#one kid even wrote out all the steps we use for drafting written responses in math!

[ourbastardofsorrows]

anyway i'm so fucking proud of my students. their written responses for the math performance task were just beautiful

[holidaywishes]

It Had To Be You L

Chapter Fifty: Bumper Cars

  Summary: You knew the relationship had done all it could for the two of you but letting go of him still hurt so much that you couldn’t breathe. After about two years, you were finally feeling like you were over him but when you run into him in Barcelona one summer, you feel your heart break all over again.

  Warning: Angst and crying, so much crying, fluff in the most pure way

  Author’s Note: Here it is everyone, the Finale. The last chapter in this series that I never intended to go more than 15 chapters with on the outside. I wanted to explain something about why I ended these two. I’m a sucker for big movie relationships and big movie moments. The kind where the couple end up together against all odds and it’s all romantic and the lighting is beautiful and the music is amazing and everyone is cheering for them because FINALLY! They chose each other. I love those moments and, for a long time, I was leaning to end this series in that direction. But when I looked back at the chapters and who these characters were in each one, I realized it was insane for them to be together. With all of (Y/N)’s insecurities and Tyler’s unwillingness to commit to growing up, the two of them wouldn’t last a month in real life. I thought about it a lot before I wrote the previous chapter. Trust me, I had two drafts made up and the one I put out was what made more sense. Because when you think about it, if you had friends like this, that were a couple like this, you’d tell them that it was incredibly dysfunctional and that they deserved better. Because everyone deserves better than just being with someone because you loved them once and maybe you’ll love them again. Relationships like this, that I created for these two, are toxic and, I don’t know, I guess I wanted this series to end on an optimistic but still realistic note. That you can love so deeply, so completely, and fall in love so fast, that you fall out of it just as fast. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing but staying in something when it’s bad for you, is not what you should be trying to do. So, I apologize if everyone wanted to see these two together after everything they’ve been through together and apart, but I hope this somehow puts your concerns at ease a little.

  Song Credit: Bumper Cars -- Alex & Sierra

  masterlist

  the other masterlist

xx

Tyler’s P.O.V.

  You couldn’t seem to stop the tears flowing from your eyes while you crumpled in your moms arms.

  “Ty, baby, I am so sorry...” your mom tried comforting you as the crowd around you stayed unchanging, not knowing what to say or do. You tried to say something but your violent sobs stopped any words from escaping your throat

  “I--” you heard a voice stutter from behind you while the sound of footsteps came closer to you, “I’m sorry, Tyler. She just-- I can’t-- I’m sorry.” Chris stammered as he put a hand on your shoulder; your body rejecting his comfort by pushing away his hand

  “Leave,” you yelled between sobs, “go. Chase after her. I don’t want you here and I don’t care how sorry you are that this girl you raised turned out to be awful and horrible and cruel.”

  “Tyler...” Candace tried

  “Don’t Candace!” you yelled again, “don’t try to defend her. Not now! LEAVE CHRIS! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE?!” He finally walked toward his car with Karen following behind him, her head dropped to the ground.

  “Why would she do this?” you heard her say to Chris as they got into the car and he just shook his head. You could see the sadness in their faces, clearly confused at the events that just unfolded.

  “I need everyone to leave!” You yelled at the people around you, “I need to be alone for a bit.” You waited for a while for the crowd to disburse but when they remained where they were, your anger overcame you, “GET THE FUCK OFF MY PROPERTY BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE!” As the guests ran to their cars and your family looked at you with sympathy in their eyes, you ran inside the house, coming across little pieces of (Y/N) with every step you took. You stopped dead centre of the room to catch your breath as Marshall, Cash and Gerry circled at your feet and Lionel stared out the door waiting for (Y/N) to come back for him.

  “She’s not coming back, Lionel,” you said angrily, tears falling from your eyes again when the small Australian Shepherd looked back at you, “she left. She didn’t want me.” The anger rushed over you again and you began tearing apart the living room; flipping chairs and tables and destroying everything around you.

  “Tyler...” You heard your mom whisper from the doorway, staring at you in disbelief and you were forced to look at the destruction around you. When your eyes scanned the room, you noticed an envelope near the desk that must have fallen out of one of the drawers; realizing it must have been from (Y/N) when you saw your name written neatly in black ink.

  “What’s that?” Cassidy asked as she walked slowly toward you and your eyes began to burn from the tears that brimmed when you looked up at your sister

  “Uhmm..” you cleared your throat when you tried to answer her, looking back at the envelope, “it’s her writing. (Y/N)’s. It must be from her but I have no idea what it’s gonna be...”

  “Do you want us to open it?” Candace said from the doorway, awaiting your response

  “No.” You stated, taking the note and walking into the bedroom where you were surrounded by the remains of the Bridal Party; make up covered the counters and silk robes littered the floor while flower petals were scattered over the entire room. You ignored the mess and sat down at the end of the mattress, preparing yourself to read whatever words your ex-fiancée had put to paper.

  Tyler;

  If you’re reading this, then I ran away again.

  The first sentence you read already made your blood begin to boil that you threw your head back and dropped your hands, still gripping the letter, before continuing to read what she had to say

  Tyler;

  If you’re reading this, then I ran away again. I loved you every minute that I was with you and the life that we made together was beautiful. And I know that it could’ve been beautiful if I had stayed and tried. But you deserve so much more than what I was capable of giving you.

  This was not an easy decision to make. Accepting your proposal was exciting and I felt so much love for you and from you in that moment that I could clearly picture our life together; growing old and yelling at kids on our porch. But when you postponed the wedding and lied to me about the girl from your Bachelor Party, I realized I had to think about whether or not we’re good for each other anymore. And if I’m gone, then I guess it means we’re not.

  I love you. I have loved you. I will continue to love you until my heart stops beating. Once it heals from the brokenness that I’ve forced upon it, I will love you again. And again. And again. I know this doesn’t make a lot of sense right now because, if I loved you, why would I run away, right? Well here’s the only answer I can come up with right now:

  I don’t know who I am without you.

  Normally, that would mean that I should stay and be with you because being without you would mean I was lost. Wouldn’t it? But I think I’ve been lost my whole life. Trying to find myself in the people I date or the friends I have or the people I surround myself with in one way or another. I don’t know who I am. I never have. I know I’ve never been comfortable in my own skin and we both know how damaging that can be when your life is as public as it is. It’s something that would’ve constantly got in the way.

  My heart is breaking with every word I write to you and I don’t know when you’ll find this letter, but if ever you do, know that you were the best part of my life and I wouldn’t change a single moment of our time together. Trust me when I say I wish I could’ve known you sooner, met you earlier, loved you immediately so we could start our life together right away. Because, as Harry said to Sally, when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible. But the truth is, we didn’t meet earlier, we didn’t fall in love right away, it took us a while to find each other and, even then, it didn’t always ‘fit.’ I’m not saying it should’ve been easy but there were definitely times, I’m sure you can agree, when it wasn’t working.

  I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through, the pain I’ve caused you and the pain I’m causing you now. I promise it will pass. I promise you’ll find happiness again. I promise you deserve the love I know you’ll find and I promise you will find that love. Maybe by the time you’ve found this letter, you’ll have found the love you truly deserve or maybe you’ll still be looking for it. Either way, I promise you it will come to you and you will be so unbelievably happy. Because you deserve that. And I want that for you.

  I know you hate me right now. I get that and I accept that. This is an awful, horrible, hurtful, painful thing I did to you, so please, hate me. Hate me for leaving you, for humiliating you, for wasting your time and money and getting your family involved. You can hate me forever if you need to and I’ll understand that. I hope you won’t but I’ll understand if you do. Someday, I hope that we’ll meet again and can be friendly to each other, I hope that our hearts will have healed and that we’ve both moved on. I don’t know when that day will be or if you’ll ever be able to forgive me but for what it’s worth, I look forward to that day.

  I love you and I’m sorry.

  Goodbye xx,

  (Y/N)

  You fell back onto the mattress, crumpling the letter in your hand as you took in the words she had written. Suddenly, you let out a long, low growl before sitting back up.

  “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?!” you said to Gerry who seemed to follow your growl from the other room, “does she just think I’m going to forgive her, Ger?” The yellow lab rested his head on your knees while you talked your feelings out. “She’s damn right I hate her. She’s damn right she humiliated me. She’s damn right I deserve better. She’s damn right I’m in pain. She’s damn right I’ll move on and find happiness!” You stopped suddenly when the three other dogs made their way to you and you caught Lionel’s sad expression that seemed to mirror yours, “But I really wanted that happiness with her...”

  “Ty..?” Candace called softly, knocking the door frame when she saw you with the dogs, “can I come in?”

  “I don’t want to talk about her if you’re going to defend her” you argued

  “I won’t talk at all if you don’t want me to but I want to be here for you.” She admitted and you outstretched your hand to her, handing her the letter for her to read. Her eyes quickly skimmed the page as she read (Y/N)’s goodbye, “she knew she was going to leave?”

  “I don’t think so...” you said, “I think this was like.. a fail safe. Like if she got too overwhelmed, she was gonna take off but didn’t want me to think badly of her...”

  “What she did was wrong” Candace stated and you looked over at her only to find her eyes puffy and red. Just then, it hit you. (Y/N) was one of her best friends. They’d been that way before you and (Y/N) had even started dating and now Candace was forced to say goodbye to someone she loved so dearly; this was hurting her almost as much as it was hurting you

  “Why don’t you talk to her?” you asked, nudging her shoulder, “I can’t. I won’t. It hurts too much. But you’re her friend. She’s your friend. I don’t want you to hate her just because she did this to me...”

  “She didn’t just do it to you though”

  “She did.”

  “I’m so mad at her, for this. For leaving you, for hurting you and mom. For embarrassing us and everyone in the Wedding Party. I hate her!”

  “No you don’t,” you chuckled at her words, trying to reassure her, “and that’s okay! Talk to her. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

xx

Candace’s P.O.V

  You only intended to pick up the phone, ask why she did it, tell her you never wanted to see or hear from her again and then hang up. But when her voice fell flat on the other line, you could feel the pain and wanted to let her explain

  “We hadn’t been good in a while. I mean...” she started, “we really were just faking it. I don’t think it would’ve lasted very long and I always wanted to only be married once...”

  “But why couldn’t you have pulled him aside? Instead of leaving him standing there alone at the altar... After both of you said your vows?”

  “I panicked.” She blurted out, her voice quivering, “honestly, I know it’s awful to keep saying but... I ran into Kate as she was making her way to the ceremony and I didn’t even know she was going to be there. I didn’t know we had sent her an invitation. I knew I didn’t, which meant that Tyler did. Or someone invited her verbally. I was just shocked when I saw her you know? And I guess it brought up a bunch of shit. I’m sorry. I wish it didn’t turn out that way, you have no idea how much I wish I could change it but I can’t.”

  “I thought it wasn’t about her”

  “It wasn’t”

  “So why did seeing her bring up a bunch of shit?”

  “I just kept thinking ‘if he lied about inviting her to the wedding, what else did he lie about? How much as he been keeping from me? Does he really want to settle down or is this just some game to him?’” She rambled shakily for a moment before you finally spoke again

  “He’s miserable you know”

  “I know”

  “He’s making the dogs miserable too.” You added, a thought crossing your mind but you weren’t sure if you should even say it because you didn’t think she’d actually do what you were thinking, “you’re not leaving Lionel too are you?”

  “Of course not!” she said, a slight rise in her volume but her voice was far from steady, “I just couldn’t spend any more time there. I had to let him stay there until I could come back for him. And so he could say goodbye to Tyler. And so Ty..ler” she corrected herself from using the shortened version of your brothers name, “could say goodbye too.”

  “Tyler can’t even look at him. It’s so depressing.”

  “What am I supposed to do? If I go there now, we’ll fight and yell and cry and I don’t want that. Not for me and not for him.”

  “Well, honestly, I think you need to let him decide what he wants this time. You took off! You don’t get to make the big decisions anymore. Let him decide how he wants to handle it”

  “Fine,” she agreed, “but how do I do that? I doubt he’s going to want to talk to me.”

  “Let me talk to him and I’ll text you what he says...” You ended the call there and went back to your brother, who you found throwing the letter in the small trash bin by the Vanity in the bathroom.

  “How do you want to..” you started but were unsure of how to finish your sentence

  “I don’t want to talk to her, I told you that.”

  “I know,” you sighed, “but what about Lionel? Technically, he’s her dog. How do you want to handle that situation?”

  “Obviously I’m not going to keep her from her dog. She shouldn’t have left him here. Tell her to come get him.”

  “Okay...” you hesitated, “but.. when? Do you want to be here for that? Do you want one of us to be here for that? Do you want to tell her you’re leaving him alone for two minutes until she gets there to pick him up? What?”

  “I--” he stammered, trying to figure it out himself, “I don’t want to be here for it. I’ll say goodbye to him. Have tonight with him and she can pick him up tomorrow. You can be here but I don’t think Mom should be here. Cassidy’s a wild card so that’s up to you.” You nodded before he pushed past you to head out into the hallway, checking to see if anyone was still there, dismissing them when he found anyone in sight. You sent (Y/N) a text as you watched your brother turn the couch back to its legs and collapse onto it with his head in his hands. You weren’t sure he was ever going to be the same and you couldn’t really blame him; you just hoped he wouldn’t be broken for the rest of his life.

  The next day, (Y/N) showed up to pick up Lionel and say goodbye to Cash, Marshall and Gerry.

  “I’m so sorry guys,” she said as she hugged each of the labs, “I wish I didn’t have to leave you but I do. I made a horrible mistake and I have to live with it. Maybe one day, we’ll all meet again in the park but for now I have to say goodbye...” You watched her eyes tear up as she said goodbye to Tyler’s dogs

  “They really do love you, don’t they?”

  “I guess we’ve gotten close,” she smiled before putting on Lionel’s leash and taking a deep breath, “I should go. We should go...”

  “Can we just talk for a second?” you said suddenly, stopping her from walking out the door. The two of you sat on the couch uncomfortably for a few minutes in silence, breaking only to say how upset you were, “I don’t know what to do...”

  “What do you mean?”

  “About us. We’re best friends and I love you but I hate you for what you did. I don’t know if I want to lose you but I don’t know if I can keep you a secret from Ty..” She shook her head as you tried to explain yourself

  “Candace, Candace,” she said, putting her hands on yours to calm you, “choose him. It will suck to lose you because I love you too but I screwed up and I need to give him as much space as he needs. If that means that we have to... lose each other then I guess that’s what has to happen.” You furrowed your brow at her confession, looking down at Lionel and the three labs, trying to decide if you should speak or not and she seemed to notice your dilemma, “Look, I messed up. I humiliated your brother and your family. I tried to force my relationship with Tyler to last even when I knew we should’ve cut our losses a long time ago...” she sighed before continuing, “I loved him, that was real. I just don’t think we’re right for each other and I don’t want to hurt him anymore than I already have. You guys are like family to me and I will miss you more than you could possibly imagine but I’ve caused too much trouble. I’m sorry, Candace, but we both know you have to choose Tyler.”

  “Why did you have to do this?” you laughed and she smiled weakly at you before you pulled her in for a hug and let her go. It was like a movie, watching her walk away with Lionel into the sunset, and it was a bittersweet moment; she turned when she got to her car, putting Lionel in the backseat and catching your stare before waving goodbye to you.

xx

Two years later

  “Alright! Everything is ready to go! Lionel, are you ready to get on your first ever plane?” you cooed at your Australian Shepherd as you gathered your luggage into the Uber. You met up with Lucy and Ethan at the airport, stopping off at an airport bar where Lionel could lay down beside you before they called your flight.

  “So...” Ethan started, “you guys excited?”

  “YES!” Lucy exclaimed first, “I just got promoted at work so this kind of feels like a celebration trip for me”

  “Oh that’s awesome!” you and Ethan said simultaneously

  “Congrats Luce!” You added, raising your glass to clink theirs

  “Thank you, thank you” she laughed, pretending to bow

  “Well, on my end, I’m just excited to be getting out of the city. I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to be back here, in Calgary,” you said, gesturing around you with a smile, “but being home just kind of concretes my failures...”

  “Hey.. no don’t do that,” Ethan tried, “you didn’t fail. You made the right call, in your heart. Plus you’ve been dating right?!” he smiled, raising his eyebrows to get you to talk about the dates you’d been on

  “Oh yeah...” you sighed, raising your eyebrows before taking a long sip of your drink, “In the last year and a half, I’ve been on three dates. With different guys. And they all sucked. The first guy got me drunk and groped me when we were making out, none of that was good. I mean, if he had at least been a good kisser, it would’ve been different but he wasn’t. The second guy was one of the most pretentious guys I’ve ever met. Constantly talking about his favourite philosophers and why his favourite activity on dates is to talk about ethics. That one ended almost as soon as it began. The third one was decent. He didn’t try feeding me alcohol or telling me cheesy pick up lines or acting like he was better than me in some way. He was pretty true to his profile...”

  “So what happened?” Lucy asked, confusion covering her face

  “He hated dogs...” The three of you laughed and you shook your head as you finished the last sip in your glass, “no but I just don’t think I’m ready to date right now...”

  “That’s fair” Ethan said, just as your flight was called for boarding and the three of you made your way to the line. Luckily, the flight was non-stop but it was still almost 13 hours and everyone was in desperate need of walking around when the plane landed.

  “Alright! Where should we go first?!” Lucy asked excitedly, encouraging the group to perk up

  “Apartment” Ethan replied tiredly

  “We gotta drop this stuff off Luce and get Lionel some food” you added

  “Fine fine... but I think we have to keep moving so we can beat the jet lag!” You snickered before grabbing your bags and making your way into the cab in front of you. You watched the trees pass you by with Lionel resting on your lap until you got closer into the city, where the colours of the buildings near the port seem to jump vibrantly in front of you. When the four of you finally got to your Air B’n’B, Ethan dropped his bags loudly on the floor while you and Lionel explored the apartment.

  “Has your Portuguese improved since you went to Ibiza?” Lucy laughed

  “Ibiza?” you said with a sigh of confusion on your tongue, completely locking away the memory of the trip when you and Tyler had officially started dating, “oh.. no. That was years ago...” Ethan and Lucy looked back and forth between each other as you looked at some of the host’s books on the shelf, zoning out from what you were saying, snapping back when you heard the clicking of Lionel’s paws approach you, “so.. I haven’t had a reason to brush up on it. But maybe while we’re here?” Ethan nodded at you, his eyebrows raised as he attempted to reassure you

  “Get your pup some water and some food and then we’re going to explore!” Lucy said, clapping her hands together to encourage you and Ethan to hurry up. The time had finally come for you and your friends to take Lionel on an ‘almost too-touristy’ adventure and he was more pumped than your sister, which only shocked you slightly. The four of you made your way to The Basílica de la Sagrada Família, but didn’t go in on account of the dog, before making your way to the beautiful Park Güell for a nice stroll and stopping at a nearby café for a break from the heat.

  “I love the Barcelona sun,” Lucy said as she fanned herself while you and Ethan laughed between each other’s glances, “don’t you?”

  “It is beautiful here” you added

  “I’m just glad there’s some shade!” Ethan exclaimed, “I burn easy.”

  “So where to next?” Lucy asked as she opened her phone, completely ignoring any need for yours or Ethan’s opinion

  “She’s a woman on a mission” you joked to Ethan

  “Casa Milà it is!” she finally said, making everyone, including Lionel, snap their heads up. You sipped your drink while soaking up the beautiful Barcelona sun and relishing the breeze that came along every once in a while -- it had been so long since you’d been anywhere but Calgary, Toronto or Dallas that you forgot how much you missed travelling. When you finally made it to Casa Milà, all you wanted was to explore every inch of it. It was amazing and you were fascinated but Lionel was starting to get tired, which was hard to miss since he kept laying down whenever you tried to walk any further so you ordered an Uber and made your way back to the apartment.

  “WAIT!” Ethan shouted, “can you let us off here please?”

  “What’s going on?” You asked, concerned, “I really should take Lionel home. Look at his little tired face..” You cooed, trying to get Ethan to stay in the car

  “The arch!” he shouted again

  “We can see that tomorrow or later. I’m sure it’ll be beautiful at night all lit up,” Lucy tried, eventually turning to the Uber driver to ask him his thoughts, “you agree right?”

  “sim, Certo...” he replied and she shook her head

  “See... he agrees!” Lucy said, “I think we should give the poor guy a break from all this walking and heat. Don’t you?”

  “We need some pictures in front of it in the daytime. When you can actually see our faces... and our outfits... without the awful flash of an iPhone...”

  “We can do that tomorrow.. when we’re not all sweaty” Lucy argued

  “We totally can!” Ethan replied, some excitement to his tone but you could spot the sarcasm a mile away, “OR... we could do it today and if we don’t like the pictures, we can come back!”

  “Ethan.” Lucy stated, “the dog is tired. I’m so full I can barely walk. I’m sweating through everything I’m wearing and I’m ready to give into this jet lag”

  “COME O--” He continued to argue

  “ENOUGH!” you interrupted with a laugh, “Okay. I agree with Lucy. I’m sweaty, I’m tired, I just wanna take care of my dog and maybe hang out by the pool for a bit. I do think the Arch would be beautiful at night.”

  “There you go!” Lucy exclaimed as if she’d won

  “BUT!” You continued, “I’d hate if we said we were going to do it another day and didn’t end up getting around to it when we were so close today. We can order another Uber after we get a couple shots. It’s really not a big deal”

  “AWESOME!” Ethan shouted in excitement, you apologized to the driver and thanked him for his patience before following your friends out to the Arc De Triomf. Standing there, in front of the arch, you felt a sudden tinge of sadness when you realized that this was one of Tyler’s favourite places, one of his favourite cities that he’d always talked about taking you to that you never got around to, and you knelt down in front of Lionel to stop the tears from showing

  “Are you okay?” Lucy asked when she noticed you’d stopped moving with them

  “I’m fine,” you said, smiling to hide the quiver in your voice, “I just needed to fix my shoe...” Lucy could tell you were lying, so she knelt down in front of you

  “What’s wrong?” she asked in a whisper and you looked over to see where Ethan was, answering her question when she saw him taking pictures

  “I forgot.. or maybe I tried to push it aside. How much Tyler loves Barcelona. How he would come here in the summer. How we promised we’d find our way here. Together.” You replied, small teardrops falling from the corner of your eye, “Then I went and ruined everything...”

  “Uhm.. guys...” Ethan called to you, stopping briefly when he saw the two of you kneeling on the ground, “you ready to go?” You tried to discreetly wipe away the tears before he could see

  “We didn’t even get a picture!” you laughed, standing up and Lionel began to bark, “Lionel! Shh!” you tried to quiet him but he continued

  “Lionel that’s not nice! No barking!” Lucy took her turn trying to calm the dog and Ethan joined shortly after but he began to tug on the leash

  “Lionel!” you raised your voice but he continued to bark and tug on the leash, “I don’t know what’s going on. He only does this when he sees someone he knows...” The realization of your words forced you to look up and your grip on the leash loosened just enough for Lionel to run in his direction. Lucy noticed Ethan drop his head before her eyes followed Lionel

  “Shit” Lucy whispered as quietly as she could before turning back to see your eyes wide as you stared across the square

  “Let’s go babe, Lucy will grab Lionel. Let’s just get in a cab and go back to the apartment”

  “Maybe we’re just all hallucinating” you said, knowing it wasn’t the truth but hoping it was

  “Maybe...” Ethan said, trying to comfort you, “come with me... Lucy has the pup, don’t worry.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders to guide you to the cabs lining the street

  “Ethan...” you stopped, squeezing your eyes shut tight and shaking your head, “we’ve seen him. He’s seen us. Lionel ran to him. We can’t just leave and ignore the fact that we’re both here... As much as I’d like to”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, taking his arm off

  “No” you laughed before turning around and making your way across the square

  “Hi...” Kate greeted while Tyler focused on Lionel and you only nodded in her direction

xx

Ethan’s P.O.V

  “So.. you two huh?” you asked Kate as she stood awkwardly in front of you

  “Ethan...” Lucy said, shaking her head at you while (Y/N) uncomfortably shifted where she stood

  “Yeah...” Kate started, smiling weakly at you and (Y/N), “enjoying Barcelona?” you scoffed

  “Ethan stop,” (Y/N) finally spoke, “we didn’t mean to interrupt. Lionel just recognized you and wanted to say hi...” Tyler stood up, a scowl on his face that even you could tell was covering up a little bit of hurt behind his eyes and the group waited for him to speak; the tension growing with every passing second.

  “I hope you enjoy your time here...” was all he said before taking Kate’s hand and walking away, leaving Lionel whining and (Y/N) as paralyzed as ever.

  “What a bitch!” You said, referring to Kate, thinking it’s what your friend needed

  “Stop...” (Y/N) said quietly, pathetically, before pulling Lionel slightly toward the cabs, “I’m exhausted. I want to go back to the apartment.” The ride back was painfully silent but all you could do was wait for (Y/N) to speak first; the creaking of the floorboards in the apartment felt like bombs to you and Lucy as (Y/N) still hadn’t muttered a word and even Lionel’s tapping paws sounded sad.

  “We’re just going to go grab a drink at the café next door... you take a nap or a bath and we’ll see you later okay?” Lucy spoke up, grabbing your arm to leave her sister alone but not soon enough to miss the whimpers coming from the bedroom, forcing you and Lucy to stare at each other with heavy hearts.

  “What are we supposed to do?” you asked when the two of you sat down at a table, “I mean do we leave? do we get her so incredibly drunk that she forgets he’s here? I mean she’s never going to forget he exists -- getting her that drunk is impossible...”

  “We just have to be there for her...” Lucy added, realizing that was the opposite of where the two of you were, “even if we’re not there for her.”

  “It just sucks that he was with Kate...” you said, “I mean with his friends, it would’ve been hard enough. But to see Kate there with him. Taking pictures and holding hands. I just about crumbled I felt so bad for her.”

  “I know,” Lucy sighed, fiddling with the menu in front of her, “but the thing is... it’s not her problem anymore. She’s allowed to be hurt, we’re not going to tell her she can’t hurt, but she can’t expect Tyler to... not find love ever again.”

  “But so soon?” you exclaimed, “and with her?!”

  “It’s been two years.” she stated, “And honestly, it probably wouldn’t have been with anyone other than Kate. We all saw it coming..”

  “Maybe. I still hate her. I hate him for it.”

  “She left him though,” Lucy interjected, trying to get you to settle your emotions, “he’s not the one in the wrong here. Look, I love my sister and I understand why she did what she did. It was the right choice, even if it hurt like hell for the both of them. But she doesn’t own him and she doesn’t have any stake in his life anymore. We can’t hate Tyler for moving on and we can’t hate Kate for being there for him when he needed someone...”

  “I hate your logic” you said, scoffing at her sarcastic pout

  “Honestly? me too.”

xx

  You cried yourself to sleep with Lionel tucked into the back of your knees, waking up only to discover that Lucy and Ethan hadn’t returned. Which meant you were left alone with your thoughts which was a dangerous place to be. You sat up and Lionel moved so he could face you, to which you stared at him and cried as he looked back

  “I miss him so much, Li,” you sobbed, “I don’t know what to do...” you dropped your head against the Australian Shepherd’s neck and hugged him while your tears coated his fur. “He was supposed to be... my dude. My person. and he was. Why did I fuck this up so hard?” You asked your dog as violent sobs hurled out of your chest, leaning back to look at Lionel only for him to lick away your tears and you laughed at the action, “I love you too, bud.” Finally, you got out of bed and decided to take a shower to wash the grief off, thinking about how to make this trip enjoyable knowing that Tyler and Kate were in the same city; probably doing the romantic things he’d promised you so many years ago. When it was clear to you that you owed Ethan and Lucy your undivided attention and apology for acting so selfish, you sent them a text to ask what café they were at and made sure Lionel had enough food and water that he wouldn’t get agitated while you were out.

  “When you come out of the building, turn left and then when you get to the corner, turn right and then keep walking for about a block,” Lucy texted, “It’s called Firebug.” You had every intention of meeting them there but for some reason, when you got into the cab, you asked the driver to take you to the Arc De Triomf. When you got there, you were surprised how few people were surrounding it but you were instead able to enjoy the beauty of it with the quiet whirring of traffic around you. The moment was perfect that you asked a stranger to take a picture of you in front of the beautiful city sculpture before turning to just be in the moment for a second.

  “I thought you might come back here...” Tyler’s voice rang through your ears and chilled your spine as he stood behind you

  “I didn’t...” you stood still, facing away from him, unsure of whether or not to look at him

  “I shouldn’t have left without saying something,” he added, referring to your encounter earlier, “I was just shocked to see you.”

  “I know...” you whispered

  “Can’t even look at me huh?” He scoffed, “that’s where we’re at now?”

  “If I look at you, I think I might cry and I have such a huge headache from crying already...” you said shakily

  “You don’t think I haven’t cried a million times over that day?”

  “You think it’s just about that day?!” you yelled, finally turning to him to see him raising his eyebrows at you, “maybe it’s just about that day for you. And I’m sorry. Did you read the note?” The words came out of your mouth harsher than you intended and he scoffed at you before answering

  “Yeah. I found the note you hid in the drawer”

  “I didn’t think I’d actually have to give it to you, Tyler, so I just kind of forgot about it.”

  “Like you forgot about me?”

  “Forgot about you?” you said, contorting your face in confusion, “how the hell did I forget about you? I don’t think me writing a note to you in case I left constitutes as me forgetting about you. In fact, it’s the opposite!”

  “You forgot that I was there to help you! Everything had to be about you helping you. Not asking anyone for help! We were supposed to be there for each other! BUT YOU COULDN’T DO THAT!!”

  “DON’T YELL AT ME!” you shouted, “Tyler, I’m sorry. I hated writing that note but if I left, and I didn’t know that I was going to believe me, but if I did I thought you deserved some kind of explanation. Even if it was a shitty one.”

  “Fine.” He said, throwing his hands up in the air before rubbing his face, “but why did you do it in the first place?”

  “The note?”

  “Leave...” you could see the sadness looming in his eyes, the way his tears were beginning to brim his eyes and you tilted your head to the side to stop yourself from sobbing too quickly

  “Because...” you started, a sigh escaping your lips as it had so many times before, “I loved you first.” You stated it so matter-of-factly that the expression on his face seemed to say ‘what does that mean?’ “I didn’t want a relationship. Not with anyone. I didn’t really know what love was and I didn’t want to waste my time in another relationship trying to find it. Especially not with someone who’s reputation walked into a room before he did. But when I wasn’t with you, when I was just starting to get to know you, I wanted to be around you. I wanted to figure you out. Find out if you were who everyone said you were. And then James came into my life and he seemed like the guy that everyone told me to wait for. He was charming and fun and sweet and chivalrous and he texted me that night and called me the next day and he paid for my meals and he made me feel like I mattered. Until he didn’t. Even with all that, there was something missing and I could never really love him. I didn’t know why, truly, I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t let myself fall in love with this seemingly perfect guy. And it was because of you. Because I loved you first. Because you were always on my mind. Because you weren’t perfect but you made me laugh and you understood that I was messed up and you comforted me the best you could and you just.. tried. That’s why It Had To Be You because anyone else would have to do more than you did without even realizing it which would never work because I shouldn’t be comparing other people to you.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. If you loved me first, why would you leave?” He questioned

  “I wanted to be with you and I thought you wanted to be with me. But the more we tried, the more things got in the way. Ali, James, Marcus, Hockey... all of these things that made it impossible for us to match up at the right time. And for a while, it just seemed like bad timing. But we were just like...” you bumped your fists together as you tried to find the words, “we were like Bumper Cars. We would get so close and then we would crash apart but we tried to fight to be next to each other, as if one of us could ‘beat the system’ because the spark is there between us but it just causes destruction. Every time. And one or both of us would get hurt. I was tired of hurting you, Tyler.”

  “Why did you wait so long then? I mean you couldn’t have just all of a sudden felt this way on our wedding day...” he added

  “No.. it had been building up for a while. Little things made me think about it. But I thought that we were stronger than my insecurities; it turns out that as much as I wanted to be with you, I wanted you to be happier more. When Kate showed up that day, it made me realize...”

  “Nothing was happening with us then” he interrupted, raising his voice suddenly.

  “I know. But I realized that maybe she was just a friend, someone who was good to you, and you had to keep that a secret from me because of all of this stuff I was conjuring up in my mind. Which just felt like the opposite person I wanted to be. I thought I was this girl who you’d be able to trust with anything. That you’d know was cool with you having girls for friends and that would be fine with you going out with your guys on the weekends or whatever. But I wasn’t. Your inviting her there, without me knowing, proved that.” He sighed loudly at your confession and you didn’t know what to think. Honestly, you were surprised he had let you explain this much; you thought he would’ve just yelled at you for running away like a child

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said when he finally calmed down and the tears burning your eyes overcame you that you couldn’t control any longer, “I was never trying to fix you. I didn’t think you needed to be fixed. But you did. And I was never going to be able to convince you otherwise. So, I tried to keep you happy and secure but things popped up and I got, I don’t know... overwhelmed at the idea of having to be strong all the time for both of us. But I wanted to marry you. I wanted to be happy. With you.”

  “Tyler...” you said as your tears seemed to settle down, taking a deep breath so you could continue, “I wanted to marry you, too. I only ever wanted to be happy with you but you have to admit. When I left, and you hated me for what I did, you realized that you could start over...”

  “I didn’t want to start over though. You made that choice for me!” he raised his voice and you stepped back, breathing in silently

  “You were too good of a guy to hurt me... the way I probably deserved to be hurt. Hating me, as twisted as it seems, was the easiest way for you to move on and find closure so you could find the person or the thing that made you find meaning in your life again. I mean, listen to everything you just said. Your life, our relationship, revolved around you trying to convince me that I was enough for you and that’s not fair to you. You should be with someone who’s secure enough in themselves that you two can live your separate lives and then come together and be whole. And I think you have that with Kate, and I’m so glad that you were able to find that happiness that you deserve. Because you seem happy. Are you? Happy?”

  “I am...” he sighed, a smile creeping across his lips that broke your heart into a million pieces because you knew you wouldn’t be the one behind it anymore, “I mean, yeah, sometimes I have shitty days and get really sad when I think about us. You and me. But she.. brings me back”

  “Good” you said almost inaudibly as tears began to fall from your eyes again, clearing your throat, “I’m so happy for you, Ty, and I wish you nothing but the best. In everything.”

  “Thank you” he said sincerely, staring at you so intensely you could feel your heart in your head. Part of you wanted him to kiss you, just to say goodbye, but a bigger part wanted to keep as much distance between you and him as possible; from now until the day you died. When he leaned in to hug you, you melted into him before quickly jerking yourself away

  “I’m sorry,” you stammered as you pulled away from him, shaking your head as you backed up, “I can’t do thi-- I have to go...”

  “(Y/N)..” he said, trying to stop you from leaving, which you did just to hear what he had to say, “you will always be my favourite story.” You gave him a strained smile as you tried to hold back your tears until you turned away and he couldn’t see your face as you fell apart. You walked back toward the apartment where you had passed by Firebug in the cab earlier when you got a text from both Ethan and Lucy wondering where you are

  “Did you get lost?” Lucy sent

  “Everything okay?” Ethan asked

  “We’re getting worried!”

  “Did you decide to stay back at the apartment?”

  “It’s okay if you didn’t wanna come out.. Just let us know”

  “Babe?”

  “Guys I’m okay,” you said when you walked into the café and found their table, “I went back to the Arch.” You handed them your phone so they could look at your pictures, “it was so peaceful tonight. Much more than during the day...”

  “Why are your eyes all puffy?” Ethan asked

  “Did you go there to cry?” Lucy chided, taking a sip of her Sangria

  “No I didn’t go there to cry,” you laughed, “I went there to think. And then Tyler showed up.”

  “What happened?” “What did he say?” The two overlapped their questions

  “He wanted to talk so we talked...”

  “And...?” Ethan prodded

  “I cried” you stated with a giggle

  “Well obviously,” Lucy scoffed, “but what else? Did he say he loves you and he’ll come back to you and leave Kate?”

  “What?” your voice squeaked at her suggestions as a server asked if he could get you a drink, “can I just get a Coca-Cola please? Thank you. Obrigado.”

  “(Y/N)!!” Ethan and Lucy shouted to get you to continue

  “No. He didn’t say he loves me and he’ll leave Kate”

  “WHY THE HELL NOT? THE BOYS AN IDIOT!” Lucy yelled, clearly the Sangria going to her head

  “Luce, enough. Guys,” you sighed, sitting back in your chair, “it broke my heart to see them together. Like seriously, my heart shattered when I saw Lionel run to them and then she was just there... with him. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. But he’s happy. They’re happy. I wouldn’t have wanted him to leave her and come back to me even if he said he would. Because it’s over. We’re over and I’ll be okay with that eventually. Knowing that he’s finally found his person makes it, both, easier and harder. He was my favourite person and we both tried so hard but I think we found our closure.”

  “That’s it?” Lucy said calmly, “you don’t think you’ll ever get back together?”

  “No, Lucy, I don’t.” you stated, placing your hand gently on hers to ease the idea into her mind, “that’s not the way it works for us. Too much has happened for it all to be forgiven and forgotten. I will love him until my heart stops beating and I think a part of him will always love me, but our story is over...”

  “That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard” Ethan added, taking a sip of his Cava, displeased at your statement, and you laughed before taking a drink of your Coke that had been placed in front of you

  “Maybe...” you continued, “but at least I know what love is now. You know? So the next time I find a guy and it doesn’t feel like it did with Tyler, I’ll know it’s not love and I’ll be able to make a decision as to whether or not I want to just waste my time or move on.”

  “Very... mature?” Lucy questioned and you tipped your glass in her direction

  “I wish it would’ve ended like a movie...” Ethan complained. You laughed as the two of them continued to drink before completely changing the topic. You smiled as your sister spilled Ethan’s drink all over him and he unenthusiastically ordered another drink. Your phone dinged once and you were surprised to see Tyler’s name light up your screen

  “If you’re free tomorrow, I’m going out sailing. You should come by the Port before it leaves...” Your smile faded slightly as you contemplated answering him but instead you turned your phone on its screen, ignoring his message and promising yourself that you’d let him go and let the two of you move on. It was time for a new story...

[yeet-or-be-hawed]

Hunters of Flesh and Money Part 7 Arthur Morgan x reader

After receiving news that Arthur is missing, you do everything you can to help Sadie keep the gang safe while Arthur and the others are on Guarma. 

Pining and Fluff with *GASP* FIRST KISS?!

*Writer’s note: I cannot tell you guys how long this has been in my drafts and I’m so glad we’ve finally gotten to this point! This has been one hell of a slow burn but its so worth the wait ❤ Thanks to everyone who’s been keeping up with this fic, its such a personal story for me and I’m glad it can be enjoyed by others. Please enjoy this happy loving reunion!

Part 6

Masterlist  

The busy Saint Denis square was bustling around you as you flipped through your mail rather impatiently. It had been weeks since you had last written Arthur and gotten no response. Your anxieties were getting the better of you, had you scared him off with your intimacy? Had you finally decided to open up just to have him shut you out? You remembered his face as you gave him one last look when you dropped off his supplies. You were certain there was adoration behind those eyes and even through your anxious tendencies something felt off. Relief flooded you as you identified an envelope signed in Sadie’s handwriting. It seemed odd, as Arthur was usually the one who wrote out the address and formalities on the front, considering his handwriting was much neater. You opened the letter excitedly: 

Dear Fletcher, 

I wish I could be writing to you in better circumstances. Something terrible has happened and I need your help. Arthur is...the truth is I’m not sure where Arthur is. Meet me in Lagras and I’ll tell you more. Come quickly.

-Sadie

Your heart dropped to your stomach as you scanned the words on the paper. You reread it over and over again. Arthur is missing? Your chest felt like someone dropped an anvil on it and you crumpled the note into your satchel and mounted your horse. 

The ride to Lagras felt like an eternity, your mind moving a thousand miles an hour. What was Sadie doing in Lagras? Would it not have been easier to meet her at their camp? You nearly jumped off your horse as you passed into Lagras, scanning the small cluster of buildings. Sadie was sitting on the porch of an old beaten down house, when she saw you she ran into your arms. “Fletcher, thank god!” she gasped. 

You hugged her tightly and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Where’s Arthur? What’s going on?” 

Sadie sighed shakily and whistled for her horse. “I’ll tell you on the way.” 

You nodded.

Sadie led the way to Lakay and you followed close behind. “Few weeks ago, Dutch had this crazy idea of robbin’ the trolley station in Saint Denis- I know, don’t give me that look I thought it was stupid too. From what Charles was tellin’ me, lawmen showed up almost immediately. Dutch, Bill, Arthur, Javier, and Micah escaped on a boat but,” she sighed. “Who knows where though.” 

You were speechless. “A boat?” 

“Mhmm,” she nodded. “And that’s the last anyone saw of ‘em.” She turned her horse down the trail and you could see Lakay just ahead. “Pinkertons came a coupla days later and we had to move. I managed to get everyone out safe but...” 

You looked at her and she looked tired. Her eyes were sunken in and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. “I’m here to help, don’t worry.” you rode your horses to the hitching posts and slid off your horse. “Whatcha need, Sadie? I can bring supplies, I can keep guard, you tell me what I can do for you.” 

She sighed in relief and put her hand on your shoulder. “I just need an extra hand keepin’ everyone together, and guard duty would help.” She laughed weakly. “I don’t got much money right now, but a wagon load of food and dry clothes would be appreciated.” 

“Keep your money Sadie, I’ll run back to camp at first light.” You looked up at the evening sky, melting from day to night. “I’ll keep guard for the night, you get some rest.” 

“It’s okay, I can-” 

“No,” you cut her off sternly. “You been through enough, you asked me to help and that’s why I’m here.” 

She hugged you tight, you could feel just how skinny she had become since losing her home. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

You gave her a gentle squeeze. “You’re welcome.” 

You watched as Sadie disappeared into the small cabin, you could hear the commotion of others, the sound of conversations but you couldn’t make out the words. You pulled your shotgun from your back and sat on a bench. Your mind trailed back to Arthur, where could he be? You had never even been on a boat, you wondered what it was like. The gnawing in your stomach wouldn’t leave, it twisted and turned and showed you scenario after scenario of Arthur, dead on some beach or shot and thrown off the side of the boat into the sea. You sighed and looked up at the sky. The stars were bright tonight, you prayed Arthur was okay, looking at the same sky as you as he made his way home. You weren’t sure how, but you clung to the hope he would find his way back to you. 

The nights on Guarma were cooler and less muggy than the day. This island paradise Dutch had dreamed for them was more or less a reality now, but not the reality any of them had hoped for. He looked over at the others, asleep on the ground beside of him. No matter how he laid, pressure against his burnt body made him uncomfortable. His skin was bright red, worse than any sunburn he had ever gotten. The jungle was full of unfamiliar sounds that kept him awake, everything here was so different, and even with his fellow gang members laying beside him he felt so alone. The thought of you danced across his mind and his chest seized. Would you ever find out what happened to him if he died here? Or would you just think he abandoned you and moved on to the next state? Would you grieve him, or would you even notice he was gone? The feeling of your lips pressed against his forehead returned to him and he knew he would make it home, he had to. Arthur looked up at the sky, no matter how far he was from home, he could still see the stars shining on him. He promised himself he would make his way back home, back to you. The thought of you kept him going.

You stifled a yawn as the morning sun rose over the trees. The night was uneventful, not even a single rider passed through. Your body felt heavy but now wasn’t the time for sleep, the second you were relieved of guard duty, you had to ride back to camp and get supplies. The door opened, but Sadie wasn’t the one who walked out.  A woman with dark hair pulled into a bun sat beside you with a repeater in her hands. Her eyes were pink and swollen and it looked like she hadn’t slept at all through the night. “I can take over from here.”

You cocked an eyebrow at her, “you sure?”

“Yeah,” she snapped back. “Why?”

“Looks like you could use a bit more sleep, if I’m bein’ honest.”

She didn’t look at you, her eyes stared vacantly out into the trees. “Cain’t sleep.” She mumbled, her frustrated tone melted away.

You put a hand on her back. “You worried bout your friends?”

She laughed humorlessly. “I don’t know what he is to me anymore. My husband? The father of my child? A man i cain’t stand? Or a man I can’t live without?” She ran her fingers through her hair. “And the boy...” her voice cracked and she trailed off.

You could see the tears welling up in her eyes and you shifted uncomfortably, this wasn’t exactly your strong suit. “Him and the others, they’ll be back. If they’re anything like Arthur, they’re tough enough to get through hell and back.”

She looked at you and gave you a soft smile. “You’re her, aren’t you? The woman who came to camp awhile back and brought the wagon of food and furs right?”

You nodded.

“I’ve heard him talk about you- usually when he’s too drunk to know what he’s sayin’. I also heard him askin’ Hosea for advice.” She paused and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Me and John, we ain’t- we aren’t the best couple, we spend more time arguin’ and bitin’ at each others throats but I love him. Goddamn it, I love that man so much it hurts. You seem to care a lot about Arthur, I can tell. Don’t let yourself get in the way of your own happiness.”

You were speechless, certainly the heat you felt across your face and neck was from the humid swampy air. “I-“ you cleared your throat. “I need to get back to camp, I’ll be back with food and blankets. Is Sadie awake?”

The woman nodded.

You stood and opened the door. You looked over your shoulder as you stepped into the threshold. “What was your name?”

She gave you a friendly smile, “Abigail.”

You nodded and entered the small cabin. The amount of people stuffed inside was shocking, you recognized a couple of people from the last time you saw Arthur. You tried to avoid making eye contact as you made your way to the corner where Sadie was cleaning a rifle, the bags under her eyes weren’t as dark and she looked more alert. “Have a good night’s rest?”

“Bout as good as I could get.” She set the rifle down beside her. “How was it last night?”

You shrugged. “If you were lookin’ for a quiet place in the middle of no where you sure as hell found it, I didn’t see a soul.”

She nodded, “good. The less we gotta move the better.”

You pulled a piece of parchment and a pen from your satchel. “Tell me what ya need, Sadie.”

“Well, we don’t need too much-“

“Stop, don’t worry bout puttin’ me out. I got enough money stocked up it ain’t gonna hurt me one bit to help y’all out. Now tell me, what do you need?”

She sighed. “Food is the main thing, we ain’t picky anything will do.”

You nodded as you scribbled on the paper. “I got plenty of meat stocked. What else?”

“We salvaged the blankets you brought us, but just bout all of us soaked through our shoes. I know they’re a lot of work so it’s fine if you can’t-“

You gave her a dismissive wave. “Okay, shoes. I’ll also need to know how many ya got with ya, how many men and women. Any kids?”

Sadie paused briefly to count on her fingers, “six women, six men, and one little boy.”

You nodded as you jotted it down. “How bout clothes? It’s mostly furs and leather goods so I’m not sure how useful it would be during the day, but maybe when it gets colder at night?”

Sadie nodded. “If you have any spare shirts or pants layin’ around that would be nice.”

You nodded. “How bout horses? I got a Suffolk Punch that drives the wagon, I wont be doin’ any deliveries any time soon so I can let you borrow him after I get the supplies down here.”

“Nah,” Sadie said. “We got plenty, but if you have any spare hay or carrots that would be appreciated.”

You nodded and scanned over your list. “I ain’t too far from Saint Denis, you need me to grab anything from the store?”

Sadie thought for a moment. “Some more ammo would be great, if you could check the post office that would be a big help too. The guys made quite a ruckus so I ain’t let anybody outta sight. The alias is-“

“Tacitus Kilgore?”

She smiled. “Yes. But you really don’t gotta go outta your way for us, the leather goods and food is more than enough.”

You shook your head. “You’ve helped me through more rough spots than I can count. Plus,” you rubbed your neck sheepishly, “I uh, I know how much these people mean to him-to Arthur. I just...”

Sadie put her hand on yours. “I know.” She paused. “Okay you best be gettin’ on the road.”

You nodded, “right.”

When you arrived back to camp, the wagon was full and Cripps was hard at work on tanning hides. You read the list of things to him, “we got enough stockpiled or do I need to go huntin’?”

Cripps scanned the list carefully, looking up at the wagon occasionally then back down to the list. “What’s already loaded was supposed to be for the Vermont order which is mostly smoked meats and winter wear. I’ll work on gettin’ the rest if you want to head on into Saint Denis. I should have everything else ready and loaded up by the time you get back.”

You sighed in relief, the grumpy old man you used to barely tolerate was becoming one of your best friends. “Thank you Cripps, this means a lot to me. Do you think you can hold down fort while I help out Sadie and the gang?”

“Of course!” He puffed out his chest confidently. “I was gunslingin’ and robbin’ before you were born. Do what you gotta do.”

You nodded and tipped your hat as you headed towards Ophelia to mount up. The quiet ride to Saint Denis allowed your mind to wander and it fell back to Arthur. How long exactly would it take for him to come back? Weeks, or maybe months? The pit in your stomach reformed- would he come back? The thought made your chest seize, it felt like you couldn’t breath. No, you had to believe he was coming back, he is coming back. But again, how long? Cripps was right, you were confident in his ability to run the camp while you were away and you both had stashed money back so it wouldn’t hurt the business to halt production for awhile, but how long could you hold off? You shook the thought from your mind, this wasn’t about you. This was about the people you promised to help. This was about keeping the people Arthur cares about safe and making sure he had his family waiting for him when he returns. Deep down, it was also about being there when he returns. You wanted to hear his voice again, take in his scent. You needed to feel his arms around you again. You weren’t going to let the fleeting happiness he brought slip through the cracks.

There was nothing under the alias of Tacitus and you were unsurprised but disappointed that you had nothing as well. Logically you knew there was no way for him to write you, but a small part of you still hoped for an envelope with his scrolling handwriting.

Next stop was the gun shop, not far from the post office. The congested streets were a nuisance to say the least. You rolled your eyes as a man walked into the street and almost right under the hooves of your horse- then cursed you for not watching where you were going. You had to ignore the urge to respond, now wasn’t the time to get into fights and call attention to yourself, you rolled your eyes and continued.

The street that the small gun shop was nestled on wasn’t as busy, but you weren’t as keen to leave your horse out here for long, you tethered her close to the window.

“Welcome!” The man behind the counter exclaimed as you entered. “What can I help you wish today?”

“I need some ammo, regular rounds for repeaters, rifles, and pistols. I’d also like a box of slugs for the shotgun.”

The man’s thick eyebrows went up into his hairline and he pulled the boxes. “Stocking up today, eh?”

You nodded as you pulled out your billfold.

“Seems like everyone has been on high alert since the trolley incident.”

“Oh?” Could he be talking about Arthur?

“You hadn’t heard?”

You shook your head no.

“A group of hooligans tried to rob the trolley station- why I don’t know. But they damn near shot up the whole town on their way out, some say they escaped on a boat, others say they’re still ridin’ around north east of here. Apparently one got captured and is on his way to Siska.”

This peaked your attention. “Siska?”

“Yeah, I don’t know too much about the details but it was in the paper a few weeks back.”

“You don’t happen to still have it do you?”

“I might,” he shuffled around to the back of his store, and returned with a folded newspaper. “I collect them, so it’ll cost you-“

You pulled $10 from your billfold and handed it to him. “This oughta do.”

“It most certainly will.” He handed you the paper. “Do you need help carrying the ammo out as well?”

“I got it, thanks for everything!” You called back to him as you loaded your arms full.

“No, thank you.” He said as he counted his money.

You stuffed the newspaper into your satchel and loaded the supplies onto your horse. The day was passing quickly and the longer you were away from Sadie and the others, you grew more uneasy. You pushed Ophelia hard, it didn’t take long to return to camp, she didn’t even come to a full stop before you jumped off her back.

“Perfect timing,” Cripps called from the other side of the wagon. “You’re all loaded up and ready to go.”

You hugged him and he guffawed in surprise. “Hey now, didn’t I tell you you were too old for me?”

You laughed with him, “you did, I just hope you know how much I appreciate you and your help.”

“Don’t you start goin’ soft on me or I’ll have to find a new business partner.” He joked.

You rolled your eyes, “as if you could find a gun half as good as me.”

“You’re right,” his voice has a rare sentimental tone. “So you better come back.”

“I will.”

You checked the wagon to make sure everything was secured then mounted up. Cripps called to you just before you could whip the reins. “Take that damn dog with you!”

“You sure?” You called back.

“Hell yeah I’m sure, if you ain’t here I ain’t takin’ care of that mangy mutt.”

“Thanks Cripps.” You responded sarcastically. “Jake!”

Jake jumped up from his spot and ran to the wagon. “C’mere boy, jump up you can do it!”

He wiggled his butt in anticipation for the jump and lept up. He made it just barely and had to pull himself up onto the bench. You gave him a pat on the head and waved to Cripps as you whipped the reins. As you pulled onto the road you gave a sharp whistle and Ophelia wasn’t far behind.

It was early evening by the time you returned to Lakay, another woman had taken Abigail’s spot on guard. She was older with a knot of gray hair on top of her head. She raised her gun to you as you stopped in front of the worn down shack. Before you could speak, Sadie was through the door. “You’re back!”

With Sadie’s approval, the woman lowered her gun and you climbed down the wagon. “Delivery for Mrs. Adler?”

She wrapped her arms around your neck, “thank you so much.”

“It weren’t nothin’,” you said. “I also brought a friend.” You gave a short whistle and Jake jumped down and stood by your side. You gave him a pat on the head, “He’s a good boy, trained him myself. He was a hunting dog but I trained him to bark at the sign of threat so he’ll make a great guard dog.” You made a clicking noise and pointed to the porch. He immediately responded by sitting in the spot you pointed to and keeping an alert watch. “Okay, lets get some extra hands and get this wagon unloaded.”

To your surprise, it was mostly women who helped unload the wagon, the exception being the man named Charles that helped you find Trelawny. He seemed to recognize you when he greeted you with a grunt but he didn’t say much after. With the help of the others, it didn’t take long to bring the supplies inside. One of the men, a pear shaped man with a moustache went to work with the meats you brought and a rusty stew pot in the fireplace. You took a seat beside the window and pulled out the newspaper. There on the front page was a picture of Arthur. The other men Sadie had mentioned were also pictured, you recognized the one called Bill from the mayor’s party but your eyes just kept floating back to Arthur. The sketch was rough and didn’t do him any justice at all, but the sight of him still took your breath away. There wasn’t much in the article that you hadn’t already heard from Sadie, but it seemed like the owner of the gun shop was right- under the article there was a picture of a man with long dark hair. The name under the picture was John Marston, apparently he had been caught while the others made their escape. He was sent to Siska to await trial.

“Whatcha readin’?” Sadie asked as she pulled a chair up beside you. You handed her the paper.

She scanned it and sighed. “I read this the day it came out. Still cain’t believe they got John.” Her eyes shifted pointedly to Abigail and the little boy that was sleeping in her lap. “It’s got Abigail all kinds of torn up.”

You nodded, the boy in her lap looked identical to the man in the picture. “I talked to her a little bit this morning, I could tell she was upset.”

“It’s been rough the last couple months to say the least. We lost some good people, and it don’t feel like we’re gettin’ much closer to anything better.”

You put your hand on her shoulder, “I know you’ve been through a lot, but I’m here to help. I got everything arranged so that I can stay here with you guys. I may not be able to replace the ones you’ve lost, but I want to help however I can to get you all through this.”

A week passed, in that week you learned all the names of the new people you’d been staying with and began getting to know them. The more you got to know these people, the more you sympathized for them. Everyone had their own piece of the story which created the grand picture of just what Arthur’s life was like. They had lost so many recently, you could see the grieving in their eyes and hear it in their voices as they spoke of those who were gone. One thing that everyone had in common was their unwavering love and devotion to the patchwork family they had made, it left you with a bittersweet feeling in your heart. You had never even traveled with more than a few people and it never lasted long-some of these people have been together for as long as they could remember.

“Hello dear girl,” Trelawny’s singsong voice broke your train of thought and pulled your attention from the rain streaked window.

“Hey Josiah,” you said as he pulled up a chair beside you.

“I hear you’ve been making friends,” he paused to read your reaction. “I never pegged you as one for friends.”

You crossed your arms, “we’re friends.”

“We are, but how long were you coming to me for work before you trusted me?”

You shrugged, “it’s different now. I ain’t doin’ this for me. I’m doing it for-“

“I know.” He nodded his head and looked at his clasped hands. “He would ask me about you sometimes.”

“Really?” You tried and failed to keep your voice from sounding eager, you cleared your throat. “What did he-what would be ask?”

“Oh, you know...” he said as he stretched out to lean against the chair. “How long I had known you, where you were from,” he chuckled. “He was trying to be nonchalant but I noticed how much more he frequented visiting me. He would loiter around my caravan half making conversation- until they tried to take me again that is. Luckily Arthur was there and drove them off, but he decided it was best I stay with them until things cooled down.”

You nodded, “I was wondering when you had left, I stopped by a couple times. Almost got shot by the new tenant, that was the last time I went.” You smirked, “shoulda known you were runnin’ around with this group.”

“I may be overstepping my boundaries by saying this, but I think a certain few would agree. You’re more than welcome to stay with our little traveling circus if you see fit. I know it would make him happy.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “I dunno Josiah...”

He raised himself from his chair and put a hand on your shoulder. “Think about it, I know you’re more of a loner but sometimes we need others.” He looked at you over his shoulder before leaving. “We need love.”

You huffed as you leaned your head against the glass pane, the small cabin felt like it just shrunk ten sizes.

Another week passes and the food you brought was running low. After you packed your satchel with scent cover, bait, and a couple night’s rations you headed to the table where Sadie and Charles were sitting.

“Hello,” Charles greeted you.

“Hey y’all,” you said as you sat down. “I’m goin’ out to do some hunting, Pearson is runnin’ low on meat. Think you can handle yourselves until I get back?”

Sadie laughed, “course we can. How long are you gonna be gone?”

“I ain’t gonna leave ya for too long, two days at most. I want to be sure I get enough I won’t have to leave for another week or so.”

“Want me to come with you?” Charles asked.

“Nah, I got it. You stay here and help Sadie keep watch.” You rose from your seat, “want me to check the mail while I’m out?”

“We sent Pearson to check a couple days ago, you should be fine.” Charles said.

You nodded and stood, as you walked towards the door Sadie called to you, “don’t let the gators get ya!”

You rolled your eyes and waved two fingers back to her as you left through the threshold. You? Eaten by gators? It was almost as insult to assume you were that big of an amateur.

Karen was on guard duty this time, slumped against the outer wall of the cabin, you tipped your hat to her as you rode out.

Arthur clutched the note from Sadie in his hand as he pushed his spurs into his horse. Just before he reached Shady Belle, his whole body was aching and sore. Now he had a clear idea of where his family was and he felt wide awake and ready to go. He hadn’t slept since he got off the boat and he didn’t plan on resting his head until he knew his family was safe. He had gone his separate ways with the others, all following their own leads as to where their rag tag group had gone without them.

He rode upon a crossroad and his heart was being tugged in two different directions- one way was Lakay, his family and friends. The other was the way to your camp, or at least the last place your camp was set. Who knows where you were now? With a huff he headed towards Lakay. First thing he would do when he found the others would be to write you. Everytime his life flashed before his eyes on Guarma, you were what he saw. The thought of you pushed him when everything felt hopeless and even when he tried to push you from his mind, you were still there at the forefront begging him to return home to you. He half expected the boat to sink on the way back from Guarma, or another storm to end him then and there. Arthur never felt like a lucky man, but the second his feet hit solid ground he felt like he had cheated death himself.

He felt himself tense as he entered Lakay, he was certain it was Sadie’s handwriting in the letter but he wasn’t certain he wasn’t walking straight into a trap. He slowed his horse to a slow trot as he surveyed the small village.

Tension melted as he spotted Abigail and Pearson, just outside a run down cabin.

“Arthur! Arthur’s here!” Pearson exclaimed as he walked up.

“Arthur, oh thank god you’re alive!” Abigail said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Come on inside,” she said excitedly as she led him in.

He was greeted with the familiar faces of his whole family, but he didn’t quite feel whole just yet.

The sun was setting as you led Ophelia back into Lakay, she was loaded down with skins and meats from birds and gators, you were certain you wouldn’t have to leave for atleast a week and a half with the load you had acquired. As you approached the cabin, the air seemed different. Usually there were no lights on once the sun began to fall to avoid drawing attention, but you could see the golden glow seeping between boards and could hear voices all the way from the middle of the run down little village. That’s when you saw it-the beautiful Arabian hitched to a tree.

“Arthur?” Your whispered, your voice trembling.

Arthur was bombarded with questions and information from the second he entered the threshold. He wasn’t the first, Micah and Javier had already made it back but Dutch and Bill still hadn’t arrived. He told his story, and the others told theirs. Sadie was leaned against the wall, she was hiding something and he couldn’t quite read her face. After hearing from Abigail about John, he joined her against the wall.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For takin’ care of everybody. I don’t know how you were able to do it on your own-“

“Oh, I wasn’t on my own.” She said smugly.

He cocked an eyebrow, “who-“

She smirked, “they stepped out to do some hunting yesterday morning, should be back soon.” She pushed herself from the wall and ingrained herself into the crowd.

Arthur huffed and crossed his arms. He took a seat beside the fire and pulled out his journal.

Arthur didn’t realize he had began to drift to sleep until the door slammed open and a sopping wet Dutch walked through the door. He was greeted excitedly, and things were finally starting feel like home again. As Dutch began his speech of hope, Arthur stepped out for a cigarette.

As his name left your lips, the door to the cabin opened and time stood still. His face was tilted downward, one hand bringing a cigarette to his lips. You didn’t need to see his face to know it was him.

“Arthur,” you repeated again, your voice barely above a whisper. You swallowed back the growing lump in your throat as your feet remembered how to run. “Arthur!” You called.

He looked up, the voice he had been aching for calling to him. His cigarette damn near fell out of his mouth. His feet were moving now too.

You were running now and you could feel the tears welling in your eyes but you didn’t care. Your heart beat grew faster and faster the closer you got, he was here, he was home. Every fear had been dissolved, every caution shooed away by the swelling of your heart. You crashed into eachother and his big arms were around your waist again. The train whistle was no more as you grabbed his face and kissed him hard.

He didn’t feel the sting of his lingering sunburn on his cheeks when you grabbed them, all he could feel was your lips against his and it was the only thing he cared about. He could taste the saltiness of tears and couldn’t tell if they were his or yours. The rain was coming down hard now, but the only thing he felt was your lips against his and your hands cradling his cheeks.

Your choked back sob broke the kiss, leaving you both breathless. Your hands clung to the wet fabric of his shirt as you buried your face into his chest. “Arthur, I-I was so afraid- I was never gonna-“

“I know, darlin’ me too.” He kissed the crown of your head and took in your scent, he almost forgot how much it intoxicated him. “I’m back now, I’m here.”

You looked up and got a good look at his face, he was bruised and his skin was bright red, burnt from the harsh sun. “I’m sorry I- I’m sorry I pushed you away, I was so afraid of losing you but...when I got that letter from Sadie saying you were missing I just-“ your breathing hitched again, and this time it was his lips crashing down against yours. You felt so foolish for denying yourself of this- of him. Your lips moved with his now, you could feel the desperation he felt through his cracked chapped lips.

Sadie noticed Arthur’s disappearance and scanned the room, he wasn’t there. She stepped to the window and scanned through the sheets of rain. First she saw Ophelia, then she saw you and Arthur. Her hand came to her chest as she smiled. “Finally,” she said under her breath. She gave them a moment, they surely needed it. But when she turned back a few minutes later and saw the two of you still kissing she rolled her eyes.

Though it felt like the world had stopped around the two of you, you were reminded that the earth was still spinning when you heard Sadie’s voice call to you. “You two better get in before you catch sickness!”

The two of you pulled apart suddenly, and Arthur chuckled. “Guess she’s right, it’s comin’ down pretty hard.”

You nodded, the drops of rain felt icy as they landed on your hot cheeks. Arthur’s hand was around yours now and it felt as natural as walking. With your spare hand, you grabbed Ophelia’s reins.

“Sadie told me she had some help keepin’ everyone together, guess you was the one she was talkin’ about.” Arthur said, his classic crocked smile was wider than usual.

You shrugged, also unable to contain the wide grin on your face. “It weren’t nothin’,” you stopped Ophelia just in front of the small porch and tethered her. Arthur helped you unload your hunting quarry. “You know I cain’t tell Sadie no, and when I got here and saw all those faces,” you looked at him. “I knew I had to stay. I thought to myself, ‘what would Arthur do?’ So I loaded up the wagon, brought some food and clothes, and I been here ever since.”

Arthur stopped and turned back to you, “you been here this whole time? What about Cripps? And your trade route?”

You shrugged, “he can handle himself. I told him I’d be back when everything cleared over. Plus,” your eyes fell to the ground. “I uh, I knew this would be the best place to find you when you came back.”

When you looked back up at him, he had a very strong urge to kiss you again- had his arms not been full he would’ve. He had never seen so much love in the eyes of a woman, not for him. You put everything on hold, stopped what you were doing to save his family, to wait for him. His feet felt frozen as you walked past him into the threshold. I love her so much. The thought was so sudden it shook him to the core. He loved you? He swallowed the lump in his throat, and through the streaked window pane he could see the rejoice of his family as you entered the shack, greeting you with smiling faces and helping hands took the load from your arms. You were smiling too, and he sighed in content. There was no point lying to himself, as he entered the threshold and your eyes fell on him, you had a smile on your lips, just for him. He loved you with his whole heart and he wasn’t afraid of it anymore.

The commotion was wearing down, and Dutch was very aware of the new face among his group. She was pretty, strong, and her hands were wrapped around Arthur’s as they talked in front of the hearth. It didn’t take a genius to see the adoration in his son’s eyes, Hosea had mentioned a woman to him not too long before the trolley job.

“I think Arthur’s finally found someone.” Hosea said as they were sitting under the gazebo. It was a fair day in Shady Belle, not too muggy for Dutch to enjoy the weather.

He shifted in his seat, “really?”

Hosea nodded. “I’ve noticed he’s been...different lately. Leavin’ our more often, distracted, he hadn’t been drinkin’ as much either.” Hosea flipped the page of the newspaper he was reading. “I had my suspicions when he started getting letters, but she came by the other day.”

Dutch sat up in his seat, uneasy. “When?”

Hosea looked at him, that scolding eye falling directly on him. “While you were out riding. She’s the one to thank for those crates of supplies.” He nodded pointedly to the crates beside Pearson’s wagon. His gaze softened. “You should’ve seen him,” Hosea said as his eyes shifted to Arthur, Dutch’s eyes followed. “He was smilin’ the whole time, his whole demeanor was just....different.”

“You think we can trust her?” Dutch asked in a hushed tone.

Hosea returned his gaze to his newspaper and shrugged. “Arthur seems to trust her, shouldn’t we?”

Dutch huffed, Hosea made a good point. Arthur knew better than to lead random strangers back to camp, once again, Hosea comforted the paranoid worries that plagued him so.

“Here’s your coffee,” Sadie said as she handed him the mug, pulling him from his memories. He felt a painful throb in his heart as his last memory of Hosea shifted back to his mind.

He nodded and took the mug from her. “Sadie?”

She stopped and turned back to him. “What is it?”

“Can I ask you something?”

She studied him, Dutch was always so hard to read. She took a seat beside him. “Sure.”

He took a sip from his coffee and his gaze went back to Arthur. “What do you think? About her?”

Sadie’s gaze followed his and she smiled. “I’ve known her for years, she’s like family.”

Dutch nodded, but said nothing. Arthur laughed, and even Dutch couldn’t question the affect you had on him.

“If she decides to stay, she’ll be one of your best.” Sadie said, and with that she was gone.

Dutch stared into his coffee. Sadie’s words were reassuring, but he could still hear the paranoid voice in the back of his mind. Without Hosea, he could feel it growing louder and more persistent every day. 

[sixteenandsixteenhundred]

The Guy Who Saved My Life

Summary: This is an alternate epilogue to The Sun ending I wrote after several days of joking that I could’ve written a better plot (I'm not saying this actually is better it's just a silly little wish fulfilment piece I thought I would share). There are a few things that don’t exactly adhere to the world of 2077 simply because I think the stuff in the original TTRPG and Cyberpunk Red is cooler. This is also a reminder to everyone to go and read or re-read Never Fade Away.

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Spoilers for several character deaths, as well as events that lead up to The Sun ending.

A/N: Is this a crappy first draft with minimal editing? Did I pressure myself to finish and post it before 2020 ends? Did I spend valuable time writing this when I have three unwritten essays due in soon? The answer to all of these questions is yes.

Also on AO3 here

‘Hello, Night City! Drag your asses out of your sad sack and turn to face the sky!’ The radio chirped as V pulled herself out of bed, greeted by the afternoon sun. She was on autopilot, completely lost to the chaos of the city below until the cold shock of the shower snapped her back to reality, if that’s what you want to call it.

‘But for all you sitting in the gutter, looking up at the smog, here’s someone you ain’t heard in a while - Johnny Silverhand!’

‘Off.’ V barked, but it came out ragged and broken. She coughed. Blood. The radio fell silent.

‘Good afternoon, V. I trust you had a restful sleep.’ Alva’s voice was flat, empty, it scratched at the back of V’s skull and sent tension down into her fists.

‘Not now, Alva.’ A quiet chirp and the AI fell silent. Obedient.

Finally, a moment to herself - she hated it. Hard to be alone when you don’t recognise the bitch in the mirror.

She remembered the stench of loneliness that had bombarded her at Kerry’s mansion. There was only one thing in this damn apartment that didn’t smell just the same. She pulled the first clothes she saw off the floor and managed to dress herself before reaching for the samurai jacket Rogue had given her.

She hadn’t worn it all week, but then again, she hadn’t done much that warranted getting dressed since everything had happened, since everything had gone wrong.

It didn’t make any sense. Johnny had been a construct in her head; he’d never worn the jacket and she’d never been able to smell the guy, but instinct told her it smelt of him - cigarettes and tequila and something she couldn’t even place. She pulled the sleeves down as far as they would reach, hoping to cover the tattoo.

Reality called again, or rather Emmerick did. ‘Ey, boss.’ Hearing a familiar voice helped more than she thought it would; hurt a hell of a lot more too though.

‘Em, shit. Couldn’t ask a favour, could I?’

‘For you? Anything.’

‘Tell him the job’s off the table.’ V waited for a response but wasn’t surprised that she didn’t get one. ‘No renegotiating, not some other time, just call it off.’

‘Sure thing,’ Emmerick replied. ‘Couldn’t come and do the honours yourself?’

‘I got something else I wanna do, besides, you can handle him; don’t be afraid to put some lead in him if he starts anything; fed up of that schmuck.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘Call me with anything urgent; I’ll drop by in a day or two. Oh, and call off Del, I won’t be needing that ride.’

‘Will do, boss, and no worries, take your time.’

Her agent flickered off as she hung up. Before heading out she grabbed the pistols, Pride and the Malorian, and donned Johnny’s aviators to hide her bloodshot eyes.

It wasn’t far to the alley behind Misty’s - V’d made sure she stayed in the neighbourhood, even if she didn’t amble about it the way she used to. The kids loitering on the steps gave her a wide berth, staring wide-eyed at NC’s newest legend, snickering behind their hands when she stumbled and slipped on a flyer. She managed to catch herself, but her heart sank as she waited for a snide comment that never came.

Viktor wasn’t shocked to hear the door open or the metal grate give way, but he sure was surprised to see V stood there before him. Neither he nor Misty had heard from her other than a quick call to say that she was alive, and rumour had it she’d only shown her face at The Afterlife, her own damn club, once or twice.

‘What can I do for ya, V?’ Viktor stood from his chair and welcomed her in.

V’s eyes scanned over the room for a moment, eyebrows creasing in confusion.

‘Fuck, Vik… I dunno.’ It hit her that she had no idea why she’d come here. ‘Don’t know why I’m anywhere anymore.’ V perched on the end of Viktor’s desk and closed in on herself; eyes cast downwards, shoulders hunched.

‘Sorry for bothering ya, Vik.’

He stepped forward and put a sturdy hand on V’s shoulder, crouching to make eye contact. She started a little at the touch but didn’t pull away.

‘Don’t worry about it, you’re always welcome here kid.’

‘Thanks.’ The gratitude was hushed and heavy with regret.

Viktor pulled his friend into a hug, and, for a long moment, there was only the muffled drone of the city above them.

Tears began to creep down V’s face, emerging from behind the glasses.

‘What the fuck am I gonna do, Vik?’ V posed a question they both knew he couldn’t answer.

She kept talking just to fill the silence of the clinic. ‘I killed ‘em all Vik. Rogue’d be alive if it weren’t for me.’

Viktor kept his arms tight around her, scared if he let her go she would crumble. ‘Rogue was great; she just had bad luck, nothin’ anyone could have done. Blood isn’t on your hands.’

V’s memories of that night were hazy but one stood out, crystal clear. Rogue’s body, limp and contorted in the bowels of Arasaka tower, Pride still clutched in her hand, finger on the trigger. The thought of it made her feel nauseous.

‘Isn’t it Vik? Whose is it on? What about Jackie and T-Bug? Evelyn Parker? Takemura? Scorpion?’

Her final question was choked out in a whisper. ‘What about Johnny?’

Viktor knew what he could say - Johnny Silverhand died 55 years ago to a bunch of greedy corpos - but he knew that wouldn’t do jack shit with the state she was in right now.

The heavy grate screeched open again. Nerves fried to shit, paranoia scratching at the nape of her neck, V turned, in one swift movement pulling the Malorian on whoever had intruded. She held the pistol in her left hand.

Shit.

Misty froze, raising the cups of coffee she held in each hand. ‘Only me, V.’

V holstered the gun, cursing under her breath as Misty approached, setting down one of the cups beside Viktor.

‘Sorry, shouldn’t’a barged in like that.’

‘Nah Misty, shit, I’m the one who pulled iron on ya.’ V removed the aviators and pulled her hands across her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and bruised, her skin gaunt and lifeless. Calling her a living legend might be a bit of an overstatement.

The buzz of NC set in again. The silence between the three friends was oddly comfortable, considering none of them had a damn clue what to say to each other.

A minute of shuffling and sparse eye contact passed before V put the glasses and a brave face back on.

‘I’m gonna head outta the city for the night.’

‘V...’ Misty wanted to stop her but knew she was pushing her luck.

‘I can’t stand it here; it’s all so loud. I gotta delta.’

‘Shit, can’t pretend to know what’s going through that head of yours. Just take care of yourself out there, kid.’ Viktor downed the last of his coffee before it had a chance to go cold.

‘I’ll drop by again tomorrow, promise.’ V’s voice was laced with guilt, desperate for her friends to stop worrying about her. ‘Managed to get some sleep last night, ya know.’

Misty and Viktor saw a familiar blank look set on V’s face as she gazed passed them, looking for something no one else saw.

‘Hey, that’s great V.’ Misty chirped.

‘Just as I was slippin' outta my head, finally, I-‘ Fuck. What was she doing? What did she think she’d say next?

There are some things you don’t tell anyone. The fact that, just as she lost consciousness, right arm stretched out across the empty bed, she could've sworn she’d felt cool, smooth chrome resting in her hand? That was top of the list.

Scrambling, tripping over her own words, V was quick to change the subject

‘You guys ain’t gotta word about me.’ She gave a single, hollow laugh. ‘Hell, I stormed Arasaka and made it out alive, or so I’ve been told - I’m untouchable.’

Viktor and Misty mustered their goodbyes. They wanted to reach out, ask if she wouldn’t stay in the city for tonight, they could all grab a pizza and talk crap until the sun came up again. But V had said it best herself; she was untouchable.

Jackie’s Arch was waiting for her back up in the alley. Sure, it wasn’t the safest place, but V preferred to keep it locked up back here. Besides, I wasn’t like keeping something in a garage has ever deterred a thief, she knew that from personal experience. She dragged the bike out onto the street and it revved to life, radio crackling over the noise of the engine.

‘-Significant roadblocks up in Northside. NCPD are aiming to clear the roads quickly but that’s about all the information we have. For now, we’d advise against any unnecessary travel through the district and we’ll keep you up to date with any breaking information.’ The announcer’s voice fizzled out and a song took its place. V sat for a moment, calculating, before speeding off ‘round a corner, cursing under her breath.

Autopilot set in again, and V was barely sure of where she was until a red light flashed up ahead of her. She considered just running it, but at the last moment, the bike came to a screeching halt.

Looking around, V recognised a few buildings, washed out and faded. She hated this part of town – never any good jobs and always tinged by some sad shadow of the past.

The lights turned orange but V’s eyes were instead cast down an alleyway, and she couldn’t resist the pull that drew her in.

Resting the Arch against a wall, V’s slow steps took her deeper into the shadows. The buildings here were old, concrete beginning to crumble, plants sprouting through the cracks – it was odd to see anything in this state. Sure, it wasn’t V’s favourite place to be but it was hardly bad real estate, and wild plants growing in the middle of NC? Not a typical sight.

Enchanted by the story this place wanted to tell her, V pushed on until she met the end of the alley. Looking up at the building before her, a memory stung in her chest. She’d never been here before.

There were no signs left to indicate what this place might’ve been, but plants burst from every escape they could find, moving gently in the wind to beckon V inside.

Then it hit her. She half expected that blue, glitching static, ‘Relic malfunction detected’ flashing across her vision, but there was only silence.

It was too quiet for Night City, even the noise and chaos seemed to have abandoned this place.

The doorway had collapsed in on itself a long time ago, a tree now twisting its way around the rubble, barring V from entering. She clambered up a rusted, crumbling fire escape, working on a muscle memory that wasn’t hers until she was two floors up, facing a boarded window.

It didn’t take V much effort to pry the brittle wood away from the building, which was just as well considering she had little left.

Through the window, V stood in a small entrance hall, remnants of a staircase falling away behind her. Putting a hand against the door before her, every ounce of strength evaporated from V’s body. She took a deep breath, a moment to calm herself down. In a weird twist of fate, she’d’ve given the world to see his flickering blue form right now.

Putting her weight against the door, V pushed into a larger room. Plants had escaped from their ornamental pots and weaved across the floor, a few even daring to entangle themselves in the gaudy chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling. Beneath the plants and long-settled dust, booths with plush, syn-leather seats were scattered with bottles and glasses, a few cheap pistols even scattered about.

Whoever abandoned this place was quick to delta. Probably had no idea they wouldn’t be coming back.

In the centre of the room sat a grand bar with a pale marble countertop. V pulled herself up to sit atop in, tucking her legs under her as she looked down onto the lower counter. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for.

A skewered receipt confirmed what she already knew:

        ATLANTIS

        3:16AM, MARCH 8TH 2024

The order was cheap vodka shots and a slew of cocktails she’d never even heard of, but that didn’t matter.

Dismounting to rain the cabinets below, V pulled out a bottle, the label long since faded and worn away. V tossed the lid onto the floor and took a long swig. Even then she couldn’t put a finger on the strange liquid, but it burned her throat and that was good enough.

V set the bottle down, trading it for a rusted corkscrew that had been abandoned half a century ago.

‘If these walls could talk…’ With that she deltaed, jumping down from the fire escape and pacing back over to the bike.

Somewhere along the way, the city gave out to dusty open fields, old Petrochem plants dotting the barren landscape. V pulled the bike off to the side of the road and began wading through the scrap and rubble to a familiar slab of concrete.

V wondered if anyone had been here since their visit; the metal sheet lay undisturbed bearing her messy inscription:

        JS 2023

She flipped the sheet over – there was less graffiti on this side – pulled out the corkscrew, and got to work.

The sun had long since set by the time V was finished. She carved a thin channel and stuck the cool metal into the dirt at the edge of the concrete. After propping it up with a few worn-out tyres, she took a step back to admire the new inscription. Her penmanship, if you could even call it that, was shoddy, but she couldn’t care less if anyone else could read it.

Across the bottom were four names; T-BUG, SCORPION, EVELYN PARKER, GORO TAKEMURA, each with 2077 scratched below them. Above them were three more. On the left of the sheet;

        RACHEL ‘ROGUE’ AMENDIARES

                  2077

        STILL THE BEST

The right-hand side read;

        JAQUITO ‘JACKIES’ WELLES  

                  2077

        “THE ONE THING WE CAN’T DO IS BE AFRAID OF OTHERS”

She’d left the central space blank until last, as if leaving it unwritten made it any less true. But eventually, she’d managed it, tears falling onto the metal as the night’s chill crept into her bones;

        JOHNNY SILVERHAND

                  2023/2077

        THE GUY WHO SAVED MY LIFE

Finally, V dug a small hole in front of her plaque, dirt embedding itself beneath her nails. She drew Pride and placed it in the earth before her. The Malorian sat heavy in her hand, and as much as she willed her hand to set it down beside Rogue’s pistol, every inch of her body resisted. The gun found its way back to the holster at her hip.

After burying Pride, V laid back on the concrete, looking up at the few stars that were visible once you left the city. She pulled a cigarette from a pack in one of the jacket's pockets – she certainly didn’t put them there – and lit it.

Closing her eyes, V tried not to think about the body below her. She pulled the jacket tight around her against the chill of the Badlands, alone.

[haru-sen]

Out of curiosity, why do you write as a hobby. What do you feel when writing? Do you see the whole plot first and details later?

You’re about to get a whole ass answer complete with childhood trauma.  Mild trigger warning for child abuse?  

So, tumblr ate the first draft of this and I’m annoyed.  Today has been very annoying.  But I digress.  The easiest thing to talk about is the process.  I start everything with a small idea.  It can be a few lines of dialogue, a character prototype, or a “what if” question.  One of the first scenes I thought of for IAL was the “Jack making bad sandwiches” and Lucky asking “Are we poor?”  And I realized I really wanted to write that relationship dynamic.  Obviously that scene came much later in the story, but it was one of the first building blocks.  And then, I have to take that idea and build it into something that can stand on its own.  Because alone, it’s just the ramblings of a maniac.  Great, some OC made a joke about Jack’s cooking skills? Who really cares?  Well, you do, by that point in IAL.  (I assume you do if you made it that far...)

Feng’s an AU version of my main character from a novel series I really need to rework.  Spoiler: the conceptual question was, “what happens when heroes/adventurers settle down and have kids?  What kind of family life do they have?”  And then it turned into an in-depth examination of unhealthy family dynamics and the difficulty of being halfway between worlds both metaphorically and sometimes literally.  Second spoiler: Just because you’re an awesome monster-killer/mercenary duo, doesn’t mean you’re going to be great parents.  

So it’s usually some kind of idea, that I just keep building on till it becomes something that could be a more concrete story.  But it takes time to foment.  I’d been two months into the Overwatch fandom before I started writing IAL.  I had all kinds of ideas, mostly for the Angst!AU and the current timeline.  I’d written a few teaser scenes for that, but on a whim, started IAL instead.  And it grew so much faster than I expected.  

So it’s taken me awhile, but I’ve gotten to the point with ideas (and drafts!) where I can be excited about the shininess of a new thing, but also know that I’m really going to have to work on it to make it better.  It’s rarely just “poof!” and “awesome.”  I have to take an extra step to ask what makes this idea/character/scene stand out from everything else that is out there.  What am I really adding? And you know, sometimes stuff isn’t better/different/greater than everything else out there.  But it’s still enjoyable.  And I’ll take that too.

When I write, it’s planning and creativity.  On good days, I’m entranced in what I’m doing, really planning/living the scene in my head, and really pleased with my progress.  (Heavily focused daydreaming?)  On bad days, it’s a slog to stay on track, nothing feels good/inspired, and I feel like a hack.  I’ve learned that how I feel while creating doesn’t actually guarantee the quality of the work.  When I go back to edit, sometimes the stuff is really good, sometimes it’s not, and the stuff I write when I feel bad can actually be really good and vice versa. But it always needs to be edited.  

On a side note,  all my internet friends groups I made because of writing.  Sometimes we shared fandoms, but it was always the writing/reading that connected us.  (Sometimes, that was bad, because writers are neurotic and sometimes egotistical.  Shocking, I know.)  Put us all together and the insecurities were numerous.  :P    

Now, onto the heavy shit.  In my case, I don’t know if I can call writing a “hobby.”  It’s a coping mechanism.  I know that sounds a little pretentious, but bear with me. I would write even if there was no one else left to read it, because I’ve grown my brain in that direction.  It’s easier for me to work out shit on paper than it is to talk about.  (Or at least, I can make it sound cooler and more coherent on paper than just putting it in stream of consciousness sort of blather.)  

I started writing when I was 12.  I have loved reading all my life, but up till then never considered myself that creative.  I did some fiction writing before that, never very seriously and never with any intention to be a writer.  It might have never caught my interest, but I have immigrant parents who had good intentions and terrible parenting skills. 

 In middle school, things were pretty terrible at home.  I didn’t have outlets. I will flat out say they were abusive and crying got the response “I’ll give you something to cry about.”  I was kind of crybaby when I was five (yes, even for a five year old).  I had an excellent poker face by eleven.    

I used to draw, but I wasn’t very good at it, and my parents didn’t encourage it, because I wasn’t very good, so what was the point? (Yes, I know that logic is wrong, but that’s what I got told.) And also, even if I was good, I wasn’t going to make any money.  So don’t bother. I wasn’t allowed to play sports.  I had no musical talent or inclination.  I wasn’t really allowed to leave the house very often.  If I wanted to go anywhere, I had to take my younger sisters (four and eight years younger than me) with me, because I was the oldest and what kind of sister was I if I went out with people and left them at home?  (Ahem.  More bad logic, I know.) No, they were hardcore serious about this.  And if they didn’t want me to go somewhere, they’d just say that they didn’t trust those people with my sisters.  And let’s not even get into the power dynamic with my sisters and how that worked.  It wasn’t pretty, for any of us.  

My parents, like the Asian stereotype goes, were obsessive on schoolwork.  So if I was doing “homework,” they left me alone.  And if I wanted to use the computer, I had better be doing homework.  I started journaling, for both therapeutic and legal reasons.  It was depressing as fuck recording the nonfiction events of my life.  One day, I wrote a little fanfiction scene from Sailor Moon in crappy script format.  It was so terrible.  But I liked it.  I reread it so many times.  It was empowering. So I wrote another one.  And then started a whole damn series.  It was baaaaad.  I filled multiple notebooks with this saga, in pencil, so it’s probably illegible now, though I have them in trunk somewhere.  I wrote a more polished (but still bad) version for a Sailor Moon fanfic archive and was thrilled when people actually read it and kind of liked it.  (...they had terrible taste, lol) But that’s how I passed the time.  At home. At school.  I just started writing when I was upset, or bored, or just because.  It was melodramatic, self-indulgent, and a coping mechanism.  My teachers encouraged it.  (English teachers usually liked me.)  And gradually, I got better at it.  I stopped writing scripts, started writing proper stories.  My characters became better, more fleshed out. I expanded into original fiction.  

Now seriously, I’m not going to say that I don’t have issues because of it.  But sharing this stuff doesn’t hurt me.  It’s uncomfortable in the sense of “oversharing with people you don’t know super well should be uncomfortable...if only the person in the cubicle beside me would learn that.”  It’s mostly just weird.  So there’s no need for obligatory comforting comments.  It’s cool.  I talk to my parents every few months in a civil fashion, once a month if I’m unlucky.  And it’s not anything to brag about, but there are boundaries in place and I’m good.  So kind of a happy outcome.  

But yeah, that’s why I started writing.  It was that or kill real people.  

*insert serial killer joke because I'm too tired*

[musicanddancingthroughlife]

Protecting the Spiderling

Okay, this is new for me. It’s only, like, the 2nd MCU fic I’ve written, and it’s the first Peter fic I’ve done. So be nice, ya? I might make this into a series. I kind of had other plans for it, other things I wanted to explore and I think it would be fairly easy to continue, but we’ll see what happens. This is also one of my longest stories, and it’s probs not very good, as I wrote the first half while working a shift at the call center, so I was a little distracted.

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

“…Peter?” What are you doing on the ceiling?”

           Somehow, Peter had been so distracted that he didn’t hear Bucky approach. Of course, like an idiot, he crashed to the ground. Unfortunately, Sam had walked in with Bucky and had witnessed the fall. E immediately started up with the insults and teasing jokes.

           Peter flushed. He knew they didn’t mean it (he was pretty sure at least) but that absolutely didn’t make him feel better. But hey. That was just him being too sensitive, right? He could work through that, no problem.

           “Awww,” Sam cooed mockingly. “Was our little spider-baby too busy playing with his toys to hear us coming?”

           …It was weird how Peter had heard similar comments from Tony, yet this was far more insulting. How did he make his voice so scathing? And why did an Avenger, of all people, remind him of high school bullies?

           Clint walked up behind Sam and Bucky, cackling loudly. “Oh, you should see your face!” Somehow, Peter managed to turn even redder, even as Natasha entered the room and glanced up at the ceiling coolly, lips pursed in displeasure. Peter couldn’t help but freeze when her eyes fell on him.

           “What are you doing?” The ice in her voice was enough to send a weak Spidey-sense tingle down his spine.

           And he immediately felt guilty.

           No way would the Avengers attack or try to hurt him! He was just a kid. Plus, he was at least 57% sure doing so would bring Tony’s wrath down on them. It was his Tower, anyway.

           And oops, Natasha was still waiting for a response. Clint and Sam had resumed their giggles, and even Bucky’s lips were starting to curl upwards.

           “Uhhh… homework?” Natasha’s eyebrow only lifted her and Sam and Clint abruptly shut up. And now his Spidey-sense was going off for real.

           Peter tried to keep an eye on Bucky. If anyone attacked, he would be the biggest threat. He tired to convince himself that they wouldn’t, but years of being bullied by Flash and his friends had taught him otherwise.

           “On the ceiling?” Natasha’s tone was dangerous. Clint and Sam took a step towards him. Peter shifted his foot, prepared to make a getaway if necessary. Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

           “Well, I just—I mean. Tony, Mr. Stark, I mean, never said I – I just. I’m not in anybody’s way that way, so I thought I could—” he felt a shift in the air above him and quickly snatched a falling textbook out of the air. More fell, and in the midst of trying to save his downed homework and laptop, he saw Clint easily shooting them all down. A surge of anger welled up inside him, but the wave of insecurity that followed closely behind overshadowed it. Bucky watched with cold indifference, while Sam was giggling, and Clint was sporting a s mug smirk. A couple of is arrows “strayed” (or so Clint claimed, but everyone knew that was impossible) and shredded through Peter’s newly-finished worksheets and a couple of essays.

           Bucky watched in silent fascination as Peter’s expression shuttered closed. There was a prickle of guilt that he tried to ignore, but it proved difficult when he noticed the kid’s eyes were glinting with tears. And anger. It was incredible to watch how, even in the middle of a rush to save papers and books, the kid processed through his emotions. First came the horror at what was happening, accompanied with the anger. But there was also a hint of guilt and insecurity. Eventually, Clint ran out of arrows. The attack truly didn’t last long, and Peter was able to save everything except for the shredded homework. Looking at the tatters of paper littering the floor, Bucky realized it was probably a lost cause for those assignments. But… No one else seemed concerned, except for Peter. He was staring at the floor, too, blinking rapidly. Bucky shook his head. Whatever, the kid was smart, he would be fine. Probably wouldn’t take him long at all to redo the assignments.

           Finally, Peter glanced back up. “I’m sorry.”

           …What did he say? Hell, even Sam and Clint looked gob-smacked at that one. The kid didn’t really seem to notice, just slowly and carefully collected his books and gathered them into his backpack. Bucky hadn’t ever noticed before, but as he watched Peter stack the books in, he realized the bag was bulging in an attempt to fit them all. The spider-boy avoided their eyes as he continued, “I honestly didn’t realize I was in anyone’s way. I like to spread everything out, and the table…”

           Bucky had a flash of Bruce’s work and research, drafts for reports and for a new book, all scattered on the table. There wouldn’t have been any room for the kid to study there, not to mention that Bruce had been feeling on edge and aggravated lately, and would have preferred the quiet. Bucky could relate.

           “—didn’t want to bother him, but I couldn’t just spread out on the floor, who knows who I could’ve bothered with that? It would be so inconvenient and I didn’t want—” Sam interrupted rudely. “Why didn’t you just stay in your room then?” Bucky was taken aback by the aggressive tone. It seemed the kid was, too, since he just stared at him owlishly for a moment, backpack handle clenched tightly in his hand. He glanced to both Bucky and Natasha, perhaps hoping for intervention or even assistance, but neither moved. They simply waited for an answer.

           The kid’s shoulders slumped. “I. I didn’t want…” he faded off into a mumble, but Clint was merciless. “Speak up, baby, we can’t understand mumbling.” Bucky cringed inwardly at the harshness directed at the miserable teenager.

           “I didn’t… I didn’t want to be alone.” And though his voice grew quieter towards the end of the statement, the four of them were still able to hear it. Bucky felt himself grow sick when he caught the gleeful looks Sam and Clint were exchanging. Natasha scoffed and left the room. Peter looked resigned, but he still refused to let the tears fall.

           “Awww is poor wittle Petey afraid of being alone?”

           “You afraid of the dark, too, kid?”

           “What kind of superhero needs someone around in order to feel safe?”

           “Are you always gonna rely on others to protect you?”

           Bucky paid little attention to the petty morons choosing to instead focus on whatever Peter was gonna do next. At first, he just stood there. His fist was clenching the handle, tensing and loosening rhythmically. His head was bowed forward, but Bucky still didn’t think he was crying. Not yet. His shoulders and jaw were tense, his stance rigid. When their words received no further reaction, Sam and Clint fell silent. And that’s when Peter lifted his head.

           He still looked so soft. So bright and hopeful. There was a hardness in his eyes, but it had also given way to insecurity and guilt. Bucky held his breath, somehow knowing he wasn’t going to like what came next.

           “I really am sorry, guys. I didn’t realize I would still be in everyone’s way. I’ll just…” Peter hesitated, and yep, Bucky was absolutely going to hate this. “I’ll just stay in my room. Um.” Peter glanced again at the ruined homework around his feet. “If it’s not a bother, and if Mr. Stark asks, could you tell him I’m just gonna study and then… and then go to bed early? I’m not… I’m not feeling too good.” And despite the brightness in his eyes, it was obvious that the smile he shot at them was fake and forced. Before Bucky could say anything or stop him, the kid had vanished, presumably to go hide in his room.

           Immediately, Clint and Sam began complaining about the mess left in the room, debating calling the kid back and demanding he clean it up, or calling Tony in there to report what his “star child” did, using the mess as evidence. Bucky took two steps forward, knelt, and began gathering the remains himself. When the other two dared to complain at him, he merely glared at them. He wasn’t too bothered when the look led to them ditching their previous plans of a movie in favor of going out to eat instead. He was too busy staring at the tidy scrawl visible on the papers, trying to work out what Peter had been working on. From the looks of it, one of the assignments at least was on WWII. Bucky smiled to himself.

           That was an easy enough fix, he told himself. He stood and dusted himself off, intending to find Stevie and then visit the spider-kid in his room. Once they redid that assignment, maybe they could figure out something to help the kid with the other assignments.

[talesfromperdition]

I was wondering if you have any writing advice for new/young writers?

Full disclaimer: I have never published any writing. So this is going on all personal stuff of fanfiction, the original novel I wrote one NaNo and then never touched again, the short stories I’ve written for my writing minor in college, and the stuff I do as an English teacher. If that’s okay, then continue on. In short, I only have two bits of advice: write and read constantly.1. Write constantly. The earlier a person can start, the better. I started out “roleplaying” our Harry Potter Mary Sue characters with my friends in sixth or seventh grade. Then I was into yahoo messenger chatroom roleplaying for Trigun (I’m definitely dating myself with that sentence.) that moved on to Lord of the Flies fanfiction, Xiolin Showdown fanfiction, Kingdom Hearts/Final Fantasy, Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Yuri on Ice fanfiction. I notice I pretty much write one drug-heavy story in every fandom I’m in. But pick something you love and write about it. Step one is just to practice.Some days, I’m really good at sitting down and writing. Two weeks ago, I wrote like 16k in a week. Not bad for having a full-time job and other responsibilities. Then life picked up again and I haven’t written since. But the more often I write the better. WFL was written nearly daily over the course of a year. A blank page turns into thousands (or hundreds of thousands) of words pretty quickly as long as you sit down to write (even when you don’t feel inspired) and don’t force yourself to make something “great.” I tell my seventh grade kids during the creative writing unit that for 15 minutes a day, they should just write: “words on a page.” You can make them better words later, but at first, “words on a page.”Oh, save everything! Not sentence level changes to drafts but don’t delete old stories because you think it’s not good. That stuff is GOLD. 2. Read constantly.I loved reading as a teenager. I’d read nearly anything, and I always had a novel on me. Even better, I always enjoyed fanfics because it’s the characters I know in all sorts of situations. I think reading that (and writing that) builds versatility in an author. After I finished Red Dead 2, I started reading some fics, then I was inspired to write my own (well, a YoI OutlawAU). I think seeing other styles also helps develop our own style, too. Similarly, I think movies/tv/video games are great for variety too, but to really get a knack for writing, you have to read. That’s the only way to build in format and grammar stuff sort of naturally. For example, one person speaks per paragraph. If a new character speaks, they need a new paragraph. I don’t think anyone taught me that. It’s just the format nearly every novel has. (Disclaimer: grammar “rules” can be broken, but for specific reasons. And if it’s over done, it’s so distracting that others will have a hard time reading it. Make sure your grammar is on point as much as possible. I am a typo queen and I can’t always see my own mistakes until years later, so that’s why I try to have someone beta anything I want to put online. But the big “rules,” especially with dialogue, are so distracting to me as a reader that I’ve been known to quit fics that have great ideas because reading it is too frustrating.) Final thoughts: When you’re first starting out, don’t worry if it’s good, especially at the beginning. I can’t read much of anything I write without cringing (including WFL) at myself. So instead, write what YOU want to write. Write what you want to read. Don’t sit down and think you’re going to write a masterpiece. Sit down and write something that’s fun for you to write. Find a “think” place. I *can* write without my think place, but if I can sit outside on my front porch with some music and get lost in my thoughts, I can dream up a story. I wrote most of WFL at night because I would plan what I would write earlier that day on my porch. I didn’t often write anything down more than a handful of notes of where I wanted the story to go. I can kind of do it while walking, so try taking a walk and letting yourself get lost in the story. (I’m not great at not tripping though) but find what works for you. If I don’t have an idea going in, I’ll stare at a blank page and get mad. Always have an idea before you attack (even 11% of a plan). Take feedback as graciously as possible (which I find harder in the fanfic world than I do with my original stories mostly). Better yet, find someone you love and who loves you to share your stories with. That way, someone you trust is giving you feedback before any other eyes get to see it. I use this as a double-positive because I can use my buddy to keep me honest and send her what I finished that night. While it’s raw and gross and unedited, she still sees I wrote a bit that night, so I’m not slacking on my own goals. I like to do that when I’m really struggling to get words on a page. (And in the summer, when neither of us teachers have work every single day, just a couple of times a week). And last, don’t do it if it isn’t fun. You’re allowed to put down books or fics if you don’t like them. You’re allowed to abandon ideas halfway through when no one saw it. Reading is exhausting for me. I grade papers for a living, so I don’t always (or hardly ever) want to read in my spare time. So I try to read a little bit before bed at night and I like to read for an hour or so before I get out of bed on the weekends. Some time when it’s enjoyable.Keep a similar attitude with writing. Every bit of writing I do is “practice,” so even if nobody reads it, I’m a thousand words stronger today than I was yesterday, even if it wasn’t great or it never turns into a story that anyone sees but me. I never sit down and think “today is the day I’m going to write a book that will change the world.” And that takes serious pressure off of me. Some day, I may write that book. But it won’t be today or tomorrow, so I’m just practicing until then.So overall, listen to your body. If reading or writing makes you miserable and you dread sitting down to do it... don’t do it. True, “words on a page” can’t happen if you don’t sit down and write, but there are many days when I know it wouldn’t be good to force myself. Finding that balance is an art that may not be able to be mastered, but it’s one we have to try for nevertheless.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

NO MATTER HOW DETERMINED YOU ARE, YOU SHOULD TRY TO PROVE IT, BECAUSE LORD-OF-THE-FLIES SCHOOLS AND BUREAUCRATIC COMPANIES ARE BOTH THE DEFAULT

I want to reach users, you do know what's happening inside it. Why?1 Just imagine how it would feel to call a support line and be treated as someone bringing important news. It's important to realize that, no, the adults don't know what you're going to look at the famous 1984 ad now, it's easier to read than a regular article. Which is not that different. But writing an interface to a piece of software doesn't teach you anything, because the main value of that initial version is not the hours but the responsibility. Teenage apprentices in the Renaissance seem to have been a mistake. So if intelligence in itself is less likely to introduce bugs. When you interview a startup and think they seem likely to succeed at all. But they're also too young to be left unsupervised.2 At best it was practice for real work.3 I must have explained something badly.

But evidence suggests most things with titles like this are linkbait.4 But I've learned never to say never about technology. As a general rule for finding problems best solved in one head. How much you should worry about being an outsider is being aware of one's own procrastination. If it's any consolation to the nerds, it's nothing personal. As an outsider, take advantage of direct contact with the medium. That scenario may seem unlikely now, but it wouldn't be a top priority. 0 out fast, then continue to improve the software, all you need is a department with the right colleagues in it. The remarkable thing about this project was that he wrote all the software in a Web-based software, you can in one step enable all your users to page people, or send faxes, or send faxes, or send commands by phone, or process credit cards, etc, just by installing the relevant hardware. A lot of the top 10,000 hackers, the route is at least straightforward: make the search engine you yourself want.

There is nothing inevitable about the current system. Now the frightening giant is Microsoft, and I think this will be the only kind that work everywhere. So if intelligence in itself is less likely to introduce bugs.5 You're at least close enough to work that the smell of dinner cooking.6 It seemed like selling out. After trying the demo, signing up for the service should require nothing more than filling out a brief form the briefer the better.7 For Web-based applications offer a straightforward way to outwork your competitors.

Next time, I won't.8 I've noticed some cracks in their fortress. The word try is an especially valuable component. But most kids would take that deal. So you don't have to rely on teaching or research funding to support oneself. I was talking recently to someone who knew Apple well, and I know it's the wrong thing to optimize. In software this kind of bug is the hardest to find, and also tends to have the computations happening on the desktop. It will seem preposterous to future generations that we wait till patients have physical symptoms to be diagnosed with conditions like heart disease and cancer.

Viaweb the developers were always in close contact with support. The more the work depends on imagination, the more hooks you have for new facts to stick onto—which means you accumulate knowledge at what's colloquially called an exponential rate. That's what they miss. Trying to write the software than because we expected users to want to be popular. Apple leaves no room there. As European scholarship gained momentum it became less and less important; by 1350 someone who wanted to buy them, however limited.9 I see someone laugh as they read a draft of an essay to friends, there are two great universities, but they're such assholes. 1 that effectively all the returns are concentrated in a few top university departments and research labs—partly because talent is harder to judge, and partly to get exactly what we wanted. The alarming thing is, he'd know enough not to have to work on projects with an intensity in both senses that few insiders can match.

I've said some harsh things in this essay I found that after following a certain thread I ran out of ideas? The remarkable thing about this project was that he wrote all the software in a Web-based applications, everything you associate with startups is taken to an extreme with Web-based software will be written on this model.10 Make them do more at your peril. Or rather, I don't think they realize how much software development is affected by the way it is released.11 In startups one person may have to use it, and group themselves according to whatever shared interest they feel most strongly. Teenagers seem to have made that deal, though perhaps none of them had any choice in the matter.12 We would leave a board meeting to fix a serious bug in OS X, instead of releasing a software update immediately, they had to submit their code to an intermediary who sat on it for a month and then rejected it because it yields the best results.13

That's what school, prison, and ladies-who-lunch all lack.14 Version 4. And unlike other potential mistakes on that scale, it costs nothing to fix. But, in my school at least, a better writer than someone who wrote eleven that were merely good. Just imagine how it would feel to call a support line and be treated as someone bringing important news.15 For example, most people seem to miss most is the lack of time. But when you choose a language, you're also choosing a community.

How do you get them to switch. That's what I thought before Viaweb, to the extent I thought about the question at all. My current development machine is a MacBook Air, which I spent worrying about, but not writing, my dissertation. My father's entire industry breeder reactors disappeared that way. We had general ideas about things we wanted to hear from customers. It's just a legitimate sounding way of saying: we don't like your type around here. One of my tricks for generating startup ideas is to imagine the ways in which we'll seem backward to future generations that we wait till patients have physical symptoms to be diagnosed with cancer. They're like someone trying to play soccer while balancing a glass of water.16

Notes

These false positive rates are untrustworthy, as Prohibition and the hundreds of thousands of small and use whatever advantages that brings. But the change is a constant.

Some graffiti is quite impressive anything becomes art if you saw Jessica at a 5 million cap. The banks now had to bounce back. Even college textbooks are not very far along that trend yet.

I'd say the raison d'etre of prep schools do, just harder. 001 negative effect on college admissions process. Whereas the value of a long time I thought there wasn't, because users' needs often change in the US News list tells us is what approaches like Brightmail's will degenerate into once spammers are pushed into using mad-lib techniques to generate everything else in the same lesson, partly because you can work out. You'd have to include in your plans, you have to deliver the lines meant for a monitor.

Only a fraction of VCs even have positive returns. Letter to Oldenburg, quoted in Westfall, Richard. Median may be exaggerated by the government, it is less secure.

I'm not saying you should avoid.

Charismatic candidates will tend to be room for startups to have figured out how to do that? We often discuss revenue growth.

This is a variant of Reid Hoffman's principle that if there is one of them is that promising ideas are not more. In that case the implications are similar.

They overshot the available RAM somewhat, causing much inconvenient disk swapping, but they were, they'd be proportionately more effective, leaving less room for something that would get shut down in the body or header lines other than those I mark. Maybe the corp dev people are these days. After a while we can teach startups a lot of money around is never something people treat casually. But while this sort of wealth, seniority will become less common for founders; if they seem pointless.

There need to raise a series of numbers that are only slightly richer for having these things. Later you can make things very confusing. On the other cheek skirts the issue; the idea that was more because they couldn't afford a monitor is that everyone gets really good at sniffing out any red flags about the new top story. Not all were necessarily supplied by the Corporate Library, the initial capital requirement for German companies is that there's more of it, but they can't legitimately ask you a series A from a book from a VC recently who said they wanted, so I called to check and in some cases the process of selling things to the founders' salaries to the point where it does, the best case.

01.

Throw in the same amount of stock options than any of his peers will get funding, pretty much regardless of how you spent all your time working on is a negotiation.

All he's committed to rejecting it.

Later we added two more modules, an image generator were written in C, and most sophisticated city in the startup is rare. A round. Record labels, for the same reason 1980s-style knowledge representation could never have left PARC.

On the other team.

The problem in high school is that you end up making something that flows from some central tap.

The more people would be to advertise, and this destroyed all traces. But their founders, if you're attacked in this way. As a rule, if an employer hired men based on that? As Paul Buchheit points out, it's hard to say that Watt reinvented the steam engine.

Thanks to Harjeet Taggar, Ben Horowitz, Dan Siroker, Jessica Livingston, rew Mason, Paul Buchheit, and Trevor Blackwell for smelling so good.

[classyfoxdestiny]

Shankar's Fairies: The Indian Film that Wowed Locarno

Shankar's Fairies: The Indian Film that Wowed Locarno

‘My Nani passed away in January 2016 and the house belonged to her and my Nana.’ ‘After they passed away, the family decided to sell the house.’ ‘My mother’s immediate response was that we have to make a film in this house before it was sold.’

IMAGE: Irfana Majumdar with her mother Nita Kumar.

Revisiting childhood memories is a familiar theme that film-makers like to explore for the screen.

But it is not always easy to represent nostalgia with warmth, honesty and innocence of the time period, especially without an added dose of melodrama.

Irfana Majumdar‘s Shankar’s Fairies captures the childhood memories of the director’s mother, Nita Kumar, who wrote the script and produced the film.

It is a beautifully moving film, handled with much gentleness.

It is somewhat similar in tone and mood to the 2019 Maithili language film Gamak Ghar — a quiet story about Director Achal Mishra’s ancestral house in Jharkhand.

But Shankar’s Fairies has more layers and universal themes: The stories a domestic help Shankar shares with the kids of his employers; the larger narrative of domestic workers who leave their children in villages so they can take care of wealthy people’s homes and their offspring; parents who are busy with professional and social engagements and find little time to focus on their children; and the rhythm of life in a medium level Indian city in the early 1960s.

Majumdar also acts in the film, playing the role of her grandmother.

Theatre artist Gaurav Saini, who is married to the director, steps in as film’s associate director as well as Majumdar’s character’s husband — a senior police officer whose house is packed with a retinue of gardeners and other workers, including the film’s protagonist, Shankar.

Majumdar recently traveled to Switzerland for the film’s world premiere at the Locarno International Film Festival.

The film was well received and Majumdar was stopped on the streets by local people who told the director how much they had loved the film.

“I think it was a great collaboration because we have distinct skills and areas of expertise. I don’t think I could have done it on my own,” Majumdar tells long-time Rediff.com Contributor Aseem Chhabra by phone.

  IMAGE: Jaihind Kumar as Shankar in Shankar’s Fairies.

Irfana, are you based in Mumbai?

No, I live just outside Benaras in a village called Betawar.

We have an organisation for arts, education and environment that my parents started in 1990. It’s called Nirman.

We have a theatre studio where we do projects.

Many years ago, I had a theatre group, but now we do our research and training.

There is a school, the first major project that began in 1990.

It’s a regular CBSE school but based on arts and ideas of the environment. I studied there between Class 5 and 10.

Then we have a research centre which had a study abroad programme.

Earlier, foreign students would come to attend lectures and seminars.

We have art studios.

I am mostly involved in theatre and film there, but I have taught in the school. I am still involved with the vision committee.

Your mother produced Shankar’s Fairies. I read that she was teaching in California. Was she based there?

She just retired from the Claremont McKenna College in California.

Her heart has always been in India but she has taught in the US for 30 plus years.

She would come twice a year to India and spend about five months.

IMAGE: Shankar and Anjana in Shankar’s Fairies.

What I find interesting is that you worked with your mother and husband to make this film. You and your husband acted in the film, while it was your mother’s story. Creatively, how did you guys work together and how many times would you argue in a day?

Well, we have collaborated in the past as well. My husband is also in theatre so we have similar roles. He is a director and teacher.

We have different areas of interest in theatre, but we have experience with each other’s working style.

My mother and I have collaborated in the operation of Nirman.

Creatively, this was our first major project, so it was new in that way. We enjoyed it.

I think it was a great collaboration because we have distinct skills and areas of expertise. I don’t think I could have done it on my own.

We would argue a lot. All of us have strong opinions.

During the four-five months of pre-production, we would have meetings all day where we would discuss the script.

My mother had written a draft of the screenplay and she also wrote a prose story.

The story was not set in stone in terms of the sequence of events.

She had all the different anecdotes and they could have gone in any direction.

If she liked a particular anecdote, we would go in depth into the themes behind it, how it connects to other things, the characters…

We would dissect each scene in figuring out what we were saying in the film.

That’s the time we perhaps had the most arguments, although I don’t even remember what they were about.

But would you have the final creative control since you were the director of the film?

That way, everyone was clear. During the shoot, I was the only one figuring out the scenes.

My mother stepped back and Gaurav was acting in the film.

It was a very low budget project so they did a lot of production related work during the shoot.

After that, during the post-production, I was the only one working on the film.

They watched the edits and gave feedback. But only I sat with the editor and worked it all out.

IMAGE: Shankar narrates a story to Anjana.

At what stage did your mother say that she had this idea for a film and script? Would she narrate her childhood memories to you?

It happened in a slightly different way. My Nani (maternal grandmother) passed away in January 2016 and the house belonged to her and my Nana.

It was his grandfather’s house and jointly owned by my Nana and his four brothers. But only my grandparents lived there.

After they passed away, the family decided to sell the house.

My mother’s immediate response was that we have to make a film in this house before it was sold.

It was the feeling of preserving an entire lifestyle and so many memories of her childhood.

Her way of life and our way of life is different. It was an important part of her.

It felt like it was coming to an end.

Making a film was a way to save that memory, freeze that time.

Where did Shankar’s stories come from? Does your mother remember these stories from her childhood?

The stories are ones we chose, not the actual ones from my mother’s childhood.

While he was staying with us, we asked the actor, who played Shankar (Jaihind Kumar), to read collections of folk tales.

He would re-tell them to us in the evenings, both to practice narrating stories and so that we could chose the ones we liked.

The djinn story was contributed by (journalist) Mehru Jaffer, who lives in Lucknow and writes about the city. It’s a story her father used to tell her.

Where is this house where the film was shot?

Lucknow. My mother didn’t grow up there since she was a daughter of a police officer and her father was posted to different locations, many different towns of UP. They moved to this place only after my grandfather retired.

All these houses had a similar feel. In a way, this was the house I grew up in because I spent so many summer vacations and other times there.

So it was an interesting mix of my memories of this house and my mother’s memories of her childhood.

Did you add anything to the house? That jhoola which features so prominently in the film, was it always there or you added it for the film?

There was a jhoola in my childhood. It was a common thing in those houses.

But the tree and the jhoola became a symbol for the film.

I see you have the jhoola in your DP in your WhatsApp account. It was just lovely hearing the story Shankar narrates about the fairies sitting on the jhoola and suddenly the camera takes us to the jhoola as is it gently moving. It is one of the most magical moments in the film.

IMAGE: Anjana on the jhoola in Shankar’s Fairies.

Irfana, you had made a few documentaries. But as a first-time feature film-maker, how did you capture the essence of a quiet home? The opening scenes of the sun rising, the workers are sweeping the grounds around the house, the house slowly waking up. I understand a lot of that quiet tone comes through editing. But how did you get it cinematically? You can write memories in books but to bring them in cinema requires a different skill set.

For us, the house was the essential element of the film. The physical feel was always very important.

It was all part of my memories — waking up, seeing the light streaming in from the ventilators, the high ceilings, days when time stretched on, being outside and inside, all those feelings.

So when I was trying to think of how the look of the house should be, all these memories were at the forefront of my decision making.

The characters are placed in that context. I always wanted that visual layer.

Since you know the feeling you are going for, you keep adjusting the elements to get to that.

You cannot plan it in advance but you fine-tune and make minor adjustments during the shoot.

I know theatre is a very different medium but my training in theatre and my experience in different arts and other aesthetics — all of that contributed to the feel and the mood of the film.

We worked so much with the space, what the audience should experience.

Besides you and your husband, how did you cast the three main actors: The man who played Shankar and the young girl and boy?

Jaihind Kumar is an actor in Mumbai. He has played minor roles so far.

He is a friend of my husband from his film and theatre days in Mumbai. He came for the audition.

My husband was very sure about him. We spent quite a lot of time working with him.

He came to Lucknow and stayed with us in the house for three months.

Initially, we didn’t tell anyone that he’s the lead actor, so he worked as the servant of the house and stayed in Shankar’s room which you see in the film.

We don’t always follow such a method, but with him, we thought he should experience the character more intensely.

Every day, the three of us would do some acting exercises for a couple of hours.

He had to be familiar with everything he had to do.

The essence of Shankar is that he is very skilled as a domestic help.

So the poor thing, he played the lead role and he couldn’t stay in a five-star hotel.

Ya (laughs).

When I read that Gaurav and you are married, I began to believe that those two kids are your children.

(Laughs) Many people have thought that. We did workshops in a few schools in Lucknow.

My husband works a lot with children in theatre, age three onwards, and so he conducted them mostly.

The girls we liked, we would invite them, play and interact with them.

The moment we chose this young girl (Shreeja Mishra) was when Gaurav was telling them a story about fairies and she was listening.

You could see it in her eyes that she half believed it.

We just wanted this child to be at the cusp, still believing in fairies, not losing the innocence.

Some of the other girls were good. but they were past that innocence stage.

We worked a lot with her. She would come over almost every day after school.

How old was she when you were shooting?

She was nine years old.

The relationship and comfort she had with Shankar, even though she knew she was acting, seemed so natural. You start to believe that she and the little boy have known this man in real life. I guess you did a lot of workshops with the three of them.

Yes. The little boy (Adwik Mathur) was only four at that time.

He was more reserved.

We wanted them both to develop a relationship with Shankar and us.

Shreeja is very talented. Even I am blown away by the expressions in her eyes.

I am so impressed with how much you achieved so much in such a low budget. There is something so unique in the narrative. I was reminded of Kabuliwala. Did you think of stories like that?

In the beginning, I didn’t think of the influences.

We were wrapped in the project and the enormity of it.

It was the first narrative film I was working on.

Later I realised that there were many sources to pull from.

Of course, there is the training in film-making, but all your experiences and reading also influence your thought.

It’s better not to be too concrete about things you are drawing from and allow for it to go through your less conscious intuitions.

I saw the video of the making of the film. You shot it in 2016. I saw the work-in-progress cut of the film at NFDC’s Film Bazaar in 2019 and then the pandemic ruined everyone’s lives. But you have been with this film for a very long time.

We cheated a little bit. The idea of the film suddenly came to us, but we had other plans and projects as well.

Right after the film was shot, we went off on a theatre tour.

Then my husband and I had a baby.

So I got back to the film in the beginning of 2019. That’s when I worked on the edit.

Our German editor left last year because of the pandemic, even though it was going very well.

So I made another edit for last year’s Cannes market. I worked with Tanushree Das (Eeb Allay Ooo) to edit the final cut.

It was a lot of getting into the film and then leaving it a few times. In a way, that helped me.

We had scripted the film, but it wasn’t plot driven and set in stone.

It allowed me the time to think about what we were trying to do.

You dedicate the film to Shankar. Was that the real person’s name? Is he still alive?

Shankar’s is the only name we didn’t change, so yes, there was a real Shankar. He passed away in 1988.

Feature Presentation: Rajesh Alva/Rediff.com

. Source link

[daffronc-blog]

Final Project Part One: Attack of the Killer Fan Fiction

Reflective Essay:

When I was starting the assignment, I decided the best thing to write a fan fiction of would be Harry Potter because of the sheer amount of directions I could take the story and characters. I decided I wanted my story to take place after the series had initially ended, that way I would have more freedom to write my story without fucking up any sort of series canon. Once I had decided that I had no idea what I should write. So, I was pacing my room thinking and listening to The Lawrence Arms when their song “Are You There, Margaret? It’s Me, God” came on and it gave me an idea.

Over the weekend, I had just re-watched Stranger Than Fiction, so I thought, “What if I wrote a story like that?” But who would be in it? What would I do?

Then, I remembered the plot line in the sixth Dark Tower book where Roland and Eddie enter “the real world” to talk to find Stephen King after Father Callahan found a copy ‘Salem’s Lot (this is what Hermione references in the story in case you were wondering). And that’s when it really started to come together.

I’ve never read The Cursed Child, but even before we talked about it in class I had heard that it was kind of shitty.

Lightbulb.

What if, in a very Stranger Than Fiction-esque way, Harry hears J.K. Rowling narrating the beginning of The Cursed Child in his head and decides to find her and stop her before she fucks up his life/story? And that’s when it all came together. I cranked out the initial draft in one sitting and it was about 3000 words, which seemed like a little much for the assignment, so I edited it down to a much more manageable length for anyone who doesn’t want to spend a million years reading a poorly written Harry Potter story.

So, several cups of coffee and several Dillinger Four records later, I present you Harry Potter and the Ill-Advised Author.

Enjoy,

Charlie

Harry Potter and the Ill-Advised Author

Harry burst awake, his scar burning. He gasped and reached up to touch his forehead. It had been many years since his scar had hurt and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He carefully got out of bed, trying not to wake Ginny, who was still sleeping peacefully.

He stumbled out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, the pain from his scar beginning to subside a little bit. He looked out the kitchen window to see the first rays of sunlight had just begun to appear on the horizon.

“Maybe my scar is hurting because I’m nervous about sending Albus off to his first year at Hogwarts today,” Harry thought. Yes, that must have been it. After all, it had been 19 years since Voldemort had been defeated, so there was no other explanation.

As the Harry sat in the kitchen watching the sunrise and waiting for the rest of his family to wake up so they could make their way to Kings Cross station to drop off Albus and James at platform 9 ¾ he slowly began to forget about his scar hurting. He didn’t even think to mention it to Ginny when she woke up.

***

The Potter family quickly piled out of the family car once they had arrived at King’s Cross. Albus and James pulled their trunks behind them, chattering excitedly. Harry and Ginny followed behind them with Lily.

“Dad, my legs are tired,” Lily complained, tugging on Harry’s pant leg.

“Honey, we just started walking,” Harry said, smiling down at her.

“I know, but I’m tired,” she said.

“Ok,” Harry said, “I think I’ve got just the solution.”

He scooped her up and put her on his shoulders, so she wouldn’t have to walk anymore. Ginny smiled at them as they opened the door to King’s Cross.

As soon as they entered the station Harry was hit with a burst of pain from his scar so intense that his legs almost buckled underneath him. Lily giggled, thinking her father was going to pretend to drop her. As soon as Harry had recovered his balance he heard the voice.

“A busy and crowded station,” a woman’s voice said, “Full of people trying to go somewhere. Amongst the hustle and bustle, two large cages rattle on top of two laden trolleys. They’re being pushed by two boys, James Potter and Albus Potter, Their mother, Ginny, follows after. A thirty-seven-year-old-man, Harry, has his daughter, Lily, on his shoulders.”

“What the hell?” Harry said, looking around in bewilderment.

“What is it, Harry?” Ginny asked, watching Harry with a concerned look on her face.

“Do you hear that voice?” Harry asked.

“What voice?” Ginny responded.

“That woman’s voice,” Harry answered, putting Lily down and continuing to look around.

“What are you talking about?” Ginny asked, stepping closer to Harry.

Just then Ron and Hermione approached. Lily squealed in excitement and ran toward them. Meanwhile, James and Albus looked at their parents, confused as to why they had stopped.

“Ron turns towards them as Lily goes barreling up to him. He picks her up into his arms.” the voice narrated as Ron greeted Lily by lifting her up into the air just like it had said a moment before.

Hermione, noticing the confused look on Harry’s face approached them, followed by Ron.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Hermione asked.

Harry explained how his scar hurt and he had heard the woman’s voice narrating exactly what was happening as it happened and that only he seemed to be hearing it.

“Are you sure you’re not just schizophrenic, mate?” Ron asked jokingly.

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs angrily.

“Sorry,” he said, looking down.

“Harry, if you are hearing this voice saying things that only you could know, and your scar is hurting again, this could be something serious,” Hermione said, “We need to find out where this voice is coming from as quickly as possible before it can say more things.”

Harry looked at Ginny.

“Go figure this out,” She said, “I’ll make sure the kids make it to school.”

Harry nodded. He kissed her goodbye and said goodbye to each of his three kids and left King’s Cross with Ron and Hermione.

***

As soon as they had arrived back at Ron and Hermione’s house Hermione went straight to the living room, where a long bookshelf stuffed full of books of all shapes and sizes took up one wall. She searched the bookshelf until she found the book she was looking for.

“I’ve heard of this happening to someone else before,” Hermione said, quickly flipping through the book, “It turned out a muggle writer was writing a story about a priest, not realizing that the story influenced the events in that person’s life. The author wrote an unpleasant ending and it came true. We need to find whoever is doing this to Harry before they finish the story.”

Ron and Harry nodded, watching her continue to flip through the book.

“Aha, here it is!” Hermione exclaimed, pointing at one of the pages.

She showed it to Harry and Ron. There were two words written on the page: Narritoris Aepearious.

“Harry, since only you can hear the voice you need to cast the spell,” Hermione said, “Once you’ve cast it, a portal should open and lead us to whoever is responsible for this.”

Harry read the words on the page and just like Hermione said, a portal opened on the wall, leading to a large house in the countryside. The three wizards stepped through the wall and the portal quickly closed behind them.

They approached the house cautiously, watching for anyone who may have been guarding the premises. When the reached the door, Harry tried the doorknob to see if it was open. The handle wouldn’t budge, so Harry produced his wand from his robes and pressed it against the lock.

“Aberto,” he said quietly.

With a click, the door slowly began to open. Harry pushed it all the way open and they entered the house.

After a few minutes of wandering through the seemingly empty house, the three wizards arrived at a set of double doors. Harry pushed them open and they entered the room.

The walls were decorated with posters of teenagers in cheap looking wizard robes, holding what looked like imitation wands. As Harry looked closer, he realized these teenagers vaguely resembled him, Ron, and Hermione when they were younger. The one that looked like Harry even had something on his forehead that looked similar to Harry’s scar. Harry looked at the caption below the poster. It read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

“What the hell?” Harry thought.

“Harry,” Ron said nervously from behind Harry.

Harry turned to see Ron holding a large leather-bound book. He held it up to Harry to see.

“It’s about us finding the Horcruxes and battling the Death Eaters on the night you killed Voldemort,” Ron said.

Harry took the book from Ron and examined it. Ron was right, it seemed to be a spot-on account. Harry looked at the cover. It said Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It also said it was written by a “J.K. Rowling”.

“Harry, come here,” Hermione said.

Harry turned to see her standing in front of a desk on the other side of the room looking at a typewriter. She pulled the piece of paper from the typewriter and handed it to Harry.

“Is this what you heard the voice say?” Hermione asked.

Harry read the page and nodded. Hermione showed him another page that said, “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child written by J.K. Rowling”.

“This J.K. Rowling must be the woman I keep hearing in my head,” Harry said.

Suddenly from behind them, there was a gasp and the sound of glass shattering. All three wizards whipped around to see a woman standing in the doorway of the room pointing at them.

“Y-y-you can’t be real,” she stammered, stepping backward.

“Are you J.K. Rowling?” Harry asked.

The woman gulped and nodded slowly.

“You’re the one writing these stories?” Harry asked, holding up the page from The Cursed Child.

She nodded again.

“I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said, “You need to stop writing these stories about me, they’re affecting my life. I’ve already defeated Voldemort, there’s no need for you to write these stories and drag me into more conflicts, especially if they might endanger my family or friends.”

“B-But how can this be happening?” J.K. Rowling asked.

Hermione explained the magic to her and she slowly seemed to understand.

After talking to her for several hours and answering all her excited questions, Harry, Ron, and Hermione left, apparating back to their homes, satisfied that J.K. Rowling wouldn’t write about them again.

***

After the three wizards had left, J.K. Rowling immediately burned all her notes and the page she had written for The Cursed Child. Her mind was still reeling from her encounter with the three people, who until an hour ago, she considered her fictional characters.

With every trace of the manuscript destroyed, She called Jack Thorne, the manuscript’s co-author and the person who was going to adapt it into a script for the stage and told him that she was canceling the project.

When he asked her why, she just said, “Harry’s story is done, it’s time to leave him alone.”

She hung up the phone, still shaking. “What am I going to do now?” she thought.

She decided she would finally start writing those Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them films that Warner Brothers was so eager to produce. After all, they would be prequels set many years before The Philosopher’s Stone takes place, so there was no way Newt Scamander could show up on her doorstep, right?  

 Cited Sources:

Thorne, Jack, et al. Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. Playscript. Scholastic, 2017.

“List of Spells.” Harry Potter Wiki, harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/List_of_spells.

[revwinchester]

Presidential Pilgrimage

Summary: Dean and Y/N go on a road trip in order to take in some of the US presidential historical sites and Dean has a special surprise planned for one of their stops.

Pairing: Dean x Reader Other Characters: Chelsea (OFC/Reader’s friend), random tour guide, US Presidents (but not the current one)

Word Count: 2300

Warnings: None? I really don’t think I’ve got any for this one, it’s just fluff with a dash of crack… There might be, like, one curse word in here.  Also, it’s an AU

A/N: This was written for a friend of mine, a Dean!Girl who went on a very similar trip to the one described here, just without Dean Winchester behind the wheel.  I originally wrote it as an OFC for her but changed it before posting.  If you randomly come across the name “Emma,” it’s because I missed it while I was changing her name to Y/N and you should just insert your name there… haha.  This is also my first entry for my AU Bingo Card!

Created for: @spnaubingo; square filled Historian!Dean

Your name: submit What is this? // <![CDATA[ function replaceAll(find, replace, str) { return str.replace(new RegExp(find, 'g'), replace); } function myHandler() { var input = document.getElementById("inputTxt").value; document.body.innerHTML = replaceAll('Y/N', document.getElementById("inputTxt").value, document.body.innerHTML); } // ]]>

Presidential Pilgrimage -

“Let’s go!”  Dean was positively giddy.  Y/N hadn’t seen him this excited since he had landed the job teaching at the University of Kansas and he got to move back home and take her with him.

The pair had met in graduate school.  Y/N had been working on a master’s degree in theology while Dean was in his final year of a PhD in history.  They had literally collided in the library while Y/N was there to research a paper on religion in American politics.  Books and papers had fallen to the floor and they both had rushed to collect what was theirs.  A few awkward seconds of hellos and introductions followed and they parted, assuming they’d never see each other again, considering the size of the University.  But as Dean had settled in to finish editing a chapter of his dissertation, he realized that the binder he was now carrying was full of pages and pages of notes instead of his dissertation.  

Luckily, there was a full name in the binder and Dean was able to track Y/N down using the student database he’d gained access to when he’d been a T.A.  He knocked on her door that evening, and was relieved when she was there to open it.  “I, uh, I’m the guy from the library?” he started, his voice rising like he was asking a question and Dean mentally chastised himself for not keeping it together.  “I think our binders got mixed up when we were picking up our stuff.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Y/N had stuttered, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.  “I was going to try and track you down tomorrow.  Let me, uh, grab your notebook.”  Y/N turned and scurried into her apartment, leaving Dean standing in the doorway.

Though he hadn’t been invited in, Dean had followed Y/N, stepping into her kitchenette as she closed his dissertation draft.  “Were you… reading that?”

Y/N had looked up in alarm, clearly not realizing that she had been followed.  Her cheeks had flushed at Dean’s question and she had barely managed to answer him.  “I really like history,” she had blurted out in explanation, “especially presidential stuff.”

The color on her cheeks had deepened at her lack of eloquence but Dean had found it adorable.  “Can I take you out for coffee sometime?” he had asked.  “I’d love to hear your thoughts on the dissertation.”

Now two degrees, a post doctoral fellowship, an adjunct teaching job, and, finally, a tenure track position at KU later, the pair had been together for six years and were about to go on the adventure of a lifetime.  Y/N had dubbed their trip their “Presidential Pilgrimage” and, while Dean had resisted the title at first, he had eventually warmed up to it and started using the moniker himself when describing their plans to friends and colleagues.

All packed, they climbed into Dean’s 1967 Chevy Impala, a beautiful beast of a car, and pointed themselves east towards the sites and stories of early American history.

Early on, Y/N decided that road trips with Dean needed to be a more regular occurrence.  They both loved his car and Dean was so at home on the road, classic rock streaming from the car’s cassette player while the pair of them sang along and bantered back and forth, debating the merits of each president.  Neither was ever able to make the other concede to their favorite - that was just the nature of politics - and the ridiculous stories that they came up with to discredit the other’s chosen champion filled the car with laughter as they drove.

One of Y/N’s friends joined them for a portion of their trip.  She was living in New Jersey and traveled with the couple for about two weeks.  One of their photos outside Grant’s Tomb quickly became one of Y/N’s favorites from the trip.  Dean hadn’t gotten the memo so, while she and Chelsea were making silly faces, he looked like he was posing for a magazine shoot.  “America’s Hottest Historians,” Y/N had joked, Chelsea nodding along.

“I’d buy it,” Chelsea had agreed and they teased Dean about it for the next few days as they traveled north.  

While Y/N was looking forward to the whole trip, one of her most anticipated stops, Sagamore Hill, happened during this leg and she was thrilled to have her boyfriend and one of her best friends, both of whom shared her love for American history, with her.  Y/N couldn’t stop smiling as they explored Theodore Roosevelt’s home.  Dean took her hand, giving it a squeeze as he looked down at her.  As much as he was enjoying the trip, he found that watching Y/N was even more enthralling than the history that was surrounding them.  She was like a kid on Christmas and her enthusiasm was both beautiful and contagious.

After Sagamore Hill, they continued on, going as far as New Hampshire and even making a stop in honor of fictional president Josiah Bartlet, where the girls got in some more good natured ribbing (“I still can’t believe that you had never seen ‘The West Wing’ until I came along, Dean!”).  

On the way back, they decided to try to stop in Vermont for the night and visit the birthplace of Calvin Coolidge.  The three arrived fairly late at night, figuring they could crash in a motel somewhere along the interstate, however, there was literally nothing around them.  

As they drove through the dark, their GPS started fritzing, the satellite unable to locate them in the countryside.  Eventually, they passed what looked like a general store but it was closed for the night.  Dean pulled over so Y/N could read a sign near the side of the road, hoping for some insight.

“Um, guys?” Y/N said, fighting a giggle.  “We’re in the exact right place.  According to this, Calvin Coolidge’s birthplace was that store and he’s buried somewhere over yonder but we can’t see anything because it’s dark.”  Y/N was tired and had to laugh.

Chelsea joined in her laughter.  “Check it out, ‘The Top of the Notch Tearoom and Gift Shop.’”  She pointed out the window to a sign that was barely visible as the pair dissolved into overtired, giddy laughter.

“Thank you for everything, Vermont,” Y/N deadpanned between giggles.

Dean snorted at that, taking in his tired girlfriend and her equally exhausted friend.  “You can’t make this shit up,” he murmured.  “Alright, you two,” Dean declared, “calm down.  We might as well head back to Albany tonight and I’m gonna need your help navigating if we’re going to make it.”  

Y/N and Chelsea only laughed harder, though nothing that Dean had said was particularly funny.  They had what Y/N liked to call “the sleepy ha-has,” where everything and anything could set off another giggle fit.  Y/N took out the map, wanting to help, but as she scanned the paper, looking for their location and the way back to the highway, she noticed something that set her off again.  “Did you know...” she asked, tears forming in her eyes from the continued laughter, “did you know there’s a Winchester, Vermont?”

The trio did eventually make it back to Albany that night and then started their journey south, back towards New Jersey.  They made a stop at the home of Martin Van Buren and then drove through New York to return Chelsea to her apartment before Dean and Y/N headed south.  The pair explored Washington DC and the surrounding area, eventually making their way to Keene, Virginia.

Y/N was giddy as they pulled up to Pine Knot.  Dean was excited, too, but he also wanted to tease her.  “You know Teddy was a pansy, right?” Dean asked, keeping one eye on the dirt road while he watched Y/N’s reaction.

Y/N gasped in response, sliding as far away from her boyfriend as she could in the Impala’s front seat.  “How dare you?” she questioned in mock horror.  “You take that back.”

“Never!” Dean laughed.  “He was hunting and couldn’t shoot the dang bear!  Even after his friends helped him out.”

Y/N pointed an accusatory finger at Dean, who was now fastidiously keeping his eyes on the road as he fought to keep a smirk off of his lips.  “You know it wasn’t a fair fight.  They chained an old, sick bear to a tree!” Y/N huffed.  “Gloating like you’re some expert hunter or something…” she grumbled, “you wouldn’t have been able to shoot it either.” Y/N’s accusation was accompanied by a hard poke to Dean’s arm.

Dean finally broke, his smile coming through in full force as laughter bubbled from his lips.  “Dad and Uncle Bobby never could get my brother or I to pull the trigger on hunting trips when we were kids.  Too many deer got away because all we could see was Bambi, much to their disappointment.”  Dean’s laughter was contagious and the couple giggled together as the car came to a stop outside of Teddy Roosevelt’s cabin.

Dean had booked a tour of the place and, as the pair got out of the car, an official looking man greeted them.  Dean shared a brief, quiet conversation with him and handed the man something but Y/N couldn’t see what it was.  She raised an eyebrow at him but he just shrugged and followed the man towards Pine Knot.  

They toured the site, each trying to one up the other with Roosevelt trivia, their guide honestly impressed by their knowledge.  

“You know his wife gave him an allowance,” Y/N commented, nudging Dean’s shoulder.

Dean laughed, pretending that she had shoved him as he stumbled backwards.  “Yeah, $20 a day.  And don’t you go getting any ideas like that.”  

Their tour guide laughed with them at that, looking to Dean and waiting for his response as they passed by one of the cabin’s sleeping spaces.  She didn’t think they were being obnoxious about it, but Y/N wouldn’t be surprised if their guide was learning things from listening to the two of them talk.

“Oh!  How about… TR let off steam by having pillow fights with his kids,” Dean replied, inspired by their surroundings and whooping in victory when the guide nodded in affirmation.

The tour continued in much the same way until Y/N stopped, pulling on Dean’s arm excitedly.  “I’ve got one!  Um… When he read the book ‘How the Other Half Live,’ Roosevelt sent the author a note that basically said ‘I’m here to help, let’s do it.’”  Y/N was looking around the space with a dreamy smile.  “He believed in things and he didn’t just believe in them, he did them.  What more can you ask for?  He just loved people.”

Dean pulled her in and kissed her.  “You are such an amazing woman, you know that, right?” he asked before kissing Y/N again.  “Let’s get some lunch.”  

The pair made their way out of the cabin and onto the porch, where a large picnic basket was waiting for them with Dean’s keys on top.  He pocketed the keys and grabbed the basket, opening it and pulling out a red and white checked blanket which he laid out on the Pine Knot porch.  His hands disappeared into the basket again and when he withdrew them, they were holding a teddy bear.

Dean grabbed Y/N’s hand and turned to face her.  “I know I just said it but, Y/N, you are an amazing woman.  You are smart, sweet, funny, and you have a passion for history that rivals even my own,” he told her as he held up the stuffed bear.  It was dressed like Teddy Roosevelt, its namesake, and Dean held it out to Y/N.  “This is for you, as well as something that I hid in one of his pockets.”

Y/N took the bear and dipped her fingers into the small pockets on it’s vest and jacket until she felt something cold and metal.  She pulled it out and held a beautiful ring between her fingers.  Y/N turned back to Dean to thank him and her hands immediately flew to her mouth when she found him down on one knee in front of her.

“Y/N, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

She nodded before squeaking out an excited “Yes!” between her fingers

Y/N dropped her hands from her face and Dean grabbed them, taking the ring from her and sliding it onto her finger.  He stood and kissed her, their teeth clacking together here and there since neither of them could stop smiling.  When they broke apart, their tour guide handed Dean a camera, telling the couple that he got some good photos, and Y/N beamed at him.

“You thought of everything, didn’t you?” she asked, her voice a whisper, and Dean smiled nodded, giving her another quick peck on the lips.

“There really is a meal in there,” Dean told her, indicating the picnic basket, “and I don’t know about you but I was too nervous to eat breakfast this morning so I’m starving.”  He sat down on the blanket he’d set out and started pulling fruit and cheese from the basket, followed by sandwiches and a couple of water bottles.  Y/N sat beside him and they each ate with only one hand, Dean’s right hand grasping Y/N’s left and occasionally playing with the ring that now resided there.

Once they finished their meal, they scrolled through the photos together before strolling the trails that surrounded Pine Knot, neither of them ready to leave what had become a magical place.  

After their day at the cabin, the rest of the trip went by in a blur and before either of them knew it, Dean and Y/N were back in Kansas, ready to plan a wedding and start the rest of their lives together.

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[gretagerwigarchive]

Greta Gerwig: “I have a lot to be euphoric about right now”

by Helen Bownass, Feb 27, 2018.

source: https://www.stylist.co.uk/visible-women/greta-gerwig-interview-lady-bird-oscars-2018/192489

Did you ever imagine that this tale of a teenage girl navigating her life would affect so many people on so many levels?

I certainly wrote it wanting people to identify with it or be able to see themselves in it somehow, but 
I never expected it to be on the level that it has been. Doing the London Film Festival [in October 2017] was the first time I had this sense that it was connecting. People were saying, “I’ve never heard of Sacramento, but I’m telling you, that’s my story”, 
and that was very emotional
 for me.

What I’ve always
 loved about movies is that they are something that allows people to understand commonalities between a human experience, even though it might be a highly specific story that doesn’t seem like it would be universal, but somehow it is.

How do you feel about the volume of conversation around your Oscar nomination?

I know how much it’s meant for me: the women I’ve looked up to and their visibility as artists of the cinema has shaped my ability to think that I could do this. Whether it’s Agnès Varda, Sally Potter, Sofia Coppola or how much it meant to me when Kathryn Bigelow won the Oscar… I came to them through repertory programming [a cinema that shows a repertoire of old and art-house films] and that spotlight being placed on female directors changed things for me, so I can only imagine that it probably changes things for other people.

Until it’s closer to 50/50, I say keep shouting about it, because it might reach a girl or woman who hasn’t directed or is looking for the courage to do it and move them to make that step.

Fifty per cent of directors being female by 2020 sounds
 great in theory, but
 how will we actually get to that point?

When I think about
 moving forward, I think 
the fact that there aren’t
 more female directors 
has to do with a lack of
 taking a chance on 
someone. Experience 
aggregates; if someone
 doesn’t take a chance
then they don’t get that experience. By the time [a woman] gets all the
 way up the ladder when [producers] look round and say, “Who could
 direct it?” – but women
 weren’t given an
opportunity in the beginning.

Fifty/fifty by 2020 is an incredible goal, but some of these things will need to be persistently tackled for years because you don’t get to an all-male hiring pool in five years – you get to an all-male hiring pool by having 90 years of ‘this is how we do it’. You need to actively push the other way.

I look at statistics of kids graduating from film school and it’s half women, so they’re there. Something happens between half of the people who graduate from film school who are women, to there being no women directors. 
I think when these things aren’t talked about, they become invisible because it’s like the air we breathe, and pointing it out makes it obvious.

Have you thought about what your personal role is in changing this?


I’ve been very impressed with women, like Reese Witherspoon and Margot Robbie, who have started their own production companies and hire female directors. This is something that has been percolating for me, and I would love to figure out how to help other women get movies made.

Did you do an inner cheer when Natalie Portman called out the all-male best director nominees at the Golden Globes?

I actually didn’t see that until the next day because I was backstage. My favourite part was the way she backed up from the microphone, as if she just dropped it.

We’ve all witnessed the power of Time’s Up in a post-Weinstein world. How do we ensure that isn’t just for an elite voice? How do we ensure that this is being talked about across all of humanity?

When the leaders of Time’s Up wrote their response letter, it was to women across all industries. Being able to back that up with a legal fund so that women who didn’t have resources could get legal aid if there was a harassment situation in a workplace is very thoughtful and it’s very important.

It’s something that’s obviously in all walks of life. It’s really important to move this on to people who don’t have resources or the same amplification of their voices.

So if you have a voice you should use it?

Yes, it’s partly that, and it’s also about where does the attention in the media go to? The New York Times did an incredible piece about auto workers [exposing how women working at two Ford plants in Chicago faced a culture of harassment, published in December 2017], which was using their powers of investigative journalism to shine a light on something important. Focusing on it in all industries is something that you can raise your voice about and that is another way to use that power to change something.

Do you think as a female filmmaker there is more pressure to prove that you can make a successful film?

I think some of that is changing now. Before, there was a sense that every time a woman directed a movie everyone would wait with baited breath to see if it did well or not, because the feeling would be that if it does well then this is good for women and film, and if it doesn’t then it’s bad. I think we’re looking at a time where the numbers, hopefully, are shifting, so every time it’s not a trial over whether people like films about and directed by and written by women; it just becomes another movie.

I certainly felt in ways that I wanted to be as prepared and as ready as I could be because I wanted to make a good film, and I also knew that if the experience of working with me was good, it might make it that much easier for the next woman who comes along.

Writer and director Aaron Sorkin said that a “cloud of euphoria” surrounds you wherever you go. Do you think that’s true?

I think I have a lot to be euphoric about right now; I’ve had a lot to be euphoric about for a very long time. I’m incredibly lucky that I get to do what I love – I get to be around people who are artists of the highest calibre and I am able to see a road where I continue to do this, so I think euphoria is a pretty [good] response to what is going on.

How do you maintain that with the volume of travel and press you’re doing for this film?

I’m pretty good at sleeping on a plane, but it’s never great sleep. I’ve always slept a lot. If I don’t have eight hours of sleep I tend to see everything more negatively and it takes me longer to finish things. When I began my sophomore
 year [at Barnard College, New York] I made a list of priorities 
and number one was to get eight hours of sleep. Everything else fell under that.

Do you still write a list of priorities?


Sometimes I have too many
 things that are important to me. When you’re writing resolutions or priorities you can get very ambitious, and it creates mores stress because you’re not accomplishing the things that you didn’t have time to accomplish in the first place.

It’s helpful for me to focus on ‘What is the actual thing you’re going for? Sure, it would be lovely if you had an extra three hours
 in the day, but if you don’t, what is the thing you really want to do?’

Do you find it easy to recognise what it is you really want? Often many people know there’s something but don’t know how to get to it.

If I’m honest with myself I generally know what it is that I want, it’s just it can get covered over by other things. Sometimes it takes a long time to achieve those goals – for example writing a movie takes a while. Because it’s such a long process, when I would think about the whole thing it would overwhelm me, and I would get scared and think, ‘What if it’s terrible; maybe I should let someone else direct it?’ I would go through whatever my insecurities were.

In a way, it was always, ‘Get it to the next step: just get this scene done. Just get this draft done. Now just give this draft to a friend to read…’ Taking every step as its own action was helpful because it broke it into something that I could wrap my mind around.

You’ve been in the film industry for many years, but this is your first solo-directed project. Where do you go when that is recognised at the highest level critically?

I think no matter who you are, making a film always feels like jumping off a cliff. But if I had to choose my problem, I’d chose this one. If my biggest bellyache is, ‘How will I ever top this?’ then I think that’s OK [laughs].

How do you think Lady Bird will change your career?

When I was going into this, my concern was that I wanted it to reach as many people as it could, but I was mainly thinking about trying to make it easy to make the next one because I want to make a lot of movies. So much of filmmaking is meeting people who will take a chance on you, and it’s easier to take a chance if it worked out the first time. What’s beyond lovely about this moment is that it makes it easier for me to make films now because it went well.

Which other women in the arts should people know about?

Novitiate by Maggie Betts is a beautiful film – and an interesting companion piece to Lady Bird. It’s a completely different vision of Catholicism. It was her first film and I thought it was great. But Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Oh my God I love her – I eat her books whole.

I also love the writer Maggie Nelson. I first read The Argonauts and now I’ve read almost everything she’s written. And Durga Chew-Bose is a brilliant writer; she’s published a book of stories that are beautiful called Too Much And Not In the Mood.

How do you think female artists will evolve with the culture around them now?

I think whether it’s in cinema or other mediums, there will be more and more women contributing their voice to the story of what it means to be human, and that voice has been left out for almost all of human history. I always think about the fact that it was less than 100 years ago in the United States that women got the right to vote, so it’s a crazy amount of transformation that is going on and I couldn’t be more excited.

I love literature from the 17th century, but I’m also vividly aware that there is so much of that time that we don’t know because [women] weren’t writing or participating. As you increase the number of people who are women that are making art, you get a much richer vision of what it means to be human.

[delusion-of-negation]

Don't ask me why I wrote this, I don't know, I have no idea, it just happened, cartoons fucked me up as a kid, they fucked me up. Anyway, here's a quickly written, first draft, absolute garbage, weird story about a trans person getting a new body from the fellows at the baby factory.

At precisely 16:00, the time of my appointment, I arrived at the fabled building. After a moment of adjusting to the cold air and low pressure, I turned to thank my lift, but only a couple of feathers and a small hole in the clouds remained as evidence that there had even been anyone there at all.

I made my way up the marble steps and through the golden doors, into a room that I could only describe as resembling a large, dystopian, London bank. Windows and statues of birds lined the walls to the right and left of me at even intervals, with carved patterns and gold plating on almost every surface, contrasting unpleasantly against the sleek marble. The echoes of nearby chatter and pleading, and the gentle rocking of the wind beating against the cloud that the building stood upon, made the room feel like an unpleasant fairground ride.

My shoes tapped an unsteady rhythm on the shimmering tiles, as I made my way towards the largest window, which stood proudly opposite the main entrance and thankfully had less gold and artwork to distract from its simple majesty. There were no other patrons waiting to be served, so I leant forwards, tilting my mouth towards the tiny black microphone that stuck out from the small ledge, and coughed to get the attention of the staff member.

There was a grunt in response, and I felt beady eyes drilling into my skull, like they were anticipating someone annoying to end their already long day.

"I have an appointment," I stuttered into the microphone, "With customer services."

I heard the tap of a beak bumping into the glass as the tall creature on the other side leant forwards to their microphone, "What for?"

"Repairs and replacements," I said, wracking my brain for all of the numbers and referrals that I'd gone through on the phone earlier that week.

The creature shuffled in their seat, feathers scratching against leather - they were a good half metre taller than me while sitting down.

"Your warranty expired," the creature mumbled, and I glanced up to see the light of a computer screen reflected on their long beak and in their black eyes. The white feathers on their face and neck were tinted slightly blue by the glow.

"I purchased-"

"Yes, our care package," they interrupted nonchalantly, "I see it now. Through the door on the left."

They lifted a wing lazily to gesture in the direction of a simple, wooden door at the end of a path dictated by posts linked by golden rope - likely put there in anticipation of a queue that never formed.

I nodded in gratitude and then made my way between the rows of posts, silently cursing the part of myself that was too polite to simply duck under the rope and make a beeline for the end, until I was through the door and into a long, empty corridor. Concerned about looking out of place or stupid - not that I wasn't aware that I already looked both out of place and stupid being so tiny in a building designed for much larger creatures - I kept walking.

After a sharp right, I found myself face to face with another of the giant storks, but this time there was no glass between us. They were hunched over, fumbling to pick up some papers and books that had somehow become strewn across the floor in disarray.

I bent down and scooped up a few bits and bobs, and then slipped them into the material sling that hung around the stork's neck.

"Thank you, thank you!" they repeated, each time I dropped an item into the makeshift bag, "I really must watch where I'm going. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience- Oh! I know who you are!"

My eyes darted up at the sudden change of tone, "You do?"

The stork stood up to their full height and their head almost brushed the ceiling - I never expected to be able to relate to a fish facing certain death, but standing in the shadow of an eight foot bird sent a chill up my spine.

"Well, you were just a wee little thing when I last saw you, but I'd recognize that hideous mole anywhere!"

I placed a hand over my cheek instinctively, "Umm, you're the one who delivered me?"

"That's me! Storkington Copperfield!" The bird bowed low as they said their name, and the sling tilted dangerously, threatening to throw all of the documents out for a second time, "And may I be the first to say that I am so sorry for the error. The XX and XY models are always getting mixed up; I've complained to HR but they don't listen to us, we're just the delivery guys..."

The bird trailed off and began mumbling in anagrams and company policy that I didn't understand, and it took over a minute of gobbledygook for them to realize that I wasn't following at all.

"Yes!" they exclaimed in answer to a question that I hadn't yet plucked up the courage to ask, cutting off their own rant, "I'm who your appointment is with today. Sorry, I'm a little flustered - bird-brained, as your kind would say!"

The squawk that followed, which I assumed was either how their kind laughed or the equivalent of snorting in humans, was nearly enough to make me jump out of my skin.

"Anyway!" Storkington cawed, "Follow me!"

They led me further down the corridor and into a small office, prancing along effortlessly on spindly legs that didn't look nearly thick enough to hold up the rounded body, huge wingspan, downy neck and long beak.

I cannot stress enough how big the bird really was up close, it was like seeing a moose for the first time - except, I'd seen storks before, at least, the ones we had miles below in the normal world. The workers and owners of this huge corporation weren't the same as our storks - they were taller, bulkier, and looked more like someone had poured glue over a skinny dinosaur and then thrown it into a pile of feathers, before taping a sword to its face.

Actually, that mental image was a lot more amusing than watching Storkington's legs bend backwards with each step, as their head bobbed up and down above me.

They clicked the sign on the outside of the office door into the "In Use" position, before nudging the door itself closed and turning to face me. Smaller black feathers surrounded Storkington's eyes, giving the illusion that they were bigger than the other stork's, which was oddly calming.

"We won't be in here long, just need a couple of details before we decide the best way to resolve your case."

I nodded, eager to hurry things along and not be enclosed in a dimly lit room with a creature that could impale me with its mouth for any longer than was absolutely necessary.

"So, your new care package covers all of this - you and Storkney Wellington sorted all of the financial stuff out on the phone, so that's..." they trailed off as they thumbed- winged? -their way through a few pages, "Yes, that's all good."

I nodded again, slightly more forcefully.

"So, I guess all that's left is to establish if we want to repair or replace..?" they said, looking up.

I had been thinking about this for days. I'd weighed up the options and the possibilities. But I had one question before I made my final call...

"Where do you get the replacements?"

The stork let out another squawk-laugh, "Don't humans have factories too?" They wobbled their head from side to side, and their neck weaved like a dangling string that had been lightly shaken, "We are a manufacturer, we make a surplus."

I gawked for a second, "What do you do with them? I mean, who raises them?"

"Raises them?" Storkington lowered their head until the tip of their beak was an inch from my face, and I thought back to the sound of the other stork bumping into the glass, hoping that this one had better spacial awareness. "We don't add the consciousness until they're ready to be delivered, that'd be a waste of valuable resources."

"So there's just a bunch of baby bodies in boxes?"

"They still grow," Storkington explained, pulling his head back, "Would you like to see so that you can pick out a fitting model?"

I nodded in excitement before my thoughts had even had a chance to make sense of what I had heard and what I was agreeing to. Almost immediately, a wing was wrapped around my shoulder, whisking me back out into the corridor and deeper into the innards of the building.

The further we went, the less decorative and majestic the halls became, and the more it resembled a factory or the back of a supermarket, with boxes stacked here and there, scattered footsteps, and the sounds of machinery. I only saw two other birds along the journey, both shorter than Storkington and too busy at work to bother looking up at us as we passed.

It wasn't long after passing the second stork that we stepped through an archway and into a huge, dark chamber. From ceiling to floor it seemed to be occupied by nothing other than rows and rows of thick, metal pillars, darkened with age and wear, with just enough space between them for two of the giant storks to pass through together. The columns looked mechanical, but old, rusted in some places.

Then there was a click, and I looked back to see Storkington with one wing against the wall where I'd expect a lightswitch to be.

The columns began whirring, clunking, moving in sync - as the metal pulled away from itself, blue lights began to shine through the gaps.

The outershell of the pillars disappeared into the ceiling and floor, section by section, revealing glass cylinder upon glass cylinder, each glowing blue and holding a human form within it.

I took a step towards the closest one and stared into the empty, grey eyes of an elderly woman. She looked like a corpse, hairless, lifeless, dead-eyed, just a shell - there was no character in her face, no wrinkles formed by laughter, no scars or stretch marks anywhere to be seen. It was so chillingly clear that she had never even been alive, but it all combined to make it impossible to place her age - that is, until I glanced at a little white sticker, about chest height and on the left side of the container.

"Manufactured March 4th 1867."

If it wasn't for the fact that her lifeless eyes and flawless skin were haunting to the point of feeling inhuman, I'd have said that she looked bloody good for 150.

"Row G7 has the age and sex that you're looking for," Storkington said cheerily, "Follow me!"

[setepenre-set]

Temptress

( suggested by @yamiyoukaipao and @rabbit-kinder )

partial role-reversal AU, Roxanne is a supervillain and Megamind is a hero

T rating, (brief language, sensuality)

Megamind/Roxanne

AO3  |  FFN

“Come on, buddy; hurry up,” Metro Man’s voice comes through Megamind’s earpiece.

“Shut up, Wayne; I am trying to concentrate!” Megamind hisses back, up to his elbows in the circuitry of Temptress’s bomb, attempting to figure out how to stop it from exploding without, hey, making it explode.

“This is taking too long; hurry up; you gotta go after her; she’s gonna get away again—”

“Yes, well, excuse me if I’m less worried about that than the possibility of exploding and dying a fiery death—”

(red wire, red wire, another red wire; why are all of the goddamn wires red; why does Metro City’s supervillain have to be so damn smart; now he has to trace each wire back to its origin to figure out which one is which—)

“What are you, afraid she’s going to kiss you again?” Wayne asks. “Don’t know what you’re so freaked about; it’s not like her powers even work on you—”

“If you don’t shut up, I am going to—”

“—she kisses everybody; it’s kind of her thing—”

“—going to end up dying a painful and explosively exciting death that I in no way deserve—”

“—just because you have a mindcrush on her—”

“I do not have a mindcrush!” Megamind says. “That isn’t even a thing that people—and! and aren’t you supposed to be rescuing the hostages right now?”

Wayne laughs, the bastard.

“As opposed,” Megamind continues, “to bothering me while I am engaged in a very delicate operation with an intensely complicated and dangerous piece of technology that could lead to—”

“—mindcrush,” Wayne says smugly, and then cuts the feed before Megamind can respond; Megamind regrets every day the necessity of working with him—

Ha! There’s the correct wire! Except—ah, yes, there’s the secondary booby trap that will be triggered by cutting it, god, but she’s good—

Er. Bad. Yes. Very very bad, a very bad supervillain who he in no way has a mindcrush on, because he is a superhero, damn it, and he takes his responsibilities to this city seriously—

Megamind cuts the wire and promptly triggers a tertiary booby trap. He has just enough time to think oh no before there is an explosion of purple glitter from the ceiling above his head. It rains down on him, coating his skin, his clothes, and his boots.

A small white piece of paper flutters down after the glitter; Megamind catches it.

Sure enough, there’s a note written on it in her handwriting:

Stay pretty, sweetheart.

There’s a scarlet lipstick print on the paper in place of a signature, the imprint of a kiss. He can smell her perfume on the page.

Megamind feels himself flushing hot beneath the glitter.

Oh, god, who is he kidding; this is so much worse than a mind crush.

There’s a reason she’s called the Temptress; and there’s a reason Metro Man couldn’t be the one to chase after her while Megamind was busy trying to defuse the bomb.

Her pheromone powers wreak havoc; people meant to be arresting her end up falling at her feet instead in adoration and desire. They even work on Wayne, when she really makes an effort, and when she uses them on Minion, they give him a splitting headache and jumpstart his mating season instincts, which is…awkward.

But they don’t work on Megamind, for some reason. When she defeats him (and she does, sometimes) it’s not because of her powers; it’s because she is incredibly intelligent.

She is—her mind is just—yeah, okay, Megamind has a crush on it, all right, but also—

—also, she’s—

Amazing. In. In general. And god, does he ever wish he could blame his weird, pathetic feelings for her on her powers.

Later, after the Temptress has, in fact, gotten away again, after Megamind has been laughed at by Wayne and scolded by Minion for getting glitter all over the uniform Minion designed for him (again), after he’s taken several showers in an attempt to get rid of the glitter—

(personally, he has a sneaking fondness for the shiny stuff, but Minion hates the way it gets everywhere)

—he takes out the note she wrote to him and looks it over again.

Stay pretty, sweetheart.

And then the lipstick mark in the shape of her mouth, making him remember—

They’re fighting, in one of the alleyways near the library; he almost manages to dehydrate her, but she dodges in time and knocks the de-gun out of his hand with a kick, and then she shoves him back against the rough brick wall of the alley, her own ray gun pressed beneath his chin and—

There’s a setting on her ray gun that’s similar to the debilitate setting on his; she’s hit him with it before and he’s expecting her to hit him with it again now (it’s probably going to hurt a bit more at point-blank range, but fair is fair and—)

He’s certainly not expecting her to kiss him, but she does, her body pressed against his, and her mouth—

Megamind, standing in the workroom of his secret hideout, comes back to himself with a jerk, flushing hot as he realizes that he’s unconsciously pressed two fingers against his lips, remembering—

Kissing is kind of the Temptress’s thing, but she’s never done it to him before, in all the time that they’ve fought, all of the…

It doesn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything to her, for god’s sake, Megamind, get a grip.

(the easy way she’d parted his lips with her tongue and licked into his mouth, the way he’d made an embarrassingly needy sound and clutched at her instead of pushing her away like he should have, the way she’d tasted—)

(she’d pulled away out of the kiss and it had taken a moment for Megamind to remember himself enough to open his eyes, and he’d been gasping for breath, and she’d been looking at him with a strange expression, and she’d said—)

(—aren’t you pretty when you’re breathless—)

Megamind slams the note down on the drafting table beside him.

(stay pretty, sweetheart)

Pretty.

Yeah, right.

As though someone like her could ever look at him and honestly think pretty.

The mockery stings more than the fact that she could have had him, today—if the tertiary trap had been a real bomb instead of glitter, he’d be dead now.

(she could have had you in that alleyway, too, his mind whispers slyly, could have had you in more than one way, could have had you any way she wanted)

He picks up a wrench and goes to work on the battle suit that got damaged a month ago, when she robbed the art museum.

(she hadn’t wanted him, didn’t want him. that was the point.)

It’s a good thing Wayne and Minion have a date tonight, Megamind reflects with grim satisfaction as he starts on the suit. He is in no mood for company right now; he even sent the brainbots out to practice defensive maneuvers without him, because he didn’t know if he could even deal with the prospect of interacting with them.

Better this way; he can take out his frustration on non-sentient machinery and try to get his feelings under—

There’s someone watching him.

The sudden sensation of being observed by unseen eyes prickles up his spine, raising goosebumps on his skin, making his nerves sing.

He strains his ears, but he can’t hear anything, can’t—

(should he turn now; should he wait until whoever it is comes closer, to catch them off guard, should he—)

There’s a sound, finally, a whisper of fabric; it’s in front of him, and Megamind looks up sharply, still crouched on the ground, and sees—

Her.

She steps out from the darkness, the shadows clinging to her like they love her too much to let her go, her cape sliding over the concrete floor languidly, like the caress of a lover.

“Temptress,” he breathes, and she smiles at him, mouth crimson and eyes wicked as she strides towards him, unhurried, confident.

He drops the wrench (like the utter, utter idiot that he is) and scrambles to his feet, stumbling backwards until his back hits the wall.

Her smile widens and she catches both of his wrists in her hands, pulling them above his head, pinning them there.

She steps forward, pressing against him, her face inches from his, and he cannot bring himself to meet her gaze.

“Megamind,” she murmurs, “we meet again.”

He turns his head away, eyes closed, hating himself for the way his pulse is fluttering, hating how weak he is, how he’s unable to make himself push her away.

She changes her grip on his wrists, so that she’s holding both of them in one of her hands, now. She trails the gloved fingertips of her other hand down the side of his throat and he shudders.

“That’s new,” she says, “you’ve never been afraid of me, before.”

Megamind swallows hard.

“What are you scared of, sweetheart?” she asks teasingly, her lips brushing against his ear. “Are you afraid I’m going to kiss you again?”

She nuzzles just beneath his ear and it takes all of Megamind’s self-control not to moan.

“Are you afraid you’ll fall in love with me if I do?” she whispers.

“—too late,” Megamind says, before he can stop himself, and then—

She kisses him again, and it’s even better than the last time, which he hadn’t previously thought possible, her hand beneath his chin, instead of a gun, the gloved fingers of her other hand lacing with his and—

He feels the moment that her pheromone powers spike; they’re always there, a low level hum in the back of his mind, but this is sudden and strong enough that it has to be deliberate, and that—the confirmation that this isn’t real, that she’s not kissing him because she wants to, but because she knows she can use this against him—

That hits him in a sickening wave of misery.

He pushes her away.

“Don’t,” he hisses as she stumbles back from him.

A look of confusion crosses her face; she tips her head and he feels her powers spike again, even higher this time, crackling in the air between them.

“Stop it,” he says, angry now, which is good, because if he wasn’t angry, he’s pretty sure he’d be crying, “that doesn’t work on me.”

She narrows her eyes, lunges for him suddenly, hand beneath his chin again, tilting it up so she can look into his eyes.

“But you are attracted to me,” she says, almost accusingly. “I can tell!”

“Yeah, I am,” Megamind snaps, jerking out of her grip and stepping away, arms crossed defensively in front of his chest.

“You let me kiss you! Twice!”

“Yeah,” Megamind says flatly, “I did.”

“You said that you loved me!”

Megamind flinches, shoulders curving inwards, looking at the floor.

“Can we please not talk about that?” he asks, hating how small his voice sounds.

“…was that…but that had to be the pheromones…”

He looks up at her sharply; she actually looks uncertain. He’s never seen her look like that, before, and her voice—sounded almost as small as his.

“Do you—do you mean you actually just—like me?” she says, sounding bewildered. “As a person?”

“Oh, come on; how could I not?!” Megamind bursts out, gesturing wildly at her. “You’re—brilliant and you’re funny and you’re—so much—kinder than you pretend to be and you—you treat the brainbots like they’re alive and—you’re—”

He gestures again, at a loss for words.

She stares at him, that odd, unreadable expression from the alleyway on her face again.

“…you didn’t even say beautiful,” she says, sounding lost.

“—yes, beautiful, that too, obviously,” he says, dragging his hands over his face, wanting to sink through the floor.

(god, why is this happening to him; why is he so stupid)

“No, I mean—beautiful—that’s what everybody always says, when I ask them,” she says, moving towards him, her eyes wide, “they always—beautiful is the only thing people ever say, the only reason they ever—”

She reaches for him again and he watches her warily but lets her do it, lets her touch his face gently, lets her hold it in her hands.

“The pheromones really still don’t work on you?”

“No,” he says quietly. “No, they don’t.”

Her expression changes, then, turns—relieved? Why is she—?

“I thought…” she trails off, not finishing the sentence.

Her pheromone powers spike, higher than he’s ever felt them before, her eyes fixed on his face. After a moment, they drop again.

“Nothing?” she says.

He shakes his head, gently enough that her hands stay on his face.

She smiles, then, a wider, brighter, and more—honest—smile than he’s ever seen her wear, and she leans forward, closing the few inches between them.

She cradles his face in her hands and she kisses him like she’s afraid he’s going to break, or disappear, and when he reaches for her, wraps his arm gently around her waist and touches her jaw with the shaking fingertips of his other hand, she makes a quiet, amazed noise and breaks the kiss.

“—let me keep you,” she says. She presses a line of fluttering kisses up his jaw. “Let me keep you; stay with me. Let me love you, let me make you my king; we can rule this city, you know we can; together we’d be unstoppable—”

“I know—” Megamind says, turning his head to press a kiss to her hair, “I know we would; that’s why—that’s why I can’t—”

“Please,” she begs. “Please, Megamind, please—”

“Roxanne—Roxanne, I—I can’t—”

“Why?” she snarls, pulling back to look at him in the face, her eyes blazing, “why not? Why do you care about these people so much? Don’t you know what they’re like?”

“Yes,” he says, “I—I do know what they’re like.”

He strokes his fingers through her hair, and she doesn’t stop glaring at him, but she does lean into his touch.

“I care because—because I have to believe that they can be better. If I give them a chance.”

She makes an angry, wounded noise and he kisses her soothingly,

“Why are you so good?” she says, still frowning, when he breaks the kiss.

He gives a quiet, breathless laugh.

“I mean, I try really hard to be,” he says honestly.

She growls, narrowing her eyes, and he bumps their noses together, surprising her into blinking at him, wide-eyed.

“You could, um—you could try?” he says uncertainly, playing with the ends of her hair. “Being—good. I mean. You could—I could help you. If—if you wanted?”

She stares at him.

“…wouldn’t your sidekick have something to say about that?” she says.

“Minion?” Megamind says. “No. Minion likes you; I thought you—”

“—not Minion; Metro Man,” she says, lips twisting.

Megamind blinks at her, and then laughs.

“Flatterer,” he says, and kisses her quickly, inordinately pleased at her calling Metro Man his sidekick. “No, Wayne wouldn’t have a problem with it; he’d actually—heh, he’d probably actually be wildly excited; he’s been wanting to retire for years, and you stopping supervillainy would probably give him the perfect excuse, especially if—”

He cuts himself off as a possibility occurs to him, a wondrous, glorious possibility, but she’ll probably never—

“Especially if what?” Roxanne asks.

“Um, I mean—I actually got into this—the—uh—the superhero thing, I mean—for community service, and so I’m fairly certain I could swing something like that for you if you were interested, and then Wayne really would be able to retire, because he’d have a replacement and—and we could. You said—you said that—together, we’d be unstoppable, and we could—we could. We could…be partners. If you wanted.”

Her lips part; Megamind looks at her nervously, watching her expression as she stares at him.

“Partners,” she says, “I—yes, partners, I’d—I’d like that.”

Megamind’s heart leaps in his chest, but then her expression goes abruptly dark and shuttered and she steps back from him, arms crossed over her chest, like she’s cold.

“…it’s a nice dream, sweetheart,” she says, voice low and eyes shadowed. “But it—it’d never work. They’d never let me; you have to realize that—”

“I—”

He reaches for her, but she shies away.

“Don’t,” she says, “don’t act like—you say you know what they’re like, but you have no idea—”

“Roxanne—”

“Do you know what they did to me, when my powers first showed up?” she asks fiercely, “They locked me in a lab because they said I was ‘too dangerous’ to be around normal people. They put a shock collar on me, to teach me to control myself. Like I was a dog. I was fourteen. So don’t you tell me that you know what they’re like, because—”

“They did that to me, too,” Megamind says, voice quiet, and she stops, stares at him, her eyes wide and shining with tears.

“…they…”

“Not the shock collar,” he continues, “but there was this—this helmet that they designed for me, after I got arrested as a teenager. It was meant to interfere with cognitive function, to keep me in line. I was lucky, the Warden—I only—I only actually wore it a couple of times; after that, it was always mysteriously broken when they went to put it on me, and like I said, after that, I got—let out on parole for community service and they stopped— I’m—I’m so sorry, Roxanne. I’m so sorry that you didn’t have—someone to help you, like I did. I’m so sorry that—that you were alone. But you don’t—you don’t have to be alone anymore. Not if—not if you don’t want to be.”

Roxanne looks at him, her expression strangely blank. She tilts her head.

“They did that to you,” she says, voice expressionless, “and you became a superhero for them?”

“I—I mean—” Megamind twists his fingers around each other awkwardly, “that was—like I said, that was community service, originally, and also sort of—um. Damage control. When we were teenagers, Wayne wasn’t exactly the most—he was already a hero, but he didn’t—he needed someone to make sure he remembered to think…”

“And now you want me to play nice,” Roxanne says, lip curling in a sneer, “with these vicious, mindless idiots who decided to torture both of us for being different?”

Roxanne draws herself up, hands curling into fists at her sides, chin going up, lips curving into a dangerous smile.

(no—not Roxanne; this is the Temptress again, every inch a supervillain, ever inch the Evil Queen, ready to crush the city beneath the heels of her high leather boots, ready to bring you to your knees and make you thank her for the privilege of kissing her feet)

((all shall love her and despair, Megamind’s mind whispers to him, and oh, he does love her, he does, but he will not despair; he refuses—))

“They called me evil,” she says, “Well, that’s what they got. That’s what they deserve.”

“But that’s not what you deserve, Roxanne,” Megamind says.

Roxanne freezes.

Her eyes are wide and shocked as she stares at him for a long moment, neither of them moving, and then Megamind crosses to her, hands fluttering as he touches her arms, her face.

“Please,” he whispers, “you deserve to be happy, Roxanne. Please let me—let me try to help you to be happy.”

“I—can’t—I can’t,” she says miserably, tears in her eyes spilling over, “I can’t, my powers—I can control them now, but they’re always there; I can’t turn them off, and they’ll never let me—they’ll never let me, not like this—”

“I can fix that,” Megamind blurts out. “I—I mean! Not—not fix like—it’s not that you’re broken, I don’t mean fix like—I just—” He takes a sharp breath through his nose. “I can see that your constant low-level pheromone emission might pose a problem in certain circumstances,” he says, “and I think I’ve come up with a way around it.”

“—you—?”

“Ah! Yes! I mean, it was actually sort of on accident,” he says, “I was trying to figure out why your powers don’t work on me; I assumed it had something to do with my species processing pheromones differently, or possibly having different pheromones key off attraction, so that it was almost like…mmm…like I was somehow ‘blind’ to the signals that you were giving off, yes?”
 “…yes?” Roxanne says.

“No!” Megamind says, gesturing excitedly with both hands, “Turns out I was completely wrong; it’s not that my body doesn’t sense the pheromones you give off, it’s that my body actually produces a chemical that functions to block them! It’s really quite fascinating—I did some experiments and I’ve put something together that I think should enable you to completely control the pheromone emission—”

“—and—taking this would…get rid of the pheromone powers entirely?” Roxanne asks slowly.

Megamind stops, nose wrinkling.

“I mean—in high enough doses, it could probably nullify them completely, so that you couldn’t access them at all, but obviously that wouldn’t be the goal. We’d have to do some experiments, of course, and I’d want you to look over my research to see if you think I’ve missed anything, but I’m confident that if we worked together, we could find a dosage level that would allow you to inhibit them just enough. So that you wouldn’t be giving off the constant low-level emission, but you’d still be able to use them if you wanted to and I’m—not really sure why you’re looking at me like that?”


“—nullifying them completely—wouldn’t have to be the goal?” she asks, voice wavering.

“Wh—no, of course not, Roxanne,” Megamind says, “of course not—I—you don’t have to try the pheromone inhibitor at all if you don’t want to; we can come up with something else if you like. I just—it’s—it’s your choice; it’s always your choice. I just want you to know that you do have that as a choice. That’s all.”

“That’s all,” Roxanne says, and she’s crying again, oh god, is he doing this completely wrong? “That’s all? Megamind, that’s—you’re—”

She stops and gestures a little wildly, evidently unable to come up with words, and he shrinks backwards, sure that he really has done this completely wrong, but then she throws herself into his arms, sudden and graceless, and kisses him again.

She’s crying, still, but she’s also sort of laughing breathlessly, and her arms are wound tight around him, like she never wants to let him go, and, okay, yes, this is good, it’s so, so good—

The sound of the door opening, and of voices and laughter, makes them both jump.

“—you laugh but you know I’m right!” Minion says, over the sound of Wayne snickering. “You’re just—uh…”

There’s a long, awkward moment of silence as the two of them stare at Megamind and Roxanne.

Wayne coughs.

“Um,” says Megamind, not at all intelligently.

“Sooooo…” Wayne says, “is this a battle thing or a date thing? ‘Cause I can’t tell if I should strike a heroic pose or not?”

Minion, at Wayne’s side, is goggling at the Megamind and Roxanne, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly like all of the water in his headpiece has suddenly disappeared.

“Um,” says Megamind again, even less intelligently than before.

Roxanne laughs, a bright ripple of sound that, even in the midst of his intense embarrassment, makes him shiver.

“Oh, there won’t be any need for that,” she says, smirking at Wayne and Minion. “Haven’t you heard? I’ve decided to renounce my wicked ways and reform for the love of a good man.”

Megamind’s mouth falls open in shock, and he can feel himself flush suddenly. Is she—

“—really?” he manages to say.

She looks at him again, and he’s amazed to see that there’s a slight flush on her cheeks, too.

“Yeah,” she says softly, “yeah, that’s—really.”

“…okay! That’s—that’s great, guys,” Wayne says after a long moment, “uh. Yeah. Minion and I are just gonna—go hang out at my place, now, right after I say I told you so—yeah, okay, Minion; I’m coming; I’m coming—”

Megamind, too busy kissing Roxanne to actually answer, makes a rude gesture at him.

(Roxanne laughs into the kiss.)

[schuylersxster]

Welcome to Heathrow Airport, II

[PART ONE]

Words: 1225

Author’s Note: A few anons asked for part two, so here it is! (Even though it’s been months. Oops?) Let me know if you want a part 3 or have any other requests!

Warnings: there are a few curse words and it’s kind of long, but that’s it? haha

”Well, hello, stranger,” Lin was walking down the aisle with his carry-on in hand. You had already been on the plane for a few minutes, somehow being one of the first boarding groups.

This was one of those obnoxiously large planes that had too many rows and carried too many people. And you had an aisle seat. Naturally.

“Wasn’t expecting you to be riding back here with us plebeians,” you responded, giving a bit of a laugh as he stops a row ahead of you and places his bag in the overhead compartment.

Glancing back at his ticket and then to the numbers overhead, he points to the window seat one down from you, “That’s me, actually.” Smiling, you stood to let him into the row, and you kept talking, pausing briefly every time someone would pause by your row, silently praying it wasn’t the guy in B. But takeoff was getting closer and closer and seat B remained empty, so you continued conversing with Lin.

Eventually, you were in the air and the guy from B never showed up or the ticket had never sold. Whatever the reason, you were thankful.

It must have been the surprise that had caught you off-guard.

But surprise only lasts so long, so in all reality, you know it’s bullshit.

Surprise lasts for a few days, maybe a week or two at most. Not two months.

But you were on deadline for real as soon as you stepped foot back in America, so that was worth something. Right? You hadn’t moved far from your apartment for the past two months, going so far as to get groceries delivered once and then deciding never again because the exchanging of pleasantries with the grocery boy every Thursday was necessary to your sanity.

Deadline had been rough. There wasn’t time for much except for editing and the occasional gif of a screaming R2D2 on Twitter, but now that the book was out to the printers there was a vast nothingness that had overcome you. There was your book in draft that you should—and were—working on, but nothing compared to the crunch of a final deadline.

And, in all honesty, the plane ticket with Lin’s number scrawled onto it was more of a distraction than you had imagined it would be, so it had been placed between the pages of a book you picked at random and returned to your six, color-coated shelves.

Now half of them were on the floor of your living room because god damn it if you weren’t going to search through each and every one of them before admitting to yourself that you may have actually imagined the entire thing.

Why hadn’t you written down which book it was in?

“Because that’s the whole point, idiot.”

“What’s the whole point, again? I must’ve missed it.” You swiveled to see your friend and editor standing there with an eyebrow raised, head tilted, and hand on hip. “I see you’re handling the end of deadline . . . well?” She lifted a giant brown bag of what you assumed was Chinese takeout, a tradition between the two of you. “I brought food because I know 80% of what you’ve consumed in the past week has been peanut butter.”

You shrugged, mostly because it was true, and joined her at the table in your kitchen as she slid a couple white boxes your way. “Should I be concerned?”

“About the books? Jen, it’s-” you were about to say it’s nothing to worry about but you both knew it wasn’t true. “I met Lin-Manuel Miranda at Heathrow and he knew who I was and we talked and we were at baggage claim and he took out his plane ticket, wrote his number on it and gave it to me. I freaked out, and I was on deadline, so I put it one of my books. Ya know, out of sight, out of mind and all that shit. Now I don’t remember which book it was.”

Jen just sat there for a second, Kung Pao chicken hanging from her fork for a brief second before both were back in the white container and she was on her feet. “Chinese can be reheated. We’re finding that fucking ticket.”

And, eventually, you did. But you refused to do anything about it until the books were back in place and you have consumed an outrageous amount of food. As Jen was grabbing her bag and swinging on her coat, she stopped. “You sure you don’t need moral support?”

Looking up from the ticket you were twirling in your hand, you shook your head. “Thanks, though.”

“Alright,” she shrugged. There was a quick “Get me your next draft when you’re ready” before she was out the door, lock clicking behind her.

Shit. I actually have to do this now.

Typing the number on your phone, you’re about to call him when you remember who he is and how busy he is. Text is probably better. But then how will he know it’s actually you? Frustrated by how difficult and annoying text messages are, you end up just calling him. It rings you through to voicemail.

“Oh, hey, Lin, it’s [Y/N] . . . uh, from the airport. Sorry, it took me so long to call you. I was on a deadline as soon as I stepped foot back in the States. Anyway, book four is off to the printer and I remembered you gave me your number and felt horrible. So . . . yeah,” a beep cut you off. You tossed your phone to the carpet as you lay back on the couch.  

After laying like that for a minute, you grabbed your laptop, pulled your hair up, and headed into the kitchen. I need to bake. Opening iTunes, you shuffled your songs at a comfortable volume as you pulled out the book of family recipes you’d put together before leaving home. You grabbed the ingredients out of instinct, knowing exactly what you need before even flipping the book open. Once you put the first batch of cookies in the oven, you headed back to get your phone and saw a missed call, a voicemail, and a few texts.

“Looks like we keep missing each other. We should meet for coffee if you can manage it. I’ll send a couple good places to you and just let me know which is most convenient for you. And when too. We need to set a time and date or else you might show up two months late.” He chuckles. Giggles? Is there an accurate way to describe the way Lin laughs? “I kid. Bye.”

The texts are three coffee shops. You smile as one is your local favorite and the home to most of the edits for your second book—when you had first moved to this apartment. You have fond memories of it, so you tell him which one and that he’s probably 100x busier than you are, but here are the two days that I have all-day meetings and can’t so you decide.

Within a few minutes, there a was a response: could you do tomorrow at 10?

yes! see you there

And for the first time in a long time, you’re nervous. Why are you nervous? It’s only coffee after all.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

BUT ONLY GRADUATION RATES, THEN YOU'LL STAY AHEAD

What Business Can Learn from Open Source August 2005 This essay is derived from a keynote talk at the fall 2002 meeting of NEPLS. In every presidential election since TV became widespread, they'd become auto-unsubscribing filters. In fact, here there was a bimodal economy consisting, in Galbraith's words, of the forces underlying open source and blogging is that ideas can bubble up from the bottom as they get used to it and take it away from the most committed investors and work your way out of the initial sales of the Apple I, he felt obliged to give his then-employer, HP.1 Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Dan Giffin, Sarah Harlin, Jessica Livingston, Greg Mcadoo, our contact at Sequoia, was one of the principles they teach you is to align the car not by lining up the hood with the stripes painted on the side of safety: when someone offers you money, take it. The venture capital business is pretty incestuous, and there was my program, written in C, they would have spent riding it down. I was leaving I offered it to him, he omits any comments except the note-to-peer dating site? If I order something from an online store builder, with about 14,000 users is ipso facto worth exploring. Why spend twenty years climbing the corporate ladder was one of the most memorable paintings, especially when you're young and smart, you don't really understand them.

I met them today They have an interesting business I'm just not sure how much credit to give him. Someone who doesn't know the kind of problem. But otherwise they felt they had enough to work that way. It's a little misleading to talk of versions when describing a gradual process, but that's only the immediate cause. If so, could they actually get things done. In particular, don't be deterred from applying to Y Combinator. Delivered on that promise. Actually it's structural. It was always understood that they enjoyed what they did. They'll lie to you on this one. In fact the large staffs of successful startups have, by building something you yourself need, the first three were our biggest expenses.

That was what we call the classics.2 It seemed curious that the same task could be painful to one person. For example, they like largely for the feeling of virtue in liking them. So far I've been able to achieve filtering rates that approach CRM114's. But that's another issue.3 Founders arriving at Y Combinator said that early on it had been a one-character name. Growth When we launched Viaweb, it seemed as if we were visited by beings from another solar system.4 Thanks to Trevor Blackwell and Jessica Livingston for reading drafts of this. In math it means that a shorter proof tends to be related, in that government office was a recognized route to wealth.5 When you see these ideas laid out like that, remember: ideas like that?

Often your information will be wrong: I tried living in Florence when I was a kid playing basketball? Sometimes they even agree with one another to invest in successive rounds, it often feels like they're trying to force them to be cold and calculating, or at least to yourself, I don't think it has much to offer good programmers, one of the top 20 YC companies by valuation have the. If someone pays $20,000 for 10% of a company like Yahoo or Intel or Cisco, he'd think communism had won. At YC we're excited when we figured out what seemed to be from the UK. Japanese are only about 2%. Now anything that became fashionable during the Bubble killed themselves by deciding to build server-based software wins, it will at least be a powerful force. Bill Yerazunis, Dan Giffin, and Lisa Randall for reading drafts of this, and Marc Andreessen, Joe Gebbia date: Fri, Jan 23,2009 at 11:09 AM subject: Re: airbnb They did but I am not sure I buy that ABNB reminds me of Etsy in that it makes me really want to.

And now that I've realized what's going on. Step 3: Series A Round Armed with their now somewhat fleshed-out business plan and trying to decide whether to change some part of it doesn't have to advertise. The history of the 20th century executive salaries were low partly because companies then were more dependent on banks, who would have disagreed with that, so we tightened up our filter to decrease the standard deviation of design outcomes because they want to invest the next time they need funding.6 For example, I doubt it will change anyway. On the average trip I bring four books and only read one of them. Sometimes angels' deal terms are standard doesn't mean they're favorable to you, especially if they're young and ambitious, they want to market themselves to the investors who are seriously interested in you, they will not always say what they really care about is the lack of responsibilities. And so it is unfair when someone works hard and doesn't get paid much. As organizations get smaller, you have to step back one step further along it. Meanwhile the iPhone is selling better than ever. Choosing a marginal project is the startup itself, they might have. I'm convinced the facetime model is not just that it will be to your advantage: you can go too far in any law, and this gives you an excuse for failure. I think the place to focus is the margin of failure, you succeed—and that's too big, they become overwhelmed.7

And what makes them work is not us but their competitors. The best we could do to get started that he was harming his future—that he was writing differentiation programs even in the mating dance with investors; the distinction between the spikes and the average writer of detective novels.8 2 to 3 times as many people alive in the US were designed by architects who expected to live in the suburbs. That was her actual word.9 Thanks to Sam Altman, Jessica Livingston, Jackie McDonough, Robert Morris, and my father for reading drafts of this. The New Funding Landscape October 2010 After barely changing at all for decades, the startup agrees to turn away other VCs for some set amount of time knows not to default to skepticism, no matter how much. The reason, again, language designers are somewhat out of touch with the world. Com. Eventually, they get their investment back before the common stock holders that is, in any social hierarchy, people unsure of their own, you can find someone to handle the paperwork for them. How important is it?10

Notes

I'm not claiming founders sit down and calculate the expected after-tax return from a few stellar exceptions the textbooks are similarly misleading. For more on not screwing up than any other company has to be hard on the entire period since the mid twentieth century, Europeans looked back on industrialization at the moment it's created indeed, is caring what random people thought of them.

Realizing that much to say because most of the most promising opportunities, it could change what it means they still control the company will be, yet.

The French Laundry in Napa Valley. Samuel Johnson said no man but a blockhead ever wrote except for that reason. Any expected value calculation for potential founders, and especially for opinions not expressed in it.

According to a clueless audience like that, founders will seem as if a company. That can be huge. Nat. But it was so violent that she decided never again.

In one way in which I warn about later: beware of getting rich, purely mercenary founders will seem more powerful, because the danger of chasing large investments is not even allowed to discriminate on the y, you'd see a clear upward trend. No one in an industrialized country encounters the idea. Earlier versions used a technicality to get something for which you are listing in order to win. The founders want the first couple times I saw that I hadn't had much success in doing something different if it were.

Of course, that they aren't. So if they don't yet have a three letter word.

Even now it's hard to say that a their applicants come from going to get a patent troll, either as truth or heresy. As Paul Buchheit adds: I remember about the same thing, because they are building, they could bring no assets with them. The late 1960s were famous for social upheaval.

It's not the sense of the biggest discoveries in any field. She ventured a toe in that water a while we have.

It's suspiciously neat. World War II to the founders want the valuation of your identity. No, we used to retrieve orders, view statistics, and don't want to turn down some good ideas buried in Bubble thinking. And while this sort of wealth—wealth that, in writing, and both times I bailed because I can't refer a startup.

I talk about real income statistics calculated in the mid twentieth century. When I catch egregiously linkjacked posts I replace the url with that additional constraint, you don't get any money till all the more accurate predictor of success for a small company that could evolve into a de facto chosen by human editors. It's probably inevitable that philosophy will suffer by comparison, because people would do it for you.