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undeadimmortality · 4 years

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Unexpected

This was supposed to be a short story but after getting lost in my writing all day, I guess it will be a multi chapter!

Castiel x Reade

I was always a Crowley girl, but for some reason this past run through of Supernatural took me by surprise and Castiel caught my attention! He has successfully taken over my life. He can grip me tight and raise me from perdition any day!

Wanrings: Violence, Fluff, Idk, Smut maybe (I love to read smut, I'm very bad at writing it) Maybe other warnings, read with discretion.

The night air was calm and crisp, your breathing visible as you walked back to your room at the run-down motel you were hiding in. You gripped your coat tighter, piled your snacks in one arm, and reached in your pocket for the room key. As you jammed the key into the lock and swung the door open, you froze. The room was now dark, and you were sure you left the nightstand lamp on. The smell of sulfur filled your nostrils. It took two seconds for you to react as you dropped your snacks, and turned heel to bolt, but the hand that now gripped your elbow was faster and about to pull in back into the room. This was not the first time you were found by the demons, and you’d been fighting to survive your whole life. Reacting swiftly, you grabbed your knife that was attached to your hip and swung it up and straight through the demon’s throat with all the strength you could muster. Turning heel, you made a break for your car, and successfully peeled out on to the highway before seeing three more demons run out into the road watching as you sped off. That was a close one, you thought, you must either be getting sloppy, or Lucifer is recruiting more than his little demon squad to hunt you down. You’ve been dodging the devil for months now, so he must be getting desperate, which meant you needed to get smarter about hiding. You huffed in annoyance as your stomach grumbled, realizing that dinner would have to be put on the back burner for the night. And now your hands and clothes were soaked in blood and getting all over your car! Just fucking great, you thought, as you sped off through the night.

Castiel POV

“Cain has a child, Cas, your kidding! Why are we finding out about this ‘bastard child’ now?” Sam whined, in his normal sulky tone.

“The child is on heavens radar now, I never knew of him until Heaven gained intel that Lucifer has been searching for the child for months, and we need to find him before Lucifer does. This is our top priority as of now. If Lucifer gets his hands on the child of Cain, it could mean second Armageddon. Lucifer is seeking the child’s power, and this child is not an ordinary demon spawn, their power could rival that of any Archangel’s. Lucifer would be undefeatable.” Castiel explains.

“Alright then, let’s gank the kid, where do we start?” Dean says, his famous cockiness shining through.

“Whoah, let’s think about this for a second. Why haven’t we picked up on his powers yet if the kid’s so dangerous? We’re just going to off an kid without any knowledge of who they are?” Sam asks

“Yes, that part remains unknown, I’m guessing his powers haven’t manifested yet, but the child is far from innocent, and we can’t risk their powers manifesting and Lucifer getting ahold of said powers. The child dying before anything can be set into action is the only option.” Castiel explains further.

YOUR POV

A few weeks went by, and Lucifer’s search was getting harder to hide from. Another pack of demons had caught up to you in some rural town in North Dakota, forcing you to flee South. With the demons hot on your tail you stupidly missed the group of three boys that had caught up to you in a town you stopped at for the night; and little did you know you’re life what about to change.

It was mid-November, you’re favorite time of year. The air was crisp and cold. The snow laid a blanket of beauty over the dead trees. Even in times like this, it was hard to not stop and appreciate the beauty of nature. It’d been about three days of non-stop travel and sleeping in the back seat of your car, so stopping for a day or so was necessary. You had figured the demons couldn’t catch up in a day, so stopping in a small town for some R&R was far too appealing. After picking a hotel, and some dinner at a local dinner, you headed back to your room for a much-needed shower and some rest. You washed up and you hopped in to bed about to flick on the TV, but froze when you heard a knock come from the door. Not just a knock, more like an impolite pound. You groaned in annoyance and started stuffing your bag with your belongings. A day was all you needed, just a god damned day! At least you had gotten a shower in before the stupid demons decided to show up and ruin your night, you thought. As quickly and quietly as you could, you slipped out of the bathroom window, jumping to the ground, and turning to make a run for it.

But before you could react, you let out a gasp as you collided with man’s chest and backed away to get a good look at him. The feeling of terror ran through your spine before the man had placed two fingers on your forhead and darkness took over your thoughts. You didn’t see black eyes staring back at you, this time they were blue. The angels had found you.

Castiel POV

Normally Castiel was quick to react, but when the small girl climbed out through the window, unaware of Castiel’s presence, he was surprise to say the least. On their hunt for Cain’s child, they didn’t know who to expect, but a 20 something girl who looked the furthest thing from evil, was not who they expected to find. If it weren’t for the faint birth mark on her right forearm, he would have thought they caught the wrong person.

YOUR POV

“Ughhhh” you groaned, a bright light blurring your vision as your eye’s fluttered open. You lifted your arm to shield your eyes, only to have they stop from the shackles on your wrist. Panic took over and your breathing shallowed. You lifted you head, and frantically took in your surroundings. Your body was painfully shackled to a chair. The room was windowless, and empty aside form a few pieces of furniture, you, and three men muttering to themselves by the entrance. The angel was the first to notice you stir and got the others attention. When you got a good look at the boys, you recognized them almost immediately. The Winchester name was not new to you, and you had actually seen them in person a few times when they caught up to demons that were after you. You were lucky to stay under their and their stupid angels pet’s radar for years now until now.

“You got to joking!” You groaned, wrenching on your chains.

“Oh, far from it sweetheart! You’ve been dodging us for weeks now, it was only a matter of time before we caught you.” Dean started.

“Don’t falter yourself, sweatheart.” You sneered. “I was dodging-someone else.” You finished, not wanting to give up to much info, god knows what these buffoons already knew.

“You know who we are?” Sam asked, cautious and curious, but not rude like his stupid brother.

“Of course, I know who the famous Winchester brothers are! And they’re pet angel” You sneered. “You boys have actually done me quite a few favors by getting rid of some of those demons that have been on my tail in the past. I’d say thanks, but…” You smiled, putting as much sass in your words as possible.

“Enough of this!” Castiel lunged forward, bringing an angel blade up to your throat, his face inches from yours causing your breath to hitch.

With him this close you got a good look at the angel, not the vessel, but that shiny blue grace in his irises. He knew it too. “I see you, angel” you sneered. “Holding up your reputation well I see, shoot first and ask questions later! Just DO IT!” You spat. His only reaction was to push the angel blade harder on your skin causing skin to break and blood to trickle down your chest. You winced at the pain but held eye contact. No way were you going to show weakness, and certainly not to this self-righteous dick. You noticed a small crack in the angel’s exterior for a split second and you swear you caught a glimpse of confusion, remorse maybe?

“Cass..” Sam said, putting a hand on the shoulder.

Cass pulled back, and the three mean exited the room, locking it up behind you. You scoffed. Stupid Winchesters, you thought. If they weren’t going to kill you, you were a sitting duck in here for Lucifer to happily collect. Not to mention completely chained down. The chains hurt, and the slice on your neck burned.

Castiel POV

“I was all for ganking the bitch, but I don’t know Cass, I’m with Sammy on this one. That girl doesn’t seem dangerous. Could you sense her powers at all? Dean said.

“She’s got a big attitude, but she seems harmless, plus who knows how many times we’ve actually come close to finding her out in the past with what she said. If that holds true why hasn’t she tried to kill us?” Sam put in.

“Yes, she isn’t what I expected to find…” Castiel paced back and forth in deep thought.

“A hot chick!” Dean gave Sammy a wink and clicked his tongue. Both Sam and Castiel glared back, not amused.

“I can sense her powers, but it’s like they’re lying dormant. Like they’re deeply buried almost asleep. She-“ He started, pausing to look at the brothers. “She seemed scared. It was small, but I saw the fear in her eyes when she thought I was going to kill her. Not like killing a monster sort of fear. Her fear was innocent.” He started to pace again. “You’re right Sam, this feels wrong. We’ll need more information before her blood is on our hands. We need to keep this a secret for now. If the angels find out we caught the Child of Cain, it would mean her imminent death.” Castiel continued to pace.

“I can see why she’s blended in so well for years, with no powers, she seems like a normal girl” Sam finished.

Trying to sleep while chained to a hard chair only made your sour mood towards your captures turn to borderline hatred. Without any windows you couldn’t tell what time it was, but it had to be close to morning. Your whole body was achy and stiff, and your skin started to break under the cuffs.

You wiggled and wrenched, trying to get some semblance of comfort only to cause your joints more pain.

“Hello!!!” You yelled, your temper getting the best of you. “Hello!!! I have to pee and I’m starving!!” you wiggled around some more, getting more pissed by the second. It only took three more times of screaming as loud as possible, before you heard the lock unlatch and Castiel come in to view.

“Not very gentlemanly to keep a lady locked up all night now is it?” You scoffed. Before you could react the cuffs magically replaced the chairs wrist chains; and Castiel grabbed your arm and started dragging you towards the door.

Your feet hadn’t caught up to the movement and were about to fall face first into the ground before the angel caught you and stood you up straight.

“What’s your problem?” You groaned towards the angels back, who continued to drag you out of the bunker and only stopping when he reached a bathroom. After shutting the door behind the both of you, both eyes on each other.

“You get off on watching or what?” You said.

Apparently, he got the hint and turned around. You don’t know why you expected him to stay outside, but-well you didn’t know what to expect.

After you washed you washed up, finally able to wash some of the blood off your neck, the angel wasted no time to return you your cell.

“Why are you doing this?” You pleaded, panic starting to rise. Being locked up for another day was already painful to think about.

“You know why.” Castiel started walking towards the door after chaining you back up.

“This isn’t fair. If you’re going to kill me, just do it! I’m a sitting duck in here for Lucifer and you know it! Why even keep me locked up if you gonna ki-“ You started to ramble, but the Angel had heard enough, and the door shut, leaving you alone.

“Please, you can’t leave me here! I’m innocent! Castiel!!” You screamed to the empty room. You weren’t the type for begging, but at this point you were starving, your body was ached, and you hadn’t slept in over 24 hours. Getting desperate wasn’t beneath you in this stage.

It’d been well over 24 hours before you saw the 3 boys again. With nothing to do but sit in the darkness, you started to think you might actually go insane. The panic attacks would come, you’d fight and wrench on the chains, then cry, and then calm down, only to do it over and over again. On the third day, it was Sam this time, he’d taken you to the bathroom, letting you enter alone, thank god. He even brought you a sandwich and some water. The 4th day it was Dean this time, same routine, except he didn’t bring you any food. What a prick, you thought. If they wanted to starve you to death, they were succeeding. It went on this way for another couple weeks, and after the first, you’d manage to find a position where you could get some semblance of sleep at times.

You were startled awake by the door opening, and sat up to see Sam walk over to you. Sam held a glass of water up to your lips, but you whipped your head to the side, full on planning to give him the silent treatment. Being chained up for a month was starting to take it’s toll. You were weak and in a lot of pain. You were done playing their games.

“Please drink. I know for a fact Dean forgot to bring you food again yesterday.” Sam pleaded.

You didn’t say anything, but you couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill over.

“My name” You croaked.

“What” Sam asked, confused.

“None of you even bothered to ask my name, do you know what it is? Or do you sadists prefer “Bastard Child of Cain?” You sneered, anger rising up your throat.

“No-Now that you mention it, no I don’t know your name.” Sam confessed.

“Get out.” You said, you’d had enough, either they kill you or you starve, you’d made your decision.

“What is your-“ Sam started.

“GET OUT!!!” You screamed, tears successfully spilling over, causing Sam to immediately vacate the dungeon. Okay I’ve officially gone insane, you thought.

A few more days went by, but you had officially gone off the rails. The skin under the chains held permanent open wounds, but the pain didn’t hurt as much anymore. It was more of a reminder that you were still the Winchesters prisoner. The boys, even Castiel attempted to get you to eat, but only succeeding with some sips of water, which you cursed your self for drinking. You’d been on a no food or drink streak for a couple days, but your dehydration got the better of you.

To your surprise, you watched Castiel walk into the room.

“Ahh! Finally grew some big boy balls to actually kill me, did you?” You croaked, cursing your dry throat for sounding weak!

To your surprise he released the chains and helped you stand. He led you out by your arm, but not as hostile as he’d been before. This time, he led you down a different hallway, walking with you rather than dragging you. As you slowly limped along, your back permanently ached from being chained up for a month. He stopped at a different bathroom, this one with a shower, and on the counter was your backpack, along with a towel.

Bringing you attention back to Castiel, he unlocked the cuffs, and placed his hand over your chest. You winced as a sharp pain rippled through you and then nothing. Looking down you saw your wrists were healed, and your body felt normal. Wiggling your legs, you couldn’t help the smile that crept along your lips.

“Why?” You asked, looking back up to the angel. Guilt was plastered all over his face, which only furthered your confusion. As far as you knew he wanted to end your life the day they caught you, but you assumed the Winchesters had more devious plans and they were who kept you alive.

“Take as long as you need, I’ll be waiting.”

The shower was literally heaven. Even with you healed, the hot water helped soothe your achey muscles. Along with fresh clothes, and bring able to brush your hair and teeth!? You felt like a new person! When you walked out, Castiel was waiting like he said he’d be, but your hope was short-lived when you heard the click of a lock and felt the familiar cold steal against your wrists. Glancing at the cuffs and back at Castiel, he saw hope leave your eyes.

“It’s just a pre-caution.” He said, motioning for you to walk forward. The hallway led into the kitchen, and then lead in to a library/dining room area where both Winchesters sat at a table. When they heard you enter, they stood up, and Sam pulled out a chair at the end of table and gestured for you to take a seat, which you cautiously took, and Castiel took the seat between you and Dean.

“What is this?” You asked, eyeing up both boys.

“We havn’t actually been introduced.” Sam started. “I’m Sam, this is my brother Dean, and this is Castiel.” He paused looking to you to answer.

Being the snarky person you were, you scoffed and gave him an “are you serious?” look.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Same ran to the kitchen, and brought back a glass of water, and a to-go box of what looked to be pancakes, eggs, and bacon. You mouth watered since you were on technically still on strike.

Immediately reaching for the fork he placed down, the handcuffs broke the silence as they dragged against the edge of the table.

“These too” You stated, holding up your wrists.

“No way in hell” Dean started, but without argument Castiel snapped his fingers and the handcuffs disappeared. You smiled in glee and wiggled in your seat at the new found pleasure of not being chained up. Placing the first bite of pancake n your mouth, you moaned as the sweet syrupy bread lit up your taste buds. Even if the food was a little cold, it tasted amazing compared to their half-ass put together sandwiches they’ve been feeding you. A couple more bites, and a whole glass of water later, you were content enough to play along.

“(y/n)” You said through a mouthful of eggs.

“(y/n).” Sam smiled.

“Not that I don’t enjoy this newfound hospitality after being chained up for over a month, but why?” You threw your hands in the air. Looking around and getting a good observation of your surroundings. You knew exactly where you were, or were guessing at least. Looking at the research that covered youe table and the others, you knew this had something to do with those bone headed Men of Letters you’d heard about through the monster grape vine.

All three men started a different explanation at once, when l a light bulb went off!

“Ah!” Your eyebrows raise looking between them. “There’s no lore on the “Bastard child of Cain” is there?! So, you butter me up and expect me to spill all my deepest darkest secrets??” You laugh and stuff another piece of pancake in your mouth.

“Well, she’s quick, I’ll give her that.” Dean says, taking a swig of beer.

“Listen (y/n), we want to prove that we’re not the bad guys here and you weren’t exactly what we-. “Sam started.

“Hah” You scoff, throwing your fork on the table. “You know, I spend my entire life running and hiding from a world where everything wants me dead. And I get caught by the “good guys”, who chain me up for a month.”

“(y/n) we’r- Sam tried to cut in.

“Stop.” You start, staring Sam down. “Truth is, your cowards.” The anger tasted like bile in you throat, but you stopped there, seeing the guilt written all over Sams face was payment enough and you didn’t want to piss them off to the point where they lock you up again.

“You’re right” Castiel broke the silence “About everything. We are cowards. When the rumors spread, I knew my mission was to find you before Lucifer did and extinguish your power. Even after meeting you, I was willing to kill you if it meant we got an upper hand in this fight. I am truly sorry for the pain I’ve caused you, and realize now that if your only sin was being born then you deserve to live and we’re on your side, but we need to know we can trust you and right now, aside from rumors we have no idea what or who you are.”

Sighing, you leaned back in your chair, and bit down on your bottom lip in contemplation. “Alight.” You say. “What do you want to know, but I get one of those.” You stated, pointing towards Dean’s beer.

Dean started to argue, but unwillingly grabbed you a fresh beer after some glares from the other men. He grumbled something of the sort about being demanding and having an attitude as he brough back your beer.

Sam jumped at the offer, getting a notebook out and started the interrogation. Apparently, the Men of Letters were thorough, and questions were getting personal.

“It’s rude to ask a girl her weight! What’s next my bra size?” You sassed back to Sam.

“I mean yeah, couldn’t hurt right, it’s research!” Dean piped up, earning a round of scoffs from the table.

You chuckled. “I don’t know Sam, I didn’t have time to by a scale and weigh myself while on the run from the Devil. But, for another beer, I’ll step on one if you got it here.” Giving Dean a sly smile.

Little did you know that second beer was a huge mistake because after getting on the scale, Sam and his stupid puppy dog eyes convinced you to also give up a blood sample, and other personal exams that you would have knocked someone out for asking, but you figured if you played by their rules, they wouldn’t lock you up again.

After a few more hours of poking and prodding, the boys were hitting the hey, and Castiel led you back to the cell. The feeling of dread hit your core, until you walked in and saw that at some point a bed had been placed in the cell, along with a few others things, and some books.

“It’s not that we don’t trust you, but-“Castiel started.

It’s fine Castiel, honestly anything better than being chained to a chair.” The buzz of the beers was wearing off, and sleepiness was creeping through.

“If you need anything I’ll be right outside. Goodnight (y/n)” And with that Castiel left and the lock to the door was the last sound you heard.

The weeks went by pretty fast after that. Castiel guarding your every move, the boys asking questions, and trying to gain more intel not only on you, but on your power and how to keep you alive while defeating Lucifer. They let you eat with them, research, and drink. You had learned that the bunker was warded up and down, and even though you were technically a prisoner, being here was the safest place in the world for you, and honestly it felt great to let your guard down a bit and relax. You too had questions, about yourself, about your father. The boys were helping you gain some answers, so you were content for the time being. The boys were being won over by cooking and cleaning that kept you busy when you weren’t researching. Takeout was getting old so you forced Sam to make grocery runs, and happily cooked some decent meals for the three of you. Not to mention the dirty laundry and surfaces that seemed to never stay clean, no matter how much you tried. You were even winning the Angel over after a while and were surprised to hear him pipe up when you fought for an actual room, rather than the dungeon.

“Why not??” You whined, stomping your foot a bit to prove your agitation.

“Is she seriously asking this? Dean turned to Sam, then turned to you. “Are you seriously asking this??

“What am I gonna do try to escape?? Kill you in your sleep?? You mocked In the best Dean voice you could muster. “Cass guards the cell, why can’t he guard a bedroom? This is unfair! I can’t gain your trust if you don’t give me more opportunities!” You yelled back, placing your hands on you hips for good measure.

Cass had defended you and deemed you his personal responsibility, and the boys finally agreed. So, with a squeal you launched your arms over the angels shoulder, earning a pleasantly surprised grunt from Cass, and ran off to gather your things.

“Stay out of my room!” Dean yelled after you. “She’s gonna be the death of us.” He grunted and Sam chuckled as you yelled back that you found the room you wanted and were in the process of throwing Deans underwear in the hall.

#castiel x reader #dean and sam #supernatural #fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #castiel fanfiction

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the-l-spacer · 3 years

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Promise all you say is true - Chapter 2

(Ch 1) (ao3)

Summary: Lloyd wakes up one morning to discover that, on a whim, the Metaverse had decided to release him and Raven from the Lovers archetype they had been locked in for as long as either could remember.

In the process, however, reality became… just a little screwed up.

Now, Raven is gone, and in his place is David Adams. David Adams, who had never left Ashland, working middle-management at Justacorp. David Adams, who had never heard the anvils, never jumped off Warner's Peak.

But Lloyd remembers everything, and he makes it his personal quest to win back the love of his life.

...No matter how many 'strictly professional' coffee dates it took.

Chapter summary: Over carrot cake, the two hash some things out

Y’all… I seriously didn’t expect this scene to happen or get as long as it did but. Here we are. With this chapter, the setup for the fic is officially DONE and we can get into the stuff y’all came here for (aka Lloydven angst). In the meantime, enjoy Lloyd and Han getting in some awkward bonding time!

“Feeling better?”

The man sat opposite her simply sighs. “Yes. Thank you, Han.”

Over a tray of tea, cakes and sweets (for Lloyd, his first meal of the day), the two go over, in painstaking detail, every narrative visited, every jaunt taken through the CU, every significant location in Raven’s life. As minutes, and then an hour ticks by, marked by the comings and goings of those around them (and the increasingly resigned expressions of the waitstaff as they drag out their meal as long as possible), they scrawl out possible places the missing Postie could be on a steadily depleting supply of napkins, provided generously by the small bakery in New Camden, a joint quickly becoming synonymous with Serious Talk Time.

When it comes to names and places, Han can’t be of much help, but that is to be expected, her having only known the man a scant year. Instead, she simply offers the obvious, locations Raven and Lloyd had spoken of the most around her; the first and second Playhouse, New Albion, even entertaining the idea that he was here, in this narrative.

“Impossible,” Lloyd insists for the second time, though Han notes that he’s sounding significantly less certain than before.

“How are you so sure?” Before Lloyd can respond, she quickly adds, “Waitwaitwait don’t tell me. The both of you have… a psychic link. From your weird wizard powers. Or something.”

“I remind you that you too have, as you so eloquently put it, weird wizard powers.” He replies, one hand spearing a forkful of carrot cake, the other forming air quotes. “But that aside, you’re not completely wrong.”

Han raises an eyebrow. “Huh. I was going out on a limb there. You two are seriously linked together?”

“That’s actually the other thing I have to talk through,” he says. “Have Ravey and I told you about the Lovers archetype yet?”

“Give me a second.” Han takes a long sip from her cup of Earl Grey, mentally sorting through everything her mentors-slash-great-grandparents had taught her about Posthumans and the Metaverse. “It’s… the thing where you and him are basically bound together, right? I thought that was metaphorical.”

Shaking his head, Lloyd says, “It’s very much not. After spending enough time in each others’ company -and back then, we had nothing but time to spare- we began embodying the Lovers archetype.

I shan’t bore you with the details, but you have the broad strokes of it. Essentially, we became irreversibly bound. As trite as it sounds, we had a sixth sense, of sorts, around the other. When we were apart, I would feel his absence like… a missing limb, so we always knew when the other was close by.”

Only half-listening to his explanation, Han lets Lloyd ramble. God knows he needed it. He was one of those people who absolutely had to talk through their problems, a tendency that annoyed her on any given day, except this one. Extenuating circumstances and all.

Huh. Deja vu.

Her mind wanders to the first time she had been here, it was just her and Raven back then, him having invited her out after the Singularity left New Albion. It really was a memory, a story for another time, but it had been surprisingly nice, even if her eyes were still red and puffy in a way that makeup just couldn’t conceal.

They had shared a slice of (what else) carrot cake, speaking of narratives and what she had learned of the art of finesse, and then, as they talked more, coping mechanisms, sacrifice, loss, and a rambling (but utterly sincere) apology from Raven.

It had ended with a hug, and granted, it was kind of awkward, Raven having to get up from the corner chair he was squeezed in to give her a half-embrace, as close as he could get to her side of the table (the bakery was as renowned for its carrot cake as it was infamous for its tight quarters). But Han still remembers the feeling of his arms around her shoulders, warm and almost reassuring.

And now he’s gone. Gone along with the rapport they were just starting to build after their disastrous first encounter. Just when she was finally beginning to see him as family.

The only questions on her mind are how and why.

She tunes back in as Lloyd finishes his explanation. “So you’re saying that because you’re locked into this archetype, if he was here, you’d know.”

What? She could multi-task just as good as anyone else!

Lloyd sighs tiredly. “Yes, but there’s the rub. I don’t think that him and I form the archetype any more.”

Well this raises more questions than answers. Still, Han pats his arm. “Drink your tea. You’ve been talking for way too long as is.”

She waves off Lloyd’s apologies over his loquaciousness, sweeping a hand as if swatting an imaginary fly, then realising this was a gesture she had ended up incorporating into her movements after seeing it time and time again from Raven.

Dammit. Even when absent he finds a way to worm into her head. The guy was just infectious like that. Is. Is infectious. She refuses to believe that he’s truly gone. Speaking of…

“If what you’re saying is true, I guess that answers the ‘why’ aspect of things, He’s gone because the Metaverse decided to release you from your archetype.”

Over the rim of his teacup, Lloyd’s mouth quirks into a half-smile, the first Han had seen from him all day. “You always find a way to make things sound so simple.”

“It’s why you keep me around,” Han jokes, feeling a responding grin spread across her face.

“Don’t put yourself down like that,” Lloyd says, leaning forward with sudden seriousness. “You do have a good head about you, and I… admire the speed at which you’re picking up your Posthuman abilities. You successfully mastered in a matter of months what took me decades to learn, and-”

Han can’t help the rush of pride that comes at his words. Lloyd was always the more critical of her two mentors, and nigh impossible to please (she was still rather sore over his snide comment over the tunnels). She almost misses what he says next, but catches it just in time.

“-and you’re a perfectly charming person. I had my doubts before, but it’s clear that you’re Isabel’s kin. You remind me a lot of her, you know.”

Han softens. “I had a great teacher. Two great teachers, as a matter of fact.”

He winces at the mention of his missing boyfriend, and she impulsively reaches a hand across the table to grasp his. “We’ll find the other one together, okay?”

Lloyd grips her hand, giving a tight nod, steely resolve in his eyes.

“Okay.”

They exit the bakery as afternoon fades into evening, the gas lamps that line the pavements igniting one by one, illuminating the streets of New Camden.

“Just to go over the plan one more time,” Han says, “I’ll stay here and try to scout him out. If he isn’t here, I’ll try New Albion. Then, where the First Playhouse used to be.”

Lloyd hums in affirmation. “I’ll keep you updated on my whereabouts as well. If you find him, let me know.”

“Of course, and you do the same.”

“I will. Keep safe.”

“You too.”

They stand there, then, regarding each other in the lamplight. Finally, Lloyd reaches out a hand, as if to administer a firm handshake.

Nah, fuck that.

Han bypasses the hand, and wraps Lloyd in a tight hug. After a moment, she feels his arms wrap around her too.

“It’s going to be okay,” Han says once they break apart, gripping him by the shoulders.

“I… can’t thank you enough for your help, Han. I’ll make it up to you if- once he’s found.”

“Psssh, that’s not necessary,” she retorts with a smirk, already walking in the opposite direction. “Your acknowledgement that I’m more talented than you is more than enough payment.”

Lloyd bristles. “I was being nice. Don’t push it.”

“You said it! It’s been set in stone! I’m gonna tell everyone I know about this!” She calls over her shoulder, disappearing into an alleyway.

Determined not to let her have the last word, Lloyd yells, "Only if you admit to everyone that I'm a great teacher!”

"Never! Also, screw you!"

Shaking his head and chuckling, Lloyd begins making preparations of his own, mentally steeling himself to make the narrative jump, and going down the mental list of places he was going to search.

The hunt would begin in the Collective Unconscious. Then, the different narratives the lovers (now lowercase) had frequented. Finally, once all other options had been exhausted, he would return to Ravey’s home narrative. The one place the two had never been to, at the insistence of his missing half.

Ashland.

#shaperaverse #new albion #Paul shapera #writings

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suitofvibraniumarmor · 4 years

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Yours Truly [Part Thirteen]

Summary: Chris, Sadie, and Layla go to visit Sadie’s family, and come back to an unpleasant surprise. Pairing: Chris Pratt x OFC, Chris Evans x OFC Word Count: 1795 Warnings: None. A/N: This fic was previously posted on my multi-fandom account; in honor of OC Appreciation Day, I figured I would queue it all up for your reading pleasure throughout the day! This was a collab with @captain-s-rogers , and I will link her chapters at the end of all of my posts! Some GIFs were difficult to find again, so if there’s no credit, they’re from Google Image Search or from the original post.

July 19

Caroline,

I got the job here in Lawrence! I’m so, so excited. I’ll be teaching one of the two kindergarten classes and can start setting up my room in a couple of weeks, once I get through all the new hire hoopla.

I also found a house to rent. It’s a little farmhouse, owned by an older couple who have sold off most of their land and just rent the house now; there’s a couple of bedrooms, so you’ll have somewhere to stay when you come visit! You know, in eight years when Mr. President has completed his terms.

We’re going to Wichita this weekend to pack up my storage unit and bring it all here. Chris and Layla will meet my family while we’re there, and if all goes well, Chris and I agreed it will be a good time to tell Layla that we’re together. I think she has some idea, but I’m looking forward to actually telling her.

Okay, I think I have rambled about myself for long enough. How are things in D.C.? I’m glad Chris didn’t let you step down — you have worked SO HARD for that job, and no one can do it better than you! Even with this weird media stuff. I’m guessing the Caroline-look-alike girlfriend was your idea? Seems to be working, anyway. I just hope you’re being true to yourself and heart through all of this, C.

Only another month and summer is over. How has the time gone so fast?

Yours truly,

Sadie

After a long couple of days of new-hire orientation, Sadie was ready to be back at the Pratt farm, moving her few boxes to the new house. The trio would take their time getting up and around the next morning before heading to Wichita, and she was ready to be back home for a while. Sadie had always been close with her family, and she was even more excited for them to meet Chris and Layla.

Before driving back to the farm, she stopped at the elementary school to check in on her new classroom. She wanted to know what size of the room she was going to have so she could be thinking of decor.

“Ms. Coleman?” someone said, catching her attention as she walked toward the kindergarten hall.

Sadie turned. “Yes?”

“Hi,” the woman greeted. “I’m Libby Anderson. I teach second grade.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sadie smiled. “Please, call me Sadie.”

Libby gave a tight smile. “I hear you’ve been working with Layla Pratt this summer. How is she?”

Sadie was puzzled at first, but chalked up Libby’s knowledge of her summer activities to small town talk. “She’s great. Such a smart little girl.”

Another tight smile. “And Chris?”

Sadie’s concerns about Libby’s inquiry grew, tensing her muscles. “Um, he’s great, too. Are you a family friend? I’m sorry, I’m still working on getting to know everyone.”

“Something like that,” Libby answered. “I have a meeting to get to, Sadie, but I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“See you,” Sadie replied as the other woman walked away.

Suddenly, the size of her classroom seemed of little importance. She changed course for the parking lot, then hurried back to the farm.

“She’s Emily’s sister,” Chris informed Sadie once Layla was down for a nap and Sadie had a chance to ask about her interaction with Libby at the elementary school.

Sadie nodded. “Now it all makes sense.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about that. The Andersons are just so far from my mind anymore. None of them have even tried to contact or see Layla since Emily left.”

“You don’t need to apologize. She should have been much more clear about who she is and how she’s related to you and Layla. I just hope it doesn’t cause problems at work.”

Chris shook his head. “I don’t see why it would. Why don’t you let me make you a glass of that peach iced tea? Ed’s coming by so we can talk about how things went while I was out of town, and I can tell him about a couple things I’m changing. You can just relax — well, till Layla wakes up, then I’m sure she’ll have other plans.”

Sadie chuckled. “You’re probably right about that. Thanks, Chris.”

She reinforced her gratitude with a kiss before heading off to her room. Until she was laying down, Sadie wasn’t even aware of how tired she felt; she was asleep before Chris brought in her glass of tea.

Both Sadie and Chris had expected for Layla to take a little time to warm up to Sadie’s family, but she took to them right away. She settled herself on Sadie’s father’s lap and immediately began telling him about the farm and about her birthday party and her trip to her grandparents’ farm in Minnesota. Justin listened intently, immediately enchanted by the little girl.

While Chris and Sadie got to packing things from storage into the trailer Chris had pulled behind the truck on the way down from Lawrence, Layla stayed with Sadie’s aunts. She was fascinated still about how they had taught Sadie to make a dress, and finally begged and pleaded long enough, Sadie’s aunt Marie got out the beginner sewing machine that Sadie and her cousin, Marie’s daughter Lizzy, had learned to sew on. When they returned to pick Layla up and head back to Sadie’s father’s house, Layla had successfully sewn a little pillow.

“I did it all by myself, Daddy!” she beamed. Aunt Marie was too kind to say any different.

Chris smiled. “I’m so proud of you, baby girl. Let’s get back to Justin’s house, okay? Daddy and Adie are gonna get cleaned up, then we’ll come back here for supper to meet more of Sadie’s family.”

“I don’t wanna go!” Layla said, crossing her arms over her chest and stomping her foot.

Sadie frowned. “Layla! Be nice, please.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, not sounding sorry at all. “I like Justin, but Marie teached me how to make a pillow! I wanna make another one for Sadie for her new house!”

Marie spoke up, kindly. “I don’t mind if she stays here.”

“You need a nap,” Chris told Layla when she looked at him hopefully.

“Can I take a nap here?” Layla asked Marie.

Marie nodded. “But only if it’s okay with your dad. He’s the boss.”

Chris exchanged a glance with Sadie, who shrugged. “All right. But please, continue to be on your best behavior, and use your manners.”

“Yessir,” Layla promised, rushing off for the sewing machine.

“Nap before more sewing, young lady,” Sadie called after her.

Layla groaned but called back, “Yes ma’am!”

Sadie thanked Marie profusely for keeping Layla for longer before following Chris out of the house. She indeed needed to get cleaned up, and was looking forward to seeing the rest of her family that evening.

“Are you comfortable with me talking to your dad about what’s going on with us before we go back to Marie’s?” Chris asked. “I know it’s sort of an outdated practice, just seems like the right thing to do, still. I don’t mean asking permission, or anything, just – making my intentions known, I guess.”

Sadie reached across the truck seat and took his hand. “I think that would mean a lot to my dad – and to me.”

Chris squeezed her hand before pulling her closer, finishing out the trip back to Justin’s house with his arm draped over the back of the seat, and Sadie singing along with him to the radio.

On the way back to the family dinner at Marie’s house, Chris broached the subject of telling Layla that he and Sadie were a couple.

“I’d like to get you all moved in, then maybe we can have dinner in town and tell her?” Chris suggested. “I figure a place with neutral ground is probably the best venue. She’s been so encouraging to you when it comes to me, I don’t think she’ll have a problem with it, but I want to make it as easy for her as possible.”

“I agree,” Sadie nodded. “I think she’ll be just fine – probably excited, to be honest – but you’re right, it’s better to make it as easy on her as possible.”

The agreement gave them something to look forward to when they returned to Lawrence; the couple was so excited about it, they confirmed for the family members who asked that they had indeed started a relationship. Fortunately, all of Sadie’s family was completely for the idea, and they understood about keeping it quiet around Layla until Chris and Sadie were able to update her on what was happening.

There were no goodbyes with the trio left Wichita, only see-you-later’s and lots of hugs from Layla to Sadie’s family members. Chris told Sadie that it could have been because Layla was older, but he had never seen her that comfortable even with Emily’s family. Sadie’s heart could have burst with that news; she was so in love with Chris, though she had yet to tell him, and her love for Layla had only grown from the first day she met the girl. She was already dreaming of the day they would all become a family, and expand that family, but she kept those dreams to herself for the time being – which turned out to be a good thing, she discovered a few hours after their return to Lawrence.

The heavy furniture had been placed in the appropriate places in the rental house, and the boxes were all in the house wherever there was room. Sadie would have a busy few days ahead, settling the house, but Layla could come with her during the day and help or play, so another sitter wouldn’t be necessary.

She had one night left at the Pratt farm, and they had planned on going into town for pizza after resting a while. Chris and Sadie were both on pins and needles to finally include Layla in their relationship, but it was soon clear that even that would have to wait.

“Whose car is that, Daddy?” Layla asked, leaning forward from her booster seat as they approached the farm.

Chris didn’t answer; Sadie glanced over at him and received a tight smile and a mumbled apology in return. That was all she needed to know exactly who had shown up uninvited to the farm.

Sadie stayed back, helping Layla out of the truck while Chris got out of the driver’s side and approached the woman standing at the top of the stairs.

“Hey, Chris,” she greeted politely – too politely.

He cleared his throat as Sadie approached behind him, carrying Layla. “What are you doing here, Emily?”

Part Fourteen

#chris pratt #chris evans #fanfiction #collab #new to this blog

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imaginarybird · 7 years

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Rucas Fic Week 2017

Day Eight// AU + Free Choice: Unwilling and unable to face everyone on her own when it comes time to attend Auggie and Ava’s wedding, Riley Matthews hires a solution in Lucas Friar. Loosely based on The Wedding Date.

Part One II

Notes: Obviously, this is an AU and it takes place in the future. The characters are adults. While I’m not someone who will ever write smut, and I don’t plan on getting particularly graphic with language or even implications, the vary nature of this story is a bit more adult than what I’ve written previously. I’d place the rating somewhere around a PG-13/14.

Also, this is essentially the first installment to what has started developing into a multi-chapter fic. So this starts a lot of threads and leaves them dangling by the time you reach the end. But you will get answers eventually.

Enjoy!

The invitation comes on a Wednesday and Riley immediately considers throwing it in the trash and pretending she never got it.

It’s not that she hasn’t known it would be coming–Auggie had told her about the engagement weeks ago and asked her to be what he called his ‘Best Sister’–but receiving the invitation makes it real. Auggie and Ava are getting married, they’re holding the wedding in Cape Cod, and Riley is expected to join them and the family for a week of wedding festivities at the end of the summer. Riley could just about throw up at the thought. It’s really the sort of scenario she’s been trying (semi-successfully) to avoid since high school graduation nearly eleven years ago, and if the invitation were from anyone else she probably would crumple it up and pretend it got lost or RSVP with an easy lie about not being able to get the vacation time at work, but this is for Auggie.

The only acceptable reason for Riley not to attend would be massive injury and/or death.

With a resigned sigh, Riley clips the invitation up onto the fridge. She has to go. She’s already agreed and Auggie will be devastated if she goes back on her word. Still, in her heart of hearts, she knows the whole thing will be an unmitigated disaster.

Maybe she’ll be abducted by aliens before September.

“Ava wanted me to remind you that she wants heartfelt speeches only at the reception, no jokes or embarrassing stories. And she said if you want to submit a draft for her to look over and give you notes on, which, I’ll be honest, is less of a suggestion than it sounds like, you need to do it by Friday at noon and not a moment later.”

Riley rolls her eyes, cradling her cell phone between her shoulder and her ear as she pulls her street clothes out of her locker; Ava is a controlling bride, and it’s absolutely not a surprise. It’s actually a relief that Ava has stayed true to character. At least Riley knows the girl will have no truck with anyone causing trouble during any of the wedding festivities and stealing her thunder. With Ava’s domineering personality being well-known and feared throughout the Matthews’ family, everyone will, in all likelihood be on their best behavior. Which doesn’t make going seem any less intimidating and dreadful, but at least it will help provide a small layer of security. “Duly noted.”

“And to remind you that since Uncle Josh is handling my bachelor party, she wants you at her bachelorette party instead.” Auggie says.

“That depends on the rest of the guest list.” Riley answers primly, kicking off her shoes and starting to change. She’d normally shower here before getting changed, but since she’d happened to catch her brother’s call as she’d gotten into the locker room, she’d just shower when she got home.

Auggie sighs. “Maya’s coming to the wedding with Josh. If you’re not going to do things that she’s at you’ll miss the entire thing.”

“I wasn’t asking about Maya. I was asking about mom.”

“She’s gonna be at the whole wedding too.”

One of the many facts that Riley’s not looking forward to but has accepted that she can’t change. “No, you dork!” If they weren’t separated by a phone line (and in fact across the country from each other), Riley would shove Auggie’s shoulder. “I meant, Ava is having a Pleasure Party for her bachelorette, and I’d rather be stuck smoking cigars and playing cards with you and the rest of the Matthews Men then find out any details about what my mother likes in a sex toy.”

Auggie’s groan of disgust is definitely worth it. “I’ll tell her that’s a ‘maybe’ pending more information.”

“Wonderful. Anything else I can do to soothe the bride-to-be’s nerves?

“Well, she wanted me to ask you why we haven’t gotten your RSVP yet.”

Riley nearly rolls her eyes again. “Because I’ve agreed to be in the wedding. My RSVP is implied.”

She hears some muffled conversation on the other end of the line; Auggie is obviously talking to Ava with his hand half over the receiver, so she finishes changing while she waits for his return to the call.

“Ava says she needs an official RSVP anyways. She needs your choices for the food for the caterer, and she needs to know if you’re going to be bringing a plus-one.” Riley freezes at the notion, but she manages to control her breath so Auggie doesn’t notice and he keeps talking. “I told her that you’re not seeing anyone but she insisted that you might bring Zay, or that you might be seeing someone that you haven’t told me about and you might want to bring him so my say-so wasn’t good enough.”

Riley’s mind races to contemplate her options. Desperate to avoid facing her family and childhood friends alone, her first thought had been bringing her best friend and roommate, Zay, with her as an escort; unfortunately his career is starting to take off and he’s simply unavailable when he would be needed. She’s not seeing anyone (her love life having remained stalled other than a handful of ridiculously terrible first dates ever since her official break up with Charlie Gardner in their junior year of high school) so left without a boyfriend, and lacking the options of available friends, her only real choice is to attend alone.

Not ideal, but it won’t be the first time she’s dealt with her family on her own.

Except…

Auggie had just said it. Maya will be attending with Josh. And in all likelihood, the attendees will also include innumerable other figures from the past that she’s tired of presenting the same life story to, and hearing the same not-so-whispered comments and judgments. In the past it would happen over the course of a couple of hours at a dinner or a party and then she could find an excuse and retreat for another five years before putting herself through it again, but this will be an entire week. Carefully planned and scheduled and filled to the brim with activities that she has no choice but to attend and facilitate as Auggie’s ‘Best Sister’.

She can’t face that alone.

Riley’s not entirely sure what she’s going to do to make it happen, but the lie is falling out of her mouth before she can stop it. “Actually, Ava’s right. I have been seeing someone.”

A week later, and a full day and a half before she has to board her flight to Boston to get to the wedding, Riley finds the solution to her non-existent boyfriend dilemma.

“Hey, I need you to give me a call around 1:00 today.” She announces, leaning in the door frame of Zay’s bedroom. Her best friend is sitting on the bed, slipping on socks and shoes before he heads to work for the day, so she’s lucky she caught him. “You don’t have to say anything special, I just need to have a call in case I need an out.”

Zay stops pulling on his shoe, and looks up at her raising an eyebrow. “What for? You got a blind date or something, Sugar?”

Riley looks askance briefly under the scrutiny. “Or something.”

“What? Did you finally decide to stop waiting for a grocery store meet-cute and venture into the world of online dating?” Riley doesn’t know how to answer that, but she starts to blush and Zay gets a wicked grin on his face as he continues to probe. “Don’t tell me Little Riley Sunshine has gone straight into the deep end and made herself a Tindr date. How will her innocence survive?”

“I’m not that innocent and you know it.” Riley crosses her arms over her chest. “And I’m not going on a date at all, for your information. It’s more like a…a business meeting.” In that money will be exchanged and if she understands the information she read on the website correctly a contract will be signed, but that’s neither here nor there, and absolutely none of Zay’s business.

The pointed expression on Zay’s face tells her that he doesn’t buy that one bit. “A business meeting that you might want an excuse to leave? And just moments ago you practically compared to a blind date?” His eyes and grin both slowly start to widen. “Riley Eleanor Matthews, are you meeting with an escort!?” The last word comes out in a heightened whisper.

Riley doesn’t answer, choosing silence over either confirming or trying and failing to deny the accusation, but Zay takes the silence as confirmation anyways.

“Oh my god, you are! I can’t believe this. My sweet little Riley,” he claps a hand to his chest, wiping a fake tear away from his eye, “going to visit a male escort. How will we survive the scandal?”

“First of all, there will be no scandal, because no one is going to find out.” Riley says, quite firmly. It’s really a foolproof plan, if she does say so herself. She doesn’t use social media for posting any personal updates so there’s no evidence to the contrary that the man she’s found isn’t her boyfriend, and every article and review she had found on the service she had stumbled across was full of praise at the level of ‘boyfriend experience’ the escorts were able to provide; as long as this initial meeting goes well (and for a somewhat shameful amount of money), she’ll have a doting companion for every moment of wedding festivities and everyone will stop seeing her as the unfortunate girl who never got past what happened in high school. That’s two wins for the price of a major dent in her bank account. She can live with that. “I just need someone to bring to Auggie’s wedding since you’re not available, and this is the perfect solution.” She explains why it’s a great plan. “And it’s not like he’s a prostitute or anything.”

“Sugar, I am not passing any judgement. You can do what you want to do with your money and I am all for a plan that makes sure you’re not going back to deal with those people on your own. But in what universe is a male escort not a prostitute?”

“It says right on the website, ‘Outside of the occasional chaste kiss, sexual encounters of any nature are strictly forbidden. Our fees cover solely emotional companionship.’”

Zay shakes his head, chuckling. “Oh Riley. My sweet, innocent, beautiful Riley… You know they put that to cover their asses, right? Because technically speaking, money for sex is illegal and having that on their site keeps them mostly out of trouble. You know, unless a scandal breaks.”

“Oh god.” The floor falls out from beneath Riley’s stomach. “I’m having lunch with a prostitute.”

Riley white-knuckles her drink while she waits for her lunch companion. She’d been very tempted to cancel the entire thing, cash in the second plane ticket she had bought and just suffer the embarrassment of showing up to the wedding alone, but with some well placed arguments and the decision to cease teasing her, Zay had convinced her that meeting with the guy couldn’t hurt.

“Just because he has sex for money, doesn’t mean that if you give him money he has to have sex with you. This is a business transaction. If outline your needs and expectations clearly, that’s all that will happen. Otherwise it wouldn’t be very good business.”

So she’s at the little sidewalk cafe, resisting the urge to order something stronger than water, and silently wondering if every guy under the age of fifty that walks past is going to be the one who recognizes the agreed-upon signal of a daisy pin near the collar of her sweater. So far, two minutes past the scheduled meeting time, no one has approached.

Maybe he got a better offer and he’s standing her up. Or he came and saw her and decided there’s no way he could make it work.

Both options are upsetting in their own way, and Riley’s so caught up in her own paranoia and feeling conflicted about being a little disappointed if he’s really not coming that at first she doesn’t notice the tanned, sandy blond approaching her table. Right up until he’s standing directly in front of her. “Hi, you must be Riley.” He holds out a hand. “I’m Lucas. We’ve been e-mailing the past couple of days.”

Riley’s eyes scan up his body–muscular in a way made obvious by the way his green t-shirt stretches across his chest–right up to a handsome smile and the softest, most gorgeous set of green eyes she’s ever seen, and her mouth goes completely dry.

She doesn’t remember seeing anyone this good looking among the profiles on the website.

“Y-yes.” She struggles to swallow around her sudden onset of cotton mouth. She does manage to rise from her chair and shake his hand, hoping that she’s only imagining the sweat that might have sprung up on her palm.

Lucas’ smile shifts in a small way that Riley can’t quite place as they sit back at the table. “This is the first time you’ve done something like this, isn’t it?”

“Is it that obvious?” As she asks the question, her wrist bumps into her water tipping the glass over the edge of the table.

Lucas catches the glass as it topples, although the water still sloshes out, and he chuckles softly as he answers. “Only a little.” He pauses to set the now empty glass back down. “But there’s no need to be nervous. This is just a first meeting. A chance for us to get to know each other a little bit, and to talk about what you’re hoping to get out of this if we move forward. Nothing’s going to happen today, or at all if you don’t want it to.”

The waitress comes back to refill the water and get Lucas’ drink order. When she leaves, Lucas looks to Riley, obviously waiting for her to step and say something, but she can’t even manage that. Her nerves are at a high, still reeling from the fact that she’s meeting with an actual escort (even if she had had the opportunity to change her mind and cancel but hadn’t taken it) and that he’s quite possibly the most attractive guy she’s ever seen outside of a movie screen. He’s the sort of guy that never even looks twice at her and at the moment the entire thing is feeling a bit…much.

“Would it help if I did the talking first?” He asks, taking pity on her. When Riley nods, he continues. “OK. Well, since you’re new to this and a bit nervous, how about we see if this is really something you think you’ll be up for? I can tell you a bit about my packages-,”

“You have more than one?!” Riley squeaks, unable to stop herself from glancing down towards his lap, even with the table blocking her view.

Lucas’ laugh is a bit more obvious this time. “My experience packages. You know, ‘The Doting Boyfriend’ package, the ‘Dad’s Worst Nightmare’ package…those sorts of things. I accompany people to all sorts of different events for any number of reasons. How I act, both with you and the people around us, can be tailored for that.”

“Oh. Right.” Riley starts to fiddle with her napkin, just to have something to do; if she doesn’t look at him, she doesn’t have to see him noticing her embarrassment and taking pity.

“Now, from your e-mail, it sounds like you’re primarily looking for some backup for this wedding of your brother’s, right?”

“Yeah. A week in Cape Cod with my family.”

“And you don’t get along with a lot of the people there, but you’re not really interested in freaking them out, right? You just don’t want to be alone all week.”

Riley agrees, feeling some of her nerves inch back. At least two of them. There’s something about Lucas that has a soothing presence. Even from across the table, he comes off as steady and calm–someone that’s there for her. She supposes that’s part of him being a professional.

“Then I would probably suggest a variation of the doting boyfriend. We could agree on the pertinent details when we’re travelling, but essentially I’ll be your boyfriend. Your very loving, caring, supportive boyfriend, who takes care of you as much as you require the entire week, and runs interference between you and the people you don’t want to deal with.”

“You really do that?”

“As long as it’s legal, I do what’s required to make a client happy.” Lucas nods.

As long as it’s legal…Riley wonders if that means if the disclaimer on the website is actually true, but she doesn’t ask. Instead she thinks about what’s actually on the table. A week where she’ll be on the arm of the very good looking guy sitting in front of her, and he’ll be doing his job which is to make her look good, and keep her comfortable and happy. She has to wonder, can she get over her nerves and play along with the game? Does she want to?

Riley pictures what it will be like, staying true to everyone’s expectations and showing up in Cape Cod tomorrow alone. Then she imagines showing up with Lucas on her arm, and finally getting to lay some of the perpetual assumptions and rumors about her to rest. Even if it’s only pretend, only she and Lucas will know that. And the temptation of that moment of satisfaction, and of having someone by her side and looking out for her (even if she is paying him to do it) is too great to pass up.

“That sounds…fantastic.”

“So you want to move forward?” Lucas asks, his smile taking on that unfamiliar quality once more.

Riley’s fairly certain that if she weren’t already seated, she’d swoon. Resolving to work on that before they officially start putting on a show at the wedding festivities (being swoon-worthy is pretty much his job after all, and not at all indicative of how he feels about her), she matches his smile and nods. “I do.”

“Great. We can work on the contract and get to know each other a bit better after we order.”

#rucasficweek2017 #rucas #riley matthews #lucas friar #gmw #fanfiction #au #the wedding date au #I'm incredibly psyched for this and where it's going #so I really hope you enjoy #sorry there's only the one rucas scene at the end #so it kind of feels like cheating to include it for rucas week #but believe me when I say that there is so much more to come #including some of everyone's favorite fake dating tropes #wip #pt 1 of?

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preserving-ferretbrain · 5 years

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Nights of Villjamblah

by Wardog

Friday, 24 June 2011

Wardog tries and fails to like Nights of Villjamur.~

I really should have liked Nights of Villjamur more than I did. And that's the sort of line that sets one up for a damning review but I honestly feel quite bad about it. It's full of the sort of things I generally appreciate but for some reason it left me frustrated that it wasn't, with all this promise and potential, somehow better. Without attempting to make uncontrolled, unsupported declarations about a genre as complicated and evolving as fantasy, I'd put Mark Charan Newton on the same team as writers like Abercrombie and Abraham, although if you're into literary genealogy you can certainly trace the influence of Vance and Mieville in there too. But what I'm trying to get at here is that we're talking punchy, modern fantasy; brutal, cynical, self-consciously anti-Tolkeinesque and hopefully weighing in at five hundred pages or less. The problem is, however, that as much as I enjoy this uppity, edgy, fantasy, there's already an extent to which it's becoming stale. Maybe if I'd read Nights of Villjamur two years ago, my tiny mind would have been appropriately blown, but I came away with the distinct impression it was like Abercrombie without the style and Abraham without the sophistication. On the other hand, it is a début novel and it is not by any means totally awful so I'd certainly be at least mildly interested in seeing how Newton develops.

The Jamur Empire is yer typical rich, sprawling, corrupt fantasy Empire, except there's an ice-age coming, and the Emperor has just killed himself in a fit of crazed paranoia. Cue: political shenanigans, and some other stuff. The reason I'm having a hard job summarising the plot effectively is that it's one of those multi-stranded jobbies, but the threads only come together right at the end, if at all, which makes the experience of reading Nights of Villjamur rather disjointed. Some of the involved parties are: Commander Brynd Lathraea, doing soldiery things, Inquisitor Jeryd investigating the murder of a city councillor, and Randur Estevu who hails from some kind of island race of martial artists / sex workers / dancers and has been brought to Villjamur to teach the Emperor's daughter how to dance.

I liked, in abstract terms, nearly all of these characters but their plots arcs were so wildly different in tone and style that, rather than illuminating different aspects of life in Villjamur as I suspect must have been the intention, they interfered with each other. Jeryd, for example, acts like he's in The Maltese Falcon - he's old and weary and tormented by the failures of his personal life. He's also a weird cat-person-creature but let's not go there. I had no idea what was going on with the rumel, and the last time I encountered a cat-based race it was in Green, so I'm still scarred. But his consistent failure to solve the crime, when even I was sitting there able to solve the crime, was infuriating and the the whole “one honest man versus political corruption” theme does not, in this case, co-exist comfortably in a world where you also have Brynd dealing with the brutal slaughter of entire populations. I know the counter-argument to this is “ah, but that's the point” but if it isthe point Newton does not carry it off particularly successfully, especially when Randur's swashbuckling antics are entirely at variance with both. Newton goes to great pains to create a society on the verge of ruin, a city rife with decadence and cruelty, and a world overrun with monsters and yet Randur is able to semi-thwart a massive political uprising, and stage a daring rescue, with a jolly group of peasants, who, despite living in deprivation and povert, are suddenly willing to fight to the death in defence of their oppressors. I don't, per se, have a problem with the more cartoon elements of fantasy but you can't serve up Chandler, Owen and Disney simultaneously.

It doesn't help that the supporting cast is extensive and depressingly one-dimensional. You have a Tuya, the jaded prostitute, Tryst, Jeryd's ambitious Iago-like aid who does, in fact, spend two thirds of the book engaged in acts of motiveless malignancy, Marysa, Jeryd's tediously virtuous and personality devoid wife, Eir the feisty Emperor's daughter who has her eyes opened to the true poverty of her kingdom, the fence with a heart of gold, the scheming councillor, the mad cultist, and so on and so forth. The three main characters are marginally better drawn but they lacked any true psychological depth or complexity.

Jeryd, for example, is manipulated by Tryst into believing his wife has cheated on him. Heading home in a partially drug-fuelled rage, he strikes her. Conveniently she wakes up somewhat confused and Jeryd lets her believe it was a dream. Neither the dimensions or the consequences of this are ever properly explored, nor are we really given opportunity to ponder how much responsibility (if any) Jeryd bears for either the action itself, or lying about it afterwards. Brynd's big secret is that he's gay, in a society where homosexuality is punishable by death, due to a line in one of the scriptures. I actually quite liked Brynd, but being tormented and alienated is still not really a substitute for having a personality. The presentation of his homosexuality wavers between the quite good and the horrendously heavy handed. Something that does come across well is the fact that it would be incidental to his character if not for the world in which he lives. And the chapter in which he meets up with his lover, Kym, struck me as reasonably successful, as the encounter is recounted with neither sentimentality nor sensationalism. But it's the only moment of subtlety in the entire text, and the rest of the time we're treated to reflections like this:

“Where's the big freak?” Apium said, before yawning and stretching with the grace of a tramp, astride his black horse. “I take it you mean Jurro?” Brynd said, after considering for a moment that he himself was the freak, or maybe Kym – men who loved other men, and who'd be killed if discovered. He could never shake off the paranoia.

I understand that this would be something on his mind a lot, but it's the clumsy exposition that really sinks it for me. This exchange takes place on page 331 of my edition – if I haven't got that Brynd is gay, and that being gay is punishable by death, by this point in the book, I don't think there's much more an author can be expected to do for me. Much of the interior life of the major characters is narrated to us in this flat, expository way. I don't want to fall back on trite maxims about writing but I would have liked to see character traits illuminated or demonstrated more through thoughts, interaction and behaviour, rather than simply being told about them.

Randur, for example, comes to the city through a slightly spurious set of circumstances in order to raise enough money for a cultist to bring his mother back from the dead. In order to get the cash, he has his job at the palace, teaching Eir to dance, but he also sleeps with rich, older women and steals their jewellery. He does explain, at one point, that he feels like he owes his mother a debt for all she has sacrificed for him but it never really feels convincing. After all, sense of filial obligation is one thing. Necromancy another. Needless to say, over the course of the book, he and Eir fall for each other and it turns out that resurrecting his mother isn't going to be possible, even with the money in hand. Here is the description of Randur's response:

His world imploded. Lying on Eir's bed later, he felt he wanted to vomit, but instead he cried like a ten-year-old as he told her everything. She sat next to him and waited for him to finish – he knew that, and he felt ashamed, to expose his emotions like this. But, despite her age, she possessed an unexpected, motherly quality. He liked that. After that, he got up and left, walked for two hours across the city bridges, then returned, damp and cold. Then he resumed crying. Eir held his hand. “It's understandable you're upset, Rand, so don't be so harsh on yourself.” She got up and lit lanterns and soothing incense and waited for him to compose himself. He realised he was comfortable being vulnerable in front of her. Soon he began to feel better, until somehow his failings as a son didn't seem to matter quite as much.

Given that this is a significant moment in Randur's personal development, and his relationship with Eir, I felt it was rather over-narrated but I read the ease which he apparently gets over it as evidence that his original goal was immature, and not something we were really expected to take seriously. However, a chapter later we're being narrated at again:

Eir had even given him some jewellery: a plain silver chain to go around his neck, two rings for his fingers. She had supported him so much that he felt he owed her is very soul if only he could give it. Eir's biggest gift to him wasn't monetary but psychological. Perhaps all he'd ever needed was to actually love someone else.

Once more, I can't quite unpack the tone of this. It sounds so ludicrously trite that I was half-tempted to read it as being in some way ironic. And I'm, incidentally, not thrilled with Eir's sudden detour into maternal saviour, although I can't tell whether that's meant to be Randur's distorted perspective, since Eir only has about three personality traits and none of them, thus far, have been even remotely maternal. But ultimately it's just another example of the way that heavy-handed attempts to explain the psychological development of the characters ruins their portrayal.

The other thing you can see from these quoted paragraphs, is the occasional banality of the writing, and its general clumsiness. For example, we have three awkwardly repeated 'thats' far too close to each other in “he knew that, and he felt ashamed, to expose his emotions like this. But, despite her age, she possessed an unexpected, motherly quality. He liked that. After that...” The book is riddled with such unnecessary annoyances, and the style itself is as inconsistent as everything else. Dialogue is generally naturalistic, with a fair few fucks thrown in for good measure, the prose style is plain and expository to the point of tedium, but occasionally Newton struggles towards a Mieville-like excess, which often just falls flat:

A truculunt pain shot through him and he screamed … he stumbled forwards, his hands clutching for wet stones, then began to spit blood on the ground … Sensing his life fluid filling the cracks between the cobbles, the blood beetles came and began to smother him, till his screams could be heard amplified between the high walls of the courtyard. One even scurried into his mouth, scraping eagerly as his gums and tongue. He bit down so he wouldn't choke, split its shell in two, and spat it out, but he could still taste its ichors. Councillor Ghuda was violently febrile.

I honestly have no idea what that means. I understand the individual words but the connection between them, and the the being eaten alive by bugs, not so much. A major component of Newton's Mieville Aspirations is the city of Villjamur itself, which I'm sure is meant to exist as vividly in the narrative as New Crobuzon in Perdido Street Station. I'm honestly not a huge fan of Perdido Street Station and I found the descriptions of the city a little overweening but I will admit that they got the job done. By contrast, Villjamur never became real to me and, if anything, Newton is trying so hard to have it make an impression on the reader that the overall affect is one of artificiality. Devices over conviction. For example, there's a self-conscious weirdness to Villjamur - it has blood beetles and banshees, and garuda – but these just feel like a checklist. And scenes or chapters tend to end with the narrative moving away from the thoughts and actions of the characters to more general statements about the mood of the Villjamur. The contrast, I suspect, is meant to create a sense of distance between the struggles of individuals and the vast intricacies of the city itself:

After that the three of them watched the falling snow in companionable silence. Street fires and lantern lights glared defiantly for another bell, but one by one they fell into shadow. Voices in the streets beyond quietened and soon there was only the sound of the wind probing the city's countless alleyways.

However, the more Newton falls back on this technique, the more transparent it becomes, and the more I resisted his attempts to “sell” me Villjamur. As the book progresses, he takes to refering to the city as if it should now be familiar to us (“Another one of those melancholy nights of Villjamur, in which a pterodette called out across the city's spires so loudly it sounded like a banshee”) but by that stage I was already convinced that Newton had failed to force me into a relationship with the city, and therefore this assumption of familiarity annoyed me and further alienated me from the Villjamur Newton was so desperately trying to evoke.

The thing is, barrage of negativity aside, it's not as bad as all that. I did, after all, read the thing and I was mildly engaged by the plot and some of the characters, even in spite of the heavy-handed narration and my increasingly irritation with having Villjamur forced down my throat. As a personal, rather than general, criticism I realised at about the halfway point that there wasn't a single interesting woman in the entire book. Obviously having diverse and well-rounded female characters isn't a moral necessity and it's perfectly reasonable for any writer to simply not be interested but for me to really enjoy a text I'd probably prefer it wasn't a massive sausage party. The Emperor's eldest daughter seems intriguing but she isn't in it enough for me to be able to judge. Eir is feisty-by-numbers and, consequently, irritating. Tuya starts off promising and then gets drugged and abused by Tryst, in his pursuit of revenge over Jeryd, so she essentially becomes a cipher. Jeryd's wife is so lightly sketched she's barely a character at all. To be fair to Newton, the men aren't that interesting either but they at least get more page time. However, the one thing I did like was what I perceived to be a fairly healthy attitude to sex, both heterosexual and homosexual. There are a few non-explicit but nicely down-to-earth sex scenes. But, like anything else in Villjamur, sex is largely another commodity – and the men trade it as much as the women do. I liked the fact that women, incidental though they are to the text in general, were as active in pursuit of sex as men, just as acquisitive of pretty young things, and seemed to derive as much pleasure from it.

This being so, and because we haven't had one for a while, I present: Fantasy Rape Watch for Nights of Villjamur.

Number of non-straight men: 2

Number of non-straight men killed: 0

Number of non-straight women: 0

Number of men who sell themselves: 3 maybe*

Number of men who sell themselves who are killed: 0

Number of men who sell themselves who find twu wuv: 2

Number of men who sell themselves where the woman obligingly makes herself look hot for them: 1

Number of women who sell themselves: 1

Number of women who sell themselves who are killed: 1

Number of women who sell themselves who find twu wuv: 0

Number of women who sell themselves who manage to survive a bomb: 0

Number of virtuous, married women who manage to survive the same bomb: 1

*I am including in this category, Randur who sleeps with rich old women in order to pay for necromantic magic, Tryst who sleeps with an old cultist in order to acquire something he needs, and Kym who it seems to be suggesting gets around a bit.

Obviously, I'm being slightly unfair on Newton here. I wasn't actually all that bothered by the fact that Randur manwhores his way around Villjamur and this is sort of portrayed as being vaguely cool, whereas Tuya is stuck in a cycle of loneliness and bitterness. I saw this as being largely down to the fact they are very different people, and Randur is young whereas Tuya is forty. However, I was a bit annoyed by the fact Tuya, who had all the markings of being quite interesting (shock!), was treated the way she was by the narrative - victimised, sidelined and then conveniently killed.

In conclusion I would say that although I have really hammered into Nights of Villjamur, it's not actually as bad as all that. I found it quite frustrating to read but I didn't actively hate it: I liked Brynd, and Newton seems to have quite a good grip on his gender politics. It certainly has some promise and I can only hope that this goes some way to being fulfilled in the later books.Themes:

Fantasy Rape Watch

Books

Sci-fi / Fantasy

Emocakes

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valse de la lune

at 16:05 on 2011-06-24I remember really wanting to read this at one time, then a friend told me it was meh and I wrote it off. To this day I'm still vaguely curious but the fear of terribad racial/cultural appropriation compels me to keep my distance. Alas.

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Wardog

at 16:23 on 2011-06-24Well, as I said in my usual lukewarm fashion I quite liked Brynd... but my dominating response was "meh" over "ick." The novel is so bland that it's quite hard to get really wound up about it. I felt that the social issues, related to the coming ice-age (climate change, ho ho), Brynd's homosexuality and ye typical fantasy racism were pretty shallow, and consequently there wasn't really anything to get a grip on, either to praise or to criticise. I did think the islanders of Folke - they do dancing, swordplay and sex apparently - were a bit dodgy though, but to be honest I dismissed it as typical of the genre. I can see how there would be plenty to bother you though. I guess I was too busy fighting the bored to pay sufficient attention. Oh, and of course, you get the prejudice towards non-human races ... but, come on, cat-people are not a stand-in for people of colour.

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Vermisvere

at 16:48 on 2011-06-24Hmm...this doesn't sound like something I'd be keen to enter into my usual compulsory reading list, although it might be something I could probably sit through some cold winter night when I'm bored out of my mind.

And the way you describe it, Villjamur seems to strike me as being a bit like a fantasy version of Gotham City, minus all the crazy supervillains and Batman running around.

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Wardog

at 17:03 on 2011-06-24It is incredibly well-regarded so it's possible I've just experienced a profound failure of taste.

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Arthur B

at 17:10 on 2011-06-24

I don't, per se, have a problem with the more cartoon elements of fantasy but you can't serve up Chandler, Owen and Disney simultaneously.

This sounds like exactly one of the problems I had with

Steve Cockayne's debut novel

- it tried to fuse the conventions of so many different takes on fantastic material that it ended up tripping over itself. Ah well.

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http://everythingisnice.wordpress.com/

at 17:34 on 2011-06-24Not much point whiting out that spoiler about Tuya when you've got the Fantasy Rape Watch right above it!

I reviewed the book for Strange Horizons and came to a similar view to you. This was against the prevailing view at the time but I wonder if that has changed a bit. I've certainly seen lots of people suggesting Newton has improved as a writer as the series has progressed and have perhaps recalibrated their view of

Villjamur

(which is, after all, a debut novel). I've not read any of his other novels but I will definitely try him again at some point.

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Wardog

at 17:50 on 2011-06-24

Not much point whiting out that spoiler about Tuya when you've got the Fantasy Rape Watch right above it!

That is a good point - I fail at spoilers. But I guess you'd have to be paying attention to notice, or already familiar with the book.

I feel quite bad about not liking this more but since I remember a flurry of "zomg!awesome" at the time it came out I was genuinely a bit shocked. I am quite curious about his other books though, even in spite of my lack of enthusiasm for this one.

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Cammalot

at 22:05 on 2011-06-24Oddly enough, I'd just read through the entire thread on this book on Westeros.org last night. I came away feeling very intrigued by the premise(s) but with very mixed feelings about the (potential) prose.

But basically with so many things that have been really hyped in the last few years, elements have come out that have made me not only want to avoid the books like the plague, but wonder if I'm the crazy one, that everyone else in the world is not having a problem with this. (Emiko from "Windup Girl" springs to mind.)

I think I'll still try this one when it comes either to Nook or to trade paper, though.

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Michal

at 03:09 on 2011-06-25

but wonder if I'm the crazy one, that everyone else in the world is not having a problem with this. (Emiko from "Windup Girl" springs to mind.)

Well, count me as one other person who wasn't so crazy on The Windup Girl (and 'specially not Emiko). I didn't even finish it.

Also, I'm starting to notice our tastes are weirdly similar. Are you sure you're not my doppelganger?

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Cammalot

at 06:31 on 2011-06-25I can neither confirm nor deny. :shifty eyes:

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Wardog

at 14:43 on 2011-06-25

Oddly enough, I'd just read through the entire thread on this book on Westeros.org last night. I came away feeling very intrigued by the premise(s) but with very mixed feelings about the (potential) prose.

I'm, err, not not recommending it. I didn't like it much, but it certainly has potential and perhaps the series as a whole is better.

Also I am shocked, shocked I tell you, to learn that Michal is Cammalot's sock puppet... :)

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Vermisvere

at 15:40 on 2011-06-25

Also I am shocked, shocked I tell you, to learn that Michal is Cammalot's sock puppet... :)

*Gasp*

IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW!

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Cammalot

at 16:48 on 2011-06-25So I can take credit for Michal's coherence! I am willng to go along with this.

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valse de la lune

at 21:27 on 2011-06-25SPOILER: everyone on FB is a sockpuppet of everyone else.

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Arthur B

at 21:46 on 2011-06-25And Charles Dickens hypnotised all of you into believing in everyone else.

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Vermisvere

at 05:11 on 2011-06-26

And Charles Dickens hypnotised all of you into believing in everyone else.

But wait...if I was hypnotised, then nobody exists...but if I was hypnotised, the one who hypnotised me must exist...but wait, if he exists, then my first statement must not be true...but, but...hey, wait a minute, ain't Dickens dead anyway?

Arghh! *goes into Rene Descartes overdrive-mode*

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Arthur B

at 09:05 on 2011-06-26It's all a game in Wilkie Collins' head.

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Alasdair Czyrnyj

at 20:35 on 2011-06-26

SPOILER: everyone on FB is a sockpuppet of everyone else.

Well, everyone except for me. I'm actually an artificial intelligence who covertly created Ferretbrain as part of a method for controlling mass society. So congratulations, everybody! You have no free will!

(BTW, secretly running America is nowhere near as much fun as it looks. I still wonder how the hell GW talked me into it.)

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Ash

at 20:55 on 2011-06-26

I'm actually an artificial intelligence

Wait, I thought that was me.

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Shim

at 23:46 on 2011-06-26I'm not a sockpuppet, I'm a bot-mediated copy-paste from a less well-known site.

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Arthur B

at 00:38 on 2011-06-27I'm a worm from LulzSec. That time the other week the site was down for hours? Yeah, that was me.

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Vermisvere

at 10:17 on 2011-06-27

So congratulations, everybody! You have no free will!

Free will? That's SO last century...

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Robinson L

at 20:30 on 2011-06-28

Alasdair: I'm actually an artificial intelligence who covertly created Ferretbrain as part of a method for controlling mass society. So congratulations, everybody! You have no free will! (BTW, secretly running America is nowhere near as much fun as it looks. I still wonder how the hell GW talked me into it.)

As I recall it was two batches of homemade cookies, a case of premium vodka, and a three-year subscription to the Reader's Digest. I always did wonder about the subscription part.

... Damn, there goes my cover.

“It's understandable you're upset, Rand, so don't be so harsh on yourself.”

Oh, that's some scintillating dialogue right there.

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Wardog

at 20:45 on 2011-06-28

Oh, that's some scintillating dialogue right there.

I know :( Not precisely sparkling in Villjamur, is it?

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Shim

at 21:14 on 2011-06-28

“It's understandable you're upset, Rand, so don't be so harsh on yourself.”

I just read that along with the

Playpen Freud-Jung film discussion

and absent-mindedly read it as Ayn Rand in some bizarre They Fight Crime scheme.

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Arthur B

at 22:02 on 2011-06-28That'd be a good teamup.

All Freud linking Rand's admiration of architects to phallic symbols implicit in skyscrapers.

All Rand trying to convince Freud that charity and compassion are illnesses that cry out for treatment more than schizophrenia or neurosis.

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Robinson L

at 00:36 on 2011-06-29Cast Liv Tyler as Ayn Rand and you can have Mortensen's Freud desperately attempting to convince Jung that there is not unresolved sexual tension between them whatsoever.

Jung: Sigmund old boy, you just said you wanted to get into Ayn's pants.

Freud: I mean

plans

- get in on her

plans

Jung: But you said

pants

Freud: Sometimes a slip of the tongue is

just

a slip of the tongue!

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Wardog

at 09:42 on 2011-06-29Hahaha!

Robinson is on fire today.

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Robinson L

at 15:30 on 2011-07-01

Kyra: Robinson is on fire today.

Yes, it was touch-and-go for a while there, but they managed to dowse me and get me to a treatment center and the med droids tell me I won't have to spend the rest of my life in a mechanical suit.

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Robinson L

at 15:30 on 2012-02-24

Mark C Newton: "Things I got wrong."

Re-posting from the Playpen (credit Cammalot for the original discovery) because the Playpen is such a transitory space and because this specific post and this sort of authorial self-reflection need a lot more love.

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Wardog

at 15:46 on 2012-02-24Well...I'm happy he's noticed he was crap but ... I don't really feel like blowing him for it ;)

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Robinson L

at 20:30 on 2012-02-24

Kyra: Well...I'm happy he's noticed he was crap but ... I don't really feel like blowing him for it ;)

No reason you should. And yes, this sort of thing should probably be the baseline for authorial self-reflection, but since so many authors fail to reach such basic levels of insight, it's important to point out when they get even this much right. I also like the way he articulates the point that "gritty" doesn't automatically = "mature," and I'm a bit taken with his tone throughout the piece, but that's a personal thing.

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Cammalot

at 22:19 on 2012-02-24Heh -- I'm not even too inclined to *read* him for it, but I've been seeing so much bad authorial behavior in my lurkings lately I felt compelled to point it out. It made me a happy.

I'm still not planning to pick up this one, but with Strange Horizons blurbing his second one as "What Villjamur wished it could be," I wouldn't toss it away if it wound up in my hands, so to speak. The premise is still intriguing, and it would be interesting to see what he's done with this insight.

(I've been hearing it in my head as "Vjillamur" all this time. This is the first I'm noticing how wrong I am!)

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Wardog

at 23:42 on 2012-02-24Hee! Authors Behaving Badly! I am kind of imagining cheap documentary film-making with GRRM and Pat Rothfuss and Joe Abercrombie all wearing skimpy outfits in hot-tubs and making out with each other for the camera... Actually that's basically what they do anyway, isn't it? Except on the Internet.

(also that image hurts my brain)

That's the thing, I think I probably quite like MCN. Like Daniel Abraham (I love you Daniel Abraham, you do not need to put on the bunny tail and go in the hot tub) most of the things I've seen him writing that aren't, y'know, fiction I've quite liked. He seems kind of down-to-earth, not *ragingly* sexist and moderately humble ...

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Arthur B

at 00:02 on 2012-02-25"Authors Behaving Badly" make me think of an overrated sitcom in which R. Scott Bakker and Jay Lake are slovenly flatmates who are constantly taken aback by their inability to convince the feminists living downstairs that they're totally on their side.

#Ferretbrain #Nights of Villjamur #Mark Charan Newton #Fantasy Rape Watch #Wardog #Emocakes

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weirdude-kun · 4 years

Text

Verge of Nothingness

Dark-colored hue were totally scattered in a multi-layer manner around my exactly 5-foot bed, just enough for my humanity to withdraw upon myself. The light that touches the every area of my rough textured wall begun to fade into nothingness. The silky white curtain, freely flowing in the past years are being eaten by the dark pigments that I let to be strayed earlier. Eventually, I shivered and started to feel the infinite needles pinching in every corner of my naked body but... I felt nothing. I am more than a numbed being...

A year ago:

Question #5: What fascinates you? I always clearly hear the round and fierce steps of every black shoes I vaguely see every time as I walk through the narrow bluish-hallways but what I'm fascinated the most is the scene coming from above. Thousands feet higher than me afloat the wide and never ending sea of humungous and floating being, the clouds. It can be described as an untouchable cotton or maybe, a sheer silk fabric rowing into thousand past of distant memories upon the vast lands of the ancient sky.

Kriinngg! Okay, that's the universal, unchangeable signal that I will pass this activity even if I wanted it or not.

It sounds too complicated to read and understand but those combination of simple words and letters let me enjoy my life as of the moment. I think I get this desire to express my feeling through these texts because of my 'away from earth' space I developed from being a loner introvert with a social anxiety and with no friends since someone gave birth to this being speaking to you right now. I read tons of books, journals, studies and even bibliographies. You can consider me as a hundred percent, no estimation required, that I am a well-grown bibliophile. I think I just brag myself as a bookworm or what the mass will describe as a 'nerd'.

Moving on... most of the modern novels I read, the author always introduce the protagonist in the first chapter of the story. Duh!, because it will be about him/her, obviously. So, it is time for me to introduce my beloved self, I am... nothing... I am... no one.

The medium-sized school bus that are now empty eventually stops on its last journey, my home. Upon entering the house I am happily greeted by the overwhelming smiles of my shelves full of my old, new, thin, thick and random books. It smells like a true, genuine 10-walled home. I am now perfectly ready for my daily weekdays routine; STUDY, READ, STUDY, READ and SLEEP. Wait!, I forgot to eat my dinner. I hurriedly went downstairs and move a like rat ready to ambush a cheese in the fridge. I got a frozen pizza with a note written: "Place your frozen pizza in the microwave properly and Turn it to 350 degrees for around 8 to 10 minutes (not 20 minutes)". That's my father saying I must not burn anything in this house because one time, I completely forgot about my food when I am reading a book. That happened a week ago while I vigourously, word to word lip-muttering the story of Evan Hansen from Dear Evan Hansen by Steven Levenson while imagining the brilliant portraying of Ben Platt in the musical version. That's exactly 10 minutes of explaining and exact time for me to get the cold piece of American dinner turned into a hot and cheesy all-time favorite heavenly pizza. Just like Harry Potter, it's magic.

Six-months ago:

My high school journey is like a never-ending ferris wheel, it continuously rotates in an equilibrium of an academic life I designed properly; MORNING CLASSES, LUNCH BREAK , AFTERNOON CLASSES and HOME. Yes! just repeat it again and again everyday. But the normal semester I always think of right now became a blurry vision of my peaceful and alone life.

"Hey, did you write this?", I hear someone shouted that I can even describe as a loud cry along the hallway as I am walking towards my first class. Suddenly, I feel that someone touching my arm and rotated me around 180-degree, just enough that my body can face that person.

"What the Ff--ff-food!", thankfully I didn't outcry the curse four-letter word that starts with F and end with K in a public place. Honestly, I can say that 'curse word' if I am reading an interesting climax or I didn't expect the denouement of what I am reading. Going back, that person that pulled me is my teacher six months ago in English Communications.

"H-h-hi, Sir, g-good afternoon. I mean good morning!", according to my reaction right now, I am not good in speaking to other people. He smiled, "okay, have a deep breath". I am like a well-trained dog right now as I do what he is saying.

"Are you the one that answer this activity last semester?", he conveyed while showing me a piece of paper and upon further glimpse, I notice my own leaning cursive handwritten font. I am sure that 'that paper' was from me because of my unique huge and bold first letter in every paragraph I make.

"Yes, sir", I just shortly answered.

He seems more relax right now as if he finally find the fine needle he lost in a haystack, "Finally, I found you! I am searching for the owner of this paper for a month now. I doubt, that you are thinking that why I didn't find you right away. Well, there's no name written on it. It's someone anonymous".

Wait is he just read my mind? I am about to say that exact phrases on why he didn't find me right away. "My bad", I answer. "Please meet me later on the faculty room. Finally...", suddenly the bell rings and I huriedly run to my first class on the building across while thinking what must the big idea behind what happened and his expression. Oh gosh, did I just fail his subject and he mistakenly pass me?

I am nervously preparing my emotional speech right now as I walk slowly towards the faculty room. My heart beats faster every second I step and I think I am having a heart attack while twisting the cold metal door knob as it opens. I decided to just close my round eyes.

"Let's all welcome, our golden ticket to the Nationals!", I heard the second loudest outcry I hear for this day and as soon as my eyes are both wide-opened, it also came from the same man. Did he ate some speakers when he was a child? Wait! did he just say golden ticket? Is this a Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory scene? Except, I am not fond of eating chocolates. I am afloat around the Andromeda right now, yes the closest nearby galaxy. I just felt that I am near but at the same time I am far away. I didn't comprehend what is happening. I didn't know what to do, I just bend my arm slightly to render a small wave to everyone and a faint smile that filled with nerves and questions.

I didn't even know what happened but everyone in the room shakes my naked hand and feels my bare sweaty palm. "Bloody disgusting", I silently speak to my mind in a Ron Weasley way. I am just adequately swimming with the tempo right now. Are they mistakenly identify me as the new football captain or maybe the elected prime cheerleader for this sports' season?

"S-sir, what is happening?", I am still in the middle of a race in my consciousness but somehow I successfully and barely muttered these consecutive words. "I am very sorry for this young celebration but you will be our golden ticket to the NATIONAL LITERARY WRITING CONTEST".

"Wh-what? Wh-why me? Did I hear it right a... writing contest?", after that prolonged commotion in that perimeter filled by the school's English educators I finally came to my senses.

Finally, welcome home. I physically feel that I am between a cloud-9 and the gate of hell with a signage; abandon all hope ye who enter here (credits to Dante Alighieri). I have trust to my writing skills but I think I am too short and few miles away from the state qualifiers, the Regionals for the next round and the last, the Nationals. What if I didn't reach their hopeful expectations? I also remembered them saying that I will be the first national winner from our small country road high school since its establishment in the 1990s. But at the same time I feel the tingling sensation of; What if they are speaking the truth? What if it is destined to be all the time? Then, I decided to give my thumbs up for the contest. In that moment, I feel that a new wavelength just flow through the hollows in-between my white window curtain. I considered it as my goal, my new vision: to win the nationals.

The State Qualifiers came as fast as a race car, well I won second and qualified to the Regional Qualifiers. I just follow the Perks of being a Wallflower written by Stephen Chbosky flow of events to make a huge impact in the development of my story that leads to unravel the childhood traumatic experience of the main character. I also landed in the second spot in the Regional Qualifiers by mimicking the story of Me Before You by Jojo Moyes, giving both a tragic and happy ending. It seems confusing huh?! Yeah, I just barely manage to finish my entry before the time runs out in thinking how can I make this kind of ending that will split the readers whether the story is tragic or the story is a happy ending.

This is the final moment, the National Literary Making Contest. Aside from the title of being the champion, the first placer will also open many possibilities such as a contract to a publishing house and many magazines (mostly literary pages which is selectively 'known but not famous' in some states and counties).

A chunk of sweat gently caress my bare face and gently pour to my contest paper, leaving a wet elongated mark on it. I didn't know what to write because the topic is so simple that I don't know how to answer, "Who are you?". I gaze my eyes through the window panels of the room and look upon the sky and I clearly see the free flowing nature and the various adaptive structure of the clouds, the thing that fascinated me the most. Just an hour left but I barely manage to write a decent paragraph or even think of my piece's structure. Then, I just decided to be one of the clouds; flow freely, adapt continuously AND MOST ALL JUST BE MYSELF.

Well, this story will be boring if I didn't won. My contest entry titled, "Dear ME" won the most prestigious award on the nationals. From a house-locked loner to a national contest winner. Finally, I reached my vision, my mission.

I received many acknowledgments from across my county. Also, numerous offers from different magazines and websites. They emailed everyday. I just overwhelmingly accepted all of the offers without knowing that I am gently being suffocated by these stuffs. I am not moving anymore. I am just a water in a lake, forever stuck on that area; not flowing to any place. I'm just stuck and no exits to be found. I am being overcrowded with these stuffs, I can't able to comprehend the first thing I love, READING. I just checked some bestsellers but I didn't manage to buy it all. Or I can buy some few but I can't read it and it will be forever be in my shelves, still wrapped on its plastics.

Present: The black colored ink of my handheld ballpoint pen were totally scattered in a multilayer manner around my exactly 5-foot bed, just enough for my humanity to withdraw upon myself. The light that touches the every area of my rough textured wall begun to fade into nothingness as my tears totally consume my round brown pigmented eyes. The silky white curtain, freely flowing in the past years are being eaten by the ink I threw coming from the pens I manage to destroyed eventually. I am being surrounded by papers, ink and pens; being surrounded by my pain, hatred and loss of hope.

Eventually, I shivered and started to feel the infinite needles pinching in every corner of my naked body but... I felt nothing. I am more than a numbed being... I carelessly and sadly watched my own passion, myself gently let go of my own bare hands covered with the hue of pitch black and nothingness. I can't reach the clouds anymore.

I am ready to be swallowed by this dark story of mine... until a dim light manage to appear behind my locked door.

#story #short fiction #short story #writer #free write #write #author

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