#this is a shoutout to all those people who say those two old men should kiss

[stellar-planetary-system]

caspar x leif midnight burger enjoyers how are we doing tonight?

#caspar midnight burger #leif midnight burger #this is a shoutout to all those people who say those two old men should kiss #this is my vision #midnight burger #caspleif #midnight burger memes

[who-am-i-no-one]

Emma. (2020)

I watched this movie in late January. After multiple viewings and re-reading the book, I have a lot of thoughts about this adaptation.

It seems rather strange, given that Emma is part of my holy trinity of Austen novels, that I didn't watched the most recent adaptation earlier. I think it was mostly due to my initial impression that Anya Taylor-Joy's otherworldly looks didn't quite match what I had in mind for the titular character. I decided to give this version a try after watching Queen's Gambit. Not sure that Anya's looks will ever grow on me, but she did impress me as a young actress who seemed to have a maturity beyond her years.

Long story short: really wished I had seen this movie earlier! It is absurd and heartfelt at the same time, imo, the version that best imbues Austen's humor. It is now my favorite adaption, with the possible exception of Clueless, and I'm not quite sure how much of that is just nostalgia.

From the casting to the direction to the script to the costumes to the set to the soundtrack, I could tell the creative team really put a lot of love into this project. It's always a joy to watch something that's made with love and made well.

Direction

Autumn de Wilde's directing is quite good. I would never have thought this was her first feature. She certainly has a unique and colorful style, which is probably to be expected for such a famous photographer.

Funnily, while watching the movie I kept thinking it reminded me of early Hollywood romantic comedies like Bringing Up Baby (incidentally one of my favorites) or The Philadelphia Story, and then reading interviews and seeing that she had tried to bring in some of that style of humor made me feel rather validated. Also the servants' reactions were awesome!

Absolutely loved the fact that they decided to show that Knightley and Emma were in love with each other very early on in the story, with Knightley more aware of it. I've read some people complaining about the surprise of Emma's being in love being ruined. But come on, did anyone reading two chapters into the book think it wasn't going to be the two of them together in the end?

Loved how much of Knightley's point of view we got in this movie. This is one repressed pinning man. I can totally see this Knightley riding ventre a terre from London in the rain because he thought Emma was heartbroken.

The only gripe I had was the lack of Frank and Jane's subplot. As it seems they shot some scenes for that, I assume it was the director's discretion to take them out. I remember thinking while watching the movie that they must have expected the audience to be familiar with the story because some things just didn't really get explained or extrapolated on a lot. If you hadn't read the book it'd be 30 minutes or more into the movie before you put two and two together and figured out why Mr. Knightley is always at Hartfield.

Script

The script takes most of the dialogue directly from the book, which is awesome. I love Austen's writing because there is a certain musicality to it and retaining that in large part for the movie really made it better for me. The deftness with which Eleanor Catton moved dialogue from one scene in the book to a totally different one in the movie was quite brilliant. Everything flowed so well.

The scenes that differed from the book were also excellent - namely, I really loved the Jane/Knightley duet, the infamous nosebleed and first kiss scenes. 💖 I thought the screenwriter used those changes to quickly establish plot points and character arcs well.

Costume/Hair

Not a Recency expert so can't say much about the costumes and hair as far as period correctness but from reading other reviews it seemed like they were very true to the period. Obviously appreciated them taking the time to show the audience how men got dressed in that time (purely for research purposes obviously 😜).

Emma's dresses were all quite beautiful. I especially loved the black evening dress, the pink one with the roses and the proposal dress. Also loved the little pop of red shoes that went with the proposal dress. As someone who wore red shoes with her wedding gown I heartily approve.

Absolutely loved how Emma's curls unwound as her life unravels. Similarly think they must have done the same for Knightley to a lesser extent. His hair during the card playing scene at the Westons was quite terrible.

Set

I! Loved! Hartfield! It looked just like a doll house. Really most of the sets looked good enough to eat. So much pastel. Reminded me of French macarons.

I liked how everything in Donwell Abbey was shrouded in Holland covers. Makes a good point that Knightley barely lives there at all, that his home has been with the Woodhouses for quite a while now. Which, of course, makes his sacrifice at the end just a little bit less of a sacrifice?

Soundtrack

Isabella Waller-Bridge's music really meshed well with the tone of the entire film. The male and female opera singers, sometimes sounding as if they are bickering with each other and other times seeming to be in duet, was a brilliant touch. The folk music was a little jarring at first but really grew on me.

Johnny Flynn's end credits song "Queen Bee" is amazing. I love that we get Knightley's perspective at the end with a song written and sung by Knightley. It's a lovely coda to the movie. And now, if the next Austen hero doesn't write one for his SO I'm going to think him a very poor sort of lover.

Cast

Anya's Emma was really great. I'm glad they allowed Emma to be her bitchy self. Lol. I haven't watched the 1996 and 2009 versions in a while but I distinctly remember them making Emma too nice. I recall writing after watching the Garai version that Emma was actually mean and they should have let her be mean! If she's not a brat in the beginning, how will we see her change for the better later on? I love what a snob and how manipulative this Emma was and so assured of her place in her little society but still had the vulnerability of almost an imposter's syndrome which I feel most people can relate to.

Her chemistry with Johnny Flynn's Knightley was off the charts. Pretty much every scene they had together I half expected them to reenact the library scene from Atonement lol.

Mia Goth was a wonderful Harriet. She really captured Harriet's inexperience, naivete and diffidence. The orgasmic sounds she was making during the gypsies attack scene were awesome. Although, I could probably have forgone a few of Harriet's scenes for more Frank and Jane.

Not sure why they made Mia go brunette since the book specifically mentioned Harriet was fair? Perhaps having all three leads as blondes was just a bit too much. I'm also not sure if I liked Harriet's ending as I really don't think Emma, even in her most contrite mood, would invite further friendship from a tradesman's daughter and soon-to-be her husband's tenant farmer's wife. This seems a piece of modern day wishful thinking on the part of the creative team.

Bill Nighy was so good as Mr. Woodhouse. He made it so believable why everyone would do everything in their power to accommodate his whims. The gag with the screens was too funny. He was able to sketch out a lonely quirky old man who is afraid to lose those close to him in very limited screen time. Absolutely loved the scene where Emma was heaping blame on herself and he just sat with her in sympathetic silence.

Miranda Hart's Miss Bates was excellent as well. She has long been one of my favorite British comedic actresses but she can also do drama well. Her reaction to Emma's teasing on Box Hill and her forgiveness of Emma later brought me to tears.

Josh O'Connor's Mr. Elton was deliciously creepy. The carriage proposal scene was at once a little scary and hilarious. I actually liked the portrait scenes a little less because I found the acting there slightly affected and veering into 1995 Mr. Collins territory. But as Austen described Elton as having "a sort of parade in his speeches", this was much more forgivable. Really loved Mr. Elton's determination to eat cake during the Eltons' visit to Hartfield.

Tanya Reynolds was an excellent Mrs. Elton and in very little screen time was able to bring to life this meddlesome nouveau riche. Adored her little shimmy during the ball.

Amber Anderson's Jane really looked as if she were in a decline. Callum Turner did a good job as a slightly restless, mischievous and immature Frank Churchill. I did feel his looks were a bit too modern but that's just my personal view.

Given how many scenes they had I thought they used the time they had pretty well with furtive glances and sly smiles at each other to establish the relationship.

Connor Swindells was such a love sick puppy as Robert Martin. Did this role ever get cast in other adaptations? I don't seem to recall at all.

Special shoutout to Oliver Chris's John Knightley. Absolutely had me in stitches.

And last but never the least, Johnny Flynn's Mr. Knightley:

To preface, I will never not fall for Mr. Knightley in any version that I watch. And really, get yourself a good looking enough actor with good enough chemistry with Emma and good enough acting chops and you should have a fairly successful Knightley.

I judge all my Knightleys by the Box Hill scene. And up to that point in the movie, I really liked Johnny Flynn's Knightley. He was playful and sexy and jealous and slightly bitchy as well. The duet scene was lovely because I always appreciate a man who can play instruments and sing well. The sexiness and chemistry of the dance scene was off the charts. That's all well and good. And like I said before, given any well cast actor, I probably would have liked them in those scenes as well, just as I've liked Northam's and Miller's Knightleys.

But, the Box Hill scene absolutely blew me away. To make sure I was not just biased towards the last Knightley I saw on screen, I did go back and compare each version's Box Hill scene and I am, actually, even more blown away. Some of it is a credit to the directing and script, but a large part of it is Johnny Flynn's acting in that scene.

As far a script and directing, the set up to the fight scene was fantastic. Loved Anya's expression changes after she makes the joke. Loved Miranda Hart's Miss Bates as she realizes what Emma meant. The silence that followed. Knightley's shocked face and how sympathetic he was to Miss Bates. Can probably write a whole thing just about this scene alone.

I loved the fact that Knightley had an internal struggle as to whether or not to approach Emma and reproach her for her behavior. I know the book has him tell Emma about his struggle but that just doesn't work as well for me on screen.

During the scene you can just tell how frustrated and disappointed in her he is even though he tries to keep his voice low. But the way he reprimands her does not at all feel lecture-y and I feel like part of it is because it seems like he starts to lose control a little bit as well. His voice starts to crescendo as she stubbornly refuses to admit she was in the wrong and culminates in "badly done, indeed!" with actual fingerpointing. Yikes.

Then he losses steam and looked regretful, almost devastatingly so, at his own outburst and perhaps felt that he was losing her by giving this speech and looked as if he would have said something more - an apology or some words of comfort to soften the blow? - but didn't.

This remorse and the struggle at the beginning really bookended the scene for me.

Absolutely loved his Knightley, and, really, him as an actor after that.

The proposal scene as well was very good. His delivery was just really good. The way he said "If I loved you less then I might be able to talk about it more." with some regret and then closing his eyes as if he can't believe what he just said. Soooo good. Also, he cries very pretty, lol.

The delivery of the three "yes" during the kiss scene as Emma asked for confirmation that he really was ok with giving up his house to come live with them was also brilliant. It just kept getting softer and softer but he never breaks eye contact. Absolute chef's kiss. His closed eyed little smile of content after Emma kisses him just made me melt into a puddle.

Yup, overall I'd say I rather liked his interpretation of Mr. George Knightley. 😜

I did wish they hadn't giving him such sideburns but after watching some Emma interviews I can totally understand. If he didn't have the sideburns there'd be more complaints about how young this Knightley was. He's got such a baby face.

...I seemed to have written an entire essay on this movie...yeah, I just have a lot of feelings and thoughts about this version...

#Emma #emma 2020 #jane austen #movie review #austen adaptations

[dreamaboutwhathappens]

the man was FILLED with easter eggs and metaphors. here they are!

1. being in the room where it happens

in the lyric video for the man, we see a woman working so hard to try and get to where all the men are -- on top, both physically and metaphorically. in the music video, we see The Man starting out here, just another normal day at the office. another normal day in charge, and on top.

2. “i’d be a fearless leader”

The Man not so much as walks into the room and makes a few comments before getting applause for his work. at the same time, every desk in this office can be seen with a mountain of papers, files, and books stacked on top of them. for all the hard work that these people are doing in this office, The Man gets all the applause for a fraction of it.

3. the subway

now, obviously what we have here is what you have on any and every subway or other form of local transportation -- that one asshole who feels entitled to take up as much space as he wants at the discomfort of everyone around him. while i could get into how mansplaining is a metaphor for men feeling the right to take up more space in society then women, i won’t. instead, i want to focus on all the little details on this subway that tell men they can. at the very, very top of the frame, we see text at the bottom of an ad that says “because you DESERVE what you want” and the posters on either side of The Man tell us “mother nature doesn’t stand a chance” and “capitalize on the feeling”. this is how society treats men. they should get to do whatever they want, based only on their feelings or wants. this notion will become important in the subway station.

shoutout to the girl in the miss americana hoodie! i think we can safely say she’s listening to lover on her headphones.

4. the newspaper

for this image, i turned the brightness WAYYY up so we could read the newspaper. the leading headline is “what man won the year in celebrity dating?” with the caption “who crushed it this year?” one headline says “years most eligible CEO’s” and another says “men in love in sports”. now, i don’t have to tell you that taylor swift was vilified for her relationships. these headlines show the difference between how men and women are treated when it comes to relationships. what’s it like to brag about getting bitches and models?

on the back cover, we see a contrast between how men and women are viewed in society. the ad dedicated towards men has a very strong and tough vibe to it, and the article beneath it carries the title “it’s men against boys with no ladies around.” in fact, the only mention we get of said “ladies” is in the “style section” where we see two sexy, rail thin women posing at fashion shows. while society views men for their strength, women are supposed to be objects of beauty and desire, and nothing more. 

5. here lies taylor swift’s reputation (and all her previous albums)

now, obviously, the sign says “missing, if found, please return to taylor swift” and grafitied on the walls are the names of the albums whose masters taylor does not own. remember when those ads on the subway told men that you DESERVE what you want? that’s what empowered The Men who stole taylor’s masters to take them. they wanted them, after all! let’s also remember that The Man is can be seen pissing on the wall in this shot. it’s a metaphor for The Men who own taylor’s old albums and are essentially pissing on all her hard work. we can also see “KARMA” written in big letters in the middle of all the albums, which invokes a lyric from look what you made me do: “all i think about is karma, and then the world moves on but one things for sure, maybe i got mine but you’ll all get yours”. pretty sure karma is coming for The Men who own taylor’s masters.

if you look closely, you can also see a sign to the left of The Man that says no scooters! sc*oter bra*n is not welcome at the 13th street station

6. “i’d be just like leo in st. tropez”

for your viewing pleasure, i have included an image of leo in st. tropez. we can see women in bikinis, and every sort of expensive, luxurious form of leisure you could think of. during the verse where we see The Man on the yacht, she sings “they’d say i hustled, put in the work, they wouldn’t shake their heads and question how much of this i deserve”. this is reminiscent of The Man when he was in the office and how, no matter how much work he did or didn’t do, he is heralded as a genius. the point of saying she’d be just like leo in st. tropez is not to try and call out leonardo dicaprio for going a cruise and having some fun. people should be entitled to celebrate and vacation however they please. the point is that women should be able to do the same thing.

7. The Man’s “walk of shame”

this is a metaphor for how men in society are treated when they take a misstep. while women can be criminalized and thrown the wolves, it appears that men always have people on their team, and in this case, hands lining up to be high-fived. men often are not held to the same standards as women, and even when they do something wrong, they face very little backlash for it, and normally have their own set of groupies or supporters telling them that they were really in the right (and they are allowed to believe it).

at the back of the hallway, there hangs a portrait of The Man pointing at the camera, as if to say “you ARE the man.” it feels like uncle sam, but in a “ i want YOU for us army whatever your heart desires” kind of way.

8. world’s greatest dad

the bar for men is so low that when they do the very minimum (in this case, merely look after their own child), they get commended for it. imagine if this were a woman. would she be applauded? no, she would probably be reprimanded for being on her phone and ignoring her child, like The Man did here.

9. bragging

this one is pretty self-explanatory. what’s it like to brag about raking in dollars and getting bitches and models? what’s it like when it’s all good if you’re bad and it’s okay if you’re mad? in this scene, we see The Man telling all his buddies about the bitches and models and dollars, and then freaking out on somebody. 

10. raking in dollars

who's on the 100 dollar bill? he is! the serial number on this bill also ends in 13. i thought there might be more hidden goodies here, but if there are, the video isn’t in high enough resolution to tell. the only other thing i can make out was that it said “for motion picture use only” which i thought would be an easter egg until i rendered it in photoshop and could read it clearly. oh well!

11. raising money for the women’s charity

a problem we see in society a lot is people of privilege being an ally only by action, not by everyday behavior. here, we see The Man benefitting a women’s charity, but all throughout the video we haven’t seen him go out of his way to respect or give a voice to women. even in this shot, a woman stands on the sidelines while The Man takes all the glory. while he raises money for women, he has no other character traits that show he actually cares about them. 

in a different shot of this scene, a water bottle from taylor’s merch can be seen on the sideline.

12. the unimpressed umpire

this is taylor’s dad! his name is scott. in a video full of mediocre men, scott is our resident Good Man :)

13. the freakout

in 2018, serena williams unleashed on an umpire who accused her of cheating and stuck her with her third penalty of the game -- penalties the whole crowd was certain she did not deserve. she even said at the time “To lose a game for saying that, it’s not fair. How many other men do things? There’s a lot of men out here who have said a lot of things. It’s because I am a woman, and that’s not right.” this is a DIRECT representation of this. it’s as they say, it’s all good if you’re bad, and it’s okay if you’re mad.

14. the hat

the hat our tennis attendant is seen wearing says “TS” in big letters, and in a circle around it, it says “i’d be a fearless leader, i’d be an alpha type.” taylor’s dad can also be seen wearing this hat.

15. the one where lover is NOT the happy couple’s first dance

first of all, this shit makes me SO uncomfortable. this is obviously an allusion to all the men who marry MUCH younger women, which is poignant because, again, taylor suffers mercilessly for her relationship choices, and they’re nowhere near as abhorrent as this. something also worth mentioning: scott borchetta is turning 58 this year. i’ll let you figure the rest out.

16. mr americana

any taylor swift fan will know that in january, taylor released a documentary with an intimate perspective on her life titled “miss americana” which focused a lot on the struggles taylor has overcome in her career. choosing miss americana to be a part of this video is a wise choice, because it highlights those same struggles that taylor is tackling in this music video. we can probably assume that mr americana faces significantly less struggles.

every part of this poster has been revamped to be man-centered, even down to the star role - tyler swift, not taylor.

17. take two

here, our director tells The Man that he needs to be sexier, and more likable. this reflects criticism that taylor and other women in the public eye hear almost daily. as i mentioned before, women in society are valued only as objects of beauty and desire, and here, we see the script flipped to bring that to light. 

in this final scene, we leave the fantasy world of the music video that The Man is starring in, and go to what appears to be a woman-dominated world, insinuating that the universe of the music video is one opposite to our own. this drives home the claim that if taylor were the man, she would be the man.

18. dwayne the rock johnson

i thought that having the rock voice The Man was really poignant. think about the rock’s career -- started out as a wrestler, is now an actor, but he’s known for his kindness and his dedication to social justice. if you asked me if he had ever been a part of any scandal, i would tell you no. and that’s exactly who The Man is. that’s exactly who this song is about, and that’s who taylor is. she has had an insanely successful career spanning over a decade, crossing into multiple different genres and fields, and excelling at all of it. she’s friendly, hard working, a social justice warrior, and a philanthropist. but all of those things are pushed aside in favor of the negative. using the rock as The Man was the perfect way of finishing off the statement,

“if i was a man, i’d be the man.”

#the man #taylor swift #directed by taylor swift #lover #the man music video #this took me SO LONG to finish #i've had class and meetings all day so i have been writingi it since like eight am #BUT I FINALLY FINISHED IT #ii'm sure some of these things have already been said #but i just love writing posts like this so much #and this video was FILLED with meaningful and poignant stuff #i can't get OVER it #this video said EVERYTHING #i..... #there's nothing left to be said #i love it so much #random thoughts with grace

[yossariandawn]

gen relationships: cobra kai, fdtd, fullmetal alchemist!!

This took forever, I am so sorry @alwaysupatnight! You're partially to blame though, since many nights I could have been doing this we spent talking about all the things instead 😂 Already answered FDTD here, so here are Cobra Kai and Fullmetal Alchemist under the cut!

Cobra Kai:

My favorite parent-child relationship: I like how Daniel and Sam’s characters mirror each other in interesting ways. Oh! I also really love Carmen and Miguel too, and I hope we see more of them interacting next season. Tie? I’ll allow it.

My favorite sibling relationship: Sam’s brother is hardly a character (yet?) and I can’t think of any other siblings in the show! Pass.

My favorite family relationship (other): La Russo Family! They get the most screentime as a family, and I enjoy when Daniel’s mom comes in and stirs things up too. Even the stupid cousin who should be fired from everything gets to be included to I guess lol.

My favorite friendship between two people: Johnny and Miguel! They could have fit into a lot of these categories, and only lost on a technicality for the parent child one. But I do feel like the fact that they aren’t actually parent/child is what makes their relationship so interesting to me. So friendship it is!

My favorite friendship between a group: Old Gen Cobra Kais! I loved that reunion so much.

My favorite mentorship: Johnny and Miguel. 💖 It’s the heart of the show for me, and I love that they are both learning from each other. And shoutout to the memory of Mister Miyagi, who still feels very present in the show, which I really love.

My favorite rivalry: Johnny and Daniel! Iconic, complicated, and so much fun to watch these two men both with one foot in the past duke it out. Also, I am looking forward to the continued evolution into frenemies next season! You could even say, 🎵 I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life.  🎵

My favorite hatred/antipathy: Fun fact, I find straight up hatred to be one of the most boring motivators for a character. So this one always stumps me a bit. But I absolutely loved when Daniel went to Japan and met up with Chozen again. I really loved Chozen, and their weird dynamic, and want to see him again. Please, show! Bring back Chozen!

My favorite potential relationship between characters who never talk in canon: I’m going to go with Amanda LaRusso and Hawk or Tory. I believe neither have had much interaction with Amanda, and I think they  BOTH need some tough mama bear love.

Fullmetal Alchemist: 

It’s been too long since I’ve watched both the original and Brotherhood, so this is going be answers from both series AND I couldn’t find some of the characters names, and got frustrated and gave up, so I hope this makes sense. Remember, it’s been a long time since I watched it so I’m winging some of these a bit.

My favorite parent-child relationship: Hughes and his daughter is the only one that’s coming to mind right now, so they win by default.

My favorite sibling relationship: EASY. Elric Brothers for the easy win!

My favorite family relationship (other): hmmm, maybe Ed, Al, Granny and Winry? To be clear, I was fine with Ed and Winry becoming a couple later, but I did like that the boys always had a home waiting for them, with people who loved them, so I’m counting all of them as one big family here.

My favorite friendship between two people: Roy and Hughes, or Roy and Riza. I did ship Roy and Riza post everything, but I also really enjoyed their strange friendship too that ran through the show itself.

My favorite friendship between a group: I enjoyed the soldiers whole gang. And I remember liking the Ouroboros Gang’s dynamic, though I’m not sure that was a friendship, exactly. 

My favorite mentorship: the Elric Brothers and Izumi.

My favorite rivalry: I really liked Edward and Roy’s whole deal? I feel like that counts as rivalry.

My favorite hatred/antipathy: Maybe Scar vs the military? I thought they handled it pretty well.

My favorite potential relationship between characters who never talk in canon: Who doesn’t talk to each other in canon? hmmm. OH MY GOD. I was just scrolling through the wiki and apparently HILTER is a character in the show?! I do not remember that. So, I’m going to go with Hilter and Scar, cause I feel like Scar would just straight up kill Hilter if he had a chance, and someone’s got to do it.

Thank you for asking, and for picking hard ones. And for keeping me up to late not doing this all those times too. 💖💖💖

#answered #Cobra Kai #fullmetal alchemist #ask games #gen relationships

[goose-books]

(original image credit to @/theyshane on unsplash)

a month or so ago the wonderful and very sharp-fanged @yvesdot said i should make a post about the process of Working On A Podcast - what, exactly, does that entail? and so today i set down upon your table a long post about the process of this podcast, its unique struggles, and What Comes Next!

for those of you who are new here: a modern tragedy is my podcast-in-progress, a loose retelling of three of shakespeare’s plays (romeo&juliet, hamlet, and macbeth) set in a modern-day high school. or, alternatively, “so so much drama localized inside a few overlapping friend groups of gay* people”

post under the cut!

tag list (ask me to be added/removed): @piyawrites @harehearts @bisexualorlando @guulabjamuns

*well. gay people and indrajit “macbitch” chopra. never let it be said i don’t have cishet rep 😤

what i mean when i say “podcast”

sometimes when i say, “i’m writing a podcast,” people get the wrong idea - they think i’m going to sit down, maybe with some friends as guest stars, and talk into a microphone for an hour. what i really mean is that i’m writing a fiction podcast - something like an audio drama, if you will.

i’ve had this story concept for a long time (since i realized i was gay, actually. sometime around my coming out i was like “...sapphic romeo and juliet. oh i’m a genius”), but it never really worked as a novel. my inspiration for making it a podcast was the penumbra podcast! which i am not caught up on but which dragged me shirt-collar-first into the world of podcasts. [blowing a kiss to mars] for juno steel.

i will admit that i actually... haven’t listened to a ton of podcasts. mostly because my incredibly helpful attention-deficit brain said listening to things is impossible forever. but let me tell you that starting to write AMT in script format worked immediately. and in hindsight? it makes sense. i mean, i am retelling some of the most famous plays of all time... why not get a little theatrical with it?

the process so far

the podcast is drafted! all 16 episodes of it. all... 176k words of it... only took me a year and a half...

i have my main cast together! AMT has a lot of side characters, not all of whom are cast yet, but my main recurring squad is gathered and i love them all VERY dearly. (also, the population of people i know irl is 75% theater kid. so i think i will be able to figure out the side character thing.)

within the group of voice actors, i also have three assistant directors, a term i use loosely because mostly i just mean… those are my right hand men. the main folks i bounce ideas off of and the main folks i have helping me organize all of this. i’ve said multiple times that i’m just the keyboard monkey and would be hopelessly out of my depth without my beloved assdirectors. (shoutout to @asimpleram, the only one who uses tumblr, you are my best friend and i love you oh so much)

i also have two “bootydirectors” who gave themselves that name and that’s just the people who know the most about recording technology and acting. thanks kings

right now the scripts have been sent out to some sensitivity readers and i am currently editing! (both with regards to sensitivity reader feedback, and also just editing the plot and character arcs in general.) (if you want me to send you AMT and you’re willing to give me your thoughts i will straight-up send it to you honestly just know it’s LONG)

i actually did not consider that writing this might be uniquely hard before i started

fun max tip: if you look too far ahead down the road and realize the breadth of the project you’re taking on you’ll freak yourself out so just dive into things headfirst without checking both ways or considering your actions!!! [i am giving you a double thumbs up from behind my monitor]

i have never written anything like AMT before! it has been an experience! there have been some unique struggles!

working with other people is harder than i expected! which is not about my group, all of whom are lovely people. it is about me and my little OCD rat brain that hates letting go of control. even though... an inherent part of writing a script... is that at some point other people will be involved... wild, i know.

9 main characters! AMT has 9 main characters. this is somewhat excusable because the whole thing is episodic and more like a season of a tv show than a novel. but still. 9 main characters. why did i do that

i’ve never written episodically before, so i’ve had to figure out how to fit the plot into appropriately spaced intervals. there are three running plotlines (one for each play), and they’re all parallel and eventually convergent. so everything’s happening at once and it’s… hard to make episodes that aren’t just “max threw a bunch of scenes together because they were happening at the same time.” (i will admit i’ve defaulted to chronological order when spacing episodes, so the timeline doesn’t get confusing. but i hope each episode is cohesive on its own.)

balancing the tragedy and comedy in tragicomedy has been… interesting. i do to some degree feel like AMT’s gone darker than i initially imagined it; while it’s a high school retelling of these plays (and thus there’s no. there’s no murder. the only person who dies is isaac’s dad and that’s six years precanon), all three plays deal to differing degrees with suicide, among other things, and it felt… disingenuous not to write about that from a modern high schooler’s perspective.

i can guarantee a long-term happy ending for AMT! i cannot guarantee much about what’s in the middle. (there are sixteen episodes; one of my directors likened episode 7 to a five-act play’s third act, when things really start to… hit the fan. he’s right and i’m obsessed with thinking about it that way)

the massive amount of time i have been working on the thing: i started writing this podcast in january 2019. i finished writing it this past summer (2020). that’s two summers that have passed without my recording it (which is obviously easier to organize in the summer… or it was before covid but you get my point). this is… a little disheartening? i don’t know; oftentimes i underestimate how long writing projects will take me. what it comes down to is my urge to put out content vs. my urge to make it perfect…

…especially since i’m technically competing with one william f. shakespeare. (the f is for fucking.) i mean, dear old billy shakes DID write the plot out for me ahead of time, which i appreciate, but still…

AMT is absolutely consumable if you don’t know the first goddamn thing about shakespeare’s works. that said. i assume some of the people who will listen to it are shakespeare enthusiasts, casual or otherwise, and that’s a little terrifying! AMT is a shakespeare retelling, but i’ve made these characters very much my own, and i suppose i worry about how others will approach that, and whether they will disagree with my interpretations, or the way i’ve adapted the plots, and so on and so forth... i just have to live with this one, honestly. i think i could edit AMT for a thousand years and probably still find something to change about it, so i will simply have to get over myself.

that said, i don’t regret the amount of time i’ve spent on it! i think the time i’ve taken to draft and edit these episodes has been well worth the wait; i’m genuinely very happy with what i’ve created, and whether or not you agree with, say, my interpretation of a modern hamlet family dynamic, i hope it’ll still be enjoyable!

so what’s next?

as i said earlier, the scripts are currently in the hands of sensitivity readers, and i’m editing!

over the summer, the cast met on zoom frequently to read through and rehearse scenes. and i will not lie it was the most fucking fun i’ve had this entire wretched interminable year. i am constantly charmed and befuddled by the feeling of Listening To My Words Read Out Loud By A Human Voice and also i love my friends so very much

we have a tentative plan to gather the cast (socially distanced and responsibly, of course) over thanksgiving break to make some actual stabs at recording! i am too afraid to concretely promise AMT Episode 1: Fortune’s Fool by the end of 2020 but like… i’m not NOT promising it! send me your finest vibes. we’re close.

#max.txt #amt tag #the amt cast has a blursed discord server which i have not posted a link to publicly because it’s mostly people i know irl #but if you're one of the folks who's read all of amt which is... a few of you... and you want into the server... dm me #we used to use it to organize rehearsals but now that school's started it's mostly just been me complaining about editing i won't lie #max shouts into the void in his personal liveblog channel while 90% of the cast is offline #anyway i reread this post like three times to make sure it makes sense because i'm illiterate <3

[fitzpirations]

yesterday, I had a thorough phone conversation with my wise mentor and fellow record slinger R, and he brought up the man in the above picture, Ewan MacColl, original writer of R's wedding song, "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face." He told me how MacColl was kicked out of America or something for his Communist views, and he never got the credit (or the money?) that he deserved for that song. I noticed as we spoke, that MacColl also wrote "Dirty Old Town," and today I saw he wrote "The Shoals of Herring," a song which has a shining moment in one of my favorite films, Inside Llewyn Davis.

I'd go as far to say that movie, directed by the Coen Brothers, starring Oscar Isaac, set in the folky New York '60s, with pale skies and wet socks, was formative to my knowledge and appreciation of music now. Anyway, R didn't get all the details correct on MacColl, I don't believe, but his story deeply fascinates me anyway. MacColl was quite outspoken, writing protest songs about the 1984-5 miner's strike, advocating for some of the "positive things that Stalin did," and even dedicating an album to the lifestyle of Romani people, called Travelling People.

He worked in radio, as I did, but he worked in radio when it was cool to tell people, and you could do proper voice acting and field interviews and radio plays and people would listen to that with vigor. He was an appreciator of traditional folk music, and he taught Peggy Seeger the words to "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" over long-distance phone call when she was in the U.S, because, as R recalled and wikipedia seems to affirm, he was "barred" from being in the country for being a Communist.

I'm losing steam here, and am afraid I'm not selling MacColl very well as an artist and a person. I'm only just learning about him. He also fell in love with Seeger, of which I was not previously familiar with either, when she was 21, and he was married and a good 20 years older. Apparently he didn't like many (or any?) cover versions of "...I Saw Your Face," but R told me about Clint Eastwood's Play Misty For Me (1971), and I asked "Misty?" like the Johnny Mathis song? Needless to say, R is always shocking with the breadth and depth? of his memory and countless encyclopedic knowledge. He told me he had to stay away from drugs, even in the glamour and excitement of the music industry and radio world, because he knew he would lose his knack for remembering these sorts of things, of which he used to make a name for himself. I'm not saying I never smoked marijuana or anything, he told me. I did smoke it a few times in the army, you know? But most of the time I did it very little, and sort of pretended it effected me when others were smoking it.

He sort of reminds me of the astronaut-type Jenny Offill's narrator of Dept. of Speculation was ghost-writing for, but maybe not. I can't quite remember the vibe that gentlemen was throwing down, but I have a correspondence with another old man from the business who as of this week has been sending me drafts of his book on the history of the station the three of us worked at. When I met Offill, she was only 2 football fields away or so from that station, and she wrote come to the dark side in the inside of my book, which was a sudden inside thing we had going after speaking for maybe 2 minutes, which just meant you should write, even if it seems it will lead no where. I wonder if MacColl, our comrade, thought his words which were written as a sort of challenge from Seeger to not be political in all of his works, would form into one of the greatest love songs of all time.

It is hard to write, I know. Reading about radio history surprisingly got me excited thinking about the era, in the way a good documentary gets you amped up, you know? There's a building up to something great, the talking heads are grinning and saying like "in those days we did everything so scrappy, but we were just having a blast," and I think of the person I was when I first heard "The Shoals of Herring," in a tiny movie theatre with my snoring father and 7 other patrons. How, for whatever reason, folk music and the idea of the Gaslight Cafe and Greenvich village in the '60s just struck me so forcefully I wouldn't speak of things other than banjos and beat writers and John Steinbeck novels for many years.

There's a power to these words, these stories, and I revisit it in so many different ways and through so many different sounds. The other day, I read about Bob Dylan and a party of people showing up at the Gaslight for a big shindig that was only recorded in a newspaper shoutout after the fact, I re-watched the Mrs. Maisel pilot with my mother where the lead stumbles in drunk past the Allen Ginsberg look-alikes (they all look like Allen Ginsberg) and begins to babble about her failed marriage. I think of the Coen Brothers characters, of the poetry and the comedy and cigarettes that were smoked, and how it feels to revisit those things, in "another day, another time." I think of people like Dave Van Ronk and Ewan MacColl, who most people I know don't know, and how the scene seemed to vanish in New York in a matter of years, but the energy still appears in wisps, in 2014 indie films no one watches until the lead actor gets put into a Star Wars movie, of a concert night the cast and crew and music people held in Town Hall to celebrate the sound, of bands being created because they really dug O Brother Where Art Thou? and I guess that energy is still in people who still read and still get blisters on their fingerpads from playing instruments with strings. It doesn't feel the same as it does the first time I heard it, the person I was when I was first reading East of Eden doesn't exist anymore, but the energy and the ideas of that time for me, of self-indulgent listens to folk albums and reading dusty books that taught me about grit and Hebrew sayings and what films to watch and things to read and music to pay attention to... that still remains. And this week those feelings of being amped up by life and art are brought to us by two old men and the likely botched tale of Ewan MacColl.

[et-lesailes]

lily white in blood red // chapter one

prologue

pairing: curtis everett x reader

word count: 1750

series summary: you are a part of the upper-middle section aboard snowpiercer, but you do not agree with the classist views of the people you are surrounded by. when the infamous curtis everett reaches your part of the train, you decide you want to join him in overthrowing the train’s misguided inventor– while curtis agrees to let you join, he has other plans in mind.

series themes: angst, romance, obsession, fighting/bloodshed, smut

chapter summary: reader meets curtis for the first time.

taglist:  @viarogers , @evanstush , @chibi-crazy , @chalamet-evans , @world-of-losers ,@songforhema, @sebabestianstan101 , @tanyam93 , @bval-1, @wonderwinchester ,@little-miss-exo, @poerebel , @bitchbabes-world , @gogomez-509 , @patzammit, @jbug491, @honeyloverogers​, @fatbottomedcurls​, @whores4thor​, @jennmurawski13​,@angrybirdcr, @mcueveryday, @scooby-doodoo, @peach-acid, @tansypoisoning,@quaiderade, @a-distantdreamer, @malthestorytellerblog, @rainbowkisses31,@melannie77, @gigistorm

notes: would just like to add that in the movie, curtis has been on earth for 17 years and on snowpiercer for 17. seeing that the reader is a train baby, following this logic would make her underage, and so for the purpose of this story, the numbers work out a little differently and i want to make it clear that reader is not a minor. however, i left it slightly up to interpretation how old she really is, just so it can be more relatable for anyone who’s reading! also shoutout to @allthefandomstogether​ for THIS BEAUTIFUL GRAPHIC, thank you so much love!!!  ♡

** if you would like to be added to the taglist, please send an ask! if you would like to be removed from this series, please don’t hesitate to let me know. :)

You do not have a lot of time to look at him. One of your fellow middle sectioners steps up right in between you and the revolution leader, ready to kill. Everything is happening so fast, it suddenly feels like your body is acting without your brain.

Your knife goes right into his neck, but it’s not Curtis’. 

The middle sectioner you had once called a friend is now dead at your feet from your own doing, his blood splattered across smooth skin and white lace. 

Perhaps there was a time in Curtis’ life where he was carefree, cheerful, naive. Surely he must have been as a little boy, at least, considering he had nearly two decades on Earth before everything became utter chaos. Before Snowpiercer.

Now, Curtis is a rugged and grizzly man, completely hardened from his years on board. The only thing on his mind for years now has been the revolution. The plan to battle his way to the front. He has no time to think of anything or anyone else, save for his team. 

Or so he thought, anyways, until he lays eyes on you for the first time, slightly shocked upon witnessing the betrayal of one upper class passenger towards another. 

At first, he only sees your face. Beautiful eyes looking back at his, round with innocence. Healthy roseate lips, a feature simple yet so rare in the tail section due to the grime and dryness in the air. Clean, smooth, flawless skin; he cannot even see a single raised swell or tiny mark. He had forgotten that people looked like this. During the past few days of fighting his way to the front of the train, he did not bother to look at the people he was brutally murdering. It had nothing to do with guilt. He simply does not think they are even worth an inch of space in his mind, and therefore their faces do not even have to be glanced at.

As he stares at you, he is suddenly thankful that he did not apply his usual technique to this situation. 

His eyes drift down, only to linger upon the thin alabaster lace adorning your figure. He is not sure why his eyebrows furrow upon seeing such ivory stained with vermilion, as if he himself is not covered in it. Then again, there is a difference; his layers of ratty, misfitting clothes were already sullied to begin with-- while morbid, adding blood to the material did not do much damage compared to what had already been done. You, however…

He decides almost immediately that there should never be even a drop of crimson upon your skin or your clothing ever again. Nor should you ever use such a weapon again, or even hold one. 

There is silence for a few moments. Edgar and the others have helped kill off the rest. You are the only middle sectioner standing, you are the one closest to the door of the next cart. You still have your knife in your hand, but it is relaxed by your side. You are a bit shaken up, but you do not look nervous of them. 

The only people Curtis has truly cared about for a while now are Gilliam, Edgar, and Tanya. No one else fazes him, no one else has ever had a deep enough impact. When he sees you, something changes. It almost feels like instinct. 

“Why did you do that?” he asks, body still naturally tense nonetheless. He does not understand what business an upper-middle sectioner has killing one of their own, but he is genuinely intrigued. 

“Are you Curtis?” you ask, and he feels slammed in the windpipe upon hearing your voice. Soft and sweet, just like that look in your eyes-- despite the fact you just killed a man. “Yes.” He answers, eyes locked onto yours. “You know me?”

“Of course… Everyone knows you. The man who’s starting a revolution. You’re trying to get to the front.”

“Then why did you help me just now?” he asks, though more curious than suspicious. He does not want to be suspicious of you. He can’t imagine you as deceitful or crooked. Not you. He already has an entire image of you in his head without even knowing your name, without even having known you for more than one minute.

You let yourself look at him for a few moments, feeling oddly relaxed. He is definitely not a sight you are used to, yet for some reason, you already feel strangely secure around him. “In school they taught us to hate the tail section,” you admit softly, looking towards the darkness of the cold night outside the windows. “That they don’t deserve the privileges and rights we get. That there has to be a balance, and so they don’t get showers or real food or nice clothes since we do.” You glance down at your light and dainty apparel before returning your eyes to his. “But I don’t think that seems right.” 

“You’re fuckin’ right, it’s not,” Edgar pipes up in a strong Irish accent, and your eyes dart to him in curiosity. “But are you only saying that so we spare your life? Because in that case, you can join your friends here lying on the-”

Curtis silences him with a mere movement of his hand, holding it outspread towards the younger’s direction in a gesture to shush him. You are not sure whether to be impressed or nervous that it works so instantly. You look up to those ice cold eyes again, wondering what he’ll say. You know that his friend has every right to feel wary. You can’t even imagine the twisted things the front sectioners have subjected them to; you quite literally do not know what they are, because such topics are not discussed. “I want to fight,” you suddenly say, and Curtis blinks. “I want to join the revolution, I want to help you guys.” You can feel everyone’s eyes on you, and while it feels a bit unsettling, you continue standing your ground as you look up at the team leader. 

Curtis has never met someone like you before, not even on Earth. He has never been so interested in someone, so damn fascinated. Perhaps it is because he is a man- a man who has been deprived of something quite a lot of men on this world need. Though, in truth, he really has not thought about sex in the past few years. In such grim living conditions, it is not particularly a priority of his. Perhaps he’s been a little too obsessive over his scheme of revolution, but it isn’t as though there are many viable options when it comes to women in the tail section. They are just as broken and battered as he-- if anything, sleeping with them may only result in even more melancholy. 

No, he decides, still studying you intently. That is not the reason he is so enticed. At least, not the whole reason, if his subconscious has something to do with it. You have a countenance he’s never quite seen before-- or at least, in a very long time. You are not broken or battered, nor are you strong and secure. You have guts, that is for sure, but in your figure standing before him, he sees something that is incredibly rare to come by on Snowpiercer. 

Immaculacy. Purity. Naivete. Gullibility. 

He sees lily white, and it is stained by blood red. In this moment, he realizes he has another job at hand entirely. 

“You’ll come with us,” he decides, and you slowly exhale as you look to the floor. “But you won’t fight.”

“What?” Your head snaps up, and he is expecting indignance, but all he sees is confusion and perplexity. 

He is even more captivated than before. 

“You won’t fight.” He repeats, then looks around, a sense of urgency in his features. “Where do you keep your clothes? Are they here?” You slowly nod your head, pointing to the drawer underneath your bed compartment. Your clothes are custom made for you, and rotated out every now and then with new items added to the mix made by the train’s tailors, based on your style. “Change.” He demands simply, and you’re even more puzzled than before. “I-it’s just a little bit of blood, it’s not a-”

“I said change.” 

You obey instantly, upset with yourself for even responding in the first place. You lean over to open the drawer, wondering what to wear. The tailors haven’t exactly made you an outfit suited for battle and bloodshed. He sees you pausing and speaks again. “Something like what you’re wearing will do just fine. Do you have another one?” You blink, not exactly having pictured yourself participating in the revolution dressed in a nightie, but you do not want to argue. You pick up a red one and he instantly shakes his head. “Not red.” You look up at him, trying your best to read him but put it back, biting your lip. “What color, then?”

“White.” 

You’re thankful you happen to have another one, unsure how he would react if you didn’t. One day you will ask him why this matters so much, but today is not that day. You need him to trust you. “Can you, uh, turn around, maybe?” you ask shyly, and he nods his head, turning away and giving a look to the others to do the same; they are looking at him just as baffled as you are, even slightly judgmental, but they comply. It still feels awkward anyways, but you quickly slip out of your stained apparel and change into the fresh one. “Okay, I’m ready.” He turns back around and shakes his head. “Not yet.”

Stepping closer, he pulls the sleeve of his thick jacket over his hand, reaching out carefully to wipe the drying blood off your upper chest. It is still fresh enough that no water is necessary, yet he swipes his tongue over his thumb and rubs your collarbones with it, his eyes focused. 

From now on, he wants this white lace completely preserved, and he will do whatever it takes to keep it that way. “What’s your name?” he asks you, and you make eye contact with him again, a slight blush on your cheeks. “Y/N,” you answer softly, and he lets the brand roll off his tongue. 

He isn’t sure how something can sound so right.

#curtis everett x reader #curtis everett smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #snowpiercer #lwbr

[lovingtheroyals]

OK SO! Ya girl’s back with one of THESE. It’s been a while since I’ve written one so, excuse me if it’s not as eloquent as the other one was. 

LETS TALK ABOUT THE BEAUTIFUL WONDERFULNESS THAT IS THIS IMAGE:

I HAVE LOTS OF VERY BIG FEELINGS!!!

Note: The image is from Crown Prince Haakon’s visit to the Al-Noor Islamic Centre last week. The visit was to show support following the shooting on August 10th

I’m going to begin by referencing the “So… Harry fucked up. Big time.” post. Feel free to pop over and read it, if you would like some background information (though I don’t believe you need to in order to understand this post). In that post, I mentioned the Islamic teachings as far as touching and shaking hands with individuals of the opposite gender. I also explained how that teaching is practiced in real life. One of the things I mentioned was the very thing being done by these women: “As a community of Muslim women (and men, but I’m talking about the women right now), we all have tips and tricks that we use to show people that we do not want to be touched. Some that are used universally are putting your hand on your chest to avoid a hand shake but still show sincerity, and clasping your hands together when you talk.” Here’s the difference between what happened between Harry and Zahira last September, and what happened between Haakon and these women. Haakon put his hand out to shake the first woman’s hand. She responded by putting her hand on her chest and gracefully explaining that she did not want to shake his hand. Haakon respected this choice and her personal choice. When he approached the next women, who also did not want to shake his hand, Haakon used the same gesture the first woman did. He learned. And he did so very quickly. 

This photo makes me proud. Firstly, the women are not afraid to communicate their preferences or to operate within their comfort zones. They are steadfast and I really really love that. Secondly, Haakon does not pressure the women or push them. He handles the situation with grace and maturity, without missing a step. This right here is what I want to see all royal men (and women) behave like. 

The masjid responded to the situation by issuing an apology to Haakon and his team. They did not apologize for the women or their “behavior”. They did not apologize because these women did not want to shake his hand. They did not apologize for “disrespecting the Crown Prince”. They apologized because they overlooked this concern and did not brief Haakon’s team at the meeting they had in advance of the engagement. They stated that they simply did not think of the issue and did not inform Haakon that there might be women present who would not want to shake his hand and how he could respond instead. Haakon and his team responded to that apology by stating that they had no issue with the incident and they felt as though it was a wonderful engagement. 

This “apology” situation brings me to two things. Firstly, I don’t believe an apology was necessary, though I do appreciate it. What I really don’t like is the number of people online stating that these women were disrespecting their future King and that they were being rude. These people are saying many many things but I won’t give them the time of day. What I’ll say is this: those people are idiots. The women are not being disrespectful. In fact, they’re respecting Haakon while still maintaining their comfort and personal beliefs. Say an ill word about these women and how they chose to handle this situation, and you’ll have words from me. Secondly, Haakon was not briefed in advance about the “protocol” or options in this scenario. He showed that this briefing wasn’t necessary. He showed that, with respect, grace, and humility, anyone can handle this situation without having been informed of the details in advance. In the Harry post, I mentioned that it was clear that his aids had not briefed him on the religious aspects of this situation but that he should be able to read a woman’s body language and handle the situation appropriately. Haakon today showed that I was right. Yes, the briefing would have been nice, but as adult men, and specifically adult men who greet others for a living, they should be able to read another person’s body language and respond appropriately and quickly. Haakon did that successfully at this engagement. 

This photo makes me very happy. It makes me feel comfortable and safe and wonderful. Not only was the situation handled appropriately, but everyone carried themselves with grace and humility. Everyone is clearly very happy and very comfortable. No one feels or appears out of place and no one has overstepped any boundaries. This is good. So yeah. Shoutout to Haakon.

Note (because I know this is going to come up): This is not intended to “bash Harry” or “bring up an old story”. I mention the original post (and mention Harry briefly in this post) to show the difference and to show how wonderfully Haakon handled the situation he was placed in. Moreover, many points in this post directly echo points I made in the original post. Scream at me about Harry and your comment will not be acknowledged. This is not about him.

#Crown Prince Haakon #norwegian royal family

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 59

I am so, so sorry for the delay on this week’s chapter. My hours at work have changed, and on top of it I had to make a 16 hour round trip in the car this past weekend.

The good news is, I have the next 4 days off from work, so I should be able to post on schedule going forward.  Shoutout to @charlylimph-blog and @baelpenrose for checking on me when I didn’t post Tuesday. Y’all are awesome.

I woke up to a faint smell, reminiscent of chili, and the whir of atmospheric scrubbers working overtime.  Groggily, I sat up and looked around, trying to find a clock that I slowly realized I didn’t own.  Instead of flicking open my datapad and scorching my eyes with the light of a thousand suns, I rose to stagger after the sound of laughter coming from my kitchen. I rubbed my eyes as I stepped into the light, only to be greeted by a wolf whistle and a simultaneous cry of dismay.

Still fighting off the blessed sleep of medication, I looked around and tried to reconcile the people in my kitchen with the faces I was expecting. A man too short to live there was standing with his back to me…That must be Alistair.  He’s early. Tyche, check.  Antoine, check plus bemused grin?  Woman with rich, dark skin and flashing white teeth, laughing…

“Xio? Where did you come from?” My nose scrunched in confusion.

“I’m going to say the same place you left your pants,” she teased.  “Nice legs.”

I glanced down and realized I was only clothed in one of Conor’s t-shirts. That explained the noise and why Alistair was very pointedly not looking at me.  Shrugging, I looked at my sister. “It covers more than some of the clothes people wear on the ship. Should I put on shorts, just in case?”

“Yes!” my assistant yelped. “That would be much preferred, Miss Reid.”

Tyche smirked as I tossed up my hands in resignation and went to assuage Alistair’s modesty.  When I returned, he was still bright red but at least facing me. Xiomara broke the silence. “Who are we still waiting on?”

“Conor and Maverick,” Antoine supplied. “Then we’ll make Maverick’s dinner while he’s in the shower and we can all eat.”

Comprehension dawned on her face. “That’s right… the food thing.  He doesn’t eat curry, I take it?”

I shook my head. “Not a huge fan, no. Sometimes he can handle vindaloo, but he’s been stressed, so we aren’t pushing it. Falafel and papadums for him.” I braced for some remark, but it never came.

“More for me,” she grinned, leaning on the counter to sneak a piece of meat before having her hand swatted away by Antoine.

“Conor eats enough to make up for it, believe me,” Tyche fake-grumbled, just as the men in question walked in.

“To make up for – oh! Curry night!” He gave a wide but exhausted smile as he waved Maverick toward the cleaning unit. “Your turn to go first, mate.” Maverick just nodded and dropped a kiss on each of our cheeks before retreating to wash off the dirt and sweat he was covered in. “Is this mine?” Conor murmured in my ear as he tugged the hem of my shirt.

“Shorts are Mav’s,” I pointed out. “I took a nap and woke up to find myself invaded.”

“You weren’t invaded,” Tyche argued. “We all arrived on time, but Grandma Kim said to let you sleep and that she would be checking when you woke up to make sure.  Before you get upset – “ she held up a hand to stop any objection I had, “it’s just a medical alert, and well within her job to set one.  She isn’t here to sic Lyric on any of us, so I’m guessing you got enough sleep for her.”

Antoine cleared his throat pointedly. “Not quite. She asked me to have you take another dose two hours after dinner.”

“Antoine…” I whined with utmost dignity. “You’re her boss. You can override her request, right?”

All vain hope was dashed by the flat look he levelled in my direction. Guess not.

“Another dose? Of what?”

My stomach sank as I remembered the sweaty Irishman currently draped around my shoulders. “Let’s wait until dinner, and I’ll tell you and Maverick first thing. I promise,” I turned my head to look in his eyes. “I just don’t want to repeat it, and it’s not fair for either of you to find out before the other.”

Eventually, everyone was washed and seated at the table. As I started to spoon some curry and lentils on my plate, Tyche cleared her throat and gave a pointed look.  Rolling my eyes and dropping my head back with a sigh, I snagged a papadum before speaking. “I got sent home from work today,” I started. “I fell asleep after several cups of Xiomara’s coffee, had a nightmare that left me screaming and hysterical. A medical scan showed that I have severe vitamin deficiency and exhaustion, so I was sent home to chug a vile concoction from GK and take a nap. Hence the pajamas.” I waved at myself in demonstration. “Noah wanted me to go to a medical bay for IV treatment and monitoring, but this was the compromise.”

“And if you aren’t better tomorrow, you’re going to the medical bay,” Maverick stated in a tone that most people used to explain that water makes things wet.

Conor apparently agreed, judging by the enthusiasm of his nod. “I encourage this and will do so – “

“Physically if necessary,” I finished for him. “Noah said the same thing. I was wondering where he got that from.”

“I got it from Antoine.”

The sound of three utensils being dropped was followed by deafening silence. Tyche, Xiomara, and I gaped at Antoine as he became very focused on the food in front of him. “This tastes of caprine… is that what it is meant to taste of?”

“Yes, it’s supposed to be goat, and don’t change the subject,” my sister grumbled. “Who did you threaten like that?”

“I am a nurse, Tyche!” he defended. “I say that quite often to recalcitrant patients, especially the elderly.  They do not like being treated for ailments – they think it means they are falling apart in their old age.  They often do not realize or understand that they will live longer if they simply get the treatment they need.”

“Speaking of falling apart,” Maverick interjected. “We finished testing on the samples from the failed swimming platforms.”

Xiomara leveled her fork like a weapon, first at Tyche and Antoine. “You? Hush.” She turned to a cringing Maverick. “You, speak. Now.”

“Yes ma’am,” he gulped around an unholy mouthful of falafel and ketchup. “The researchers tested samples from every individual piece of each platform. They were able to determine that the accelerated failure of the pieces was the cause of an iron-eating bacteria, not any flaw in the manufacturing or construction.”

She nodded at this news. “This is good. Keep going… what’s the bacteria and how do we rein it in?”

“Grey’s people don’t know the answer to either of those,” he answered apologetically.

“So, run it through the Ark’s database.”

“We did. Twice. Even then, it isn’t recognized.”

“Wait,” I stopped them both. “If they don’t know what it is, how do we know what it does?”

Maverick scowled at me like I asked a stupid question and should have known better. “They observed it eating the iron molecules in the metal.”

Okay, so I did ask a stupid question and should have known better. The scowl was fair, point to Maverick.

“Is there any danger to the ship as a whole?” Xiomara pressed on.

“They are trying to determine that now,” he admitted. “Only iron molecules are being… eaten? Processed? Whatever it is, only iron is affected.”

Seemingly satisfied, Xiomara nodded. “Sophia, please consider taking tomorrow to find out whatever is going on?”

My thoughts whirling at the conversational whiplash, I only shrugged. “It’s probably related to the gravity change. You know, increased anxiety, nightmares, all that.” I glanced at Antoine, hoping for confirmation.

Once again, my faith was misplaced. He shook his head, “Non. Gravity changes will cause increased anxiety, yes. But not the level of malnutrition you mentioned.  I am aware you eat regularly, if for no other reason than seeing you eat. There is no easily explained reason for you to be in such condition, and as such, I would like you to have tests done if I am not satisfied with your improvement by the end of the day tomorrow.”

“Do I have to?” I groaned. “I hate doctors… no offense, Antoine.”

“I am a nurse, so none taken.”

I felt a tapping on my left shoulder and turned to see Conor leaning across Maverick. “Sophie. Love. I know you hate it. But you wouldn’t let any of us just skive off going to the doctor if we were sick.” He pointed around the table, including Alistair and Xiomara. “If one of us so much as looked a bit droopy, you know you would task yourself with barking at our heels until we were checked out.”

“You did drag me to the medbay when I cut my hand,” Tyche pointed out.

“Annnnd you brought in Antoine when you realized I wasn’t eating,” Maverick chimed in.

Traitors, I thought petulantly.

Silent through all of dinner thus far, my assistant cleared his throat. “Sophia. From what I have seen just working with you, they have a point. If I, for instance, were exhibiting the signs you are showing, would you allow me to continue attending my daily responsibilities and trust that I was addressing the issue outside of my working hours?”

“Blast and BURN it all, why are you all being so logical?”

“Guilt trips don’t work,” Maverick pointed out. “You’ll convince yourself that you are doing the right thing for us all by hiding your symptoms.”

“And working harder just to prove you’re okay,” Conor chimed in.

“Mother henning people….” Xiomara trailed off lazily before flashing a smug grin at me.

“Et tu, Brute?” I begged. “Even you won’t let me work when I’m tired?”

“One,” she ticked off, holding up a finger. “You aren’t just tired, you are somehow malnourished, despite the fact that you are the most social eater I have ever met. Two, I have let you work when you were so-called tired. You literally passed out in my office on multiple occasions – “ She held up a hand when I tried to interrupt and plowed on. “Twice, it was mid-sentence.  Three, I’ll even go with you and have tests done on myself, just in case it’s something impacting everyone.”

“Wait – “ I sputtered. “That’s your negotiation? You’ll have tests done on you, and submit to treatment if needed, just to make me go? I’m not a child.”

“Then stop acting like one,” Tyche muttered, glaring at me and knowing full well I heard her.

As much as I wanted to fire back at her, something inside of me wilted. Tyche would never say I was being childish if it wasn’t true. We had literal screaming matches in the past because I was too adult as a teenager. “Fine,” I spat, ashamed. “I’ll go, the day after tomorrow, if I’m still not up to snuff.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #science fiction #humans are space orcs #aliens #apocalypse #original writing #original sci fi #will sophia ever catch a freaking break

[xviicprc]

10 Favorite Characters

Tagged by @pinkafropuffs​ (girl this are so fun to do, thank you!) about my 10 favorite characters so here we go-!

(y’all are ready to see how basic i am?)

1- N (Pokemon)

When will he return from the war-

Ferriswheel shipping flashbacks because honestly? When will Pokemon give us a character as good as N again

2- Edward Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Ah, Fullmetal is basically responsible for me being a weeb lol

While everyone else can do an analysis of his complexity, I simply will say Edward is the sort of character I love as protagonists of anime-

Love how he isn’t either too serious or too goofy. Hmm it’s hard to me to say what I like specifically about him lol. 

Maybe it’s just nostalgia

3- Edmond Dantes (Fate Grand Order)

Ah yes, the current husband of mine- discount Komaeda. 

By seeing my art you should realize how much i love him lol

4- Nanami Kiryuu (Revolutionary Girl Utena)

YOu see, normally I DESPISE characters like Nanami, even after they develop as characters since most of the time they end up being “mean because inferiority complex” HOWEVER Nanami doesn’t have that, she is great and she know’s it!

(Also most of the time, these types of characters aren’t really used comically- and I don’t mean in the sense of “Haha the bully girl got what she deserved!” but instead of this character getting themselves in comical situations)

But it’s the way she matures across the show what made her my favorite among the cast. I love the cast and the show as a whole- but if I had to pick one character among them, it’s Nanami.

5- Akihiko Sanada (Persona 3)

I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS-

But jokes aside Akihiko is my favorite character in Persona 3 (well....close tie with Shinjiro BUT).

He is just (lies on the floor) THE character I always romance because his route is just so cute and makes me feel warm and fuzzy having FEELINGS-

And I remember distincly rejecting his advances on accident and then realizing what I did and going “D:!!!!”

THis man right here was my REAL introduction to HAVING FEELINGS for anime men and I’ll never forgive HI-

6- Xion (Kingdom Hearts)

Shoutout to the firsts characters who I made deeper that the author intended.

If you ever have to fight agains me set it to Vector to the Heavens- if you have to avenge me set it to Another Side while you fight. 

Do you fucking know how I was at 12 years old?? No friends, no homework playing KH 358/2 days??? How much I got attached to Roxas and Xion as a lonely girl who was just discovering things about friendship?

so I’ll ramble on about my interpretations on them because i’ll make it as deep as i want-

The way in which they form a friendship related on both knowing about the keyblade and having no memories from their previous life and the way in which it all comes tumbling down thanks to things outside of their control and how much they try to stop it- 

The way Xion is willing to sacrifice herself for a greater good fully knowing that what the Organization is doing is bad and would endanger the worlds at large and how she, on her own accord, chooses to return her memories to sora even if it means dissapearing from the memories from everyone and truly dying in every sense of the world- all while having to run away from the organization because she would drain all the life from roxas because that was how she was created as a puppet-!

And the final clash! the way in which xion uses all of her power left to fight against the control of the organization because she wants roxas to slay her because she would rather die and lend her power to roxas instead of killing him and being used by the organization!

The way that final fight got integrated into the story! how she warns roxas when she will attack, or how she screams at him “STOP HOLDING BACK!” as her last efforts as an individual hanging to the remnants of their bond-!

As an extra note I’m so glad they didnt “end up together”- it was a good showcase of two teens who had a solid friendship that didn’t need to be turned into a romance because they already love eachother as friends!!!

So as you can see i have a lot of feelings for Xion-

7- Kishinami Hakuno (Fate/Extra)

SHOUTOUT to my favorite protagonist in the Fate Franchise she is so good and I just,,,,,,,,,love her?????

(if you pick Male Hakuno you are absolutely invalid)

So I completly love how she ends up inderectly being a subversion of the “amnesiac character self insert” because she NEEDS to start in a black slate for her to grow.

Love how sassy she can be in the dialouge options and SHE ALLOWED SABER ARCHER AND CASTER TO GROW AS PEOPLE and-

Play Fate/Extra

8-Kcalb (The Gray Garden)

He is so good :c when will he return from the hiatus.

Honestly he is the best character in the game and I love his interactions with Etihw and honestly he defined what 14 year old me loves in character design. AESTHETICS

9-Sonic (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Of Course I had to add the one who started this mess.

Sonic the Hedgehog deserves a better writting team than the one he has! SONIC’S CHARACTER PEAKED IN THE FICKUGGN SIDE GAME SONIC AND THE BLACK KNIGHT BUT EVERYONE IS LIKE “HAHA WHAT A BAD RETELLING OF ARTHURIANA”-

So anyways- Sonic the Hedgehog in the GOOD games with story is someone who never gives up no matter how hard or grim everything may seem, and how he shows kindness to those who needs it, who does what HE feels is the right thing, no matter what everyone else may say and maybe I’m reading too deep but this lil fucker whas the first videogame I ever *emulated* owned and had been a part of my childhood since I learned what the Internet was- I pirated the entire anime and took a REAL liking to drawing thanks to him.

Everyone out there in early 2010 tracing anime while I traced Sonic X screenshots lol

10-Steven Quartz Universe (Steven Universe)

I have a lot of feelings for Steven Universe as a show- and especially his protagonist.

When the show started everyone complained how annoying Steven was- but I never found him annoying? I really like how he has “traditionally femenine” traits and powers (healing, shielding, crying a lot) and isn’t shamed for it? The show has MANY problems but it I LOVE it.

And, since the start of the series I liked Steven, I love how he develops in the show, and honestly so many moments I saw myself in him- and then came Steven Universe Future which he explores his trauma after the events of the series- just everything about him just hit’s home- even more than I expected (the cactus Steven-)

How Steven goes from viewing the Gems as these all knowing powerful mother figures- and how he feels as if he has to live up to their expectations, and the impossible barrier set up by his mother at the start of the series-

(How later he view’s himself as a fraud- and how he doesn’t “pay the consequenses” and he is just “as bad as his mother”- the internalized self hatred, his drifting friends and represed trauma- I’m glad the show does this- I don’t think I would have self reflected as much as I did without this show)

Steven Universe is a show I hold close to my heart, so do I with it’s protagonist.

 Haha I don’t feel like tagging people after that lol

#10 favorite characters #lmao i have basic taste? #maybe

[softnow]

paracosm [ii/?]

msr | college au | this chapter: gen | words: 2.2k

she resents the idea that some boy who will no doubt be gone in another week’s time can ruffle her so much.

it’s dana’s turn, folks. necessary shoutout to @o6666666, champion of baby dana and all her emotions. also tagging @today-in-fic.

← last chapter. / ao3.

— — —

Dana has always been good with change. It comes with the territory of being a Navy brat. As a kid, she attended four different elementary schools, two middle schools, and she graduated high school with a class she’d only known for less than a year.

But there is a difference between moving with her family—keeping, if nothing else, the familiarity of her siblings, her parents, the old worn quilt on her old twin bed—and moving alone to the other side of the country, starting college (an exciting but daunting task on its own) nearly 3,000 miles away from everything and everyone she’s ever known.

Granted, she’s handling it better than some—better, for instance, than the girl who lives across the hall and cries on the phone to her parents every night, or the boy in her math class who comes only every third day and reeks of alcohol and pot when he does. Dana, at least, is making an effort.

She has gone to a few welcome mixers, to an underwhelming movie night hosted by her RAs, to a panel discussion on monoclonal antibodies with an audience of serious-looking grad students and old men in sweaters. She leaves her door open while she studies, just in case somebody should like to pop in. On two different weekends, she has allowed her roommate to take her out to parties filled with people who, even if they are new like her, seem to have known each other their whole lives. She has even formed a tentative working friendship with her bio lab partner, and she is frequently invited to have dinner in the dining hall with some of the girls on her floor (although, after a few nights of awkward small talk over rubbery pizza, she has stopped accepting).

But still. Despite the built-in camaraderie of the freshman experience, of being one of many sharing the same anxieties, excitements, and first-time hangovers, she feels…foreign. A little out of her depth.

She tells herself it doesn’t matter. College is, after all, simply a means to an end. But when she calls her parents on Sunday afternoons and her mother asks if she’s making friends, having fun, having the all-American college experience—the one she herself, married and pregnant right out of high school, was denied—well. Dana’s never enjoyed lying.

So she’s glad for the library. She may not know the difference between all the fraternities or where to find the best pizza in town or what a Jägerbomb tastes like, but she has the Dewey Decimal System down pat. She knows all the nicest reading nooks—even the ones the other freshman haven’t found yet—and she gets a startlingly large amount of satisfaction out of booting couples who think they’re sly enough to make out in the fifth-floor economics section. (In the three and a half weeks she’s been working here, she’s kicked out four couples. A rush, every time.)

She likes being the one who, at least for a few hours a day, gets to ask how can I help you? She likes that she has the answers. And she likes—perhaps better than anything—that here, it is perfectly fine to be alone. She doesn’t feel self-conscious behind the circulation desk the way she sometimes does sitting alone at a table meant for four in the student union. There’s nothing sad about it. There’s no pressure to socialize.

Or: there didn’t used to be.

Because now there’s a boy. A persistent boy. A persistent, irritating boy who is tall and lanky with a flop of dark hair and a collection of wrinkled t-shirts, who goes by his last name even though (in Dana’s opinion) his first is actually kind of nice, who, for some unknown reason, has set his sights on her and has made it his life’s mission to not give her a moment’s peace, who has decided that any day she is here, he will be too, hanging all over her desk, following her from floor to floor like a lost puppy, forcing her to listen to his questions and his stories and his inappropriate flirtations which, despite her best efforts, turn her pink as a cherry blossom, damn her Irish heritage.

Even when she tells him to get out—Mulder, I need to work—he will only grin and lean closer like he was never taught about personal space and say something completely disarming like, Dana, has anyone ever told you that you have Cassiopeia right…here? And then he will touch her little constellation of freckles so gently with the tip of his finger, like he’s really not touching her at all, and she will lose track of her filing or her faxing or whatever it was she was doing before he sauntered up, so cool and composed, to lean across her desk in the first place.

It would be easier, she thinks, if he wasn’t so nice. And clever. And handsome. If he was a dumb, ugly jerk, she would have no problem throwing him out (and she’d probably take an even greater amount of satisfaction in it than with the horny couples).

Because she’s not stupid. She knows that pretty, older boys with low, rumbly voices and plush, pink lips don’t seek out girls like her. Not with good intentions, at least. Boys—men, she corrects, because, god, he’s twenty-one—like him go for a different sort of girl. Taller. Older. Louder, funnier, sexier.

So there has to be some ulterior motive, has to, and it’s only a matter of time before his sweet exterior cracks to reveal whatever is really lurking beneath those puppy dog eyes and big smile and soft, gentle hands.

She hopes he just leaves her alone before then. It will be easier, really, for everyone involved.

—

It is a quarter past ten, and Dana lies curled on her lumpy twin bed, her phone cradled in both hands, her back to the wall. The cinderblocks are cool through her thin pajama top.

“He came in again today,” she says, low, like a secret.

“And?” Her sister’s voice is tinny and amused, two thousand-odd miles and a phone line away.

“He said I was beautiful,” she says. “He said I was going to win the Nobel Prize.”

Missy hmms. “For being beautiful?”

Dana shakes her head even though there’s nobody here to see it. Her roommate has been gone for three nights in a row.

“For curing cancer.”

Melissa snorts. “And what’d you say?”

Dana bites the inside of her cheek, the sore patch she’s nibbled raw.

“Nothing.” She draws the blankets tighter around herself. “I told him to leave.”

A pause. Dana thinks her sister might laugh at her, but Missy only sighs.

“Dana.”

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Don’t do that. This guy likes you. Why are you—”

“No, he doesn’t,” Dana says. She scrunches the phone cord between her fingers and releases it. Scrunches. Releases.

Melissa does laugh now. “Excuse me, what?”

“He doesn’t like me, Missy. He’s just…playing.”

“Just playing.” Melissa doesn’t sound convinced.

“The way guys do. You know. When they don’t mean it.”

“Oh, my god, Dane.” Melissa laughs again. “‘Just playing’ is calling you after midnight to ask what you’re wearing. It’s…it’s buying you a few drinks, taking you home, and not calling you the next day. This boy is not ‘just playing.’”

When Dana doesn’t say anything, Melissa continues: “Babe,” she says. “Do you honestly believe this guy would be spending that much time in the library if he was ‘just playing?’ Last week, you told me he was there until eleven o’clock on a Friday. Trust me. No guy is spending his Friday night in a library for a girl if he’s just playing.”

Dana bites her cheek again, licks her bottom lip. She thinks about last Friday. He’d shown up a little after eight, fresh from a shower, his hair still damp. She’d been in the fourth floor biology section, pulling books on tree frogs to fill a hold request, and he’d materialized behind her, smiling, with a cup of coffee and a packet of peanut M&Ms. The flip in her stomach had almost knocked her over.

“Hey,” he said. “I was looking for you. Here. Sustenance.”

And he’d thrust the coffee and the candy out at her with a dip of his chin, almost shy. She’d had a lab at eight that morning, and she’d been exhausted. The coffee smelled heavenly—rich and creamy. Exactly what she hadn’t even known she’d needed.

But instead of taking it, she’d folded the books about tree frogs to her chest, lifted her brow, and said, “Mulder, no. You can’t be doing this.”

“Why not?” He seemed genuinely curious. Concerned, maybe, that he was breaking some food-and-drink policy.

She tightened her grip on the books and said, “I don’t need it. I’m working. I need to focus.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Caffeine. Sugar. I only have your best interests at heart.”

Her cheeks flamed and she turned away, trying to seem like she was looking for the next book on her list even though all the titles blurred together.

“C’mon, Dana,” he said. “I come in peace.”

“I’m busy.” She didn’t turn around even as he came up behind her, so close she could feel the heat of him, could smell his foresty, manly soap.

“What are you looking for?”

And she’d relented. Something about his closeness, about the way he leaned over her just a little bit, made her weak. She’d shown him the list, and she’d accepted his help.

But she hadn’t accepted the coffee or the candy. Not even when he’d followed her back to the circulation desk and spent the next two hours shifting his weight from one foot to the other, asking her about class, her day, the best book she read that week, her last name, her phone number, and would she like to have dinner one night—any night—he was free any time?

“Good night, Mulder,” she said about ten times before he finally left—not without a few glances over his shoulder—so she could close up.

He’d left the coffee (cold) and the candy (unopened) on the desk. The coffee she poured out in the women’s room. The M&Ms… The M&Ms she ate later, one by one, while she called Melissa, sucking the candy coating off to make them last.

“Dana,” Melissa says now, breaking the silence. “You know he’s not going to wait forever, right?”

Dana frowns against the receiver. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this guy is clearly crazy about you. But if you keep playing hard to get—”

“I’m not!”

“—then he’s going to get bored, okay? It’s fun for a little while, but then it’s like…like running your head into a brick wall, over and over and over again. Eventually, if you keep telling him to get out, he will. And he won’t come back.”

“Good,” Dana says, even though the unexpected ache in her chest doesn’t necessarily agree. “That’s what I want.”

“Hmm.” On the other end of the line, Dana hears the flick of a lighter. “Well. If you really don’t want him, tell him you’ve got a sister in California who would be more than happy to entertain him.”

An image—brief, but not brief enough—flashes through her mind and her stomach clenches.

“I have to go, Missy,” she says. “Good night.”

She recradles the phone on her bedside table and turns out the light. She imagines walking into the library tomorrow, no Mulder. And the day after that, no Mulder. And next week, no Mulder.

She imagines that today was the last day. She imagines him never coming back to lean over the circulation desk and waggle his eyebrows at her, or stand too close to her in the stacks, or surprise her with a little treat ever again.

Maybe she’d spot him on the green one day and he’d point her out to his buddies and laugh. Hey, that’s the girl I messed with last semester. You know, the dumb one who really thought I liked her? Maybe he’d be too busy making puppy dog eyes at some other girl—some tall, willowy, interesting girl—to even notice her.

It would be for the best. This past week has just been a sort of…temporary universal insanity. A paracosm. A Dickensian glimpse into what her life could be if, perhaps, she lived in some alternate reality (which, let the record show, she does not believe in—but hypothetically).

Here, Missy’s voice interrupts, echoing in her head. This guy is clearly crazy about you. She frowns into the darkness. It sounds so simple when her sister says it, so reasonable.

And then there’s Mulder’s voice, too, low and intimate, asking her to coffee, to dinner, to a movie, to anything, really, anything at all. And not just one day. Every day. Several times a day, again and again and again, no matter how many times she says no, says Mulder, please, says I have work to do.

Dana tosses and turns and draws the covers up over her head, curling herself tight against the seductive pull of fantasy. She has always been the level-headed one, never a daydreamer, never impractical. She resents the idea that some boy who will no doubt be gone in another week’s time can ruffle her so much.

Huffing, she hugs a pillow tight to her chest and resolves to put Fox Mulder from her mind. It works, like most nights, only until she begins to dream.

#fox mulder #dana scully #msr #msr fanfic #myfic #paracosm #this chapter is some necessary expositiony stuff #which i hope you still find enjoyable #next chapter is very very fun #and will drop...idk next week sometime maybe #thank you to everyone who's been so enthusiastic and kind about this!!! #mulder #scully #txf

[waymorecake4me]

Won’t you take it back? (Roger Taylor x Reader

(a/n: So this is gonna be part one of, I think to a two part (MAYBE 3 if you guys like it) series. Please let me know how ya’ll feel about it, and I’m thinking about doing requests so if anyone would be interested in that, let me know about that as well. Love you guys <3 and shoutout to my homegirl @fluffyunicornofdanger for being an amazing friend and encouraging me to get out there.)

(also let me know if you wanna be on a tag list for the rest of this!)

Based off of “i love you” by Billie Eilish

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: you might cry? Fluff and angst.

The speakers were so loud and the crowd was swaying and dancing, they almost looked like fluid. Like water, maybe the ocean, considering the amount of people out there. Adrenaline could literally be felt throughout the air, something Y/n loved about watching her friend’s sets.

Their success seemed like it happened overnight but it had truly taken years to build up a fan base such as this. Album after album, recording sessions that she was always present for, and she traveled with them on tours as often as she could, if work permitted her to do so. People often mistook her for Queen’s personal assistant but she was nothing of that sort, just a friend who supported them more than anything or anyone.

Over the years, she became particularly close with the one, the only, Roger Taylor. Y/n was best friends with all the boys but when Roger was too drunk to drive home, she would pick him up and let him crash at her place for however long he needed. They shared stories about good lays, and of course the bad ones too. Drinking at either her place or his, it felt like home either way. Home was a concept to them that didn’t have anything to do with the place they were at, but that they were with each other.

Rumors would spread that they were together but it had only made them laugh, as they felt their best friendship was so much stronger than any relationship could ever come close to being.

Y/n’s hair was bouncing all around as she was watching the concert from backstage, her y/h/c’s locks blocking her face but it all seemed to find it’s way back to it’s original place. Probably from using a whole can of hairspray on it earlier that morning. She couldn’t help but dance like nobody was watching as they played ‘Tie Your Mother Down.’ The sheer rock ‘n roll vibe of the song had everybody losing control.

Every once in a while, Roger would glance over at her and make some stupid silly face that would send Y/n into a fit of laughter that could almost make her lose her footing. Why had she chosen heels? They’re really not that practical for watching a rock concert, especially when you stayed backstage the whole time with nobody to impress.

The whole set went on like this for over an hour, and seeing as it was the last concert of the ‘A Day at the Races tour’, in their hometown of London, the boys did an encore. The sweaty girl couldn’t feel her feet so she had since kicked those bloody heels off, feeling the cold stone under her feet was more than a relief. She sighed out, still trying to catch her breath from the dancing and prancing around backstage.

The thousands of people screamed and whistled when Freddie sat down at the piano and began to play the opening notes to ‘Somebody to Love.’ This song was one that had always been a bit embarrassing to Roger, only when Y/n was watching, because she would often joke with him about his background falsetto. But tonight, she spared him of the giggles from the sidelines, the poking her tongue out of her lips at him. No, tonight she simply closed her eyes and swayed slowly back and forth with a large grin on her face, enjoying the music.

Roger had sent countless glances her way, expecting fully to, at some point get ridiculed for his ‘balls in his chest’ voice, but he was only met with a beautiful girl, feeling the music in her body from her head to her toes. He couldn’t help but make a few extra looks over since he knew she wouldn’t see him, certain thoughts pushing their way into his brain.

Once the set had completely finished, the boys thanked the crowd and blew kisses to everyone, raising their instruments in the air, followed by the four running off stage, Freddie blowing a few extra kisses in the process.

“You guys did absolutely spectacular!” Y/n ran up to her friends, hugging all of them at once with her arms spread wide.

“You think so?” Brian smiled, retreating from the hug and placing old red back into her case for a well deserved good night’s slumber.

“Oh I know so, did you see them out there?” Freddie eyed Brian and pointed with his thumb, back towards the stage. He placed a quick peck on Y/n’s cheek, “Thank you, darling.”

“Thanks a lot, Y/n.” John uttered, a bit shy, or maybe just tired. They were all covered in sweat from the strenuous activity.

Normally Roger would have been the first to pounce on Y/n for a hug, and they would hang off of each other like Siamese twins, but he was being standoffish. And that was nothing like Roger, even his bandmates were looking at the blond, silently contemplating why the loud mouthed drummer hadn’t said a single word since their thanks to their fans.

Nobody was saying anything and the air around the five was starting to become way too awkward for comfort so Y/n spoke up as the others began packing their stuff up, “What? I don’t get a hug back?” She looked at the man, puzzled, “You alright, Rog? Need some water? You rocked it out there, y’know-”

“I’m fine.” Two words. Two words that Roger had never dared to say ever. He always had something on his mind and was always the first to speak up in ANY situation. But now he’s just… fine?

Roger placed his drum sticks in his back pocket and started the trek back to the band’s shared changing room, in which Y/n had never stepped foot in. She liked to give them at least a little privacy, not that they cared, but she did.

This left the woman standing alone, contemplating what the fuck she had just experienced. Had she said or done something? She knew her best friend and he never acted like that. There had to be something on his mind that he came up within the time span of him making silly faces at her, to the last song of the set.

Y/n sat down on what could hardly be called a bench that was sat right outside of their changing room, waiting, thinking, worrying. She was startled by the door swinging open, seeing the boys and hearing them talk about which bar or club they should celebrate at, but it was only the three. Freddie, Brian, and Deacy, “Are you coming with, Y/n?” Freddie called to her as they made their way down the hall, stopping at the exit.

She stayed seated on the bench and looked at them, then back at the changing room door, with the most confused expression on her face. Y/n didn’t need to say anything, her puzzled look that she gave the men was enough of an answer for them.

“If you change your mind, we’ll be just down the street. Probably the usual spot,” Brian chimed, “we won’t be far.” In which, she nodded in reply, and that sent the 3/4ths of the band out the door.

Roger had turned up an after party? The end of the tour celebration was basically what he looked forward to most when it came to touring. Something had to be wrong and if the boys didn’t even know after being in that room with him, then what the hell?

Y/n could easily give him his space to work out whatever it was in his pretty little head, but that’s not how they were with each other. That wasn’t the type of person she was with anyone, especially her best friend. She stood up, a bit shakily from the aching in her feet, and tapped a gentle pattern on the wooden door with her knuckles. Hearing a faint grunt in response, she opened the door to see Roger sitting on a couch, staring off into space.

“Rog… are you alright? No partying?” She giggled a little, “Are you sick?” She closed the door behind her.

Roger hummed lowly, “Not sick,” not even looking up at Y/n, “just not in the mood.”

Y/n skipped over to the couch and hopped on next to him, hoping that her playfulness would shake him out of whatever mental dilemma he was stuck in, “I think you are sick, have you got a fever?” She placed the back of her hand to his forehead but he was quick to swat it away, completely taking the girl by surprise, her playful concern now turning into real concern.

“I said I’m not sick, I just wanna be alone,” He gritted his teeth.

“Well that’s unfortunate because I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong,” She quipped back. Concern could be easily heard in Y/n’s voice, and yet, Roger still hadn’t even turned his head in her direction.

Roger had his hands tightly balled into fists on his knees. His eyes were stinging, as if the room had been filled with onions. Invisible onions had to be everywhere because Roger Meddows Taylor doesn’t cry, “You didn’t make fun of my voice,” he uttered smally, as if he were a child in trouble.

“I didn’t make fun of you? That’s why you’re in here?” She grabbed his face and forced him to look at her, “I can make fun of you all you want if you’d like-” But Y/n stopped when she noticed a tear rolling down his cheek. Was that sweat? It had to be sweat. “Rog…”

“The last song, Y/n. I was expecting you to mess with me,” The blond tried to avoid her eyes, “but instead all I saw was a gorgeous girl dancing.” A tear fell straight from his left eye so that ruled out the sweat theory in Y/n’s mind. “You looked beautiful. I mean- You look beautiful.”

This wasn’t something that came as a surprise to Y/n. They complimented each other all the time. What she couldn’t figure out was why he was crying about it, trying to keep himself prisoner in this god awful smelling back room while the others went partying.

“Well thanks, Roger, but I’m not sure I understand.”

Roger huffed out a breath and covered his face with his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He mumbled something quietly but his hands kept the sound waves from reaching Y/n’s ears.

“Huh? Roger, you’ve gotta talk to me if you want me to help-”

“I love you.” He uncovered his face and met his ocean blue eyes to her set of y/e/c orbs.

It fell silent. Deadly silent. Roger’s tears had stopped flowing and they were in a never ending eye lock.

But she couldn’t help it. Y/n let out a chuckle, a harsh one, a sound that made Roger’s heart drop. Once she settled down from laughing at his obvious joke, she looked at him once more, “I’m serious, Roger, I’m trying to help here.”

“I’m serious too, Y/n. I love you.”

It appeared as if a ten ton weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, but that weight had just moved and slammed down on Y/n’s shoulders instead.

“I get that you’re trying to make me laugh so I’ll leave you alone but-” The girl had been cut off by him, once again.

“This isn’t a joke. Is it THAT hard to believe that maybe I do love you?” His tone started to get higher with frustration, “And maybe you love me too?” He tried to read her face but he got nothing. “We’ve seen each other at our best and worst. We know everything about each other. I know you hate broccoli. I know you lost your virginity to a douchebag named Michael in Secondary School,” He stood from the couch, going into full rant mode, pacing back and forth in front of her, “Hell, I even know your mum’s favorite movie! I love you, dammit, Y/n.”

There was nothing that could’ve prepared Y/n for this. Her best friend confessing his love to her. Of course she loved him back but all of this would change everything forever. Things could never go back to normal after this. If they were to date, they could break up one day and then she could lose him forever. Their friendship was so strong. She couldn’t risk losing that.

Y/n could feel her heart beating out of her chest, her body getting hot, but still no expression on her face. Her mind was racing in a thousand different directions and the only thing she could manage to say, through all of her thoughts was, “No.”

“No? What is that supposed to mean?” Roger crouched down in front of her. She hadn’t moved from her seat on the couch. “If you don’t love me, look me in the eyes and say it.” No response again. “Say it!” His yelling could’ve made the walls shake, but it was Y/n who was shaking.

“You don’t mean it.”

Roger scoffed at that, “Oh yeah. Sorry, didn’t mean it. You’ve got to be joking right now, honestly.” He forced her to look at him, just as she had done to him just minutes before, “I’ll say it a million times if I have to, Y/n, I lov-”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop!” She extended her hand and placed it on Roger’s chest. She could feel his heart beating and it made her breath hitch a bit in the back of her throat, “Please. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to say it.”

Roger didn’t say another word, but he lifted his own hand and placed it over top of her own, squeezing it lightly. She didn’t resist the touch, but she had began crying. Roger hadn’t noticed until she was a shaking and sniffling mess.

“Hey, hey. No, no, Y/n. Why? Why are you…” Roger didn’t know how to complete his sentence. His eyes searched her face frantically, hands moving up to wipe away the steady stream of tears, although they kept getting replaced with new ones. “Don’t… please don’t cry.”

He couldn’t even take his own advice that he had left for her, as his eyes started to well up a bit. Neither knew why they were crying, but at the same time, they did.

“Take it back. Can’t you take it back?” Y/n asked him, through sobs. “Y-your words… Those three words.” She finally met his frantic blue eyes, “Can’t we pretend it didn’t happen?”

Love had been an unspoken joy for the two, since the very beginning. She loved him and he loved her, but once you put the words out there, it makes things harder. It makes it real. And those words? Coming from Roger? The man who never loved, couldn’t love, only made love, if you could even call it that. It meant more than just ‘I enjoy your company.’ In fact, he couldn’t recall a time where he ever felt the need to say those cursed words to anyone. Except for with Y/n.

“You’re telling me… that you want to make believe that everything in this room never happened?” Roger began to get defensive again, sparking a bit of panic in Y/n’s entire state of being.

“No- I mean, yes, just not in the way you think I mean.” Panic, panic, panic.

Roger couldn’t even begin to understand her thought process, “Why? Can you at least explain to me why?”

“I don’t want to lose you. You can’t love me and I can’t love you,” She had to look away from him. Looking at his soft features was far too painful.

“You’ll never lose me, Y/n. You have me. I’m right here. And you’re bloody well stuck with me.”

“Not like that, Roger,” She rolled her eyes and wiped away some of her tears, almost letting out a laugh. Just almost, at his ignorance to the situation, “I’ll lose my best friend.”

“But you’ll gain a boyfriend.”

“Rog, please,” She stood up and faced him, “It can’t be like this.” As quickly as those words left her mouth, her body left with them.

She was gone, and he was alone.

(Part two)

#Queen #Bohemian rhapsody #Roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor fanfic #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #ben hardy #joe mazello #rami malek #gwilym lee #queen imagines #queen fanfic #queen fanfiction #borhap #borhap imagines #queen x reader #bohemian rhapsody movie #brian may x reader #john deacon x reader #joe mazello x reader #ben hardy x reader #gwilym lee x reader #rami malek x reader

[homiegeesus]

The Year of Magical Thinking, Ch. 3

Summary: Francis Sinclair believed Arthur Morgan had not finished living. In a second chance at life, Arthur discovers what it means to love himself.

At the edge of a precipice and nowhere to run, Arthur concedes defeat. In an extraordinary turn of events, he is sent through the ether to another time where his path crosses with a group not too unlike his own family. After discovering the fate of those he loved before, he races to find a way back. But what if he realizes that there is something worth staying for in this new world? Can two people separated by nearly a hundred and twenty years of living find their happily ever after?

AO3 Link (edit: link fixed)

Author’s Note: So sorry for saying that I would post yesterday when I did not. We had some terrible weather 'round here, and it took me forever to get home last night. Long chapter is long, though. I know y'all are probably like "where is your OFC"? Well, she'll be introduced in the next chapter, I promise. I should have it posted in a couple of days. Shoutout to TheTiniestTortoise ( @shallow-gravy​ ) who has valiantly offered to beta this story (this chapter was not). Fair warning: I'm seriously going to take you up on this, so be prepared lmao. In the meantime, y'all need to go read "Blackbird's Song". It's a fantastic ArthurxOC take on the RDR2 plot, seriously drop everything and read it! Also, I created a "We Heart It" collection thing where I pin images that inspire me while writing. Just a warning, though: It might spoil some elements of the story. If you don't want any idea of where I'm taking the plot, do not click here.

Thank you to @tiesthatbind1899​​ (author of Memories of the West - another must read), for the idea. You're awesome. 

Almost forgot, in this story, Blackwater is Dallas. I read in the wiki that Blackwater was likely modeled after early 20th century Dallas, so I'm running with it. Plus, it's where I live, and even though most authors can't agree on whether you should "write what you know", this is fanfiction, so hell yes I will write what I know...at least in the first few chapters lol. Hope y'all enjoy this chapter, and as always, constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated!

The Year of Magical Thinking

Chapter 3 - American Remains

Not knowing if the doctor wanted Arthur to follow, he stood for a moment and stared at the carving on the cave wall. After Steven exited the chamber, the cave was again silent allowing Arthur to observe and reflect. His fingers traced the broad lines of the design as he pondered just how the whole situation had come to pass. What an interesting sequence of events. One moment, Arthur was dying and the next he was not. Having been a hair’s breath away from death had changed him fundamentally. Suddenly being thrust into wellness had been jarring, to say the least. Itching to sketch the new carving, he reached to his side for his journal. Hand feeling empty air where his satchel would usually be, he closed his eyes and covered his face.

In a last act of brotherly affection, Arthur had given John his most important possessions: his father’s hat and his satchel along with everything in it. Suddenly, a deep homesickness fell on him like anvil. The realization that he would never see his family again caused a well of emotions to rise up and threaten to consume him whole. He didn’t belong in this place. If Arthur was a part of a dying breed back then, then how would one hundred and twenty years of so-called progress treat him? With no place to call home and not a penny to his name, how would he survive?

Feeling suddenly claustrophobic in this cool, damp place, Arthur turned and followed the path of Steven’s exit. As the natural light of the sun reached him, he felt a wave of humid heat hit his face, instantly causing tiny rivulets of sweat to breakout across his forehead. Finally exiting the cave, he stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. Even in the heat, Arthur delighted in clean, easy breathing. Tortured by diseased lungs in the past months, he had forgotten what it meant to be well.

Looking at his surroundings, he spotted Steven near a table off to the left of the clearing. Arthur began walking towards him, that is, until he spotted the younger man talking to himself. Rooted in place, he observed Steven holding what appeared to be a small black book while gesturing wildly with his arms.

Damn it, you old fool, Arthur inwardly chastised. He had driven the man to madness with his scarcely believable tale. He walked closer to make out the words coming from the young doctor. That’s when he heard the other voice bleeding from the air that surrounded them.

“Steven, my love, my future husband, my everything – if you do not make it to this dinner, I will leave you. And then, I’ll cancel you. You will be canceled!” The voice yelled, sounding as if it came from a phonograph. Arthur furrowed his brow and looked for the source.

“Nick,” Steven responded in voice that even Arthur could tell was full of condescension, “first of all, you know I love you, but you also know I hate these dinners. Secondly, I just told you that something came up at work.” He then cradled the little black book in both hands, thumbs moving wildly over the cover. “It’s incredibly important that –”

Nick interrupted, “It’s incredibly important that you be at this dinner. Steven, we’ve had this planned for two weeks. All of the partners are going to have their significant others with them. They’re expecting you there. They all fucking love you; always like ‘Steven is so charming’ or ‘God Nick, how did you bag a guy like Steven? He’s so funny and you are so – not.’”

Steven laughed, “They don’t say that.” He finally glanced up in Arthur’s direction, smile falling from his face.

“Ugh, yes they do. It’s annoying as shit. I mean, I can be funny,” the voice replied. Steven began looking from the book to Arthur and back again in quick succession.

“Babe, I gotta call you back –”

“Steven –”

“Nick,” Steven interrupted sternly, “I’ll call you right back, I promise.” Call? Arthur thought to himself. That little black book’s a telephone? Nah…

Nick sighed loud enough for both men to hear. “Just please show up tonight. It’s all I ask.”

Steven nodded as if he could be seen. Arthur thought maybe he could. They each said ‘I love you’ and Steven glanced up at him.

“Holy shit,” was all he said. 

“What?” Arthur frowned.

Steven just shook his head and held out the little book, or whatever it was. From where Arthur was standing, he could barely discern what looked like a photograph. Steven glanced quickly between the object in his hand and Arthur’s face. He seemed to realize the older man’s cluelessness.

He dropped his arm halfway and grinned, “Oh sorry, you’re probably like ‘what the hell is this?” He gestured to the device and laughed. “Jesus, well, this is a phone. A telephone.” A flipped it in his hands, and then held it out to Arthur. “Go ahead. Check it out.”

Arthur stepped closer and cautiously took the gadget. Looking at it, what he saw would take him back some five years ago to a hunting trip he, John and Hosea had embarked upon in Tall Trees, a year before John had left to God knows where. The trip had been a fruitful one, as the trio had taken down a bear with size to rival the one they had caught in the Grizzlies. It was a good memory, set before his relationship with John had descended into spite and jealousy. He stared at the photograph, the sepia tone making it seem so unreal when his memories burst with color. Arthur, John and Hosea looking as serious as three feared outlaws could, each held rifles behind a large grizzly bear.

Arthur looked up to Steven, “Where’d ya get this?”

The corners of his mouth quirked as if he went to smile but then thought better of it. “That’s a, uh, long story. But I mean –,” Steven then smiled, “it’s you.” He laughed a little manically, “That’s you in that photo.”

Arthur, not realizing the significance of this moment, just replied with a shrug of his large shoulders, “Yeah.”

Steven briefly ran a finger over his lips as he continued to smile, “Dear God. How the hell did this happen?”

“Ain’t gotta clue,” the outlaw replied simply.

Steven just shrugged. “Well, in any case, we have to figure out what we’re gonna do with you. I mean,” he laughed, “you could come home with me, but my, uh – Nick would probably freak the hell out.” A considering look passed over his face. “Hey, you said you were sick before?”

Arthur nodded, “Yeah, but I ain’t coughin’ no more.”

“Tuberculosis?” Steven supplied. The other man’s eyes narrowed fractionally.

“How’d you know?” The doctor just gave a toothy grin.

“Mr. Morgan, you’re quite famous. Like Jesse James.” At Arthur’s perplexed face, he continued, “Didn’t you, like, have your own gang, or something? You know, like Jesse James did?”

Arthur laughed, “What? No.” He shook his head, “I was in one, but I weren’t the leader. That was Dutch.” Steven’s face lit in recognition.

“Oh yeah,” he then looked off to the side. “I haven’t seen any westerns since I was a kid, so I’m only vaguely familiar with the history.” He looked back to Arthur with a smile, “My friend Ada would know. She loves them.”

“Uh-huh. Western? Like a dime novel?” The outlaw asked, head tilted in question.

Steven shook his head. “No, movies. They’re like, uh –,” obviously wondering how to explain, “you know, moving pictures.”

“Oh yeah, I know ‘bout them. Used to go to the theater on special occasions an’ such,” Arthur recalled.

“Well, they’re a little different now,” the doctor laughed. “They’re in color and have sound, so –”

Arthur tracked his thumb across his stubbled chin. “Ain’t that somethin’,” he replied a bit in awe.

Steven smiled, “Yeah well, you’ve been portrayed a couple times, I think.”

Amazed, Arthur responded, “Yer kiddin’.” The younger man just shook his head.

“Nope. The only ones I know of came out a long time ago, like the ‘40s or ‘50s. Maybe earlier.” The outlaw lightly laughed.

He looked slyly to Steven. “Were they, uh – were they handsome?” The corner of Arthur’s mouth ticked slightly up.

Steven barked out a quick laugh. “Oh yeah. They were.” He shot the other man another toothy smile. “Though, I’m beginning to think that they didn’t do you justice!”

Unfamiliar with such bald-faced compliments, Arthur bowed his head in an attempt to hide the shy smile forming on his face. Damn it all, he didn’t have his hat. He just swatted his hand and said, “Nah.”

Steven was apparently having none of that. “Trust me, Arthur. Even covered in dirt, you’re a tall drink of water on a hot day.” He let out a loud guffaw at the sight of the blush that crept up on Arthur’s face. “I’m just messin’ with ya.”

Arthur just shrugged and tried to conjure up what little was left of his mean outlaw persona. “Yeah, well –”

“Alright,” laughing again, Steven stepped past Arthur, clapping him on his shoulder. “I’m gonna go turn off the generator and stuff, and then we’ll figure out what to do.” -------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What in the hell was he going to do? Nick would kill him. No doubt about it. His future husband would whip out that Latin Fire and scorch him where he stood. Steven could see the inevitable conversation play out in his head. ‘Honey, I’ve brought home an outlaw from the 19th century. He’s going to be staying with us for a while. Oh, and he has a gun, and he could shoot us in our sleep and rob our corpses.’

“Jesus,” Steven said quietly to himself as he gathered the equipment around the worksite. His morbid train of thought was then interrupted by the shrill sound of his cellphone ringing. Grabbing the device from his back pocket, he looked at the screen.

Nick, the ID screamed at him. Steven stared at it a moment before answering.

“I swear I was just about to call you,” he started. He could hear the eye roll coming through the phone.

“Uh-huh. Why did you tell Jeremy to go home earlier?”

Shit. “Well, I uh –,” completely unsure with what to say and totally unfamiliar with lying to his partner, he explained the best he could. First though, “How did you know I sent Jeremy home?”

“You sounded weird when I spoke to you last, so I texted him. Stop trying to change the subject.”

Figures. He needed to teach the kid about worksite discretion. But right now, he had to get through this conversation. “Something did come up. Nick, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Nick responded in a concerned voice, “Steven, what is it? What happened?”

“Well – you see – I, uh, I’ve met someone else, and I’ve decided that we’re going to be together.” Steven paused a second, then added, “I’m leaving you.”

“Good lord, Steven. Be serious. I’m sitting here thinking you’re about to tell me you have cancer or something.”

“Oh, no. I’m healthy as a horse. I am leaving you, though.”

“Mi amor. Please. What’s going on?” Nick was sounding legitimately concerned now.

Steven sighed, “Look, I’ll tell you everything. This evening.” He added, “Just trust me. We’ll talk about it tonight after dinner, I promise.”

Giving a light chuckle, Nick reassured, “Okay, okay. I trust you. I wouldn’t be marrying you if I didn’t.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Steven turned and looked at Arthur across the clearing. The outlaw was sitting at the picnic table, arms folded. Suddenly remembering a part of their conversation from earlier, he looked again to his phone. Selecting a contact, he dialed Lauren Linklater’s number. She answered on the third ring.

“Linklater.”

“Hey, it’s Steven. You gotta minute?”

He could hear a distinct crunching noise. “I’m at lunch. What’s up?” Always succinct and to the point. Steven appreciated that right now.

“Well, I have a question about something. Completely hypothetical,” he started.

“Okay.” She waited for him to elucidate.

“Okay, so again, completely hypothetical –”

“Steven.”

“Yeah?” He asked.

“I’ve got like ten minutes to eat before I have to go put my hands in some dude’s chest cavity –”

“Right. Yeah, sorry, so – say someone traveled through time from, I dunno, 1899 to our time. Would you be concerned about them getting deathly sick from something really simple, like a common cold? Would they be more susceptible?” Then he remembered, “Oh, and what if they had tuberculosis before they – you know, time-traveled?”

Steven figured she might be chewing her lunch, when it took a moment for her to answer.

“Is this a part of your weird cave art or something?” She asked.

“Rock carvings,” he corrected. “Well, kinda. I mean, yes. It is.” He explained, “I’m asking you because it’s a little bit outside my purview.”

“Okay, well, it’s a little bit outside of mine, too. This would be a great question for, I dunno, an epidemiologist or – heh, Doc Brown. I’m a general surgeon.”

Steve sighed, “Right. I just needed a quick opinion, so –”

“I just don’t want to give you incorrect information, especially for your job, ya know? If this is off the record, or whatever, I can try to resurrect some of the ole braincells from med school.”

He laughed, “Yes, if you could do that, I’d appreciate it.”

“Okay, so I probably wouldn’t be too concerned about this hypothetical person getting a modern day cold. Our immune systems are pretty badass, and it’s been that way for a long time. I’d be more concerned about a modern-day person going back, like, five hundred years, I guess. Still, I would maybe want to do a blood test and a cheek swab to make sure they’re not bringing small pox or something with ‘em. You say this hypothetical dude had TB?”

“Yeah, but afterwards, he didn’t have any signs of still being sick. And before, he was near death, like minutes or hours away.”

“Okay, well, they’d probably need to get checked out anyways. TB is highly treatable with antibiotics these days, so not much to worry about. If this dude wasn’t showing any signs of illness, chances are he didn’t bring it with him.” She then began to laugh.

“What?” Steven asked.

“Nothing, just – we’re talking about it like it exists. I dunno, just thought that was funny.”

“Yeah,” he breathed a laugh. He heard her begin chewing again.

“Steven.”

“What?”

He could hear the smile in her voice, “Did you find a diseased time-traveler?”

“Very funny,” Steven muttered sarcastically. “I’ll let you get back to your lunch, and your – chest cavity.”

Lauren laughed, “Okay, let me know how your project goes.”

“Will do.”

Hanging up, Steven sighed. Thinking about where in the hell he could stash a time-traveling cowboy, he walked back over to Arthur. The outlaw was hunched over the picnic table, staring intently at his hands. He looked up when Steven’s boots entered his field of vision.

“Well, we gotta head out pretty soon before traffic gets too bad.” He glanced in the direction of his car beyond the wall of pine trees.

Arthur frowned, “Traffic?”

Steven nodded, “Yup. You know, lots of vehicles, people.”

“Yeah, I know what traffic is. Jus’ wonderin’ if we’ll be goin’ through a city?” He clarified.

Motioning for Arthur to follow him, Steven elaborated, “Yeah, but not for a while. It’s pretty crazy, but it’s not just the cities that hold most people now. There are a shit ton of people in the boonies, too.” Judging by his expression, Arthur didn’t seem to like that little tidbit. Steven pointed to a couple of small crates, “Mind helping me carry these?”

Arthur moved to pick up one of the containers, “Naw, ‘course not.” Both men began walking along a path surrounded by trees leading out to the parking lot. Steven let out a loud laugh at Arthur’s face when they reached his silver Ford truck.

They sat down the crates as Arthur took a moment to absorb the vehicle in front of him.

Steven, thinking of the Bon Jovi song, tried his best to explain. “It’s like, uh, a steel horse. Ya know – “

Arthur just looked to him with a sardonic face, “I know whatta automobile is.”

Steven nodded, “Oh, right.”

“They’re just, ah – a li’l different than I remember ‘em.” Walking around the perimeter of Steven’s car, Arthur seemed to observe every little detail. Almost like an artist would a subject, he thought vaguely.

“Yeah, well.” Steven kicked a rock at his foot. “Wait ‘till you get inside.”

“Huh,” the cowboy huffed. Coming to stand beside Steven, he looked to the younger man. Placing his hands on his hips, Arthur pondered, “Just how would one go ‘bout doin’ that?”

Steven huffed out a laugh, “We’ll get to that, but first, we need to, uh – talk about your, uh, gun.”

“You ain’t takin’ my gun, Doc.”

“Steven, and it’s just –”, Steven took a step forward. Arthur’s hand went to his pistol grip, as if preparing to draw, and Steven shot his hands up in surrender. “Woah, I’m – I’m not going to take your gun, well – not for what you think. Can you just please take your hand off the gun? Please, don’t shoot me.”

Arthur acquiesced by removing his hand and briefly raising it palm forward in the air.

“Look, I’m not trying to take your gun, at least not for why you’re thinking. It’s just – times have changed. You can’t just walk around strapped like Jesse James.” Arthur quirked a dark brow. “I mean, this is Texas, but still. Cops can have itchy trigger fingers ‘round here.”

“Ain’t that all the more reason I should keep my gun?” Arthur’s deep voice drawled.

“No! Absolutely not!” Steven laughed incredulously. “I mean, that may seem logical to you, I guess, but trust me when I say you do not want to go shooting cops. ‘Law and order’ is – well, it’s just not the same as it used to be.”

Arthur looked pensive for a moment as he stared at Steven, as if to determine if the younger man was being truthful. Finally, his hands went to the buckle of his gun belt to loosen it. “You ain’t gonna make me regret this, are ya?”

Steven exhaled a nervous laugh, “What? No, no. I mean, you have more of a chance of being, I dunno, sucked up by a tornado than you have of being shot at between here and where we’re going.”

“Uh-huh, and jus’ where are we goin’?”

“Well, that’s TBD.” At Arthur’s confused expression, Steven quickly amended, “To be determined.”

“A’right,” the cowboy waved a hand in the air. “Let’s get a move on then.”

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

After placing the crates inside of the bed and Arthur’s gun belt under the backseat, the men climbed into the monstrosity of an automobile. Steven had shown Arthur how to open the door and put on a seatbelt, but it seemed easy enough. Sitting in the interior of this modern-day work horse, he luxuriated in the leather seat. He ran his fingers along the armrest, the treated leather feeling like smooth silk against his calloused hands. Looking up, his antiquated mind tried to conjure up why a person would need all these knobs and dials. What was their purpose? Steven settled into the seat beside him.

“You ready?”

“I gotta choice?”

Steven quirked a brow, “Not really.”

“Well then. There’s yer answer.”

And with that, the young doctor turned on the beast beneath them. Arthur did not expect the burst of noise that felt as if it hit him physically. Steven reached for the dials in front of them and quickly apologized.

“Oh god, sorry! I forgot I had the radio on, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly.

“Good god, man. How do you still have yer hearin’?” Arthur questioned, absolutely astonished.

“Yeah, that was loud. It keeps me going on a long drive.” He laughed, “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur just shook his head, “What in the hell was that?”

“Uh, music. Metallica, I think.”

The outlaw stared at Steven like he’d grown two heads, “Music? What the hell kinda music is that?” He shook his head. “Sounded like a thousand cats dyin’.”

Steven shrugged, “I think they’d like that comparison.”

The doctor tinkered with some levers and such around the wheel, and suddenly they were moving. Exiting the area, they pulled out onto the road. Despite the anxiety Arthur felt at the fast movement, he decided it wasn’t too terrible. That is until the speed caused his world to tilt.

Steven was chatting away about where they were going and what they would do when they got there, when Arthur began to feel utterly nauseated. Mesmerized by the white lines in the middle of the road as they moved past so quickly that they turned into one blur, his vision doubled, eyes nearly rolling back in his head. If Steven noticed, he didn’t say anything, so preoccupied as he was.

“I mean, we have a pullout couch. But our place is tiny. We’d be like sardines in a can. You had those in your time –”

“Doc.”

“– right? Of course, you did. Well, we’d be like sardines. It’d be uncomfortable. I’d ask –”

“Doc.”

 “– Lauren, but she’s a doctor. She’s always working. It’s not like –”

“Pull over.”

“– I can leave you alone. Holy shit, I know who –”

Arthur finally raised his voice, “Steven!

Confused, Steven replied, “What?”

Looking at the other man, Arthur gritted lowly, “Stop this damn contraption ‘fore I vomit all o’er this nice leather.” Finally understanding, Steven pulled to the side of the road. As Arthur went to hop down from the vehicle, something jerked him back into place. Before the outlaw could grab his knife, Steven calmly reached over and unbuckled the belt. Murmuring a quick ‘thanks’, Arthur hauled himself out of the truck and into the field. A loud horn from another passing vehicle would have scared him out of his boots, if he hadn’t been so overcome with nausea.

Steven yelled a sarcastic, “Ok, thank you!” before saying to himself, “Asshole.”

Wiping his mouth, Arthur turned and walked back to the truck. Once they were both inside, Steven looked at him.

“You okay?” He asked, concerned. Arthur just nodded. Steven continued, “I didn’t even think about you getting motion sickness. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“S’alright,” Arthur said quietly.

The doctor handed him a bright pink pill of some sort and what looked like a clear canteen.

“It’ll help with the dizziness. Plus, it might even help you get some rest. We got a couple hours drive before we reach the city.” Arthur took it without question, washing it back with the warm water as Steven pulled the truck back onto the road.

He questioned, “City?”

“Yeah. Blackwater.”

Unable to help it, Arthur felt his blood run cold. Knowing that his bounty was long gone was not enough to keep his anxiety from spiking. Arthur did not say anything. This man knew his name, did he know his sins? Would he still be so generous and willing to take him in, knowing the blackness of the outlaw’s heart?

Steven briefly glanced his way. “I have an idea about where you can stay. I have to call her, but I know she’ll be okay with it.” He looked back at Arthur. “I think you’ll like her.”

Arthur just nodded, feeling the effect of the medicine begin to take hold. Eyelids turning heavy, he shifted until his head lulled forward. Exhaustion catching up with him, he surrendered to Morpheus in a dreamless sleep.

#Red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #Arthur Morgan x oc #Arthur x oc #the year of magical thinking #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fic #arthur morgan

[a-marlene-s]

Floating White Lotus

This fic was inspired by this post. An AU inspired by @captainkirkk​.

Book One: Water 

Title: “Jasmine Tea”

Chapter: 1 - Next Chapter 

Rating: T (curse words mainly.)

Genre: Humor, Drama, and more humor.

D/C: I own nothing. 

Beta Read: 6/11/2019

Shoutout to  ProudGeek4Ever! For beta reading this! (She is not on this site.)

Summary: Floating White Lotus, a former fire nation ship that was converted into a traveling tea shop. The shop is led by the rumored the Dragon of the West, (No knows if this is true or not... yet) and his nephew who wishes to forget the ever lasting war. Well, until a certain someone decided he’d be the perfect fire bending instructor.

Chamomile

Used for healing wounds, reducing inflammations and/or swelling. Could either be used as tea or applied as a compress. A drawback is that it could cause drowsiness and may interfere with other medications.

Ginger

Used to ease nausea and motions sickness. Could be used to relieve nausea caused by pregnancy. A drawback is that possible side effects could include bloating, gas, heartburn and nausea.

Ginseng

It is used as a tonic and cu-

"Zuko! We are almost at the Southern Water Tribe. Could you recheck the shipment we have for them?"

"I'll get right to it, Uncle!" Zuko responded. He looked down at the leather-bound notebook his uncle had given to him. It contained detailed descriptions of flowers and several other things that had to do with tea and herbalism. He had started to keep track of all the items necessary to make tea and remedies. This book had saved him more times than he could count and he was forever grateful for Uncle Iroh for helping him.

Even if it meant the man went into exile with him.

He shook his head and rose from his spot on top of the deck. Then he headed towards the location where he knew they kept the shipment for the tribe. One of the other men could do this job, but it helped ease his mind. Right as he was about to enter the cargo hold, a bright flash of light shot up into the sky. It lasted several seconds, more than enough time for everyone that was on the deck to see what he was looking at.

In back of his mind, he wondered what that light was. He had never seen anything like it. He'd never even heard any sort of bending that could cause such an event. Eh, Zuko shrugged his shoulders and continued with his task. It was not his problem.

So not his problem.

Zuko continued on his way and as he did so he walked through the main hall of the ship. The lighting was changed to make it more welcoming and not so… intimidating. Plus, there were paintings, plants, and tapestries that made the former Fire Nation naval ship more welcoming. Zuko couldn't help but snort. Welcoming. He nodded at any of the former soldiers that walked passed him on his way to his destination.

Zuko paused when he stopped in front of a tapestry. It was the first one that was ever hung on the ship after the change. The change from using this ship to hunt down the avatar to using it as a travelling teashop. Hunting down the Avatar… What a fool's game. His father just wanted him out of his hair after he started to show his true colors.

Mainly showing how Fire Lord Ozai would easily sacrifice soldiers for nothing. How he could easily kill off innocent lives just to prove a point. The banishment was a massive blessing in disguise. Zuko wanted nothing to do with his father, the Fire Nation and let alone this war. A stupid war at that.

-.-

Zuko took in a deep breath and stared down at his reflection in a giant basin of water. His hair easily fell over his shoulders. He had it cut that way to hide his distinguishable scar. He was wearing clothing that was typical for the Earth Kingdom, but for a far colder climate. Despite having already been to Southern Water Tribe multiple times, he couldn't help the uneasiness that washed over him. As far as the village knew of he, Uncle and the crew were all were running away from their homeland and had created the Floating White Lotus to get a new start. Which was a former Fire Nation naval ship before it got converted into said teashop.

Nothing out of the norm. Nothing out of the norm at all.

"Zuko, we have arrived. Please, try to make yourself presentable… and make some friends your own age."

Zuko's head sagged down. "Yes, Uncle."

Oh, Uncle Iroh. The closet thing Zuko ever got to a father figure. To think the man put himself into exile for his sake… and sanity. Either way, Zuko was grateful for Uncle. Except when Uncle would mention that, he needed to connect with others that are his age or reprimanding him for ruining tea.

He walked into his room on the ship. It was filled with paintings, plants and tapestries. Just like the rest of the ship. Everything was unrelated to the Fire Nation. Zuko quickly changed his clothing to something that suited for his work as a server. When he opened the dresser, the exiled Fire Prince saw his Fire Nation uniform. It was just in arm's reach if he ever needed to wear it. Like whenever they came across a Fire Nation ship. Those times were always the worse.

Dressed in several hues of green, yellow and brown, Zuko walked out of his room and headed up. Along the way, he saw the others quickly putting on their respected uniforms or preparing for their arrival by making tea or any other necessary items. By the time Zuko arrived at the deck, was now the entire place was now had tables, chairs and canopies on said tables. Surrounding it all, were portable fire pits to provide much needed heat.

Slowly but surely, the occupants of the Southern Water Tribe began to trickle in. Uncle welcomed all of them onto the ship and then he and the crew showed the patrones to their tables. Laughter could be heard all over. Children were running around and they kept trying to get Zuko to play with them.

Zuko looked around the ship hoping to see two people. His shoulders sagged when he realized that they were not there. He felt someone tug on his apron and saw that it was Gran-Gran. The old woman gave him a smile as she spoke to him. "They went off earlier in the day. You should surprise them!"

Zuko looked for Uncle and saw the man giving an encouraging smile. He took that as approval. Without much else, he gave the tray of goodies to one of the former soldiers before running off. He had a good idea where they were. He moved quickly with his snowboard and pole that the locals had made especially for him.

-.-

"Uh…." Zuko stared at the supposed avatar. He wondered if this was his mind playing tricks with him. He wasn't able to hear as his friends, Katara and Sokka, attempted to explain how they found the Air Nomad in a glacier and don't forget the flying bison. Oh, Spirits… "No… no. Just…. No… I'm dreaming. No, this is a nightmare!"

Aang, Katara and Sokka watched as Zuko hopped back on his snowboard and headed back to his ship. Aang worriedly watched him leave. The airbender believed he had somehow offended the tea maker. He did a double take when Sokka wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer to say something in his ear.

"Don't worry about Zuko. He's weird... Even for a firebender."

TBC.

I wanted to write more, but I have five stitches on my right ring finger right now. It’s getting in the way of my typing. 

If anyone is interested in being tag in this story, don’t hesitate to ask.

#avatar #a:tla #aang #zuko #katara #sokka #floating white lotus #chapter 1 #avatar: the last airbender #Tea Zuko AU

[theaterkid821]

A Flash of Time Pt. 1 (Jack Kelly x Female Reader)

A/N: Hey all! Here with a new fic! My goal is to get onto a once a week basis. Let’s hope I can stick to it! I just wanted to give a brief shoutout to my friends who agreed to let me vaguely describe them at the end (I’m not gonna mention names, but thank you guys!). I put in a history joke for all the history nerds out there, hope y’all enjoy that. I did this as female reader because in part 2, there will be smut. Also wanted to let you guys know that this is probably not the best editing wise as i got three hours of sleep last night (not by choice). If you want to be tagged for part 2, or added to any taglist in general, let me know. As always, requests are open and love you all!

TW: very slight angst for a second. other than that, nothing. 

Taglist: @molly-is-heere @deavvy

Part 2

Masterlist

All you remember was the blinding white flash as you wake up in an unfamiliar environment. Looking around, all the old buildings of New York City almost looked new. In fact, not almost look new, they did look new.

Everyone was in different clothing, different material paved the streets, and people talked immensely differently. The men were in fancy suits and the women were in very strange dresses.

You think you’d gone back in time.

You quickly looked around and saw a teenage boy around your age shouting a headline; a newsie. Which was very strange, since they weren’t around anymore.

You run over to him. “Hi, sorry, can I buy a paper please?”

“Sure miss. Anything for a pretty lady like yourself.”

He gave you a sly smile as you fumble for any spare change in your pockets.

“Don’t you’s got a coin purse or somethin’?”

“Long story.” You say as you finally find a nickel. You hand it to him and he hands you a paper. You don’t even look at the headline but look for the date.

1899.

You look at the boy in front of you. That’s all you remember before blacking out.

.         .         .

I watched as the girl in some very strange clothes handed me a nickel. She’s cute, no doubt, but there’s something off about her. I can’t quite put my finger on it. She doesn’t even read the paper. She just looks at something in the corner and looks at me in shock. She quickly starts to pass out and I catch her before she can fall. I go over to my selling partners, Davey and Les, and hand them the rest of my papes. “She just took a pape and passed out. I’m gonna go see if there’s anything I can do. Sell the rest of your papes and come back to the lodging house and we’ll see what we can do.” They nod hesitantly and Les goes to start selling again.

I bring her up to the lodging house and Racer is already there. “Oh, what’s this? Jacky-boy got a girl that quick?”

“Shut it Racer, she passed out.”

I lay her on the bed, waiting for her to wake up.

.         .         .

You wake up, again, in unfamiliar surroundings. It looked as if evening was approaching and you sat up.

“Well well well, look who’s awake.”

I look over and see the boy from earlier. He had a blue long-sleeved shirt and a gray vest. “Yeah, I guess I’m awake.”

“So, where’s a pretty girl like yourself from?”

You look down, unsure of what to say. Now that your head is on straight, you realized you shouldn’t have given him that nickel. “I really can’t say.”

“Aw, come on sweetheart. I promise I don’t bite.”

“No, it’s not that, you’ll just think I’m crazy.”

“How so? Come on, try me.” He crosses his arms and smiles.

You think to yourself for a moment. Should you tell him? Part of you wants to do it just so that you can wipe that smirk off his face. You take a deep breath and decide to go for it. “I’m from the future. I don’t know how I got here, but somehow, I went back in time.” Sure enough, his smirk falls and he looks at me in shock.

Another boy, this one much more put together, pipes in. “That can’t be. It’s impossible.”

“I’ll prove it. What was the headline from today?”

The boy in blue scoffs, “you bought a pape. Did you not check the headline?”

“Which reminds me, also check the nickel. It should say a year that hasn’t yet come. Also no I didn’t I checked the date and passed out when I realized I had travelled back 110 years.” He looks at the nickel and throws it back to you. Well there goes that problem. “I don’t want your fake nickel from 2007.”

“Alright, fine. But I will prove it. What was the headline today?”

“Seriously?” he asks, “you bought a pape and you didn’t even see the headline?”

You scoff, “well sorry, I was a little busy being unconscious.”

“Trolley Strike Enters Third Week.”

You gasp. You were about to watch history unfold. You smirk. “Okay, how about we make a bet. I bet you that tomorrow, Pulitzer will raise the price of papers form 50 cents per hundred to 60 cents per hundred and you will form a union and strike against him, deal?” You spit in your hand and hold it out to him, remembering that it’s what they did.

He looked at you, obviously shocked. “What happens if you win?”

“You help me get back home.”

He nods. “And if I win, you give me a kiss. Deal?”

“Deal.” You two shake.

“Get ready to lose your ridiculous bet.”

You giggle, “we’ll see about that.”

.         .         .

You waited in the lodging house in the morning. The second that the newsies came into the room, you knew you were right. Jack and Davey walked over to you with shocked looks on their faces. “So, how are we getting you back home?”

“I told you.”

“This the goirl?” a boy, Crutchie as you quickly recognized, walked over to you. You smiled at him, but your heart went out to him, knowing what would happen to him tomorrow. He seemed so nice and sweet. He didn’t deserve it. Well, no one deserved the Refuge, but him especially.

“Yep. That’s her. My plan is to win this strike and then help her get back home.”

“So, (Y/N). What can you tell us about the future, huh? What happens?”

“Well, I can’t quite say. it would ruin so many things and possibly alter the results of time. All I can say is that technology surpasses whatever your mind can imagine.”

“…fine. Can you at least tell us what happens in the strike?”

“Are you kidding? That would be even worse!” You giggle at their enthusiasm. You could get used to this while you wait.

You watched as Jack gave out orders to the boys and was a true leader. You hated to admit it, but he looked really cute.

God, you were falling for this boy. Hard.

.         .         .

“…mark my words boy, defy me and I’ll have you and every one of your friends locked up in the Refuge.” Was the last thing I actively heard from Mr. Pulitzer. All I could think about was if it was all worth it. All I knew was one thing, I had to talk to her. She’d know what to do.

“Can I have some time to reflect on my own?”

“Of course, just know we’ll be there at the rally. Snyder and one of my workers will be there. The choice is yours though.”

I walked home to the lodging house and said nothing to anyone as I walked over to her bed. “(Y/N), I have to know. Do we win?” She says nothing. “(Y/N) please, do we win!” Again silence. “(Y/N) I have to know! It changes everything if we do! I have to know which to risk! Do I risk going to the Refuge or do I risk betraying my boys?!”

“Jack I told you, I can’t say anything. The only thing I’ll say is that these boys will follow you no matter what you do.”

This was going nowhere.

.         .         .

The strike had ended and you were standing next to Jack, so happy with how things had turned out. Governor Roosevelt came over to you, “is this the girl who knows the future?” I nod, “how are you doing dear? Listen, I have a question for you. I’m thinking of running for president. Do I win?”

“I can’t say. It wouldn’t be fair. All I can say though is ‘speak softly and carry a big stick.’”

You walk off with Jack and he asks, “why’d you say that to him?”

“You’ll see.”

You knew he would eventually find out. During the children’s crusade, he realized what what you said to him meant. Hopefully he’ll follow your advice in the future.

He walks you down an unfamiliar street and you arrived in a small alleyway. It was subtle, but you could see the outline of a portal. You could see your street through it.

This was it. It was time to say goodbye.

“Thank you Jack.”

“No, thank you. You kept me going. I’ll miss you. My mysterious girl.”

“You won’t forget me?”

“Never ever.”

You look up at him. It was either now or never. You leaned up and kissed him. He returned the kiss and deepened it. After a few moments, he pulled away and rested his forehead on yours, breathless. “You should go… it won’t last long.” You nod.

“Jack, I lo-”

“I know. I do too.” He starts to tear up. “I’ll find a way to see you again. That, I promise.” You nod and go through the portal, tears in your eyes.

.         .         .

Finally! I achieved it! I found a way to get to her! It took about a year, but it will be worth it when I see her face, I’m sure of it.

It was so strange around here. The buildings looked either familiar and faded, or very strange. The guys what looked like only undershirts on and looked so… casual. The girls were also wearing pants which was very strange to me. The ones that weren’t and were wearing skirts/dresses left little to the imagination. There were even some people I wasn’t sure if they were male or female. What was this world?

I look behind me and I see her. She was talking with a girl and a boy. The girl had curly hair and had a green jacket with a gray dress that came to just above her knees. The boy had short black hair and a maroon shirt with jeans.

“(Y/N)!” I shouted her name and she looked up. Those (Y/E/C) eyes entranced me, like they had all those months ago. “Can I help you,” she asked.

“Don’t you remember me? It’s Jack! Jack Kelly?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember you. Maybe you’re thinking of a different (Y/N). I gotta go, but have a nice day. And I wish you luck.” She got up and walked off with her friend.

She didn’t remember me. That feeling had me heartbroken. I’ll show her someday. I will find a way to get her memories back. I didn’t come all this way just to fail.

#Newsies #newsies fic #newsies fandom #newsies imagine #jack kelly #jack kelly imagine #jack kelly x reader #reader fanfiction

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “On the Two” (Chapter 1/9) (au)

Summary: He’s one bad trip from ending up in AA, and she’s one performance away from a solid job and moving closer to home. Their paths were unlikely to cross until Camp Hope brought them together. How and why they meet and intertwine is against the odds, and definitely against the rules, but will that really stand in their way? A Dirty Dancing inspired modern au.

Rating: E 

Content Warnings: Borderline alcoholism, very brief mentions of past relationships, mentions of the loss of a limb - this fic is primarily tame but I’ll do my best to tag anything that might need tags. 

Chapter Specific Warnings: Alcohol use, past injury mentions

A/N: Holy. Shit. I’ve finally found a minute to post chapter 1. Hoping to stick to a Thursday schedule for posting, and I can’t wait for you all to see this unfold. 

I have to give shoutouts and love to three very important people to this process. @initiala sent this over a year ago:  look i know you're busy and have a lot of fics, but just hear me out: CS Dirty Dancing AU. So. Now you know who to blame/thanks, like I’ve been doing! To @phiralovesloki for the heaps of emotional support and handholding when I needed it. I can’t imagine my life without you in general, let alone my writing process. And of course, my beta, my dancing expert, my sanity: @captainstudmuffin. Thanks for all you do for me, from proofreading to slapping me into action. I’m sure we’re even on boob punches... for now. 

Catch it on FFN & Ao3!

Welcome to Camp Hope!

About Us

Years ago, Ruth Nolan operated these camp grounds as a haven for children to explore the fruits of the Earth and come into their own. For fifteen years, she oversaw the summers of thousands of children, all in need of the room to grow and eager to learn the skills of the outdoors.

In honor of Ruth’s hard work, we’ve re-opened the camp to those who still want to learn about the wilderness, explore the rich terrain that this coastal Maine property has to offer, and take the classes you’ve maybe not had time to take in the past. It’s not all outdoors, either! Our staff is composed of very talented individuals that are available to teach you almost anything, from dancing to the arts, yoga and fitness routines, as well as anything you’d expect from the average camp of summers past. You’ll enrich your body and mind and connect in ways you never have before!

A summer camp for adults may seem like an outdated or unconventional thing, but here at Camp Hope, we aim to improve the memories you may have of summer camps long past, or make new ones if this is your first time. Plus, now is your chance to try things like zip-lining without getting a consent form signed! There are plenty of perks to trying new things when you’re old enough to decide for yourself.

Please check our FAQs and pricing packages; your stay can be as short as a week or as long as the whole summer. Our accommodations range from your own private cabin to our brand new, hotel-style lodgings. We welcome you, and hope you’ll enjoy your experiences!

Sincerely,

Snow and David Nolan

Owners, Camp Hope Ltd.

-x-

Sifting through the mail on his table, Killian tosses the pamphlet for some kind of camping place into the stack to be thrown away. It joins the myriad of advertisements and coupons that he doesn’t bother to look at or ever use. Besides, if it’s a camp marketed towards adults, it’s likely something religious or a thinly veiled addiction recovery facility, and while he’s probably edging along the lines of alcoholism, he’s damn well not there yet.

There’s roughly a week’s worth of mail here, as it’s been a couple days since he’s even thought to check his mailbox, but he’s sure Liam will be up his arse any day here to go over his finances. If he makes it look like he’s been keeping things in order, Liam is less likely to give him his Worried Brother speech this month.

He sips at his coffee, pausing just a moment to pop two painkillers before resuming his sorting. When he’s hungover, the phantom pain where his left hand should be is stronger, and today is no exception to that. He hasn’t bothered to put on his prosthetic, content instead to leave it off until he has to go into public.

Days like this, though, he has nothing but time to mindlessly sift through his queue and get day-drunk. It’s been ages since Killian can remember going more than two or three days without a drink. That doesn’t stop him from unscrewing the top of his favorite brand of rum when he pours the second cup before he settles in to watch Netflix. He sprawls across the couch, happy as he ever can be to live off the settlement over the accident that cost him his hand.

There’s a bar down the street that he visits when he needs personal interaction, and if he’s lucky there might even be a woman willing to help with even more personal interactions. That’s what last night had been – him in the bar until closing, a brunette that he can’t remember the name of giggling as she pulled him towards her car. A short while later, a cab brought him home, alone, with a little less dignity than he had before.

The sound of a key in the door announces Liam’s arrival before the man himself calls out a greeting, and Killian is minimally glad for the distraction from the road of self-pity and/or loathing that he was about to embark down. He knew there was a good reason to starting his sorting today. He stashes the bottle of rum beneath the coffee table again, running his fingers through his hair real quick to tame it down.

“Ah, you are awake. Excellent. I thought we’d set your bills straight, and maybe head out for some lunch. Breakfast? What meal are you on?”

“Let’s just call it brunch. Eat first, bills second,” Killian declares, sending his spiked coffee one forlorn look as he realizes he’ll have to go get dressed and act like a responsible adult for a few hours. He takes one more gulp before taking the mug to the kitchen to dump it out.

He’s in his room for just over five minutes, using food as a motivator to get him out the door sooner. The shirt is mostly wrinkle free, and he thinks the jeans he slides on are clean, so he’s at least presentable and won’t have to deal with Liam’s tongue-clicking. He makes sure to snag his sunglasses off the entryway table before ushering his brother out the door. Had he taken much longer, Liam surely would’ve declared that the bills looked quick or manageable, and they’d take ‘just a minute more’ to complete. As it is, he can see his piles have been tampered with, straightened and organized to his brother’s preferences, as he glances back on his way out; he timed it just perfectly.

Halfway through eating, Liam takes a sip from his water before placing it back on the table, steepling his fingers as he rests his hands on the table. “I’ve just had a thought,” he says in a way that really gives away that he’s been sitting on this for a while now. “How would you like to get out of town for a while?”

“When? How long?” Killian asks, preoccupied by the task of trapping all the toppings on his sandwich. He hates using his prosthetic to eat, doing his best instead to wrangle the whole thing with his right hand while his left arm stays beneath the table.

“Over the summer? We could make an adventure of it. Maybe go back home, visit the relatives. It’s not like you’re doing anything here. As my own boss, I can afford to take some time off. We go, we live a little, return in the fall as new men. What do you say?”

The prospect of getting out of the city, away from everything that holds painful memories for him, does sound appealing. Spending the whole time with his brother, however, tarnishes it just a touch. It’s not that he doesn’t love his brother, but Liam has a tendency to be… a little overbearing.

Of course, for a long time after Killian’s accident, Liam probably had every right to be. He’d just lost a hand, for fuck’s sake. Coming just after the loss of his fiancée probably didn’t help, either, but Killian was deep in a hole of depression for so long he wasn’t sure he was ever going to see the surface again. Now, he’s not so much depressed as he is resigned to this life, unemployed due to disability, living off the accident settlement, and drinking away his feelings as often as possible without officially becoming an alcoholic.

The thing is, Liam’s overprotective shadowing of Killian’s life is nothing new. He’s been this way for as long as Killian can remember, and since Killian can only half remember a handful of instances with either their mum or their dad, it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibilities that Liam feels more like Killian’s father than his older brother. Still, every bird has to fly the nest sometime.

And Killian did for a bit. He flew, and was so close to having everything he wanted in his life – a job doing a craft he loved, a woman that he intended to marry and grow a family and home with, and still the taste for adventure on the tip of his tongue if he ever chose. But all good things come to an end, in his experience.

First was Milah’s passing. Her brief but destructive illness soaked up all their life savings, leaving Killian with a broken heart and empty pockets. He didn’t care about the money, and why should he? He lost the reason he was saving it in the first place. He could earn it all again, but he’d never have Milah back. And then, shortly after, as he helped wrap up a custom boat build for a wealthy client, something went wrong. He still doesn’t remember exactly what happened, just that one minute he had a left hand, and the next he didn’t; it really was that simple.

“I’ll think about it,” Killian finally says, abandoning the hand-held option for his food and dropping it back into the basket it came in. He stabs at the pieces of it with his fork and considers the offer. He will think about it, too; he’s not just saying so to change the conversation back to footy and traffic patterns. It’s been a long time since he’s gotten away. He’s set for life on a permanent vacation if he so chooses, but a change of scenery would be welcome at this juncture of his life.

The idea marinates all while they finish their meal, and the whole walk back to Killian’s apartment. He’s so hung up on the possibilities involved that he doesn’t even complain as they sit down with his meager stack of bills. He signs when he’s told to do so, with no remarks about the tedium of the task while they work.

By the time the afternoon is wrapping up, Killian has made up his mind. As Liam stamps the last of the bills and puts Killian’s checkbook back where it resides, Killian speaks up. “I’ve thought about your offer to get away for the summer. Might not be such a bad idea, after all.” He keeps his tone light, nonchalant, hoping that Liam won’t catch on that it’s something he might genuinely be excited about for the first time in longer than he can recall.

“Excellent. Leave all the planning to me,” Liam says as he stands and throws the trash into the bin. “I’ll send you a packing list when I’ve finalized the plans and we can meet up again to get everything squared away for a couple months out of town.”

With a shrug, Killian extracts himself from the couch in order to see his brother out since all their business is complete. In his distracted state, he misses the gleeful look on Liam’s face; it’s an expression his brother was infamous for as they were growing up and meant that Killian was about to be served a life-lesson, and he likely wasn’t going to enjoy it very much. But he’s so lost in his thoughts about all the places they may go – both familiar and new – that he bids his brother goodbye and settles back in for his slightly interrupted day of Netflix.

He doesn’t even slip more rum into his glass until after he’s had his dinner.

-x-

Emma Swan is just as much a part of Camp Hope as the camp is part of her. For the last fourteen years, Emma has been making the journey of varying lengths back to the campgrounds; it’s something a lot like flocking home for the summer, and she’s made the trip from right in Storybrooke – the tiny town closest to the camp – and from as far as Tallahassee, all those years ago.

This year, she’s traveling from just outside Boston along with her roommate, Ruby. While the stories of their upbringings are vastly different, Emma and Ruby have been two peas of a pod since Emma’s first trip.

Back then, she was journeying to Camp Hope as part of a foster kid outreach program. It was two glorious weeks that she and twenty-some other foster kids got to go to someplace new, rather than waste away in a group home or get shipped off to bible camp again. She was fourteen, and while some of the crafts and activities were aimed at kids much younger than her, she still sat at the table and made bracelets, tie-dyed a shirt and bandana, and participated in capture the flag with water balloons like it was her first time, but that’s mostly because it was.

At the campfire that night, Ruby plopped down next to her, showing her the “right” way to toast marshmallows and offering to put red streaks in Emma’s hair so they could match.

Emma passed on the streaks, but the next day when Ruby dragged her to a special meeting for future counselors, it was all history from there. More than just finding a way to spend her summers that didn’t involve wallowing in her own loneliness and isolation, Emma met David Nolan during the counselors program. Upon picking up bits and pieces about her, David decided to introduce Emma to his mother. As soon as Ruth met Emma, she was set on bringing her on as a permanent fixture in their lives.

Having previously thought that she’d never find a place that wanted her, a place that wanted someone old by foster standards and jaded beyond reason, Emma was shocked. Not only was she wanted, she was loved. Despite the three year age difference, and the short time they’d been together, David became her best friend and brother, with Ruby a close second.

There was a shared passion of dancing between Emma and Ruby, and when they weren’t raking in the volunteer hours during the summer, they were saving every penny they earned from their respective guardians to take dance lessons one town over. And that’s the way it went until they graduated.

Remembering what happened after graduation always leaves Emma with a pit of shame in her stomach that feels a lot like indigestion, so when she wanders to the kitchen, she pops two antacids before starting up the coffee maker. It used to be worse, but time heals all, even wounds that don’t feel like they’ll ever scab over.

It’s time for their annual trip back, just two days away, and Emma has too much to do to spend her morning in a guilt trip over things that happened in the past. Instead, she wanders down the hallway to get Ruby up. There’s a whole list for her friend to complete today, and she’s pretty sure she’s also battling with a hangover from being out too late the night before.

She knocks, only twisting the knob and entering the room after hearing the faint groan of invitation. “Hey there, champ. Good morning!”

Ruby groans again, struggling to push her eye mask off her face and groping for the pain killers and water on her nightstand. She’s one of those drinkers that’s always considerate to her morning self – something Emma has always been in awe of. “You’re not the morning person, stop sounding so chipper,” Ruby instructs after drinking down half the water. She hauls herself to sit up, patting the edge of her bed for Emma to sit down. “What’s on your Snow-style agenda for the day?”

“I’m going to clean. You’re going to wrap up the sub-let on the studio space. Graham is supposed to be down there around noon, so you’ve got time, but I need you to grab the costumes we’ll need for performance nights.” She leaves Ruby to get herself out of bed, and calls out that she’ll get breakfast started.

“Don’t break the toaster!” Ruby calls from behind door that Emma closes on her way out, and while Ruby can’t see Emma rolling her eyes, she knows her friend will sense it. It was one time.

Leaving for Camp Hope has always been a little tumultuous for them, but after this many years, Emma thinks they’ve gotten a little better at it. There were a few years where they weren’t going back to work camp, and those are the years that make Emma’s heart ache most – more than the year she refuses to think about.

They closed the camp when Ruth’s health suddenly declined the year after the year-that-shall-not-be-named, and Emma and David only made the journey every week to tend the growing weeds and mend the deteriorating buildings the best they could. With Ruby’s help, they were able to keep the camp from falling apart, but the same couldn’t be said for them. Ruth passed the winter after Emma turned twenty, and she lost the closest thing to a mother she’d ever found.

Luckily, they had one more to hold their family unit together. A year after Emma met him, David met Mary Margaret Blanchard, better known to her friends as Snow, and Emma got to witness fairytale levels of Love at First Punch between them. Down the road, the wedding was a bit rushed, so that Ruth could watch her son get married. Years after the quick engagement and marriage saw them going stronger than ever.

For two years, the camp remained closed, but David and Snow, thanks to an off-hand comment from Emma, decided to reopen the beloved summer camp as an experience for adults. It took a whole other year until they could renovate everything up to standards, but it was worth it. The first year they opened again, it was so profitable and the waitlist was so long that they were easily able to expand and enhance the experiences.

Shaking her head, Emma realizes she’s spending way too much time reflecting and not enough time moving. Down the hall, she hears Ruby’s water start up, and knows she has until the time the taps shut off to get that woman some hangover worthy breakfast. Pouring herself a large mug of coffee, she takes three deep, scalding gulps to get herself going.

She’s just plating up some eggs and bacon, snatching a bagel from the toaster so Ruby can construct her own breakfast sandwich when the roommate in question comes ambling into the kitchen.

This is Emma’s favorite version of Ruby. Stripped of her makeup, without a product in the world in her hair post-shower, wearing an old t-shirt and boxers for her pajamas. Her usual persona is an elaborate mask, with the heavy makeup and killer manicure, flirtation just as exposed as her long, lean legs normally are. The short shorts and low-cut tops are standard everywhere but at home. That’s the Ruby that will likely crawl into her car bright and early in a couple days, but today she’s happy to spend time with average Ruby, and she’s happy when she does not break the toaster again. There are small miracles, after all.

When both of them are settled at the breakfast bar with their food, they start talking strategy, both in prep for leaving and for camp itself.

“Are the costumes for the Waltz demo here or at the studio?” Emma asks as she alternates sips of coffee and bites of her pop-tart.

“The studio, I think. I’ll grab them when I meet with Graham and lock up everything else of ours.”

“Good. Don’t sleep with him this time, okay?”

“No promises,” Ruby says, a wicked grin spreading across her lips even as she tries to hide it behind her coffee mug.

At the very least, they might get a deal on the rent again, which is the only consolation Emma can think of. The rest of their day is a whirlwind, with Ruby taking care of the studio and Emma tidying up their apartment. She packs the bulk of their non-perishable foods to take with them, cleaning as she goes, until the whole kitchen is spotless. She also takes the time to write down the instructions and emergency numbers for Aurora, their downstairs neighbor that’s been kind enough to take care of their plants and fish while they’re gone.

It’ll be weeks until either one of them can make it back to the city, if they do at all, but Emma doesn’t mind. While she loves Ruby and living in the city, she gets her own cabin for the summer. They converted one of the old lodges into a dance/yoga studio, located just a short walk along the west trail from the main lodge. Behind said studio, they relocated one of the cabins and refurnished the whole place to act as the dance director’s housing for the summer. Thankfully, Ruby likes to throw herself into a multitude of activities, so she bunks in the staff cabins up the hill and leaves Emma to have her solitude.

Mostly, all that means is that no one will know that she’s in the studio putting in extra hours. Maybe this will be the year she can quit hunting down bail skippers and be able to focus on nothing but dancing. She can always dream, at least.

Ruby stops in only briefly to drop off a case of their costumes and check in, taking the time to change into a date dress and do her hair and make-up. She gives Emma a wink before she leaves and tells her not to wait up, before disappearing in a flurry of stiletto clicks and perfume. She doesn’t get home until late, when Emma is already tucked in her bed hoping to fall asleep. Her friend is humming and heads straight for the shower.

Emma’s not a bit surprised two days later when Ruby announces that Graham decided to pay more than they originally negotiated, and laughs at the wolfish grin on Ruby’s face as they throw their bags into the backseat and boot of the Volkswagen Bug that Emma’s had for years. They’re actually running on time for once, but Emma doesn’t expect that to last long, especially when, after only an hour, Ruby announces that she’s famished and starts calling out the name of food places they pass.

The trip to Storybrooke, on the coast of Maine, is one of Emma’s favorites. The scenic views from Boston onward are ones she’s familiar with, but that still lift her heart. The trip is only four hours if they don’t stop, but with Ruby’s pea-sized bladder, and her bottomless stomach, it’s more likely they’ll get there in five hours… if they’re lucky.

One year, it took them almost twice as long to make the journey because Ruby was chasing down the International Cryptozoology Museum and her cheap-o GPS meant that the museum (which was on the way) eluded them for hours until Emma screeched that they were done looking and if Ruby really wanted to see it, they’d find it on the way home.

They found it on the first try on their return drive, and Ruby bought her the biggest cone of Rocky Road ice cream they could find at a nearby ice cream stand, to make up for the original disaster.

This job that they do, this ability to go up and demo and teach dances to the souls that will wander through the paths of Camp Hope, is only possible because of the popularity of the camp. The first year, Emma and Ruby would switch off every two weeks, with Ruby piling all her lessons into the two weeks she was home and Emma trying to catch ask many bail skips as possible in between her own lessons and classes. When the popularity of the camp became apparent, they were able to rent out their studio space to a few other dance teachers in the area while they took the whole summer to attend to the camp. It helps that David is able to pay them, and pay them well, for their time and energy.

Along the way, Emma has met the heartbroken and the heartbreakers, she’s met dreamers and lovers, she’s taught cynics and optimists, and she’s danced for every person in between. The two of them together have dealt with perverts and assholes, handsy men and women who don’t take “no” for an answer, and people who have gone on to contact them once the summer ends to continue their lessons in the city. It makes it all worth it, these months away from all the comforts of home, to spend their summers in another version of home.

Plus, thanks to an excellent network of friends in Boston, they never want for anything from home if they forget it. It’s all just a PayPal and overnight shipping away, really.

As Ruby climbs back into the car from their third rest stop, this thought comes in handy. “I left my favorite performance shoes by the door,” Emma groans out as her friend seatbelts in and starts the car.

“Good, because I forgot to grab my sleeping pills off my nightstand,” she says, grinning quickly and dropping the sunglasses back onto her nose.

“I’ll text Aurora now.”

With the promise of a package imminently to be sent their way, Emma relaxes as the last of their journey passes by outside the windows. She zones out to the sights, not perking up again until they hit the Storybrooke town limits. They’ll top off the tank and stop in to see Granny for lunch (second or third lunch by Emma’s count) before heading up to the campgrounds. Her car crawls by each familiar sight, and Emma smiles at the simplicity of it all – the never-changing nature of their sleepy little town. While she only officially lived in Storybrooke for three years, it’s still the only place she’s ever called home.

Granny is already outside by the curb when they pull up, and Emma takes a minute to let Ruby climb out of the car to reunite with her grandmother. It’s only after she sees their hug loosen up that she opens her door, languidly stretching as she unfolds herself from the passenger seat. Then it’s her turn for Granny to gather her up and hug her so hard that Emma’s back cracks. She won’t complain, it definitely eases the travel tension to get a hug from Granny. They’re ushered inside the small diner the elderly (and boy, would be lose her shit if Emma said that term out loud) woman has run for the last billion years.

“When should I expect the first package from your neighbor?” Granny asks after their lunches have been set in front of them.

Ruby laughs, not even ashamed of the fact that they’re so predictable that her grandmother knows they’ve already left something behind.

“We’ll be back in town over the weekend to get it,” Emma answers.

“I already saw one of the trucks of shipment head up to the campgrounds,” Granny remarks as she refills Ruby’s coffee cup. “Your brother has been up there for weeks getting everything ready.”

“Please tell me he’s at least eating.”

“Snow has badgered him back home a couple times now to eat and sleep, and she picks up meals on the days they decide to stay up there. Sounds like you’re gonna have a full camp most of the summer.”

“That’s the plan,” Ruby says, beaming before she takes the last bite of her sandwich.

Emma waves them both off when they move to go into the back for more family time. It’s not that she and Ruby don’t get to visit ever, it’s just that the stretch between Christmas and camp time can sometimes feel like much longer. The same itch resides just below her skin – the need to see her brother and sister-in-law so strong that she almost slips away before she’s done eating and leaving Ruby to hitch a ride out later with one of the counselors that lives in town.

Instead, she idly swirls her onion rings through her ketchup, taking her time with making sure every crumb is gone from the plate while she waits. She glances around, waving to the familiar faces in the booths and at the counter beside her, and she grins at the large board already propped near the entrance that loudly welcomes the campers to town. Since the grounds are two miles north of Storybrooke, many will pass through on their way. Some will stay overnight in the bed and breakfast while others will stop for a bite and a fill-up before continuing on to Camp Hope.

Thankfully, the business that the camp brings to the town will mean that the owners of most, if not all, of the establishments will have their pockets lined for months to come, making the onslaught of guests and visitors worth it when the summer ends and they go back to something less than a speck on the map of Maine.

Ruby and Granny are back a short time later, while Emma is idly catching up with a sweet yoga teacher that goes by Tink. The name is fitting of the cherub-faced woman with the perfect curly bun of blonde hair on top of her head. She’s new to the staff, but not to the town, so Emma is happy to listen to her excitement bubble over as she discusses all the classes she’ll be teaching for the next few months.

“A little help?” Ruby asks, and Emma finally glances up to see her friend’s arms laden down with several bags of what Emma assumes are home-cooked meals, prepared in advance and packaged for the crew that’s already working on getting the grounds ready for the summer. She moves around the counter to take a few of the cloth totes, waving farewell to Tink as they head out.

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly; they use the main entrance to deliver the food to Snow, who’s waiting for them beneath the welcome sign when they pull up. Emma hugs her tight before transferring two of the bags to her. They make the short trek down to the main lodge where Emma gets to give her brother his own hug, tight and bracing and full of the warmth she misses when she’s away from him for so long. With lunch delivered, Ruby and Emma head back up to the car to move it to the staff parking.

The lodges they’ll each be staying in are much closer to their hidden lot than they are the main entrance, which works out well when they’re unloading enough luggage for four months, and maybe a kitchen sink or two. It takes them three trips up and down the steps leading to the lot: one to Ruby’s space in the staff lodges, one to Emma’s private lodge, and one to the studio itself.

Emma wastes no time turning on all the lights and stepping up onto the vast wooden floor. There are mirrors lining one wall, floor to ceiling, and another has all the cabinets where they store their costumes and gear. The wall opposite her reflection has windows spaced evenly apart, which she immediately starts working open even as Ruby brings in the last tote of their stuff. The air is a little stagnant, but flipping on the overhead fans will get it moving again.

Ruby drops the last container with their gear, rushing out to choose her space and start unpacking as soon as she can and promising to come back later to help get the studio in order. Emma waves her off, already itching to have the space to herself. Her muscles are practically begging to be warmed up, to take advantage of the wide open space that calls her name.

She knows she needs to clean first; the mirrors and windows all have that faint tinge of grime that comes from a long winter of neglect. The air conditioning unit needs to be tended to, as well, and tested to make sure it’s in working order before the summer starts in full. Then there’s the cleaning and organizing and stocking and… and Emma doesn’t care. She rips open the first bag she finds and pulls out leggings and a sports bra – they’ll do in a pinch. She changes quickly before skipping along the path back to the studio.

It’s only a matter of time before she’s selected something with an upbeat tempo, thankful again for the auxiliary port that allows her to play her own music from the impressive sound system. She sits on the dusty floors for a moment to slip on a beat up pair of practice shoes and lamenting again how she’ll have to turn her focus to cleaning next.

She takes her time stretching, making sure to work out all the kinks from the drive up and getting her muscles and body all warmed up. As soon as she’s on her feet, she’s running through swing patterns that she can do on her own. Through lines of sailor shuffles and slides, she dances using the whole dance studio, going from one end of the spacious floor to the other. She doesn’t get this much room in Boston. She doesn’t get this solitude. She doesn’t get this freedom. Maybe this is the real reason she loves coming back to camp so often, and there’s probably something in her psyche to deal with in those regards but it’s nothing she’s willing to look too closely into.

By the time the playlist switches to something for cooldown, Emma has worked up an impressive sweat. She grabs a towel from the same bin she found her shoes in, wiping down her face and neck before dropping back to the floor for final stretches. Placing the towel on the floor, she stretches out briefly, staring up at the ceiling and watching the fans whirl peacefully above her. This is it. This is home for the next couple months. And nothing will change how happy she is to be here.

With that thought, and a beatific smile, Emma changes back to her tennis shoes and hauls herself off the floor. There’s hours of cleaning ahead of her, after all.

Chapter 2

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan ff #cs multichap #sarah writes ff