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snicketstrange · 3 years

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Rereading The End chapter 10

Rereading: Chapter 10 One of the biggest mysteries for me in Chapter 19 is what the end of the story Ish started to tell about his student who had only one eyebrow would be. - "Did you know I used to be a schoolteacher?" he asked. "This was many years ago, in the city. There were always a few children in my chemistry classes who had the same gleam in their eyes that you Baudelaires have. Those students always turned into the most interesting assignments." He sighed, and sat down on one of the reading chairs in the center of the room. "They also always gave me the most trouble. I remember a child in particular, who had scraggly dark hair and just one eyebrow... This was a little girl. only one ear. She was an orphan, and she lived with her siblings in a house owned by a terrible woman, a violent drunkard who was famous for having killed a man in her youth with nothing but her bare hands and a very ripe cantaloupe. .. the student in my class began to be very suspicious about the tea her guardian would pour for her when she got home from school. Rather than drink it, she would dump it into a house-plant that had been used to decorate a well -known stylish restaurant with a fish theme... The Bistro Smelt. he houseplant's owner was whisked off to Peru aboard a mysterious ship [,The Prospero,] even though at the time the ship was called the Pericles. But my student didn't know that. She only wanted to avoid being poisoned, and I had an idea that an antidote might be hidden—"... What is happening now and what happened then is part of the same story, If I don't tell you how I came to prefer tea that's as bitter as wormwood, then you won't know how I came to have a very important conversation with a waiter in a lakeside town. And if I don't tell you about that conversation, then you won't know how I ended up on a certain bathyscaphe, or how I ended up shipwrecked here, or how I came to meet your parents, or anything else contained in this book." What I can deduce from this story is this: Ish was a VFD teacher. Ish was informed by his student that her tutor was trying to drug her. Knowing this stopped Ish from drinking sweet tea. Also, because of this attitude, Ish had to talk to a waiter in a town near a lake. This is very similar to what Lemony had to do after being told that Olaf wanted to kill him and Beatrice. Lemony had to take a special ticket to a ship and flee abroad. Clearly Ish had to do something similar, perhaps in the same place, as the consequence was that he stopped on the island, meaning he was at sea at some point. Parallel to this, we know at what time this happened: at the time of Gregor's Schism. In other words, Ish's student would be drugged in preparation for being kidnapped by one side of Gregor's schism. We can see that this plan to drug children to be kidnapped during a VFD fragmentation is basically the initial plot of ATWQ. It is true that the times when this happened were different, but the attitude of S. Theodora Markson shows that this type of situation was already common and this was repeated at the time of Gregor's Schism. Professor Ish ended up having to flee so as not to be harmed by the possible violence that would take place during Gregor's schism. He was a total pacifist at this time, and Olaf knew it. When he arrived on the island, he was still with the aftermath of the violent world he was forced to flee from, and more determined than ever to establish a community based on total pacifism. According to Ish, The Island Book is where castaways write their stories. This shows how Lemony Snicket has access to stories experienced by the Baudelaires since before their house burned down: the Baudelaires wrote about it in the island book, and Lemony found this book later. The Baudelaires' parents arrived on the island a few months before Ish. In all, they only spent a few months on the island. Beatrice probably arrived on the island pregnant with Violet and left it pregnant as well. Is it possible that Lemony is Violet's father? Talking about possibilities, yes it is possible. Coitus would have had to have taken place not around the time of the canceled quasi-marriage, but around the time of Gregor's schism, around the time Lemony fought over the salmon along with Kit and Jacques. However, I find this unlikely. On TBL we have access to a letter from Lemony to Beatrice. In this letter, we learn that Lemony was informed of Beatrice's pregnancy, and it appears that the person inside Beatrice was Violet. In the letter, Lemony indicates that he hasn't seen Beatrice in a few years. This suggests that Violet is indeed Bertrand's daughter. (You can always think of a grand scheme involving lies, but I find that unlikely. If Lemony wanted to hide the fact that he might be the father of Beatrice's baby, the smartest thing he could do was do nothing. , Beatrice's hasty marriage would have already hidden any suspicion as to the paternity of Beatrice's baby). "They wanted to dig a passageway that would lead to a marine research center and rhetorical advice service some miles away." The Baudelaires exchanged amazed looks. Captain Widdershins had described such a place, and in fact the children had spent some desperate hours in its ruined basement. "You mean if we walk along the bookcase," Klaus said, "we'll reach Anwhistle Aquatics?" Ishmael shook his head. "The passageway was never finished," he said, "and it's a good thing, too. The research center was destroyed in a fire, which might have spread through the passageway and reached the island. was contained in that place. I shudder to think what might happen if the Medusoid Mycelium ever reached these shores." Beatrice and Bertrand arranged to begin construction of a tunnel connecting the island to AA's facilities. The justification was to take the documents to Dewey's library. If we are to believe that Beatrice's genuine interest was in providing content for the library, we also need to believe that at this time, Beatrice did not yet know of the danger Gregor A posed to the world. On the other hand, Beatrice and Bertrand's interest in finding a cure for the deadly MM fungus, as well as the precautions they took in case the deadly fungus reached the island, is evidence that they already knew about the possibility of the fungus being used as a weapon of mass destruction and start a great pandemic that could reach the island somehow. So it is more likely that Beatrice and Bertrand's real interest in building the tunnel was to see that the cure for the MM fungus reached the place where the fungus was contained. In fact, if everyone on the island had immunity to the fungus, they could provide for the controlled destruction of the deadly fungus, without having to resort to wildfire to eliminate that danger. Ish's narration makes it clear that Beatrice and Bertrand have found allies on the island. In fact, it's possible that their arrival on the island was not accidental. They were perhaps looking for a safe place for their experiments involving finding a cure for the deadly MM fungus. That Beatrice had already begun to perform tests that she considered dangerous is evident from the prior knowledge she had about the hybrid apple. After all, neither apples nor the roots used in the experiment have abortive properties in themselves. Some exotic substance was formed in the genetic crossing between species, and Beatrice was already aware of this substance to the point that she never ate her own bitter apples. I have a hypothesis that this information could have been gleaned from Mrs. Widdershins' studies, but this is still very speculative. If there had been no schism on the island at the time of Beatrice and Bertrand, Gregor's schism would not have had so many consequences, for the weapon of mass destruction would have been destroyed without the need to resort to Olaf's incendiary methods. I think this plot also explains another mystery of ASOUE: "the great truce." From Violet's birth until the Baudelaire mansion burned down, Olaf was apparently not chased by the VFD and he maintained a town house and theater group. This truce must have been a kind of reward Olaf received for helping to destroy a bigger and more powerful enemy of VFD: Gregor A and the deadly fungus MM. "In my experience, the Snickets are as much trouble as the Baudelaires" So, this is hard to understand. Ish considers the Snickets problematic, and he considers this based on his personal experience. His experience is with Jacques or Lemony, as in his writings he had claimed that Kit was someone's sister. This reveals exactly what I had previously thought: the Baudelaires and the Snickets were part of a different faction than Ish was. Ish preached total pacifism with the help of librarianship. His behavior on the island for all these 15 years only demonstrates that he has taken this philosophy to the max. He became like a monk during the Middle Ages, who retreated into its mysteries surrounded by manuscripts, while laymen were prevented from learning to read. Ish reveals in chapter 10 his entire philosophy of life: to keep the peace it is necessary to alienate the people of the world. He really considers himself a father to the island, and it's interesting that father is a religious term in many languages, including English. The answer to this way of thinking was said by Sunny: "I don't believe that bridging the freedom of expression and the free exercise thereof is the proper way to run a community." "This ring," he said, "once belonged to the Duchess of Winnipeg, who gave it to her daughter, who was also the Duchess of Winnipeg, who gave it to her daughter, and so on and so on and so on. , the last Duchess of Winnipeg joined VFD, and gave it to Kit Snicket's brother. It to your father, who gave it to your mother when they were married. Learned from her grandfather. The wooden box turned to ashes in the fire that destroyed the Baudelaire mansion, and Captain Widdershins found the ring in the wreckage only to lose it in a storm at sea, which eventually wa shed it onto our shores." This is a delightfully intriguing story. This story spans hundreds of years. Firstly: what is the importance of the ring? It appears to be originally a family heirloom. After that the rings are given to other people. We know Lemony gave the ring to Beatrice and in his mind it must be an engagement ring. I wonder why R gave this family inheritance to Lemony. He could have used any ring to ask Beatrice to marry him. Did he want something special, but being poor R decided to give him something dear? In this case, was Beatrice already rich? Among the reasons Beatrice would return the ring was certainly the fact that she would not marry Lemony. Was differences between social classes an important factor? Why did Lemony give the ring to Kit instead of keeping it, or instead of giving it back to R? And why did Kit give the ring to Bertrand? Did she want Bertrand to marry Beatrice? And why did Beatrice keep the ring so carefully instead of displaying it on her finger? The only answer I can think of is that Beatrice kept the ring as a symbol of the forbidden love she could have lived with Lemony but didn't. She was his bride at heart. I believe that Beatrice's marriage to Bertrand was not motivated by love, but it was a suggestion that VFD gave her, especially since she has inherited a large fortune. But in any case, Bertrand gave this ring to Beatrice only on the day they were married, not on their engagement. At the time, Beatrice believed Lemony was dead. No wonder she decided to keep a memento of her true love. Of course, these are all hypotheses. But the most important question is: How does Ish know all this? The last information he has is that Captain W took the ring from the wreckage of the Baudelaire mansion and left it lost at sea. How does he know it was exactly Captain W who took the ring? This information can only have been generated by Captain W himself. Did the captain drop his logbook overboard? Chances are, yes.

#snicketverse #asoue #books theories #asoue theories #beatrice baudelaire #Lemony Snicket

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kmomof4 · 4 years

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For the fic-writer meme: all of them! 😁 and if you wanna pick five to ask Hollye, I’ll ask the other five lol 😂😘

HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! Our secret is out!!! Yes, @hollyethecurious you were right! We conspired to get you to answer all 10 of the questions!!! There is more than one way to de-fur a feline, dontcha know! 😁

Anywho... Hollye also asked for #6, and @snowbellewells asked for 5, 7, 8, and 10.

I’m sorry it took me so long to get to these. It’s been a busy week and I really had to think about some of these! But without further ado, here we go! Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

1. What’s your personal favorite thing you wrote this year?

My personal favorite fic I wrote this year is a tie between Of Darkness, Vampires, and Soulmates, The Moon... Tells the Sea, and State of Emergency: Code White. The first two both written for last summers CSSNS. I don’t have to tell you, Kayla, how much I loved your artwork that inspired TMTtS, but that fic was just so EASY to write. Your artwork just told the whole story and all I had to do was write it down. I want to say that it only took me a couple of weeks to write, once I really sat down and started writing, in the midst of lockdown and the school year coming to a close. And then had to wait like 6wks or something to post it!!!! That was REALLY tough!!! ODVS is a favorite because I loved the premise so much and how hard it was to actually write it. I started working on it in earnest in November of last year, but didn’t finish it until April. I came dangerously close to giving up on it several times but @hollyethecurious and @profdanglaisstuff were the ones who made sure I didn’t. So just by sheer fact of what it took me to finish it makes it a favorite. And finally SoE: CW was a favorite because I wanted to write it for a year before I finally sat down to do it. And while it was hard in that it was entirely out of my own head, I was so happy with how it turned out.

2. What’s your least favorite thing you wrote this year?

Least favorite fic was probably Chosen, Protected, & Saved, written for the CS Movie Marathon. I wasn’t finished with it when my posting date came around, and so I feel like the ending floundered a bit. I wasn’t overly thrilled with it.

3. Which of your fics was most different from what you usually write?

I will have to say Of Darkness, Vampires, and Soulmates, linked above. Just about everything I had written up to that point was inspired and/or heavily influenced by some other type of media, either book, movie, or show canon. This was really the first fic that came entirely out of my own head. I don’t really count Arise, My Love because it was basically PWP, just with vampires. This was the first fully fleshed out and plot driven fic out of my own head. There we go, that’s better. It was also the darkest thing I had, and still have, ever written.

4. Which of your fics this year was most successful?

By kudos on ao3, The Moon... Tells the Sea, linked above, sitting at 75. I’m not gonna try and determine the most successful on Tumblr...

5. Which of your fics do you wish was more successful?

I wish that Of Darkness, Vampires, and Soulmates, linked above, had been more successful. Of all the fics I’ve written, that one was the hardest and took the longest to write. So I wish that more people had read and enjoyed it. But I also know that supernatural and vampire fics aren’t on a lot of folks “must read” lists, so I try to keep a balance between that wish and that knowledge.

6. What’s your favorite piece of dialogue you wrote this year?

Off the top of my head, I’d have to say this scene from Ch2 of Chosen, Protected, & Saved, linked above. This scene in the movie, The Golden Child, is what inspired the entire fic.

Emma and Killian somehow made it through customs with the dagger after arriving back in the States. The only thing they could figure was that since the dagger itself was magical, it was magically shielded from anyone but magic wielders. As they exited the arrivals gate, he startled when he spied the man from his dream, the Dark One, coming toward him followed by several Boston police officers. He sauntered towards them, making a show of the gold tipped cane he carried. He was dressed differently than in his dream with a long greatcoat, in what looked like crocodile skin. Killian felt a chill run down his spine. The coat matches his smile, he thought.

“That’s the man. Killian Jones. If he doesn’t return my property, I want him arrested.”

Killian’s heart raced. He drew Emma’s attention to their adversary as his mind furiously tried to figure out how to get out of the coming confrontation. An idea came to him suddenly and he elbowed Emma, whispering to her to let him do the talking.

“Welcome home, Mr. Jones. You have something for me?” he asked, holding out his hand with a smug smile on his face.

Killian stared into the face that he had only seen in a dream. He looked at Emma, naked fear on her face, at the cops behind the Dark One, and then back at the man or demon before him. He couldn’t help the smirk that broke over his face as he anticipated playing the Dark One like a fiddle.

“I’m sorry, Rumple,” he loudly lamented, reaching for the lapels of the man before him. The Dark One stared at him, utterly taken aback. It only took a moment however, before his face grew red with extreme irritation as Killian released him and turned toward the crowded terminal. “Everyone,” he shouted, drawing the attention of all the people hurrying to catch their flights, “I should be punished. I have stolen from my brother, Rumple.” The Dark One’s jaw clenched with annoyance as Killian continued with his theatrics. Emma looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Officer,” he continued, pointing at the officers behind the Dark One, “It is your duty to take me in. Please,” he moved toward them holding his wrists out in front of himself, “I am ashamed of myself. I should be arrested.” He walked down the line of officers. “I should be flogged. I don’t deserve to walk among free men.”

Killian repeated his tirade until the Dark One grabbed his arm, motioning toward the officers in a placating manner. “Let me have a word with him, please.”

Killian felt himself being pulled away from the officers, so he turned his attention to Emma and raised his voice once again.

“Emma, I am a swine. You must know what kind of man I am, before we go any further in our dalliance. I am a wretch. I don’t deserve to live.” He winked at her and saw her fear and confusion morph into reluctant amusement. She shook her head as the corner of her mouth lifted in half a smile. He finally turned toward the furious Dark One before him.

“How long do you think you can keep up this miserable masquerade?” he hissed, his eyes blazing with his wrath.

“Well, until I get arrested.” He grinned cockily at him. “Or until you realize the rules of evidence in this country.” The Dark One raised his head slightly and Killian could just see a trace of unease in his eyes. He turned serious. “See, if I get arrested, they take me and put me in a jail cell. And then they take the knife, because it’s a stolen object, and they put that in a little room, and they put ‘Exhibit A,’ a little sticker that says ‘Exhibit A’ on it.” He mimed putting a sticker on something. “And the knife sits in a room and I sit in my room until the trial commences. And that can be anywhere from a month to a year. So if you get me arrested, there’s no telling when you will get your knife.” Killian broke into a wide grin at having the upper hand, thoroughly enjoying himself as he watched a vein pulse in the Dark One’s forehead. He could just imagine what the demon’s blood pressure was at this moment.

“You have no idea who I am, have you?” he sneered.

“Why, yes,” he exclaimed. “You’re my brother Rumple!” He let out an amused chuckle as the Dark One struggled to keep his rage under control. “Look, I know exactly who you are,” Killian’s eyes turned hard and his easy going smile disappeared, “Dark One.” The man before him nearly turned white in fury. Killian’s heart skipped a beat, but he plowed ahead, his own anger coming to the surface. “But, here’s the thing. I. Don’t. Care.” He punctuated each word with a poke to the demon’s chest. “I do care that you kidnapped Henry, though.”

“I could destroy you,” he snapped his fingers in the air, “just like that.”

Killian’s eyebrow raised in bored amusement. “Well, we’ll see about that.” He turned and looked back over at Emma and the officers still waiting off to the side. “Look, I am not going to be giving you this knife. And you do not want to get me arrested. And I will find Henry,” he sneered and snapped his fingers in the Dark One’s face, “just like that.” He patted the demon’s cheek. “See you soon.” He turned back toward the crowd, all smiles and held his arms out as if he wanted to embrace them all. “My brother has forgiven me! Emma, Brother Rumple has forgiven me!” He turned back to the seething Dark One and clapped him on the shoulder in an awkward embrace. “Dear Brother, thank you, thank you, thank you.” He then kissed him loudly on the cheek in a final taunt before releasing him and leading Emma into the crowd.

7. What’s your favorite piece of description or narration?

@searchingwardrobes betaed The Moon... Tells the Sea, linked above, and she told me that it was the most descriptive thing I’d ever written. That comment put me OVER THE MOON. And when I went back and read it the other day, I had to agree. I spent a lot of time describing the woods, Emma and Killian in their wolf forms, and just the general setting. It was so gratifying to hear that from a fellow author that I GREATLY admire and enjoy. I am also very proud of the Prologue of Chosen, Protected, & Saved, linked above, when I described Henry’s room before he is kidnapped.

8. Which fic this year was most fun to write?

I’d have to say that I had the most fun writing either The Moon... Tells the Sea, linked above, or the second chapter of Somewhere Out There. They were both relatively easy to write and I loved how they both turned out.

9. If you could go back and change something about one of the fics you wrote this year, what would it be?

I would change the circumstances around posting Chosen, Protected, and Saved and I’d probably work on the final battle more. I just wasn’t that happy with it.

10. What, if anything, are you going to try to do differently in your writing in the new year?

I’m gonna try and make more time to write. Since writing Chosen, Protected, & Saved, linked above, I’ve hardly written anything. I love reading and flailing more than anything so writing is very easy to set aside when I’ve got a lot of reading on my agenda, but I’m also bad about putting it on a back burner when RL comes calling. I think just setting the boundary of “I’m gonna write for one hour today” would go a long way toward keeping my mood up and help me get the fics I’ve got notes on in my docs actually written and posted. So we’ll see how that goes.

Thank you all for the asks @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713, @hollyethecurious, and @snowbellewells! Love y'all!!! 😘

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moghedien · 5 years

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The Queens as D&D classes but not the ones you’d think:

Instead of working on the threatened Boleyn essay or researching or working on my nanowrimo project I’m doing this because if I’m given an ensemble of people I have to eventually assign them as dnd classes.

Aragon - Sorcerer:

Sorcerers are the jocks of the magical classes in D&D. Most sorcerer types (I think wild magic sorcerers being the only exception) get their magic from their bloodlines. You know what else you get from your bloodlines? Royal titles.

The “Paragon of Royalty” is obviously fixating on her royal lineage there and she should, because its what gave her power to the point where H*nry had to create a new religion just to get their marriage annulled divorce her. Had she been literally anyone else, the pope would have probably gone along with the annulment because popes actually tended to be pretty lenient about that sort of thing when it came to royalty back then. Aragon’s power (ie magic) comes from her bloodlines, so obviously she’d be a sorcerer of some sort since that’s literally the definition of sorcerers.

Boleyn - Wizard:

Anne is a high intellegence, low wisdom Icon.

Wizards are technically the smartest class, but name one wizard who isn’t also a certified dumbass, because bad decisions got nothing to do with intelligence.

I’m 100% convinced that Anne Boleyn is the smartest character in Six and one day I will write the essay explaining this. For now I‘ll say that Anne is the most unreliable narrator in her own story and intentionally so. She’s very careful to make a point of saying a whole lot of nothing about herself. And what she DOES reveal about herself is that she definitely knows how to get what she’s after, but maybe she isn’t seeing all of the consequences beforehand. The definition of high intelligence, low wisdom.

She makes it clear that she’s playing dumb for the show when she lays out the theme of the show using all of the SAT words and then saying “yeah, I read.” She’s the only one who is confirmed to read, and so as far we know she’s the only one who knows how to read (not really but the idea is hilarious to me). That makes her the nerd, which makes her a wizard.

Seymour - Barbarian:

Jane Seymour is a motherfucking tank.

She literally describes herself as unable to be broken, shaken, moved, or torn down. The chorus of her song is about her being able to withstand everything. She. Is. A. Fucking. Tank.

Now, as someone who plays a barbarian, I can tell you, they can be pretty indestructible. They have the highest level of hit dice, which means they’ll on average have the most hit points of any class. Which means on average, its gonna be a whole lot harder to take them down. Some barbarians have resistance to various types of damage which means that they can take more damage without being harmed. And to top it off, barbarians can have pretty high armor classes without wearing any armor. They are naturally harder to damage, to the point where sometimes wearing armor hinders more than it helps. Unlike other tanky classes, their ability to take (or in this case avoid) hits has nothing to do with their armor and they’re just fucking like that.

So yeah, it’s gonna be pretty hard to take down Miss Jane “Stone” Seymour the Barbarian. Sadly they aren’t immune to dying of natural causes.

Oh, and if you’ve seen Seymour just go straight for K Howard’s ponytail (I’m not sure this actually happens any more but it used to) and think she isn’t able to rage (a barbarian ability which is exactly what it sounds like) then you are sorely mistaken.

Cleves - Warlock:

Hey, you know what all warlocks do? Make deals with powerful being to get power. You know what Anna of Cleves did (or had done on her behalf at least)? Got at prenup and ended up with a palace.

Cleves is not just a warlock, she’s one of the few warlocks that got out ahead of their patron. Cleves got to be queen of England for a while, never had to worry about giving H*nry a kid, then got out of it with more freedom than she had before and more wealth than she could ever use in her own. Check her prenup. Girl knows how to make a deal and come out ahead. Also she’s obviously a charisma caster.

Howard - Bard:

K Howard is here and manipulating us all

Could they all technically be bards because they’re all performers? Sure. Howard is the most bardy of them though.

I wrote 8,000 words about how Katherine is manipulating the audience the entire show so I won’t get into that now but she’s the one putting on the most of an act this show. She is working the audience the most and succeeding her performance checks. She also makes it clear that history and music are her two main interests, which also happen to be two ideal interests for a bard. She makes history jokes more than once. Who’s the wife of Henry V? K Howard knows even when she’s supposed to be pretending she doesn’t. What does K Howard want to do when they rewrite their stories at the end? She just wants to be able to tell her abusers to fuck off and to be able to sing until she dies. Everyone else wants some kind of success. Howard just wants to “learn everything” and then sing until she dies. Is it incredibly depressing that she doesn’t pick anything more than that? YES! But it also shows that she just wants those Bard Skillz.

She also managed to have a 7 minute long song about the horrors of sexual abuse and made it an absolute bop and honestly that’s some bard magic.

Parr - Rogue:

Parr. Cathy Parr. That sneaky ass motherfucker.

When you know you can’t win in a head on assault or with a volleys of projectiles, what do you do? You change the rules of the game, sneak around the back and take them all out from behind without them even knowing you were there .

There was no universe in which Catherine “I’m the Survivor” Parr was gonna win in a competition where two of the people she was competing against were beheaded. So Cathy Parr gets them to all ditch the competition and guess who gets to belt out the last solo part? CaThY pArR

Now the show exists in a universe where the Queens are almost definitely putting on an act just to make a point, but the fact still remains that Parr got to be the one to make The Point. She just waited in the background while every else argued and fought and told their horror stories and was like “oops sneak attack of Girl Power” and turned the whole thing around. Her argument for winning the competition doesn’t have strength, isn’t especially charismatic, and no amount of intelligence or wisdom could make anyone believe she had it worse the the ones who literally died because of H*nry. But she does got Dexterity because that girl can streeeeeetch and make sure she at the very least didn’t lose. Also she’s definitely a high int arcane trickster subclass but that’s just obvs you guys.

#six the musical #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #anna of cleves #katherine howard #catherine parr #dungeons and dungeons

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ill-skillsgard · 5 years

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Back on this Henry Deaver x Mistress BS. Thanks guys. I should be focusing on chaptered stories but this imagine is getting away from me!

*Disclaimer - I always get asks about this so I’ll just say it here. I do not condone cheating and every opinion expressed below the cut is fictitious and not to be taken seriously. Enjoy!

More Henry x Mistress here + here + here

You cleaned the bar with vigour, scrubbing at the cup rings until they dissolved and then scrubbing more. It did nothing to make you feel any cleaner but it was a good distraction and nobody was going to get mad at you for cleaning. By the time you had your way with it, the bar and all its glass and silverware were sparkling. But you still felt crusty.

The night before you couldn’t sleep. All you could do was lie in your bed with the covers half on, half-dreaming about the two nights you had spent with him. At the time, they had felt magical and nothing you could do would make the tingle leave your inner thighs alone. Not even the sight of his wife looking at you with naivety could make you stop thinking about how Henry had made you feel.

And you read his texts over and over until some parts of them were committed to memory. You hadn’t even known him that long but you could still hear his voice in your head narrating every line, every apology, every attempt to make you understand that he wasn’t expecting you to give him an inch of sympathy.

You thought about telling his wife yourself. What was stopping you from dropping the truth bomb on them? Well, lots of things were stopping you. Firstly, you didn’t know what her name was or where to find her. Secondly, she looked to be the type that might pull a trigger and ask questions later. You didn’t know her and couldn’t be sure whether she would lash out violently at you or blame you for everything. After all, you were the other woman. And that in itself carried a whole different weight of shame. You didn’t cheat but you hadn’t had the sense to dig a little deeper before jumping into bed with some stranger.

then the memories of being in bed with him flooded in and drowned out the guilt for a little while. The way he looked at you like you were a whole other species... The mutual attraction had been so palpable. And the way he had fucked you while simultaneously making love to you was another new concept that had worked intoxicating fingers into your chest to close around your heart.

Sure, when he had himself inside of you the obscenities pouring from those pouty lips did a number on your nervous system. Every time he spoke of your body, made mention of how splendid it felt to be between your legs or told you how beautiful you were, a shock of oxytocin made another stitch that bound you to him. But after all that... After the wild sex and multiple-orgasms, Henry laid with you and ran his short fingernails lovingly over your skin, up your arm, around your shoulder and down your back in a repetitive, soothing motion that made the tension in your muscles disappear. You could have sworn, at the time, that it was love. And you clung to him like he had been thrown at you to help keep you from drowning.

It had been four days since you ran into him at the grocery store and the pain still hadn’t lessened an inch. Henry lived on your brain now and you knew it would be weeks and weeks until you could wake up without thinking to look beside you for a long, pale body calmly breathing.

Henry had the audacity to show up in the café on a quiet morning you were working alone. The only people that came down were sleepy hotel guests looking for coffee or a bite to eat and they were always an easy crowd. But when he walked through the French doors with a navy blue suit on, you paled. A grimace took over your face and he chewed the inside of his cheek a moment because he knew damn well what he was doing.

"Have a seat anywhere, preferably out on the patio where I can't see you," you took your first dig.

There was nobody else in the café to hear your jab but he looked around like there was. He nodded his head and started toward the bar.

"No, no... Not in here. If you want service-"

"I'll only be a moment. I need a coffee."

"I'll make you one to-go then," you averted your eyes from him.

The drumming of your heart smacked against your heaving chest hard enough to nearly make noise. Henry leaned over the bar and stared at you with a sorrowful look.

"I didn't know you were working."

"The chances were high," you said.

"I know... I'm sorry."

"Ugh, just stop apologizing already! No amount of sorry is going to change anything."

"I know. I know," he muttered before sliding himself onto the barstool directly in front of where you stood at the bar.

You turned away and snatched a paper cup out of a holder to get started on sending him on his way. Determined not to entertain him further, you vowed to only address him as you would a regular patron. No calling him by his first name, no nasty looks. Just pure, forced customer service voice.

You pressed a button-down to dispense piping hot coffee into the cup. Remembering that he liked a bit of cream, you left room at the top before closing the cup with a plastic lid. You gathered up some sugar packets and cream cups for him and slid it all across the bar to him.

"Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome, sir! Have a great day!"

He clicked his tongue and sighed. "Oh, come on."

"I'm sorry, sir. Did I miss something?"

At the moment your fake smile began to fade, a gaggle of customers entered the café. That slapped the mask right back on your face and you leaned closer to Henry.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

"Actually, yes. There is," he began.

You watched impatiently as he pulled out his silver pen and reached across the bar counter to grab a paper napkin. He clicked the end of the pen, wrote down a 3 digit number, clicked the pen again and replaced it in his coat pocket. Henry slid the napkin toward you and you looked at is as though he had just blown his nose into it.

"This is the room I'll be in for the next two nights. I'd really like to discuss this further. If you refuse, I won't ever reach out to you again. I'll get the company to put me up in a different hotel and that will be that. You don't have to say anything now but... Just think about it. If you decide not to come, I'll accept that graciously."

You said nothing while he scanned your expression for any insight but you remained stone-faced. Henry gave you a curt nod, pocketed the sugar packets and cream, grabbed his coffee and left.

He didn't have the swagger of a womanizing scum bag and you still couldn't grip what had transpired. Henry just didn't seem the type to screw around on his wife. Not after he had treated you so wonderfully. His voice was calm, his eyes were never wandering and his demeanour was quiet and respectful. How could a man like that be a cheater?

You thought it stupid to ask yourself that question because you already had the answer. And for the next twenty-four hours, you decided that you wouldn't go to him and the determination to forget all about Henry was firm. He didn't deserve the chance to explain. There was nothing he could possibly say that would change your mind.

Forgetting was impossible when you knew that he was in the same building as you. Your curiosities took a turn for the morbid and you began thinking of what Henry could possibly offer as an excuse for his behaviour. Surely it was some flimsy fabrication or delusional reasoning he had goaded himself into believing. You nearly scoffed aloud thinking of all of the pitiful things he might say.

Then you started to think about what he could say that might make you think twice. That was when you started cursing yourself. The urge to find out what he had to say tugged at your heels, fueled every lost train of thought and pulled you down into reveries of just how desperate he seemed when you'd had each other. Your composure was shaking and soon it would collapse. And when it did, he was right there at the door to answer your knocking.

"Wow... I didn't expect you to actually come-"

"Let's make this quick," you cut him off as you pushed by him and stood in the center of the room.

"I don't want to hear any apologies. I just want to hear your explanation. I have to know."

"Well, can I at least get you a drink?"

"I don’t think so."

"Very well," Henry sighed.

"Would you like to have a seat?"

"I'll stand."

"Mind if I do?"

You gestured at the furniture, unconcerned with however he wished to place himself in the hotel room. The tension did not dissipate as he sat down and the placid way he crossed his leg over the other made you even more uncomfortable.

"It's difficult to start so if you don't mind me being candid, I'll tell you everything."

"Sure."

"Well... My wife... She... She's not quite into me anymore," Henry started.

Your eyes had already begun to roll but you were interested in hearing more so you made no sounds of interruption and allowed him to continue.

"At first I thought maybe she wasn't attracted to me... And I struggled a long time with that. Thinking maybe we had just lost the spark. Maybe it's because I don't look the same as I did when we met. Maybe I wasn't trying hard enough to romance her. She insisted she was still attracted to me but she never wanted me any more than a few feet near her. She began to complain about my scent giving her headaches so I switched colognes and then stopped wearing it altogether."

"Hm," you uttered during a pause.

"She told me the way I chewed made something grind inside of her so we started eating in different rooms. She complained that I was too warm to share a bed with so I bought her a California king-sized bed but she insisted I still kept her awake at night. You know... I dressed nicely, I shaved every day, I worked out and got into the best shape of my life and she still wouldn't allow me to even kiss her on the cheek before work. It got me thinking... Perhaps it wasn't me. Perhaps it was something deeper. I thought she could have been having some of her own inner struggles that she couldn't reconcile with."

You blinked at him, looking twice as invested as you had when he began. Henry sighed, scratched the back of his head and then wiped the corners of his mouth with two fingers.

"I asked her if she wanted to see other people and that I wouldn't be hurt if that's what she wanted. She said no. She said that she wanted to stay married to me. I still don't understand her reasoning. But... It progressed. No sex, no intimacy of any kind, no willingness to talk about it... Nothing. She refused couples therapy. She flat out told me that nothing was wrong. I let this go on for several more months until I asked her for a divorce. Things got really ugly after that."

"How so?"

"She accused me of infidelity. This was a while back. I accused her of cheating because she clearly had no interest in me. And I never got an explanation. That was back in the Winter. We're talking six months ago. We haven't slept together in the same bed for over a year yet every time I confront her about it, she skirts the issue and finds a way to make it seem like it's my fault. I still don't know what's wrong. All I know is... I've had no semblance of self-esteem and a wife that sees no problem with how things are."

"Why don't you leave her? If she treats you so terribly then leave."

"You know, I want to. I've tried. She's on the rise at her job right now. She's making enormous strides. Any time I impose even the slightest threat to her little world, it explodes in my face. Not only that, but she's developed this little charade at her job that she and I are a power-couple now. So we get to play pretend in front of our peers and superiors to win brownie points. They all praise us and our rock-solid relationship and I just have to smile and try not to... I don't know."

Henry's throat bobbed and you noticed a wet gleam over his eyes that wasn't there before. Shuffling your feet, you clasped your hands and tried not to stand too awkwardly. You had conjured a lot of scenarios in your mind before this point but not one of them included him crying.

"When your love isn't returned to you... It makes you think of terrible things. Hell, it made me do a terrible thing... The old me would have never dreamed of pursuing someone else. We were happy. I actually wanted to be with her. I still do. But she continues to silently abhor my existence while I exhaust every avenue of getting her to come back."

You started to feel the first bubble of resentment form in your gut. It was the first time you had entertained the idea of Henry's wife actually having a fault in the situation. But you had to stand strong.

"That's... A lot of detail. But cheating is still inexcusable. You should have called her and told her it was over before doing what you did."

"And ruin the first night I met you? Trust me, I thought about it. But... Well, nevermind. It doesn't matter now."

"What is it?" You pressed.

"No. It's inappropriate."

"Just tell me what you want to say while I'm giving you the chance."

"Talking to you just made me want to forget it all. You don't understand how badly I needed that. Somebody to talk to, I mean."

"Christ... Do you have any idea how torturous it is to be in my situation? Why didn't you at least give me a choice?"

"Well, I didn't force you into anything, if that's what you mean."

"No. I mean... You should have told me you were married and then I could have decided for myself whether I wanted to cross that line."

"I..." Henry sighed. "You're right. I know you said you don't want an apology but I really am sorry. I haven't been myself. My head is... Totally messed up."

"It sucks that your wife... Doesn't treat you well. And I can see that you're not really a bad guy. But you have to do what's best for yourself and set things straight. You can't just lie and deceive. Were you ever going to tell me about her if I hadn't run into you?"

Henry weighed his next words carefully. "Yes. I knew that after the first night. But I was just so messed up on the feeling of being wanted again that nothing else seemed to matter."

"Sweet, sweet words," you murmured, concealing the glimmer of a smile he caused.

"Anyway... I'm sure you have places to be. I'm glad you gave me the chance to state my case. If I wouldn't have had the chance to, it would eat me alive."

"Still kind of hard to have sympathy, Henry."

"Right, I know. I'm sor— It's um... Yeah."

You let out a long breath and a hot wave of nausea twisted your stomach into a knot. Henry noticed your discomfort but said nothing until you had taken a couple more deep breaths.

"Yeah, maybe I should go," you said.

"Are you all right? Would you like some water?" Henry shot up off the couch and made his way toward the sliver of a kitchenette.

Before you could refuse he was at your side with a cold bottle of water. You took it, twisted off the cap and gulped down a few mouthfuls.

"Thanks," you said as you came up for more air.

"No problem."

Now he was standing right in front of you, looking at you with sympathy. When he was this close, it was hard to ignore how broad his shoulders were and you were reminded of how he moved and maneuvered you like you were nothing. There was strength in his massive grip. But Henry couldn't have looked any less threatening than when he stood before you with his eyes shining regretfully.

"Can I ask you one thing before you go?" His voice wavered.

"Okay."

"If I did give you the choice... If I'd have told you... Would you have refused me?"

"God, don't make me answer that," you nearly choked.

"Just curious," he withdrew a bit further from you.

"It... Would have been a challenge. But what good would my answer be to you now?"

"I just want to know if I still got it, to be honest. Am I... You know, adequate, I guess?"

Biting down on the inside of your lip, you let a casual glance fall down and climb back up him. "You've got something, that's for sure."

"Something?"

"Don't make me say it," your cheeks sizzled.

"Okay, okay... I get it. I suppose I'll finish up the weekend here and then I'll start using a different hotel."

"I don't care if you still stay here. Just... Don't get me into any more trouble. And fix your situation... Whatever that might entail."

"I won't. I promise. And I will."

Lies. Beautiful lies.

#henry deaver stuff #henry x mistress #henry deaver x mistress #bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgård imagine

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takingcourage · 5 years

Text

Back to Bubbly

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 2,800

Summary: After spending all of her free time at the hospital, Arden needs a break. Thankfully, Jaime’s got a plan to help her decompress.

Note: This story started as a drabble based on @krishu213‘s request for “markets,” but very quickly got out of hand. If you can make it through the angsty beginning, I promise there’s fluff to be had by the end.

Also, I offer my sincere apologies for how rough this is. I had a totally different fic on the docket for tonight, but ended up hashing this one out when I sat down to edit the other. Thanks for bearing with my shenanigans.

Arden couldn’t tell how long the ventilator and her own breathing had been working in tandem. Breathe, click click, breathe, click click...Their combined rhythm was perpetual, disrupted only when the door of 227 was breached by some visitor.

It hadn’t been like this the whole time her father had been in ICU. The first night she’d visited, she’d talked herself almost hoarse with the account of her trip with Ellen and their plans for uncovering Carmichael's schemes. When that story had ended, she'd resorted to telling him favorite memories from her childhood -- sharing secrets that he'd never heard in hopes that tales of her juvenile mischief could scandalize him out of his sleep.

The night after that, she'd filled him in on the developments in her relationship with Jaime. I think we might actually start dating, dad. Can you believe it? Mom would have been so proud of herself for calling it all those years ago... She'd gone on until the tears came and prevented her from telling him anything further.

But tonight had been different. There was only so much ground that a one-sided conversation could cover. Desperate, she’d picked up a newspaper from one of the waiting rooms on the way up. Once she'd read all of the stories that were of interest, they'd tried to complete the crossword puzzle “together.” Although she still teetered the pencil between her finger and thumb, she’d conceded defeat some time ago.

Knock, knock.

Arden glanced up at the disturbance, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the sensation of movement.

“Miss Gale?”

The nurse was one she recognized -- Gary or Jerry or something like that. Arden couldn’t quite remember. All the same, her tense brow eased a bit at the man’s pleasant expression. You’re in good hands, dad.

Hand still on the door, the nurse continued. "I just wanted to give you a warning that visiting hours are ending in about five minutes."

"Thank you," she mumbled as she shoved the pencil back into her purse.

"You're welcome." He slipped out of the room and Arden was alone once more.

Well, not completely alone.

Stretching legs that were weary from disuse, she stood beside the bed. She leaned over until her mouth hovered above his ear.

"I love you, dad. I have to go now, but I'll be back tomorrow. I promise." Tears welled in her eyes as she kissed his brow. Fingering the strap on her purse, she took one final look at his prone figure.

Each morning, she woke with resolve to bring him back from the darkness, calling on every higher power she'd ever heard of to work some kind of miracle. Each night, she tried to steel herself for the possibility that he would never wake up.

The cycle was threatening to drive her insane.

"Bye, dad."

Hating the finality, she added a hasty, "See you tomorrow," before she turned from his still form.

You've got this, Arden.

She took a deep breath through her nostrils, then pushed open the door.

You can do this, you can do this, you can do this. Her lips formed the words over and over, but it didn’t make them true.

On auto pilot, she made her way through the darkened hallways, pressing the button for the elevator without ever lifting her eyes from the floor. She hated how much the act of leaving the hospital felt like a relief -- hated even more the guilt that always accompanied that sense of relief. As long as there was any hope that he could recover, spending time anywhere else felt like giving up.

She smacked away at the tears on her cheek. With her free hand, she checked the time on her phone to calculate how many hours there were before she could come and see him again.

Messages (2)

Distracted by the notification, she cleared the lock screen and tapped the appropriate icon. It came as little surprise that both texts were from Jaime.

Hey, Arden. I know you're probably at the hospital, but I wondered if you’d like to do something tomorrow morning? I thought you might want a distraction.

If not, that's okay...you're probably exhausted and could use the extra sleep. Just let me know.

Jaime was right: she was exhausted. But Arden knew herself well enough to understand that much of what she felt wasn't physical exhaustion. And those other types of exhaustion -- the emotional and the mental, especially -- were things she couldn’t relieve on her own.

A few hours with him would probably do her a world of good.

After exiting the elevator, she stepped aside to tap out a quick response and switch her volume back on.

I'd love to see you! I just need to be back at the hospital by 10:00.

As she walked across the parking lot, her phone vibrated through the outer pocket of her purse. She checked the message once she’d made it into her car.

Great! Just shoot me a text when you wake up.

Turning the key in the ignition, Arden's lips curled into her first genuine smile of the day.

_______________________________________________________________________

Morning came earlier than Arden might have hoped, but she was fully awake once Opie managed to drag her out of bed. Pulling on her favorite jeans and a hoodie, she took the dog down to the patch of grass in front of her building.

While the puppy sniffed around in the sidewalk, she sent a quick message to Jaime: Are you up?

His response came less than a minute later: Just got out of the shower. I can be there in twenty minutes?

See you then. : )

By the time she’d fed both animals and wrestled her hair into submission, the twenty minutes were nearly up. She’d just finished tying on her tennis shoes when she heard Jaime’s rap on the door.

“Good morning!” Arden’s enthusiasm over seeing him lent a level of energy that she’d not felt in several days.

Wasting no time, Jaime wrapped her in a tight hug. “It’s good to see you, Arden.”

"Mmmmph.” She relaxed into his shoulder, enjoying the prevalent scent of his body wash.

“Did you just smell me?” he asked with a chuckle.

“It’s a compliment,” she promised. “You just smell really good.”

“I’ll take it.” He drew back with a smile, a strand of damp hair falling in front of his gorgeous brown eyes. “It's good to see you, Arden."

Instead of answering, she lifted a hand to brush the hair away from his forehead. Jaime’s smile widened and she wished -- not for the first time -- that she still the power to know his thoughts.

Opie jumped up on his pant leg, putting an end to the moment.

“Is this little guy the reason you’re up so early?” Jaime inquired as he lavished affection on the energetic animal.

“What can I say? Motherhood has changed me.” Arden rolled her eyes and reached for her purse. “But he should be good for another several hours now. Shall we go?”

They’d made it several miles down the road before he asked the question she’d known was coming.

"How's your dad?"

Staring out the side window, she picked at the seam on her jeans. "Same as before.” With a deep breath through her nostrils, she tried to separate the events into days -- a challenging task within the hospital monotony. “Yesterday...I think it was yesterday, they told me he’s avoided getting any bedsores, so that’s a good thing.”

He fell quiet, eyes fixed on the traffic light. Still, his free hand snuck over to her thigh. Her fingers curled around his palm, grateful for the show of support.

"The nurses seemed pretty optimistic when I was there a couple of days ago. Nothing's changed?"

"It's just a waiting game, and not the fun kind."

"Waiting rarely is." The light turned green, and he lifted his hand to switch gears. "But if it's okay with you, I'd like to go with you when you see him today."

"I'd really like that." Somehow, the thought of having another person with her in that tiny room made it feel less claustrophobic.

"So, about this morning," he narrated, turning onto a side street. "I figured you probably haven't been eating very well for the past few days."

Arden opened her mouth to object, but he beat her to the punch.

"Lemme guess... It's been a steady diet of Pop Tarts, Hot Pockets, and Kraft Mac and Cheese?"

"I had some SpaghettiOs yesterday."

He scoffed as he flicked on the blinker again. "You’re practically a poster child for the USDA."

Arden poked her tongue out in protest.

"Anyway, I was thinking we could stop by the farmers’ market and then head back to my place to make some breakfast. I've been craving fresh fruit and goodness knows how long it's been since you've had food that didn't come out of a box. Or a can," he added, sensing the objection before it even passed her lips.

"Does this mean we’re having pancakes?"

He pulled into an empty space, treating her to a cheesy smile as he put the car into park."I haven’t made them in a while, but I think this calls for it.”

"You're amazing. I don't tell you that enough, but you really are."

"Just trying to look out for you." He cast aside his seatbelt and swayed toward her for a kiss.

As their lips met briefly, she wondered why it was that his version of looking out for her didn’t feel like a threat to her freedom. It was one of the many questions she’d spent the last week trying to answer, but she still came up short.

He pulled away first, eyes sparkling as he exited the vehicle. "Let's go see what we can find."

“I’m hoping for honey,” she declared. “I wrote a story about some urban beekeeping efforts in Northbridge a few months ago, but I’ve never tried any of it.” “Maybe that should be our first stop.” Jaime indicated a tent toward their left. A gingham tablecloth served as backdrop for the attractive display, and Arden couldn’t resist dashing ahead of him in her desire to examine the wares.

First and foremost, her attention was drawn to the observation hive situated on the middle of the table. Crouching slightly, she fixed her eyes on the flurry of action in the center. Grateful as she was for the plate of glass that separated them, the tiny insects were remarkably compelling.

“They’re amazing!” she hummed appreciatively as Jaime caught up.

To humor her, he cast his eyes over the hive.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” the vendor assured as she completed a transaction with her previous customer.

“No hurry.”

Arden tore her eyes from the construction, considering the assortment of products being sold. Taking a beeswax candle in her palm, she passed the column under her nose. The faint sweet scent tickled her nose.

“Do you have any questions? Anything I can help you with?”

Jaime stretched out the pair of honey straws in his hand. “Did you want anything, Arden?”

“I think I’m good for now, but you’ll definitely see me again in future,” she promised with a nod at the vendor.

As Jaime paid, she took one final look through the glass. “I wish I knew what they were thinking.”

Jaime pressed a kiss to her hair as they walked away. “Don’t ever change. Please.”

Blushing, she sought his hand. But her fingers met a hard corner of plastic instead of his familiar skin.

“This one’s for you,” he explained, passing her the stick of honey.

She slipped the token into her purse, grateful to find his hand open to her on a second attempt.

They spent the next half hour circulating through various stalls. There was a momentary twinge of guilt when she saw a man about her father’s age picking tomatoes across the tent from her, but Arden suppressed it quickly. Visiting hours haven’t started. There’s literally nothing you can do for him. She breathed more easily at the thought.

By the time they were ready to leave, she was practically floating. When they reached Jaime’s house, she was lighter than air.

“You ready for some coffee?” he asked as they entered his small kitchen. “I’ll get some going before I start on the pancakes.”

“Coffee sounds great. I’ll go ahead and wash the berries?” Jaime responded by surrendering the cartons to her hands.

Arden found his colander easily and quickly set about cleaning the fruit in his sink. She snuck a glance over her shoulder while she rinsed, skin warming at the sight of him puttering around in the cabinets.

He was no master chef, but he knew his way around a kitchen, which was more than could be said for herself. Her own culinary skills left much to be desired.

Berries washed, she hopped onto a clear panel of the countertop, content to watch his efforts. “Let me know if I can help with anything,” she offered when he handed off her mug of fresh coffee.

“Just keep me company. It’s been a while since I’ve made pancakes.”

She took a long sip from the mug. Perfection. “I’m shocked. I thought Saturday pancakes were Lewis-family tradition?”

Flour in hand, he looked up at her with a wry smile. “They were. But traditions aren’t much fun when you’re living alone.”

Cheeks burning, Arden drained another mouthful to buy herself some strategizing time. Of course they’re not, you idiot. Why’d you have to bring that up?

She was opening her mouth to bumble an apology when he saved her.

“And that’s why I’m glad you came around today so I’d have someone to make them for.” He lifted the mixing bowl and made a point of angling away from her. “But I am going to have to ask you to close your eyes for a minute. Paula would never forgive me if I let you in on her secret ingredient.”

Although she complied with the demand, she couldn’t help laughing at his serious demeanor.

Whatever the tricks of Paula’s recipe, it made for the best pancakes Arden had ever had. Even the many memories she had of eating them in childhood couldn’t measure up to the plate of perfection she devoured at Jaime’s dining room table.

"That good, huh?" He joked, arching a brow at the empty dish in front of her.

"Can you cook for me every weekend?"

He gave her a funny look as he snapped the lid back on the bottle of syrup. "That could probably be arranged."

Gathering up their dishes, she followed him into the kitchen. "I could pay you back with kisses."

He paused, leaning against the cabinet to look her in the eye. When she turned toward him, his own gaze was narrowed in amusement. "Do your all of your kisses require some kind of trade?"

Arden deposited the plates in the empty sink, taking a moment to rinse her sticky fingertips before she replied to his query.

"Not for you, they don't. You can have them as often as you'd like."

"Not for me? Are there others you're in the habit of kissing?"

"Not at the moment.” She gave a breathy laugh at his insinuation, but then turned serious. “And maybe never again."

Jaime took her cue, arms opening wide for her to step into his embrace. She kissed him heartily, feeling the ache of uncertainty and fear slip away under his persistent lips.

As long as she was in his arms, she didn’t have to worry about having all of the answers. Guilt was no longer weighing her down. But more than that, she was struck by the assurance that she didn’t have to face the world alone.

He stopped her with a gentle hand. "We should probably keep moving if we want to make it to the hospital by 10:00."

“I know.” Although she agreed with his line of thinking, her desire and her better sense were very much at odds with one another. Reluctant to let him go, she lowered her arms to wrap around his waist.

“But before we leave, thank you. Truly.” There was a familiar pressure building at the corners of her eyes. She flicked them down to avoid crying. “The last few days have been torture, but this morning was perfect. I think I really needed this.”

“I did too.” His own tears glistened when he pulled away from her. “And I really mean it, Arden. I’m here for whatever you need.”

In the midst of all the whatevers life had thrown at her, she was beginning to wonder if he was all she really needed.

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #wishful thinking #jaime lewis #jaime x mc

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captainchrisfics · 6 years

Text

The Book

About: A first person pov narrator released a book about S.H.I.E.L.D. and let’s just say she didn’t give it a stellar review after Natasha released all of the records. It struck a chord with Steve so he tries to confront the author, but ultimately she ends up comforting him instead.

Word Count: 2,901

“One of the best contemporary attempts at grappling with the unfortunate truth that even our heroes are human. This book is a triumph for unraveling and understanding the honest history of America.” -The New York Times

I leaned back in my office chair for support, absolutely astonished that my work had received such a positive review. My book about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s, for lack of a better word, shit-stained history was just recently released into the world. It was my first and I’d been working on it forever, although when Black Widow released all of their classified files it made my job a hell of a lot easier. Still, it felt like baring my soul to the whole world and allowing them to judge me, giving everyone with an opinion the opportunity to pick me apart. Much to my relief, most of the feedback was praise.

Publishing this book was more nerve-wracking and all-consuming than I could ever even start to explain- it’s taken years, but thankfully the countless late nights I spent typing away at my laptop paid off. After receiving my post as a history professor at NYU, I felt like I’ve been playing catch up constantly. It’s not that I’m under-qualified. Just that most of my colleagues were much older and more established than myself, which has been entirely daunting. But the success of my book has given me the leg up I needed to stop second-guessing if I belong at this desk.

I was pulled from my thoughts by an angry voice calling my name from down the hall and asking where my office was. I sat straighter, craning my neck to try to get a better look as I listened. “Where is she?” whoever it was repeated again, this time with more urgency and anger. Through the crack of my office door which hung ajar, I saw the silhouette of a man with a frame that made me feel dwarfed just looking at him.

The secretary surrendered once he slammed a hand on her desk, probably scaring the hell out of her. He took a step back from her and apologized profusely for his outburst in a guilt-ridden tone. Then, he stepped toward my door, slowly at first then all at once. I braced myself, trying to swallow every ounce of anxiety trying to burst from my stomach. He knocked on my door, pushing it open with an arm swollen with intimidating muscles, without waiting for my welcome.

He took a seat opposite me at the other side of my desk so quickly I didn’t have time to protest. I noticed he carried a copy of my book, one that was already so worn and filled with post-its popping out from all of its edges, even though it had to be a recent purchase. I thought, maybe he was a curious student at best? A crazed fan at worst? As I tried to rationalize what gave this man any right to storm into my office, all of my questions were answered when he took off his disguise (if you could even call it that, I don’t know how I didn’t recognize him sooner).

Without the raised hood and tinted sunglasses, it was apparent that the person sitting about two feet away from me was none other than Captain America himself. I cleared my throat, trying to sit straighter if it was even possible. Stunned, I closed my mouth and opened it again a few times before stuttering, “Steve Rogers, sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I reached across my desk as I extended my hand to him. I watched as it hovered in the air, shaking with my nerves while he stared for too long before finally meeting me in the middle for a handshake. “I wish it was under better circumstances ma’am,” he said in a tone that toed the line between measured and seething.

My eyebrows stitched together in confusion as I gulped down my nerves again. I certainly didn’t want to be on this super hero’s shit list. “I imagine it has something to do with my book,” I said, eyeing the copy in his hand.

“It is a gross assassination of an organization that has done more to protect you and millions of other Americans than you will ever know,” Steve asserted, cracking the spine as he opened the book too harshly. He read a number of my lines to me, followed by the well-worded critiques I assumed he’d scribbled on his notes.

“And this thing you wrote here about when my team and I rescued Bucky from Hydra- that isn’t even how it happened!” Steve went on, tossing a hand up in the air as if it gave his point any more power. He told me the story in a way I’d never heard it in any other account, but it wasn’t fair.

“Can I stop you there?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest with a little huff. Steve paused as he turned the page, the breath he’d sucked in to fuel his next rant sitting idle in his puffed chest. I pushed up my glasses, trying to appear more authoritative in the face of the super soldier. “I’ve dedicated the past few years of my life to following others’ research and doing my own extensively. I understand that you know the truth since you were there, but the rest of us weren’t so you can’t hold historians to your standard as a breathing primary source when we’ve been picking through false narratives and speculation since you crash landed in Antarctica.” I raised my eyebrows at him, inviting him to challenge me.

“With all due respect,” Steve said, though his tone would suggest otherwise. He was all but seething, the muscle tightening with the clench of his jaw gave him away despite his attempt to appear unbothered. “I’ve dedicated the past few years to ensuring you have that freedom and before that it was Peggy. We’re a part of that history and if you’re going to tell our stories then you should be telling the truth. I’m not saying you should know everything, but if you aren’t at least trying then why are you writing this book at all?”

I let Steve’s question hang in the air, familiar with the sharp look on his face. I’ve been teaching long enough to know when someone would always insist they were right. Especially in a field like history, where so much is left to interpretation, there’s so many disagreements and so many people who refuse to accept that they might be wrong. The sureness in his hard, blue eyes and tightness of his jaw told me he wouldn’t accept anything short of being right about this.

In an attempt to remain open to criticism. I sighed, leaning back in my chair as I waved a hand to signify he had the floor. “Go on,” I muttered. I had to give it to Steve, he made some great points. From his perspective, I could see how I hadn’t countered my bias as much as I could have and I was open to considering that I may not have every fact straight.

Some points however, like how he said I criticized Peggy Carter for failing to ensure there weren’t any double agents when that was often impossible especially in an organization as large as S.H.I.E.L.D., were unfounded. Steve went on and on as he vented more than anything, tearing each post it out after he said his piece and tossed them into my recycling bin. The pile was so high I worried they would start an avalanche. He reached a point where he was projecting his frustrations onto my work and misinterpreting what I meant, which was coincidentally when his voice started to raise and the veins on his forehead became more pronounced. Once Steve stopped to take a breath, I seized my opportunity to interject.

“Mr. Rogers, firstly allow me to thank you for your service. I should have earlier, but I was pretty caught off guard by all of this,” I laughed nervously, gesturing between the two of us. He nodded and muttered a quiet thank you, leaning back in the chair he barely fit in between the arms of. “Now,” I continued, not pegging Steve Rogers as the interrupting type. “You of all people should know the destruction S.H.I.E.L.D. caused, all of the damage they were capable of doing. I mean, for decades there were Nazis embedded in the structure of an organization meant to protect us and we were none the wiser,” I said, trying to refrain from using my lecture voice on a guy who could be my grandpa.

Steve cracked a smile, though I didn't get the joke. He was probably thinking about how I didn’t know the half of it- which was partly true. Nothing I could read could compare to his life experience. I had to stop my internal nerd from entirely reveling in the fact that such an important piece of living history was just an arm’s reach away from me. I had to stay on task, especially since I was defending myself and my work.

“I’m a historian first and an American citizen second, in my opinion. I want to pursue the truth, understand it and help others make sense of it, even if it paints my country in a poor light and especially when it is difficult to do so,” I said, gaining confidence with each moment he continued to listen to me. Steve nodded, seeming to find common ground with me on this sentiment at least. After all, he has the reputation of prioritizing his moral compass over the law and order even as a soldier.

“I apologize for any hurt or frustration my book has caused you and I assure you that some of your criticisms were just misunderstandings, maybe due to my presentation.” I bit my lip, always one to have trouble with actually admitting when I was wrong. Even so, Steve had a right to how my book made him feel and I felt an obligation to apologize for it.

I could see the hurt rise in his perfectly blue eyes again once I brought it up. Steve shrunk even more into the chair, looking like a dud firecracker that’d finally fizzled out. “It’s just that-” Steve’s voice caught in his throat, seemingly unsure of how to find its way out. He swallowed and started again. “I’m sorry if this is overstepping any bounds, ma’am. Your book just struck a chord with me. Since Peggy’s death,” his voice cracked, stopping him for a second as he composed himself. “I just miss her so much and…” Steve didn’t finish his thought. As the tears started to escape his eyes, he dropped his gaze to the floor.

It was strange watching a superhero break down. Sure, we always see their victories on every news station and even hear about their shortcomings on occasion. But watching Captain America cry, his shoulders shaking and his lungs gasping as he wept, somehow made me feel weak. Seeing the symbol of America’s strength, someone so intrinsically connected to this country, grieving the loss of Peggy Carter was almost appropriate. It didn’t stop my heart from trying to leap out of my chest or the yearning I had to wrap this stranger up in a hug until he could breathe again. Before I could process what I was feeling, let alone make an attempt to comfort him, Steve sat up straight again. He had a stoic expression and seemed to be begging me to ignore what had just happened with his puffy eyes. I couldn’t.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” I said softly, reaching across the desk to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. I tried not to notice how his muscle bulged, tightening uncomfortably at my touch. “I can understand how you could take my criticism of her creation as an attack on her character. Honestly, I love Peggy Carter so much,” I gushed, letting a little bit of that nerd loose.

“As a kid with a passion for U.S. history, you can imagine there aren’t many women to look up to. Fewer compare to her strength and courage. She’s such an inspiration to me and so many others, I never meant to speak badly of her.” I tried to maintain a steady tone as I held such intense eye contact with Steve, his eyes welling up with tears again.

Steve chuckled a little, though it was still so sad. “She was a badass huh?” he smiled as he remembered her fondly. Peggy had just died recently. It still must have been so raw for Steve, someone who knew her so well. I always thought their story was so interesting; the way they loved each other to each of their ends was the kind of fascinating story that made history so interesting to me.

That changed when Steve Rogers of all people stormed into my office. They weren’t just characters in my textbook. He was a real person whose strong jaw tightened when he was angry, who defended those he cared about, who cried until he couldn’t catch his breath. She was someone he loved so deeply, and so much more than that.

“Language,” I chastised jokingly. Steve grew tense and apologized, taken aback by my scolding. Watching him squirm only made me laugh harder. Once I reassured him I was only kidding, Steve seemed to think it was pretty funny.

“She definitely was,” I resigned as we grew serious again before launching into a story about how she fought fiercely on behalf of the first woman who was elected to Congress, defending her in the face of every press-concocted scandal. Steve’s eyes lit up as he laughed, saying that the Peggy he knew was no different. He told me about the time she punched some pig-headed soldier so hard he passed out after he’d called her Queen Victoria.

By the end of our meeting, which lasted nearly two hours even though it felt like minutes, we’d swapped so many stories it felt like I knew her. Steve caught his breath from laughing after I told him a particularly funny thing about a time she told off Howard Stark. He cleared his throat before saying, “Thank you for this.” I tried to brush it off and tell him not to worry about it, but Steve cut in. “Really, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like someone gets it.” He reached across my desk and held my hand as if I was anchoring him. It sent sparks up like watching that firecracker reignite with my touch.

I just smiled at him, not quite sure where to go from here. Steve stood and I followed suit. We just looked at each other for what seemed like too long of a moment. I smiled awkwardly, ready to excuse us from this uncomfortable situation with the justification that I had a class soon, which wasn’t a lie. Instead, Steve pulled me close to his chest from across my desk as he wrapped his arms around me. I was immediately enveloped in a comforting safety. Steve seemed to radiate protection, even more so when you’re pressed so tightly against his chest you could almost feel his heartbeat. “Thank you again,” he whispered in my ear, causing my skin to erupt with goosebumps.

I nodded, feeling so small and feeble in comparison. I felt like that wasn’t good enough though. I mean, I know there’s no instruction manual for handling a superhero who stormed into your office before bursting into tears. Still, it didn’t feel like this was the way we were supposed to end. Steve pulled away, smiling at me so sweetly with a tenderness in those beautiful baby blues I couldn’t ignore.

Before I could think twice, my lips moved almost in muscle memory despite being so out of my depth. “I have to go teach a class soon,” I said too quickly as the words tumbled out of my mouth. I had to ask before I could get in my own way. Steve sighed and nodded slightly, stepping to the side to make room for me to leave. I couldn’t say if it was true, but I thought he looked disappointed with his eyes to the ground and the corners of his mouth drooping ever so slightly. Throughout our conversation, I noticed Steve seemed to be too stoic to read half the time.

Instead of grabbing my briefcase and making my way to the education building a few blocks over, I kept talking. “Would you maybe want to get coffee later? We could keep doing… whatever this is,” I concluded, nervously rocking from my heels to my tiptoes subconsciously. Steve perked up immediately, lifting his head to look at me with this adorable twinkle in his eye. He hid it behind his sunglasses before pulling up his hoodie again, looking nothing like any random guy walking down the street now that I knew he was Captain America. The next thing I’d have to expose S.H.I.E.L.D. for would be their pathetic disguises. Steve’s smile was crooked as he said, “I’d really like that.”

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zoocross0vers · 5 years

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Raspberries Challenge #10: 101 Dalmatians

101 Funnies and Boxes

My story begins in Zootopia, not too long ago. And yet so much has happened since then that it feels more like an eternity, a bored male voice narrated as the sounds of uninspired romantic piano music came from the second floor window of a tall beige apartment complex. At that time, I lived alone in a bachelor pad just off of Cypress Grove Lane. It was a beautiful spring day. Real terrible time of the year for bachelors.

Oh! That’s me, said the internal voice as he sat at a piano. The narrator in question was a slender red fox with a black tail tip and the most handsome emerald green eyes. He wrote notes and tested new keys to try to get the right melody, Nick. Nick Wilde, he introduced himself, I’m a musician of sorts. Nick tried a new rhythm that he had written down. He smiled, believing it sounded good until he realized it was just the same uninspired, repetitive theme he had already been playing.

He groaned, dropping his forehead frustratingly over several keys on the piano, causing the large musical instrument to create a loud shrill sound. That’s it! He gives up.

Nick slumped on his swivel chair and turned to face away from his piano, feeling greatly uninspired to write or play anything. He miserably viewed his surroundings. His small apartment, a complete mess -- it screamed stereotypical messy, single male at every corner. Nick sighed at the mess, You know, as far as I could see the old notion that a bachelor’s life was so...glamorous and carefree was all one big fat lie. It was downright dull. Nick stretched and yawned, only to slump back on his seat.

Yeah...I’m pretty sure it was plain to see that I needed someone. I had been a bachelor for...well pretty much since forever at this point. I’d been married to my work and I wrote songs about romance, which to be fair was a subject I knew absolutely nothing about. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a few flings in my youth but never anything serious. Nick looked to a pile of entertainment and clothing store magazines next to him and picked one up. It depicted a pretty red vixen in a purple nightgown. He stared at it with a smile and opened it to the female clothing section to view other pictures of other gorgeous female mammals of varying species.

It was at that moment that I thought, ‘why don’t I just settle down?’ It’d be just the inspiration I need for my work. And besides, I’m a pretty good-looking guy. I’m a smart catch too. There’s no reason I can’t get a cute girl like the ones in these magazines. Nick shifted his gaze back down to the pile of magazines and noticed another magazine with a beautiful female rabbit in a pink and green teddy on the cover. He immediately picked it up with intrigue and gave the image a flirty growl. Plus, I’m not picky when it comes to species. I’m willing to marry outside my kind if it’s the right girl.

With a new rejuvenated sense of life, Nick jumped off his swivel chair and ran to peek out his apartment window. The question was, where to start looking? Nick gazed out the window, paying attention to every young female that walked down the street. At the moment, only a young eligible female elephant and mouse passed by his street. Nick grimaced, Hmm. I’m not picky with species, but I’m pretty sure she should at least be near my size in order to count. Don’t want her too small that I could crush her or too big that she’d crush me.

Nick shook his head, wanting to get that last image out of his head. Just then, a more appropriately sized female made her way around the corner. Ah, here comes a good one. Nick saw that it was a very lanky, very plain looking red vixen with a slouchy gait. She wore glasses and a black beret -- an artist of sorts -- a painter by the looks of it. Hmm, pretty unusual breed for a vixen. He chuckled as the more he watched her, the more he found her unique gait rather comical. Very unusual…...nah. He shook his head. Though her outward appearance said artist, she just didn’t seem like the type of artist that could inspire him.

He turned his attention to the next oncoming girl, a portly pig in a brown pencil skirt business suit and cap. She had golden locks of hair sticking out right from under her cap. Well, what’ve we here? Nick observed her as she walked swaying her all too large hips side to side, causing Nick to primarily lay his focus on her lower back and rump. Hmm...well I like big hips, but...maybe those are a little too big. Giving it another thought, he reached his conclusion, Nope.

Onto the next oncoming girl, Whoa! Nick gasped with wide eyes, his jaw falling at the sight of a gorgeous and voluptuous, fancy looking arctic vixen. By the looks of her expensive opaque lavender coat and matching puff of a hat, a financially well endowed vixen at that! Look at that knockout! Now that’s a fancy vixen if I ever saw one! he thought in excitement. At the moment he thought he had finally found the mate he was looking for, but...upon further inspection of the vixen and her high nose posture, the more he began to question exactly how good of a match they would be. Surely she would not want a struggling musician like himself for a husband, plus given her demeanor and pursed lips, she really didn’t look very approachable. In fact she looked pretty snobbish and like she’d very perfectly live up to the literal definition of a ‘vixen’.

Nick’s excitement died out as did his attraction toward the vixen. Hmm...maybe she’s a little too fancy. He gazed at the vixen once more to confirm, Yeah, too fancy for my taste.

Nick looked back down to the street, his tone somewhat defeated as if losing hope in his venture for a wife. His deflated mood only worsened when he saw the next two candidates passing by. The first one was an old jittery goat riding her bike down the street while the second was a small juvenile skunk in a yellow dress licking a large swirled lollipop. Too old, too young. Nick mumbled internally in defeat.

Nick sighed discouraged and slumped his cheek on the palm of his paw, This was going to be tougher than I thought. A lot tougher. Nick shifted his gaze back down, hopeless and with very little interest now.

Until...

His eyes caught view of something and he had to shake his head to do a double take to make sure he wasn’t dreaming -- as at that very moment, making her way around the corner was another candidate -- perhaps, the candidate! Nick’s ears stood on end with intrigue and he smiled wide just as his long canid tongue stuck out in joy -- reminiscent to a happy puppy. His tail wagged in excitement, Well, now that’s more like it! The most beautiful creature on two legs!! Nick exclaimed in his mind as he gazed in wonder and admiration at a lovely young female rabbit with beautiful gray and white fur and gorgeous decorative black tips atop her long soft ears that hung low behind her shoulders. From what he could see, she had just the cutest pink button nose he had ever seen -- though he’d never tell her that -- lest he’d risk making her, a rabbit, angry by calling her ‘cute’.

She wore a beige colored, flared skirt business suit and matching hat with a decorative yellow sunflower on the side of her hat. Her features fair and soft, telling him that she was of a very gentle nature. In her arms she carried a small book -- an interest in literature could be a sign of a smart, creative girl in his wake! She was almost too good to be true! I’d never find another girl like that even if I had to look for her for a hundred years!

Not wanting to lose sight of her, Nick ran to the other window at the top of his small stairway. He caught sight of her, Ah, she’s heading for the park! A perfect meeting place! Now if I could only find her there. Nick grabbed his coat and hat, ready to run out the door, but stopped short as he glanced at his clock. Uh-oh. I almost forgot, I can’t ruin my work schedule. I don’t stop playing ‘til after five. But then, that’ll be too late and I’ll lose her. Hustling himself, Nick readjusted the time on his clock from 4:34 to 5:13pm. He smiled proud, There we go. Problem solved! He chuckled and ran out, excited to reach the park and win the heart of his new fair bunny.

Nick sped walked through the park, practically jogging through it in search of the gray bunny. It almost seemed hopeless. The park was huge and full of mammals. She could’ve been anywhere!

Nick could somewhat see someone in the distance wearing a brownish-beige suit and hat. Could it be her?

He jogged over as fast as he could, but when he got close enough he sadly realized that it wasn’t her. It was the pig he had seen earlier in the brown business suit. She just sat there, knitting something and minding her own business.

Nick sighed disappointedly and continued on his way. He kept his eyes peeled and shifted his gaze every which way in search of the rabbit.

He crossed the park’s bridge hovering over a body of water and spotted another familiar face. It was the lanky red vixen from before. She sat by the lake shore just painting a canvas of the scenery before her.

Nick huffed, growing anxious. Where could she be?!

He hurried off the bridge and continued on his way, but was stopped in his tracks when some giggling children, two young lambs and a bunny, zipped right in front of him. Two girl lambs ran with a jump rope in their hooves and the young male bunny rolled on some four wheeled roller skates. Nick sighed in annoyance and continued on his way after they crossed his path.

His anxiousness was quickly turning into despair as there was still no sign of the bunny. At first I was afraid I’d missed her, he narrated in thought, Maybe she strolled right through the park.

Nick continued with his rushed pace, passing by a path between two bushes. He quickly peeked in and took a few more steps forward when he froze in his tracks -- his brain catching up with his sight. He peered back in to ensure he wasn’t seeing things. He smiled wide.

Then suddenly, I spotted her!

The gray bunny sat on a bench suited for a mammal of her size and with a perfect view of the lake -- a perfectly romantic view that is. Nick wagged his tail. He couldn’t have set this scene any better even if he tried!

Now the question was how to get her attention? She seemed awfully preoccupied with her book as she turned another page. He didn’t want to be rude and interrupt her, but he did want to find a way to start up a conversation with her. Whatever he did, he had to be smart in his approach. Polite. Smooth. Suave. Confident.

Alright Nick, Nick thought to himself as he took in a heavy gulp, You can do this! The bachelor fox took a deep breath and poised his nose up and strolled before the bunny with a confident gait.

As Nick passed her by, the bunny curiously lifted her gaze up from her book to him. She followed his every move as she saw him take a seat at the other end of the bench she was at. Nick kept his gaze forward for a few seconds, pretending to mind his own business.

He then glanced over to her -- curious if she had noticed him at all. The minute he looked toward her, their eyes met. It was only for a second however, as the bunny immediately blushed in embarrassment that she was caught staring at him and quickly buried her nose back into her book.

Nick looked away from her as well, but with a smile. She noticed him! And boy are her eyes just the most beautiful shade of amethyst purple he had ever seen! For a moment it seemed to have worked. At least she'd seen me. Now if I could only start up a conversation with her... Nick rubbed his neck and casually shifted his gaze toward her once more -- his focus landing on her book -- it was Jane Mouseten’s “Pride and Prejudice”. That’s it! He thought in excitement. He had his ice breaker! Plus it was a book he had read before and really liked! It was perfect!

Alright, it’s now or never Wilde. Nick shut his eyes and cleared his throat with a light tug at his shirt collar. He turned his body towards her, his eyes still shut as he opened his mouth to utter his first syllable. He had only managed a breath when he opened his eyes and realized -- She’s gone! Nick’s jaw dropped as he gazed at the now empty spot where the bunny sat. He looked up and saw that she was already a few feet away, walking along the path beside the lake.

No… Nick thought miserably. Had he really just lost his opportunity to talk to her? His ears fell in defeat until, out of fate or sheer luck, the bunny’s loosely placed book, plopped right out of her purse.

Nick smiled wide, “Thank you!” he whispered gratefully to the sky with his paws clasped together in a prayer position. Without a second thought, the fox quickly lept into action to retrieve her book from the ground. Once in his paws, he smiled confidently. There was no way he could mess this up now -- he’d give the book back to her and then segway into a conversation about it until he’d find the right moment to ask her out.

The fox adjusted his hat forward, determined. Nothing could stop him now! He cleared his throat and jogged forward, “Excuse me miss?” he called out to the bunny in the distance, “You forgot your book!” Lost in the bunny ahead and in his determination to reach her, the fox failed to notice an abandoned pair of roller skates in his path. “Miss? Mi--Aaaaahh!!!”

Accidentally stepping on one, Nick was propelled forward down the sloping path -- much, much faster than he had intended to move! Along the way he came across the children from before, playing jump rope right in the middle of the walkway. “Waaaahhhh!” Nick crashed right in the middle of their jump rope, yanking it right out of the hooves of the two little lambs and taking it along with him.

“Look out!” he called out as he realized he was about to crash into his lady bunny. The bunny turned just in time to see Nick crash right into her. She let out a loud yelp as before either of them knew it -- they were both entangled to one another with the jump rope.

“Oh! Sweet cheese and--!” the bunny cried out in shock as she found herself pressed up against the fox.

Nick blushed, both in embarrassment and of the fact that he was pressed up against her. “I-I’m really sorry! I-I didn’t mean to--”

“What on earth!” the bunny cried again as both she and the fox tried to pull themselves free from the rope’s grasp. Both mammals struggled and rocked back and forth, unaware that the more they moved, the more they began to move toward the lake.

Before they knew it, “Whoaa! Whoa, whoa! WHOAAAA!!!”

SPLASH!

The two fell into the lake, finally becoming untangled from one another, but both soaked to the bone!

They landed side by side -- Nick kicking his legs up in an attempt to sit up, while the drenched bunny sat and coughed.

Nick lifted the sopping wet brim of his hat from his eyes to see her. He watched as she shivered both in embarrassment and from the cold of the water. He placed an embarrassed paw over his snout, guilt drenching him more than the water, Oh boy, did I mess up big time, he groaned internally.

The trembling bunny looked down at herself, completely mortified and near the brink of tears in sheer embarrassment. “M-My new spring suit,” she stammered, “A-And m-my new hat!” She pointed to her hat that was slowly floating away from her with the water’s gentle current.

Overwhelmed with guilt and desperate to make things right, Nick stood up and quickly waddled over to fetch her hat. “D-Don’t worry I’ll get it for you!” In his rush and because he couldn’t see much given the brim of his soaked hat covering his eyes, he lost his footing, grabbing the bunny’s hat but landing belly and face first against the water.

SPLASH!

The gray bunny yelped and took cover behind her small arms as water splashed against her. She gasped, wiping the excess water from her face. Nick surfaced from beneath the water and instinctually shook himself to dry off some of the water. “H-Hey!” She took cover with her arms once more as some stray droplets flew her way.

Uh-oh, Nick thought, immediately seizing his actions. Way to go Wilde, if I wasn’t dead in her eyes before, then I really am now. “I’m sorry! I-I really didn’t mean to--It’s just my insti--Here, let me help you up.” Nick said as he gently placed his paws underneath her arms to stand her up and escort her off the lake and onto the dry bank. “I don’t know what happened back there,” he tried to explain as he placed her soaked hat over her head, accidently causing more water to stream down her face. “I-I was just walking along the path, and then there was this roller skate, and then there were these kids and a jump rope, a-and I-I…”

“Oh, nevermind, nevermind!” retorted the shivering bunny, not wanting to hear another word from him.

Watching her shiver, Nick chivalrously removed his red coat and placed it over her shoulders in an attempt to keep her warm -- not that it would do much good given the equally soaked state of the coat. The embarrassed bunny flinched from his touch, pulling away from him, the coat still on her shoulders, “Please just go away! You’ve done enough!”

Nick felt his heart in pain -- broken, before he could’ve even gotten the chance to know her. His normally bright emerald eyes dimmed in shame. His ears fell back. He blew it...

Despite not wanting anything more to do with him, the gray bunny still sought warmth from his coat, tugging at the lapel with one paw to better adjust it at her shoulders while her other paw brought her purse up to fish for something inside it.

Though the brim of his hat kept slouching over his eyes, Nick could still see how upset she was as she dug into her purse. “I...,” he spoke, compelled to say something to her, “I know you probably don’t want anything more to do with me, but...I’m really, really sorry--”

“Please...” groaned the bunny as she pulled out a hankie from her purse, hoping to use it to dry herself, “Please just--” she stopped in shock when she saw that her hankie was just as equally soaked as she was.

Ever the gentlemammal, Nick immediately dug into his back pocket and pulled out a red handkerchief. “Here, take mine.”

The gray bunny’s jaw dropped when she saw the state of his hankie. It too was drenched. She didn’t know why, but for some reason just seeing the state of his hankie brought a humored smile to her face. She stifled a breathy chuckle but then allowed herself to laugh wholeheartedly as she pointed at the soaked handkerchief.

Though at first in shock at hearing her laugh, Nick quickly followed suit and began to laugh as well. Perhaps it was simply because he was relieved that she was no longer sad but smiling. Perhaps she found his attempts to be a gentlemammal sweet and adorable. Or perhaps it was the humor of the the entire situation finally just hit them. After all, had they been on the outside looking in, everything that happened to them would’ve been pretty hilarious! Mostly given how silly they looked.

Whatever the reason, Nick was just happy to know that she was okay and no longer angry at him.

Their laughter began to die out after a while, but their smiles remained. Nick removed his hat to wring it dry. The gray bunny giggled at how much water poured out from it. Nick chuckled as well. “Hey, I--I really am sorry about everything. I didn't mean to knock you into the lake.”

“It's okay,” she said with a smile. “You're the fox from before, right? The one who was sitting next to me on the bench?”

“Yeah,” Nick said with light wag of his tail, delighted to hear that she did notice him!

The bunny giggled, noticing his tail. “So...does the fox responsible for tangling me up and knocking me into the lake have a name?”

“Indeed he does,” Nick offered her his paw, “Wilde. Nick Wilde.” The bunny took his paw and shook it in greeting. “And does the lovely bunny have a name?”

The bunny hummed happily with a blush. “Hopps. Judy Hopps,” she responded in kind.

“Judy,” Nick echoed her name. It was a name he never, ever wanted to forget. They smiled at one another just as Judy's book floated over and bumped against the bank where they stood. “Huh?” Nick looked down to it, “Oh! I almost forgot…” Nick reached down to fish the book out, “Here,” he said handing it to her. “You uh, you accidentally dropped it when you were walking on the path. I was actually trying to get it back to you in one piece until a lone roller skate decided I was in serious need of a bath.”

Judy couldn't help but giggle, admiring his sense of humor. “I guess you weren’t the only one in need of a bath seeing how I fell in too. But thank you for returning it, nonetheless. This is actually my favorite book.” Judy responded with a sweet and appreciative smile as she held the book close to her heart.

“Really? Well then you have good taste Judy. I remember back in high school I hated reading, but this was the first book I actually managed to read all the way through.”

“So I take it you liked it?” Judy asked with a curious interest.

“Believe it or not, it's what got me into composing romantic melodies.”

“You're a musician?” the bunny asked, her ears perked up with intrigue.

“Yup! Er...well, sort of an up and coming piano composer,” he said with a twinge of embarrassment and a nervous rub to the back of his neck, “I haven't composed anything noteworthy yet. Guess I've just been waiting to find the right inspiration.” He gave the bunny a gentle smile.

“And have you found it yet?” the bunny asked curiously.

Nick met her eyes, as if searching for an answer within those gorgeous and sympathetic amethyst pools of hers. “Yeah…” he breathed with a mesmerized certainty, “I think I have.”

Judy smiled, bashfully lowering her gaze, as if somehow knowing that she was the newfound inspiration he was referring to.

Feeling emboldened, Nick decided to leap into the frey, “Hey listen Judy, I don't know if I’m being too forward but, seeing how we’re both soaked to the bone and very likely to catch colds if we don't warm up soon... would you...like to get a coffee with me?”

“I’d love to, Nick,” Judy said with a smile. Nick returned her sweet smile with one of his own. Both of them happy and aware that this was simply the beginning of something more growing between them.

#zootopia #wildehopps #fanfic #raspberries challenge #disney #101 dalmatians #crossover

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mst3kproject · 6 years

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307: Daddy-O

I am nearly convinced that Alphabet Antics represents some kind of early MKULTRA experiment. There’s something about the juxtaposition of the chaotic imagery and the narrator’s soothing voice… like it’s trying to put me into a trance and a seizure at the same time. I don’t yet feel any need to ask my neighbours if they’re communists but it might take a while to sink in.

On to the movie. Our hero is Phil, who’s sort of a prototype of Buffalo Bill from Riding With Death in that he’s a singer, a trucker, and a racecar driver all in one. As the film opens he’s just met a girl named Janet who’s even worse at both driving and social skills than he is – clearly they were made for each other. Sure enough, they team up to investigate the death of Phil’s nerdy friend Sonny, and discover he was making deliveries for a drug ring. Unusually for a movie like this, they do end up agreeing to call the cops, but only after they have committed several more crimes, and this waiting nearly gets them both killed.

I don’t like Daddy-O, but that’s not so much because of anything the movie does wrong as just because it’s not the kind of film I enjoy. As MST3K features go, it’s actually not bad – not great, certainly, but solid enough. The race scenes aren’t all that exciting, but we’re never at a loss for what’s going on. The exposition can be clunky, but it tells us what we need to know. The main character doesn’t make much of an impression, but we’re only gonna be spending seventy-three minutes with him and there’s enough going on that it doesn’t matter, and the movie never tries to do anything that’s beyond its meager budget.

The music, meanwhile, is pretty good. I’m not gonna run out and buy the album (was there an album?) but the songs are quite catchy in a good way, and the score as a whole isn’t bad. I guess that makes sense, since the John Williams who wrote it was in fact that John Williams. Like Vilmos Zsigmund shooting Mixed-Up Zombies or J. J. Abrams mixing sound for Nightbeast, everybody’s gotta start somewhere. The music even approaches having some story relevance: the first song Phil sings is Rock Candy Baby, about a woman whose defining feature is her sweetness, and whom the narrator views as a possession (Rock Candy Baby, you’re mine). Wait’ll I Get You Home suggests a less innocent relationship, in which both parties are a little more aggressive – he directs this towards Marcia, but we are meant to see that his tastes have changed as he grows to like the abrasive Janet.

Why he likes her I don’t know. I don’t know why any of us are supposed to like Janet (it’s so weird to think there was a time when that name could belong to a cute blonde in a sports car, rather than a woman who wants to speak to your manager). She’s smug and rude the first time we meet her, lies in the knowledge that the road workers will take her side because boobies, and only changes her attitude towards Phil when she realizes he could make a pretty convincing case that she’s a murderer. She’s supposed to be a ‘liberated woman’, doing what she wants and keeping the company that pleases her, but Phil disapproves of this and so does the movie.

The way Phil behaves towards Janet isn’t particularly admirable, either. He talks down to her and manhandles her, and declares several times that if she were a man he’d punch her. I hope nobody in my audience is the type of clown who’d ask ‘if women are equal does that mean men are allowed to hit them?’ but in case somebody is: I don’t think people should hit each other at all, outside of in self-defense or sports that require it. Since neither of these apply to Phil and Janet then no, he should not hit her, no matter how obnoxious she’s being, and this would be true if she were a man, too.

Why are we supposed to root for these two to hook up? None of their interactions are romantic and their arguments, rather than building sexual tension, just make it look like they can’t stand each other. The ‘rivals to lovers’ trope was already old when Shakespeare did it, but Much Ado About Nothing makes it clear from the beginning that Beatrice and Benedick are actually rather fond of each other and enjoy their insult contests. When our first interaction between our romantic leads has one party threatening to deck the other, that doesn’t work.

Another character I don’t quite get is Daddy-O’s criminal mastermind, Mr. Sidney Chillas. Between his way of talking and his love of steam baths and manicures, I have a feeling he might be a gay stereotype of some sort, but I don’t know enough about the 50’s mindset to say. He seems to think very highly of himself, particularly his intellect, and yet his reasons for hiring Phil don’t make much sense. If he were half as smart as he claimed to be he would have turned this man away as soon as he learned that Phil had been taking an interest in Sonny’s death – or at least watched him far more closely, as he implied to his lackeys he would.

Is this the joke, that Chillas thinks he’s smart and he’s not? If so, it should be a repeated source of humour, rather than just a single doozy of a stupid mistake. Or is he actually supposed to be a brilliant strategist and businessman? Because if that’s the case, then I don’t buy it.

Chillas’ questionable intelligence is linked to another thing in the plot that doesn’t work – it seems to be a complete coincidence that he decides he wants to hire Phil. When I sat down to watch the movie again, I remembered it as Phil deliberately seeking employment with Chillas in order to find out what happened to Sonny. I think this is supposed to be part of the reason, but it’s mostly implied, and it’s Chillas who approaches Phil in the club to talk employment with him. At this point he should have already seen that Phil was hanging out with Sonny the night the latter was murdered. Or if Chillas sought out Phil specifically to keep an eye on him (or indeed, both), that would work, too, but Chillas specifically says he does not find Phil suspicious. The movie has already had a big coincidence when Sonny just happens to die along the route where Phil and Janet were racing. It’s not allowed a second one.

Other than that, though, the movie works pretty well. Events follow one another in a fairly logical sequence, and the clue that Sonny left exists for a reason other than being A Clue. Daddy-O really isn’t trying to teach us anything, but that’s okay. All a movie really has to do is tell an engaging story, although ones that don’t have a psychological theme often end up feeling, as this one does, a bit unsatisfying. The only thing it really emphasizes and returns to is that women are bad drivers.

Janet’s driving and her bad manners are the focus of what I guess is her character arc – at the beginning she’s driving like a madwoman and nearly causing accidents just to entertain herself, at the end she’s using her skills to deliver Chillas’ lackeys to the police. At the beginning she’s rude and abrasive to Phil, by the end she’s fallen in love with him. We’re not given any better a reason why she likes him than for him to like her. He’s been a jerk to her, too.

Phil’s arc is supposed to be falling in love with Janet, and that’s pretty much it. He doesn’t learn anything much about himself or the world in the process. It seems like he ought to confront the fact that his best friend, Sonny, didn’t trust him with the truth – shouldn’t there be some angst about that, or the fact that Sonny didn’t ask Phil for help paying for his mother’s treatment rather than turning to a life of crime? Between that and the fact that Janet turns out to be a lot nicer once you get to know her, the movie could have been about how you can never be sure you know somebody, but they didn’t bother.

The friendship between Phil and Sonny was particularly poorly-handled. Phil says, some people have brothers, I had Sonny, but this is the epitome of telling rather than showing. When we see the two interact, Sonny refuses to talk about what’s bothering, gives Phil a locker key, and vanishes. We know nothing about Sonny other than that he apparently wasn’t too bright (he hid the drugs in his locker at a gym owned by a guy he must know works for Chillas), and so we find it hard to get involved in Phil’s quest to find out what happened to him. We believe far more in Phil’s driving skills because we saw those in the opening sequence. It’s disappointing that the later scenes mostly just show him at a steering wheel in front of a projection screen, but because we’ve already seen him on the road, we can believe in it.

The problems in Daddy-O are pretty easy to pick out, and could have been fixed with just one more script rewrite – none of them would have required more money or even better actors, and they would have made the whole story much more satisfying and meaningful. The movie as it is works well enough for a crummy B-picture, but just a little more work could have made it an A. It was also supposed to be career musician Dick Contino’s big break into film, but he ended up being in only four movies between 1958 and 1960 before deciding it just wasn’t worth it. Since one of the other three was Girls Town, that means no less than half his entire filmography was featured on MST3K!

#mst3k #reviews #daddy-o #50s

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educatedinyellow · 5 years

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Two Shoes for a Hat, or Mr. Holmes: Beekeeper.

Ooo, thank you so much for asking after these! I can’t think of anything about Beekeeper that you don’t already know, but if anything occurs later I’ll come back!

So, let’s see…Two Shoes for a Hat was not what I intended to write when I sat down at the library and opened up my blank document. I’d been brainstorming ever since I’d gotten my Holmestice assignment, and I had narrowed it down to two options: one a Ritchie first meeting fic, and the other an ACD disaster fic (the sinking of the Friesland). I’d done some reading on maritime disasters and had a list of ideas for the ACD fic. For the Ritchie one, I only knew how it should start (for the Ritchie-verse, it seemed important to cherry-pick the most ridiculous flourishes from other adaptations. Even though Granada’s ‘Three Gables’ was not a good episode, it started with Watson walking into their flat only to see Holmes in the middle of being shoved out the window. Brett’s Holmes gamely declared, “Watson! Well timed!” I thought that tiny moment would fit better in Ritchieverse than in Granada, so I wanted to crib it for Holmes and Watson’s first meeting).

But since I had more prep work done for the ACD option, I decided to get started on that fic. I opened up my laptop, stared at the screen with every intention of writing the opening lines for that other story, and then my fingers simply typed: ‘The first time I laid eyes on Mr. Sherlock Holmes he was being shoved head-first out of a fourth-floor window.’ This story just wanted me to choose it, so I did :)

I worried, though, that it was too close to canon and that readers might be frustrated that I wasn’t offering all that much new apart from the humorous tone. I worried about that enough that, for a while, I was planning to shift the Friesland idea into Ritchie-verse and add it on to make a longer and more exciting story – if I’d followed through on that, it would have become their first case. However, I was running short on time, plus the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it would ruin the light feeling of “Two Shoes” if I tried to latch it onto a more action-packed plot. And also, any story about mutual peril would be more satisfying if it were set later in their relationship when a real strength of feeling had grown between them.

So I let “Two Shoes” just be its own small thing, and the tone of it came out better than I’d hoped. It’s often a mystery to me how some of my fics just have a particular voice that sets them apart from the others, but “Two Shoes” lucked into that. In the end I was happy that my Law!Watson narrator managed a breezy sarcasm mixed with touches of melancholy. But then I still had the Friesland idea sitting around, now half metamorphosed into Ritchie verse, so at the end of that same year I wrote it out for WAdvent as “In Fire.” :)

#sanguinarysanguinity

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literaturegeek53 · 5 years

Text

Writing - why I write...

Writing is never easy. Anyone who tells you any different has either never wrote anything or does not appreciate this sacred art of expression and power.

I remember it being just as hard and egregious a task to commence. Probably the hardest thing I had ever done. People say that it’s easy, that it gets easier as you go; but it never does – or at least it never did for me.

That been said, for a kid of about ten years of age with no comprehension of the prerequisites and the tools demanded for this artistic craftsmanship, I would say that the task didn’t just seem impossible, but it seemed outright unfathomable! I knew that if I told my friends about it they would laugh at me. They would call me a girl. I guess I couldn’t blame them. Who could? In that day and time boys were meant to be outside playing football or basketball or maybe even cricket all day long in the burning sun. No one expected their child – especially a boy – to sit home cooped up all day on his big chair reading novels with a big fat dictionary lying beside him – almost like his companion, ready to help with big words which were just as alien to him as tenth grade math problems.

But that was me. That was my life. And that still is my life.

It was my tenth birthday when I sat ambitiously on my dad’s big chair with a small notebook lying flat on my legs and a pencil drumming onto the pale white blank page of the book. I still don’t remember – even after all these years – how the idea of writing took birth inside of me. I loved to read, yes, but writing? That was a different thing in all. I never, ever imagined myself as one those persons who sat in a dark lit room with scribbled papers scattered all around the floor and a big heavy type writer resting on the disarrayed table, typing furiously as if their very lives depended on the amount of words they could print onto each blank page until dawn.

And ever since my tenth birthday…that was the only thing I could ever imagine myself doing.

Like I said, it was hard, writing was hard, it still is. I had no clue what I wanted to write. Which genre did I want to write in? Was I better at fantasy? Maybe I should attempt writing science fiction? Or maybe I was better off working on something between the lines of reality and fiction.

I didn’t know.

That’s when I felt it bubble up inside of me like boiling hot water pouring out of its vessel if left unattended; the only difference being that these were words that were boiling inside of me and not water. Now, as a ten year old kid I did not possess tremendous amounts of vocabulary at my fingertips. The biggest word and the most complex word at my disposal at that time was ‘scattered’ which I had just learnt a few minutes ago; and I thought of squeezing it into my writing in every paragraph thinking that it would make my childish writing style seem more sophisticated, complicated and elder-like.

I didn’t know from where, but these images, words, even sentences, they all appeared in front of my eyes in flashes. Every blink instilled a new word into my mind. Every second that passed by gifted me with a sentence which I furiously wrote down, afraid that I would forget it.

That night I stayed up till ten o’clock – way past my bed time. I couldn’t sleep. My mind was too busy to shut down. It kept on feeding my hand with these words and sentences which I tried to imprint onto the paper as fast as I possibly could; awaiting for a few seconds as my mind conjured up new images, new scenario’s for me to witness and describe through the usage of words.

The entire ordeal seemed to have lasted for a decade for me. Until finally I had done it! I had written my first book!

It felt as if I had conquered the entire world, as if I were a king who could do anything he wanted with a snap of his fingers. The feeling was intoxicating, unimaginable and indescribable. But I felt it. I felt it coursing through my body mixed with my blood. I felt it pounding through my head, pumping inside my chest, seducing me, calling me, applauding and commemorating me. I had felt all of it and more.

And I wanted to feel it again and again.

My first encounter with writing was so overwhelming that for the coming few days I couldn’t quite process that I had actually done what other great authors and writers much older and much more intellectually capable than me did. That I, a ten year old boy, had actually written a book in one night.

I slept each night with my small notebook tucked inside my pillow; smiling to myself at my accomplishment. My book followed me in my dreams. I saw it being read by the entire world. Everyone knew me because of it. People smiled at me when I passed them at the streets. What’s more, I was handed a shining golden pencil reward for it - which seemed like a Pulitzer - too.

Those were the instances which provoked me to purse the life of a writer. However, it was not because I aspired to be famous, or craved the world’s attention. Absolutely not. It was because of the way I felt when I sat down with a pen in my hand and a blank paper lying in front of me. It was the freedom I felt encircling me while I wrote. The freedom of being capable of creating, of formulating an entire world, characters, even creatures to my consent. It was more than just enthralling to me. It served as a sort of a fuel for my mind. As some sort of enriched food or sugar coated candy which I couldn’t get enough of. I felt my very soul escape the boundaries of my body and enter a realm of pure imagination and wonders while I strove with my pencil to make all of it come to life with mere words and sentences. And to me they did. They popped right out of the paper and danced in front of me. At times I even felt them whisper in my ears, guiding me through their world, unraveling their secrets and stories for me so that it felt as if I was narrating their story; stories of actual people living in an actual world with actual dangers and life threatening quests.

My love and enthusiasm for writing and creating grew by the second. It reached to such an extent that my childish brain – eluded of all senses and meaning – tricked me into believing that real life was much like a fictional story. I realized the hard way, though, that there was a humongous difference between reality and a fictitious story.

#english literature #writing #my writing #husain necklace #amwriting #writers #writers on tumblr #writing community

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liesonthefloordramatically · 6 years

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TELL ME ABOUT WHY LINEAR TIME I S FAKE AND YOU CAN ONLY TRUST YOUR FISTS!!!!

Okay, listen, here’s a much longer and more heartfelt answer than you probably wanted BUT:

So a whole bunch of factors went into “linear time is fake; you can only trust your fists” but the ones related to linear time being fake:

I decided shortly after writing “Once all of this is over” that I wanted to write more about trauma in JJBA because…I don’t feel like I have to explain this (I’ll read anything as a trauma narrative if you let me)

but because I love weird superpower nonsense, I wanted to specifically write about the interactions of superpowers and trauma

this led to me coming up with one fic for every JoJo (I’ve managed to only write the ones for Joseph, Jotaro, and Jolyne [sort of], because I got so frickin’ sidetracked by how much I enjoyed writing Jotaro)

I had a moment where I was like “wow, Jotaro stopping time feels pretty similar to something that I do when I’m having a bad case of the good ol’ PTSD, where I will literally dissociate so hard that I just…stop.” (It’s hard to describe, but imagine if you just froze in place for 20-60 seconds, including not breathing or blinking, but had no real awareness of it happening until you unfroze.) I think I’ve also talked about this elsewhere, but the feeling of Time Becoming Weird is very much a PTSD Feel for me–the sense of foreshortened future or that the future doesn’t exist, that time is cyclical, that nothing happens linearly and the past is always omnipresent, etc.

So the only scene I had in mind when starting the fic (it was originally planned as a one-scene fic! what a naive child I was!) was Polnareff asking Jotaro about the timestop and time grinding to a halt for a moment–not because time was literally stopped but because Jotaro was experiencing a PTSD-related stutter through time

which, once I’d written that, I went, okay, but it feels like there’s more of a story to tell here about what it’s like to be someone for whom linear time Doesn’t Work–both because you can literally stop time and because you’re traumatized and your trauma has removed you from time. So then I came up with the start of chapter two–time looping back on itself over and over. (An aside: the way Jotaro experiences PTSD and the way I personally experience PTSD are very different, but there are a couple of nuggets in there that are similar to my experience, and the second paragraph of chapter 2 is absolutely one of them.) And then I started adding more from there–I think the first scene in chapter 4, where Jotaro sees Polnareff in the hospital bed and the narrative immediately jumps back to a parallel scene with Kakyoin, was one of the next things I wrote.

Needless to say, I very quickly realized that this fic was going to be way longer than the 2k I originally imagined it to be (wwwwwwwww), and I decided that since it was going to be longer, I could do some cool, fun, weird narrative stuff with it–specifically, in this case, doubling down on the narrative structure reflecting Jotaro’s experience of time.

(If you are reading carefully, you may notice that there are A LOT of scenes and narration mirroring each other in the two halves of the fic–this is very much intentional, as I sat down and actually physically charted out the whole fic once I had a draft done. If I did it right, basically every narrative thread that comes up in the first two chapters is looped back to again in the last two chapters.)

and then, of course, re: only being able to trust your fists:

So I’ve already talked about Jotaro’s relationship to linear time (which I really should have tagged as a & relationship and yet I didn’t because even I’m not that nerdy) but the other big chunk of the fic is obviously Jotaro’s relationship to Star Platinum.

I obviously have my own weird niche interpretation of their relationship, which was heavily influenced by: Jotaro apparently not using the timestop for ten years (referenced in the first episode of DIU), Jotaro’s suspicion toward Star Platinum at the start of SDC, the MASSIVE ARROWS pointing to Stands being spirit possession (or, at least, Jotaro understanding them as spirit possession), etc.

but I also very much see Jotaro as someone who–especially after SDC–is unwilling to rely on anyone other than himself (and, by extension, unwilling to trust anything but his own body), so I imagined that fundamental distrust extending to his own Stand

and then the question became: how do you coexist with something that’s an inseparable part of you but that you also cannot trust?

This is probably pretty obvious, but I imagine Star Platinum being very similar to PTSD–both in the obvious “these superpowers look like PTSD” way (hypervigilance! linear time becoming fake!) but also in the sense that I think having PTSD can very much be like coexisting with this thing that is trying to help you (the point of PTSD is that it’s your brain trying to help you avoid being in the same situation again!) but that is actually messing up your life really badly because it came crashing into you when your life hadn’t been built with space to accommodate its presence.

So I really wanted to play with the idea of Star Platinum as this alien yet friendly presence–but friendly doesn’t necessarily mean good for you, and friendly doesn’t mean that you don’t resent its intrusion. An invader is an invader, regardless of whether its intentions are good.

There are obviously very clear parallels in spirit possession narratives (where people struggle with the possessing spirit before eventually finding an equilibrium) and certain types of trauma narratives (where you have this horrible, toxic thing that you’re carrying around with you, and the only way you’re going to be able to go on is if you build space in your life to accommodate it and find a new equilibrium), so I leaned hard into that.

“you can only trust your fists” also refers specifically to the super somatic way Jotaro experiences PTSD–if you look at the way it’s described throughout the fic, it tends to be very visceral bodily sensations rather than feelings or emotions. This is partially because I do genuinely think that’s how Jotaro would experience PTSD (I could write a whole essay on Jotaro’s relationship to his own body but consider example A: his plan in almost every situation is “get real close and then punch”), but also because I very, very rarely see PTSD written as a somatic experience rather than an emotional one. And PTSD can be a somatic experience! For some people, it’s something that you carry in your body, that affects the way you inhabit, move through, and engage with space.

I didn’t actually have a title for the fic for quite a while–it was “Jotaro fic 2″ in my GDocs for a long, long time (we’re talking months). I saw something that said “academia is fake; you can only trust your fists” like…four years ago??? And immediately was like, “Oh, this is real and true,” and then just adapted that for various other situations. I think “linear time is fake; you can only trust you fists” specifically was spawned in a conversation (with Rowan, possibly?), but it’s something that I started saying because it’s relatable nonsense, my favorite kind of nonsense. And then there was a point at which I was explaining the fic to someone via keywords (I have keywords and key concepts for every fic I write, often before I have a story), and I jokingly said, “It’s basically ‘linear time is fake; you can only trust your fists.’” And I thought that was so funny that I immediately changed my draft title to that, and then I stared at it too much and it just…stuck.

On one hand, I’m like…90% sure that there are people who have seen the title on AO3 and gone “oh definitely not this pile of hot nonsense” and skipped over it immediately, but on the other hand…no regrets.

anyway, LINEAR TIME IS FAKE; YOU CAN ONLY TRUST YOUR FISTS

#LINEAR TIME IS FAKE; YOU CAN ONLY TRUST YOUR FISTS #god I am so sorry for this WALL OF TEXT but HERE YOU GO #roughly 0.000001% of the things I can say about this fic ksjdfouweurldsjfliuwoudsg #ask Queenie #Queenie actually says something on this blog #parallelism palooza: the journey #also I should probably tag this #been there done that burned the t shirt #I don't know how much titles matter to people when they're selecting fic.......but if I were someone who cared about titles #I would absolutely look at linear time is fake and be like wow......no..........#meta is fake; you can only trust your fists

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ibitchytimemachine · 6 years

Text

A Glad Day

Lisalu

*I took the link out, someone was butt hurt that I provided a source - If you want to read the fic its pretty easy to find on the usual fan fiction sites.

I spent the past week reading this monster of a story. Just out of curiosity I copied and pasted the text into pages to see how long this thing is and it is 250 pages without formatting. That was not what I was expecting when I began the fic and saw there were only five chapters to it! Beware spoilers, my thoughts are below!

Ok first thing is first, this story was phenomenal! Each chapter could have been a story in itself, and the amount of plot and character development in even the most “inconsequential” of characters was astounding. Lisalu’s vision of Vegeta-sei was incredibly well rounded. It is obvious that this is something that 1. She does/did full time (a writer, teacher, English major something) and 2. this was a labor of love. I will not say that each chapter had a different writing style/feel to it, but definitely the third chapter forward had several writing styles in them, mostly because of the narration changes occurring. I loved the fact that you get the story from Vegeta and Bulma’s POV, and that the writing style changed between the two to show differences between narrators. It is nice to see how clouded Vegeta’s judgement is in the beginning of the story throughout the literary use of Vegeta as an unreliable narrator. I think it is safe to say that Bulma’s POV is damaged by her hate dungeon dragon, but it is nice to see the flip side of the coin. Lisalu was ingenious in how she slipped in seemingly fluffy adjectives that were later explained through the differing POV’s. The first two chapters almost read like an epic poem, think Illiad/Oddesy, and I would like to imagine this was intentional because of the narrator being Vegeta. At this point in his life he still believes himself to be the savior of worlds, a hero to be worshiped and pleased. Untouchable and Godlike. After his first defeat with Jeice (BTW so glad this was not another Frieza story) the writing softens, showing how Vegeta is beginning to crack. Then again after Vegeta is tortured and brought back to Vegeta-sei, the writing style is changed yet again. The words that are picked give the feeling of timidity and unease. After Vegeta regains his memories the style is a nice blend between the two, symbolizing Vegeta’s broken self melding with his former arrogant self. I loved Vegeta’s POV because of the subtle changes Lisalu made to signify the narrator’s journey. Quite impressive writing on her part. As for Bulma’s POV, I thought it was a nice addition to show her views, and it was nice to her “in her own words” her feelings and motivations. I loved that nod to the fact that Bulma would 100 percent want her story and part of her to live on for the memory of her peoples and for her kids. However, I had some issues with the diary. First, I find it hard to believe that Bulma would want to give an account of her time at Vegeta-sei and not detail the cultural and political histories of her home world. During the story it was so important to her that the children were told legends and sang Madrani songs, so I can imagine that she would want to put some of that in her diary. Although, for plot device of getting her story to Vegeta I can completely let that slide. One other big issue I have with it is, if I am writing a diary, I would not write (or speak) the way Bulma chose to tell her story. I am not going to give the types of details that Bulma gave. I would probably use the damn this to let my feelings out into the void. So some of the believability was dampened for me in this aspect. I will argue with myself again and say that this narration issue begins when Bulma starts to break. At the beginning of the diary (when she is still with Raditz) the story telling is way more believable, and as the diary continues it becomes more detailed and almost like she is trying too hard to tell each aspect of her story. Perhaps this is a side effect of her own madness that is taking hold? I don't know, honestly, but this particular it was not as successful as it was with Vegeta for myself.

Even the antagonists have incredibly plausible reasons for being bad. Shit Bulma creates weapons of mass destruction and you can’t blame her for her reasoning. This story is ultimately about shades of grey, not everything is black and white. No one in this story is a good person. No one is a bad person. They are like Bulma states several times just people. People with their own thoughts, feelings, agendas and lives. Jeice is a horrible monster for this story, he nukes whole planets, deploys what is a killer virus onto a whole galaxy (pretty much), takes survivors of the attacks and places them in torture chamber designed for the entertainment of others, yet I can’t say that what he did was inherently evil. Ok so he was a total ass and went way overboard, but he went completely mad with his wife being raped to death and his kid being killed in an equally terrible way. He went overboard and let the “hate dragon” take hold. He is not really evil, mentally unstable is more like it. His ACTIONS are pure unadulterated evil, but he is not. We see this throughout the story of how the narrator will paint people or races of people as total monsters, only to have them redeem themselves. Zarbon, befriends Bulma and pays with his life trying to protect her. His love for Scopa really drove him to the edge of madness when Scopa was killed, but his redeeming moments were all done out of love for his fallen lover. Horda, who is a “Red Demon”, the same race of people as Jeice, shows his distaste for the treatment of the Sayians, even though they are responsible for the brutal death of his daughter (Jeice’s mate). He even teaches Vegeta how to overcome the block of his Ki sickness (the side effect of the Virus). Granted he did not know Vegeta was Sayian, but this is yet another insight to how people are only good or bad through the eyes of whichever narrator is speaking. If I stretch a bit here, maybe LisaLu is trying to tell us something about our own prejudice's? I can say a lot about this fic, it can be taken at face value, it can be a tale of heroism and its faults, it can be a tale of rebirth and redemption and it can be a warning about racism and the effects of hate and prejudice.

This is another tale I almost wish would have ended sadly. A huge part of me wanted the story to be over when Vegeta died in the Circus. It is plausible for Dende to have created and used the dragon balls to raise Vegeta, and ultimately these characters really fucking needed a break, so I can let it slide. This story is described as dark in its authors notes, and kami-dammit is it ever fucking dark. There are graphic descriptions of rape, mental illness (although you may not realize the illness as what it is), suicide, torture, war, violence, illness. This is not a story for the faint of heart. Although I do think this story says something about culture and society. I really think that while Lisalu wanted to write a story about a “What-if” Bulma was taken to Vegeta-sei, what he actually wrote was a story about hate. What hate does to your heart and soul. In the end of the story, Bulma has transformed into an angel who delivers the universe from hatred. She is the Jesus figure of this story. She had several moments when she was being broken down, and ultimately she “died” when her mind broke in MedCenter. She was resurrected through love of her Children. She became the savior by designing true protective gear for the galaxy and entrapping “evil” on Shakaji. Those who could not look past their own “hate dragons” were dammed, and judgement rang down on them from Bulma. She rescued those who were good hearted (notice, not pure hearted) and dammed those who let hate fester.

This fucking story was amazing. The more I think about it, the more I see in it. I liked it while I was reading it, but it wasn't until I sat down and began thinking about what all I wanted to say that I realized just how fantastic this story truly was. I can honestly say I have not read another story quite up to the level of this in the world of fan fiction (and I have been reading fan fiction on and off since the late 1990′s). I am new to DB fandom, but I have to say that I am so impressed with the artists/creators in this fandom. It seems as though every day I am introduced to another stellar artist.

With that being said shout out to @brinker-hadley for suggesting one of LisaLu’s fics. I found a website with a few more of hers that I will peruse a bit. But if there is a fic out there that any of you wonderful people think I need to read - let me know!

If you liked this review, after you check out this fic, head over to my A03 and check my stuff out too!

#Vegeta x Bulma #bulma #Vegeta #Fanfiction #vegebul fanfiction #fan fiction review #review #OMG!!!!#10/10 would recommend #horribly sad #dark #beautiful #symbolism #Lisalu #BTM Fic Review

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sassycassie-s-writing · 6 years

Text

Returning the Flash Drive

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC/BatFam - Jason Todd/Red Hood

Rating: PG

Original Idea: An AU prompt list I found on Pinterest but was from Tumblr.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) The italic blocks of text are parts of the original project. And that original project is actually an actual original project of mine. @welovegroot @batboys-and-other-messes Posting way early today because why not and I have no self-control

^^^^^

Jason plopped down at the library computer, fully intending to just search the catalog for Sense and Sensibility, check it out, and leave.

But he got distracted by the bright blue flash drive sticking out of the USB port. There was a piece of blue masking tape on the side, with a heavily worn-out name written on it. But it was so worn, all he got was a T and maybe an e. Though it could have been a g. He wasn’t sure.

Curious, he clicked out of the library catalog window, and found the drive on the desktop. It was named, “Bat-Drive.” He couldn’t help but snicker as he opened it up.

There was a long list of Microsoft Word docs immediately there with weird file names. Angst Galore, Crimson Poison, Duct Tape and Safety Pins, For What I Love, and Winter Went Down to Georgia as some of the ones he noticed. At the very top, though, was a file that read, !!!IF FOUND PLEASE READ!!!

Jason clicked it open.

“Hi there, stranger! If you’re reading this, that means you found my flash drive. This thing is my life. Thank you so much for finding it. Please text me at ###-###-#### and say you found it and where I left it. I’ll promptly come back and get it! Thank you so much! I appreciate it!”

Jason blinked and got out his phone, already typing the person’s number into a new text message box. He closed the file.

SUPERNATURAL HIGH—DRAFT 3

Another file name caught his eye.

Knowing he shouldn’t, he opened it. The person’s little note for whomever found the lost drive didn’t have a name. Just a phone number. But the file name implied it was some form of fiction. Maybe there would be a byline.

Supernatural High

By: Me

Well that wasn’t helpful. Jason narrowed his eyes in frustration.

Chapter 1—My Roommate is a Vampire

“Welcome to Supernatural High School!” the banner read over the huge front door. I looked at it, reading the same five words over and over again.

“Wow,” I said to my mom. “I’m here.”

Jason tilted his head, attention caught. He leaned forward, laced his fingers under his chin, and started to read.

He knew he shouldn’t be reading this. He knew that someone else’s writing was a private thing until made public, but it was good. The writing style felt like someone around his age wrote it—probably a girl if the main character being a first-person narrator female character was anything to go on—and it was engaging. Creative and with an interesting premise.

Jason poured over the third draft of the story—and glanced at the page count. 102. Single-spaced. Wow.

Enraptured, he continued reading.

Vicky pulled open the A-G Freshmen filing cabinet. It took her three seconds to find Adamaris, Aaralyn (the name of the protagonist) in the front of the drawer.

Vicky snatched it and flipped open the light-yellow file folder.

“What in Hades is an aquatic hybrid?” Vicky hissed to Carrie and Vinnie.

“What?” two voices asked quietly. Carrie left the computer where she was trying to erase Aaralyn’s name from the teachers’ rolls and Vinnie left the door so they could both look at the file over Vicky’s shoulders.

Species: Aquatic Hybrid.

“Huh,” Vinnie grunted.

“Yeah… what is an aquatic hybrid?” Carrie whispered.

The light flicked on. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” a voice said from the doorway.

Jason paused reading for a moment. Who was writing this? He needed to return the flash drive to its owner…

Opening the file explorer window again, he scanned down the file names.

Me—Facebook Profile.jpeg

Eureka.

Jason opened the picture.

Weirdly, the girl looked like the kind of girl who would write the piece of fiction open on his screen. A wide, sparkling smile. Eyes full of sweetness and intelligence. A few wisps of hair caught in a breeze. She was standing on top of the Wayne Enterprises tower on the observation deck, arms thrown in the air and one leg popped behind her, obviously excited. A Batman beanie was hanging out of the bag on her shoulder.

Jason smiled and looked around the library. He couldn’t see around corners or shelves, but in his line of sight, the girl in the photo was nowhere to be found around him.

So he kept reading. When he was done, he’d turn it in to the lost-and-found or go searching for her through the shelves—and maybe even down in the children’s section in the underground level.

He was so entranced by the words that flowed so naturally, so casually, down the page that he really didn’t notice time was even passing. He didn’t notice his back muscles growing stiff or the occasional buzz of his phone in his pocket.

When he finally reached the end of the document—“Kalen’s arms found my waist as the disco lights swirled over our skin and the music beat its gentle rhythm into the floorboards and our hearts. I smiled and”—he almost flipped the desk over. Why did it end in the middle of the sentence? Why did it end at all?! Where was the rest of it? That couldn’t be the end!

In a frustrated state, he closed the document, and the picture, ejected the drive, and yanked it out of the computer. He logged off and roughly shoved his chair back. Holding the drive lightly in his right hand, he started to wander the library, looking for the girl to return it to.

^^^^^

I’d been sitting in the same spot in the library for hours. My apartment’s electricity was off for the day while some wiring was getting fixed and my laptop had broken. Not to mention the library was the only place my sister wouldn’t look for me and I’d been avoiding her for two days. Long story.

I was sitting in a worn-out old velvet armchair with Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Titan’s Curse in my hands. My water bottle was halfway empty—I’d need to get up and refill it before I left… if I ever left.

Something hit me in the chest.

“What the—?” I muttered, looking down.

It was my flash drive. Bright blue with my smudged-out name in masking tape on the side.

“Why did you stop there? How’s it supposed to end?” a voice hissed.

I looked up, one hand closing around the drive.

The man in front of me was so ridiculously handsome that my mind went blank and my breath went away. Tall, muscular, black-haired, blue-eyed, chiseled face with a jaw sharp and strong enough to cut glass. Wearing skinny jeans that showed off exactly how powerful his legs were, a white T-shirt with what appeared to be Red Hood’s red bat symbol on the chest, and a red hoodie.

I didn’t even process that he’d asked me a question. My brain was going more along the lines of, “Oh hot dang he’s handsome. How is a man that handsome even allowed to exist? Wait. Hang on. Did he say something? Shoot.”

When I didn’t answer, and just stared blankly, he sat down in the long-vacant armchair across the tiny coffee table from me, and continued, “Your Supernatural High story. Why did you stop writing in the middle of a sentence?”

I realized what he was talking about. “Oh. You read… my story…” I trailed off.

“Yeah, missy. And listen, I get that Kalen and Aaralyn totally have a thing goin’ on, but c’mon lady! He’s too old for her at that stage in their lives and he may be the hot, bad boy type but she’s so bright and sweet! What about Conan? I know he and Zurie seem to have a small flirtation but everyone knows werewolf-vampire romances are doomed so why not just give him to Aaralyn? Though, I do appreciate the whole Romeo and Juliet, star-crossed lovers vibe they have since you mentioned that the Wolfes and the Addingtons don’t get along,” he ranted.

I blinked but didn’t say anything. This handsome stranger wasn’t finished yet.

“I also really liked the Pride and Prejudice, Much Ado About Nothing feel between Aaralyn and Kalen. Especially with Zurie, Lyric, Conan, and Ryker contriving to set them up in a very Lady-Beatrice-and-Lord-Benedick way while the Mr. Darcy and Lizzie Bennet thing can be slyly represented by the fact that he’s a pureblood fairy and therefore more respected in the community while she’s a hybrid that others distrust for being half-human. What’s she even a hybrid of? A-hundred-and-two pages and you still haven’t revealed what her other half is.”

Someone in the library shushed him.

I opened my mouth, trying to come up with something to say. I hadn’t really intended for there to be all those classic literature parallels, per se, but it was nice to know someone could pull something out of what I’d written.

“I don’t even know your name,” I finally managed to say, whispering because we were in a library.

“I'm Jason. And why isn’t this published?”

“It’s not done, genius. Why do you think?” I retorted.

“Fair point. But seriously, what’s Aaralyn’s other half? What even is an aquatic hybrid?” he asked.

“A-hundred-and-two pages of implications and you can’t figure out what she is?” I joked. “With everything I’ve mentioned and every not-so-subtle clue. From her singing at the dance to getting pushed in the pool to what happened when those three boys drowned at the school decades before she even attended and you have no idea?”

^^^^^

Jason thought hard for a second, trying to puzzle through everything he’d just read. To be fair, he’d read quite a lot in a short time and it had almost overloaded his brain.

He glanced down at the book in her hands. He’d never read the PJO series but he’d heard a lot about it. His eyes also searched the ceiling, as though still reading the text on the computer screen up there.

An idea popped into his head. He looked back down at the writer girl.

^^^^^

Realization dawned on the man—Jason’s—face. His jaw dropped. He mouthed one word. I smirked.

“There you go. You got it,” I said, a little louder than I intended.

The librarian shot us a dark look.

“Look, I don’t even know your name, but I have to read the rest of this story. Please. It’s really good and I was really enjoying it and you ended it in the middle of a sentence!”

I smile lightly. “Thank you,” I said before offering him my name. “And if you really wanna read it, give me your email and I’ll send it to you as I work on it. I’d love a beta reader.”

“Absolutely. Please. I have to know what happens,” Jason said.

I pulled my notebook out of my bag and passed it to him, tucking my flash drive securely into a zipper pocket and zipping it up. Wasn’t going to lose that again.

He handed me back my notebook with his email address scrawled over almost an entire blank page.

“Can I take you out to lunch or something and you can tell me more about your stories? Especially this one but what else do you write? I saw a bunch of titles on your flash drive but I only read the one.”

My jaw dropped open. “Uh—I mean—yeah. Sure,” I said.

Jason got to his feet and offered me his hand to help me up. “I'm sorry if I'm freaking you out. I'm just a… voracious reader—” I could tell by that vocabulary word. “—and I’ve recently been getting into more contemporary stuff. There’s only so much classic you can read. It’s a finite genre.” He pulled me to my feet. I scooped up my bag and put PJO back on the shelf. Before walking next to Jason out the door.

“It’s okay. You freaked me out at first because you never expect someone to approach you accusing you of not finishing your story when you don’t know them and don’t realize at first how they even read your story, but I'm so unused to having someone so enthusiastic about what I’ve written that I was just surprised,” I replied. He smiled.

“I really look forward to the finished product,” he said.

“Thank you. I'm excited to have someone who’s excited,” I said as we left the library.

#Returning the Flash Drive #Jason Todd #Jason Todd Imagine #Jason Todd FanFiction #Red Hood #Red Hood Imagine #Red Hood FanFiction #DC #DC Imagine #DC FanFiction #BatFam #BatFam Imagine #BatFam FanFiction

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glitterysummerkitty · 6 years

Text

Dr Bombshell & Mr Hollywood

A Jake Gyllenhaal Fan- fiction

Prologue// Chpt 1// Chpt 2// Chpt 3// Chpt 4// Chpt 5// Chpt 6

Chapter 7

Sunday evening was by far the most phenomenal day Candice had, in terms of fun, in a very long time. As soon as the game began Candice fell completely in her zone and she had even managed to impress the hell out of everyone present. At the end of the day Dave had been a proud captain and both Jaylon and Ronnell were all praises with Ronnell even trying to bribe her into abandoning Dave and joining him for the following matches.

Even Mabel was surprised and after the glorious victory of the Omega- 3’s, the first question Mabel had asked her was ‘Where the hell have you been? Jheez Candy! I didn’t even know you were so good at this sport.’ Candice blushed but didn’t think it important to remind her best friend that she had been the captain of her team college team and they had won several trophies. She even won several awards, which were now displayed proudly in a pristine glass shelf at Washington State University.

At the end of the friendly match Pizza’s and beers were ordered and jokes and stories about their spouses and children were shared. Candice kept mum and tried to stay out of anyone’s focus but more often it had been futile since she was the star player of today and so everyone’s attention was on her. Especially Uma. Candice had never thought at the beginning of the evening that she would ever be comfortable with Uma but surprisingly at the end she found out how hilarious Uma really was. Basically Uma was Gemma multiplied hundred times. Candice believed she could handle Uma and her eccentric behaviour.

After such a beautiful Sunday came Monday bringing along with it, its infamous blues. Candice groaned as she reached out and shut the alarm. She tilted her head and looked outside the window. It was still dark out there and although it wasn’t snowing anymore it was drizzling. Candice saw the little droplets of water glistening under the streetlight against the glass surface. Candice sighed. Strange fact check about Candice- she hates rain. Yes, she loves snow but hates rain. Why? Don’t ask because even she didn’t have a reason for it.

With the comforts of her warm sheets and Mr Ruskin’s hot body pressed against her sides, Candice didn’t feel like getting up. But work was work and so she closed her eyes counted from five to one backwards and then hopped out of her bed.

She barely got time to breathe on Mondays as she had three classes to teach and the clinic is almost always full on Mondays, filling up her schedule for early evening to late night. The first class was with master’s student and their class had been on a topic which was more challenging and close to her heart- Maternal Nutrition and it’s consequences. They had discussed and critically analysed some of the studies out there and compared the methods and their varied results. It was fun.

But then her next class was with first year Grads and that wasn’t something she enjoyed especially considering she would have to face Zachary. After that day, when she had kicked him out her class, she hadn’t seen him and it made her slightly nervous. Also, after just having such a challenging class, to have to talk about the process of digestion wasn’t something appealed to her.

Mentally preparing herself, Candice pushes open the door to the large hall and entered it. As she did, the rambunctious class fell to a low hush. As usual, on the very first row at the very centre the seat was occupied by one of her least favourite students Brianna. Candice had observed how the slightly obese girl with a bad case of acne and a harsh expression, never mingled with her other classmates. She always sat by herself and had minimal to no contact with her mates. Candice had also made an observation as to how Brianna seemed to have a problem with her although she would never understand why.

“Good morning class. I hope you all had a great weekend.”, she started as she scanned the class and found it devoid of Zach. She didn’t know if she should be relieved by it or not.

“We sure did!”, someone said but Candice couldn’t point out.

“How was yours Dr Averell?”, a slim, blonde seated two rows up from the front row asked in her sweet voice as she twirled a piece of hair in her finger.

“Better. Thank you Cameron.”, Candice smiled back.

“So... Today I am going to talk about the whole process of digestion, absorption and Metabolism.”, there were some groans, some exited rustling of pages showing eagerness to write down notes while some just sat straight with their nose buried in their phone screen.

“Digestion is the first crucial stage where food is broken down to smaller chemical constitutes for absorption. There are two ways this is achieved- Mechanically and chemically.”, Candice moved to the next slide on her presentation, when the door to the hall opened and in strode Zach. Instantly every girl’s, except Brianna, attention was consumed by him and Candice felt compelled to roll her eyes but she didn’t.

“Sorry I am late, Dr A. I was eating breakfast and went in deep thought about all the things I could do during the time I waste during your class and lost track of time.”, he smirked as she took to his usual seat. Immediately the class broke out into an “Ooooohh” and “Burn”. Candice gave the entire class a sharp look before finally settling her glare at the infuriating boy.

“Really?”, Candice feigned surprise, “Well from observing Mr Meyer’s performance in class for an entire year one would assume that he’s incapable of deep contemplation but I am glad to know you can.”, with that Candice turned her attention to her PowerPoint. She ignored the snickers and Zac’s stabbing glare as she went on about peristalsis.

Candice decided to grab lunch from the ‘Four Hundred Guild’- a restaurant within the campus that served exclusively to the faculty and staff of Pruitt and Hearst University- before going to her next class. She shot Mabel a text, letting her know where she was and then decided to call Bethany to check up on her aunt. Apparently Aunty Aubrey wasn’t doing so well. Her latest cycle of chemo had left her very weak. It had Candice worried but Bethany assured her that she and a few women from the church were doing everything to help her through this. Candice end the conversation with a promise to send some more money by the weekend and also a request to fill her hospital room with some Calla Lily. “She loves them.”, Candice said.

Over a lip smacking lemon thyme chicken, Candice narrated the whole incident over Zach to Mabel, who was flabbergasted by Zac’s audacity and also found it hard to believe that Candice had stood up against him.

“While I am very proud of you for what you have done, I am also worried. What if he decides to take action on his threat? In my opinion you shouldn’t continue to antagonise him. It’s a question of your career.”, she advised as she shoved a brussel sprout in her mouth.

“I know. It’s just he’s so infuriating.”, Candice grumbled.

At half past three Candice left from the university. Once again she made a stop at Starbuck on her way to clinic and faced the same server as the last time. She placed her order without making much eye- contact and then sat down at the table. This time Candice had time enough to have her drink at the café.

As she waited for her Tarragon Chicken Salad Sandwich and a tall cup of Americano she got her laptop out to check her e- mail. There lay a tiny dose of happiness waiting for her and Candice grabbed it.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 19 Feb 2018, 10:00 am

Dear Lynne,

I have finally got time today and I am determined to spend the day reading and hopefully get to the end of your book. As I am typing this mail, on my desk lies your book, a tall mug of coffee and a lot of snacks. Believe me when I say that I am on a mission to finish this book today.

You can expect to hear from me by tonight on my opinions on what I thought about the book. Until then I am signing out! Xoxo

Regards,

An Avid Reader

Candice grinned. She loved the reader’s enthusiasm and could only hope she felt as enthusiastic once she finishes reading the book. Candice wasn’t one to care much about what other’s opinion. She wrote ‘Love Knows no Bounds’ because it was something she believed and something that she wanted to write about. It didn’t matter if others didn’t buy what she had to sell. But for some unknown reason ‘An Avid Reader’s’ opinion mattered to her very much. She giggled silently to herself at the (xoxo) part making her wonder who the reader could be. Was it a man or a woman? Was he/ she old or young? Which part of US was this person writing from?

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 19 Feb 2018, 3:45 pm

An Avid Reader,

Your enthusiasm towards my work is encouraging. For any artist, I believe, appreciation of their work means above all and they while they can do without it, when a reader like you shows so much eagerness it really gives much pleasure. I hope you continue to show similar gusto until the end and after that too.

I will be waiting to hear from you as well. Until then happy reading!

Regards,

Lynne Brooks

(Author of-

“Love Knows no Bound”)

As she ate she went through some more fan sent e- mails and replied to few. She reached clinic on time and Ashley greeted her with a great news that owing to the bad weather, Mrs Laine had cancelled her appointment and so had two other patients.

“Dr Averell. Do you think I could leave early today? Actually it’s my boyfriend and I seven month anniversary.”, Ashley asked. In the three months that Ashley had been working here this was the first time she had asked for anything so Candice didn’t have the heart to say no.

“Sure. Oh and I probably think it’s a good idea because on Wednesday I need you here late. I want all the patient files organised and prepared for the next month’s audit.”, Candice informed. The red head looked happy.

Candice saw the few patients who had braved the weather while using her free time to update her patient’s information into the software. The said task was mundane and taxing to Candice but something that she had to be done. When only one file was left on the table she opened it and the name sent both, shivers down her spine and anger through her veins. Candice marvelled at being able to experience two varied emotions belonging to different spectrum, simultaneously, at the sight of the same name.

There is a knock on the door and Candice looked up, expecting to see Ancil walk in but it was Ashley.

“Dr Averell your seven o’ clock is here. I just wanted to ask if it’s alright if I leave?”, Ashley fidgeted with her fingers. Candice thought, amused, if she came off intimidating to Ashley.

“Of course you can leave. Thank you Ashley.”, she smiled. Ashely smiled back nervously before scrambling out the room. Candice wondered what she ever did to intimidate the poor girl.

“Good evening Dr Averell.”, that familiar baritone voice filled her room making her tremble in her seat.

“Good evening Mr Dumont. Please have a seat.”, she mumbled as she motioned for him to take a seat. It didn’t matter if Ashley found her intimidating or not but Ancil managed just fine to drain every ounce of courage she possessed.

“You look gorgeous. As always.”, he lowered his voice and by the time he said always it was merely a whisper. Candice squirmed in her seat as she felt her muscles in her stomach and everything south of it clench.

“Thank you... How are you today?”, she said a little out of breath and blushed deeply. She kept her gaze fixed on the file before her.

“Better than I have been in days.”, he replied.

“Good. How much of the plan have you been able to follow?”, she asked as she made notes on her file.

“Hhhmm...”, Ancil trailed off forcing her to look up when he didn’t say anything for a while. Candice watched mesmerized as he tapped his lean finger against his lips. His face looked like he was genuinely trying to recollect. Candice wanted those lips wrapped around her own, she wanted to run her tongue over it, she wanted to...

Candice flushed as she found him smirking at her, apparently having caught her staring at his lips. While she knew her body had its natural cravings, she chastised herself for fantasizing about her patient right in front of him. Embarrassed she turned her attention back to the file and for the rest of the session didn’t look up until necessary.

#jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal imagine #Gyllenhaal #Maggie Gyllenhaal #prince of persia #prisoners #southpaw #source code #imagine #fiction #fanfic #fanfiction #hot actors #love #romance #not a real story

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metricanxiety · 7 years

Text

i’m the narrator and this is just the prologue

Pairing: phan its the only thing i write lmao

AU: uhh, dan is a writer and phil owns a cute lil store? idk what thats called but thats what it is

Warnings: SMUT. Its not too bad tho. Swearing, Mentions to religion and awful humans, sin.

AN: send me requests im begging you.

---

Dan sat in front of the laptop on his desk, a hand holding his head up, and the other goose-pecking the keyboard, typing the final pages of the chapter he was writing. His editor gave him a deadline for the chapter two days ago, and was desperately trying to finish the dam thing before his agent came to off his head. Dan had already gotten many threats that they’d drop his project if he didn’t stop dropping the deadlines they were setting for him. But he’s already released successful novels, proven that they really don’t give a shit about the deadlines, but rather don’t want to make the readers wait longer for a book that is already beginning to get hyped up.

His first novel was about his fiance’s childhood, but majorly fantasized. It’s about a little monster trying to escape the civilization he was raised in because his parents didn’t love him for the path he chose in life, to begin a family with somebody unapproved his parents didn’t like. A fantasy about gay rights. But would you expect anything less from Dan Howell?

As a firm believer in writing based on real life experiences, Dan was now writing a realistic fiction novel about a girl growing up in a super religious home, but realizing the beliefs she was brought up in isn’t actually what she believes, and how she over came the problems it brought. But he was stuck on a chapter, trying to make the story more interesting in the middle bits with a little bullshit. It wasn’t his strong suit, which is why he wrote about real experiences. Phil, his fiance, had earlier in the week that he should write a sexy novel, because Dan had plenty of experience in that to write a book about it. Dan laughed, but he could never imagine publishing such an erotic novel, knowing his future children may read it someday.

The sun had set a while ago, leaving only the bright lights of London, and Dan’s laptop screen, to illuminate the room. Phil was due to be home any minute now, Dan had received the text about fifteen minutes ago that he was leaving the shop, which was about a half hour tube ride from the flat they owned downtown. They use the word own very loosely. Yes, the flat was theirs, but the mortgage was being paid paycheck to paycheck, since most of their money was being used towards the shop, and bills. But they made it work.

Dan typed the final sentence of the chapter, she slowly, but surely, fell into the sweet slumber, the final one she would have for a long time; the storm was just beginning to form. It reminded him of how he felt when he was sixteen himself, discovering his identity. A tough subject for him, but can be empowering to young readers, so he forced himself to submit it to his editor. He still had another chapter due tomorrow, as they were trying to wrap this book up quick to release to the public, and well, so Dan could have a little extra pocket change than he does right now. Despite his previous successful novels, he actually didn’t have too much in his savings. Living in London is no joke for the bank account.

He began the next page, but didn’t get halfway through the first sentence when he heard keys hitting the metal door to their apartment, and the familiar squeak of Adidas on the wood floor. Phil was home, which meant Dan could actually enjoy his dinner with the man he loved. It had been sitting in the oven on a low heat to keep it warm.

“Dan? Are you in the bedroom?” He heard Phil call out. It was nice to hear his voice, as Dan is left alone for hours every day until late at night, when Phil would finally join him. They owned the store as well, but Phil had to be there four days of the week, except for Sundays, Mondays, and Thursdays. He trusted the manager, which was Dan’s cousin, could handle it without an owner’s supervision.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a sec, dinner is in the oven.” Dan pulled a pair of pajama pants on over his boxers. It’s not like Phil hasn’t seen it before, but they were about to eat, might as well have some modesty.

As Dan exited the bedroom, he was met with the open floor plan of their small flat, and Phil crouched down to try and get the tray of food out of the oven. He was in a navy blue button up, with white polka dots. Black jeans, and a red bow tie. He always dressed nice, even if it was just to go sit in the office of the store. He loved Phil for that.

“Hey, love.” Dan smiled, walking over to help Phil, getting the tray out himself, and placed it on the stove. Phil stood up with him, placing a hand on the small of Dan’s back, and pulled him in for a kiss. “How was your day?”

“Busy. Which is a good thing. With Christmas coming up, everyone is wanting something from us. Cards, candles, you name it.” Phil said. He always referred to the store as his and Dan’s, but Dan didn’t really do much own there. It was mainly just Phil’s store. When Dan tried telling him this, Phil kissed his hand and said what’s mine is yours, my love. “How about yours? How is Angela doing in her quest to be her own person?”

Dan laughed, getting out two plates to serve the lasagna on. Phil leaned against the counter, making the space slightly crowded, but Dan didn’t mind being close to Phil. Especially when this is basically the first time they’ve seen each other today, besides Phil kissing Dan goodbye while he was still asleep. “Awful. I just submitted these past chapters to Haley when she wanted them two days ago. I still have a few to write to send her tomorrow.”

“Productive day then? I know you barely started the beginning of those chapters yesterday.” Phil wrapped his arms around Dan from the back as Dan used the spatula to serve the food on the plates, but was having sight trouble from the cheese being so stretchy on top. Phil kissed the back of Dan’s neck, the small short hairs tickling his nose as he did so. Dan had goose flesh cover his body, as his neck was very sensitive to him, and Phil always took advantage of it.

“Kind of. I don’t know. Been struggling a little lately. There’s so much hype being built for this novel and I don’t know how well it’s going to turn out if it’s rushed like this.” He grabbed a few forks, and lead Phil over the the small table they had against the wall, and sat across from each other.

“Take your time, I’m sure they won’t mind, they know you only care about the quality of the book.” Phil took a bite of the lasagna, exhaling in delight. “Thank you for dinner, babe.”

“No problem. Didn’t take that long, and I had quite some time to kill anyway.” Dan jabbed slightly. Phil left extra early today, because he usually eats breakfast with Dan before he leaves for work. Phil needed to leave a little early today, however, because Sarah had something come up and couldn’t do it herself.

“If you’re referring to breakfast this morning, I’m sorry. Sarah couldn’t make it in time, and I had to go open.” Phil reached over for Dan’s hand. It may seem ridiculous, but they were so close, their relationship was so valuable, that even eating breakfast together was important to them. It was the perfect start to their days.

“No. It’s okay. Just wasn’t expecting to wake up to an empty flat.” Dan smiled, squeezing Phil’s hand.

“I know. I wasn’t expecting to be leaving so early either.” He paused. “But I’m home now, right?”

“Yeah. I know. But you know how I am.” Dan looked down at hid food. Phil knew he had trouble being alone for long periods of time, even though he did it every day. Dan thought too much, worrying about everything, which is the main reason he’s a writer. For example, if Phil doesn’t text him back within an hour of the text being sent, Dan starts to think that something bad happened to Phil, and that he needed help because Phil is usually very diligent about answering his messages. Dan says he thinks too much, but everyone knows it’s because of his anxiety. He hated being alone for so long because he doesn’t know if he’s letting his life go to waste by not going out with Phil, or going to visit friends more, and him being alone makes him feel guilty. Its a system they’ve been trying to ix for a while now.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Many people would call Dan controlling, or clingy due to this, but that was not the case at all. Phil knew Dan just needed that extra bit of information to feel safe, or know that Phil himself is safe. He doesn’t want to worry Dan more than he already does.

They ate in silence for the rest of their dinner. Sometimes saying nothing has the loudest impact, and in this case it was. Just being in the presence of the other was enough for them. Phil collected the dishes, cleaned them, and put them away. It was about nine o’clock, and they didn’t really go to bed until around ten or eleven. Dan would sometimes go back and work on the novel while Phil did some basic chores around the house, or even catch up on some reading. But as Dan was walking toward the bedroom to finish his daily writing, Phil stopped him, grabbing his hand and spinning him back to face Phil.

“I love you.” Phil smiled, wrapping his arms around Dan’s waste. Dan smiled, pressing his lips to Phil’s in a sweet, long kiss.

“I love you too.”

They kissed again, it wasn’t perfect, or calm. It was actually a little bit sloppy, because they had kissed each other so many times that there could be no bad kiss between them. Phil slipped his hands into the waistband of Dan’s pajama pants, resting them on Dan’s ass. He knew Dan thought it was ridiculous that Phil loved just grabbing, and holding Dan’s butt, but Phil found it quite funny that Dan thought that. Dan’s hands rested on Phil’s chest, slightly tweaking the bow tie around Phil’s neck but not doing much to actually take it off.

“How about I make it up to you, for missing breakfast?” Phil suggested, resting his forehead to Dan’s. Dan was just a few inches shorter than Phil, making cuddling, and these type’s positions favorable to Phil. Dan quirked an eyebrow, moving his hands to the tie again, and began making a small effort to undo it.

“Hm, depends. What are you going to do?” Dan asked, joking. He kissed the smile off Phil’s face, pulling the tie off Phil’s neck, and letting it drop to the floor. His arms snaked over Phil’s head afterwards, running his fingers through the dark black hair that belonged to the man he loved. Their sex life was calm, as they didn’t believe that they needed to have sex every other day to be happy, but when they did, the night was always extra special.

Phil let Dan undo every button of his shirt before he began backing them into their bedroom. He shrugged off the button up, and began to help Dan out of the jumper he had on. They liked to take things slow, and savor every minute they had of the other.

Phil pulled away for a minute, leaving Dan to sit on the bed, as he rummaged through the drawers, and shelves. He found a candle that he out on the dresser across the room for the bed and lit it with the matches he found in the bedside drawer.

“You don’t need to do that. Dan said, laughing slightly. He began to pull off his pajama pants completely, so Phil didn’t have to do it, but left his boxers on. Phil shook his head, unbuttoning his jeans and kicked them off.

Phil pushed Dan to his back, laying half on him, half not, but still held himself up, so he wasn’t crushing Dan. Dan pushed the hair out of Phil’s face, tucking, what he could, behind Phil’s ears.

“Hi.” Phil said, pressing their noses together.

“Hi,” Dan repeated, closing the gap between their mouths. Dan loved this part of the night. Where things were still beginning to heat up, but could still be stopped comfortably if one wasn’t totally up for it. Tonight however, was not one of those nights. It had been a few weeks since they last did this so it was relieving to be doing it again.

Phil positioned his hips on top of Dan’s, moving them lightly, grinding down every few seconds. Dan threw his head back, getting the pleasure gently consume him, and Phil took the chance to attach his lips to Dan’s neck, and nibble at the sensitive skin.

“Phil-” Dan exhaled, gripping Phil’s hair gently. He could feel how turned on Phil was, and he had no doubt that Phil could feel him. Dan was usually extremely quiet during sex, so when Dan said Phil’s name, it surprise him.

They kissed again, mixing in their tongues, biting lips, and they became very touchy, Phil ran his hands up and down Dan’s side, stopping every now and then to poke, and tease his nipples. They had been together for so long that they knew exactly what made the other feel good, and enjoy themselves.

“You realize that next week, its going to mark six years.” Phil said, his sentence rushed, trying to avoid making any unwanted noise. He made them plenty already, but he didn’t want it to interrupt him.

“Holy fuck.” Dan said, smiling. They kissed again, sweetly. They can go from hot and heavy, to tame, and sweet in three seconds, just from the mention of their anniversary. Phil ground his hips down on Dan once more, bringing them both back into the lust, both wanting the same thing.

Phil lifted his hips up, and ran two fingers around the waistband of Dan’s boxers, folding it over once, before pulling them off and over his long legs, leaving Dan completely naked. Phil kissed up Dan’s torso, nipping at a few spots that would make Dan’s breath hitch. “Top?” Phil asked, but Dan shook his head, Usually, Phil would top, but he always gave the option to Dan, wanting to make sure he wasn’t forcing Dan into a position he didn’t feel like doing. Almost always Dan would decline the offer.

He reached over to the side table, grabbing the bottle of unscented lube, and a condom out of the little box they kept in the drawer. After having sex for six years, they never got tired of the basic ass shit they do. They were only really kinky on special days, like birthdays, or holidays, such as Valentine’s day or New Years. But any other time than that, they only really wanted each other, and would take it in any shape or form they could have.

Phil took off his pants as well, and kissed Dan to keep the heat they had. He gave Dan a few strokes as they did, making him squirm and dig his blunt nails into Phil’s back. Phil kissed along Dan’s jaw, giving small pecks before biting at the skin right under his ear. As he did so, one hand grabbed the bottle of lube, skillfully popping the cap and squeezing some onto his fingers. He sat back on his heels, helping Dan wrap his legs around Phil’s waist.

“I love you, Dan Howell.” Phil said, smiling down at Dan. Dan responded by sitting up and kissing the smile off Phil, holding his face with his hands. “There’s nobody I’d rather spend my life with than you.” Phil didn’t usually get so mushy and sweet during this, but Dan wasn’t complaining. He’d struggled with finding somebody to have in his life since his parents basically rejected him after coming out. Phil had gone through the same thing, which is what they first ‘bonded’ over, if you could call talking about your similar problems in life with someone as bonding.

They didn’t spend too long on stretching, as Dan was use to the burn it caused, and eventually learned to treat it as pleasure. Phil tore the foil packet next to Dan’s bicep, and role the condom, hissing from the relief he was feeling from the slight contact. Dan pressed his lips to Phil’s forehead as he aligned himself, and began to push in.

Dan’s nails dug into Phil’s skin, the other hand in his hair, pulling on the black locks, but still trying not to hurt him. Phil didn’t mind Dan’s reactions, however. He knew this part hurt like a bitch and he was willing to sacrifice his comfort if it meant Dan would be enjoying this more. It’s all he cared about, really.

“Phil-” Dan’s voice was airy, like he didn’t even know he was talking, or making any noise at all, as if it were just a natural reaction for his body. Phil waited when he was fully inside Dan, letting him adjust. Phil bit Dan’s lip, pulling it lightly, and let it ping back into place, making Dan quite literally yank Phil’s head down to kiss him. Phil’s hips began to move, in and out, starting small, until he built it up to using his full length to thrust.

Phil rested on his forearms, straddling Dan’s head on the pillow. They were both panting, overwhelmed with pleasure. Phil let out breathy moans every now and then, which gave Dan butterflies in his stomach. Even after six years, it still made him blush knowing that he was making Phil feel this goof, even though Phil was doing most of the work.

Their noses bumped, making Phil smile, a reminder of the past, where the would only give each other Eskimo kisses, instead of real ones. They were super careful about their relationship at first, especially since Dan was only 19 when they started dating, and still living under the roof of his parents house.

Phil would drop him off a few blocks down the street, and even though they wanted to so badly, they didn’t want to risk being caught in the prestigious neighborhood, or area he lived in, It was a really religious part of the London suburbs, and Dan couldn’t venture too far out beyond it, as his parents made a rule, even though he was an adult, they told him that if he were to live under his roof after betraying his own upbringing, and being a homosexual disgrace, that he was to follow the nitty gritty rules his parents set, and if he were to break them, he’d be kicked out. Those rules included no boys, or boyfriends. That was the only rule Dan broke that summer, before officially leaving to move in with Phil. To this day, his parents still have no idea that Dan isn’t living alone. They even had the courtesy to tell him that his first novel was “too much against the people who raise you to be who you are.” Dan would never be able to make them happy, and he was okay with that.

Dan ran his nails along Phil’s back, maybe even breaking skin, but the feeling was just too good for him to stop, he could stop thinking about Phil, Phil, Phil so good oh my-

Dan let out a noise, almost a squeak, before he came over his stomach, and Phil’s. Phil finished not far after, into the condom.

For about fifteen minutes, they just laid there, catching their breath, cooling down. But also just being together. They would peck the others nose, or kiss their hair, and just be the romantic cliche couple they are.

They eventually cleaned up, and got on a fresh pair of pajamas, and after blowing out the candle, they realized how late it was. Phil chuckled, wrapping his arms around Dan who had sat at his desk, opening up his document again.

“Love, it’s almost eleven. You need to sleep.” Phil said, kissing his cheek. “C’mon, come cuddle me.”

Dan couldn’t turn down that offer, spinning his chair around, and standing. Phil invited him under the covers, which Dan had freshly washed due to his procrastination today. The fresh scent of the duvet made them both feel cozy, and at home. Phil wrapped an arm over Dan’s body, pulling him into his torso. Dan nuzzled Phil’s chest, kissing the bare skin, before muttering a ‘good night’.

“Night. I love you.” Phil said, turning off the lamp next to him.

“I love you more.”

ello yes dis is the end

i realy like this one actually???? ig idk lol

SEND ME REQUESTS IT WILL MOTIVATE ME TO WRITE HHHH

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