees a moment of something vulnerable in his eyes again. And then it's gone, glossed over by a more usual look of cool amusement.

"It's more along the lines of…reconnaissance," he drawls. "Not to mention proving a point." The tiny gold package flickers through his fingers and vanishes again.

Wells notices it and closes his eyes in a give-me-strength expression that makes Sara smile—she's pretty sure she's seen the same look on Rip's face a time or three. But then he opens them again and sighs.

"Your sister's there, you know. And don't blame Cisco for not telling you; she apparently ignored his messages until the last minute." Another withering look. "Seems it runs in the family." He shakes his head and pulls a key ring out of his pocket. "Come on. I'll give you a ride. You'll have to find your own way wherever else you go, though."

He takes a few steps past them, then stops and lifts an eyebrow at their expressions. "What? You want to take motorcycles to this thing, mess up that dress? I won't spill your secret. Come on."

Harrison Wells' vehicle is a rather sharp vintage Mustang. Leonard stops and stares at it covetously until Sara nudges him in the back and sidles past him, dropping into the front passenger seat with a grin as Wells moves over to the driver's seat. (Len grudging takes the back.)

They snark at each other in an oddly companionable manner until the car arrives at the reception venue, Wells handing it over to the valet as Sara and Len slip out of the car and into the shadows.

Len vanishes nearly immediately, but Sara turns back to Wells.

"Why?"

He doesn't pretend to misunderstand her, pausing to drum his fingers on the roof of the car for just a moment while the valet waits impatiently.

"Because his... counterpart... where I'm from," he says finally, "he's a friend. And while both of them can be annoying, they're vastly less aggravating than the average run of the population on either Earth." A sigh. "And he'd want me to do this, for a couple of reasons, none of which I'm getting into right now. Now, are you going or not?"

She goes.

For someone who wasn't planning to crash a wedding tonight, Leonard unerringly finds his way to a back entrance—and has it unlocked by the time she's caught up to him. He rolls his eyes as she lifts an eyebrow at him, then shoves the door open with a shoulder, and they slip into a dark corridor in the building where the West-Allen wedding reception is taking place.

The reception is at a popular venue in the city, a hotel recently returned to its 1920s glory days by an entrepreneur. Sara can admit faint curiosity about the place, which she knows only from Barry and Iris's descriptions (and a few photos) earlier in the day, but the pertinent details have little to do with architectural history or intricate detail.

"Tell me you didn't case this place pretty well before tonight," she whispers to Leonard as they stand there, far too close, letting their eyes grow accustomed to the light level.

Even in the dark hall, she can see the smirk touch Leonard's lips. "Can't tell you that." A shrug, and he actually moves a tiny bit closer. "Of course I did. I know the floor plan, if that's what you're asking. Planned to leave their 'gift' on the table with no one the wiser, just to tweak Allen's tail." She can see the frown, too. "I didn't know about Lisa. So that's just as well. She would have seen me."

Sara smiles at the pride in his voice. "How are you going to get their 'gift' to the ballroom now?" she asks with curiosity. "Since you went to such trouble to get it."

"Planted it on Wells." He flashes her a real smile at her quiet groan. "When he finds it in his pocket, he'll roll his eyes but deposit it on the table, and I'll get the credit." He leans toward her. "Half of being a good crook is knowing people and how they'll react."

There's just a touch of that damn-sexy drawl in his voice with that line and he is, indeed, very close. She can't help but wonder, as she tilts her head back a little, if he knows how she's reacting: the increased heartbeat, the prickle down her spine, the flood of warmth...

But... "Same," she assures him blithely as she turns and starts down the hall, leaving him to catch himself and start after her, "with being a good assassin. C'mon."

She hears the faint huff of a laugh, and smiles as he catches up. They move silently down the hallway, making the right turns in unison, heading out of the administrative section and toward the main part of the hotel. Sara can hear faint movement, the even fainter sound of voices, and knows that Leonard can, too, from the way his steps slow just a little, pace becoming a little less deliberate.

After a second, she reaches out and twines her fingers with his as the pace modulates to a stroll.

"Since we're getting close to the sections where there might actually be staff right now," she explains to the expression she's not looking at, but knows is there. "If we're busted, we can always claim that we went looking for a little...privacy..."

Silence. Then: "Gotcha."

"Same...with being a good assassin."

There's part of Leonard Snart that fervently hopes Sara Lance isn't quite as good at knowing people and their reactions as she claims, despite evidence to the contrary.

Because if she has any idea how he's reacting to her, in that dress, in this situation….oh, he is in a world of trouble. Especially since that vision is hovering on the edges of his memory, triggered again by...

Leonard takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, trying to be unobtrusive about it, and wonders again about the way the Time Force works. Is he supposed to be trying to make those visions happen? He's been trying to, simply because of the promise inherent in them—or at least trying not to actively work against them.

The first two he remembers that featured Sara...he wants them both so intensely, in different ways, that it almost hurts to think about it. If the second still seems somewhat further off, well, the first seems to be imminent. And extremely distracting. And he still needs to keep his head in the game here.

He takes another deep breath, feels Sara's strong, warm fingers give his a squeeze, and determinedly thinks of ice.

(The third...he'll do almost anything to prevent. But he's not going to think about that one right now.)

Sara's not entirely sure why a bit of innocent (OK, semi-innocent) handholding seems to be causing Leonard to need to catch his breath, but she just can't seem to resist having a little bit of fun with him, occasionally swiping the pad of her thumb across his palm in a caress, or loosening her grip so she can ran her fingers up and down his.

She thinks she can safely say, now, that he is, indeed, still interested. So the question reminds: What to do next?

Keep your head in the game, Sara.

"They're in the Golden Ballroom, but you probably knew that," she tells him, turning down another corridor. "Ollie about had a—to use my dad's word—conniption when he heard about the balcony. Said it was too much of a security risk. Barry laughed at him, but promised it'd be locked up and screened off."

She can hear his hmmm of pleased surprise. "Hadn't heard that tidbit," he admits. "I'd dismissed the balcony for anything. Too open."

"Well, since you've already planted the present, we're just using it to get you a look at your sister. And enough intel on the party that you can hold it over Barry's head later, that you were here and he didn't see you. I'm considering it my revenge." She stops, then, and looks at him. "I know we're getting closer to the ballroom. You know where the stairwell is? Didn't figure the locks would stop you."

"You know how to flatter a guy, Canary." Leonard stands stock-still for a moment, eyes moving from side to side, then nods and—tugging gently on her hand—continues down the corridor. The sound of voices gets louder, and so does the sound of music. It's not dark anymore, in this section, and they're both on high alert for employees—or worse, lost wedding guests who might know them. Sara puts a touch of a wobble in her step, the better to play tipsy guest if necessary, and after a moment she feels Len move his hand up her arm, cupping her elbow, the image of a solicitous date.

She smiles, and makes sure she leans a little more into him as she stumbles, aware of the slightly more rapid breathing, the brief feel of his quickened pulse, all the tiny signs of attraction that even someone notorious for a chilly persona shows. She's almost forgotten how much she enjoys this game, the banter and the flirtation, the potential in the air with someone who is, in so many ways, an equal.

Yes, she's made a decision at some point tonight. Now she just has to find a way to follow through on it.

Within a minute or so, Leonard stops at an unmarked door that's close indeed to the ballroom itself—Sara thinks she can hear voices she knows, Felicity's laughter, the raised voices as Ray and Nate arguing happily about something. She can feel Len looking at her, and thinks she can guess pretty accurately what he's thinking: she could be in there, enjoying the party, instead of out here with him.

But after a moment, he turns to the lock, and she leans against him, blocking those clever hands from view and, incidentally, running a hand up under his jacket to trail along his back, feeling the warmth radiating through that fine white shirt, listening to another catch in his breath.

She hasn't had so much as a sip from the open bar tonight, but she feels almost as tipsy as she's acting, inhibitions slipping away under the pressure of just one night, and the thrill of what they're doing.

She doesn't count, but it doesn't take long. The lock clicks and he has the door open in seconds, pulling her into the stairway with him and shutting it swiftly behind them.

They stare at each other...and then even Leonard snorts in laughter, the adrenaline and the craziness of this caper given voice in the quiet sound. Sara's amusement actually bubbles over in a giggle, which she muffles in the shoulder of Leonard's suit coat, feeling him tense and then relax at the contact. For just a second, he puts his arms around her...then seems to remember where they are, and they fall away.

They move up the stairs quietly—because of course they both wore shoes suitable for breaking and entering, even with the rest of their formal wear. The door at the top is locked as well, but this one barely stops Leonard for a minute before there's a click and they're moving onward into the dark space overlooking the ballroom.

It is, indeed, deserted, and there are tall screens blocking most of the view to the space below. Leonard takes a step toward them, looking back at her, and she joins him in walking quietly to the nearest two, where there's just enough of a crack to allow a careful intruder to look out and down.

The DJ is playing something fast and danceable, a song Sara doesn't know—price of spending most of her days in a time ship where the newest hits have no particular meaning. There are still a lot of people even this late at the West-Allen wedding reception, and at least some of them seem to agree with her assessment, given the group on the dance floor.

She stifles a squeak of amusement at the sight of Cisco and what he considers dancing, and another one at Ray and Nate—the three of them apparently have no collective sense of rhythm. Felicity, Thea, and Iris in her wedding dress are dancing too, with a good bit more grace and a great deal more rhythm.

Harrison Wells has made it back to his table, where he sits, leaning forward to talk intently to a tense-looking, white-haired woman Sara knew as Caitlin and now knows as simply "Snow." The three Steins, Martin, Clarissa and Lily, are sitting together, talking companionably, and it makes Sara smile. Barry, looking quite thoroughly happy, is chatting with Oliver, who looks a good bit less grim than usual.

Leonard makes a faint noise, and Sara turns her attention to the reason they're there.

She looks nothing like Leonard, but Sara's seen pictures, and she picks out Lisa Snart without too much trouble. The other woman is sitting at a table, talking to Jax, of all people, and if there's a visible sadness in her eyes, it's not too apparent from their awkward vantage point.

"Her hair's short," Leonard observes, nearly inaudibly and in an odd tone. "She cut it."

"Hmm. Cute," Sara observes, grinning at him in expectation of a glare. But he looks at her with almost a stricken expression, and shakes his head.

"In the Time Force. When I saw her," Leonard breathes. "She looks just like that now, right down to that little bit that's too short, there on the left." He makes a gesture vaguely to where bangs would be on himself. "She walked into one of our safe houses, in the vision, and I was waiting for her. So it has to be close." He takes another deep breath, lets it out, then takes one more look at his sister and backs away from the edge, moving back to the depths of the shadows. "I can tell her. Soon."

There's emotion in his voice, genuine emotion, and Sara moves closer, putting a hand on his arm, all too aware that even as a bit more of his future crystalizes, it's not a future—yet-in which she'll have a part.

"Thank you," he tells her, again in that odd tone, "for this crazy idea. I might have left town tonight... might have not even stayed here at all; I told Barry I was going to, though he obviously didn't believe me."

Down in the ballroom, the DJ makes some sort of announcement about slowing things down and going back to the '80s, but Sara's barely listening to him, even as the sound of a Bon Jovi song rises around them.

"Well, Barry's no dummy," she tells him lightly, trying to bring a bit of the earlier playfulness back to the evening. "He knew you wouldn't if there was any chance you could put one over on him—even if he wound up putting one over on both of us."

It works. She can just see Leonard shaking his head ruefully, the edge of his smirk as he glances at her, then back out at the ballroom.

"Allen," he muses. "I should learn to stop underestimating him. One of these days."

"It can be easy to do," Sara banters back. "These shiny hero types...we both know how they can be." She smiles. "Compared to tarnished heroes like us."

Another quiet huff of laughter, but for once, he doesn't take offense at the word. Maybe it's because of the qualifier; maybe it's because she's put them together in a category of their own. They study each other, yet again, for what feels like the millionth time that night, crook and assassin, there in their own little world.

Then Sara takes her own deep breath and, listening to the music, repeats an offer first made years and worlds ago:

"So, you wanna dance, Leonard?"

#captain canary #just one night #sara lance #leonard snart #legends of tomorrow

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thehalfworld · 7 years

Text

Fanfic MST: Forbiden Fruit: The Tempation of Edward Cullen, a Twilight fanfic

I was talking to an online friend on Twitter not too long ago, and the subject of bad fanfiction came up. My friend had been reading “My Immortal” and losing his shit over it. I asked if he’d read “Forbiden Fruit: The Tempation of Edward Cullen” and it turned out he had not. He’d never even heard of it.

Indeed, while this story is one of the best-known badfics out there, it’s still considerably less popular than “My Immortal” is, and I think that’s a damn shame. This may be my personal favorite work of bad fanfiction; it’s a fantastic example of the “so bad it’s good” genre. Author BeckyMac666 writes like no other English-language writer has ever written, and this is both a good and a bad thing. She’s almost certainly a troll, given the blatant use of established badfic tropes and several parallels with “My Immortal,” but when you’re this good at being terrible it really doesn’t matter how serious you are about it.

For the record, there are folks who believe that this fic and “My Immortal” share an author, due to the aforementioned parallels. I personally don’t think that’s true, since the prose is very different, but if it amuses you to imagine that they’re written by the same person, be my guest.

Like virtually all Twilight badfic, this story is about a mysterious new girl arriving in Forks and shaking up Bella and Edward’s relationship by creating a love triangle. As usual, Bella is made out to be completely awful in the process, Jacob is largely forgotten about, and the protagonist may not be entirely human herself. This is far weirder, and more entertaining, than your average shitty Twilight fanfiction, though. Mark my words.

I first MSTed this fanfiction back on the old WordPress version of this blog, but, as that was a long time ago and I like to think I’m funnier nowadays, I rewrote most of my comments. It’s not wildly different, but hopefully it is an improvement over the old version.

AN hey guys this is the new improved verson of my story, hope its better this time!

I have no idea what the unedited version of this thing looked like, but I honestly can’t imagine it being any more ridiculous than the final story.

btw i am young and have dyslexia i find spellin hard but its meant2 be unformal ok !

Use spellcheck, you fool! Or get a proofreader!

no critisism pls!

Oops.

tis story goes out 2 my bf zac(kisses!) amd my besfreind Tiffi LOVE YA GRRRL!

The Tara parallel here is probably intentional. Zac never gets mentioned again, much like Tara’s boyfriend, but Tiffi isn’t Becky’s beta reader and they don’t have a spat partway through or anything of that sort.

EDWARD IS OUR GODD!(we wanna SEX him gud!)

Honestly, I think this is how all fanfiction should open. Just tell me straight-up what character you wanna bang before the story’s even started. Save us all some time.

love &blood becky mac! xxx x x xx

Aww. That’s kinda cute.

UPDATE: I have a proofreader and I have cleaned up the spelling and grammer on this chaptor a hell of a lot as you will see (thank u vickie!)

Yeah, Vickie, thank you. Looks like you’re doing a great job and you’ve got everything under control here.

i will be imrpoving the next chaptors soon.

Since this fic got “abandoned,” subsequent chapters have not actually been improved. Not that one can tell, anyway.

Altantiana

Yes, that is a typo of her OC’s name. Off to a great start.

Hey, my names Atlantiana Rebekah Loren (but everyone calls me Tiana or just plain Tiaa).

Virtually no one calls her Tiana during the course of the story. Just so you know. “Tiaa” isn’t a typo, either, though I have no idea why the author felt the need to add an extra A.

Notice the middle name? Subtle.

I am a 16 year old girl and I live in Forks, Washington!

This actually makes her a year younger than Bella, for the record.

My hair is long and pale like spun gold and skims to my waist like a pale shimmering amber mist.

It’s pale and it’s pale? Also, gold and amber are not the same color.

My eyes are deep forgetminot blue and my delicate fentures are lilly white and pure as the winter snow in moonlight.

I’ve been complimented on my fentures before too, but it’s nothing worth bragging about.

I've been told by loads of sleazy, ugly, HORNY guys that I'm real pretty and look like a model or a bunny girl (some of the guys who like me are really old and try to make opt with me its disgusting and weird!) but basically a lot of the girls I meet tell a different story.

Well, gee, after that modest description of yourself I’m shocked that boys think you’re attractive, Tiaa. You sounded so plain and ordinary.

Am guessing that the girls who don’t tell a different story are gay.

They say I'm too ivory white and ethereal and too skinny and that I look anorexic which i don't care about, but I think its seriously disrespectful to people with REAL eating disorders (btw i'm so totally not anorexic! I eat loads I just never gain weight and I'm not thin enough to be anorexic anyways, I think they were just being BIATCHES especially this one ratty brain called Ellie Mayfair who I hope freaking DIES in PAIN with SHIT ON HER FACE! Sorry, I'm not really such a batch but she is SO horrible if you met her you'd think the same!)

I hate when girls pick on me for being too ethereal.

Even though we’re using the “attractive character looks anorexic but isn’t” trope, and that’s obviously not so great, I guess it’s nice that Tiaa/Becky took the time to point out that the comparison is disrespectful to people who actually have anorexia or another eating disorder.

The bit about Ellie Mayfair is one of the best things I’ve ever read. I hope you guys all understand why I had to run this fic now.

Anyways I am quite tall and slim and but with really big boobs that I used to HATE because they look noticeable on my slender body and draw to much attention but now i like them and don't care who stares at me!

Ah, the “skinny yet improbably busty” body type. Strangely more common in fiction than in real life.

Tiaa totally does care who stares at her, by the way. As we’ll see shortly.

I have a lip ring and recently put black and indigo and magenta streaks in my long pale blond hair. I smell like mint and cinnamon.

I have no idea why we’re supposed to care about any of this, but I’m particularly unclear about why we should care what she smells like.

I wear mostly black and hot pink, deep purple and neon blue and listen to COOL music!

Tiaa’s specific music taste never comes up, to my recollection, but I’m betting My Chemical Romance is involved.

It is my first day at school in forks as I just moved here to live with new foster parents Dave and Marie. They are nice and all very hole some sweet people but it is not like having a real family.

Yeah, Tiaa is adopted. This is sort of plot-important later on, but we never get to learn much about her life prior to Dave and Marie.

I've been hurt to many times to let people close to me and I don't talk to them very much.

I mean… you just moved in with them.

My real mom died when I was born and I never knew my real dad. I sometimes wonder what he is like and if I will ever get to met him.

Foreshadowing!

Dave gave me a ride to school and I smiled faintly as he wished me good luck and I got out of the car and went into the school. Loads of people freaking stared at me as I walked down the hall.

Presumably because she’s too ethereal.

I was wearing tight black leather pants with silver chains at the waste and a red fishnet-like top and you could see my black lacy bra through it.

That could have something to do with why they’re staring.

I ignored whispers and the big pink cheerleader imbosils pointing at me. I was used to it and I paid no at-tension to the guys asking desperately for my number(like hell I'd even LOOK at the horny little donkeys!) and told a ditsy blond cheerleader called Jessica to STFU(!) when she called me a freak!

God I love this author’s writing style. Truly, no one has ever written like this, before or since. BeckyMac666 is one of the unsung geniuses of our time.

Next time she tries anything I'll hit her in the eye cause NO ONE messes with me nemore!

Most of the rest of the story is about various people messing with Tiaa. For the record.

My first day I was relay board, I sat gazing out of the window into the gray cloud-embittered sky for most of the morning, My teachers all looked at me disprovable but said nothing cause they probably new I was a foster kid and a Gothic and didn't want to upset me in case I cut them up as they slept,.

I’m a pretty big fan of the phrase “cloud-embittered,” although it is of course completely meaningless.

Hey, uh… why the hell hasn’t she gotten dress coded? I went to a private school and I guess our dress code was a bit stricter than most, but most high schools will get upset at teenage girls for not covering their knees and shoulders, let alone having any undergarments visible. Tiaa’s entire bra is showing through her fishnet top. This is a situation in which I think it’d be reasonable to ask her to change.

My ears are pierced four times, I have a tattoo of a scorpion(like S my birth-sign!) on my ankle and a Gothic cross on my shoulder, and on my hand i have a weird birthmark in the shape of a seven-pointed star that I've had all my life.

I don’t know why we’ve gone right back to (over)describing Tiaa, but I do think I should delete my entire OkCupid bio and replace it with this opening chapter.

Your probably wandering why I'm bothering to tell you this, well I tell you now I am no ordinary sixteen year old girl.

Could’ve fooled me!

I have a secret, a dark and forbidden secret witch I am only just beginning to understand. When I sleep I hear whispers in another language and even though I understand them at the time, when I wake up i can't remember it!

That’s nothing. I had a dream once where I explained the meaning of Nirvana lyrics to somebody (obviously not possible in real life), and I couldn’t remember my explanation when I woke up either.

I also see weird faces in my dreams that fade to nothingness when I open my eyes and I swear out the corner of my eye my birthmark glows shocking bright gold and gets relay hot sometimes but when I look properly it is back to normal boarding scar-color!

I’d like to remind you that this is set in the Twilight universe. It’s already got magical creatures, and there are rules established about their abilities, appearances, and behavior. Tiaa is clearly not quite human, but she doesn’t seem to be a vampire, a half-vampire, or a werewolf. She’s completely unique within her universe, for no defined reason, and the rules governing other nonhumans don’t apply to her.

Like, the physical description and the obvious homage to “My Immortal” already made it clear that this girl is a Mary Sue, but this author clearly gets that Sue status isn’t just about looking unreasonably pretty. It’s about defying the rules of canon. Tiaa’s outstanding at that, as you’ll see later on.

I am really gracefull like the running anti-lopes when I run very fast and am stronger and faster than most people.

God, what a sentence.

I used to just think i was relay athletic but now I'm not so sure, I think there might be something else at work, something so much more mysterious and eeire.

Something like… bad writing?

The truth hovers so softly on the brink of my memory sometimes but if only i could remember the weird things that clung to the edge of my mind as I slept!

There are so many bad fanfics where the prose is bare-bones, with few or no adjectives/adverbs and simple sentence structure. BeckyMac666 tends in the opposite direction, and it’s awesome. Everything is phrased as though it’s super dramatic, nonsense metaphors abound, and our author has clearly never met an adjective she didn’t like. Hey @ aspiring trollfic authors: take note. This is how you write an entertaining badfic.

At lunch I sat alone in the corner and scanned the cafeteria quietly with my eyes smoldering dark blue beheath my long black lashes and my slim thighs curled under me.

Also a big fan of how Tiaa always talks about herself as though she’s checking herself out.

It was the n I noticed an unbelievably jaw-droopingly hawt HAWT HAAAAAAAAWT dude with tusseted blondey-brown hair, golden yellow eyes like wells of hot caramel and pale sexy features. He was tall and mussel and looked like he was wearing eyeliner and my body got hot and cold all at once as I looked at him.

Kind of like an erection only she’s a girl so she didn’t get one you sicko.

I'd never felt this way about anyone before and I'd totally never felt this weird feeling that I'd met someone before but I had no idea where and i knew it was impassible because I'd freaking remember someone THAT hawt!

Foreshadowing! Again!

A girl sat next to him with long brown hair with her arms dripped over him like a freaking flesh-eating plant so i thought well whatevah, hes taken.

Straight-up one of the greatest similes I’ve ever seen. Like, I study English literature and I don’t think I’ve ever read a metaphor better than that one. I’m not joking, it’s brilliant.

She wasn't nearly as hawt as he was, she wasn't ugly though. I figured I was maybe prettier then her. I never really saw myself as beautiful but i'd guessed from thinks others had said, plus this girl wasn't great looking but anyways I'd never try to pilch with another girls' BF cause thats just low.

The modesty act might be a little more convincing if we hadn’t just read several paragraphs of Tiaa talking about how hot she is.

So I got up to leave the hall thinking I'd go and smoke some bald drugs in the locker room while no one was there.

Hey, what’s a “bald drug”? I go to a liberal arts college and I’ve watched the entirety of Breaking Bad multiple times, so you think I’d have heard of it.

As I waked over to he exit I couldn't help but notice the hawt pale guys musky eyes as they met mine.

Musk is a substance some male animals secrete for scent-marking purposes. The word comes from the Sanskrit for “scrotum.” Thought you all should know.

I locked away hurriedly. I smocked dope in the locker room for a bit then I wondered to my next class.

This bitch just hotboxed a locker room on her first day of school.

I bumped into someone in the corridor and my bocks fell everywhere! FRICK! FRICK! FRIIIICKK!

Remember that this is the beta-read version of the chapter.

"WTF!" I screamed loudly, "watch where your FREAKING going you asshole!" (i have anger problems)

So you know how self-insert characters, particularly Sues, often have self-proclaimed “anger issues”? I wanna talk about that, actually, because it’s a trope I see not only in fanfiction but in published fiction, and it honestly bugs me.

In real life, anger issues are a totally legitimate character flaw, and one that can have serious negative consequences in-universe. A character with a bad temper may make rash decisions, screw up their relationships with others, have trouble holding down a job, get in trouble with the law, and so on; people who have anger problems are often mentally ill and/or traumatized, too, and the anger may be just the tip of the iceberg. Many morally ambiguous characters, well-written ones, have trouble with anger. There’s nothing wrong with this trope when it’s executed correctly.

In the hands of a less-than-competent writer, however, anger issues are the opposite of a problem, because the character’s show of anger will invariably cause others to back down or apologize and there will be no negative consequences. Writing a character who’s so sweet and charming that they always get their way has exactly the same effect, but as that trope falls out of style “anger issues” has taken its place and the authors who write these characters have no idea that they’re doing the same thing as the trope they thought they were avoiding.

Of course, this is the work of a troll, and the use of this trope is almost certainly intentional, but there are way too many authors who employ it unironically as a way to give a “flaw” to a character that even they realize is bordering on unrealistic.

"I'm so so sorry" he said in a voice like wet heaven "please forgive me my lady”

Author’s so fond of weird phrases that I have no idea whether or not “wet heaven” is intended as innuendo.

It was the hawt pale guy!

Dun dun dunnnn!

Next chapter

#forbidenfruit.mst #fandom:twilight #halfworld.mst

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alaa4dental · 5 years

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Just imagine this: Your dental practice has become so popular that you're asked to make the rounds on all the daytime talk shows where you get to show b-list celebrities how to whiten their teeth using baking soda, strawberries, and a charcoal briquette. Pretty awesome, right?

OK... well you might not want to be a celebrity dentist but I'm sure getting more leads and more patients are probably pretty high on your list to grow your dental business.

Dentistry could be a massively competitive field notwithstanding what state you are in. Cities like la have overrun 10,000 listings of dentists simply on Yelp. There are many dental clinics on each major town. That's a lot of competition to go up against and if you're not equipped with the right marketing tools you're going to end up with their scraps.

I know you've got in all probability already tried to rent a promoting firm or SEO company to assist grow your practice and that they secure you massive returns however could not deliver.

They made everything sound so confusing that you end up cutting them a check and had no clue what they were doing for you.

You need to make yourself knowledgeable about what dental internet marketing strategies work to help grow your practice. Once you perceive these dental selling ways you'll be able to raise your SEO company specifically however they're doing these tasks and create them show you reports on however they If they can't, it's probably time to kick them and look for someone new.

Here's you can see What your SEO Company SHOULD be doing for you:

Optimizing Your Website for SEO

Monitoring your AdWords Daily and Making Good Adjustments

Claiming and Managing Your Listings and Review Sites

Managing Your Dental Office's Yelp and Actively Serving to You Push to urge smart Reviews

Creating New and Engaging Content About Dentistry on Your Website

Promoting Your New distinctive Content tho' Article Share Sites and Social Media

Building Strong Backlinks with Reputable Sites to Your Website

Auditing Your Dental clinic Manager and ensuring they're On Task

Helping You make a Good Sale So Your Leads Turn Into Patients

Give You Easy to Understand Reporting and Statistics

Building Strong Backlinks

For your dental web site to rank well on Google you'll build a decent name on the web. How do you do this? You need to achieve trust with Google by building sturdy backlinks from alternative dental connected websites. When Google sees that a respectable dental connected web site or journal links to your web site it primarily says to itself, "Hey, this trustworthy web site thinks that this dental web site trustworthy site thinks that this dental website is worth mentioning. Let's bump it up a few ranks." With enough strong backlinks, over time your dental website will move up to the front page for the keywords you want to rank for.

Managing Your Yelp and Review Sites

You might very hate Yelp however the fact is it's the primary factor most of the people can see concerning your practice. You can't hide from Yelp because it's the users who drive your listing even if you didn't create one for yourself. A sensible dental web selling company is perpetually pushing you to urge good reviews and serving to you develop new methods on a way to get happy patients to depart reviews. There are alternative review sites like Google My Business, Yellowpages, Superpages, Manta, and lots of others that they must even be managing for you.

When you do get a bad review (it's inevitable, there's always a person that leaves one) your dental marketing team should notify you of it and coach you on how to draft a helpful response. Many times a customer will increase their rating of you or if they don't, other patrons will see that

Optimizing Your Website for SEO

Your dental web site must be optimized for SEO to rank well on Google. There are several things Google's appearance for like mobile responsiveness, meta tags and descriptions, webpage load times, correct HTML and CSS, etc. All of these issues need to be addressed to build a good foundation for your dental internet marketing. Your web site has to work well and convert well to maximize your investment.

Claiming and Managing Your Local Listings

If you want to draw patients from outside your city or just from your local competitors you have to start somewhere.Your dental web selling company ought to certify you initially dominate the town your workplace is in and so expand from there. A big part of this is making sure all of your Local Listings and Review sites are claimed and well reviewed. The a lot of presence you have got in your native areas the higher you may show au courant maps and Google searches.Eventually your web site can begin ranking for different close cities and if your SEO team is doing their job you will be propulsion in patients from everywhere the state.

Creating New and Engaging Dental Content

Google loves new, fresh, and engaging content. The a lot of attention-grabbing and real your dental content is, the a lot of Google values your web site.The a lot of attention-grabbing and real your dental content is, the a lot of Google values your web site.Many dental selling firms claim to write down distinctive content for your web site however truly simply cut and paste articles from different places. Make sure your SEO company is really researching and providing share worthy content that engages your guests.

Take a while to browse the content your dental SEO company has been writing for you. If it's junk to you then Google probably also thinks it's junk and won't care about it.

Promoting Your Unique Dental Articles

Just creating articles doesn't work anymore. An recent obsolete SEO strategy was to make loads of hollow content and stuff as several dental connected keywords as potential (e.g. Dental Implants, Cheap Dental Implants, Low Cost Dental Implants, etc.) into an article in hopes Google's robots pick it up and rank it well. This is bad blackhat practice. Google desires to envision individuals talking concerning your article, linking it, referencing it, and discussing it. A good dental SEO company will focus less on creating mass amount of content and instead allocate resources into promoting the good engaging articles they have written for you.

Managing Your Dental AdWords

Many of you have probably already tried AdWords for your dental practice and haven't seen a good return. Sometimes it feels like you're just throwing money away every month. AdWords is incredibly robust house as a result of you are perpetually competitive with many different dentists and corporations with budgets that may simply blow yours away. Some dental companies spend between $10,000 - $60,000+ a month just on AdWords. If you're managing your own AdWords yourself it is very unlikely that you have the man hours to properly use its features to the fullest to get the most out of your budget. With keywords cost accounting between $2.50 - $8.00 a click you would like to be terribly careful and adapt new ways quickly. The same issues go in conjunction with having your web site designer or IT profession World Health Organization are not consultants at AdWords managing it for you.

What negative keywords are you using?

Answer: Your manager ought to be ransacking through your search terms and exluding keywords you are doing not need to indicate up for (e.g. Gold Teeth, Free Dental Implants, Dental Schools)

There are some potential issues once an oversized SEO firm manages your dental AdWords. Since an large SEO company has numerous purchasers, your account gets passed right down to a junior AdWords manager World Health Organization has little or no expertise which might presumably cause

They usually work on volume and supply low-cost costs however seldom manufacture sensible results.

Auditing Your Office Manager and Tracking Their Performance

It's fairly easy to come up with tailored strategies to help your dental business generate leads and convert them to patients but it's another thing to implement them into office's daily routine. A good dental marketing company will work closely with your office manager to make sure they are managing your staff correctly so everyone is executing the tasks needed to make your dental marketing successful.

There area unit sure things your workplace manager must on high of like ensuring your employees is actively asking happy patients for reviews, vocation back leads in an exceedingly timely calling back leads in a timely manner, or ensur

#dien dan rao vat #nha khoa #cay ghep implant #rang su

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