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tillidontneedfantasy · 3 years

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A Track-by-Track Breakdown of Taylor Swift’s 9th Studio Album: ‘evermore’

“My collaborators and I are proud to announce that my 9th studio album and folklore’s sister record is here. It’s called evermore,” is how Taylor Swift introduces us to this album in its foreword. One might assume a “sister record” would entail b-sides, or tracks that didn’t quite make the cut for folklore, despite Taylor’s explanation that “we just couldn’t stop writing songs.” evermore’s release came at a strange time, upon the heels of the Folklore: Long Pond Studio Sessions film on Disney+, as well as 5 Grammy nominations for folklore. The world still captivated by folklore, it’s understandable why one might not consume evermore as critically. Even as a die-hard fan, I felt some whiplash by this announcement; I am still processing folklore! Hell, I’m still processing reputation!

If this was the Taylor from two years ago, this may have been a big enough fear of hers to hold off on releasing evermore. But as she explained upon folklore’s surprise release, life is too unpredictable now, and there are zero givens or guarantees. So she followed the same path this time (although making sure it fell in line with her birthday weekend). But it’s not just the strategic timing of the release that she’s thrown out the window for now, but also her mindset whilst making records. As she explains in the evermore album foreword,

“I’ve never done this before. In the past I’ve always treated albums as one-off eras and moved onto planning the next one as soon as an album was released. There was something different with folklore. In making it, I felt less like I was departing and more like I was returning. I loved the escapism I found in these imaginary/not imaginary tales. I loved the ways you welcomed the dreamscapes and tragedies and epic tales of love lost and found. So I just kept writing them.”

This is a revelation for Swift, to let the music lead her into artistic freedom, which is what makes evermore such a triumphant return. Truly folklore’s sister record, Taylor wrote evermore with the same creative team: Aaron Dessner of The National (Swift’s favorite band), long-time pal and collaborator Jack Antonoff, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, and William Bowery aka Swift’s boyfriend, Joe Alwyn (as officially revealed in the Long Pond Studio Sessions). Additionally, former 1989 tour openers and close friends of Taylor, the HAIM sisters, join the crew, along with Marcus Mumford for some dreamy backup vocals.

The production is just as wistful and mesmerizing as it was on folklore, yet the storytelling on evermore is kicked up a notch, expanding on the topics and worldbuilding established in its sister record, with even sharper lyrics and an effective and elaborate use of alliteration. The best thing about Taylor is that no matter what she does, her masterful lyricism is always at the heart of her art, and somehow, she keeps getting better. Once again, I wanted to explore the rich stories she’s crafted in this woodsy universe. This is how I’ve interpreted the album, but I hope you find your own meaning in the songs as well.

1. willow It is fitting that the opening track to folklore’s sister album, where we wade further into the forest that is Taylor Swift’s imagination and storytelling, would center on the type of tree that is a symbol of hope, belonging, safety, stability, and healing. “willow,” one of the few more obviously autobiographical tracks on the album, is a hymn of gratitude for her man (as she wants you to know, yes, thirteen times), Joe Alwyn, and how the invisible string tethering them together pulled her to him in a time when everyone else was counting her out. Though not as present on many of the other songs later to come on this record, you can feel the lightness in her heart on this song as she embraces the way in which the willow has bent, wrecking her plans, throwing her into the water and leaving her happily lost and afloat in his current. The downward key modulation throughout the last two repetitions of the chorus is beautiful and very fitting for Swift vocally, but also sounds like the feeling of finding your comfort and settling into it, basking it in while you wait for the next place the wind pulls you. Best lyric: “Now this is an open/shut case / I guess I should’ve known from the look on your face / Every bait and switch was a work of art.”

2. champagne problems On the second track of the album, Taylor dives back into the fictional worldbuilding she began to explore on folklore. While on folklore high school relationships and dramatics took center-stage, evermore graduates from adolescence to young adulthood, not that it is any easier emotionally on the listener’s heart. “champagne problems” chronicles a rejected marriage proposal between two college sweethearts at their old dorm building. Taylor sings as the narrator, a reflective, self-deprecating young woman who jokes about belonging in a madhouse and dismisses all her turmoil as champagne problems. The term ‘champagne problems’ itself could have various meanings here: their trivial concerns, the fact that their “sister splashed out on the bottle” of champagne that they will not be using to celebrate as they had hoped, or perhaps it could even hint that excessive drinking is a piece of all the ways the narrator is “fucked in the head,” as they said. Although the person she is singing to is the one who got hurt in the story, the hurt in the narrator’s heart is just as palpable and relatable, because you only have yourself to blame when you self-destruct. Best lyric: “’She would’ve made such a lovely bride, / what a shame she’s fucked in the head,’ they said / but you’ll find the real thing instead / she’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.”

3. gold rush On her YouTube live chat prior to the album’s release, Taylor explained that this song “takes place inside a single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it.” The daydream consists of a love story so pure that the town had never seen such a thing; it could only happen in a fantasy for the narrator. How could she possibly have the gall to call them out on their contrarian shit, or end up with her Eagles t-shirt hanging from their door, when they are so coveted by all, and when she cannot withstand the thought of even competing? She sings, “My mind turns your life into folklore / I can’t dare to dream about you anymore,” a sweet little connecting piece to this album’s older sister, effectively convincing herself out of the idea of jumping into the chaos of the gold rush because even inside her own imagination it’s too dangerous. Best lyric: “I don’t like that falling feels like flying ‘till the bone crush.”

4. ‘tis the damn season According to Aaron Dessner, Taylor had written the lyrics for “’tis the damn season” in the middle of the night amidst their Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions recording after a long night of chatting and drinking with their co-conspirator, Jack Antonoff. The lyrics perfectly encapsulate the guttural ache the track evokes. It is a tale of two people who always find their way back to one another in their hometown, which acts as the ever-returning fork in the road. The path taken, back to L.A. in pursuit of her dreams, is the one she chose and continues to choose, but whenever she returns home, she takes a ride down the road not taken, just to get a taste of what could have been, even if just for the weekend. What starts off as an icy homecoming always transforms into the warmest intimacy. The success of this track is aligned with the success of Taylor’s entire career; even with such specific details, it feels so deeply personal to the listener. You know the street you’d drive along late at night laughing, the spot you’d park the car, the person who stars in every what-if. You will never really know if the road not taken is as good as it seems, but that might be ok; sometimes, the fantasy is better than the reality, anyway. Best lyric: “It’s the kind of cold / fogs up windshield glass, but I felt it when I passed you / There’s an ache in you / put there by the ache in me.”

5. tolerate it Inspired by the novel Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, “tolerate it” is an agonizing track from the perspective of a devoted wife who polishes plates and paints portraits and waits by the door for her husband with a battle hero’s welcome, who at best tolerates all her adoration. There are few things as painful as idolization being met with indifference, when you have all this love to give to someone who just leaves it there untouched. “tolerate it” captures that desperation for the approval you know will never arrive, but you sit and watch, waiting for it just in case you’re wrong, but you know you’re not. Best lyric: “I made you my temple, my mural, my sky / now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life / drawing hearts in the byline”

6. no body, no crime feat. HAIM “no body, no crime,” the one evermore song solo-written by Taylor, has the clearest plot from beginning to end. In the same vein as the female powerhouse country classic “Goodbye Earl” by The Chicks, Taylor is out for blood to avenge her friend, Este (named for one of the HAIM sisters). The story goes as such: Este’s husband kills her for calling him out on his infidelity, and then Taylor kills the husband and frames his mistress. The HAIM girls, who are long-time friends of Taylor’s and former touring mates, lend their vocals to reinforce the accusation on the husband and to provide Taylor’s alibi. “no body, no crime” is so far the closest we’ve gotten to a return to “country Taylor,” proving that she is still the master of a killer country tune (yes, pun intended, it had to be done I’m sorry). Best lyric: “Good thing Este’s sister’s gonna swear she was with me / (she was with me, dude) / Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy”

7. happiness Written a week before the album’s release, “happiness” is one of Swift’s strongest and most reflective breakup songs. Although she writes it as though it is recent, there’s a lot of power in knowing that she’s been happily in love for four years, and that she is even better now at doing the thing that has always been best at. She is finally “above the trees,” as she sings, and is able to see it all for what it is, but her character is still in the heat of it all, trying to navigate the stages of grief when a relationship ends. We see the narrator grapple with many of those stages throughout the song. Most striking is the anger displayed in the second verse when she sings: “I hope she’ll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you / No, I didn’t mean that, / sorry, I can’t see facts through all of my fury.” That section is jarring and feels like one of the most honest moments in a Taylor song, the insanely difficult emotional balancing act when we are grieving a relationship. The devastation of loss can distort our perception, and a part of that is the difficulty of understanding how multiple seemingly opposing things can co-exist in our hearts, such as happiness because of someone and happiness after them. But when you leave it all behind and finally find your place above the trees, you can find happiness after someone and also look back and appreciate the happiness they once provided. Both of these things can be true. Best lyric: “Showed you all of my hiding spots / I was dancing when the music stopped.”

8. dorothea Taylor Swift has the uncanny ability to create such developed and well-rounded characters with such little information, which is what makes her storytelling so compelling. In “dorothea,” we learn much about the title character through the narrator’s eyes, and the relationship they once had. The lyric “skipping the prom just to piss off your mom and her pageant schemes” alone tells an entire story in itself. “dorothea” is also the companion song to “’tis the damn season,” just from the other person’s perspective, which helps shine even more light on the story. The narrator of “dorothea” reveres her but wonders if she’s still the same soul in L.A. as she was back in their never-changing town. Whatever the answer, they’re still willing to support her no matter where she is, but she’s always welcome back in Tupelo by her hometown love’s side if she ever just wants to be herself rather than someone known for who they know. Besides, they’re the only soul who can tell which smiles she’s faking. And you can always return to the road not taken. Best lyric: “They all wanna be ya / but are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers? / Well, I guess I’ll never know / and you’ll go on with the show.”

9. coney island feat. The National What really started the folklore / evermore journey was Taylor’s love for The National. Taylor has cited them as one of her favorite bands for many years, and as we know, this led to her beautiful new collaborative relationship with Aaron Dessner. So it would make sense for the track written with the intention of this duet to be so well executed; you can feel the love and care Taylor put into writing this song. In her press for these sister albums, she has spoken about trying to channel frontman Matt Berninger’s writing style. But what actually happened was she just produced her own signature lyricism at its sharpest. “We were like the mall before the internet, it was the one place to be / the mischief, the gift-wrapped suburban dreams / sorry for not winning you an arcade ring over and over,” is a hall of famer Swift-ian lyric. “coney island” explores the confusion, hurt, and self-reflection when a passionate affair burns out fast because you did not prioritize that person. And to top it off, Swift and Berninger’s harmonies are achingly beautiful, transporting you right there in the story, on the bench, wondering, over and over. Best lyric: “Do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? / Will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?”

10. ivy Leave it to Taylor Swift to make a song about an affair sound so romantic, and so sympathetic to the narrator, that you’re rooting for adultery. “ivy” tells the tale of a woman in a lifeless marriage, likening her home with him to the tombstone that the widow in town visits each day. I like to think this is the same wife whose husband was out there building other worlds without her in “tolerate it,” because then that means she found someone who celebrates her love, who holds her pain for her, who blooms all over her; they started it, but she’s fighting for it all the way to the end, nonetheless. “ivy” showcases Swift’s gorgeous vocals and her sharp lyrics, with a melody so infectious it is bound to permanently plant its roots in your dreamland. Best lyric: “Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland / my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I’m covered in you.”

11. cowboy like me With the beautifully blended backing vocals of Marcus Mumford, “cowboy like me” is an entrancing love story of two con artists who lost at their own game and got conned into forever with each other. She’d gone from swindling old men for their money and fancy cars to falling victim to the danger of dancing with someone who only has eyes full of stars, and she knows she’ll pay for it. “cowboy like me” is one of the most romantic tracks on the record, proving that life never plays out quite as we plan. Best lyric: “Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon / with your boots beneath my bed / Forever is the sweetest con.”

12. long story short One of the more pop-sounding tracks on evermore, “long story short” is pretty much a summary of the long story behind reputation (2017). The song is filled with various metaphors for her reputation crumbling around her, and then finally putting her defenses down to be with her lover, someone as “rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky.” It is a sweet ode to her boyfriend, and a gentle comfort to her past self that it will all work out. But it is also an oddly relatable example of how we shrug off our struggles and minimize them to just a “bad time,” when the time she is singing about was obviously something that deeply affected her (as will be further explored in the title track); but sometimes it actually feels good to just shrug it off as just a blip in your life, because at the end of the day, you survived, and that’s what counts- even if you’re not keeping score anymore. Best lyric: “Pushed from the precipice / clung to the nearest lips / long story short, it was the wrong guy. / Now I’m all about you.”

13. marjorie Whereas track 13 on folklore was a tribute to Swift’s paternal grandfather, evermore’s track 13 is a tribute to her maternal grandmother, Marjorie Finlay, who was an opera singer in the 50s, and passed away in 2003 when Taylor was 13 years old. “marjorie” is quite possibly the most touching track Taylor has ever written thus far in her career. Grief is one of the most difficult topics to tackle in a song; the genius of “marjorie” is that it is simple, yet not understated. Swift reflects on the profound lessons she learned from her grandmother, about the difficult balances of kindness and cleverness, and politeness and power. She curses herself for not cherishing the moments she had with her, for complaining rather than understanding in the moment how admirable her spirit was, for all the amber skies she’d love but will never see. The chorus, blunt and hard-hitting, reminds us that someone does not have to be living to be alive, to be all around, to be with us. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing to me now,” Taylor sings towards the end of the song, right before you hear a sample of Finlay’s opera singing in the background, a truly eye-swelling moment. It is clear that Finlay played a pivotal role in Swift’s own ambitions, as she sings, “all your closets of backlogged dreams, and how you left them all to me.” Marjorie knew she was leaving them in good hands. If you haven’t yet, check out the moving lyric video for the song, where you can see photos and video clips of Marjorie, both throughout her career and in her time with Taylor. Best lyric: “Never be so polite you forget your power, / never wield such power you forget to be polite.”

14. closure On the most experimental track musically on the record, Taylor writes off her need for closure from a relationship of some sort, whether it be romantic or platonic or business, all of which can cause hurt of equal intensity. The subject of the song is trying to make nice with Taylor, and she is just not having it, as it is not coming from a genuine place, but rather to ensure that their life remains picture perfect, or to clear their guilty conscience, or to preserve their own ego. This is a deeply relatable sentiment; as valuable as forgiveness can be, sometimes the person who hurt you just doesn’t deserve it, and all you can do is forgive yourself for blocking their number or shredding their letters. Best lyric: “I know I’m just a wrinkle in your new life / staying friends would iron it out so nice.”

15. evermore feat. Bon Iver To close out the standard edition of the album, Taylor joins forces once again with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, with whom she collaborated on the Grammy-nominated duet, “exile” for folklore. However, Swift leads most of the track this time, lamenting the difficult time she went through in 2016. The piano and Swift’s vocals are haunting, particularly when she describes this time in her life as “catching my death,” consumed by a pain that she feels will never end. If you’ve ever been depressed, you know what that feels like, and the dark places it leads you. Although she is singing about a time four years prior, it sounds so present, and it is heartbreaking to hear her in such a state. When Bon Iver comes in, the tempo of the song picks up, the piano riff becomes more erratic, like a winter storm hitting you in the face, and he voices all the anxieties of the cost of such a downfall. But through those anxieties, Taylor finds not a cure, but an anchor in love, and then the tempo slows back down. By the end of the song, Taylor has the foresight to understand that although it may not feel like it now, the pain she is experiencing is not permanent (a sentiment my therapist has been trying to instill in me for years). In her Apple Music interview with Zane Lowe, Taylor explained how the lyrics parallel the times we are in currently, and so it feels really special to have the album end with someone who knows how it feels to be imprisoned by your pain gently comfort us with the wisdom that “this pain wouldn’t be for evermore.” I hope one day soon, as we leave 2020 far behind, we can all truly believe her. Best lyric: “I was catching my breath / barefoot in the wildest winter catching my death.”

16. right where you left me (bonus track) The first bonus track on evermore, “right where you left me,” captures a moment so earth-crushing, a piece of you is trapped in it forever. In this song specifically, the narrator finds herself stuck in the same corner of a restaurant where she was told by someone she loved that they had met someone else. “Glass shattered on the white cloth, everybody moved on,” she sings in mourning. We have all experienced those moments that we could teleport back to if we just closed our eyes; the scenery, what you wore, the smell and taste of the season, the very point in your body where it felt like your insides were collapsing. Or that one particular person, who is long-gone from your life but seeing them is like time-travelling back to that person you once were, ready to pick up where you left off. But as much as you want to stay in that moment forever, just in case it changes in your favor, the cold reality is that the world stops for no one. Best lyric: “If our love died young, I can’t bear witness / And it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong / I’m right where you left me.”

17. it’s time to go (bonus track) “right where you left me” was Taylor’s cry for help to get out of restaurant, and “it’s time to go” is the answer to the call, as she sings in the first line, “when the dinner gets cold, and the chatter gets old / you ask for the tab.” This song is about gathering the strength to leave situations and relationships behind that no longer serve you. She grieves the betrayal of someone she thought to be a twin from her dreams (almost definitely referring to former friend, Karlie Kloss), acknowledges that keeping a marriage together for the sake of the kids often actually has the opposite intended effect (possibly- but not certainly- something she and her brother experienced), and recounts attempting to bargain with someone consumed by greed, only able to leave with herself (absolutely referring to the end of her fifteen-year long business relationship with Scott Borchetta, her former record-label owner). But as painful as leaving all of those situations was, Taylor has gained the wisdom to understand that walking away sometimes takes as much strength as persevering. You can’t stay at the restaurant, or at the mercy of someone else forever; you have to forge your own path, even if it’s in the opposite direction of what you envisioned for so long. And even with all her past success behind her, as folklore and evermore have proved, there is so much more ahead of her. Best lyric: “That old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul / You know when it’s time to go.”

In a time where we are all trapped in our homes and in our heads, the folklore/evermore experience has been the sweetest escape. If anything, the creation of these wonderful sister records has taught me that our most powerful tool in times of distress is our own imagination. Even just the ability to close my eyes while listening to one of these tracks and feel the character’s story is a gift. The way I’ve always been able to pick up Harry Potter and escape to Hogwarts when I’ve felt alone and friendless, I can listen to folklore and evermore when I feel scared or hopeless and escape into this enchanted forest Taylor has built, where I can climb above the trees and see it all for what it is. I feel so lucky to watch Taylor’s imaginative world unravel around me. I can’t wait to see what she creates next.

DISCLAIMER – REVIEWER’S BIAS: I would literally die for this bitch.

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honey-hippie-harper · 3 years

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In-Laws Being In-Laws (Re-upload)

Hiii!

So, this is basically an old fic, which I deleted from my other account ( @dawniebb ) and was requested to be uploaded again.

This feels like a lifetime ago afgshjka, but I remember it was written for a Renegades content swap event, and it was for @healing-winston-pratt (hello, wifey!). The prompt was, basically, Nova and one of the Renegays being in-laws, and it was super fun to write! <3

If anyone’s reading this: Hi, you’re a beautiful human being, and I love you <3

In-Laws Being In-Laws

Dear Dread Warden,

I am not quite sure you will get this message because it is been a while since I last used my communicator but, in case you do: I hope you are having a nice morning.

The reason I am writing you this is that, as you must already be aware, right now Sketch and his teammates are taking part in the Annual Renegade Convention as special guests to be awarded for their heroic participation in the Second Battle for Gatlon. Hence, they are out of town. Due to my temporary resignation from the team, I declined the offer to attend the event and, for instance, to receive an award. This means that, unlike theirs, my routine remains the same as usual.

Unfortunately, I must see my therapist for my weekly appointment in two hours, and after that I will have to go to the supermarket to pick up some groceries and essential items. Under normal circumstances, given the nature of my relationship with Sketch, he would have driven me to the supermarket and then back to my apartment, as it happens to be located sort of far from the store and it could be pretty difficult for me to walk while carrying all those bags. However, as mentioned before, these are not normal circumstances and Sketch is not currently available.

I reach out to you with no intention to cause trouble; for instance, if I happen to be asking too much or disrupting your schedule (As I am conscious you are a busy person) and you consider you will not be able to help me, I assure you I completely understand. But: Could you pick me up from my therapist's office and take me to the supermarket afterwards?

I apologize for the inconvenience and I promise I will make sure this does not happen again. In addition, I also apologize for the alliteration in the greeting at the beginning of this message. I did not know whether you wanted to be acknowledged by your real name or your alias.

Sincerely,

Insomnia.

-.-

Hi, Insomnia!!!

So nice to see you!... Or should I say read you! Ha! It's been so long, it almost feels like an eternity! I hope therapy is going great! (We're all really proud of you!)

It doesn't bother me at all, sweetheart; of course I'll help you with that. Could you share the location of your therapist's office, please?

Oh, and also: What time do you want me to be there? (Not that I have anything to do today, I just want to be on time).

I'm excited to see you! Can I take you to eat something afterwards? How does that sound?

Take care!

(Agh. I forgot these things don't actually allow you to write your real name).

-S i m o n.

(Better).

-.-

He spotted Nova way before parking. She was sitting on a bench outside the building, staring anxiously at her phone. The body language of a nervous person.

Simon stopped the car right in front of where she was, and when she realized he was already here, Nova jumped out of her seat as if it had burned her skin, before jogging in an awkward manner towards the car.

Once she was inside, Simon couldn't help but feel a twinge in his stomach. He wasn't lying when he told her he was excited to see her. In fact, he was more than excited, and he had to hold himself back pretty hard to avoid hugging her, because it was evident she didn't want to be hugged right now, for she just directed a tiny smile at him and said:

"Hi."

She was the same Nova he had met some time ago, but at the same time she was different; she was wearing sneakers, skinny jeans and a basic white v-neck shirt; her hair was a little longer, too, to the point she could tie it in a cute little ponytail; Simon could tell she wasn’t wearing any makeup, but still her face looked healthier than before; less tired, with smaller under-eye dark circles and lips covered in chapstick. Finally.

She looked alive. More than before.

“Hi.” He finally responded.

Watching people get better was always satisfactory, but watching Nova get better was different. He had grown to appreciate her, since the very first moment he saw her with Adrian; since the very first moment he spoke to her and saw nothing but utter heartbreak in her eyes. Nova was hurting, and any sensitive person would’ve noticed that. So, watching her get better was a touching experience for him.

“You look so…”

Nova interrupted him almost immediately.

“I know. I...I barely had time to fix my hair. Gosh. It’s so uncomfortable and I want to cut it but I haven’t had time. I…”

“Oh, no, no, no! Your hair looks gorgeous! “ He chuckled, although he was confused by her reaction. “I was gonna say you look really good. Really, really good. The ponytail looks great on you.”

Nova gulped as she adjusted said ponytail.

“Oh.” She muttered in a hoarse voice. “...Well...Thank you. I thought…”

“No, no.” Simon waved his hand. “You look great. How.... how are you?”

She seemed to be processing the question, even though it was not that difficult.

“I’m…” Nova cleared her throat. “I’m doing great. How are you? How’s ...life going?”

“Absolutely great!” Simon smiled, clapping his hands together. “Things at home are great. You know, Hugh’s not currently here due to the Annual Renegade Convention. Adrian’s not here either (for sure, you already know about that) and Max…”

“Max went too, yeah.” Nova smiled. Her eyes seemed to brighten to the mention of Max’s name. Adrian had mentioned this fact about her a couple of times: Nova was fond of children. And even if she wasn’t, she had a tendency to protect and care about them. Since she had this type of strong personality, Hugh refused to recognize that as a truth, but Simon had no trouble believing it.

It was adorable.

“He called me when he got the invitation. He was eager to go.” She continued. “Which doesn’t surprise me. I...It’s his first time travelling, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Responded Simon. “We’re planning to go on vacation this year. Because, you know, the convention’s being held not too far away from Gatlon and sadly he’s probably gonna get bored.”

“Bored?” Nova shifted herself in the seat, awkwardly. “Why?”

“Well...those conventions are...well, conventions.” Simon shrugged, smiling at her. “There are a lot of speeches, one after the other and, sure, the guests that represent Gatlon can skip some of them, but others are mandatory and they’re like 2 hours long and it’s so boring and…”

Nova hissed, grimacing, to which Simon nodded in agreement.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to go.” He admitted. “Though I do wanted to be there when Adrian and Max received their award. Too sad.”

Nova tried to speak a couple of times, until she finally had found the correct words to said her thoughts out loud.

“Why...why didn’t you go, then?”

“About that.” Simon chuckled. “Tamaya is going to be there too, as a speaker. And she’s also receiving an award. So...somebody had to take care of the Headquarters and Kasumi and I were left with that responsibility. However, it’s been pretty peaceful, as you may have noticed.”

“I have.” Nova nodded. “Not that I...go out very much, but yeah. Things have been calm.”

“People are behaving for once. And it’s awesome.” he sighed.

Then they stayed in silence. For a while.

Nova stared out the window, avoiding eye contact, while Simon whistled as he tapped his fingers on the wheel.

Not a word. No small talk.

Nothing.

“Sooooo…” Said Simon. “Shall we go?”

“Perhaps we should.” Nova said, immediately, as a flash of relief crossed her face.

So Simon smiled at her once again as he turned on the engine, while Nova put on her seatbelt next to him.

-.-

It took her so little time to come back Simon confirmed she was one of those people who would strategically write their shopping list so they wouldn’t be going back and forth through the aisles. It also surprised him that, being a person so young, she was so...focused on everything.

She really had only bought groceries and essential items. No junk food. No silly things she swore she would need and then she didn’t. Not even candy from the checkout area.

Simon hurried himself out of the car to help her put the bags in the trunk, but once she saw him and guessed his intentions, she quickly said:

“It’s okay. I can do it.”

“I know you can.” He clarified. Because, well, she indeed was a strong person. “But maybe you could use some help. That’s...a couple of bags.”

“Yeah. I know.” Nova nodded, already carrying the first two of the bags. “But I can do it. Please. I’m already causing you too much trouble.”

Simon was yet again confused by her reaction, and he tried to talk to her about it. But just like Nova looked like she didn’t want to be hugged right now, she also looked like she didn’t want to talk about it right now.

So he just opened the trunk for her and held it in case it would go down by its own. It had never happened, but just to be sure. Sometimes Simon’s anxiety made him overanalyze some situations.

Less than 10 minutes had passed by the time Nova finished putting all her stuff in the car, Simon figured she was still training, since she was as agile and fast as she was the day she notified them she would be taking some time off from the team and the Renegades in general.

They got in the car again, and before the silence could get as uncomfortable as the previous one, Simon took the initiative to speak.

“I think...you forgot to answer a part of my message.” He said, carefully. “You know...the part where I told you that maybe we could...go to a restaurant or something?”

Nova’s face, ears and neck turned so red she became a human-shaped cherry, and although in other circumstances he would’ve considered it adorable, this time he couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her. He had been there and done that many times; the messages Nova had sent were peak odd. The type of messages one would overthink over and over again because they had to be perfect. And if something, anything sounded off after you sent it, your world would be in shambles.

So he just smiled to assure it was okay. That he didn’t mind. That those messages didn’t have to be so formal in the first place.

And that, obviously, didn’t work.

For his experience, it never did.

“I...I...Yeah.” Nova scratched her brow. “Pretty much I...I...can recall not knowing how to word that so I just left it blank and I...must’ve forgotten to…”

“Nova.” Simon said, softly. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Did I...offend you or something?”

“Absolutely no!” He said. “Why would you think that? It’s just a slip. I know it wasn’t your intention and to be honest I still want to take you to eat something so...yeah, there’s no reason to get weird about this. There’s no need to worry.”

Nova took a deep, hasty breath. She was flustered, son Simon tried to keep her calm; to make her feel like she was in a safe environment.

Why wouldn’t she be, in the first place?

She was his son’s girlfriend.

Why would he want to hurt her or make her feel bad?

“Nova, darling.” He said again. “Do you have something on your mind?”

“I do.” Nova cleared her throat, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t really...can eat out right now. I barely manage to afford my groceries, you know? It’s been…”

“But you’re not gonna pay your own bill. I mean, why would you do that?” Simon raised an eyebrow at her, genuinely confused, but still laughing nervously. Sweet rot, who had hurt this child so much? “ I’m the one who’s taking you to eat. You wouldn’t have to…”

“You don’t have to either!” She snapped. Not mad, but rather distressed, while breathing heavily.

Simon went still, afraid he would make it worse. Still, he couldn’t leave it like that, so he gulped and, once he reunited enough courage, he dared to speak again.

“What’s really on your mind, Nova?” He asked, this time in a more soothing voice. Nova’s whole being went red again, but the shadow of confusion in her expression was noticeable and hard to ignore. For this reason, Simon decided to provide some kind of scaffolding.

“For example: Why would you write a message that is directed to me in such a formal way?” He asked, patiently. “Why would you ask me to pick you up as if you were asking me to help you commit a crime? Why would you act so uncomfortable around me when it’s not the first time that we’ve met? Why would you…?”

“Because it’s you.” Nova answered, avoiding eye contact.

And he expected that answer, yes. But, at the same time, he expected to understand the statement once it slipped out of her mouth.

However, he didn’t.

“Can you elaborate?” He requested.

Nova clicked her tongue as she rubbed her neck, staring at the dash right in front of her.

“...I can disappear if you want me to. Would that make you feel more comfortable?”

“No. No, no.” Nova nodded, waving her hands, finally looking at him. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Then...would you tell me what’s wrong?”

Nova thought about it. She squirmed in her seat. Gulped. Coughed. Squirmed again.

Then, playing with her own hands, she spoke.

“...I’m ashamed.”

“Ashamed of what…?” Simon tilted his head to the side. “Ashamed of who…? What exactly are you ashamed of? ...Dating Adrian?”

Nova flinched.

“I would never.”

A spark of pride illuminated his thoughts and his insides in general, but Simon tried to pay little attention to it.

“I’m just...ashamed. Of everything.” Nova said, sighing. “I…”

And she cut herself in the middle of the phrase, realizing that once again she wouldn’t be able to finish it.

Simon didn’t realize he was frowning until he felt the muscles of his face slowly giving in. He understood.

And he knew that anything that had happened during the Second Battle for Gatlon had been her fault. She might have contributed in some way but, at the end of the day, she was just a child.

A very confused and manipulated child who just needed someone to listen without twisting her words as they pleased.

“...I just think that...if I were you I wouldn’t like me either.” She wasn’t crying, nor did she sound like she was about to any time soon. There was so much resignation in her voice that her words weighted as much as a giant rock. “Hugh gave me his blessing to...you know, date Adrian…”

“I can recall giving you my blessing too.”

Nova tripped on her own words.

“I mean, you did. You both did.” She said. “But still… It’s because… because you want him to be happy. And I get it. I really do. And I understand because, like I said, I wouldn’t like me either...I know I am loved. I know I matter for some people...but I also know I did...bad things, and I carry this sort of cursed last name…”

She stopped and breathed for a second before continuing.

“And I…” She finally looked at him. “I get it. You don’t have to pretend you like me, after all that happened. After I stole stuff from your house; infiltrated into your system; caused a terrorist attack...You really don’t have to pretend.”

Simon blinked, and if it wasn’t for her specific and controlled body language, he would’ve thought she was making excuses or even joking.

But Nova was telling the truth.

And it was heartbreaking.

“Perhaps you should think outside the box and picture a scenario in which you realize we’re not pretending.” That’s the only thing he said.

“Perhaps you should realize that we love you and you matter to us.” He reached for her hand and softly touched her knuckles. Her hands were shaking. “And that, yes, we want Adrian to be happy, but we also want you to be happy.”

Nova’s eyes seemed to be covered in crystals, but she remained in silence.

“You’re part of this family now, Nova.” He smiled. “And I’m sorry, but you’ll have to deal with that.”

Nova sniffed, swallowing, while lacing her hand into Simon’s.

“Artino and everything?” She muttered.

“Artino it’s not what defines you.” Simon chuckled. “You’re Nova. Just Nova... And we’re really proud of you. Not ashamed.”

She smiled back at him, wordless, and Simon gave her a quick handshake before putting his hands around the wheel.

Because even now, that her walls were crumbling right before her eyes, she didn’t look like someone who wanted to be hugged at the moment, and he accepted and respected that.

“I was planning to take you to my favorite restaurant, but maybe we can prepare a homemade meal instead?” He suggested. “You know? In-laws being in-laws? … Not to brag, but I make the best lemon pie in the world.”

Nova chuckled. Relaxed.

Happy.

“Sounds great.” She said, nodding.

“Excellent.” Simon turned on the engine.

“Let’s go home.”

#renegades trilogy #marissa meyer #dawnie writes #Simon Westwood #The Dread Warden #Nova Artino #Insomnia #Dawnie re-uploads saga #i love being a clown #no nomás tengo la cara de pendeja también soy JAJAJAJAJAJAJAAJAJAJA #this was before hcttr ruined my life #good times

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jenivi7 · 3 years

Text

First Lines Tagging Meme

I'M SO HAPPY TO BE TAGGED IN THIS TWICE! Thank you @ink-flavored and @clyde-side !! (I almost just did this on my own too because I love babbling about my own fics...)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

Now pinned and under a cut because it became a really long, really good introduction to me and my stories!

Hello!

Unnecessary and overly wordy introduction/personal musings: I love opening lines so much. When I worked at a bookstore, I used to open books and hardcore judge them on their first lines. I had barely any free time to read at that point so if it didn’t grab me in the first line or two, I put it back. The first Harry Potter book is actually in my pile of really good openers. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.” (Subtle alliteration, HELLO??) So I'm super excited to see if my own first lines come even close to the standards that I apply to other people lol. MY OWN MONEY IS ON NO. I have the feeling that I'm so frantic trying to get the story down on paper before the good words disappear from my head that I'm not actually paying attention to the first line. BUT LET'S SEE, SHALL WE.

So just straight up going backwards, I've written and posted TWO BRAND NEW THINGS after being away from fandom almost entirely for 10+ years! They're drabble length but they're shiny and new! <3 (All available fics are linked!)

1. Tango:

She teaches them to dance so that they can dance with her but when Atem gets that mischievous smirk on his face and pulls Yugi into his arms, their bodies spark and the dance floor smolders at their heels.

(The fic is so short that this is a full 1/5 of it but actually, I think I crammed all the good stuff right into that first line. This already might be my favorite. Like it says there in the line itself, Puzzleshipping.)

2. No Betting:

Anzu sat at the kitchen table writing carefully calculated answers onto sticky notes before attaching them to a fourth-grade math worksheet.

(Peachshipping! This one doesn't pop off until about line five so here's the rest of that bit:)

She had the same arrangement with her spouse as most parents had. When the kids were good they were hers. When they were bad, they were his. And when they were winning at games because they picked up rules with uncanny speed and read their opponents with more insight than ought to be available to a child, they were definitely, definitely his.

3. If you wanted honesty that's all you had to say (working title):

When he realized that the figure sitting under the game shop display window and smoking wasn’t Ryou, the physical body response was as though it had discovered a coiled snake not two feet away.

(This one! It's a NEW half finished(?) WIP. I actually started this one before the drabbles but wanted to finish before posting it. Then it got out of hand, then work got out of hand, then I started a couple more projects and well. I keep putting words on it though and eventually there will be a Kleptoshipper that turns into Puzzle and Tender for your reading enjoyment. Also, fair warning - don't use song lyrics as a working title. Every time I look at the document I get the song stuck in my head.)

Now we have polished up reposts of old stories for their move to AO3, where I'll basically keep my master archive. Not full re-writes but I fixed a bunch of typos and awkward sentences and they're much stronger for it. Most of these are from a pairings contest way back when so LOTS of different pairings and lots of AUs!

4. Human:

It was like a bad noir, the thought crossed both of their minds.

(Scifi AU, Rivalshipping. That one's not bad for a first line. Actually no link at the time of writing cause the re-edit is going up in like, a half hour? an hour? a half day? It's my next project after finishing this, finishing up the edit and posting it on AO3. Now with link!)

5. Blood:

Fingers through midnight black hair, whispers in his ear, touches that sizzled along the skin, awakening nerves and senses.

(Dungeonshipping, Pegasus x Otogi, vampires AU. Oh that’s a nice first line! <3)

6. Crazy for You:

The keys are too large and too heavy for the doctor more used to more modern facilities but she doesn't say anything, just follows the orderly as he pulls the large door open.

(Manipulashipping, Anzu x Marik, Psychward AU. Still one of my favorites from that era. Big bold warning though, THIS ONE CONTAINS NON-CON)

7. Finality:

“What are you doing here?”

“Saying goodbye.” Bakura’s translucent arms swept across the graveyard. “Is this not an appropriate place for it?”

(First two or so bits of dialogue as the first first is a generic question. You can tell this is one of the really old ones just by that but it's a sweet, sad little Tendershipper that still has a special place in my heart.)

8. Pieces of You:

Glitter caught the light, leaving shimmering trails in the air as it got everywhere.

(Glittershipping, Anzu x Kisara. Another one that's special to me. Kisara is my girl and my first writing muse. <3)

9. Cambodia:

“It was summer of fifty three...”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, it can't have been fifty three. You might be that ancient but I'm not. It must have been sixty three.”

(Jiishipping. Yes. Sugoroku x Arthur. HEY, IT CAME UP IN THE RANDOM DRAW FOR THE SHIPPING CONTEST OK. And my writer's brain hasn't backed down from a challenge yet... Another one that takes 4 lines to pop off but it's a good start. Actually, here's the rest of the bit just because I cannot get enough of these two bickering:)

“What do you mean it must have been sixty three? You don't even know what story I'm trying to tell.”

“Am I in it?”

“What?”

“So you're deaf now as well as daft? AM I IN IT?”

“Of course you're in it, y'old coot. Don't know why I'd tell a story without you in it when both grandkids are sitting here.”

10. Coffee and Cigarettes:

"Cigarettes and coffee? That's not a very healthy lunch."

Mana crossed her legs and took a refined sip of her own coffee even as her company was not.

(Mischiefshipping, Mana x Thief King Bakura. Oh this one I'm actually sad that it doesn't immediately sparkle in the first line cause it's one of my absolute favorites of everything I've written. And I think it's the only time I've ever written Mana but I LOVED IT AND HER. Oh no! I lied, I've written her at least one other time though I don't think that one quite captures her sheer chaos energy like this one does.)

11. A Million Missed Chances:

Somewhere along the line, someone made a choice.

(This one. THIS ONE. I think this is by far the most epic idea I've tackled. I still don't know if the sheer scale of the thing came across in the actual fic but in my head it was massive and I remember pounding away at my teeny tiny laptop late at night because the whole thing hit me maybe a day or so before the story was due for the pairings contest. We only had a week to write each fic and my really good ideas never came to me before the very last minute. T.T Conquestshipping, Mai x Valon.)

12. A Fear of Falling:

She drove.

Like she always did when something bothered her.

(Oh the first chapter on this is also one of the really ancient ones. Like one of the very first things I wrote. That first chapter really shows its age and is a little shaky but the others are better and the last one is what fits into the chorological order here. Polarshipping, Jou x Mai. One of my very first ships. Probably THE first actually <3)

13. What Our Creators Make Us:

"Well, well." The match flared, scattering dark shadows until it was blown out and the only light that remained was the red glow from the cigarette end. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

(Psychoshipping, Marik x Spirit of the Ring Bakura. With a bit of Bronze, Angst and Tender in the follow up. Old but I'm ridiculously proud of it, hence it's place in the master archive. Ahaha you can tell how old it is though by how clever I think I am. I thought it was funny to make my audience figure out who was talking and not reveal the characters for a good fourth to third of the fic. Ahhhhhhh. Sorry about past me.)

14. A Revolution of the Spirit:

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't.

That they were close was understandable (you don't get much closer than sharing headspace) but that even now, after deals were made with gods, endless arguments, compromises and the ultimate guilt trip that he had only been a teenager when he willingly sacrificed himself for all of humanity, things she had only half seen and only partly understood even though they had all been there to witness, that even now Atem continued to invade Yugi's personal space as though he belonged there got on her nerves.

(Woah Nelly! That third sentence should probably be three, four and five. Even if I just split it in half we'd continue the pattern of things popping off in the fourth line. I think that's one pattern that's emerging! A really good bit takes me about four lines to set up and deliver! Oh, the challenge was Revolutionshipping, Anzu x Atem, but the fic is actually Spiritshipping, Anzu x Yugi x Atem.)

So confession time, I haven't been out of fandom completely, I just hadn't written my own standalone stories in a very long time. There are a few (ok ok more than a few) long-running rps that @miss-moberg and I have been adding to on and off over the years. I can't resist throwing in a couple of these.

15. Cafe!

The door shut behind them with the soft click of the latch and the exhale of a breath long held.

(This opening line was from December of 2020 when we rebooted a very old Prideshipper and that is a damn good opening line if I do say so myself. I can definitely see the difference now between the newer works and the older ones. I've gotten better, she's matched me pace for pace and eventually something will be finished, I'll work up the courage to ask permission to post it and the whole internet will get to see how brilliant the two of us are together.)

16. Treasure Hunt!

"Ryou, I think you're going to regret letting me tag along on your adventuring this time." Yugi didn't bother turning away from the airplane's tiny window to see if his seatmate was paying attention. He was more thinking out loud with his friend playing the role of a convenient sounding board. "Because I think this trip is the only thing I'm going to talk about ever again."

(One more from RP because it's got that fun, four line punch that we've discovered is a pattern for me! Opening entry is from 2017.)

Also, in truth, my count is a little off when I say I'd been out of fandom 10+ years. I've been away from YGO for that long but I did spend a brief stint in Homestuck where I read a ton of fanfic, flirted with a couple group RPs and even wrote a tiny bit. 9 years without writing a new fic isn't as impressive as saying ‘over a decade’ but it is a little more accurate.

17. What You Will:

In the land of fair Illyria, along a small, sandy stretch of its rocky shore, a ship has come to ruin and one lone woman lies still as death among broken wood.

(The beginning of a Homestuck/Twelfth Night crossover that I'm still determined to work more on someday. It's only got a single chapter but it's magic though now I'm concerned about not being able to recapture that. Not a bad first line though. The style is so different it took me reading it a couple times before going, oh yeeeeeah, that's pretty good!)

18. Relentless:

You pull him to the deck and then across it by the remains of his shirt. Let him say one last goodbye. His ship pillaged, his crew murdered, his hands bound behind his back and at your mercy.

Funny word, that. Mercy.

(The first line is pretty decent but there's that four line combo again! Five but I could basically fix that with a comma. Featuring the troll ancestors Mindfang and Dualscar because every time Hussey introduced new characters they were instantly my favorite.)

19. Black:

There is dark and there is dark and there is dark and then there is black. She is black. Licorice and coal. She is hate and resentment and everything that tastes bitter, the kind of black that coats the tongue like oil, drips down the back of the throat and keeps going.

(Oh wow. Am I allowed to say that about my own work? A Terezi/Vriska drabble that I'm putting as much here as I think I can get away with because it's so good that it fucks me up a little going back and reading it.)

And here it gets tricky because I think the more recent of the old, old fics are in the Drabbles and Shorts collection on ff.net and I can't see a post date. So I'll just pick a good one to end on.

20. Two Princes:

It was inevitable as the rising of Ra's chariot after a long night, as the flooding of the river banks every spring, and Atem always knew that Yugi's kiss would be as warm and gentle as the evening breeze in the summer that brought relief from the scorching day. It was.

(How about the final honor going to more Puzzle/Blind? This probably has the strongest first line of its era. Actually I'm not sure when it was written. It was just hanging out in my writing folder and, thinking about it, I probably wrote it when I was fading from fandom the first time around but still trying to hang in there. No wait! That’s too sad, we can’t end on that! Lets add one more to the list for the sake of personal narrative!)

21. Linger:

The world doesn't need him anymore. It doesn't need his sword and it doesn't need his pen.

(A tiny Princess Tutu afterward that I wrote for myself. Nice one-two punch in the opener. Also it rounds out the personal story that accidentally developed here with a line later in the fic, "Words, however, never stray far from a good writer..." Like, wait, stop. Past me, how did you know T.T)

Did that take a sudden emotional turn for anyone else or was that just me. Can I offset that a little with an honorable mention? Let’s do that while I collect myself. Here’s one more.

Honorable mention: Ryou and the Thief

There was a storm gathering and too much magic in the air. Much more than occurred naturally and magic at this level was never a good thing.

(I can’t have a list of things I’ve written without having Ryou and the Thief on it. If you click on this one though, BEWARE, it’s old, it’s silly and it has a ton of explicit gay sex that… would be written very differently if we were handling it today I’m sure! This is the first RP @miss-moberg and I ever did together and our excuse to Gemship and Puzzleship turned into us running the boys through a whole adventure based on the Osiris myth. It’s the longest thing I’ve ever completed and I’d still consider it kind of my legacy.)

And that’s the last 21(+1!) stories that I’ve written!

The clear winner of best first line for me is 15. Cafe! It’s short, elegant and manages to contain a whole mood even without the context of what’s going on and who’s involved. (Spoilers: It’s Seto and Mokuba making an AU escape from Gozoboro.) Close second is Tango, the most recent story. It’s neat to see just how much better I’ve gotten and also really cool to see that even if the first line itself doesn’t contain a punch, it’s usually because there’s a nice, strong idea being set up and delivered in the first four lines (or so). What a pleasant surprise!

AND WOW, this whole tag thing didn't need to be so long! Or personal! Seriously, if you get this tag from me the challenge is only to list the first lines to 20 stories and maybe try to draw one or two conclusions from them. You all thought I was joking when I said I loved talking about my own writing! But actually, I guess it’s fine like this as I ended up using it as a way to re-introduce myself. Like, "Hey, I used to live here a long time ago and oh my god I love what you've done with the place!" Rather than being someone who's just popped up out of nowhere a few weeks ago to creepily bother all your best of the best creators so....

^///^ Hello!

Thanks for letting me ramble!

Tags! I think I've seen most of the authors I follow do this already but on the off chance you haven't been tagged yet: @elexica (checked your blog to see if you'd already done the tag and saw that you're another person returning to writing fanfiction after 10+ years. Same! Hello!!), @danieco, @draconicmaw, @nedjemetsenen (has someone tagged you already?) and two shots in the dark, @miss-moberg and @edmondia (I'm so sorry you two. T.T Please feel free to block me forever.) And please, anyone else who wants to babble about their own writing! Do this, it was so much fun. <3

#ygo #yu-gi-oh #yugioh #yugioh fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #jenific #so many ships #so many characters like woah #not half bad for a retrospective if i do say so myself #thank you for coming to my ted talk #tag game #first lines tag

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themagical1sa · 2 years

Note

Bet ko yung "keeping up with Capi" tag hehehe Welcome back-ish, bunso. Am glad you're okay despite everything. Praying for your peace and mental well-being dear. I'm sorry to hear about your grandma. I hope she's resting in peace and happy where she is na. Congratulations on your life's achievements din! I'm proud and happy on how far you've come. One step at a time lang ah, or one big leap if you feel like it. It's your life, you're the writer of it <3 And belated welcome din sa Genshin ahahaha I hope you have fun with the game. It has a rich lore with equally rich characters. Prioritize mo yung fun mo over the meta, ha? Tier lists are there to guide you but, in the end, playstyle mo ang mahalaga. Ad Astra Abyssosque, Traveler. May the stars guide you 💜

Hi hi! 🙋‍♀️

I'm glad you liked the tag! "Keeping up with Capi" has a pretty cool ring to it, doesn't it? Not to mention the k- and pi-sound alliteration (keeping, Capi). I could not have come up with anything cooler. 😎

Thank you for waiting + the welcome message! I really appreciate it ate 🥺💗

Yeah, I'm hoping lola's in peace now too as well as praying for her... so your thoughts and prayers are very much appreciated!! (happy Catholic noises)

Ah, yes, Genshin Impact...

...

...I have to go steal the Lyre... Venti... why... ,,ԾㅂԾ,,

Anyway, I've been enjoying the game so far! Honestly I thought I was going to collect the characters first but I ended up doing a LOT of exploring. It took me a few days to realize that I was supposed to go back to Monstadt and fight some dragon because I was going anywhere but the Archon Quest. 😂

Thank you again!! o(^▽^)o

#[ 🗣️ | the magical girl replies ]#[ 🍓 | icedlatteberries ]#[ 🍓 | ate meg ]

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 4 years

Text

Wait For It

Dean stalks out of the Impala agitatedly.

It's a sunny afternoon, and Sam's on the porch, coffee on the table next to him, flipping through his political science handbook. He looks up when he hears the car door being slammed, and his eyes follow Dean as he lands in the other chair around the table.

Then, without warning or premonition, Dean starts to talk.

He's got a new colleague.

Novak, he calls him. With gritted teeth, frowning eyebrows, and feeling.

They don't usually talk about people. So Sam listens.

Considering the amount of time Dean devotes talking about how Novak walked into his office, stride radiating importance as though he'd been summoned by Dean himself - well, he really must be a pain in the ass.

Over the next week, Sam's not always outside when Dean comes home from work. When he finally is, on a Thursday, Dean plants himself across him and starts speaking immediately.

Sam closes his book, purses his lips and pays attention.

Castiel, he's become.

Horrible, he's remained.

When Dean's done ranting, the sun's gone down. He gets up, hands on his hips. "He's just a jackass about everything, Sammy. Who's pretentious about eyecolor? Nobody's eyes can be that blue."

Sam nods sympathetically.

Dean goes away to make dinner, satisfied.

Midterms are round the corner.

Without really paying attention to it, Sam's stopped flipping through his handbook, and started highlighting in his textbook. He stays up late, and wakes up early, determinedly chipping away at the ginorminous block of syllabus, bit by bit.

He also stops being out on the porch when Dean comes back from work, and Dean tends to not barge into his bedroom to talk about the awful people he works with, so that's that.

But dinner isn't saved.

It's a simple conversation about mashed potatoes, and Dean goes off. "You won't believe how ridiculous Castiel is about honey, dude." Sam asks for a second helping, he also receives an anecdote on Castiel's ungrateful attitude towards Dean.

Sam doesn't even dare to mention his dislike for bacon once, for all the times Dean offers him it - because he's sure he'd get another indepth analysis of how Castiel hates Dean.

But when they settle down to watch Law & Order after dinner that night, Sam gets a chance to think. He wonders, not for the first time, how truly terrible Cas must be, for Dean to talk about him all the frigging time, and by the end of the episode, he's decided to be the pillar of support his brother needs, right now.

So when Dean starts, randomly, about how Castiel doesn't even appreciate good music, Sam whips out his puppy eyes, and listens to the entire tale.

Weeks pass.

His first paper is Tuesday, Ethics. Sam spends most hours of the day on his desk, holed up in his room.

It would be unfair to Dean to say he used up all the time Sam did spend around him, to talk about Cas.

(Which Castiel had ended up being, obviously.)

He only used like sixty percent of it.

"He's just...a weird, dorky little guy." Dean ends, biting his lip, eyes cast to the floor. His hands play with the hem of his jacket - he's still in work clothes.

Sam sighs.

"You know what?" Dean stands up. "I'm going to make coffee. Do I get you a mug or a thermos?"

"Thermos, please." Sam calls after him, gratefully.

"Okay. Carry on, bitch."

Sam feels guilty.

He's been so caught up in college, deadlines and exams, he's hardly talked to Dean except to thank him for all the coffee and sandwiches.

Dean may be a jerk all year, but he can get really supportive when Sam needs him to be.

Sam feels bad for not doing the same.

So when Dean puts a peanut butter sandwich in front of him, at one am while Sam panics through his last night revision, he looks up at his brother blankly and asks. "Hey, how's the guy who's been making your life hell? You stopped telling me about him."

"Oh, uh." Dean pauses.

Sam waits, but Dean takes too long, as if he's contemplating, so he takes a bite of his sandwich instead.

"He's not that bad." Dean finally lets out, exhaling into a hint of a smile.

Sam raises his eyebrows.

"To you kicking Stanford's ass!" Dean raises his bottle, perhaps the sixth toast of the night, giant grin plastered on his face.

"I keep telling you the results are a far way from being out yet - but hear, fucking hear!" Sam clinks his glass to Dean's beer, smile equally wide. He's finally done. There's finally no more papers, no more tests, no more revision.

He made it through.

"I'm proud of you." Dean mutters lazily, leaning back on the seat.

"Y-yeah. I know." Sam returns joyfully, neither of them really thinking about what they're saying. They've been drinking for hours. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Dean repeats, and proceeds to chuckle at his words. There's a moment of silence - well, as silent as it ever gets in the Roadhouse. Then Dean speaks up. "Guess what, Sammy?"

Sam doesn't even correct him.

"What?"

"I'm going to ask Cas out today." Dean declares, and Sam's eyebrows go up again, because while he's definitely known his brother's into guys for years, he hadn't expected Dean to come out like this.

But six beers in, and a declaration of pride out, Dean just ups and says it.

"I think I have a crush on him."

Many months go by. It's Sam's final year. And he's moving back onto campus.

"I'm going to miss you." Sam tells Dean, after they've finished lugging all of his bags into Jessica's room. Dean's half sitting on Baby's hood, and Sam has his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Shuddup." Dean throws back, and he definitely sounds weird. "I'm like, seven minutes away."

"Still." Sam grins, earnest.

"Yeah, alright. I'm not making you move out, okay?" Dean straightens, scoffing. "Have fun convincing Jessica to make you breakfast food at midnight."

"Yeah but," Sam laughs. "You live like, seven minutes away."

"Like hell I do. Get your ninety-percent peanut butter ass over here." Dean sighs, and Sam walks up to him, letting Dean pull him into a hug.

They hold onto each other, safety in the familiarity. Both of them know that they're probably not going to live together again. Sam has a plan after college, which doesn't involve moving back to Dean's. But they've shared a house for so long, it's going to feel weird.

It's going to be strange.

To lighten the moment, Sam whispers. "So, uh. Cas is moving in after I'm gone, isn't he?"

"He's probably already redecorating the place to get rid of your nerd cooties." Dean thumps him on the back, as they separate. There's a smile lingering on his face.

"What about your nerd cooties?" Sam bitchfaces at him.

"He likes those." Dean defends, crossing his arms on his chest.

"I bet he does." Sam snorts, and Dean reddens, realizing he just walked right into that, and then he just swears under his breath goodnaturedly as Sam walks into his new place.

Sam's phone rings.

It's only eight, on a Saturday, and Sam doesn't have to leave for office at nine like everyday, so he's sleeping in. Amelia's next to him, and she elbows him when the annoying ringtone wakes her before it wakes Sam.

"Sorry, babe." Sam tells her, kissing the top of her head distractedly, picking up the phone and sitting up when he hears Dean's voice.

It's trembling with excitement.

"Sam!" Dean gushes, and there's really no other word for it. There seems to be a commotion behind him, but the happy kind. Dean's tone is almost ecstatic.

"Dean?" Sam confirms, groggily.

"Dude, Cas just asked me to marry him!" Dean let out, almost breathless. "And I said yes! Of course, I said yes! We're getting married, Sammy!."

A smile grows on Sam's face. "Dude. You're getting married."

"I'm getting married!" Dean repeats, and proceeds to chuckle at something Cas is saying apparently, because then he tells Sam he's putting him on speaker.

"Hello, Sam." Cas greets him, sounding thoroughly overjoyed.

"Congratulations, Cas." Sam says, beaming now. He's so happy for them both. Cas is amazing, and he gets Dean, and Sam knows Dean loves him so much. "And, uh, Dean? You better fight a good fight for my Bestmanship, versus Castiel's brother, okay?"

Dean laughs, and it's the kind of rare excited laugh which makes everyone around smile too.

Cas answers, instead, his voice just as excited. "Don't worry, I'd rather have Gabriel be the caterer."

Sam chuckles. "Good."

"Give the phone back a minute, Cas," Dean says in the background, and then it's off-speaker, and just Dean, again. "You're not busy being important or anything, are you?"

Sam looks around him. "No?" Dean hesitates for a beat, until Sam catches the gist. "Dude! Of course I'm not busy. Tell me everything!" Dean lets out a sound which is definitely a squeal, though he'd never own up to it. "How did it happen? Why did it happen so early?"

Dean exhales, happily, and Sam can picture the smile on his face.

"Wait, is there a ring? Dean, I need you to show me the ring." Sam adds, just before Dean starts to tell Sam about it all. Just like he had, at the very beginning.

Six days to the wedding, Sam sits on the old porch chair, tapping his pen on his notebook.

He needs to write a speech.

There's so much to tell. The two of them are adorable, for god's sake. They tend to be cheesy even in front of him, and so unaware of it - Sam wonders if they turn into mushy marshmallows when his back is turned.

Maybe he should include that in his speech. "Mushy Marshmallows" is a cute alliteration. Huh.

After an entire evening of thinking, he pushes himself off his seat to get a cup of coffee. (He'd try to convince Dean to make some, but him and Cas have an appointment with a florist for the wedding.)

In any case, Sam may not be done with the speech entirely, but he figures he's earned a break. You see, he's already got an unbelievably great title. He can work from there.

"How Dean Is The Worst Judge Of People."

He has a good first line, too. "Exhibit A: Novak-slash-Castiel-slash-Cas."

#destiel #deancas fluff #deancas fic #deancas au #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #castiel/dean #castiel/dean winchester #young castiel #young dean winchester #stanford sam #sam winchester fluff #sam and dean #destiel ficlet #domestic destiel #i wrote a thing #dean is bi

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ladyofthenoodle · 3 years

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Fanfiction Year In Review - 2020

more like fanfiction life in review but hey if my first year as a writer isn’t worth reviewing than what is?

1 List of fics completed this year in the order they were finished:

it's hard to get to know you (but i'm down) my first fanfic ever!

Me, My Best Friend, and Her Cat (for fanfiction exchange)

full exposure

our hands would not be taught to hold another's (ladynoir july)

coin operated boy (dark fic october event)

he is rugged and long lasting (adrichat november)

five times Caline Bustier tried to find love (and one time she did)

2 Number of words written:

58,408 words published on Ao3 - not bad considering I only started in June!

3 Your most popular fic:

our hands would not be taught to hold another's, by far, although Me, My Best Friend, and Her Cat also gets quite a bit of traction when people are looking for Alya sugar fics!

4 Your personal fav:

our hands would not be taught to hold another's is my baby and a labor of love. before writing this, I didn’t think I had what it takes to be a writer - sure, I’d published my first fic, a little one shot, but that was a flash in the pan - nothing like a long, heavy, multichaptered work. I honestly didn’t think I could do it so I’m incredibly proud of it and so grateful for everyone who helped me and encouraged me throughout it, including Cass (@sing-in-me-oh-muse) who betaed and commented on every chapter.

5 Your fav scene:

ahhhh, how to choose? probably Adrien getting the ring back in “hands” - certainly there are other moments I am very proud of as a writer but man, I was SO READY to write that once I finally got to that chapter and I was also super pleased with how the scene turned out.

6 A fic or scene that challenged you:

coin operated boy was so hard for me - I can do angst okay but this was much darker than I’d gone before and way out of my comfort zone! I would like to go back to the story some day and resolve it because I cannot stand leaving the babies sad, but... I am just not ready to touch it again.

7 A line of writing you’re proud of:

oh gosh this is also hard to pick ummmm idk here’s my favorite lines from my unpublished fics because who knows when they will get a chance to shine

I was very proud of the alliteration here

Marinette flopped forward now, her arms coming to rest onto the desk a little too hard, making her cell phone lose its precarious perch and topple onto the tabletop.

and my favorite moment of Tikki dialogue I’ve ever written

“Why don’t you make him a scarf, like your other friends?” Tikki chirped. “Or one of those themed money cards!”

“Themed money — Tikki, are you suggesting I give Adrien a gift card?”

8 A comment that touched you:

ahhhh this is so hard to choose??? i treasure every comment and i got so many lovely ones this year. Rikka gave me my very first comment ever and even though it was short it is very important to me because she is very important to me. and so many talented people gave me such wonderful comments on “hands” when I was discouraged and every one of those touched me so much. @aquawsm wrote so many lovely comments and created stunning art of my black cat Alya and @raisinraven found my fic on tumblr and joined Ao3 just to comment which is amazing!

9 Something that inspired your writing:

the Miraculous Ladybug fandom and the people in it. I’ve read fanfiction for so, so long and while I always had story ideas in my head, I never thought I’d be able to write them. shout out in particular to @kasienda for looking at the prompts I’d written and seen a writer in them when I couldn’t see it myself, to @sing-in-me-oh-muse and Rikka for encouraging me to just go for it with that first story and for every story since, and to everyone in the Miraculous Fanworks discord for all the writing resources and support and encouragement over the last 6 months

10 Your proudest accomplishment (that one scene; finally finishing that one fic; posting your first fic; etc):

oh I like this question, it gave me my answer already - definitely posting my first fic. and people actually LIKING it, oh my gosh, what??? wild

11. Do you have any writing goals for the next year?

mmmm nope, I should probably try to set some! I have a long list of things to write and half-finished and barely-started projects and I would like to get at least some of it done! hopefully I can finish another multi-chaptered work but other than that I just hope I can keep writing and improving

tagging @silveryeet @noirequin @fictionalinfinity @sae-what @miabrown007 and whoever else I forgot sorry tagging makes me nervous

#2020 #fanfiction #year in review #miraculous ladybug

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broadwaytheanimatedseries · 4 years

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Okay but Here's an Idea

Pirate AU:

Fabian Aramais Seacaster, the son of the dread pirate Bill Seacaster, is now the new Captain of the hangman

He's sworn to make his father proud and he plans on doing just that during the royal wedding that's soon to take place

The Elven and Goblin kingdoms have been at odds for generations, but today a marriage between the younger elf princess Adaine and the Goblin Prince Riz, the only heir to his throne, will end the feud and bring the two kingdoms together

Neither bride nor groom is happy with this, seeing as Adaine will be accepted to produce an heir which, no thank you, and Riz is about as straight as a boiled noodle

Aelwyn, Adaine's older sister and heir to the Elven throne, thinks this is hilarious

The reason Adaine and Riz are such good friends despite being set up in an arranged marriage they hate is partially because they bonded over how much of a bitch Aelwyn is

So the day of the wedding arrives and Fabian waits, his kick ass crew all in positions, so when the words "speak now or forever hold your silence" are spoken, he bursts through the front door and smiles devilishly.

"I've only one word to say - charge!"

A tiefling, a human, two half orc and two werewolves all burst in through different windows, glass shards flying everywhere, and they fight off anyone in their way and kidnap the prince.

Seeing that her sister is just standing in the crowd looking like she can't be fucked to do anything about this and that Lady Luckstone had been defeated, Adaine understands it's up to her to save her friend.

She runs out the door after the pirates, not entirely sure what she's gonna do but mentally running through spells anyway.

She manages to hop aboard the ship and finds somewhere to hide herself, as she comes up with a plan to get herself and Riz out of there

Poor Riz, if she's scared she can't imagine how frightened he must be

"LISTEN HERE JACKASSES! IM GONNA GET OUT OF THESE CHAINS AND THEN IM GONNA FUCKING EAT YOU!"

"now now, sweet prince, is that any way to treat your hosts? We've brought you into our lovely home and you've yet to thank us, nor have you said a word about the decor."

"your boat sucks and you're a dick!"

"oh, I'm deeply wounded. And here I thought maybe you could join us..."

"don't bullshit me, asshole, you just want ransom. You have no interest in me as a person, let alone a potential crew member."

"you sound so sure! I take it you've met many pirates then? Or perhaps you simply don't know who I am?"

"go ahead and give your big introduction, see if I give a shit."

"my name is Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill Seacaster, and I intend to be far greater than my father. But in order to do that, I'll need a crew of fearless, powerful, strong willed souls."

"so you didn't kidnap me for ransom?"

"I'll admit, it did cross my mind, but I realized it's too predictable. It's something my father would have done and I don't want anyone to think I can't come up with my own ideas. Besides, I saw your face at the altar, you weren't exactly thrilled to get hitched. So really, I'm doing you a favor. You should thank me!"

Riz was absolutely furious, but instead of showing it, he got an idea. Smirking, he made his voice as honey sweet as possible as he said "well I sure would like to thank you, Captain Fabian, but you see my hands are all tied up. You deserve a proper thanking after all."

Before Fabian's mouth could catch up with his head, his legs were already taking him to the chained up prince, and as his flushed face and twisted tounge tried to come up with some form of response, his hands worked the chains off the smaller man.

Realizing what he's done, Fabian snapped out of his shock for a second to scowl at the goblin. "why you little-"

His complaint was cut short however, as the goblin presses their lips together, making the captain's brain short circuit, and when he felt Fabian leaning in, he pulled back and punched him in the face.

"thank you, I needed that" Riz was very satisfied with himself, not only having kissed a very handsome man but also finding enough self restraint to stick to his original plan instead of losing himself to the kiss. He was close though

"what, the kiss or the punch to my face?" Fabian snapped, feeling betrayed, which was rich considering the man had kidnapped Riz so it's not like there was a lot of trust between them

"honestly? Both." Riz decided there was no point in staying so mad and paranoid after he pulled a move like that and wasn't killed for it. Once he caught sight of Fabian's hurt expression, he couldn't help but laugh

Oh. Oh that was a lovely sound, Fabian thought, and he sure would like to hear some more of it. He couldn't even bring himself to be mad at the prince for making a fool out of him a day then laughing about it

"yes yes, you're very clever, we get it. All the more reason you should consider joining my crew. Your brilliance would be wasted in that posh palace on petty people."

"nice alliteration, but I hardly call tricking someone as naive as you "brilliant", you really believed I would want to thank you for stealing me away from my home and my people and chaining me up against my will?"

"well when you say it like that, it doesn't sound as cool as it seemed in my head..."

Adaine was looking from her hiding spot and was pretty proud of her friend, but she hoped she could get him out of here soon, before she got-

"and what exactly do you think you're doing, your royal highness?" the tiefling lady inquired

-caught

So this is the AU, basically Riz and Adaine end up joining the Crew, and it's Fabriz and Figdine.

That's It

#dee writes #dimension 20 #dimension 20 live #fantasy high #fabian aramais seacaster #riz gukgak #adaine abernant #fig faeth #Fabriz #Figdine #fantasy high au #pirate au

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hedgebtch · 4 years

Text

FEN! Live From Fillory.

So today we're gonna talk about weather, 'cause that's what Earth people do.

They talk about weather when they don't know what to talk about.

What the fuck is happening?

I was going to the grocery store.

Oh my god, he's so excited to be here, he can't even contain his excitement.

Who are you talking to? There's no-one here.

There's service here?

Why am I in Fillory?

Did the surges bring you to me?

Well, since you're here...

I have not done a lot of Earth travel myself. Do you have any travel tips?

Tell me your ways.

You think I... travel on planes?

Do you travel by train?

I see that you have a very versatile wardrobe.

You have a little scarf that's very sexy.

Everyone can travel.

I didn't wanna come here.

Oh, is that what that face is? It's disappointment?

This face is trying to get the fuck away from you.

I don't... want... this...

Oh, who dat? Is that my man?

That's my husband. He's very handsome.

What the fuck is going on?

You're kind of invading a private moment with me and my drink right now.

Oh, I love being a part of your private moments.

I just wanted to gaze into the middle distance alone for like thirty seconds. Do you think I could have that?

Look at that middle distance, my god.

People always say 'how do you have such a good marriage?' and I say 'Space.' It's always good to be on literally different worlds.

I think I hear the noise of the majestic Lorian beetle. You know what that means?

Oh my gosh, he's so excited, he can't even open his eyes.

[Groaning].

What is my pet peeve?

Don't- we don't talk about that.

What's my favourite food?

Your favourite food is probably something really obvious and basic, like, you know... potato chips.

Rawr!

My favourite food is Mucksday feast. It's JUST like Thanksgiving but instead of turkey and mashed potatoes, it's actually massive possum and raw potatoes.

Oh, wow. A delicacy.

What is my star sign of astrology?

Woo!

What is your star sign? God, I don't know. Like... inverted hippopotamus scrotum upon a full moon rising?

I'm a Pisces.

You're a Pisces? Well, I guess that makes sense.

Are we celebrating something?

I don't know what you're talking about.

I'm always celebrating.

You're hurting my face.

Today, I'm cleaning out my closet. I want to tidy up, I want to ignite happiness.

I want to CLEAN UP THIS DUMP!!!!

Everyone comes to you for advice.

I thought you could help me clean up and help me find things that ignite happiness.

You sound... not excited.

The things that are hardest to get rid of are the ones you have sentimental connections with. And I have sentimental connections with every knife.

This knife, I, uh. First time I stabbed a child. I was also a child.

Ooh, I've never smelled my knives before.

She's so curvy.

Why would you want to keep this?

Why wouldn't I want to keep this? It's a knife.

Goddamn excellent point.

I have a lotttttttt of drapery.

I just keep telling myself I'm gonna do projects and I'm gonna do arts and crafts, and it just never happens, you know?

If you hold that too long, your soul will be ripped out through your nose and kill all your beloved friends.

This does not ignite happiness.

I won't even thank that one.

I've gotta say, this is probably my third favourite magnifying glass.

I'll keep that one.

That's log baby!

God, I love alliteration.

Let's ask her some questions.

This is not a microphone, I've told you that like five times.

This is a microphone if I say it's a microphone.

Who the fuck are you talking to?

You have fans?

Is that like... a surprised or a proud thing?

I love beautiful women. Mostly you.

Can I touch you?

I'm asking myself why the fuck you haven't thought of something better to ask me.

Oh. Plot twist.

All the things you could ask me... you choose to ask me what the fuck I'm wearing?

Is that demeaning? I'm so sorry. I've only read the 1993 November issue of Hip Bone. I think I'm a little behind.

You do look.... GAH! Aces! That's an Earth thing, right?

I love you. Maybe too much.

Those your muffins or are you just happy to see me?

I just wanna touch your muffins.

It's time I try your muffin.

I see no soggy bottoms.

Well, it smells like a muffin.

I mean, I'm not above eating bad muffins.

Well, slap my ass and call me Umber.

What are you doing? What the hell is happening?

That’s my phone, I’ve got three bars.

You guys are from Earth, you know how technology works.

So! Anyways! This isn’t about me - well, it is, but.

I’ll let you keep that book open, ‘cause I feel a little scared of you.

You’re more of a Joy, you’re more of a Whoopi, I’m definitely Barbara.

I’ve never experienced that word. Whoopi like whoopee cushion?

How do you feel about the magical surge that’s happening-

Let’s tell the people, what are we trying to solve?

Oh, yeah, let’s just solve it. Let’s just fix everything and save the world, just like that.

Ooh, it’s so easy. It’s so simple.

God, I love this positivity!

You always spell your name with an exclamation mark? I kind of like that idea, actually.

We are trying to fix the surge and save the world right now, so can we just focus on that?

I’m so uncomfortable right now.

Can I touch you?

Careful, she hits.

Are you defensive?

We’d like to delve into your personal trauma and past and what brought you to this place.

The reason why we work so hard at saving the world is so we don’t deal with our personal feelings. Have you not learned that by now? We SHOVE it down as FAR as we can, and we OPEN A BOOK and we say “HOW CAN WE SAVE THE WORLD?!” And then we just KEEP. ON. SAVING IT.

What do you guys think about… interrelations with animals and humans?

On Earth, it’s kind of frowned upon.

Wait, what do people do here?

I mean, do you want me to go into detail..?

I would take some details. It’s been a while.

You know what’s worrying to me though, is, uh, sexting in Fillory.

There’s something very uncomfortable about saying “fuck me daddy” right to a fuzzy bunny.

Questing creatures only ever choose white males. Why is this? Is it like that on Earth, or is it kind of the opposite?

Every time I come to Fillory, I try to track down the unicorns, and I know that there ARE unicorns here. I’ve seen them in books, I’ve just never found them. And there was a time when I was really depressed and I wanted to move to Fillory and work on a unicorn farm, I just don’t know where they are.

Sleep paralysis! Another thing that’s hitting Fillory because of the magical surge!

No one will ever fucking answer me about the unicorns.

#meme.

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momentofmemory · 4 years

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fictober - day twenty-three

Prompt #23: “You can’t give more than yourself.”

Fandom: Daredevil (All Media Types/Netflix Marvel)

Warning: Postpartum Depression, Parental Neglect, Religious Themes/Imagery

Characters: Maggie & Matthew Murdock, Father Lantom, Foggy Nelson

Words: 2744

Author’s Note: so this was super difficult to write (see the warning tags!!) but i think i’m p proud of it. maggie’s a very fascinating character, and this is designed to fit in the netflix canon but also blends some back story in with comics canon. also, as a psa though i am not personally catholic i did try to do a decent amount of research, but if i got something horribly wrong feel free to dm me about it :)

>>What You Give (Is Not What You Receive)

Maggie is sixteen when she asks to make her vows at Clinton Church.

She seeks the Mother Superior out after mass, brimming with hope and determination, and tells her that she’s felt a calling from God to be a nun. They sit down, side by side, on one of the pews near the front.

“That is a noble vocation, daughter, but not one to walk into lightly,” she says. “Tell me: why you wish to join the order?”

The truth is, Maggie never feels more at home than when she’s within the four walls of the church. She loves to receive the mass and all the blessings and forgiveness it entails; she loves to chant the rosary as wooden beads roll through her fingers; she loves to bask in His presence in the yellow-gold light of the stained glass windows. Her own home, the one in a dirty, run-down apartment two blocks up the street with angry words and flying fists, is never so full of hope as this.

The Superior’s black robes drape across the wood, and Maggie thinks of how easily they wrap around crying children and frightened women, and knows she wants the strength the cloth imbues.

“You can’t give more than yourself,” Maggie says, and her eyes lock onto the crucifix before the altar, her head bent in reverence. “And I want to give Him everything, with nothing left over.”

The Mother Superior smiles and takes her by the hand to find Father Lantom.

Her friends outside of the church—and even some in it—don’t understand. Maggie is not soft-spoken or even known for her patience, and she doesn’t have to listen closely to hears the whispers in the halls, asking isn’t she being a bit rash?

The answer to that is that Maggie is sixteen and everything is rash, but everything is certain, too.

She finishes her postulancy in six months, and she whispers poverty, chastity, obedience alongside the rest of the sisters in training. The vows are temporary, set to last for a year before she’ll have to make her second set, and then another five before she’ll be allowed to say her permanent ones. She’s still barely just seventeen, but it doesn’t matter—when she’s shrouded in the white habit of the novitiate, her heart sings louder than any chanter ever could.

She listens carefully during the hagiography lessons with Sister Rosa, the liturgy readings are her favourite part of every morning, and she takes easily to her studies and prayers.

As for the vows, poverty is no issue—having never lived a life of luxury to begin with, the adornment she desires is one that signifies compassion, not wealth. Obedience is a little harder, strong willed as she is, but the Mother Superior is patient (and perhaps more pertinently, so is Father Lantom), and they spend hours listening to her questions and providing answers that are as honest as they can be.

She never even dreams that chastity could be a problem until she lays eyes on Jack Murdock.

It starts out innocent enough, barely even a flirtation; but Maggie quickly discovers that Jack is a fire that burns brighter and faster than all the candles in the monastery.

They’re laughing in his kitchen one day, fighting with dish rags and soap and too much caked-on grease, when it finally happens. One minute she’s wiping tears out of her eyelashes, and the next, he’s kneeling in front of her.

“I can’t give you much,” he says, a silver ring won from a Cracker Jack box in his hands, “but I’ll give you myself, if you’ll have me.”

Her only exposure to love as a child came from the tumult that was her parents, or the Jane Austen books she was forced to read in school. This is nothing like that. There are no angry words followed by violent passion, no finery or letters or grand gestures, because that’s not Jack.

Instead, Jack is a ragged white t-shirt and jeans with holes in them; Jack is cracked linoleum floors in an apartment with air conditioning that doesn’t work; Jack is split lips and calloused hands and a devil in his eyes that only ever smiles when it’s looking at her.

Jack is everything.

Maggie throws her arms around his neck, tears of a different kind of joy falling from her eyes, and says, “I could never want more than you.”

And she doesn’t, though she clings to her faith and her God just as tightly as ever. They get married in the church she thought she’d be saying a very different kind of vow in, and when she stares up at Jack, she doesn’t regret it. Jack is wonderful and everything is Jack, so everything is wonderful.

Then her stomach begins to swell and harbor a heartbeat of its own, and suddenly, everything seems like so much more.

They tell her the baby will be born in September, so she decides to name him after Saint Matthew. Jack doesn’t get her religion, not really, but he says he likes the name Matthew anyway and asks for Michael as his middle name, because he likes the alliteration. Maggie laughs and humours him, and also tells him that Matthew’s the patron saint of bankers—maybe they’ll finally have some good luck, financially.

(God knows they could use it.)

They spend the months leading up to his birth amassing a room full of diapers, a crib, and even some hand-me-down clothes. Maggie’s not excited, per se, but everyone she knows assures her that will change the second she holds her child. September comes at last and Matthew is born, and Maggie holds him in her arms.

Maggie feels nothing.

She feels nothing when they place him on her chest, nothing when he begins to feed, nothing when his tiny fingers grasp at thin air. Nothing when they’re discharged from the hospital. Nothing, even, when Jack himself tucks her into his arms and tells her he’s so proud of them.

The third day in a row passes with nothing, not even sleep, and then suddenly all Maggie can do is feel, and she finds she doesn’t want to.

Matthew never stops crying. He cries and he cries and Maggie screeches back and then they’re both just screaming, and she’s so tired she can’t even feel her arms as she holds him. She knows now that Matthew was named poorly: he should have been called Lucifer, for surely no earthly or heavenly being could torment her so.

That thought seizes her mind and doesn’t let go, because surely no baby cries this much. A paralyzing fear comes over her as she realizes marrying Jack was her mortal sin, and this baby is her damnation.

Her anger towards the child grows and metastasizes into hate, so much so that she can’t stand the sight of him, hates him more and more with every second.

(The only thing she’s more sure of is that she hates herself.)

After four weeks of hearing him cry, a never-ending, grating noise that cuts through her ribcage and chews up her organs, she can take it no longer. She sits down on the bed, and just—

Stops.

Somewhere Matthew is crying, but not here. She is nowhere; she is safe. Nothing can hurt her in the nowhere. She senses Jack come in at some point, and the world gets even more quiet. She thinks she likes that.

So Maggie stares at the crucifix on her wall, and stares,

and stares

and then she blinks, and she’s staring at the crucifix above the altar in Clinton Church instead of the one in her apartment.

She turns her head, agonizingly slow, and sees Father Lantom sitting on the pew beside her. A clarity like she hasn’t experienced in days crashes over her, and she thinks she might be sick.

“I can’t go back. I can’t—I can’t give more than myself,” she says, fingers trembling. “And I am poison.”

Father Lantom looks nothing but sorrowful and compassionate, but says nothing to dissuade her.

Maggie makes her formal vows the following year.

Later, she’ll realize that she hasn’t committed a mortal sin at all; that the very point of the many years between novitiate and formal vows is to allow for this sort of thing. Later, science and women’s studies will progress to the point that she’ll understand what happened to her is called postpartum depression, and not a demonic punishment or evidence of a failing moral character. Later, she’ll reach a place of spiritual and hormonal balance, and no longer feel like she wants to claw out of her own skin at the sight of a child.

Later, it will be too late.

Over a decade after Maggie leaves to keep them safe, Jack, her beautiful, wonderful Jack, is shot down in cold blood, and her son is orphaned because she’s too afraid to go near him. God laughs at her and places him in the orphanage right next door anyway, because His sense of humour will always make her the butt of the joke.

Or, He’s given her a second chance at redemption.

Either way, she doesn’t take it.

It’s easier than it should be to avoid Matthew, because along with his parents the Devil took her child’s eyes. She survives the first year by spending an unholy amount of time in holy prayer, and then when that ceases to be fulfilling, applies for a three-year stint at St. Andrews. The church has requested help to deal with a recent influx of parishioners, so it’s not entirely out of the blue, but Father Lantom looks at her knowingly when she hands him the papers.

He approves her request anyway, and Sister Maggie thinks that at least when she goes to hell for this, Father Lantom will be there, too.

St. Andrews is far enough away from Hell’s Kitchen to give her some perspective, though, and Maggie discovers she’s actually quite good with kids—as long as they aren’t her own. She gains a reputation for her wisdom and acerbic wit, and slowly Maggie Murdock fades away, and only Maggie Grace remains in her place. She still goes to confession every week, seeking penance for something she has no desire to actually mend, but still.

It’s something.

She returns to St. Mary’s Church in Clinton a more reserved woman than the one who left it, and if her eyes linger a little longer on the now seventeen-year-old boy, no one has to know.

Then, instead of her being the one to leave, he does: off to college, and then to law school, because Matthew’s brilliant. God only knows where that came from, because it certainly wasn’t Jack, and it definitely wasn’t her.

A traitorous voice in the back of her mind whispers, but remember how impressed Sister Rosa was by your studies, and she ignores it.

She doesn’t want to think Matthew has any part of herself.

Maggie doesn’t keep an eye on him after that, because what he does is his own business. So she doesn’t know that he graduates with honours; she doesn’t know that he passes the bar examination without breaking a sweat; she doesn’t know that opens his own law firm, right here in Hell’s Kitchen, and she doesn’t know he does that because he loves this city too much to ever leave.

She’s a nun. She has more important things to look after.

Because she definitely doesn’t know all these things, it comes as a massive shock when Father Lantom comes to her after Fisk is arrested.

“Maggie…” he says, then pauses as he waits for her to sit down.

“There’s something you need to know about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

Maggie didn’t need to know, doesn’t want to know, but when Daredevil’s dropped off on her doorstep two years later, bleeding out from more than just physical wounds, she’s glad she does.

He argues with her, and she argues right back, and it reminds her of those early days when all he could do was cry. The difference is that this time, she’s not drowning in a sea of out-of-control hormones, and this time, not only does he have words, but he knows exactly how to use them.

He speaks of his pain and his anger with a detachment so familiar it chills her, and it’s all she can do to keep from grabbing him by the shoulders and saying, child, child, you do have the Devil in you, but it isn’t your father’s.

It’s mine.

She thought she couldn’t give God more than herself, but when he comes back to her, cut and bleeding, she realizes she’s been wrong all this time.

Giving Matthew up is a far greater sacrifice.

(He finds out and he leaves her, and the pain of Calvary has never felt so close.)

But God surprises her yet again, guiding Matthew’s path back into hers and giving her a second, third, then fifth chance at a forgiveness she could never deserve.

Father Lantom dies, and as she weeps in the empty confession chamber she hears the echo of his spirit whispering, if you were deserving, my child, we would not call it forgiveness.

Her eyes are still rimmed with red and guilt as she prepares the sanctuary for the funeral, lighting the candles in the transept and arranging the garlands that line the nave.

She knows Matthew will be here soon. She hasn’t yet decided if she should leave before that.

Footsteps pad softly across the carpeted aisle and she looks up to see a well-dressed man, his short hair slicked back, walking towards her. She recognizes him as one of Matthew’s friends, and she takes the opportunity to the light candles in the back row to put some sort of barrier between them.

He’s not the sort of person she would have thought Matthew would gravitate to: he’s excitable, a little ambitious, and far too openly genuine. He’s also inescapably good, which helps to explain it after all.

“I’m Foggy,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m here to make sure you and Matt make up.”

She freezes, halfway through the third row of candles with six more still to go.

It’s been thirty-six years since she walked out on Matthew, and she’s ruined every chance since to make it up. This most recent betrayal is just one in a long line of her failures, and she’s quite sure she’s lost the right to be part of his life.

She tells the man this, and she’s able to light two more rows of candles before he clears his throat.

“Y’know, religion’s always been more Matt’s territory, but don’t you have a song about lost things being found?”

Maggie’s almost startled enough to set her habit on fire, but working around candles for most of her life has served her well. The cloth is only slightly singed.

She licks her suddenly dry lips. “Amazing Grace?”

(How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found: ‘twas blind, but now I see.)

Foggy snaps his fingers. “That’s the one! Probably a different context, but the point still stands.”

Maggie tries to wrap her head around that, but Foggy, ever the lawyer, has already moved on.

“Look, we both know Matt’s really good at pushing people away, for a lot of reasons. Some of which are admittedly your fault. But the thing is, when he does that…” He shrugs, but holds up a hand to keep Maggie from interrupting. “When he tries to push you away, all you really need is to be better at coming back than he is at leaving.”

Maggie looks back on her life, and her track record is littered with absences and tardies; abandoning both ideals and people whenever the commitment seemed too much. She thinks this may be the hardest thing anyone has ever asked her to do.

“I don’t know if I have anything to offer.”

“Give him yourself?”

She shakes her head; that’s one road she’s been down before, and it’s never quite seemed to work out the way she wants it to.

“And if that’s not enough?”

He smiles like he was waiting for her to ask, and Maggie wonders when all her best life advice started coming from people half her age.

“Then let him give himself to you.”

#fictober19 #daredevil fic #mcu fanfic #matt murdock #whumptober19 #abandonment #tw:postpartum depression #tw:religious imagery #daredevil #fanfiction #memsfic

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takaraphoenix · 5 years

Text

So, @kimmycup tagged me in this game. Let’s do this. Alternately titled:

Let me rant about the difference in receiving feedback on FFN vs AO3

Because I am really getting lost in the math behind “most popular” fic. And it’s most definitely more than just “reaching a different audience” when the feedback for one and the same fic differs between over 1k comments on one site vs not even reaching 100 comments on another site.

Author Name: Takara_Phoenix

Fandoms You Write For: Okay so let‘s only involve the ones I am still actively involved with, not the ones that are like... eight years old and I haven’t thought of them once, yeah? That’d be: Percy Jackson, Shadowhunters, Marvel, Rise of the Guardians/How to Train Your Dragon, Detective Conan/Magic Kaito, Vampire Academy, Jungle Book, DC Comics/the Arrowverse, Descendants

Where You Post: AO3 and FFN, but occasionally also on tumblr - when it’s prompts or drabbles

Most Popular One-Shot: Depends on where you ask. And what you define as popular. Personally, the only value I see are in comments - kudos are literally just the press of one button, they mean nothing, and hits aren’t an indicator of much either considering it counts as a hit even when you opt out after a paragraph.

I’ve only had my AO3 for five years now, meaning that the fics on FFN still had four more years to simmer on there and gather attention, I suppose. Meaning, a fic posted for the first time obviously gets more attention than a four years later mass repost on another site.

On AO3, the oneshit with most comment threads would be How to Court the Prettiest Omega Ever in Five Years or Less, my first PJO ABOverse fic, featuring Nicercy. Which, you know, is only 37 comments on there. Seriously I genuinely blame the existence of the kudo function for the overall lackluster comment-response on AO3 because “press one button vs actually writing words”... but that’s a different conversation to be had. (I mean, seriously, in comparison, this fic has 51 comments on FFN... and it is by far not the one with most comments I have over there).

The clear winner if you look at FFN is Something Went Wrong, my first Minotaur/Percy smut fest with a whooping 116 comments. And yes. Positive. Genuinely did not expect that when after weeks of debating, I decided to post this story. *chuckles* (Again, for comparison, this fic got a total of 8 comments on AO3... eight... the difference there is staggering... Which, I’d like to tag on that, on top of the kudo-nonsense, the fact that AO3 displays total amount of comments to the readers and not comment threads is also misleading and I don’t think it helps, because I think you’re more inclined if you see it’s only 8 comment-threads in total on a fic you like vs it showing you 16 comments as the total comment-count.)

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: THIS IS TOO HARD TO ANSWER. I’d have to consult my chart, but that hasn’t been updated in ages. Because overall amount of comments means little if you don’t also take into account the amount of chapters - 50 comments on a oneshot are a lot, 50 comments on a 5 chapter fic, not so much, and 50 comments on a 50 chapter is frustrating to receive.

Okay, let me go full nerd on this one. Y’all know I love charts. There was a time where I was interested enough in finding this out that I had a chart going of all my multiple chapter fics. With a collumn on how many chapters the story had at that point in time, how many total comments on AO3, how many total comments on FFN and what, by combining those two numbers and dividing them through the chapter-count, was the average amount of comments per chapter.

However, that chart had last been updated on December 31st 2016. There’s been a lot of influx, lot of new stories and other stories gaining/losing popularity, so when I now say Meet the di Angelos with a 2016 average of 57,25 comments/chapter, that is completely exclusing ten fics I wrote since then.

Damn now I really wanna update the charts...

Also if you can’t tell by now how much actual feedback and comments mean to me, I genuinely don’t know how else to convey it... xD”

If you go by total comment-count - which, again, is misleading because you gotta keep the chapter-count in mind - it’d be Chasing Fireflies on FFN with 1749 comments (on 102 chapters. And, again, for comparison, 88 comment-threads on AO3. 88 vs 1749 is insane) and Percy and the Ghost King of Summers High on AO3 with 749 comments (on 50 chapters. On FFN that’s actually on 990 comments. Far smaller difference here compared to other stories).

Though I dunno, if you measure popular by fanart received, Summers High comes in with five, while my Chasingverse is in with 6... and multiple fanfictions written for it.

Favorite Story You Wrote: Favorite to write, or favorite to reread? There’s a difference there. I’m insanely proud of Chasing Fireflies and the plot and world I created there, the character development. I... don’t really reread it it’s over 500k long I don’t have that time.

Currently, I am really loving The Primal Instinct, it is sooo much fun to write, I get to put basically all my favorite headcanons in there, I’ll get to write Aline and Helen more and Jace’s interactions with others, it features both my favorite OT3s at once. (And it is faaar from my most popular one. Just, feel like mentioning this because my numbers-obsession may read as only writing for comments, which I don’t, I mainly write for myself. The comments are just... very, very nice treats to receive. Also, I love numbers and charts and were curious to see if there is a kind of trend there in what does receive most attention sooo...)

Story You Were Nervous to Post: Uuuh every new thing. Every time I step outta my comfort zone. Trying out a new pairing for the first time. Venturing into a new fandom for the first time. Experimenting with a new kink and wondering if this would be too much. Literally every single time, still.

How Do You Choose Your Titles: On a whim. I suck at titles. Mostly I try to force alliterations because I am a sucker for alliterations, but otherwise I do try to go with “as it says on the tin”, or I try a pun/being clever. Aside from my Triton/Percy fics. Every single fic I’ve written for them is named after a song from Disney’s The Little Mermaid franchise and I have yet to run out of songtitles to use for fics and hey, by then they’ll probably have included a new song in the live-action remake so there’s that! :D

Do You Outline: Depends. Oneshots? No. I just write those. Multiple-chapter fics? ...Depends. xD

If I have a clear vision for where it’s going to go, I do tend to divide into chapters and make myself small notes on what goes into said chapters. Mostly, it’s just a rambled “and x happens and then y” at the end though and then I see how I can make it fit into chapters.

Complete: 795 stories on AO3! Damn, I’ve been busy.

In-Progress: As of right now, 4. Because this week features my Ace Awareness 7-parter, though technically we’re right now down to 3 multi-chapter fics because the next one is only due to be released and join the rotation!

Coming Soon/Not Yet Started: Well, that is two entirely different things now.

Coming Soon:

Shadowhunters, Asmodeus/Jace, “The Royal Consort of Edom” oneshot on the 23rd

Shadowhunters, Magnus/Alec/Jace, “Nesting 101″ oneshot on my birthday this Saturday

Percy Jackson, Nico/Percy, “Something Borrowed, Something Green” oneshot on the 30th

Shadowhunters, Magnus/Jace, “Dancing with the Monsters in the Night” an out-side-of-schedule oneshot for Halloween

And I do think that that is what constitutes “soon”.

Not Yet Started:

HTTYD/RotG, Hiccup/Jack, “The Origin of the Blue Hoodie”, planned for November 27th

Shadowhunters, Magnus/Jace, “Set-Up by the Guard-Cats”, planned for December 4th

Descendants/PJO, Nico/Percy, Ben/Carlos, Uma/Audrey, “Demigod Defenders of Auradon”, planned for December 11th

A-and that is as far as I have planned my schedule ahead. Those three are the only fics on my personal schedule that I haven’t started working on yet. I don’t like to plan ahead too much, because then you just completely lose interest in the story by the time you get around to actually writing it.

Do You Accept Prompts: Prompts, not so much. Requests, yeah. For one, prompts always seem so demanding, while requests are more polite - and also more structured. Prompts are always like “here have one quick trope thrown at your head” and like... I do have a well-enough planned-out schedule with more than enough fics of my own set, I don’t need to try and turn one random prompt into an actual story. But if someone has a specific request, a pairing and an actual plot, that they really wanna see, I do always hear them out, I may not always like the pitch and thus not accept them all, but on the overall I do accept requests.

More inclined to accept birthday requests than random requests, because random requests would be put into the rotation of my schedule and, well come on that shouldn’t be a surprise, they tend to be pushed off then in favor of fic ideas I came up with myself because there’s nearly always more enthusiasm about writing an idea that you came up with yourself than the idea of someone else. Whereas birthday requests have a set date that doesn’t disturb my schedule and I am a big softie who has a weakness for getting gifts myself so I do like to do something nice for someone so they get something special for their birthday.

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: Most excited to write? Well, that’d be the Descendant/PJO crossover atm, because that is something very new and shiny and I do love shiny, new things to experiment on. But also The Prince of Pluto, my next multiple-chapter fic that I have already started writing.

Tagging: Whoever wants to do it! <3

#Fanfiction #Comments #Tumblr Tag Game #this turned out long #xDDD #About Me

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spacebrick3 · 6 years

Text

(Part 1, apparently, since writing a six-person game generates a fair bit of dialogue)

“Tonight is game night!” Kjiersten shouted, walking into the common room with a box under their arm.

“It’s what now?” Crowe asked from where he sat, typing something out on his tablet. “Game night? No,” he said, shaking his head, “I am not doing a game night. It’s stupid.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” They put down the box and opened it up, putting the instructions carefully off to the side and removing the board. “You should join us, though. It would be fun, and it’d be nice to play with six people instead of five.”

He hesitated. “But it’s Monopoly,” he said at last. “Nobody likes Monopoly. Even the designer of Monopoly didn’t like Monopoly.”

Silicon stuck her - the blue badge on her collar was lit up, so it was her right now - head out from the door. “I like Monopoly. Are we playing Monopoly right now? Come on Crowe, you should play with us. Unless you’re scared that you’re going to lose, that is. Are you - is that it? Is that why you don’t want to play?” She vanished back into the room for a second, muffled shout coming through the door. “Hey! Emil! We’re playing Monopoly! Come on!”

“Fine. I’ll play,” he said. “But I want the battleship.”

“The battleship is mine!” Emil shouted, bursting through the door. Silicon followed, rolling her eyes. She sat down next to the board and picked up the dog token, turning it over in her hands before placing it on the starting position.

“What’s all this shouting?” Anise asked as she walked in. “Why’re you guys fighting? Can I join, or is it like something that’s personal between you two?” She picked up a token from the board and dropped it onto the starting position. “Deal me in.”

“If you’d just let me have the damn ship-“ Emil started.

“Like hell I’m giving you the ship!” Crowe shouted. “I got here first!”

Silicon sighed heavily, giving Anise a Look(tm). “Emil, give him the stupid ship and come sit with me. I got you the top hat, look.” She picked the token up and put it on top of her head, where it very slowly began to slide off. “Top hat.”

“How will I ever survive without the ship, though?” he asked cheerfully, tossing the ship over his shoulder (Crowe had to lunge to catch it), and grabbing the top hat just as it slid off of her head. “Don’t you know that if you have the ship, you’re guaranteed to win?”

“Unless you’re named after a bird, of course,” she added, swiping the token and throwing it onto the board. “Then you automatically lose.”

Kjiersten cleared their throat. They had managed to set up the rest of the board, doling out the money into six piles and setting out the cards. “If you’re quite finished. Before we start, do any of you know where I could find Sadie? I’d like to invite her to play as well, but-“

“She’s, um, sitting right behind you,” Emil said, pointing. They turned and saw that Sadie had managed to slip into the common room without them noticing, and was now sitting cross-legged on the floor. She was staring intently at the instructions, and a small silver token rested next to her.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” they said, turning to her. “Do you want to play Monopoly with us?” She nodded, not looking up from the paper. “Do you…know how to play Monopoly?”

She nodded again. “Now.”

“Alright then. Everybody else knows how to play, I think-?” They left the question hanging and were met with four nods from the rest of the group, who were organizing their initial stuff and seemed to busy to talk. “Good. I guess we can get started.”

——————————————————————————————————

-Turn 1-

“Roll,” Sadie said, addressing the computer, and holographic dice tumbled in midair.

While she moved, Anise leaned back against the wall. She looked bored. “This’s taking too long. Can we play the VFM version?”

“What’s that?” asked Kjiersten. “It sounds interesting.”

“It makes the game a lot quicker,” she said. “Because you can only use money for everything - if you can’t pay with what you have right now, then you go bankrupt. Basically, you can’t sell anything you’ve bought, although the name No Sell for this version didn’t sit too well with marketers.”

Sadie handed Kjiersten a bill, who took it without comment and passed her back the title deed. She placed it carefully next to the board, aligning it with her small stack of money, then passed the dice controller to Emil. “So are we playing that way?” he asked, making the gesture to roll the dice. “Not that I have anything to sell on the first turn, of course, but are we?”

“Yeah, sure,” Silicon added from where she was very slowly beginning to fall into Emil’s lap. He was pretending not to notice and failing miserably.

“I don’t mind,” said Crowe.

“I suggested it. Yeah, course I think we should do it.”

Kjiersten nodded. “Alright, Sadie, do you care?” She shook her head, but didn’t say anything. Not that that was unusual. “It looks like we’re playing that way, then. You bought it…you bought it, I suppose.”

“Was that really Oriental Avenue you wanted, huh?” Silicon asked, sitting up and leaning forwards to peer intently at Sadie. “Because…now…you can’t sell it back…” She hesitated, then shrugged, settling back onto Emil. “That was not a well-thought-out sentence, ignore me and get on with your lives.”

“It’s your turn, Syl,” he said, passing her the controller. “And I could never ignore you.”

“Oh, right, it is my turn,” she said, tossing the dice and waiting as the small simulation ran the numbers. “Did you buy anything? Are you the proud baron of whatever avenue was unfortunate enough to have you land on it?”

“Ha ha. Like you’re any more qualified to run, uh, Reading Railroad. Do you even know how a railroad works?”

“Of course I do. It’s like a subway, except it’s on top of the ground.” She passed the dice to Crowe. “Plus my railroad is going to be the best there is. It’s going to be one of those old velvet ones, with all the brass fixtures and purple and where there’s a special dining car - you know the ones.”

As Crowe traded them a bill for the last of the sky blue cards, Kjiersten raised a finger. “That’s actually an interesting point. Even here on the Foundation, there was still trains, because people still needed to get places over the ground. But now that instantaneous transportation between any two points exists, will there still be trains? Ships? Anything besides wormholes?”

“Well, the wormholes right now are ‘bout six feet in diameter - so they’re still not good for anything besides people, and not tall ones. And nothin’ on you, Sadie, but there’s a lot more being transported than just people. And…twelve. That puts me right on the electric company. I’ll buy it.”

“That’ll be a…hundred and fifty,” they said. “And I see what you’re saying, but now the technology’s here. And so it’s only going to get bigger, and more improved until all that cargo can be fit through a wormhole. So ships and trains might stick around for a while longer for transportation, eventually they’re going to be replaced.”

“People will still use them, though. Hell, people still use their old cars that they’ve had for a hundred years or whatever.”

They shrugged. “True. But they’re only keeping the luxury cars, not the mass-produced ones. So there still might be ships, but they’re only going to be AES-type ones, mostly. All the big IS ships will probably be scrapped, plus most of the STS. No one will need them.”

“I’m glad we’re having this discussion,” Crowe said, “but can we please get on with the game? I’d like to be able to”

——————————————————————————————————

-Turn 4-

“Roll.”

“You really going to burn through all your money like that, Sadie?” Crowe asked. She had bought a property on each square she’d landed on so far. “Or is it all part of the ‘plan’? Bankrupting us all in twenty turns?”

She ignored him, shuffling the title card and setting it out with the others. “Okay, okay, fine,” he said. “I’m sorry I said anything.”

“And yet you’re ignoring the true threat on this board,” Silicon responded, watching as Emil rolled. “You think you’re going to be the railroad baron, or whatever with your two railroads, but I am catching up. Silicon…Vanderbilt, that’s going to be me. Or Stanford, I suppose. I like Stanford better, because alliteration. Silicon Stanford, that’s me.”

“I assume you’re going to treat your workers a little better than the actual Stanford did?” Emil asked. “And yes, I’d like to buy Marvin Gardens. I don’t know why they named gardens after the most depressive robot in history.”

“I won’t have workers,” Silicon said. “I’ll run everything myself, plus an AI to get the trains running. I’ll call it…um…give me a second while I think of a pun.” Accepting the dice from Emil, she let it roll and pushed the small silver dog token forwards. “I get to pick a card…um…I advance to St. Charles, and take my 200 for passing Go. Hold on, you own St. Charles, don’t you?” she asked, pointing at Kjiersten. “How much is rent?”

They smiled. “You’re just passing through. I won’t make you pay rent.”

“That’s not how you win in Monopoly,” Crowe said. “You gotta…build your empire, like I’m doing here with…Pacific? This is Pacific?.”

“And how’s that working out? I can’t see that you have any two properties of the same color, let alone three,” they said, handing over the title card.

“No one does. It’s early days yet.”

“If you say so.”

“Ah, damn.” Anise was rolling now. “Guess who’s going to jail, bitches? Me. Evidently this square is a speed trap or whatever, and I was runnin’ this wheelbarrow too fast. See ya there.”

“The perils of a lawless economy,” Kjiersten said, rolling their own dice. “Oh. It appears I have landed on your ‘empire’, Crowe. Take my twenty-six dollars as tribute to Baron Leonid.”

“Very funny.”

Silicon sat bolt upright. “Scanford! That’s what the AI will be called! Leslie Scanford!”

Part 2 will come out on Friday, probably!

If you want to see the numbers for the whole game played out, there’s a spreadsheet here.

Since I don’t know much about who wants to be tagged (i only got one response on my ask post :/), I’ll just use my other tag list and then if you want to be added or removed, just let me know!

@lady-redshield-writes, @no-url-ideas-tho, @ratracechronicler, @ken-kenwrites, @ravenpuffwriter, @cirianne, @lonelylibrary @maxbeewriting, @endlesshourglass, @micastarsandmirrors, @thebloodstainedquill, @anip-ocs, @dreamwishing, @incandescent-creativity, @fatal-blow, @danafaithwriting, @wri-tten, @thewitchthetimeladythehuntress

#game night #empty space #turns out a six-person game ends up being long #because everybody (except sadie) is TALKING #anyways #have at it

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blackaquokat · 6 years

Text

May You Always Be Satisfied (Part 2)

( Part 1 )

Disclaimer: I may offend someone’s religious beliefs in this chapter. My apologies ahead of time. Also, I would like to remind everyone that the turnout for this pairing is still in flux, but I can’t promise a happy ending. My final note is that I think I’ll be tagging this pairing as “Acting Attorney” because I love the alliteration and the implications that come along with the name. Anywhoodle, enjoy!

Oo00oO

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” they hiss under their breath.

“You agreed, didn’t you?” Mark retorts in a whisper, only for some bozo in front of them to turn around and shush them. “Look,” he continues in a quieter voice, “it’s gotten nothing but good reviews and I know you love Agatha Christie—”

“I do not trust movie adaptations!”

“Then trust me as someone who knows good movies!”

They roll their eyes and steal popcorn from the bag he’s holding. “Aspiring to be an actor doesn’t automatically make you a good judge of films, Mark.”

Mark places a hand over his heart. “You hurt me, dear friend, with your lack of faith. And your assumption that I know what ‘aspiring’ means.” He shushes them when they snort. “Now quiet, your favorite murder mystery is beginning…”

He sees them stick their tongue out at him from his peripherals (it’s so out-of-character, but it’s also just adorable that he brings this side of them out to play), but pays them no heed as the opening credits start.

Inviting them to see And Then There Were None when it first released in theaters had been a spur of the moment decision. Damien is off visiting his family for this Thanksgiving and since their family is either estranged, dead, or still overseas (despite the conclusion of the war months prior, there is still work to be done, so Mark has yet to meet their mother), Mark has kept in touch in order to give them company. This primarily involves calling them regularly and popping in for visits at least once every other day. He really isn’t in the mood to see his own family right now anyway. The house holds too many unhappy memories; memories he has not quite recovered from yet.

When Mark heard about one of the most popular mystery stories of their time had been adapted for the big screen, Mark hadn’t even waiting a day before buying tickets and inviting his reticent friend along.

As the film played out, Mark would occasionally glance over to his companion and feel a spark of happiness at how transfixed they look. Whenever they actually gasped during a particularly tense scene, he couldn’t help but smile when he wasn’t jumping in his seat himself.

Afterwards, as they exit the theatre, Mark nudges them with his arm. “So, am I still a bad judge of movies?”

They shove him gently in return. “It was more accurate to the book than I was expecting. You got lucky, Chucklehead.”

“Of course I did! I got to see this masterpiece with you!”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Mark wants to grab them and crush them in his palm. He didn’t realize how true they were until he spoke them, and now there’s no taking them back.

Luckily, however, his friend doesn’t take him too seriously, rolling their eyes but reaching over and squeezing his forearm fondly. “Thanks for bringing me along.”

It feels like his heart is in his throat, and despite his best efforts, he can’t force it back down. He does, however, force a genuine smile, because seeing them happy brings him a kind of joy he’s never really felt before. Like flower petals fluttering in his chest.

“My pleasure.”

Oo00oO

Fall turns to winter, and then comes Christmas, and since Mark had spent Thanksgiving with their friend, this meant he got the “privilege” of spending Christmas with his parents while Damien gave their friend company during the holiday.

“So you guys are just going to take turns making sure I don’t spend the school breaks alone?” they had grumbled when Mark and Damien had first told them about their individual holiday plans.

“I’m jealous, honestly,” Mark had defended. “I’d much rather be here than at my place. I can’t stand my parents, and you make the best hot chocolate because you’re better at utilizing the ration cards.”

“It’s just cocoa and milk, Mark.”

“You put cinnamon too.”

“It’s not difficult to make. At all.”

“Then how does yours taste so superior to everyone else’s?”

They’d rolled their eyes, but Mark and Damien had felt reassured that they enjoyed the company, despite their pretend irritation.

When Mark returns to University after his time at home, he tries not to ruminate on how excited he feels at the prospect of seeing his friends again (or the way his pulse thrums at the thought of speaking to his reticent friend in person after so many days of just communicating via occasional phone call).

The last time he’d talked to Damien, the latter had suggested meeting at their favorite café, Amy’s Planet, and so that is where Mark is driving first.

He parks his car and tears out of the vehicle only to skid to a stop when he sees his friends through the window inside the café, he taps on the window repeatedly and waves when he gets their attention. They wave back as he enters, ignoring the glares of the other patrons.

Damien and their friend stand up from their table to embrace him (he tries not to linger too long in his friend’s embrace, in the scent of old paper and linen).

“I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed the both of you,” Mark declares as they all sit back down. He takes the seat between them around the small, circular table.

“Aw, that’s sweet.” His friend lifts up their coffee mug in a mock-toast. “I have to say, I missed you too, Chucklehead.”

“Excuse me,” Damien suddenly says, “I thought I was your Chucklehead?”

They raise their eyebrow at Damien’s face. “No, Damien, you are both chuckleheads to me.”

Damien gasps. “You mean to tell me we’ve both been your Chuckleheads this whole time!?”

Mark gasps as well, a hand flying to his chest for extra effect. “How dare you!? You rotten two-timer, I thought we had something special!”

They drop their head to the table, but it’s fairly obvious that they’re laughing at the antics. Mark and Damien exchange a victorious glance.

A few minutes later, their head lifts from the table and they take in a deep breath, forcing a straight face. “Well, Chuckleheads, why don’t you tell me what you want to eat and I’ll go tell the lady at the counter?”

Mark and Damien relay their orders, but as their friend stands up, they stare down at Mark. “If you keep slapping your chest every time you want to be dramatic, you’ll get a bruise.”

Mark scoffs. “Excuse you, what will actually happen is my chest will become hard as a rock. The ladies won’t be able to resist me!”

They roll their eyes and flick his forehead. As they leave for the counter, they ruffle Damien’s hair.

This action elicits a…strange response.

Damien, at first, waves their hand away and attempts to fix his hair with a mumble of irritation. Once they pass out of reach, however, a look comes over Damien’s face as he watches them approach the counter and speak to the cashier.

It’s a look Mark has seen before. Several times, actually.

But never before has Damien’s lovelorn eyes sent such daggers through his stomach.

Mark doesn’t speak much for a good while, too occupied observing Damien and trying to see any interest in their friend’s face when they return to the table with food. The latter is difficult, for even though he and Damien have for the most part coaxed them out of their taciturn shell, they still keep their emotions close to their chest.

Still…

Damien seems to make them smile more than Mark has seen in the past.

As happy as it makes Mark to witness, seeing that incredible sunrise smile…the daggers still twist.

Mark eventually manages to shake off the melancholy cast over him and puts on a performance for his closest friends that could have won him an Oscar.

Oo00oO

Later that day, as Mark follows Damien back to their shared dorm, he decides to broach the subject.

“Seems as though you and our friend have grown quite close since I’ve been gone.”

“Wha—OW!!”

Damien slides to the floor, holding his foot with a grimace. He’d slammed his toes into the bed frame when Mark asked his question.

“You were saying?”

Damien growls in pain as he rubs his toes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mark.”

“Right, Damien.” Mark rolls his eyes and drops to the floor in front of his friend. “I’ve been by your side through four girlfriends and two boyfriends. I know how you look when you’re smitten, and you are smitten.”

Damien looks up at Mark, something vulnerable and discerning in his gaze. “I could say the same of you.”

Mark’s hesitation only lasts a second (there is no possible way he’s been so obvious of his infatuation and that’s all it is an infatuation) before he scoffs and waves his hand. “Please, Damien. They are wonderful, and I am proud to know them, but I’m most certainly not in love with them.” The defense leaves an acidic taste on his tongue. “They are far too severe for my taste. You know how I like to have a bit of fun,” he tacks on with a wink, despite the burn in his chest.

“Mark—”

“Besides, you have so much in common! You are both going into politics, you’re both passion about justice! You should speak to them; perhaps invite them to the next motion picture coming out! They love horror films, just so you’re aware, but they also love a good murder mystery and the occasional romance.”

Damien stares at him, and Mark worries at first that his friend can see right through his act. Shamefully, part of him hopes for it.

But then Damien nods. “I see. I…I suppose…” Blood rushes into his cheeks. “I’ll keep your words in mind.”

Mark wraps an arm around Damien’s shoulders and squeezes him into a hug. “I wish you all the luck, Goodwin. However, I must warn you: if you ever hurt them, I will act accordingly.” He pats Damien’s back and goes to his own bunk, ignoring how Damien’s knowing eyes follow his movements.

Oo00oO

Mark never gets the chance to see if Damien follows his advice or not because, just three days later, Mark receives the news that, irrevocably, alters the course of his life.

His parents have died.

The circumstances are unclear, exactly. The officials, when they deliver the report, only state that it’s an accident of some kind, involving the car as it left the property, but that doesn’t make sense how in the hell could the car have crashed or exploded or whatever had happened on the way out of their home—

But it happened.

His parents’ bodies are found in the charred remains of the car, and Mark is now utterly alone.

Well, not completely.

When he receives the news, his friend is with him, as is Damien. They hold him as he cries (though he’s not sure what he’s crying for exactly, they haven’t felt like his parents for so long, with their loud fights over nothing and ever-growing antagonism towards the rest of the world, the longer they had lived in that house, the worse his life became) and offer to go to the funeral with him.

Mark almost says no, because classes have just begun once more in full swing, but the idea of facing a sea of people who only know him and his family through reputation is just…a horrifying prospect.

So the three of them are briefly excused from their studies in order to attend the funeral.

Mark wishes he could say that it was a private, personal affair between close friends and family. Unfortunately, wealth and prestige don’t allow for that. He is forced to deal with a large number of strangers and politicians visiting a blown-out-of-proportion service.

After the initial talks and speeches about his parents’ lives and a rather long line of people coming to him and expressing condolences, there is a break in well-wishers. This gives Mark enough time to take a breath and express his distaste for the whole institution.

“If I hear one more comment about God taking my parents because He needed more angels in heaven, I may end up killing someone,” Mark mutters loud enough for just his friends to hear.

Damien pats his shoulder in reassurance. “Then there’ll be yet another angel.”

“I’ve never understood why people find that reassuring,” his friend suddenly says thoughtfully. “The whole ‘my loved ones were taken to be angels’ belief? The whole idea about God is that he’s all-powerful, right? If so, he could just make angels whenever he wanted, he wouldn’t need the souls of the living to do so.”

“Well, I imagine it is a sentiment people find comfort in, whether it’s accurate or not,” Damien ventures.

“But it doesn’t make sense, and even if it were true, how could anyone worship Him after such a thing? If a pastor told me that my loved ones were taken to serve God, I’d quit the whole Christian thing right then and there.”

There’s a familiar bitterness tainting their voice over the whole rant. Mark wonders if someone had attempted this manner of comfort when they lost their father.

“What I find hilarious about this,” Mark interjects to keep them from growing sadder, “is that this kind of questioning would offend so many people here, and the thought of you frightening off a third of these false-pious crumbs just delights me.”

A smirk pulls at their lips. “Well, I’m glad that I can delight you during these ‘trying times,’ Mark.”

Mark smothers a laugh behind his hand. “Trying times” has been said to him so often in the past hour alone, he swears he could fill a book with the phrase. And then cheerfully chuck the book into a hot fire.

“Wait a second,” he suddenly says. “That whole rant about angels…”

“What about it?”

“I just realized I don’t know. Are you a Chris—”

“Are we allowed to eat yet?” they interrupt as though they didn’t hear him. “I’m really hungry, and you still have a pretty large entourage to work through.”

“Uh…” Mark looks around. ��There shouldn’t be anyone in the room right now, but if anybody gives you trouble, tell them to talk to me.”

They pat him on the shoulder. “My stomach thanks you, Chucklehead.”

“I think I’ll join you,” Damien offers. “And then we’ll smuggle food back here for you, Mark.”

“I appreciate it.”

Mark desperately tries not to watch the two of them go, but he does. They’re holding hands, but they have a tendency to do that with both Mark and Damien. Doesn’t mean anything.

Yet.

But Mark may as well have shoved Damien into their arms though, before all of this happened. And who wouldn’t want someone like Damien? Sweet, loving, supportive, painfully kind…

(Would he have encouraged Damien though, had he known this would happen, with his parents? The though tugs at him like a hook, and he can’t quite dig it out.)

Mark shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. No need to fall off that cliff just yet, not when he’s already teetering on a completely different one.

Suddenly, the air feels too close, a horrid weight on his chest, and he hears another guest heading in his direction, so he hurries to head outside, muttering something about a headache.

Once he reaches the outside world, he takes in a deep breath and lets it out, feeling the smell of green grass sting his nostrils. A small breeze cools him down from all the body he sustained while still inside. He counts his blessings that the service is being held at a funeral home, not his manor. It’ll be hard enough living there without the memory of a thousand strangers overrunning the grounds offering condolences over a couple they barely knew.

God, he’s going to be alone in that house now. He can’t decide if that will be worse than being there with his parents.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving already, I just got here.”

Mark’s head jerks up and to the side to see the last person he ever thought would be at his parents’ funeral.

“Celine?”

Damien’s twin sister stares up at him, red lips lift into a small grin. “Don’t sound so surprised, like I actually wasn’t going to find a way here somehow.”

A desperate, choked sort of laugh leaves his throat as he hugs Celine close. He holds tight for a long time before they both let go.

“Does Damien know you’re here?”

“Damien can’t lie to our parents to save his life, so I didn’t tell him I snuck away. On the bright side…” She taps his nose with the tip of an obsidian nail, “it made for a pretty surprising entrance, right?”

“I’d say! Only…should I expect the cops to show up here to take you back home soon, once your parents realize you’re gone?”

Celine lets out a sweet giggle, but then she sobers as she reaches down to take his hand in hers, patting it gently. “I’m sorry about your parents, Mark. Truly.”

And there it is. The pity he’s disdained over the course of this entire affair. But at least this is genuine, and from someone who knows his family, his situation, and, more importantly, him.

At least this is from someone he’s always cared for.

“Thanks, I erm…” He shakes his head. “I honestly have been having trouble wrapping my mind around it.”

“I can imagine.” Celine purses her lips into a grimace. “Well, not really, but I understand what you’re saying.” She looks towards the crowded parking lot with utter distaste. “Politicians?”

“And fellow Blue Bloods.”

“Ugh, both at once. It’s a wonder you’ve lasted this long.” She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “Would you like to go get drinks and talk? Away from here?”

Mark almost declines. It feels a little insensitive to leave, especially without Damien and his friend, but when he looks in the window of the funeral home…

There they are, sneaking food off the buffet into napkins with Damien, both with barely contained smiles. They mouth something Mark can’t make out, and Damien shoves their arm gently in response, making their smile widen.

Mark looks back at Celine, old feelings and passions rolling in his chest, and makes a decision.

“Drinks sound good.”

Oo00oO

Two weeks later, Damien is sitting next to his friend on their living room couch. His hair is untidy from his hands continuously running through it and he’s been staring at the coffee table for an inordinate amount of time, utterly shell shocked. A letter from Mark and Celine dangles loosely from his hand as his elbows rest on his knees.

His friend has been terribly silent, arms crossed and their lips pressed into a thin, grim line. Their back is pressed into the couch. Damien can feel the disappointment and barely contained anger tinging the air.

“Bastard could have at least invited you to the wedding,” they eventually mutter.

Damien sighs. “He could have invited you, too.”

“Yes, well, it’s not my sister he eloped with, is it?”

A ragged cough strangles out of Damien’s throat. There’s a shifting on the couch and an arm lands across his shoulders in a small hug.

“Sorry,” they whisper. “That was...I shouldn’t have said that, it was insensitive.”

“You’re not wrong,” he reassures them sadly. “I just...I don’t understand why...”

They shrug. “He’s an idiot,” they bite, and Damien is astonished by the anger in their voice.

“My friend—”

“Look, if I’ve learned anything after all that I’ve been through,” they interrupt firmly, “it’s that no one should make any major decisions while they’re still grieving. Much less getting married to his best friend’s twin two weeks after becoming an orphan, my God, what was he thinking...?”

Their voice suddenly chokes and they stand from the couch, pacing away.

Damien thinks now would be the worst time to share his suspicions, and yet they still swim furiously in his mind, drowning him.

Damn it, he should have just talked to Mark when he had the chance, before his parents died, told him the truth about their friend, maybe this wouldn’t have happened…but the whole misunderstanding had been so awkward and Damien had no idea how to clear the air without exposing their friend’s true sentiments, and then everything else happened so fast…

Why did it have to be his sister, he thinks in despair. Why now, when their parents had already threatened to cut her off from her inheritance, disown her from the family?

“I’ve always known he’s had…feelings for Celine,” Damien ventures quietly. He hates the way they stiffen as he speaks, but he needs to say this, before they think worse of Mark than he deserves. “But I never thought for a moment that he would…”

“Just run off with her without so much as a by-your-leave?”

He flinches at the blunt tone. Still, he hears the hurt sewn through the bitterness.

“Well, you know what?” they suddenly say, in painfully false giddiness as they turn back to Damien. “I hope they’re happy together. I really do.” They’re blinking too fast, eyes glinting. “Not like we needed him around anyway…” They release a deep, ragged breath. “You want some tea, I’ll go make some. I think we both could use it…”

They practically run to the kitchen, and Damien has never felt more helpless.

Mark, what have you done?

Oo00oO

@intemperantiae , @silver-owl413 , @dontworryaboutanything , @skidspace , @beereblogsstuff , @musical-jim , @imalsodeadinside , @cosmic--frappucino , @sketchy-scribs-n-doods , @sassy-in-glasses , @determinedrevolutionary , @cherrybomb-jaguar , @chelseareferenced , @falseroar , @soul-wolf , @ur-fairy-god-dragon

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#acting attorney #wkm #actor mark #y/n district attorney #kat writes #actor!mark #who killed markiplier #did you guys think i was joking when i said there would be pain?

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basic-banshee · 6 years

Text

large black coffee (part 3)

A Carry On Coffeeshop - AU/ College - AU inspired by this beautiful art.

“I hear his breath catch when he finally sees me. His breath. He literally gasped. I’m so beautiful and regal I took his fucking breath away.”

Baz

Holy shit, he’s here.

He’s standing in the doorway, shaking rain out of his hair and staring around at the room in wonder, like he’s never seen a bookstore before. Like it’s a delight.

I can’t believe I almost didn’t see him. I didn’t even look up when the door opened, I just kept working on my essay, and then I glanced up on a whim, and there he is.

I look down. He hasn’t noticed me. I don’t want him to catch me staring, so I force myself back into the exact position I was in when he entered. Distracted, absorbed, absolutely not entirely tuned in to him.

I hear his breath catch when he finally sees me. His breath. He literally gasped. I’m so beautiful and regal I took his fucking breath away.

Or, more likely, I scared the shit out of him.

(I’m honestly fine with either scenario.)

I keep my face completely blank when I look up again. I don’t know what expression he would expect to find there (surprise? Anger? Disbelief? Happiness?) but I don’t want him to find any.

He’s still standing in the doorway like a moron.

“Can I help you?”

My tone is forcibly cool and clipped, and he nods awkwardly and shuffles over to the counter where I’m sitting. He’s still staring around at the room.

“I didn’t know you worked,” he says. There’s a long silence and then he adds, “here.”

He didn’t think I worked because I’m rich. That’s cute.

“Well, I do,” I answer. He’s stopped staring around the room and is now staring at the counter that my laptop and I are currently leaning on. I follow the direction of his eyes, attempting to work out what’s caught his attention, and—

Fuck. He’s seen them.

It never occurred to me that Snow would walk into a fucking bookstore of all places, so I never thought about what would happen if he caught me. It was never even a dim possibility in my mind, but here he is, at my work, staring at my fucking coffee cup collection.

Today’s is here — there’s still coffee in it, and it says “fuck face”. He’s used it before but I don’t mind. It’s one of my favourites. Partly because of the alliteration, and partly because I love the mental image.

But just next to it is the cup that says “goblin.” It’s my absolute favourite cup because it was so unexpected. I actually laughed when I saw it, I didn’t even have a cutting remark for him that day. I’ve got some pens shoved into it so that no one will mistake it for rubbish, and next to it is another cup reading “creepy vampire” which holds some paper clips. I suppose I just like the idea of Simon Snow thinking of me as some mythical beast.

“What brings you in?” I ask, attempting to pull his attention from the cups. My voice is actually nice. Shit.

Simon

I was not expecting him to be here.

I’m not used to seeing him outside of the cafe or class much. In the cafe he’s all snarling and sneering, and in class he’s always either complete tuned in to the lecture or off in his own world.

I see him on campus sometimes, but he’s always got headphones in and walks like he’s off to kill a man. I saw him walking back from football practice once though, and that was weird, because he was all kitted out and sweaty and I’d never seen him look that relaxed before.

It makes sense that he’s a footballer, I guess. He’s got that kind of build, you know? I was on the phone, just loitreing in the parking lot waiting for Penny to meet me when I saw him, and I kind of ducked behind a tree, which makes me sound sort of creepy I suppose. But he had his hair up and he was walking slowly and he looked so calm that I just didn’t believe it was actually him for a bit.

He looks calm now, but it’s different, it’s like a controlled calm. He was leaning against the counter typing something into his laptop and that stupid long hair of his was in his face when I came in, before he looked up, nonplussed. And he’s wearing a T-shirt. Literally just a black T-shirt, the same kind I’m wearing under my jumper, but he’s one of those assholes who makes a plain T-shirt look fucking good, because he’s so tall and fit. The edge of one of the sleeves is curled up a bit, and it’s outlining one of the muscles on his upper arm, which is flexed a little because that’s the arm he’s leaning on and—

Yeah anyway, like I said, it’s weird.

As if he can read my mind I watch him reach to the desk behind him, the one where some of his old coffee cups are being used for office supplies, with my embarrassing fucking insults displayed for all the world to see, and he grabs a cardigan. He pulls it on, covering up his arms and I’m almost panicking because I seriously think he was reading my mind, but then I notice the small space heater that’s chugging away next to his laptop, and I realise he’s just cold. Baz is cold. How fucking mundane.

“I’m looking for a book for my friend’s birthday,” I spit out finally. “Penny. Bunce. Penny Bunce.”

“What kind of books does she like?” he asks slowly. I can’t believe I’m asking him for a book recommendation. What kind of books does a guy like him even read?

“Uh, well, everything. She reads loads, she likes nonfiction,” I start to babble, then I stop and sigh. “Honestly, no idea. She hates every book I recommend to her.”

I swear I see the corners of his mouth tick up. I can’t believe I’m having a civil conversation with him.

“What are Bunce‘s interests, then? In general.”

“Uh,” I say. I can’t tell him that Penny likes everything, because that’s not true. But she’s interested in everything, to some degree. “She’s into feminism. Science. Cannibalism.”

I regret saying that last one, that one’s weird. But it’s true. She is into cannibalism. This week at least. Reading about it, that is. Not, you know, doing it.

Baz doesn’t seem too surprised by this list at all though, and he just nods.

“Follow me,” he says, pushing back from the counter and coming around to stand next to me. I’m not sure if he’s ever actually stood next to me before, and I don’t know why I’m thinking that, but I follow him as he walks up the short stairs at the edge of the room that lead to the nonfiction section. He walks through the shelves without even looking, pulling books out of their carefully arranged places, and returns to me with four.

“This is a nonfiction memoir about feminism,” he says, handing me a bright pink book with a fruit on the cover that looks vaguely inappropriate. I try not to flush. “Here is a new biography about Marie Curie.” He places that in my hands as well. “This is by a mortician who looks humourously at how other cultures celebrate and handle death,” he puts a huge black book in my hands, “and if you don’t like those, here is a special edition cover of Sylvia Plath.”

I stare at the books in my hands. Literally all of them are perfect for Penny. How did he do this so fast?

“Oh, thanks, these are...perfect,” I stutter. “Have you read any of them?”

He nods.

“Just the Plath and the one about death.”

“That’s kind of redundant, don’t you think?” I say. The joke slips out before I realise it, and I glance at him to see his reaction. He doesn’t laugh. His face hasn’t even moved.

“Let’s go with the death one, then,” I say quickly, holding up the large black book.

“Good choice. There’s cannibalism in it,” he says dryly, taking the books from my hands. He quickly replaces three of them, then heads directly to the counter. He doesn’t even look back to see if I’m following.

Baz

Simon fucking Snow just made a Sylvia Plath joke.

Simon Snow reads.

This information has disturbed me in a way I didn’t think was possible. If he told me he had killed a dragon I would probably process that more easily than I am currently processing the idea of Simon Snow reading Sylvia Plath.

He trails me back to the counter and looks around impatiently while I fill in the receipt slip and start to import it into our ancient system. I glance back down as he taps a freckled hand on my school book.

“What are you studying for?” he asks. He’s actually serious. What the fuck is this day?

“Economics,” I say shortly. He nods.

“Ah, yeah, that makes sense.”

Does it? Do I seem like the kind of guy who becomes an economist? I guess that’s kind of a compliment, of sorts.

“You?” I ask, because it’s polite, and also because I actually do want to know what concentration someone as ridiculous as him would choose.

“Oh, er, English,” he says.

English. The boy who can’t fucking speak properly is studying English. Of course.

“Why did you choose that?” My question comes out a bit harsh, which I’m relieved for, because this interaction has been entirely too cordial.

My tone seems to have helped Snow find steady footing again though, because suddenly he grins at me, and it’s stunning. It’s the same smile I got the day my cup read “world’s tallest twat”. I could tell he was truly proud of that one. His smile takes up his whole face, pushing his ruddy cheeks up and his teeth show and it’s like drowning in the sun.

“I dunno. It’s funny, right? I guess it just seems like the best option, which is mad considering I’m a bit shit with words.”

Suddenly the smile is gone, and a cloud passes over his face, like he’s gone too far and said something he didn’t intend to.

I don’t answer, and instead focus on running his card through the machine and fill in the receipt. This interaction has been revolutionary; I don’t want to spook him with too much kindness.

Simon

He puts the receipt in the book and slides it toward me without even looking at me. He’s completely checked out of this conversation. Is that what this is? It has to be. We’ve exchanged multiple words, and there have been no insults. It’s making me itch.

I’m actually happy that he sounds so disinterested when he tells me he hopes Bunce enjoys the book. It’s normal. It’s nasty. I cling to it.

I grab the book and give him a quick nod before I leave the store. It’s huge. I wish I had been able to wander around it a bit. Penny doesn’t have patience with me when we go book shopping, I never just get to meander through, so I was actually looking forward to doing that today. I’m not sure I would have though, once I saw Baz. I can’t imagine just knocking around the store, knowing that he’s there and can see me.

I’m three streets away when I look back at the book and see the receipt sticking out of it. I can see the top of his handwriting. It’s fucking perfect. No wonder he’s such a dick about mine.

I pull out the receipt to glare at his handwriting some more when I notice the “customer name” section. I’ve never seen it filled out on a handwritten receipt before, but there it is, in perfect, elegant letters, filled out.

“Illiterate pissant.”

#snowbaz #snowbaz fanfic #carry on #carry on fanfic #carry on fanfiction #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #basilton pitch #college au #coffeeshopau #coffee shop au #chaptered #large black coffee

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