#aka the nighttime scene but make it morning | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chokeholds-illegal · 2 years

Text

Make Me a Deal

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

Era: Season 3 -- Prison

Summary: After clearing the prison, the group finally has what they wanted: beds to sleep in, fences to keep the walkers out. But not everybody is convinced. In the dead of night -- when only two souls are still wide-awake -- a watch tower rendezvous leads to a confession.

[AKA soft!Daryl is shy and admits his feelings for you.]

Warnings: mentions of typical TWD gore and violence

fluff/romance

Word Count: 2k

"Sleep."

You couldn't believe it.

"Sleep," Rick repeats.

It felt like centuries since the last time you dared drift off to slumber without fear of the dead creeping up on camp in the dark. There was always a rustle in the trees, a shadow in the corner of your eye. But now, Rick, who had become like family, was telling you to drink your fill of rest.

"Are you sure?" you ask, hesitantly taking a step towards the cot in the corner of the cell. "I mean, I can take first watch."

You and the group had cleared the courtyard and cellblock earlier that day. For the first time since the beginning, you had fences surrounding you -- tall ones. To the best of everyone's knowledge, this section of the prison was secure. It felt bizarre.

"Nah," Rick replies before sending you a reassuring half-smile. "You need to sleep. The fences will hold. And besides, Daryl already laid claim to the guard tower."

You sigh and plop down on the mattress. It's thin, and awful, and horridly springy. But it's the most inviting thing in the universe right now. Daryl Dixon -- of course he claimed first watch already. You swear, that man sleeps even less than you. Ever since the day you met him, back at that little quarry outside Atlanta, he was always the martyr. He didn't like to show it, but it was obvious: Always the one who jumped at the opportunity to protect. Always the one who didn't need the extra serving of whatever dinner your group had scrounged together -- "Nah, I'll catch something to eat tomorrow morning." Always the one who didn't need a blanket -- "I ain't no pussy. Ain't even cold."

Daryl Dixon is a damn good man.

That night, you seem to toss and turn endlessly despite knowing that the prison is clear. The slightest sound -- probably just Carl or one of the others shifting in their sleep -- causes your eyes to snap open, and your heart rate to spike. Your cell feels too small, too strange. And after what must be a few hours of honest effort, you decide that sleep won't be coming tonight.

Maybe, Daryl wants someone to take over the watch tower. You silently ease yourself out of the cot and slip out past the half-open cell door. The cell block is quiet, and moonlight scatters in from the upper windows, bathing the concrete floors in pale blue. You make your way outside and quietly pad across the courtyard. A gentle breeze billows through the yellowed, drying grass, sighing a hushed whisper in the nighttime air.

If you squint, you can make out a few shifting figures in the distance outside the fence -- walkers mulling about, passing through the forest unaware of the group's presence in the prison. But even with them out there, you have to admit that the scene is damn peaceful.

You reach the base of the guard tower and start to climb the stairs. When you reach the top, you gently push the door open, not wanting to startle Daryl. Although, you're sure he was already aware you were there. His senses are too keen not to notice the soft footsteps ascending the stairs.

"Whatcha doin' here?" Daryl remarks as you gently close the heavy door behind you.

He's sitting on the wooden sill, over looking the courtyard. His back is leaned against a support beam, and he appears to be fiddling with the string of his crossbow.

"Need someone to take over?" you ask in response.

"Nah, I'm good," the dark-haired man answers in a low, gravelly voice. "Can't sleep anyways."

You chuckle under your breath, making your way over to the sill where Daryl is perched.

"Yeah, me neither."

Daryl reaches in the pocket of his worn jeans, producing a bruised box of Marlboro cigarettes. He offers it to you, and you take it from his outstretched hand.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, taking deep draws of your cigarettes and breathing out sift snakes of smoke. Just two orange glowing dots in the dark. There had always been a strange comfort with you and Daryl. Despite the innumerable differences between you, there was something special that made it so damn easy for you to talk to him. Maybe it's the way his eyes soften when he's listening to you speak. Or maybe it's the way he always treats you as an equal.

But for Daryl, it was more. He tried his best not to show it, but there was something about you that tugged at him relentlessly. He tried to push it down at first. It's bizarre feeling for him, and he finds himself grappling, trying to decide what you are to him. What he can allow himself to feel. Yeah, you were pretty — he’d admit that much to himself. But that’s where it had to stop, or so his inner voice scolds him. There was no way in hell you felt the same way about him. Despite your kindness towards him, there was so way you saw him as anything more than a loudmouth redneck.

Right?

"Weird, isn't it?" you remark, snapping Daryl from his thoughts.

He gives you a confused stare.

"I mean, having this place. It feels surreal," you elaborate. "Do you think the fences will really hold?"

"They seem to have been doing just fine so far," Daryl replies, reassuring you. Despite his words, he feels a similar skepticism -- this place is surely too good to be true.

"Rick was talking about planting some seeds over there," you say, pointing to the far left corner of the courtyard. "It could be the start of something. And for the baby... it could be good."

You and Lori had a strange relationship from the start, and Daryl knew that. This made it all the more apparent to him that you were desperately hoping for this place to be all it seems on the surface.

He was hoping too. Since the start of the end, everything was run, run, run. Go, and don't look back. He wasn't going to admit it, but he's exhausted. To just settle down for a bit, to be able to close his eyes and rest... it would be heaven. Maybe they could make something here. And then maybe -- just maybe -- there would be time to start sorting out his strange and foreign emotions surrounding you.

"Never thought I'd be glad to be in prison," you jest, letting a chuckle escape your lips.

A pang of soreness shoots through your shoulder muscle. Maybe, you pulled it earlier today dragging all those walker bodies out of the courtyard. Or, it could have been tense from holding that heavy gun nearly all day. You rub at it and let out a soft groan.

Before you know it, Daryl is on his feet.

“C’mere,” he says, beckoning you to come closer.

You let him come up behind you, your arms dropping to your sides. You feel his large, warm hands connect with your upper back. He kneads at the muscles there, firmly but hesitantly. Suddenly, your heart is racing.

Daryl’s is, too. He wonders where in the world he found the courage to offer you a massage — it’s as if the action came first and the thought lagged behind. He feels the soft fabric of your tanktop... He allows his hands to roam a bit further, brushing against your bare shoulder...

Your breath hitches in your throat.

“Sorry, my hands pro’ly don’t feel very nice,” he blurts out, quickly snatching his hands away from you. He glances down at his rough, calloused fingers and starts to feel embarrassment rising up.

You turn around to face the man, and the sight before you nearly melts your heart. A slight blush of red has made it’s way to his cheekbones, with a matching hue creeping up to the tips of his ears. Daryl Dixon... blushing?

Even in the darkness of night, you can see him quietly chewing at the inside of his lower lip, the way he does when he’s nervous. Something about seeing such a muscular, hulking man reduced to a blushing mess stirs deep emotions inside you.

“Actually, your hands feel quite nice,” you reply sweetly, giving him a shy smile.

The moment that follows seems to last an eternity. Daryl’s eyes are locked on yours, searching. His hair is getting long; a few unruly bangs falling into his face. Still, his blush is apparent.

In that moment, something swells inside you. A thought passes into your mind, taking you by surprise.

God, I wish he would kiss me.

A million little “what ifs” whizz through.

What would his lips feel like? What would he taste like? Would he bring those rough hands to my face and hold my cheek? Would he press his body to mine...

“Can I touch ya' more?” Daryl suddenly asks.

The words come out barely louder than a whisper, a soft rasp. You couldn’t have heard him correctly, right? You feel your heart pound harder still.

“Hmm?”

You’re sure you must be blushing now, too. Did Daryl Dixon really just say that?

At first, he doesn't reply, he just keeps those gorgeous, mysterious eyes steadfast. You swear, in that moment, you feel electricity in the air.

“Sorry," he finally mumbles out. His eyes fall to the floor in utter embarrassment. He silently wishes that, just once, he could rewind time. "I dunno why I said that."

He takes a step towards the door. Damn it. You feel suddenly stupid for not saying anything in response.

"No, no!" you blurt out, stepping to the left to block his leaving. You take a deep breath and slowly let it go. Courage, I need you now. "I just... Daryl... I just want to make sure I'm not reading this wrong. I haven't even had a chance to think about anything beyond survival for so long, it feels like. But I... I just want to be around you all the time. But I don't want to ruin us --"

"You ain't readin' it wrong."

His words bring your rambles to a full halt.

He likes me.

Daryl's hair has fallen into his eyes, obscuring his face. But you can tell by the tone of his words that he's sincere. He's also scared. You take a gingerly step forward, approaching him closer. Slowly, you lift a shaky hand to his face. He doesn't flinch away, so you gently brush a loose strand of hair from his eyes. You move slow; Daryl's always felt like a wild bird to you. If you move too fast, too sudden, he'll get spooked and fly away.

And you want him to stay.

"I want you, too," you whisper, causing his eyes to flutter up and meet yours.

You can actually hear his shaky exhale -- the breath he had been holding. A wave of relief washes over his features.

"Then, make me a deal, [Y/N]," Daryl says quietly, his voice steadier than moments ago. "If these fences hold. When Rick starts tha' garden of his... When that baby's born... healthy... When we can sleep at nigh' without jumpin' at every sound. Give me a chance."

His words are so sweet, so intimate, so... Daryl. Your heart flutters. Your feel so privileged to be a part of this secret exchange in the dark, this secret promise. Daryl is so close that you can feel his breath on your face. He looks so handsome in the moonlight; the soft glow illuminating his nose, his jaw. In that moment, you'd promise him anything.

"Deal."

#daryl dixon #daryl imagines #daryl fanfiction #twd imagine #twd #daryl smut #soft!daryl #daryl fic #daryl x reader #twd x reader #daryl x you #the walking dead daryl

757 notes · View notes

cardanapologist · 2 years

Text

Enchanted

HIII this is my first fic for this universe! I write fanfic but not really for books, so I hope it’s good! I really enjoyed writing this!

aka, Taryn’s trial told from Cardan’s POV

(3.1k words)

***

Cardan sits on his throne, his hand holding his chin delicately in his palm. It’s nighttime and the chatter of the people around him would normally make him want to close his eyes and nod off, but tonight is one he’s been dreading. He must be awake for it. He must endure it, tuck his emotions away, and move on.

His eyes, however, are half lidded as he stares absentmindedly at the entrance of the throne room. There are guards perched everywhere and no matter how much Cardan tries to avoid their gaze, he realizes with an unsettling feeling that they’re all staring at him. He understands that they’re only increasing their vigilance due to the recent murder of Locke, but a part of him wants to snort and scold them about how intensifying security after a murder does not make his friend return, nor make the castle any more secure.

Although, he wouldn’t use the term friend in front of anybody. Not to describe Locke at least. And he takes special care not to say it in front of Nicasia who is currently right beside him, staring at the entrance of the throne room with a different look in her eye.

Cardan admits, it’s a little amusing to see that light return to her eyes at the cruelty of the circumstances around them. Ever since the scene unfolded four months ago, Nicasia has enjoyed entering and leaving his hall. It seems, to her, that the nuisance that is the Queen of Elfhame, has been eradicated from the equation. Cardan thinks about it briefly. Has she been fully eradicated? A flicker of unease builds in his chest at the thought of, the memory of looking down his nose at Jude as the people around them laughed. He recalls how he burned his eyes into hers, quirking a brow when she immediately didn’t pardon herself from exile. Cardan had been partially impressed by her acting skills, but now, four months later, he wishes he’d been a little more clear about his riddle.

And he wishes she’d answer his letters.

Returning his attention to the woman besides him temporarily distracts him from the flame in his chest, shifting with discomfort in his seat. Nicasia, who has seemingly been completely over Locke for over a year, has been paying extra attention to his death. If another woman hadn’t stolen his heart (and stepped on it and spat on it), he might have felt pricks of jealousy, but he thinks it’s amusing now.

Once more, very very briefly, his imagination wanders. If he were the one found dead in the ocean, would he be mourned like Locke is? Despite Locke’s lack of relations in Faerie, he’s gathered quite a following and his friends stand in the throne room right now.

What the hell, Cardan thinks to himself. Perhaps I’ll call myself his friend too.

The truth is, despite Cardan’s cool exterior, something swirls in his stomach like wine the morning after a dangerous, sleepless night. To most people’s surprise, Cardan hasn’t been eager to ask for wine these days, mostly due to a few instances of hallucination where he’d seen Jude in their bedroom. What followed after that was incredibly embarrassing and not what Cardan would like to recall at a time like this.

Cardan is nervous. That’s the truth of the situation and he despises this emotion. He’d endure the other ones, excluding heartbreak, just to avoid nervousness. His tail has been tucked, as it would be at his lessons, and though it’s hidden, there are other signs of his restlessness if one looks closely. He can’t seem to stop the tremors of his fingers or relax the tightness of his jaw.

He’s glad that he hasn’t had to see Taryn in weeks. There is a clear distinction between Taryn and her sister, but it’s still unnerving to look the twin right in the eyes and not be fooled for a minuscule of a second, seeing Jude instead. He hates it, both how he feels and how he wants to react.

Cardan has thought of how he’d react if Jude suddenly walked through the threshold of their bedroom. Perhaps with a smirk or a stunned gasp. Perhaps he wouldn’t have time to react because she'd have plunged a dagger straight into his neck. Regardless, it’s all fantasy. He doesn't have to worry too much about his reaction because she’s not coming back. The sooner he swallows that, the better.

He blinks back to reality when the guard closest to the door announces Taryn’s arrival.

Cardan sits up and tries his hardest to appear as the King of Elfhame. He crosses his arms and takes a deep breath, unclenching his jaw. Time to get this over with.

And then, something odd passes over him. He hears heavy footsteps that silently tell him to sit a bit straighter and eagerly wait for the woman to enter the room. He doesn’t know what it is, or why Taryn has made him feel restless as she’s entered the brugh.

And then it hits him. Violently. It nearly makes him hurl.

Jude walks in, her eyes taking in every inch of the throne room, her mouth settled in a hard line as it always is. The guards release her arms and take a step back. Her mouth suddenly relaxes, her eyelids drooping submissively, and she keeps her gaze on the floor.

Cardan’s tail unfurls out of his shirt and quivers. He swallows, pressing his fingers into his lap, willing them to stop their motions. She’s here. She’s here!

Jude…looks like Jude. Despite her hair being styled differently and her face a picture of innocence, red highlighting her cheeks the way Taryn likes, it’s clear from…from something that it’s her. It’s not the firmness of her shoulders. No, her shoulders are slightly bent inwards like Taryn’s insecurely are. It’s not the way she plays with the edge of her dress. No, that’s Taryn’s nervous tick. A tell tale sign of her anxiety.

So what is it about her that makes him realize immediately?

The inquest will begin when the first set of stars are visible. There is quite a crowd gathered. There will be some formalities and then Taryn’s trial.

Jude has to make her way through the crowd, standing off to the side when she has the ability to. A part of Cardan is glad that she isn’t looking at him, or his traitorous tail for that matter, because he doesn’t know how he’ll react at the sight of her dark, angered eyes on him. Her hair is styled in a low bun, and though she looks elegant, he prefers her daunting, clear face and her usual hairstyle.

Cardan’s chest suddenly aches. He watches her take a deep breath and he forces himself to do the same.

When the time comes, a knight calls, “Taryn Duarte. Wife of Locke. You must stand in the place of petitioners.”

Cardan is disoriented, wondering why Jude, so clearly Jude, is being called Taryn. And when he sweeps his eyes across the room, it dawns on him that she has fooled everyone except him. It almost makes him smirk.

Jude moves gracefully as if she’s practiced it.

At last, Cardan speaks. “Taryn?”

Jude raises her eyes and finally glances at him. He tries to read all the emotions on her face, but she's perfected the innocent look, from her parted lips to her wide, doe-like eyes. She does look like Taryn, but something frustratingly tells him that it’s not her.

Slowly, Jude sinks into a slow curtsy. “Your Majesty.”

Her voice. Her fucking voice. So tame and sweet compared to how he remembers it in his head. How much has she recited those words in the mirror to get Taryn’s voice instead of her own? She’s never spoken to him in such a soft voice, calling him with formalities.

What is she doing here? Is she finally about to pardon herself? Tell me role to play, he tries to tell her through his mind.

Cardan blinks when he realizes it’s his turn to speak. “We recognize your grief,” he says, forcing his lips to move. What else should he say to keep up the act? “We would not disturb your mourning were it not for questions over the cause of your husband’s death.” Now maybe Jude knows that even if Taryn were here, he would be sympathetic.

“Do you really think she’s sad?” Nicasia is the one to speak. Without Cardan’s instruction, Nicasia steps down the dais, just one step, and glares at Jude. Jude is struggling not to stare back. Cardan’s tail is more frantic now. “Did you kill Locke yourself? Or did you get your sister to do it for you?”

Before he can open his mouth to step in, Jude speaks in a hissed tone, causing him to freeze. Any doubts of her not being Jude fly out the window because her eyes darken and her lips curl with the cold tone. He almost speaks up to tell her to keep the act up just a little longer. A little longer and he’ll be able to get her out of here.

But against his wishes, she continues, “Jude is in exile. And I’ve never hurt Locke.”

Exile. He’s never heard such a word come from her mouth. “No?” he says.

Jude returns her gaze to him and he demands his tail to stop twitching, but it currently has a mind of its own.

“I love…” Jude tries, her jaw tight. Her breathing accelerates and he’s instantly impressed by the show. “I loved him.”

The words, though uttered softly once more, crack through Cardan hard enough to cause him to go reeling. He’s the one who breaks eye contact, looking at her hair instead. The taste in his mouth is suddenly bitter, recalling how she’d spent time with Locke all those months ago, how she chose his company, how she had been blindsided. At the same time, he feels disgust at himself at how he behaved at that time, knowing fully how she was being used. He recalls the look in her eyes when he told her she deserved him, the softness of her irises, the pink of her cheeks.

But then Cardan remembers the night following their official marriage. How he’d kissed her feverishly in the dark, held her curves in his hand, and finally pressed his body against hers. He’d tasted her, kissed her to sleep, and then woke with his tail wrapped around her thigh, desperately holding her to his side to ensure she didn’t run away too early. For the first time in years, he did not need wine to put him to sleep. He needed Jude and she’d agreed to lay with him. She allowed his hands to roam her body, to kiss her tenderly, to bite her lip. She’s allowed it and answered with her own captivating touches.

That is the Jude standing in front of him.

That is the Jude, his wife, who he hasn’t seen in four months.

Cardan looks back at Jude after a moment of silence. She’s wiping her face. “Sometimes I believed that you did, yes,” he says softly, thinking about Locke once more before pushing the thought away. Then he straightens his back. This isn’t over yet. “But.” His voice rings out once more. “You would well be lying. I am going to put a glamour on you. All it will do is force you to tell us the truth.”

He’s struck when he sees a glimmer of hesitance in Jude’s eyes. His glamour won’t really work, will it?

He curves his hand and sends the magic her way anyways. “Now, tell me only the truth. What is your name?”

He’s relieved to see her face slightly relax. And then she sinks into another curtsy. “Taryn Duarte. Daughter of Madoc, wife of Locke, subject of the high King of Elfhame.”

And immediately after she speaks, Cardan relaxes too. Good, he thinks to himself. Keep this up a little longer and then we’ll have some real fun. He can’t help the small curve of his mouth. “What fine courtly manners.”

Her eyes narrow the slightest. “I was well instructed.”

Cardan’s nearly done with this game. He moves onto more serious questions and then imagines himself dismissing the court. “Did you murder Locke?”

“No,” Jude says, eyeing Nicasia. “Nor did I orchestrate his death. Perhaps we ought to look to the sea, where he was found.”

Delighted at her mortal slang, he says the word “ought” in his head, mulling over the meaning. He doesn’t have much time to ponder over it because Nicasia is now staring at Cardan.

“We know Jude murdered Balekin. She confessed as much. And I have long suspected her of killing Valerian.” Jude’s jaw tightens and then immediately relaxes, but Cardan catches it.

Nicasia continues, “If Taryn isn’t the culprit, then Jude must be.” Cardan doesn’t consider this theory for a moment, though it's an amusing thought. He’d know if she’d visited Faerie. “Queen Orlagh, my mother, swore a truce with you. What possible gain could she have from the murder of your Master of Revels? She knew he was your friend – and mine.” He hears her voice break, but can’t bring himself to look at her.

Jude’s eyelashes flutter, her round eyes suddenly sad. Her cupid bow quivers and his brows pull together. Let’s have the scene, he demands in his head. Give me a few tears and end this, Jude.

She can’t. She can't manage to cry. Give them to me Jude, he insists. Let this be over with!

His jaw twitches. “Well, what do you think? Did your sister do it? And don’t tell me what I already know. Yes, I sent Jude into exile. That may or may not have deterred her.”

The way she looks at him makes the ache in his chest return, now blazing with heat and hurt. Her eyes have darkened once more, her mouth struggling not to make its usual hard line.

“She had no reason to hate Locke.” Cardan’s eyebrows strain. “I don’t think she wished him ill.”

“Is that so?” he asks. A little bit more, Jude. Just a little bit more.

The next person who speaks is his mother and he nearly startles at her voice. Jude eyes drag over to hers. Lady Asha is saying, “Perhaps it is only Court gossip, but there is a popular tale about you, your sister, and Locke. She loved him, but he chose you. Some sisters cannot bear to see the other happy.”

Cardan commands his tail to stop twitching. Between Jude and Cardan, they both acknowledge the lie that has been spoken from his mother. Jude has never been one to plan Taryn’s fall, but quite the opposite. He recalls the time when Jude had told Taryn to leave her behind in the lake with the nixies to save herself, and Taryn had without a fight. Anger pulses through him, not only at Taryn, but at whoever started that rumor.

Jude visibly swallows. “Jude never loved Locke.” Her eyes are back on Cardan and he’s immediately filled with a different type of discomfort. Dread. What she’s about to say next… it can’t be…

“She loved someone else.” She says it sincerely, without blinking. Without stuttering or putting up a front. This is Jude speaking. Her lips curl over each word, striking him with each syllable purposefully. “He’s the one she’d want dead.”

And for a moment, he can’t breathe. What did she just say? What the hell is she fucking playing at? Why is she making this worse on herself? She can’t possibly… Cardan’s blink is quick, his body moving back an inch as if she’s struck him with her mind.

She opens her mouth to continue, but Cardan remembers how to speak, not wanting to be maimed with her scathing words again. “Enough,” he growls, heart thundering in his chest. “I’ve heard all I care to on this subject–” He sees a familiar wicked smile on Jude’s face before it’s gone in a blink of an eye.

Nicasia gasps. “No!” She swallows roughly and shoots Lady Asha and Cardan both an apologetic look for her disruption. “Taryn…Taryn could have a charm on her! Something that makes her resistant to glamours!”

Anger pricks through him once more, both at Jude and Nicasia, the latter for interrupting the High King. He narrows his eyes at her, pinning her down with a gaze that makes everyone else in the court suddenly find their shoes quite interesting.

He feels an unnatural feeling when he looks at Nicasia, but it’s more so directed at Jude. She’d been playing along so well, why did she feel the need to insert that last bit? She’s thrown her dagger at him, striking him neat in the heart, and she has no hint of an idea of the agony rushing through his body.

The usual feeling returns in his stomach. When he’s punished, he punishes back. Be the worst. It’s a horrible feeling, but if Jude plays along correctly, this won’t have to go too far.

The anger dissipates slowly, though the distaste remains. His eyebrows raise, turning his gaze back to Jude. Do you want to play this game?

Jude’s eyes harden. Let’s have it.

Cardan makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I suppose,” he murmurs, shoulders dropping, “she’ll have to be searched.”

It’s evidently not what Jude is expecting to hear. Her face falls, eyes widening. The silence in the room is deafening as all eyes return to the scene in front of them.

He waits impatiently for her reply, imploring her in his mind for it to be something he can work with.

“My husband,” she finally manages to come up with, her voice trembling. Cardan isn’t sure if she’s impersonating or she’s genuinely concerned about being stripped in front of the court. “He was murdered. And whether or not you believe me, I do mourn him. I will not make a spectacle of myself for the Court’s amusement when his body is barely cold.”

Cardan’s smile grows. There we go, Jude. That wasn’t so hard. Now he can sweep her away, locking the doors behind them. He’ll have answers. He’ll give her answers. They’ll reconcile and he’ll take anything she throws his way, daggers and fists alike.

He stands from his throne, his tail now twitching with a different emotion, and he steps down the dais. All eyes are on him, but he’s only concerned with one pair of eyes who regard him carefully.

He gives a careless shrug. “As you wish.” I’m playing your game, Jude. Isn’t this what you’d like? Doesn’t this remind you of all our other games? “Then I suppose I will have to examine you alone in my chambers.”

He steps off the dais completely and walks past Jude, aware of her wide eyes. Guards begin to escort her behind him. He can’t help the smile on his face.

Finally.

#i'll write a second part to this!!!#this is so much fun!#the folk of the air #the folk of the air fanfiction #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jude x cardan #cardan x jude #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #jurdan #jurdan fanfic

297 notes · View notes

rataltouille · 3 years

Text

HOUSE PLANTS, UPDATE 7

[novel intro can be found here]

HEY ACTUALLY I FINISHED THIS BOOK!

i don't want to get too sentimental [watch me proceed to get sentimental] but this book means a lot to me and i really could NOT have done it without the support of the wonderful folks on writeblr. the writing community is kind of the reason i even started this novel so it means a lot to me that i’ve met so many of y’all here. this is my first ever novel and i’m so glad i was able to make it so far! here are the final stats:

TOTAL WORD COUNT: 81,049 words.

STARTED: april 17, 2020

FINISHED: january 28, 2021

AVERAGE CHAPTERWISE WC: 3242

NUMBER OF CHAPTERS: 25

NUMBER OF TIMES LILITH SNAPS: 2

NUMBER OF TIMES LILITH SUFFERS: you know it’s too much to count.

the last month of writing this novel was so mixed. like before i hit the 70k mark i’d just been slogging through the novel, feeling uninspired and bored of the story. and then january hit and i was like. wait a minute. my deadline to finish it was the 31st of january. and so i basically startled myself into drafting again and then hit another wc milestone and that motivated me?? so much??? like i remember that drafting the penultimate chapter took me a pretty long time but it was so enjoyable because i was genuinely liking what i was writing and that hadn't been happening for the past few months. and then i wrote the entirety of the last chapter [it’s a vignette so it’s pretty short] for an hour until 1 am in my bed with the lights off and boom. it was such an experience. what makes it even more fun is that i’d drafted 75% of the book in my bed with the lights off at 1 am so this was such a nice full circle moment.

i’m also a little insane from all that lack of sleep but it’s okay we don't talk about that.

excerpts:

chapter twenty-one

this one’s a mix of the weirdest and most broad emotions. there’s a funeral in town, willow’s acting shadier than usual, lilith and juniper finally kiss, etc. etc. literally a rollercoaster. also it’s important that you guys know they kissed in a graveyard. nothing’s more romantic than that amirite.

Residual— that’s how we all felt. Just shells that wash away right before they touch land. We lingered like sleep at dawn, like medicine rimming the lip of cough syrup bottles, like fingerprints on fresh glass. There wasn't a permanence in the way we persisted, because eventually, one leaves their nest. They untether from the source in pursuit of the world. How would a dead girl do that? She won’t reside on the fringes of life like a bad dream.

god this prose is so depressing. even i’m getting sad over it and i’m literally an emotionless husk of a person. hey but the description slaps so enjoy.

also if you’ve noticed i’ve been sharing excerpts less and less in the updates despite the chapters being longer on length [these chapters average at like. 5k words] and that’s because i’m finding it harder to share stuff that doesn’t need context / isn't spoilery.

chapter twenty-two

ah yes the angstiest chapter, probably. something happens to willow that lilith blames herself for and this kicks off the final cluster of events that lead to the climax. i love this chapter because lilith gets angry [but at the wrong person aka herself] and we get to see this side of her she always tries to hide!! another thing that happens is that her garden withers so that’s a fun trip

My garden could have been a fallen kingdom. The ferns were rotting from under the flap, their spores gone. Gardenia blooms had split with their petals discarded like an evening gown all around the pots. The mint had binary fissioned and lay in shreds, the jasmine wilted and spread. All of them like war dolls, casualties of my ignorance, beyond saving.

poor garden :/

chapter twenty-three

this chapter. exists i guess. ISDNJSDUH i sound so disillusioned but essentially this chapter was supposed to end on a the ✨big reveal✨ that the book has been leading up to but then something. happened. and i had to move that into the next chapter and so nothing actually happens in this one! like it’s all important things and we’re setting up tension but overall it’s the least eventful of the final story arc.

We stepped together into our house; it had been abandoned for a day but was the exact same. Dust hadn't suddenly piled up in the threshold, sticking to our soles. The air hadn't musted over in the house’s grieving for its sole occupants. The bathtub was still filled. The water skimmed the floor, and I’d decided. I’d stay with you for the whole week, the fortnight, the month, the year. I’d stay inside with you, because me leaving the house, me choosing to spend any second of my life without caring for you, was a mistake. I’d always seen you as fragile, quiet like moth wings and just as delicate. Maybe I’d needed to feel I was protector just as much as I thought you needed me.

i really like this excerpt because it’s very simple and light in terms of prose but also the implications and that purposeful telling at the end really stick with me. exposing lilith since 2k20.

As morning rose the next day, like a curtain lifting, the sun picked itself up from the horizon, shattering cloudlines in a bright, orange glow. The skies got clearer by the hour as summer sauntered in again. Already the habits of my grounding were kicking in; my circadian rhythm bounded to my outside, too, as I instinctively scheduled and compartmentalized my daily life. First, wake up, check on you. Finish chores while making sure you’re alright. School, eaten with worry, but you're capable and you’ll call if you need help. Home, count your pulse as you inevitably slumped in plush sleep— at the coffee table, at the bathtub, in Aunt Hailey’s chair (rare), in your bedroom (rarer). You’d wake for dinner and read until the lights begin to dim and your eyesight tripped. You’d doze off for the rest of the night. Your internal clock was more functional, more efficient, than mine.

obligatory rhythmic everyday life excerpt that's reminiscent of 2020.

chapter twenty-four

THE PENULTIMATE CHAPTER! THE LONGEST CHAPTER!! THE ONE WHERE SHIT GOES DOWN!!! [can you tell it’s my fave chapter]

this took me two whole weeks to draft [it’s around 7.2k words] but it was so enjoyable the whole time!! there’s something so satisfying about making the quiet character, the one who never express anger, finally snap. so satisfying. lilith is actually pretty feral in this and we all stan. it also has a lot of simpler yet more sharp prose? if you know me you know that repetition is literally my favourite device ever. i overuse repetition it’s actually insane. and this one has a lot of that, but in a way that isn't annoying, and i really enjoyed writing it!!

I’d never been in your bathtub before. You haunted the room and it was always yours; I didn’t consider running the tap for myself. Maybe your going out prompted me this time. The water was so high it sloshed over the lip of the tub. The floor was slick like eels’ skin. My skin was blue with cold; the chill gummed my cheeks and ears and I shivered. My reflection stared at me in hatred, the features warped and pulled like taffy. I half-floated, a ghost in liminal space, and the walls were choked with water lines and flower patterns. With my body invaded by alien frost, with the ceiling low and cruel and ready to crush, I cowered. How did you do this every day? Did the clothes make the difference?

lilith’s going through it again ft. willow’s bathtub.

after this it’s a lot of incredibly spoilery stuff!! like the prose slaps but it’s too many spoilers to share. but have another description of the heaviness of midnight because i’m obsessed with that aesthetic

The lock clicked behind me. Silence descended like birdsong and I was paralysed, stuck at the two half-stairs that led to the outer path, stuck at the threshold of no return. My body shook. All around me was nighttime, gooey and heavy. I was unfurling, like a rose, step after step, pushing past the gate and onto the road. The wind was so cold it frosted my tears.

btw the chapter does not end on lilith crying she kind of has a girlboss moment and snaps massively [i mean after all she’s been through she deserves it] and then the main story aka the fictive past ends.

chapter twenty-five

the final chapter, which also happens to be a vignette chapter and is thus set in the fictive present! it’s very short and is only one tiny scene but it really ends on the perfect tonal quality for the novel. i can't share any excerpts because it really is very short so! have this iconic screenshot i took as soon as i finished the draft instead:

[also if you were wondering yes i did type the entire novel [and basically everything i write] on my ipad because i don't own a laptop]

and that really is it! this was such an incredible journey and i’m so excited to share more of my newer writing and upcoming projects with y’all. it feels so weird that this really is the last time i’ll be making official posts about this novel. truly the end of an era.

house plants taglist: @discreet-writer @mp-golfin @jaydewritesfiction @writer-in-monochrome @magnus-s-writes @firesidefantasy @sugarlessbubblegum @theoldcity @n1ghth4wkz @remi-writes-sometimes @suninks @dreamybellatrixanvm @camusbf @fablemancy @isherwoodj @svpphicwrites @spillme @sunwornpages @bijouxs @asadlitficwriter @bookphobe @sirius-xthem @carlyiswriting @hekat-ie

general taglist: @lovingyou-is @haldimilks @andiwriteunderthemoon @coffeeandcalligraphy @shaelinwrites @tuoyu @charles-joseph-writes @eklavvya @wolf-oak @bitterwitchwrites @laughtracksonata @whatwordsdidnttouch @indeliblewrites @thenataliawrites @illimani-gibberish @sienna-writes @jennawritesstories @chloeswords @aelenko @keira-is-writing @cherylinanika @infinitely-empty-pages @jmtwrites @august-iswriting @sarahkelsiwrites @freedelusionbanana

tumblr is being. really really annoying and wont let me edit on the browser so i’ve got the 50 mentions per post mobile thing to deal with. the rest of the taglist will be tagged in a reblog!

#writeblr #am writing #crabappletracking #wtwcommunity #atlastracking #ofcolourtracking #house plants #house plants update #everybody say “goodbye house plants” as i yeet willow off a good somewhere #just ignore how i’ve actually finished the book and this update is a month late please and thank you <3

167 notes · View notes

dinapaulson · 3 years

Text

The Top Ten Times Bridgerton Titillated Me AKA Gave Life

After making haste to consume the series in a day, and the next rewatching Simon and Daphnes’ scenes only (highly recommend), at the crack of the following, I realized it was the magic of seemingly smaller moments, sometimes, in the form of behind-the-scenes and back story beauty, woven into the larger storyline expositions that really stayed with me—a storytelling feat Her Majesty, Shonda Rhimes, is known for. Here are the top ten times this happened, causing my cinephile soul considerable thought and feels.

1. Simon’s bedside manner while Daphne is in labor

It struck me the first time while watching how—how shall I put it—calm Simon looked, while Daphne screamed and breathed her head off. No, calm is not quite the word—eerily still, without any emotion or exertion of his own. At first confounded by His Grace, I realized he was terrified; scarred and petrified into a place that had no emotion to rely upon. Would Daphne survive childbirth? Was he having an out-of-body experience, imagining, as I am sure he was told, his immense a**hole of a father pacing outside the room where the Duchess was giving birth to Simon, obsessed with the “outcome” and would not deign to be by her side, what that must have felt like, to be so cold and removed from life, feeling, humanity, and here Simon was, in perfect, firm love, at Daphne's side, being a whole part of their child’s birth? (When their son is born, his stock Simon-ness returns, as he, filled with emotion, gently holds their son from Daphne’s arms, then implies, impishly, because of the Bridgerton family tradition, their son’s name must begin with “A.”)

2. A chocolate will do just perfectly

The perfection of friendship between Eloise and Penelope is well on display throughout the series. There was one moment that caught my breath for the sheer ease of what friendship is—truly relating without needing to fully understand the other but being, sitting, anyhow, in pure acceptance of the other and mutual situation. Such is what happens when Penelope tells Eloise, in gentle expository explosion, her path is and will be different, more difficult to navigate than hers, without having a sister who is a Duchess, and moreover, she thinks she wants a life different than the independent dream the two of them speak of. And, to that, Eloise offers a chocolate, and to that, Penelope's smile-inducing smile and simply reaching for one is friendship goals.

3. “I beg your pardon?”

As others have pointed out, there is plenty of hotness to Simon buttoning Daphne’s cuff as a clear metaphor for the sexual unbuttoning/buttoning to come. But, what gets me every time is Simon’s reaction to Daphne’s question, his face both gently confirming and sexily contorting, which seems to beg the idea that in a different house of language, not one for promenade but perhaps one a rake aka Regency f*ck boy would inhabit, this term had an, o, one might say, slightly less innocent meaning.

4. The nighttime, swing chats between Eloise and Benedict

I dare say it was Eloise who checked her brother on his white man privilege that sent him (still) strolling to Henry Granville’s house to take a (completely protected, see white privilege) risk of himself as a potential new somebody, in this case, an artist.

5. Were others hoping Henry and Benedict would have a go at it?

I think I mistook their mutual intrigue for desire, though I dare say Benedict flinging himself with considerable umph into the ménage-a-trois with Madame Delacroix and her friend, may have been, in part, a turn-on from stumbling upon Henry with his love, Lord Willoughby, making love. I recognize this ponderance might be a stretch, but, if I may—remember that conversation A Happiest Season launched in queer Twitterverse about the likelihood, with multiple siblings, of at least one sibling being gay? Come on, there are eight of them! Tell me I am not the only queer fan who would love to see one Bridgerton explore a truthfully desired same-sex relationship on the show.

6. “Simon” (**heart begins to ache**)

After Simon gives one of his best speeches, in episode five to the queen, in his and Daphne’s effort to persuade Her Majesty to assist them in getting a marriage license, so moved is Daphne by what he says, that she turns to him, as if no one else is in the room, with an emotive quiver, staring watery and straight into his eyes, and out comes a quaking: “Simon.” Indeed, Simon’s speech of the love from whom he cannot stay away nor let be the one who got away is the discursive, definitive foreplay to their physical consumption of each other. Later, he says quietly to her heart twisted back: “Everything I said to the queen was true.”

7. “From the mornings you ease, to the evenings you quiet, to the dreams you inhabit, my thoughts of you never end...”

Um. So, this is just one of the most perfect romantic things I have ever heard one human being utter to another.

8. Also: this was a nearly all-female credited writer cast (with the exception of the series’ premiere and finale episodes, credited to showrunner Chris Van Dusen). I delightfully sighed as each woman writer’s name danced in Bridgerton font across my screen. What genius interplay of words that cut and bit and lobbed and heeled, then healed, revealed, and felt so completely—wonderful. Here are the writing credits:

Janet Lin for episode 2, ”Shock and Delight”

Leila Cohan-Miccio for episode 3, ”The Art of the Swoon”

Abby McDonald for episode 4, “An Affair of Honor”

Joy C. Mitchell for episode 5, ”The Duke and I” Sarah Dollard for episode 6, ”Swish” Jay Ross and Abby McDonald for episode 7, “Oceans Apart”

Additionally listed under writers are Jess Brownell as Executive Story Editor on “Shock and Delight” and “Diamond of the First Water,” Joy C. Mitchell also as Executive Story Editor on “Shock and Delight” and “Diamond of the First Water,” and Abby McDonald as Staff Writer on “Shock and Delight” and “Diamond of the First Water.”

9. Simon goes down—a lot

At least two times we know of, but we may assume more, that giving Her Grace pleasure between her legs is something that comes easily, perhaps even needily, to him. Just that. It is hot and wanting and you know, with various talk about men not wanting to go down on women, well, representation matters.

10. Choosing present over past

This is a Golden Age TV theme of late, strong in the final season of Jessica Jones and luscious The Queen’s Gambit, though, perhaps, choosing to be present is the overall life theme, always, and just manifests differently in all of our journeys. The fabulously eviscerate Lady Danbury says: “Pride, Your Grace: it will cost you everything and leave you with nothing.” What Simon gains by choosing to be in his present is not only the opportunity to feel and develop a love, and family, with Daphne, but he gives himself space—cleans out the leftovers, once and for all—to fully inhabit the now, which means anything could be ahead.

#bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #daphne bridgerton #simon hastings #duke of hastings #daphne x simon #simon x daphne #simon and daphne #daphne and simon #top ten #shonda rhimes #thank you shonda #shondaland #netflix #chris van dusen #women writers #golden age of tv #your grace

72 notes · View notes

gravelyhumerus · 3 years

Text

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter Nine

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Title: “I may just take your breath away”

Relationship: Jemily

Chapter Summary:

Emily and JJ sleep together.

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

Content warning: detailed descriptions of sickness, abortion mention.

—

Jennifer Jareau looked like a drowned rat.

A pretty, blonde, sniffly drowned rat that Emily Prentiss had a massive crush on.

She was soaked head to toe, her running shoes muddy and her hair slicked to her skull. She was shivering and looking absolutely miserable. Over her shoulder was her blue duffel bag full of her soccer equipment. It was a Monday, so Emily knew JJ had a practice that afternoon.

“Pen locked me out of our room,” JJ said without greeting as she walked into Emily’s room, “And I need a towel.”

“Hello to you too, Jayje,” Emily said sarcastically.

She stepped back to let her friend enter, shivering at the thought of having to play soccer in the pouring rain, let alone a rainy November afternoon when the temperature was verging on freezing. Ever since the brutal storm on Halloween, the weather had been dreary and wet.

Emily could see the field from her window, it was across the street by the Arts building. While she, and the rest of their friends, made a point to go to all of JJ’s games together and cheer her on, Emily was thankful that the weather had been ok so far, she wasn’t sure how much hypothermia she could handle for one girl.

She grabbed her bath towel and tossed it JJ’s way, and opened her closet to find a cozy sweater to offer. Well, Emily thought, she probably would take hypothermia to support JJ, she just wouldn’t be happy about it.

JJ was simultaneously drying her hair and rifling through her bag. She was still shivering from the cold.

“I left my keys when I ran out of my room this morning,” JJ explained, “And Pen promised she’d be here when it was over.”

“I think she’s teaching Hotch how to knit at his dorm,” Emily said with a laugh, having seen her Insta story a few minutes prior of Hotch struggling with his hands tangled in yarn.

“Just wish she would’ve left the door unlocked,” JJ muttered, “I think I have my spare keys in here somewhere.”

“Here, take this,” Emily said, handing her a grey hoodie with “Oxford” written on the chest, a souvenir from when she lived in England.

Emily turned around so JJ could at least get out of her wet shirt and into the sweater. For a second, the devil on her shoulder told her to look into the mirror on her closet door, that if she did she’d catch a glimpse of JJ shirtless, but Emily shook her head slightly, squeezing her eyes shut. Guilt flared in her stomach at the thought.

She’s been thinking about JJ too much lately.

Their kiss. Their magical life changing kiss. The kiss to end all kisses. That was basically all Emily’s brain could focus on these days.

Before that, her fantasies about Jennifer Jareau were simply fantasies, but now! Now she had her memories. That kiss lingered on her lips and on her brain and in her dreams. Sometimes late at night Emily has found herself putting a thumb onto her cheek, closing her eyes and pretending it was JJ’s hands pulling her closer, just as she had done in the basement on Halloween.

If she had to describe how she felt, the only thing that made sense was to say that Emily was absolutely smitten with JJ.

But, and there was always a but, they hadn’t mentioned the kiss since. Not even a word of acknowledgement between the two.

The day after, when she and Derek walked to class, he interrogated her about what the hell happened , but Emily genuinely didn’t know. What she did know was that it wasn’t Emily who instigated, she thought, it was JJ who had pulled her tight and whose tongue swept across hers.

That week, Emily had grown more and more concerned that she had crossed a line. JJ had started acting strangely, looking away anytime Emily looked at her and telling her that she was too busy to hang out. Then, that weekend JJ had surprised her with a party. A party to celebrate Emily, and Reid and Hotch.

Emily realized that JJ wasn’t ignoring her, instead she was scheming something to make Emily happy. And what had she done? Cried in the bathroom and made a scene. Instead of JJ realizing that Emily was a broken shell of a girl and running far from her, JJ had held her tight and told her everything was going to be ok.

Emily didn’t tell her everything that day, not about all the awful things she did to fit in as a teen, about her mistakes, her abortion, about Matthew… Not yet. Emily had tucked all of that into a box that need not be opened up any time soon.

So now, Emily had the thoughts of JJ’s lips dancing around her brain, but also of her hand in hers, her arms around her and the way she promised she’d always be there.

This got in the way when Emily was trying to focus on other things like school or carrying on a conversation with the blonde.

JJ sneezed, startling Emily out of her thoughts. She turned back around and looked at JJ, who’s hair was slightly less wet and was now wearing her hoodie and looking a little bit warmer.

“À tes souhaits,” Emily said, saying bless you in French.

“I hope I’m not getting sick,” JJ grumbled, dumping some pens out of her backpack in search of the elusive keys. “Kennedy’s gotten half the team out with the flu.”

She sneezed again.

“Gesundheit,” Emily said, having fun with her languages.

“She got it from her boyfriend,” JJ continued, “You remember Anderson? On the water polo team?”

Emily nodded, taking a seat on the edge of her desk, watching JJ sitting on her bed in her clothes, imagining a completely different situation where she would do that. (Emily’s thoughts were full of comments like these, her imagination going wild at the prospect of JJ maybe liking her back.)

“I’m going to kill Garcia,” JJ said, “She told me she’d be in our room after our game.”

“Aha!” JJ said, pulling her lanyard out of a pencil case. “Got them. Thanks Em for the towel. You’re the best neighbour I could ever ask for.”

JJ handed it back, and Emily took the slightly damp towel and hung it up on the back of her closet.

“Anytime,” Emily said, “Though I think this may be an elaborate plot to steal all of my clothes.”

JJ looked down at herself.

“I think it suits me!”

Emily had to agree.

———

Two days later, JJ was at Emily’s door again, but looking a lot worse for wear.

A pink fuzzy blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, she was wearing oversized sweatpants and a sports bra, and her hair was messy and tucked behind her ears. Her nose was red and her skin looked pale.

“Hey Em,” JJ rasped.

“You’re sick,” Emily pointed out, unhelpfully.

“Nice work, Sherlock,” she said, coughing into her blanketed arm.

“What’s up?” Emily asked, leaning on the door frame.

“I’m out of cold pills and can’t sleep,” JJ said.

“It’s like nine pm?” Emily said, the statement coming out as a question.

“I have practice at six in the morning,” JJ said, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders, sniffling a little. The girl was swaying as she stood.

“You cannot actually be going to practice in that state,” Emily said.

“What state?” JJ barely managed to get out between sneezes.

“ Bless you ,” Emily said, knowing the girl definitely needed it.

Emily went to her desk, rummaging through a drawer. She found the very end of a cold and flu medicine pack, the kind with day and nighttime pills and handed them to JJ.

“Those good?” Emily asked.

JJ nodded and thanked her, before trudging back across the hall.

Before her door closed Emily said: “ Please take a break JJ!”

“I’m fine,” came the nasal voice of her friend, followed by the sound of her blowing her nose.

———

On Wednesday, JJ showed up to their weekly French study date somehow looking even more sick. There were bags under her eyes, and a wracking cough made her entire body shutter with its force.

JJ continued to insist that she was fine, despite the fact that she spent more time coughing than speaking French.

Emily was worried about her, but knew at this point, nothing she would say would make the very determined girl slow down.

———

On Thursday, Emily walked into the girls’ bathroom, toothbrush in hand before bed, and found JJ curled up on the floor next to the toilet, looking pale as a sheet.

“JJ, oh my god,” Emily said, pushing open the semi ajar door and kneeling down next to her friend.

“Mmm fine,” JJ made out, her face in her arms, not lifting her head to talk to Emily.

“This is the exact opposite of fine, JJ,” Emily said.

She had absolutely no idea how to help her.

Emily thought back to all the times she had been sick, and it had usually been whatever staff her mother had had at the time who took care of her. Nannies, cooks, assistants would bring her food, take her temperature and put buckets next to her bed. Ambassador Prentiss wasn’t the kind of mom that Emily would see on TV worried about her child when they were sick.

“Do you want water?” Emily asked, feeling helpless.

JJ shook her head, not raising it from the edge of the toilet.

“The floor is nice and cold,” JJ said, “I like it here.”

Emily almost laughed, and would have if she wasn’t so worried about the other girl.

“What do you need, JJ?” Emily asked.

“Nothing,” JJ said, “I can handle this.”

JJ’s hair hung limp around her face, and Emily leaned forward, taking the elastic from around her wrist and helped JJ pull her hair back. Emily couldn’t help, but she could at least keep JJ’s hair from getting puke on it.

Clearly hitting another wave of nausea, JJ moved, emptying the rest of her stomach into the toilet and then flushing. Emily rubbed her arm up and down her back, hoping that the motions would be comforting.

While the toilet did its thing, JJ sat back, leaning against the grey stall door, her shoulder resting against Emily’s. Her head was tilted back and her eyes closed tightly against the fluorescent lights.

“I really don’t feel good, Em,” JJ whimpered.

“I know,” Emily said, “What do you want?”

“Water,” JJ croaked.

“I’ll get some,” Emily said, patting JJ on the shoulder. JJ nodded, returning to her hunched over position on the toilet.

Emily basically sprinted down the hall, and spotting JJ’s slightly ajar door, she pushed it open to find Penelope sitting at her computer.

“Hello my beautiful goth friend,” Penelope said, “How may I be of service to you?”

“JJ’s currently puking her guts out,” Emily explained, slightly breathless, “She’s asking for water.”

“Oh my poor dear,” she said, pushing back from her desk and hurrying over to JJ’s night-side table to retrieve her water. “She told me she was going to shower, I didn’t think she was that bad.”

“She kept telling me she was fine,” Emily said, “Even while she puked.”

“Typical,” Penelope huffed, following Emily down the hall, “Can’t show any weakness. Both of you! I’m sick of it.”

Emily didn’t say anything, not sure if she could argue that accusation. She followed Penelope into the bathroom, hovering by the sink as Penelope took over her caregiving responsibilities.

She gently felt JJ’s forehead, and held up her water bottle for JJ to rinse her mouth.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Penelope said after a few minutes without any puke. “Em? Help us?

JJ stook shakily, and when Emily took her arm, JJ leaned into her, putting most of her weight on the taller girl. Penelope carried JJ’s water and shower things back for her, letting Emily take care of the dizzy JJ.

Penelope held the door open, and Emily guided JJ into bed, hovering awkwardly as JJ nestled into her bed and Penelope grabbed their trash bin and placed it next to her.

“I’ve got it from here, Em,” Penelope said, patting her on the shoulder.

“Feel better JJ,” she said, backing away, unable to take her eyes off the girl, who looked paler than she’d ever seen her.

“I miss you already,” JJ rasped out, her eyes still closed, curling up on her side and pulling the blankets up over her shoulder.

Emily smiled before leaving the room. She was worried about her but knew Penelope would take better care of JJ than Emily could ever.

———

She and Hotch spent almost five days straight crammed inside a tiny study room in the arts library working on a criminal psych presentation. It was worth almost half their grade.

They had commandeered the tiny room, booking it for the entire block of time each day, and only really leaving it to eat and sleep. At first, their friends would join them, popping in to provide moral support, but as the deadline neared, and Hotch and Emily grew more frantic, their friends mostly left them alone besides for the occasional reminder to take a break.

According to Penelope who periodically texted Emily with updates, JJ spent most of the time sleeping, and having been given time off from soccer and extensions on her school work, Penelope had finally convinced her to focus on recovery.

It was in the library when Emily began to sniffle. It was an annoying nasal drip that tickled her nose and made her feel like she constantly needed to blow her nose.

Unfortunately, she was not the kind of girl who had tissues on her. Emily wasn’t particularly well prepared in that respect. She dug through her backpack only to find a pair of tangled headphones, chapstick and two tampons. She briefly considered sticking those in her nose and calling it a day but thought Hotch would probably pass out at the sight of that.

An hour in, Hotch got so fed up with her constant sniffling that he stole a roll of paper towel from the boys washroom and threw it at her when he returned.

The scratchy paper made her nose sensitive and red. She learned about the redness when Hotch called her “Rudolph” to get her attention.

As the day ticked on, Emily began to feel either too hot, or too cold. She chalked this up to the library’s dodgy heating system and the colder November weather.

After lunch, the sneezing started.

“You’re sick, Prentiss,” Hotch told her.

“No of course not,” Emily said. “I don’t get sick. It’s just allergies.”

“What are you allergic to?”

“Uhh,” Emily looked around, “Dust?”

“Sure.”

Emily was not sick. She couldn’t afford to get sick. Sure, she had spent a lot of time in close proximity to JJ, who was still spending her most time with her face in a bin, but Emily didn’t need this now.

She was certainly aware she had had the exact conversation with JJ, encouraging the other girl to take a break to recover. Emily could talk the talk but couldn’t walk the walk on self care.

When she woke up the next morning. She felt even worse. Her throat was sore, she had a headache and she couldn’t breathe through her nose. Having given JJ all of her cold medicine, she powered through, drinking an endless barrage of hot tea, hoping it would heal her.

She had too much to do.

Days passed with Emily pushing herself to exhaustion, working all day, making it to her extra curricular meetings and only falling asleep during a few of her lectures.

The day of her presentation, Emily’s entire body hurt. She had barely slept the night before, as her sneezing kept her up. She managed to wear a pair of leggings and a sweater, but tied her hair back in a ponytail, too exhausted to do much else.

“You look like shit,” Hotch told her when she showed up to their class, shaking his head.

“Thanks, I feel like it too,” Emily quipped. “I haven’t thrown up yet though, so I count that as a victory.”

In a feat of sheer willpower, Emily made it through her presentation before collapsing into the fold out lecture hall seat, her head laid back, immediately falling asleep and sleeping through the other four group presentations.

After class, Hotch felt her forehead with his hand and announced that she had a fever. He then frog marched her straight to the clinic, pointing out that her hands shook and that she couldn’t do anything without coughing up a storm.

Emily was sure if it was not for his American Law seminar with mandatory attendance, he would be right next to her, ensuring she actually saw a doctor.

“The doctor will call you when it’s your turn dear,” the receptionist told her as she handed Emily’s student card back to her.

Emily nodded and grabbed some hand sanitizer, rubbing the cold liquid over her hands.

She sighed, which turned into a cough that tore through her lungs. She found a spot in the waiting room, under a gigantic poster about STDs. To her left was a small table covered with pamphlets about mental health resources and a big bowl of condoms.

The door to the clinic opened again and Emily shivered. The early November breeze was starting to chill her to the bone. She lifted the hood to her black sweater over her head, hoping to conserve some more heat that way.

Emily glanced at the new patient and was not entirely surprised to see JJ walking towards her.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Emily said as JJ walked into the waiting room.

“I hear I gave you my plague?” JJ asked, shrugging her backpack off her shoulders.

Emily nodded and coughed.

“Sorry,” JJ sat down next to her.

“What are you doing here?” Emily asked, “You look a lot better than you did.”

“Hotch told me you needed an escort,” JJ said, “And I was in the neighbourhood. He said something about not trusting you to actually go to the doctor’s.”

Emily laughed at that.

“You’re my babysitter?” Emily asked.

“I’m whatever you want me to be,” JJ said with a wink. “I think half of my team is out of commission with this. I’ve never been so sick, I’m glad I’m on the mend.”

Emily nodded, counting the days in her head and realizing that JJ had been out for over a week.

“You look better than you did,” Emily commented.

“Thanks,” JJ said, sarcastically, “At least I’m not puking anymore.”

“I never get sick,” Emily coughed, “I just want something for the cough and I’ll be fine.”

Emily coughed into her elbow, as if reminded.

“How did your presentation go?” JJ asked.

Emily’s heart swelled at the thought that JJ paid attention to her.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Emily said. “I feel really out of it. Hotch marched me straight here after so probably not great.”

“Emily Prentiss?” A nurse called out.

Emily gathered up her things, shot JJ a wave and went into the exam room.

Her doctor, a surly elderly white woman, with greying hair tied back in a low bun, barely looked at her, asking Emily a series of questions.

“What are your symptoms?” she finally asked.

Emily explained how her head cold transformed into something a touch more debilitating, making sure to avoid downplaying her symptoms, because she knew they would take any opportunity to send her home telling her to drink water and rest. Emily did not have time to rest.

The doctor took her vitals, listened to her lungs, grimacing at the sound of them, then took her oxygen, noting them in her chart.

Emily wasn’t a doctor but the face she made at her oxygen levels meant that they were definitely not good.

The sudden onset of chills left her shivering on the examination table as the doctor took notes on her chart.

She checked her phone, smiling as she noticed that she had a notification from the one and only cheetobreath98.

It was a selfie, taken surreptitiously from below in the waiting room, captioned, “plague lookz!”

Emily found herself smiling. A small flame with the number 27 was next to JJ’s name. They had a streak. It was childish, but the visible marker of the fact that they had talked every day for a month, sometimes for hours at a time, sending silly photos back and forth.

“You have a chest cold. Bronchitis. We want to nip it in the bud before it becomes pneumonia,” the doctor said, spinning in her chair to face her. “We see it a lot with students, you all work too hard.”

Emily nodded, not really agreeing with the sentiment, but understanding the feeling behind it. Emily had to work hard.

“Take this inhaler three times daily, at least,” he said, “And any time you’re having difficulty breathing. You can take some acetaminophen for the fever.”

He explained how to use it.

“You cannot drink, smoke or take any recreational drugs on this medication,” he warned.

Emily, who had vowed to not smoke for the duration of her illness anyways, hoping to preserve her fragile lugs, nodded.

“Try honey for the sore throat. Lots of liquids.”

She nodded.

“Come back if you’re not better in a week,” he concluded. “Your prescription will be there for pick up at the pharmacy.”

“Thanks doc,” Emily smiled, taking her leave, placing her mask back on for the hallway.

In the hall she pulled out her phone, opened Snapchat and took a selfie with the waiting room in the background.

“Ya girl’s got bronchitis!!” Emily captioned it, sending it to JJ, as well as Derek and Hotch. They would enjoy her misery.

Immediately Derek texted her.

Derek 🕺: suuuuucks bro. need some soup?

Emily: i’ll be fine but thanks

Emily: i feel like shit. the doctor gave me a puffer lol

Derek🕺: must be bad, I hear they usually just prescribe rest. Your lungs must suck

Emily: typical, id assume they’d be in pristine condition

Derek🕺: 🙄

Derek🕺: you literally smoke cigarettes

Emily laughed at her phone and walked up to the receptionist to fill out the paperwork. The nice woman smiled at her and told her to get well soon.

As JJ met her in the foyer, phone vibrated with another text.

Derek🕺: you coming back to res?

Emily: ya, hotch sent jj to baby sit me

Derek🕺: wasn’t she the one who got you sick? now shes taking care of u

Derek🕺: did u make out or something??

Emily: shut up that was before she was sick

“Get any good drugs?” JJ whispered to her conspiratorially as they walked out together.

Emily laughed louder than she expected, which manifested in wracking coughs between the two girls.

“Actually yeah,” Emily held up the prescription. “Only because you got me sick.”

��Everyone is sick, how can you be sure it was me? Anyways I had the flu, not bronchitis.”

“You’ve been cooped up with Hotch all weekend. Maybe he got you sick.”

“I don’t think Hotch can get sick,” Emily muttered.

They went to the pharmacy together, picking up Emily’s drugs. Emily also added some acetaminophen to her haul, cough drops and a pack of tissues, the kind with moisturizer per JJ’s suggestion.

As Emily waited in line to cash out, swaying a little with the exertion of standing up, JJ left for a second and then returned with a box of tea.

“I’ll make us some,” JJ said, “It’ll heal you.”

Emily felt warm, despite the chill of the store. She wasn’t sure if it was her fever or her growing love for Jennifer Jareau.

Together, they walked to their residence. Once inside, Emily wondered if JJ actually meant it when she offered the tea.

Emily opened her door, tossing her things on her desk. She took her puffer out of the bag, read the instructions before taking a dose, trying to keep the medicine in her lungs as she breathed deep, holding back the coughing.

The sun had started setting earlier and earlier as winter neared, and outside of Emily’s windows, the street lamps turned on.

Emily desperately wanted it to work. She felt like a zombie, exhausted and either too hot or two cold all at once.

She changed into a pair of pyjama pants, a black crewneck sweater with a band logo on the chest, and a pair of fuzzy socks, and pulled a blanket around her shoulders, wondering if she should just crawl into bed or if JJ’s offer still stood.

“Em!” JJ called out as she knocked on her door, “Kettle’s boiling.”

Emily’s heart soared. The sentence felt so… domestic. She hurried across the hall, inhaler in hand (just in case), standing hesitantly in the doorway. JJ had changed into grey sweatpants and a soft green hoodie with her gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, looking much comfier than she had.

“Sit down!” JJ encouraged, “If you feel as gross as I do, you’ll need it.”

Emily did, relaxing on JJ’s bed, leaning into the mountain of comfortable pillows and breathing a sigh of relief in not standing any longer. A deep exhaustion had settled into bones, not helped by the long lecture that morning and the clinic visit.

JJ walked over, handing her a mug and sitting on the bed next to her, taking a sip of her own mug.

It was the same tea as before, sleepy time, with the warm combination of chamomile, mint, and other fruity tastes greeting her like a hug. She clutched it with two hands, enjoying how the mug radiated heat and warmed her chilly fingers.

“Thank you,” Emily managed, her voice sounding a bit less scratchy to her ears than before.

“Any time,” JJ replied, “It’s nice to have company.”

Emily looked away, suddenly feeling shy. Should she stay? Was she welcome to hang out? Emily wasn’t sure if she wanted to stay, she didn’t want JJ to see how gross she was with her messy hair, stuffy nose and endless sneezing.

JJ clearly looked better than she did earlier that week, Emily taking her place as token invalid in residence.

“I was going to watch tv,” JJ said, “I don’t think I could handle doing homework right now.”

“Oh I’ll go,” Emily said, taking the hint and moving to climb off the bed. JJ’s arm stuck out, grabbing her shoulder and stopping her.

“No, Em,” JJ said, “I was wondering if you wanted to join me. ”

Oh. Emily felt her face break into a smile. She relaxed into the bed as JJ grabbed her laptop and set it between them, she pulled a fluffy sky-blue blanket, and draped it over her legs, then over Emily’s.

There was the noise of keys in the door, Emily felt herself pull away from JJ, leaning away from her friend as if they had been caught doing something wrong.

Penelope Garcia opened the door, followed shortly after by Derek Morgan who was carrying two large take out bowls of soup.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Derek said, handing each of them a bowl.

“How are my two sick dears?” Penelope cooed, as she collected a textbook from her desk.

Emily tried to speak, coughing instead, and JJ reached out to steady her bowl, knowing that she would spill if she wasn’t careful.

She decided not to acknowledge Derek's comment because even Emily didn’t know she would be in JJ’s room, how could he?

“Just about as bad as you would expect,” JJ said.

Emily nodded, recovering from her fit.

“We won’t keep you!” Penelope replied, “we have a study date! Enjoy your movie night. Don’t forget to text me if either of you need anything tonight. I’ll be back late.”

Penelope looked at them and frowned.

“I may quarantine away from you, I do not want to catch that.”

“Get some sleep, guys” Derek said. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Emily said, thick with sarcasm.

“Toodles!” Penelope said as they left.

The door shut, and the two girls began to sip the soup. It was chicken noodle and had cooled to the perfect temperature.

“What do you wanna watch?” JJ asked between spoonfuls.

Emily thought about her comfort tv and movies: The X Files. Or Star Trek: The Voyage Home (the one with the whales, exclusively, because she finds it silly and always makes her feel better). They were so nerdy. She couldn’t look JJ in the eye and reveal how much of a nerd she was.

“I’m not sure,” she said instead, “Did you have something in mind?”

“I usually watch cooking shows,” JJ said, “To be honest. Or Gilmore Girls, Parks and Rec, or-”

JJ stopped herself.

“Or what?” Emily prodded.

“Twilight ,” JJ admitted.

Emily laughed.

“I haven’t seen it,” Emily commented, “I missed that phase I guess.”

“Oh you have to,” JJ said, getting excited, “It’s fantastic. And bad. It’s both at once. I was team Edward.”

Emily knew that was the vampire; she didn’t live under a rock, she just hadn’t actually seen the films.

JJ began to babble, between coughs, about how as a kid she read each book as they came out, and even had a poster of the cast on her wall. Emily simply basked in her company and the excitement of watching something she cared about.

Emily found herself cuddled up next to JJ, eating their soup and watching Twilight .

Between the warmth of JJ’s bed, the soothing soup and finally relaxing, Emily suddenly felt slightly better. Maybe taking a break to recover was actually a good thing.

Emily almost laughed at the thought that it only took a case of bronchitis to get her in JJ’s bed.

As the movie wore on, Emily’s exhaustion, and full stomach overtook her. The two girls wrapped in a blanket made it quickly warm and comforting, and as Bella discovered that Edward was a vampire, Emily felt her eyelids drooping.

She tried to fight the feeling, but soon, Emily was fast asleep next to JJ.

———

Emily woke up, hours later, in the dark with another blanket wrapped around her, JJ’s laptop nowhere in sight and no memory of anything she had just watched.

JJ was curled up into her side and was snoring quietly.

Emily stiffened, at the reality of her current situation. She needed to relax or she would wake JJ up. Her back was to the wall, and JJ’s prone body blocked her exit.

Her mind moved a mile a minute. JJ must’ve put away the laptop and given her another blanket, chosen not to wake Emily up. She wanted to sleep in the same bed.

What did this mean? Did JJ want to sleep next to her? Did JJ like her?

She thought hard about this, but she knew there was no way this was romantic . This must just be how close, female friendships went. Emily’s feelings for JJ were clouding her judgment.

Emily was never invited to sleepovers, or had any close girl friends before, this is probably just what she was missing out on.

God, she thought, maybe it’s good that nobody liked me. I would have caught feelings and made it weird. Just like I’m doing right now.

Emily examined JJ’s face, which was only inches from her own. Gazing at each freckle, her long light brown eyelashes, her perfect eyebrows. Her pink lips were slightly parted, brealths coming out softly.

JJ shifted closer, as she, in her sleep, was probably moving toward Emily’s warmth unconsciously.

Emily closed her eyes and basked in that moment.

Before she knew it, JJ rolled around onto her other side, and Emily was left staring at the back of her blonde head.

Missing the warmth, Emily tugged the blanket further around her shoulders.

Emily looked around JJ’s darkened room, at the empty bed across the room. Penelope, true to her word, was elsewhere. For a second, Emily wondered whose bed she was sleeping in, but the strong urge to cough overtook her, distracting her from that train of thought.

She rolled onto her back, coughing into her elbow, trying to stifle them so that she did not wake JJ. Unfortunately, the coughs kept coming, and Emily found herself struggling to breathe. She sat up, and before she knew what was happening, JJ was awake and sitting next to her with a comforting hand on her back, and Emily’s inhaler in hand.

“Hey you’re ok,” JJ whispered, running her hand up and down her back, “It’s ok baby.”

Emily tried to catch her breath, taking her medicine and trying to hold it into her lungs, before coughing again. Her entire body shook with them, and it brought forth the aching that permeated her entire entire body.

The coughs slowed, and she fell back into JJ, whose arms wrapped around her as she made soothing noises.

“You ok?” JJ asked, her own voice still sounding a bit hoarse.

Emily nodded, whimpering, and JJ handed her a water bottle. Emily thought for a second before taking it, knowing that she had already caught JJ’s sickness anyways.

JJ’s strong arms wrapped around her, supporting her limp frame as she drank water and calmed back down, before moving away to let Emily lay back down.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” JJ said, “You were out halfway through the first movie and I knew you definitely needed the rest.”

Emily nodded, bracing for JJ to ask her to leave, but that didn’t come.

“How are you feeling?” JJ asked.

“Better,” Emily croaked. “My lungs still hurt.”

“Do you still have a fever?” JJ asked, moving her hand to feel Emily’s forehead.

Emily closed her eyes at the gentle touch.

“You’re hot,” JJ said, tutting at ther.

“Don’t you know it, babe,” Emily said, without thinking.

Her eyes shot open, and she began to stutter, trying to backtrack what she said. JJ began to laugh.

“Miss Prentiss is cocky when she’s feverish,” JJ said, grinning at her.

Emily felt herself blush, but hoped JJ would take that as her fever and not her embarrassment.

“It’s late, Em,” JJ said, “Go back to sleep.”

There it was. An invitation to continue sharing her bed. Emily relaxed, closing her eyes.

This time, she didn’t quickly fall asleep, finding herself feeling tense in JJ’s bed, not wanting to do anything that would be seen as suspicious.

Was she lying too close? Was she moving too much? Was she allowed to cuddle up to JJ? Did girls cuddle with each other?

Over Thanksgiving weekend last year, when she visited the Morgans with Derek, she and he shared his childhood bed. It was not like this, with the two of them fighting for blankets, kicking each other, and grumbling like siblings. Then, Emily didn’t feel this fluttering in her stomach or the desire to sniff the other persons hair. Well, Derek barely had any hair to sniff.

Emily forced herself to relax, to take as deep breaths as her lungs could manage and to try to fall back asleep.

Some time passed, with Emily breathing slightly congested breaths in and out, as JJ tossed and turned a bit, moving around to get comfortable.

Emily faded in and out of consciousness, right on the verge of sleep when movement on the bed told her that JJ had rolled again, and was now facing her. She could sense that JJ was looking at her, but didn’t open her eyes to confirm, still verging on sleep.

She must have assumed that Emily was fast asleep, because the other girl turned to face Emily, and did something that Emily didn’t expect, nor knew exactly what to do with.

JJ had kissed Emily’s forehead, softly, and Emily’s sleep deprived, feverish brain was not sure if it had actually happened, or if she had hallucinated.

It took everything in Emily to not react, forcing her eyes closed and her body still, keeping her breathing steady. then rolled onto her side as if nothing had happened.

Emily didn’t have the capacity to process the kiss, or the rush of emotions it conjured, so she decided that it was simply a figment of her imagination.

Both girls fell asleep shortly after.

———

The second time Emily woke in JJ’s bed, the sun was up and the room was bathed in golden light. Emily felt warm and safe, and compared to the previous day, her body wasn’t aching as much. Emily opened her eyes and found that she was not only laying face to face with a sleeping JJ, but their limbs were tangled, as both of them had apparently decided to cuddle the other in their sleep.

Emily’s legs were wrapped up in JJ’s, her right leg between JJ’s, and the blonde’s arm was thrown casually around Emily’s shoulder, holding her close.

This time, Emily didn’t panic, and relished the embrace of JJ. She knew that she wasn’t likely to get a chance to be this close to her again, without the excuse of a fever, so she wasn’t going to ruin it.

Despite her best efforts, JJ’s eyes blinked open, as if sensing that Emily was awake.

Emily pulled away, yawning, attempting to untangle their limbs.

“Why hello there,” JJ whispered, giggling at her.

“Hi,” Emily whispered, smiling back at JJ.

“You look a lot better,” JJ commented, reaching out and fixing Emily’s bangs for her.

“I feel better,” she said, “Less like I’m on the verge of death.”

“We can’t have you dying, Em,” she replied, “Who else would I cuddle with?”

Emily smiled at her.

JJ sat up, stretching, revealing a slip of her lower back as the hem of her sweater rose above her waist. Emily did the same, sitting crossed legged in her bed, still wrapped in blankets despite the warmth of the room. JJ was lucky and her bed was near the radiator, keeping them toasty warm despite the chilled fall air.

Emily peeked outside, watching fall leaves fly through the sky, patterning the courtyard with a blanket of leaves. JJ stood, put on her slippers, and took a drink of water, before offering it to Emily.

Taking the water bottle, Emily sipped it awkwardly, completely unsure what to do with herself. All her experiences being in someone else’s bed had usually also involved her leaving quickly after, or at least in the morning before the other woke up. Now, Emily was watching JJ fuss with her hair in the mirror in the golden light of day.

“I’m starving,” JJ said, “What time is it?”

Emily grabbed JJ’s phone, seeing the time. It was 6:30am, long before she ever normally woke up. She must have fallen asleep earlier than she thought.

“Cafs aren’t open yet,” Emily said, “It’s only 6:30.”

“Do you like omelettes?” JJ asked.

———

Fifteen minutes later, Emily was seated in the tiny dorm kitchen at the end of their floor, wrapped in a blanket, with another steaming cup of tea in her hands, watching JJ flip an omelette in a pan.

Apparently JJ is one of the few people to use the kitchen—besides Emily and her cookies—to use the kitchen for more than instant noodles and pizza pockets.

She had eggs in the fridge, and diced frozen vegetables in the freezer, and quickly whipped up a delicious breakfast for the two of them in minutes, chatting the entire time.

“Oooh,” JJ said as she pulled out her carton of eggs, “I should get some apple cider. Someone’s got a massive jug in here and I’m dying for some.”

“I’ve never liked apple cider,” Emily said, taking a gulp of her tea.

The hot tea—and her doctor prescribed medicine—was clearing her sinuses and Emily felt like she was breathing fully for the first time in days.

“That’s impossible,” JJ said, matter-of-factly, as she cracked an egg into a bowl. “It’s the best thing ever.”

Emily shrugged, “I’ve only had it once and it wasn’t that good.”

“If I wasn’t a good person, I would steal this person’s cider and make you try it,” JJ said, gesturing with a spatula.

JJ turned and busied herself with adding the veggies to the pan, sautéing them in butter and some seasoning.

“We should go to the fair, together,” JJ blurted, “I mean. All of us.”

“I’ve also never been to a fair,” Emily said with another shrug. “I have to remind you that I’ve barely lived in the US, and when I did, I was trapped in stuffy private schools.”

JJ gave her a look that, if it was from anyone else, would look pitying.

“It’s decided,” JJ said, plopping the omelette onto Emily’s plate. “When you feel better, we’re going to the fair.”

“It’s a date.”

81 notes · View notes

scraregenrecs · 3 years

Text

Rec Roundup – February 2021 #2

Well hello, you!

Alas, February is shrinking in the rearview mirror, and while it left us yearning for another taste of its sweet tang, we must bid adieu to the month of amor, while ushering in … March.

See you for another round of fic recs on the Ides of March! But don’t let David know, we wouldn’t want another nighttime oopsie daisy.

~Side note: We’ll be doing a separate @scseason7 roundup after author reveals on the 6th, so keep an eye out for that.~

Downtime by another_hero, Alexis & Ruth, G, 1198 words

Summary: Alexis and Ruth have a slumber party at a fancy hotel.

Rec [written by doingthemost]: First of all, love the concept of Alexis and Ruth being besties. Second of all, the way their personalities play off of each other here is so much fun. I would love to be invited to this slumber party, and the nice thing about these two is that I think they'd gladly extend an invitation to everyone to join the fun.

falling in love at a coffee shop by @thankstwy, @landofsonlali, and @anniemurphys, Alexis/Twyla, G & T, 2059 words

Summary: Alexis has never been good at getting the timing right. Twyla decides that it's about time that they do.

Rec [written by doingthemost]: Full disclosure, I wrote the first fic in this series – but the other two fics are so wonderful, I couldn't let them go unrecced. I love when fics give Twyla a chance to take charge of her destiny and to step out of the sidelines and into the spotlight in a way that canon never did. And the final fic is a picture-perfect rom-com in all its trope-y glory. 🥺

from words, but not from beauty [The Good Place crossover] by synchronicities, Alexis Rose & Tahani Al-Jamil, G, 2111 words

Summary: Two wine-drunk socialites have a fight.

Rec [written by yourbuttervoicedbeau]: Everyone who has ever talked about Alexis Rose and Tahani Al-Jamil meeting is one thousand percent correct, no matter if they think it they’d be enemies or BFFs or lovers (or enemies-to-bffs-to-lovers). So I was DELIGHTED to see this fic pop up, and it’s charming from start to finish. The name-dropping! The characterisation! I would read a million more words of this, and yet at the same time the amount of words I got is PERFECT.

i can tell that we are gonna be friends by @thankstwy, David & Twyla (background Alexis/Twyla), G, 700 words

Summary: When it's time for the newly-branded Twyla's Café Tropical to reopen, Twyla asks David for a favour. AKA: Help me, David-Wan Kenobi! You're my only hope!

Rec [written by yourbuttervoicedbeau]: I am such a sucker for any fic that explores David and Twyla being friends, and I particularly love this one being set post-canon! Of course Twyla knows the way to David’s heart is by valuing his skills, and of course David wants to try.

I’ve Got This by @missgeevious, Patrick & Alexis, G, 392 words

Summary: Patrick and Alexis get pulled over.

Rec [written by yourbuttervoicedbeau]: This fic packs so many jams into such a small wordcount — I love Patrick and Alexis’ relationship, I love frustrated Patrick, and I love that I can absolutely envisage Alexis’ expression every step of the way through this. This fic is the definition of short and sweet!

I want to show you the shape I'm in by @yourbuttervoicedbeau, Alexis/Stevie, T, 1017 words

Summary: The backing track for 'Money, Money' is already pumping out of the speakers when she pokes her head around the door to see Patrick and Stevie stomping around each other like they have been in every rehearsal, while the smokeshow Alexis assumes is the choreographer takes notes on a little clipboard.

Rec [written by doingthemost]: Patrick and Stevie's dance rehearsal lives rent-free in my mind, and I suspect that I'm not alone. I love how fanfic can not only answer all the little "what if"s that pop into our heads, like "what if Alexis saw one of their rehearsals?" but expand upon it so that the answer becomes greater than what you thought it could be. There's such a natural evolution from amused curiosity to want, and the tone is so light and playful, this could have easily taken place within the canon.

perfect cup of coffee by @samwhambam, Stevie/Twyla, T, 842 words

Summary: Twyla learns that Stevie is very good at making coffee.

Rec [written by doingthemost]: I love reading about the excitement that comes with the start of a new relationship, and this quiet, gentle little fic delivers that in spades. Not only is it such a sweet reflection on their relationship, but it's also such a good character study of these two. The promise that life has to offer the two of them is so evident and heartwarming!

Recognize my role, i fucked up the timing (gonna pay dearly for years full of silence) by @turningtimeinthetardis, Alexis/Ted and Alexis/Twyla, T, 338 words

Summary: She and Alexis have something. Or they're on the verge of having something. Right?

Rec [written by samwhambam]: Short and sweet and full of angst. Just like I like my coffee in the morning. (Truly, give this a read if you want your heart to be broken in 338 words. Hurts so good.)

Swiping Regret by @treepyful, Ray & Ronnie, T, 3197 words

Summary: Ray’s adventures on Bumpkin: the aftermath of five bad dates and one good one.

Rec [written by samwhambam]: It’s a 5 + 1 of Ray DATING!! D-A-T-I-N-G and then going to his bff’s house afterwards to debrief. It’s a perfect fic. It’s the kind of fic that makes you want to go hug your own Ronnie and tell them thank you for also supporting you through your own tinder adventures. Also there’s a hinted relationship between Ray and a townie that has me wanting more.

This Stupid, Wonderful, Boring, Amazing Job by @lilythesilly, Alexis/Twyla, G, 1129 words

Summary: “I once had my own reality tv show, ‘ A Little Bit Alexis’; maybe you’ve seen it? I was also a plant on three seasons of ' The Bachelor Australia .' So I’m, like, super familiar with how confessionals work. Anyway, I came to Dunder Mifflin because I needed a quick temp job since our super shady business manager ran off with all of my family’s money, and it turns out I can literally sell anything to anyone. Even paper.” A cute lil 'The Office' AU.

Rec [written by samwhambam]: Do you love Alexis/Twyla? Do you love the office? If you answered yes to either one of those, you will love this fic. This moment between them perfectly mirrors a Jim and Pam scene and it really makes you root for them. I highly recommend.

Happy reading, friends!

28 notes · View notes

gusu-emilu · 3 years

Text

seven nights to turn: author's meta

Symbolism & Parallels

Time to be self-indulgent. Am I significant enough to be posting about my own fic lore? Probably not, but here I am. Blame @eldritch-elrics and @qi-ling for telling me I was allowed to do this.

I also want to journal for myself about this story before I forget my thoughts months later. A little fic diary, if you will.

I'm going to talk about the meanings of:

counting nights and days

pruning plants

branding and insignia

kneeling

Counting Nights and Days

Jiang Cheng's state of mind in Chapter 1 is very different from Chapter 4. In the beginning of the story, he is bitter and restless. His memories haunt him. He counts time by nights—has for years—because the nights are harder to make it through.

By the end of the story, he is openly grateful in his narration for Wei Wuxian and Jin Ling's safety, and he has gone from calling himself selfish to giving to Wen Ning out of something more than just guilt. The shift from counting nights to counting days reflects this.

I also played with this concept in the titles and section headers. As a refresher, the chapter titles are 1) from first to fifth night, 2) from sixth to seventh night, 3) turn, 4) from first to fifth day. And of course, the story is called Seven Nights to Turn.

Jiang Cheng "turns" in multiple ways. The surface level turn is from counting nights to days. The emotional turn is how his perception of Wen Ning changes. The physical turn involves kneeling...and I'll talk about that soon.

Wen Ning also has a turn of his own, as he realizes that he isn't as repulsive as he thinks, that he isn't as responsible for the past as he thinks, that Jiang Cheng didn't give him the talismans and tea for the reason he thinks. That he is allowed to express negative emotions once in a while. He can have some catharsis by confessing things to Jiang Cheng that he feels like he can't say to Wei Wuxian or Lan Sizhui. And at the very end of the story, he "turns" to travel to Tanzhou and meet Song Lan, starting a new direction in his life as he can begin to heal and grow on his own. Before coming back to Lotus Pier, of course *wink wink*

Now for the section headers. If you didn't translate them while reading, I'll do that now. Until the "turn," the nights are marked 第一晚 (First Night), 第二晚 (Second Night), etc., and the days are marked 白天 (Daytime). Wen Ning's POV in Chapter 2, aka his breakdown, is marked 未知 (Unknown), because the reader can decide for themselves when that scene happens. It also represents that Wen Ning feels lost in that moment. After the "turn," the night is marked 晚上 (Nighttime), and the days are marked 第一天 (First Day), 第二天 (Second Day), etc. So, the shift from counting nights to days happens on several levels.

Pruning Plants

In Chapter 3, after Jiang Cheng and Wen Ning reach some form of peace, if not a full reconciliation, they sit at the tea table in Wen Ning's cabin, talking about their families or sitting in silence. Wen Ning brings over one of his plants to prune while they sit together.

Snipping away the leaves represents how, throughout the entire story, they bring up moments from the past and find a way to release them. Before they were able to reconcile enough to sit at Wen Ning's tea table (without Jiang Cheng wanting to flip it over), they had to go through explosive confrontations about the past. But finally, some of those grievances are addressed. They can trim away those leaves, and new shoots can grow, because at last they are talking without animosity and beginning to bond.

Trimming away a few leaves doesn't change the plant. Its base is still the same. They can't change or fix anything, but they can make what they have a little less messy.

Actually, I was originally going to have Wen Ning show Jiang Cheng how to prune the plant, and they would trim it together. Now I'm regretting not doing that lol.

Branding and Insignia

I'm just going to pull quotes for this one to show everything in one place. Half of these ideas came from my beta @lady-of-the-lotus.

He wonders if Wen Ning is trying to leave a mark of his own, to carve another scar, to sear a brand of the lost Wen Clan into his skin. (Chapter One)

Jiang Cheng thinks about receiving another permanent mark of the Wen Clan during the hate sex...

A pendant in the window casts a sun-shaped shadow on his face; a faint circle, spoked and distorted. He doesn’t look in the mirror again after that. (Chapter Two)

And the morning after, there's the mark of the Wen Clan, if only in his imagination. Yet another thing to haunt him.

Wen Ning saw. Saw the guqin brush, with its red handle, its black rim and golden tassel. The exact colors of the Wen insignia. (Chapter Two)

But by the end of that chapter, Jiang Cheng begins to empathize with Wen Ning and come to terms with his guilt, and he consciously selects a symbol of the Wen Clan to give to Lan Sizhui as a gift.

The design on the bottom of the cup has burned the red outline of a lotus flower into his skin. (Chapter Four)

By now, Jiang Cheng understands how much Wen Ning sacrificed and suffered, and he wishes he could take away the pain. He heals the burn wound, removing the brand of the Jiang Clan from Wen Ning's skin, and later thanks Wen Ning for saving his family.

As he follows the path of the veins, he realizes how endless they are. Jiang Cheng’s own scars have a clear start. A clear finish. Where does Wen Ning’s suffering end? (Chapter Four)

Wen Ning's black marks are the brand of death.

The rest of the scar/vein symbolism is pretty clear in the story, I think, so I won't discuss it much beyond that.

Kneeling and Parallels

Here's the physical "turn." I didn't intend for this to happen while writing, but it actually has a connection to a scene in CQL.

One of the most emotional scenes in The Untamed is in Episode 36, after Wei Wuxian pulls the nails out of Wen Ning's head to restore his consciousness. Wen Ning, overcome with guilt, kneels at Wei Wuxian's feet. Then Wei Wuxian kneels.

This is a beautiful moment in their relationship. Ningxian (you can interpret that romantically or platonically) always has this...slightly uncomfortable power dynamic? as much as I love them, but in that scene Wei Wuxian physically shows how much he appreciates Wen Ning. That he is sorry. That they are both indebted to each other, but the past wasn't Wen Ning's fault, and they are equals as they kneel in front of each other.

Back to Seven Nights, where there is a lot of kneeling going on, and the meanings are a bit similar.

This story was a challenge to tell mostly from Jiang Cheng's POV, because there is so much in Wen Ning's head that I couldn't put on the page since Jiang Cheng just doesn't know what he's thinking. The reader gets to learn about Wen Ning through Jiang Cheng's eyes, and speculate about the rest of what they don't learn.

But during the hate sex scene, it's significant that Wen Ning is the one kneeling. Despite how much resentment he holds toward Jiang Cheng, he still feels guilty! (He really isn't to blame, but he feels like he is.) He killed Jin Zixuan! That caused Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli to die! He's a corpse, what is he doing touching someone? Expecting that Jiang Cheng would've reached out to him to make peace? Wen Ning is very confused about how he feels about Jiang Cheng, has a complicated relationship with his own humanity and self-confidence, and that leaves him kneeling even when getting revenge.

There's also the attraction element, of course, the classic trope of "enemy sexy," but we're not talking about that right now lol

The next time somebody kneels, it's Jiang Cheng. His guilt toward Wen Ning used to do nothing but torment him. Now he is taking action, physically showing the change in their relationship, kneeling at Wen Ning's feet and healing his hand. The talismans and tea in the first chapter were nice (if misguided) gestures, but he didn't kneel to present those, did he? The sentiment in the first chapter is very different from his treatment of Wen Ning in the last chapter. He understands Wen Ning much better. Admits to himself that he cares about Wen Ning as a person. He's not just caught up in the concept of "unfinished business." He's not held back by his ego.

And then we come full circle, an inverse of the hate sex in the first chapter. This time Jiang Cheng drinks the tea, kneels, and gets to work. And Wen Ning orders him to, which I find very satisfying.

But once he finishes...Wen Ning kneels, too.

They go through both versions of the power structure, and by the end they are stripped, raw, honest, kneeling in front of each other and wrapped in each other's arms. They both had to knock down barriers to get to this point, and it broke them both a little in the process, but now they can start again and move on to something more hopeful.

Just to be clear, this was not planned from the beginning. Wen Ning was never even going to go to Lotus Pier. And once I decided to add that chapter, I only decided to add sex to it a week before posting. So this just kind of happened on its own.

...And I think that's it. I wish this story was longer lol. Seven Nights was supposed to be a 6k oneshot, turned into a near-30k multichap, and I still want to write more. T.T

I might post again about planning/conception for the fic, another diary entry so I don't forget what was going on in my head months or years later when I look back at this story. Idk. Anyway, thanks for reading!

#seven nights to turn #emilu creations #emilu fics

7 notes · View notes

detroit-become-human-analyze · 4 years

Text

Is Daniel/Simon (PL600) a sexual companion like North or a Traci?

Analyzing the game again, a controversy has sparked because of this picture, so let’s take a look at how much of “canon” (real game canon) might or not be behind it:

Now, we see this PL-500 picture that clearly states that, although “romantic mode” is optional, the PL-500 is intended as a intimate (sexual) partner, and if one thing we’ve notice from the androids in this game is that the first two letters usually determine “the category” (just like RK are military/police, or the YK are children). And there are two major characters on the game that are later versions of this “PL-500”, and that is the PL-600 Daniel and Simon, that although are described as “household/caretakers/companions”, it’s never specified up to what point.., and possibly the fact that they can cook meals and care for your kids is actually the NEW feature, as PLs where originally sexual/romantic companions on previous models.

This is never actually “explicit” but it’s weirdly hinted during the entire game. - So, we mostly see Daniel, a PL-600 android during the chapter “The Hostage” (witch is also the demo of the game) and maybe a bit of him (depending on what you do) at the end on the chapter “Last Chance Connor”, but we can all conclude that Daniel life was at the house of the Phillips.

At first glance everything was good at the Phillips house, and, there’s even this very nice picture of them as soon as you get off the elevator with Connor.

Connor is given very little time to determinate the best approach to rescue the hostage (Emma) from their now deviant android Daniel.

One of the first interesting things I’ve noticed, despite the fact that the Phillips are actually quite rich to be living in such an apartment (during such rough economic times in Detroit, as Kara sees it on the trip at the beginning, on Todd car), is that the mother never, EVER says ANYTHING about her dead husband. Never laments or screams or even mentions it (her husband is right there dead on the living-room, I mean...), Caroline Phillips (little Emma’s mother) is only focus on saving her daughter, and spitefully says “keep that thing away from my daughter” referring Connor, but we all assume her hate is shared to all androids (witch it’s odd, she owns one that even plays with her daughter).

This very vaguely hints the mother of the house has a quarrel with androids (for some reason) from BEFORE the incident at hand, and when you go see Captain Allen, you walk into the main bedroom.

One thing that caught my eye is that, despite having a household android, it’s nighttime and the incident has being occurring -since one hour- before Connor arrival (meaning an hour ago wasn’t the morning either, you see this on the news on the fridge area), AND, for some reason, the bed sheets are all messed up on the parent’s bedroom.

If you (Connor) analyze/re-construct where Daniel got the gun of the father, you see he never touches the bed when he goes for the gun.

I doubt Captain Allen is letting his SWAT team fool around in the bed, so that’s discarded.

The father of the family (the now “late” John Phillips) has being watching TV and using the tablet to order another android... so... why are the sheets on the parent’s bedroom undone?

If the wife was suffering depression or simply “in bed”, she would have seen Daniel go into the room in panic and get/load the gun right in front of her.

This indicates that possibly the mother was either out of the house at the moment of the event, or somewhere else (the bathroom, etc).

If you examine Emma’s room you will see that she was listening to music, as Connor concludes that this is why Emma didn’t heard the shooting, again, the mother must have being out, if not, she would have heart the entire thing... but there is a darker twist as to why Emma might have being with her music full on... Yes, there is a high provability that John Phillips, “dear old dad”, was having sex with Daniel in the bedroom next door, and there is a grater chance that obviously this was “a regular thing”. Therefore a broken relationship with his wife and that “rich people perfect family photo” was just a charade, thus, also, why “mom was out of the house”. - Even if all evidence is circumstantial, it just fits right in too fast and too perfectly to ignore in a game that pays so much attention to details and talks so much about abusive relationships and dysfunctional families.

Connor can reconstruct events but not “audio”, if you examine the late John Phillips body, you will see that Daniel stood up behind him and they actually had “a talk” BEFORE Daniel starts shooting.

By the food that was left overcooking in the kitchen, the bet is that “dad” had it with Daniel at the main bedroom (maybe even realizing at that point that having sex with the same android was “getting boring”, thus, since they obviously have the money, start considering buying another “sex android toy”).

Then Daniel went to do dinner, oversaw the same men that just had sex with him ordering another “replacement” android, got pissed off like a lover would (this is very common actually, a couple or sexual/romantic partner shooting the other if they know that they’ll being left for “someone else”), run to the bedroom, takes the gun, confronts John (his lover) verbally, Daniel finally snaps, shots him to death, and then runs (like a mother would), to get Emma.

Possibly THAT was the moment where Caroline Phillips returned to the apartment and Daniel saw/heard the elevator blocked, so he head outside.

Now, another interesting thing is that Daniel has a very close relationship with Emma (the little girl), almost “motherly like”, up to the point in witch after shooting the dad, the first thing he can think of is taking Emma (much like Kara when shooting Todd and gets Alice).

Sure, then in desperation and confusion, is shoot by the first cop that arrives and everything escalates “pretty quickly”, but any mother would tell you that after a traumatic event, the first thing you get with you is your kids.

This talks a lot about how Daniel at least “felt” he was indeed one of Emma’s parents, he has a mother instinct until Emma starts to reject him due to the situation and he realized that the girl doesn’t see him the way “he sees her”, feeling all the more betrayed.

* On a side note:

If you see where Daniel and Emma video (tablet, Emma’s room) was taken, you will see the background well enough to realize it’s the same park that Markus cross every time he goes to get paintings for Carl Manfred. - As we established before, Markus is a “patient zero” regarding deviancy.

Markus has the “virus” of deviancy (possibly implanted by Kamski itself before giving him as a “gift” to Carl Manfred), and unaware of it, spreads it to any android near him (remember the “androids are constantly shearing information, and during Freedom March, when Markus becomes aware of his ability, he can turn deviants from almost a couple blocks away from his location).

Then, if the infected android gets into a traumatic or emotional event, the “symptoms” of deviation occur. - Thus, there is a high chance that Markus infected Daniel with deviancy without even noticing when crossing the park one day, and the detonating stressful emotional trauma was later on when Daniel saw, what he obviously considered “his family” replacing him.

Simon, being also a PL-600, has also relevant behaviors to that matter, especially regarding Markus.

For instance, it’s only him and North the only ones who can “give Markus their heart” (source of power, AKA “battery”) if Markus gets wounded during the violent final protest. - This is interesting because while North might or not have an “intimate relationship” with Markus at that point, and Simon validates his point by “if you (Markus) die, our cause dies with you” kind of thing, he does seems a lot emotionally involved, and, plus... Why isn’t there a scene where, let’s say, equally important character like Josh, offers to sacrifice himself too for the good of the cause??? (let’s say you never develop a relationship with North, you let Simon die at some point, and, North being an egocentric psycho-maniac that only wants to “kill and burn”, I guess Josh would have had more chances to give his life for “the cause”).

* By the way, North has NO excuse, I’ve already explained this before, she killed (strangled) the human that “rent her” (so her immediate abuser is already dead), but also she wants to kill all other humans as well, AND!, she is quickly to say “let’s kill androids too”, so... other androids are North “victims” too, either it’s because she wants to fight and they’re being slaughter, or because “Shoot Simon!” (when, there where a lot other options).

By the way, this scene where Simon gets shot at the roof is one that makes you wonder, developers (as it’s obvious in the EdenClub chapter and Hank later reflections over it, as if it was a future where all sexuality is embraced as normal), have no issue regarding the sexual orientation of any character (if per-se’ androids are genderless and only assigned a gender to look like humans making interactions more comfortable). - If you take the gun and follow North “orders” to shoot Simon on the roof, you’ll be given a second chance to reconsider things, as Simon reminds you that “there is always another way”, but it’s up to you (Markus). - If you decide to put the gun down (disappointing North lust for blood of any color), next time this two characters meet, they hug each other very warmly, ...witch isn’t odd given that Markus thought that Simon was death and left behind... but still, quite an emotional response, because this isn’t Kara and Alice “hugging all the time”.

Add to this, during the Freedom March, Simon, being basically “the coward” throughout the whole game and avoiding conflict, if Markus gets shot (and you don’t have any other androids that came with you from the where house of Cyberlife), jumps into the fight like crazy and even dies for Markus at that point. - This goes basically against every fiber of Simon good judgment and behavior traits from the star, he is always scared and passive, even pessimistic regarding the android revolution although it supports it.

Conclusions:

Overall there aren’t hard evidence, there isn’t a “fools-proof” signature telling you any of this things, but when too many circumstantial evidence piles up, you also have a case...

The entirety of the situation with Daniel might be interpreted differently, if you stretch things up, to a more “innocent like” explanation (that I personally don’t see how could fit at this point). And trust me, this blog is for analyzing the main canon of the official game, if there was any other feeling or evidence, I would point it out... but some things are beyond any explaining, like why the bed is all messed up at night if you have a domestic android just to take care of stuff like that (even Kara makes Todd’s bed).

So, for me, the first chapter (or “demo”) sums up the end of an abusive relationship on a love triangle that torn apart a marriage and a family (like even Magazines during the game indicate, that because of “sex androids” couples where getting divorced).

But tell me what you think or if you have found any other evidence that points out otherwise!

#dbh daniel #dbh simon #dbh sex android #dbh headcanons #dbh cannon #pl500 #pl600 #simon #daniel #the hostage

480 notes · View notes

solara-bean · 4 years

Text

First Meeting

I have like 3 different versions for how Zola met the Autobots ( specifically Optimus) but thos one's my favorite.

So this was it. I wake up. Shower. Feed RG0 ( pronounced Argo ) my Rottweiler, German Shepard mix. Eat breakfast. Workout. Then tinker and tinker till the day is spent on whatever project I'll probably never finish. I usually skip lunch and go straight to dinner. After that I'd read, paint watch tv or even practice playing my ukulele. Then I'd sleep and do it all over again as I've been doing for the past three years.

The best part is that my routine is never interrupted by outsiders since I'm alone in the woods. Or at least until now.

One night RG0 decided that he wanted to stray away from our normal path. I was fine with even though he was off leash. Nighttime in the forest no longer scared me. I felt more safe than anything. I still brought my shotgun just in case.

Then I heard a loud boom and stopped in my tracks. Before I knew it RG0 bolted into the direction of the loud sound. I hurried after him in a panic.

" Crazy dog! Now is not the time to be curious!!!"

He zoomed past the twisting trees over the uneven ground that slowed me down. Over the thumping of my heartbeat I could hear more loud sounds that were all getting louder. What was this dog leading me to? Thankfully he stopped at a dead end.

I recognized it as a small cliff that overlooked the largest valley in the forest. RG0 stood at the edge and stared down quietly with his ears perked. I slowed down and began to catch my breath only for it to leave my lungs again in shock.

The once peaceful, lush valley was now a warzone filled with....robots??? Why the hell are there robots?! And why are they fighting for that matter?!! There had to be ten - no - twelve of them. All with futuristic guns and other weapons used to harm and maybe even kill. But there seemed to be two groups. It wasn't just random fighting.

The ones with brighter colors seemed to only be fighting the ones with sharper, more threatening features. Wait did they have matching symbols? Ugh! I can't tell without my glasses.

Hang on...what were these things exactly? Some kind of government project gone wrong or maybe a test? It would make since sense these woods are deserted despite me and RG0. Wait did they not know I was here. I have been keeping a low profile. Maybe I'm not suppose to be seeing this. Holy Crap!!! One of the little ones just ripped off the other's arm!!!!

" Ok buddy," I held onto RG0s collar and began to step back slowly. " No clue what the hells going on but we're leaving right now."

Then as luck would have it, one if the robots was blasted into the cliff with an eerily human cry of pain. The force of the impact made me fall over and RG0 yelp. Apparently we'd been loud enough to be heard since the robot, who was tall enough to rest their elbow ( or at least what looked like one ) on the cliff's edge, spotted us.

They were red, blue and silver from what I could see. They also seemed to be wearing some sort of mask. But what really stood out was their glowing eyes that stared back at mine. They held so much emotion and intelligence. That and they were the most beautiful shade of blue.

Before I could admire the metallic stranger any longer, a screeching voice runge out.

" Well Prime, it looks like you've found one of the planet's many pests. Here let me dispose of it for you."

Oh that can't be good.

An energy blast from above missed me and RG0 by a hair. I frantically searched above the trees to see another robot high in the sky with a blaster pointed at us.

Oh great they can fly too!!!

Without a second thought we bolted back down the path with the flying bot hot on our tails. RG0 was taking the path home but I managed to signal him to follow me down another in the opposite direction. I hadn't been this way in a while but the last thing I need is them knowing where we live. It would have been a lot easier to runaway if I didn't have to keep running ina zigzag to avoid blasts. From the high pitched laughter, I could tell that this metal douchebag was enjoying our scurrying.

The robot must have gotten tired of flying since they landed on the ground. Right in front of us.

" As fun as this chase has been, human. I'll need to finish the job before Megatron gets suspicious of why my mission is taking so long. Not that you understand any of what I'm saying. With your inferior intellect and all."

Ok. Doucheness just went from a 10 to a 20.

They pointed their blaster at me, causing RG0 to jump in front of me and growl at them.

" Aw. The organic has a loyal pet. Let's see how well it handles my plasma beam."

" No!"

I held RG0 close to me and awaited the blast that never came. Instead another came from behind us and hit the flying robot's in their blaster, damaging it.

" Leave them alone Starscream!" came a noble, booming voice.

It was the red robot from before.

" Argh! How dare you interrupt my fun once again Optimus Prime!"

Ok good I've got their names now. Guessing that Optimus is the good guy.

Oh great now they're fighting and I'm way too close!

I barely managed to get out of the way as they tussled around, making the ground shake. Once I was a good I looked over my shoulder to see Optimus, the nice robot, pause to give me a look that said "run." He was distracted long enough for Starscream, aka the douchebag, land a kick on his injured side. That must be where he was shot earlier considering there was a hole leaking some sort of fluid.

Optimus groaned and fell to his knees. He was about to get up before Starscream pointed his still somewhat functional blaster at his face.

" You've disappointed me, Prime. Bested by a few blows? Where's that legendary power?! Ah well. No matter. Megatron shall be pleased when I deliver your helm to him."

That should've been my cue get RG0 and I ro safety, seeing that Optimus was only fighting this guy to give us an opening to flee. But was he really going to die? Or would he be fine if we left? It's not like we could help him anyway!

Unless....

" Hey Starscream!"

" Huh-"

Starscream emitted a pathetic wail when one one of my rifle's bullets hit his face. Then another. And another.

" Why you little-"

Before he could aim his blaster, RG0 jumped on his foot and barked up at him loudly.

" Ew get off me you disgusting organic parasite!"

He hopped from foot to foot as RG0 jumped around his feet and pawed at them. Meanwhile I kept shooting at him, making a few noticeable dents in his armor. All the chaos made him do a panicked jig and whine. I couldn't help but giggle.

'Serves you right!!!'

He had enough once he accidentally shot himself in the foot trying to get RG0.

" ARGH! Oh that's it! Now you both die!"

Then Optimus, now having recovered some, shoved him at full force. It sent him tumbling threw a few trees, scratching his metal skin and bending one of his wings. He laid a groaning mess in a heap with Optimus' gun aimed at his head.

" I think it's time for you to go."

With that Starscream transformed into a jet- wait how the HELL- and flew away. I was so taken aback by his transformation that I didn't notice one of the now dented trees give out and fall towards me.

" Look out!" Optimus warned.

RG0 thankfully tackled me out of the way but my head hit the ground to hard and everything turned black.

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

I woke up with a throbbing headache and sore muscles. Even worse my bed felt terrible and the curtains were open in my room.

Wait a minute....

'This isn't my room!'

I surveyed my surroundings. I was apparently seating in the front seat of a truck.

'WHO'S TRUCK AM I IN???'

Before I could panic for much longer a familiar voice came from the radio.

" Good morning. How are you feeling?"

" U-uhmm...fine I guess. Who am I talking to?" I said while staring skeptically at the radio and scooting as far into the seat as I could.

" Forgive me for not introducing myself properly. I am Optimus Prime. The mech you met from last night."

'Oh great! That wasn't all a weird whiskey induced dream.'

" But......you're a truck now???"

" Yes."

" Weren't you a robot before?"

" If by 'robot' you mean my primary form, then also yes."

I burried my face in my hands and groaned.

"Ughhh what's going on?"

I then remembered the lack of a certain furry companion. I was about to panic again until I saw RG0 a few yards away from us and playing with some of the other robots from last night. A small yellow one was on the ground, nearly mirroring RG0's play position. I would've found the whole scene cute if it wasn't so bizarre.

" If you don't mind me asking. I would like to know the name of the human who saved me."

I snorted.

" Saved you? No way. If anything you saved me."

" If you hadn't have stayed and distracted Starscream, I would've been severely injured if not offlined. You could have left me there and saved yourself. But you didn't. You showed true bravery."

" Aw stop with the flattery. I was just paying you back for helping us first. So consider us even."

" Then thank you miss....?"

" Princeton. Well Zola is my first name."

" Then thank you Zola. And I'm sure we have much to discuss."

" That might be an understatement."

And it was.

#zola princeton #oc #tf oc #optimus prime #transformers #transformers knightverse #tf #autobots #decepticons #rg0 #starscream #bumblebee

3 notes · View notes

epic-summaries · 5 years

Text

British LegendsxPokémon

Gawain

As one a pearl doth prize, measured ’gainst pease, tho’ white, So do I hold Gawain above all other knight!

Didst thou a little lack, Sir Knight, in loyalty,

’T was not for woman’s love, or aught of villainy,

’T was but for love of life, therefore I blame thee less—”

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

For the longest time I had Solrock on his team. But I was never 100% comfortable with it because as the Maiden’s Knight I wanted to give Gawain only female Pokémon and Solrock is genderless (I also thought about giving him Braviary but Braviary can only be male). But luckily for me I looked up the Pokémon Species Type (for different reasons) and we have 4 sun/ne Pokémon (which doesn’t include Solrock).

Gringolet, Gawain’s horse has his own Wikipedia article. Not even Owain’s lion has that! Also Gawain’s Scottish, so unicorn. I was debating between Rapidash and Musdale because Gawain does have a story including a donkey. But Musdale is a working horse and Gawain is a knight. Rapidash feels more knightly.

Ponyta was Gawain’s first Pokémon. Gawain had found her in the field grassing. Slowly, the young (let’s say 5) Gawain would go closer to Ponyta every day. He would leave berries for her hoping she would come to him. Ponyta got spooked the few first times but sensing Gawain was kind, she let him come closer. Eventually, she came to Gawain. Once, Gawain tried to pet her, which surprised Ponyta and Gawain got burned. Gawain learned his lesson and the next time, he asked Ponyta’s permission to pet her. She gave him permission.

Neither one of them noticed when Ponyta left the fields and started to sleep in the stables with Gawain, but it didn’t matter. They were each other’s. (I’m going to make Gawain working at the stables for the Pope, ‘cause why not.)

Ponyta and young Gawain worked together and went on adventure together, both loving to explore. With Ponyta, Gawain was able to go places faster and help people. Classic knight errant stuff, but as a preteen.

Ponyta evolved into Rapidash during a joust. Gawain wanted to impress his uncle. Gawain was actually doing very well. He makes it to the end! And he was against a knight on a Rhyhorn. They would have lost if Ponyta didn’t evolve into Rapidash and won them the joust (Yes I am imagining that scene in the anime where Ash riding a Ponyta evolves into a Rapidash.)

The only time Rapidash goes into her pokéball is when Gawain is outside in the rain. But usually she hates her pokéball. Sometimes Gawain more time on her then he does walking.

Her moveset is Stomp, Fire Blitz, Megahorn and Poison Jab.

The Ralts line is partly based on knights. Why Gardevoir and not Gallade? Gallade cannot be female. (Also Gallade works with Guinevere.)

During his explorations, young Gawain and Ponyta found a Ralts in need of help. She was being attacked by a Ferroseed. She was locked into place unable to teleport. Ponyta used ember and the Ferroseed ran away. Gawain brings Ralts “home” aka still the stables in Rome. (Now I’m imagining them using Ralts during mass, it’s adorable in my mind.) Ralts becomes Gawain’s main battler. They sadly lost their first Little Cup tournament. But both of them worked hard and they won their next tournament using confusion!

She evolved into a Kirlia during a tournament, which because she evolved, Gawain was unable to use her. He lost the tournament.

Kirlia wasn’t just used for tournaments but in his adventures Gawain would often use her in battle and to help fight the wild Pokémon.

And in a reference to the Rise of Sir Gawain, Nephew of Arthur, she evolved into Gardevoir during the pirate battle. (I will never not think that’s cool.)

Gardevoir helped Gawain in negotiations when Arthur sent him away to talk with Arthur’s lords or neighbouring kings. Once when the negotiations were going bad, she created a black hole and scared a King in swearing his alliance to Arthur. (She’s still a fairy and they are mischievous.)

Gardevoir’s moveset is Moonblast, Psychic, Thunderbolt and Calm Mind.

When his character is not being butchered, Gawain is often a peace keeper. Leafeon is a piece keeper. Seriously, Platinum Pokédex: It basically does not fight. With cells similar to those of plants, it can perform photosynthesis. Also it gets stronger in the sun, like Gawain. And might be a reference to Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, being green.

In the forest of Italy (because honestly it’s Arthuriana and the forest is magical and Pokémon has tons of Pokémon in the forest), while training Ralts, they found an Eevee sunbathing. Gawain decided to catch her. Eevee was more peaceful and she didn’t battle unless she had to. Though once a Surskit was bullying Ponyta, Ponyta kept trying to stomp on it but it wasn’t working. Eevee tackled the Surskit helping her friend.

In the Magical Forest of Adventure, Eevee had the nighttime munchies and found a mossy rock. Everyone was very surprised the next morning when Leafeon was sleeping with them. They blamed fairies.

Leafeon didn’t change much in personality. She is still very protective of her family and Gawain. Maybe some times a little to protective, getting revenge on people that wronged them.

Her moves are Leaf Blade, Sword Dance, X-Scissor and Synthesis.

Yes, based on both Mexican wrestlers and Aztec Eagle Warriors (seriously) doesn’t match a medieval knight, he is a hawk. And Gwalchmai may (there’s debate) mean Hawk of May.

After getting knighted Sir Gawain from the Pope, Gawain went back home to find his family. He met with Morgause and Lot and Agravaine and Gaheris and Soredamour. There was a family tradition when the child turn 13, they give them an egg of a flying type. Lot gave Gawain a Pokémon an egg, which hatched into a Hawlucha (I know Hawlucha is in the human-like egg group but magic was involved). Gardevoir and Leafeon were mainly her mothers. I’m also imagining Gawain and Hawlucha practicing fighting moves together. Gawain once wrestled Agravain and Gaheris at the same time using moves he learned from Hawlucha.

Hawlucha loved to tournaments. She made a septicle of the whole thing, which made her popular with the crowd as well. Though, sometimes she got into her own head and while showboating she got hit.

Her moveset is Sky Attack, Hi Jump Kick, Flying Press and Stone Edge.

Did you know Espeon is the Sun Pokémon? It also matches Mordred's Umbreon (spoilers).

Gawain was making a name for himself not just in the tournament scene but also in the adventure scene (sure he had a little hiccup with Owain/Morholt/Gawain maiden adventure but generally it was very positive). While on an adventure, Gawain slept with a woman who’s Vaporeon really liked Leafeon. Leafeon gave birth to two Eevees. Gawain kept one but gave the other to his little brother Mordred who was starting his Pokémon adventure. Eevee was easier to raise then Hawlucha for Leafeon. Eevee was always quick learning and loved to sleep with Gawain at night (which she kept doing after evolving). Some nights Gawain found her on his face sleeping (this did not continue after evolution).

Eevee evolved pretty quickly, like I said quick learning. On a bright day, resting from travel, Gawain was playing with Eevee. He threw a stick and the stick stopped in mid air. Having so much fun, Eevee evolved into an Espeon. (Basically the Eevees evolve in nontraditional ways.)

Espeon liked tournaments and showing off her precognition powers (blame it on Hawlucha’s influence).

Her moveset is Psychic, Shadow Ball, Toxic and Future Sight

Did you know that Volcarona is the Sun Pokémon? It’s partly based on sun spots.

Gawain heard about this magical Pokémon in ancient ruins. So, naturally it was adventure time (the theme of this post). He went to the ruins. It’s full of ghost and maybe a legendary? No, it was just a Volcarona. Not what was expected but still welcomed. There was a fight, where Gardevoir hits the final blow. It was as epic as any legendary battle.

After catching Volcarona, the ruins no longer caught fire randomly. So, the neighbouring town was very happy.

Volcarona like the Pokémon Dex entries say, she likes helping people and Pokémon. But, when angered, she is very dangerous.

Her moves are Fiery Dance, Bug Buzz, Quiver Dance and Heat Wave

Previous: Morgana

Next: Merlin

#yup #there are jousts and tourneys #but with a pokemon twist #pokemonxbritish legends #sir gawain #arthuriana

12 notes · View notes

theycallmebeccawrites · 5 years

Text

Birthday Sex - Part 3

With Tumblr holding my original writing blog @beccaheartschrisevans captive (aka flagged as explicit), I have made a secondary writing blog and may end up closing the other all together. In the meantime, I am reposting all of my stories on my new blog.

Title: Birthday Sex - Part 3

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: language, descriptive sex scenes, playful spanking

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

18+ Disclaimer: This work contains sexual material that is for those over the age of 18. By clicking the keep reading link below, you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and are not offended by sexual content.

Summary: The third of 3 birthday tales; Chris gets some birthday cuddles from his family and some sexy times with his wife.

Part 2

June 13, 2018

The sun is already up when you awake and you stretch as you turn your head to look at the clock on your bedside table: 8:30 am. You close your eyes again and snuggle back into your blankets, but then the time on the clock registers in your mind and you sit straight up. The baby!

It is only after you’ve thrown the blankets back and sprung out of bed that you realize that Chris isn’t in the bed. You wrack your brain trying to remember if he said he had plans for the day, but you’re pretty sure he didn’t. In fact, you vaguely recall him saying that he had nothing work-related scheduled until the fall, because being away from you and the baby for five weeks while he was promoting The Avengers: Infinity Wars Part 1 had nearly killed him.

Leaving your bedroom, you make your way to the nursery and pause just outside the door when you hear Chris talking to your baby boy.

“Now let’s talk about football,” his says softly. “Our favorite team, little buddy, is the New England Patriots. Now momma likes another team, but we’re Boston men and in Boston we like the Patriots. I begged your momma to let us name you after the best quarterback in the world, but she said no. But just between you and me, if you decide you want to change your name to Tom or Brady, I will fully support you in that decision.”

“And if he wants to change his name to Eli, Marcus or Russell?” you can’t help but ask from the hallway. You push the door open and slip into the room. “Will you still fully support that decision?”

Chris makes a disgusted face as he moves the baby and then pats his lap, inviting you to join your two favorite men for some cuddle time.

“Thank you for getting up with him,” you say, kissing Chris’s cheek after you take a seat on his lap and stretch your body out so your feet are lying on top of his on the ottoman. “I didn’t even hear him.”

“Well he kept you up pretty late last night,” Chris replies, looking down at the chubby cheeked bundle of love that has his eyes and smile. “I changed his diaper and gave him a bottle.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when you’d willingly get up early on your birthday,” you tease as you rest your head on his chest and watch your baby watch his daddy.

“You two are pretty damn good reasons to do anything that cuts into my sleeping time.” Chris’s eyes, too, are on the precious baby conceived around, if not on, his birthday last year.

The first trimester of your pregnancy had been in the midst of the hottest summer on record in Atlanta. Thankfully, it had only be the beginning of your pregnancy and not the end, but you’d still kept the AC on full blast, meaning there were some nights when Chris had lounged around the rental house in sweats and a sweatshirt.

The second term of your pregnancy had you spending your first fall in Boston while Chris took some well-deserved time off after the ten month shoot for the Infinity Wars. The original plan had been to stay through Christmas and then return to California for the final trimester of your pregnancy, but you and Chris had felt so comfortable with your Obstetrician and in the house next door to his mom’s house, that you hadn’t wanted to leave.

Your little bundle of joy had arrived in the early morning hours of March 5th and had quickly made his vocal abilities known to all. But given who his daddy is, it hadn’t be long before he’d started charming the pants off everyone he’d come into contact with.

Chris had stayed with you and the baby in Boston for as long as he could before he had to fulfill his promo obligation for the Avengers movie, which meant five long weeks without him. If it hadn’t been for your mom, Chris’s mom and his sisters, you don’t think you could have made it through. The whole experience had given you a new respect for the mom’s that do it all by themselves all the time.

Studying your baby boy, you see that his eyes have closed and he is sleeping. Turning your head to your husband, you see that he too is sleeping. Smiling, you nestle yourself closer to Chris, breathing in the scent of him, and close your own eyes.

You’re awaken a short time later by Chris poking you in the side frantically with his finger. Looking at him, you see a pained expression on his face and you quickly get up. He holds the baby up and you take him. Stepping aside, you watch as Chris wears a grimace on his face while he pulls himself out of the chair and then limps out of the room.

Concerned, you set your, thankfully, still sleeping baby in the crib and grab the baby monitor. You leave the nursery and head to your room, where you can hear Chris cursing.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Just a cramp in my leg,” he replies. “It’s nothing serious, promise.”

You bite your lip as you watch him stretching his leg muscles out in a pair of low slung plaid pajama bottoms. As he moves, the fabric becomes tight over all his best areas and you have to sink your teeth into your lower lip to keep from moaning.

“Hey babe, can you massage my thigh?” Chris asks. He turns to you and cocks an eyebrow at you. “You ok?”

“I’m fine,” you reply quickly, trying to compose yourself. “Lie down on the bed, I’ll grab some lotion.”

You go into the bathroom and when you come out, Chris is lying horizontally across your bed naked. He winks at you as your eyes meet his and you know he knows exactly what was going through your mind when he was stretching.

Climbing onto the bed, you force yourself not to stare at his firm ass as you position yourself on his side. You squirt some lotion into your hands and then you being to work on the back of his leg that had cramped up. Taking your time, you work your way down his leg and then back up, working all of his muscles. Then you climb over him, using his firm ass to steady yourself, and you work on his other leg.

As you finish massaging his legs, you look up his body and smirk to yourself. Moving slowly, you creep up to his side and then you draw your hand back and land a loud smack to his ass.

He jerks backwards and looks at you in surprise. “What was that for?” he asks.

“Payback for trying to brainwash our son into being a Patriots fan,” you reply. “We agreed the only team we’d force him to like was the Boston Red Sox. Other than that, he is allowed to pick any team that his heart desires.”

“Oh, you heard that?” he says, innocently.

“Yes, I did,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Sorry, babe, but you know how I am about the Pats,” he says, rolling onto his side so he is facing you. “Let me make it up to you.”

“How?” you ask.

“You can tell him about your favorite team.”

“And?”

“That isn’t enough?”

You shake your head.

“Alright, what else did you have in mind as punishment?”

Your eyes flicker to his hardening manhood and then back to his face, where a grin is spreading.

“You’re wearing too many layers for that,” he says as he pushes himself up until he is kneeling in front of you.

You pull your night shirt over your head and toss it aside. As he watches, you take off your nighttime nursing bra and then lay yourself back against the pillows of your bed. His hands push yours aside as you reach for the hem of your panties and he slides the material down your legs and then off.

He crawls up the bed and stretches his body out along side your own.

“I’ve missed this,” he says as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to him. “I’ve missed you.”

It’s only been in the two weeks since he has been home that you’re body has been ready to take him inside, but between family obligations and taking care of the baby there hasn’t been a lot of time for you two to be intimate.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you reply as just the feeling of his hands on your skin ignite the fire that has been simmering in the background for a few weeks.

His hands continue to roam your body as he leans in and captures your lips for a much needed kiss. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you run your hands through the silky locks of his hair, happy that he had agreed to wait until after your best friend’s wedding in a couple weeks to go to his preferred summer buzz cut styling.

As his hands reach your sensitive breasts, you pull out of the kiss and moan against his lips. His tongue licks your bottom lip and his hands carefully tease your milk-heavy breasts.

“Damn, babe,” he whispers in your ear. “You are so sexy.”

You feel his eyes on your breasts and you can’t help but blush. Being pregnant and then breastfeeding, when your son will actually latch on, means your breasts were a cup or two bigger than normal.

“I should probably pump before we do this,” you say.

“Afterwards,” Chris replies. “I’ll even clean the pump for you.”

You roll your eyes as he chuckles and mumbles something about sending Hemsworth a thank you card for all the breast pump cleaning techniques.

Chris’s hands slip between your legs and you suck in a breath as he makes contact with your clit. You part your legs as his fingers find your sex and you close your eyes as he teases you with his fingers.

“I need you,” you whisper as he slides a finger in and out of your sex.

“As you wish.” He kisses you and then climbs in between your legs. He positions himself at your entrance and then slides in slowly, allowing your body to adjust to his size. He positions his hands on either side of your head and lowers his mouth to yours again as he pulls out and then slides back in.

In the four years you’ve been together, the two of you have had nearly every kind of sex, but you don’t think it has ever been so intimate with him before. This time it isn’t about either of you getting off, though you know you both will, this is about just being together.

The desire between the two of you builds slowly and it is only towards the end that your bodies demand more effort from both of you. You wrap your legs around Chris’s waist as he increases the tempo of his thrusts and you cling to him as his body shakes as he shoots his seed into you.

He remains a tower of strength as he continues to move inside of you, bringing you to your climax within a few moments of his own. He slides out of you, but lays down alongside of you, pulling your spent body close to his own.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.”

This story can also be read on AO3.

Want to find me off tumblr? I’m @beccatheycallme on twitter. I also post my stories on AO3.

My tag list is always open, just let me know if you’d like to be added!

#chris evans #theycallmebecca #beccaheartschrisevans #theycallmebeccawrites #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #reader insert

41 notes · View notes

mentalcurls · 5 years

Text

I was thinking back to the kosegruppa/radio party in ep.3 of both Skam S3 and Skam Italia S2, in particular the “Call your girlfriend”/”Self control” scenes, and I kept going back to how different they feel. The change in the vibe reflects perfectly the characters in the two series, it’s one of those scenes that I think highlights how different a story Martino and Niccolò’s is from Isak and Even’s.

It’s pretty obvious what makes the feel of the two scenes, aka:

the light (blue on Skam; the mother****ing red light LudoBesse loves so much in Skam Italia)

the songs.

“Call your girlfriend” feels more pointed, Isak is watching Even and Sonja make out and the lyrics sound like a request/suggestion Isak would want to make of Even if/when they got together. But Isak’s actually watching Emma at first, during the part that says “Call your girlfriend / It's time you had the talk / Give your reasons / Say it's not her fault”, so that it seems he’s more focused on himself in that moment, and the song applies to his situation with her pretty well: it’s not her fault he’s not into her and not even pretending to be, the same way he had with past girlfriends, the way he would maybe have pretended to be had he not met Even, and he should tell her. Then the song says “But you just met somebody new” and it that specific second Isak focuses on Even and starts watching him, stealing glances in his direction. And then Robyn sings “And now it's gonna be me and you” and Even looks at Isak and the eyefuck happens and for a sec they’re the only two people in the room in Isak’s perception, to the point his mouth goes slack despite Emma still trying to kiss him. And like, this is a fun, boppy song and it is wildly different from what is going on with Isak and Even right then. The singer/protagonist of the song is happy and confident in her relationship with her partner and she asks them to break up with their girlfriend (and how beautifully gender neutral is this song? It’s only ever “you”, “we” and “somebody new”) to be with her for good; the singer isn’t malicious, she doesn’t want to purposefully hurt the girlfriend, which fits perfectly with Isak’s reaction to Even telling him he told Sonja about them, but that’s a couple of weeks in the future compared to the party. At the party Isak still hasn’t fully accepted his feelings towards Evene and he’s not even sure Even is into him - it’s possibly that very eyefuck that convinces him, paired with the conversation and near kiss in the kitchen later. So it’s an aspirational song, it’s kind of a daydream of Isak’s about the gorgeous boy who’s turning his heart upside down. And after Isak and Even lock eyes, the music builds and builds and we watch Isak, who can barely blink, can’t think, can’t keep track of Emma until he closes his eyes and tears himself forcibly form that interaction. And the crescendo matches Isak’s heartbeat, cause he’s getting hit all at once by the reality that yes, this guy that makes his knees go weak is really looking at him like he wants to eat him alive, despite the girls between them. It’s confirmation.

On the other hand, we have Marti and Nico and “Self control”. The red light would turn anything sexy on it’s own, but this is also clearly a sexy song since it is about losing control with someone, because of someone (oh, those lovely thinly veiled 80’s metaphors). Like Isak, Marti at first is looking at Emma, then turns to Niccolò, except that he’s looking at Emma for a much shorter time than Isak was looking at his Emma (Marti 8 seconds, Isak 18 seconds); as for the lyrics, they’re in first person so they should reflect Marti’s thoughts, so that means he considers “the night” his “world” and that he thinks “in the day nothing matters”; at the words “it's the nighttime that flatters” Marti turns to look at Niccolò, though I don’t think they really mean anything in in relation to their situation, it’s just a general positive sentiment towards the night, because it’s a metaphor! The night might be a reference to the “dark” of the secrets Marti keeps, first and foremost his sexuality because he’s in the closet, and more in general his true feelings (i.e. his feelings towards his parents, his guilt for breaking Gio and Eva up) and the things that, in his mind, reveal who he truly is (very self deprecating perception at this point in his story); on the other hand, the “daytime” is the time when he has to keep his mask of apathy-sadness-lying-hiding on, except it is, in fact, a mask, so it doesn’t matter, he is a “creature of the night” and his true thoughts and desires (including his attraction to Niccolò) are a thing of the night. And they’re uncontrolled (“in the night no control”) and they’re threatening to burst into his day-life too (“Through the wall something breakin'”) because of Niccolò, who has been instrumental in the slow-building earthquake that is gonna make his castle of lies crumble (3.4 Argentina, Nico says Marti left the earplugs on the bus while Marti had told his friends he’d been with his mom) and who is wearing a white t-shirt just as the song says “wearin' white as you're walkin' / down the streets of my soul”. Then it goes on “you take my self, you take my self control” and Emma tugs Marti down to kiss her, “you got me livin' only for the night” and Marti looks at Nico again, “before the morning comes the story's told” and Niccolò looks at Marti himself “you take my self, you take my self control.” BAM! The most important words of the song! And exactly the thing that’s happening to both of them: Marti and Nico are both keeping their distance from one another, Marti cause he’s hurt by Nico going hot’n’cold on him, Nico cause he likes him but Maddalena and, most of all, but BPD, but they are irresistibly drawn to one another, so they have no self control. The song continues while they’re staring at each other (“another night another day goes by / I never stop myself to wonder why”) but the lyrics don’t seem significant to me; the thing that strikes me dead like lighting bolt every time is Niccolò angling himself and Maddalena so he can look at Marti more easily and better. Like, whoah. Also, the camera goes back and forth between Marti and Nico, while in the Skam og scene it was on Isak for most of the time during the eyefuck. And this time, it’s not only Marti that loses his focus on kissing Emma, but Niccolò too can’t keep up with his and Maddalena’s kiss. This speaks volumes. They’re exactly in the same boat, this is not a blatant declaration of interest just from Niccolò that hits Marti like a train, this is mutual and they’re both equally affected, this is a challenge. And the song is not aspirational in the way “Call your girlfriend” was, like a daydream about prince charming sweeping Marti off his feet the way it was for Isak, this is aspirational as in “put your money where you mouth is” or more precisely “come put your mouth where you’re eyes are”, they’re recognizing one another as kindred “creatures of the night” that are fatally drawn to one another. Then Niccolò looks away cause Maddalena break the kiss off, possibly because he wasn’t responding anymore, and Marti keeps watching him a bit longer while the singer sings “You're makin' me forget to play my role / you take my self, you take my self control” and that’s so important! That lyric about Niccolò making him forget to play his role, it’s one more reference to the way having Nico in his life makes it impossible for Marti to keep his mask (the mask he’ll throw away a week later in front of St. Peter’s) firmly on. There’s something else: “Self control” has two versions that were both released in 1984, the one we hear in the episode by Raf (who wrote it in the first place) and one by Laura Branigan. It might just have been easier to get the authorization for the Raf version because he’s Italian, but it’s the one that in my opinion works better to describe his situation: in fact, the songs are nearly identical, except for the lyric “You're makin' me forget to play my role” (Raf) that becomes “You help me to forget to play my role” in the Branigan version. And like. No. Nico is an explosive thing in Marti’s life, their mutual attraction forces Martino to take a long hard look at his life and make some decisions, so the more forceful verb “make” here works much better than the softer “help” that could have worked if, for example, it’d been Gio.

#skam meta #isak valtersen #martino rametta #niccolò fares #even bech næsheim #skam italia #skam og #nicotino #skamit #3.5 ammucchiate #skamit meta

30 notes · View notes

gingerandwry · 5 years

Text

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil - Week 1

The bus ride from Paraty to Rio was easy and uneventful. The road runs along the coast, but unfortunately the view is mostly obscured by overgrowth. I caught some dramatic, beautiful glimpses, but Brazil could learn from California and Australia. Upon arrival at my Ipanema AirBnB, I took a breath then settled in for two weeks of adventure....

My friends Scott and Tony had left Paraty a couple days early to come to Rio, so I met them for drinks and dinner Saturday night. We walked to a lively, popular-with-millenials section of Leblon and ate dinner at CT Boucherie, an established steakhouse-ish restaurant that was fantastic (and a great value for how much we ate and drink). Those guys had had a big night on Friday so we all turned in early.

And it’s good we did since Scott had a full day planned for us. We started at Parque Lage for breakfast at their famous restaurant. It occupies the courtyard of a crumbling mansion (now an art school) and sits just below Rio’s most famous landmark, Christ the Redeemer. It’s a setting made for Instagram, and everyone certainly took advantage of that. The food was pretty tasty for a place that could easily half-ass it. After breakfast we walked around the park a bit and saw our first monkeys!

We then walked through Jardim Botanico, which appears to be the Beverly Hills of Rio. We walked through the Botanical Gardens as well, which are lush and beautiful. I think the most striking element were the massive tree trunks, some of which formed walls rising several feet above the ground.

From here we traveled back to Ipanema’s Praca General Osorio for the famous “Hippie Fair”, an arts and crafts market. I’m not sure what the big deal is-- it seems like every other crafts market I’ve seen. Afterwards the guys went to the beach, but I needed some literal chill time in front of a fan, so I lay low at my apartment for a while. We met up again for dinner at Zaza, a delicious Moroccan restaurant. It was the guys’ last night, but we were all pretty beat, so we called it early after a couple more beers.

Monday was shopping day, both clothes and groceries. I am not a beach person, and I was not prepared for how beached out Rio is. Even at nighttime in nice restaurants, people are in t-shirts, shorts and flip-flops. I needed some more beach wear to fit in (tho I only ended up finding one pair of shorts I liked). I met up with the guys again for lunch at Barraca do Uruguai, the most famous stand at Ipanema beach selling delicious meaty sandwiches. They had to get to the airport so we parted ways and I found myself all alone in Brazil....

On Tuesday I committed to the hard work of tourism. In the morning I took the metro to Centro, the historic center of Rio. I emerged at Rua Uruguaina into a hectic street bazaar. It was initially unnerving but a nice break from laid back Ipanema. Once I got my bearings I climbed up to Morro de Conceicao, a very old, Lisbon-esque street with cute (if shabby) townhouses, and then down to Praca Maua, the waterfront area that was revitalized for the 2016 Olympics. I first visited the Museu de Arte do Rio, housed in a beautiful colonial building attached to a gleaming modern annex. The view over Guanabara Bay is fantastic. The museum was showing two exhibits, one (”Mulheres”) featured women artists and had a lot of compelling pieces. The other was a history of samba. Once again I couldn’t understand the Portuguese captions, but there was enough music, video and glamorous visuals to make it fun nonetheless.

I walked across the plaza to Museu do Amanha (”Tomorrow”), a very modern “science” museum with a lot of interactive video displays and flashy installations for these selfie/social media loving Brazilians. The science was a bit thin; it starts with a brief history of the universe then focuses on humanity’s impact on the planet, for better and worse. But it was engaging.

I then hiked up another hill to the Mosteiro do Sao Bento, a monastery that is one of the city’s oldest buildings. Its plain, humble exterior belies an over-the-top opulence inside, a theme I found in every church I saw that day. Those early Portuguese settlers loved ornate, gilded wall reliefs like you would expect from Louis XIV.

After a tasty chicken burger at the hip Cozinha Mironga I continued toward the waterfront to Igreja de Nossa Senhora Candelaria, the biggest of the city’s historic churches. The surrounding area houses lots of current and former government buildings, most of them imposing neoclassical edifices or fanciful Baroque colonial desserts (or both). I saw the Centro Cultural do Banco do Brasil (tho I skipped the current exhibition of Dreamworks art), Igreja de Nossa Senhora do Carmo da Antiga Se (which served royal functions when the Portguese throne decamped to Brazil) and Paco Imperial (the one-time royal palace). From there I walked through the extremely underwhelming (but historic) Arco de Teles into Travessa do Comercio, a charming cobblestone street of colonial townhouses, now home to outdoor cafes.

From here I cut across the hustling narrow streets of Centro to Largo da Carioca, a plaza surrounding by some atrocious 1960s skyscrapers (tho the Petrobras HQ is a marvel) and dominated by a very old church, Igreja Sao Francisco da Penitencia e Convento de Santo Antonio (phew). It’s beautifully restored and wins the gaudiest award in a very tough category. Not one inch of that chapel was left ungilded, an odd choice for an order who has taken a vow of poverty.

I then headed back up to Real Gabinete Portugues de Leitura, or the Royal Reading Room. It’s basically a library, and one of the most stunning I’ve ever seen. It’s three stories of books (over 350,000) in sumptuous but tasteful, muted decor. You can feel the knowledge surrounding you, and it makes you yearn to have more of it.

From there I veered west into Saara, a small grid of narrow streets that serves as an outdoor market and bazaar. You can probably find anything you need here and at a good price. At the end of it I found Campo de Santana, an elegant park with an odd assemblage of wild beasts-- cats, ducks, some sort of large fowl, and a cute, big rodent creature (capybara?). That was enough for one day so I headed back to Ipanema, had a big, tasty, cheap dinner at Frontera and went home to bed.

On Wednesday I headed back down to Centro to finish my tour. I started at the Museu Historico Nacional. I have a particular interest in history museums because a) I think it’s important to have some background and context when you travel; b) I’m a history nerd; and c) they are difficult to do well since good history requires a lot of text, which is not well-suited to a museum. Rio’s history museum is... decent. Housed in a well-maintained old fort, it could definitely use some refurbishing and some more engaging exhibits. After a respectable space telling the story of the indigenous people, it mostly focuses on the leaders and elites who steered the country from a Portuguese (and Dutch and French) colony into an independent republic. It has little to say about slaves, and I found no mention of the military dictatorship that ruled from the sixties to the eighties. (This is especially problematic given the current president’s favorable, revisionist view of the dictatorship.) But otherwise the narrative seems fair and accurate, if not thorough. It has almost no weighty artifacts, like original documents or “this was the actual thing that person used” items. It is mostly full of examples (of china, jewelry, slave shackles, etc.), paintings (many immense) and busts. Two awesome exceptions are a large array of carriages and early cars spanning three hundred years and an actual historic apothecary that was moved into the museum when it went out of business. I also appreciated that all of the displays had English translations tho they were riddled with errors. It made me wonder why the museum wouldn’t have them proofread before printing them up in a permanent exhibition.

From here I walked back to Praca Floriano (aka Cinelandia) which is the heart of downtown. The plaza is fairly non-descript, but it’s surrounded by some of the city’s most beautiful buildings: Theatro Municipal, Bibliolteca Nacional, Museu Nacional de Belas Artes and Camera Municipal. It was so stunning I stopped for lunch on the square and came back to see it lit up at night (when apparently the navy was attending the opera...).

After lunch I continued west into Lapa, past the iconic Arcos (an old viaduct) and the peculiar Catedral Metropolitana de Sao Sebastio. It’s a brutalist cement cone modeled after Aztec pyramids, and it looks nothing like any church I’ve ever seen (tho not far off from St. Mary’s in San Francisco, aka “The Washing Machine”). After my initial shock and repulsion, I found it growing on me, if only for its boldness and break from tradition. It’s most famous for the tall stain-glassed windows (which are impressive in their size if not beauty), but what stood out to me was the main crucifix. It’s surprisingly small and suspended in the center of the cone about 30 feet above the altar. Jesus looks so vulnerable and alone, floating in an empty void. Of all the gory crucifixion scenes I’ve seen, this more than any other moved me and actually made me sad to think about Jesus’ plight.

I then ventured further into Lapa. Nowadays it’s best known for its rowdy nightlife, and some of the bars were just starting to open up. Like much of Rio (and many Latin American cities), the area had traces of better days but now mostly looks decrepit. I made my way back, under the Arcos and headed to Cinelandia to catch the train home.

Thursday was considerably less ambitious. After a late start, I took the metro to Botafogo. Amid the usual urban grit of Rio are several beautiful old colonial mansions (as well as a notorious favela). I believe it was once an upscale artsy neighborhood that fell into decline, but some of the old buildings have been restored as museums or work spaces. Unfortunately, like so much of the city, they are hidden and inaccessible behind tall walls and fences. One beautiful exception is the Fundacao Casa de Rui Barbosa, once home to a famous writer and politician, now a museum. I didn’t go inside but the gorgeous grounds around the home are open to the public and look like a miniature botanical garden.

I made my way toward the next neighborhood, Humaita, and stopped at Cemiterio Sao Joao Batista, the final resting place for some of Brazil’s most famous residents. It’s quite beautiful and dramatic under the watchful eye of Christ the Redeemer. My last stop was Cobol do Humaita, a food market and dining hall, which are always pleasant to wander. The sun was going down so, after six days in Ipanema, I figured it was time to see the sunset on the beach. Obviously Rio faces East but the light is still nice.

Friday turned out to be my most ambitious day and, painfully, the hottest so far. I returned to lovely Cinelandia and Lapa and visited the famous Escadaria Selaron, a public stairway that has been covered in a colorful tile mosaic in tribute to the people of Brazil. It’s pretty, fun and festive and swarming with tourists. Fortunately most people turn around at the top (if they get that far) instead of continuing into the beautiful Santa Teresa neighborhood. Like Botafogo, it’s full of charming old homes in various states of (dis)repair. But these are not walled off. And they run the gamut from cottages to palaces, so there is a lot of variety, both in architecture and culture. It reminded me of Russian Hill and Telegraph Hill. Also, this being a very steep hill, there are stunning views of the city and the bay from everywhere.

There is not much to do in Santa Teresa besides admire the loveliness, which probably helps keep the tourists away. Parque das Ruinas is the main attraction-- a crumbled mansion once owned by a salon-hosting socialite intellectual. It really feels like ruins, but staircases and walkways have been installed and the surrounding grounds turned into a park. The views from the top are spectacular. The small museum next door (Museu da Chacara do Ceu) hosts a private collection. It sounded interesting but appeared to be closed for construction.

I continued walking through the main commercial area which hosts some charming little boutiques, restaurants and bars (as well as a makeshift barber and a bar perched out on one of the viewpoints). I stopped for fantastic feijoada at Bar do Mineiro and more beer at the historic Bar do Gomes. Then, rather than walk all the way back down, I opted for the bonde, a cute little cable car that runs up and down the hill.

With a little daylight left, I headed back down to Botafogo and then over to Urca for one of Rio’s premiere attractions: Pao de Acucar (Sugarloaf Mountain). It stands tall at the north end of Copacabana and offers stunning views over the entire city and bay. It’s accessible by a sequence of two cable cars (gondolas), teetering at dizzying heights. It was crowded, as I expected at sunset, but not actually that bad. I stayed up there a while soaking in the “Marvelous City” and, like everyone else, taking tons of photos.

It was my first Friday night in the city, and I had nothing to do, which would have been a shame. But a guy I had been chatting with invited me to Paraiso do Tuiuti, a samba school. I demurred, concerned that I would not understand the instructions in Portuguese. But my friend then explained that it’s not a school so much as a club that performs sambas. The schools are formed in the favelas and compete at Carnaval every year. Friday night Paraiso was having a big birthday party and putting on a show for their friends.

The Paraiso clubhouse is across the street from Feira de Sao Cristovao, a kind of permanent country fair. It’s home to dozens of stalls selling all sorts of stuff, but at night, it’s mostly just restaurants and bars with a lot of karaoke. There is also a main stage with the kind of cheesy acts you would expect at a fair. And the crowd was overwhelmingly under 30, maybe 25. It was cute good times but I was not sorry to leave when my friend arrived.

The Paraiso do Tuiuti building is a big auditorium, not unlike a high school gym. A large samba band was in full swing in the corner of the mezzanine, and various people in uniforms, outfits and costumes were milling amongst the hundreds of guests. It all felt very festive, intimate and personable. A little later the performances started. My friend explained that each year at Carnaval each school performs a new samba and competes for first place (the schools are also organized like sports leagues with a top tier, mid tier, etc.). Paraiso do Tuiuti was performing their greatest hits that night in honor of their birthday (with songs going back to the 80s), and once they were done, a couple other schools-- Estacio de Sa and Mangueira (last year’s winners)-- performed as well. The whole experience was phenomenal and unforgettable-- the rhythms, the leg work, the costumes, the energy. It was a fantastic, only-in-Brazil night that a tourist can only hope to stumble upon.

Since I did not get home until 6am, Saturday and Sunday were my lazy days off before I returned to the tourist trail the next week....

#riodejaneiro #brazil #brasil #travel #gaytravel #intentionaltravel

1 note · View note