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gregorygrim · 3 years

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Dragon Prince Hot Takes

!!! Full Spoiler For “The Dragon Prince” Seasons 1-3!!!

So I finally got around to watching The Dragon Prince. Timely, I know, but better late than never i guess. I’m not completely caught up yet as I only got as far as S3E7 “Hearts of Cinder” in this first sitting. Considering I haven’t binged any series in almost two years, I think that’s pretty respectable. This means I won’t discuss the last few episodes here, except for a couple of things I was unfortunately spoiled for already, hence full spoilers.

These are basically my first thoughts and opinions after the binge and a good night’s sleep. It’s gonna be a lot so if you don’t care or don’t want spoilers…

TL;DR: 7½/10. Generally enjoyable, there are some aspects I’m not exactly fan of, but no dealbreakers

Firstly to everyone who told me that this was the new ATLA: you all need to rewatch Avatar stat! Like seriously. There are definitely parallels and given the cast and crew I think that’s what they were going for too (which is why I think it’s fair to compare the two), but still, no.

Secondly I love most of the worldbuilding and love that the series at least tries to give it to us in a bit of a non-linear fashion, even if it is kind of clumsy at times. I know some people are put off by expository dialogue and flashbacks, but I’m an epic fantasy nerd, I need that sweet, sweet lore to live as much as you mortals need food.

I like that there was clearly an effort made to integrate the worldbuilding in more subtle ways. For example you may initially find it kind of weird that all these different human ethnicities are existing perfectly integrated in what looks like a medieval society, until you remember from the opening monologue that the Human Kingdoms are the result of a massive diaspora following the human exodus from Xadia, so obviously people got all mixed up everywhere. It’s representation with an excellent in-world reason and that just brings me joy.

I also love the magic system(s) even though we haven’t really gone into that just yet. it really feels like there was a genuine effort made to create underlying mechanics for the magic rather than just making each spell a vaguely elemental themed ability. I really hope we’ll dive deeper into that in coming seasons.

I also like the little nods to other works of fantasy: Ezran’s ability to talk with animals is a reference to Tolkien’s world where some royal bloodlines had the ability to speak with animals, specifically birds; Primal Magic and its spells being cast with Ancient Draconic runes and words might be reminiscent of the Ancient Language from the Inheritance Cycle etc.

Thirdly the main cast is great. Callum, Ezran and Rayla are all interesting and relatable characters in their own right and as a group. I’m not going into each of them individually here, but while I think the series as a whole falls short of ATLA, as protagonist parties go I dare say this one is nearly on nearly on par with the gAang.¹

And yes, I love Bait, which I really did not expect following the first few episodes. I love his weird pug-toad-chameleon design, I love that he works like a flashbang whenever somebody says a quote from Scarface (I wish they hadn’t dropped that later on) and I love how done he is with everything and everyone at all times. I’ve only had him for 25 episodes, but if anything happened to him I would kill all of my followers and then myself.

On top of that, and speaking as someone who god knows is really not into shipping, I love Rayla and Callum’s relationship. It’s believable, it’s refreshing and it brings out the best in both characters without changing basically anything about them. Just two good friends who fell in love. A++, maybe even S tier.

Unfortunately though I can’t sing the same kind of praises about the villains. None of them are terrible (as in terribly written, most of them are pretty awful people), but with one exception they just don’t stand up to the protagonists in quality.

I could simply not take Viren seriously. Even now that is probably the single most powerful magic user in the world, he just has such strong Karen energy, every time he finishes a speech I am overcome with the urge to say “Sir, this is a Wendy’s” and it does not help the mood. I’m not even sure why. It might’ve been the voice because the guy who did Viren (Jason Simpson) also does a lot of kinda slimy characters in various anime dubs, it might be that over-the-top walking stick, idk.

What I’m saying is that as a primary antagonist he simply did not work for me. Which is doubly a shame because this kind of tarnishes the real “Big Bad” of this story by proxy. Aaravos, even as an invisible ghost, with his voice coming out of a caterpillar and next to no info on his backstory, has more style and gravity than all the human antagonists combined. It helps that he is by far the best designed character and Erik Dellums has the voice of a young god, but I’d argue even without that unfair advantage he has the potential to be a top tier villain. While he is stuck as Viren’s “little bug-pal” though he is just being dragged down.

(I’m aware that as of the final episode the caterpillar familiar is undergoing metamorphosis, probably to create a new body for Aaravos’ spirit to inhabit outside of the magic mirror, so I’m definitely hyped for more of him in the coming seasons.)

As for Soren and Claudia, I’ve got mixed feelings. This was one more aspect of the show that a lot of people compared to Avatar and while I see the parallels to Zuko & Azula, they are still very different, at least where Claudia is concerned. I’d also just like to mention that a lot of people told me that they thought the direction in which their storylines went were really surprising and I can’t disagree more. I predicted that Soren would defect to the protagonists on episode 5 right after Viren told him to kill the princes and I knew Claudia was going to stick with her father from episode 12 onward. My point is, it didn’t feel like some kind of plot twist, the way some people made it out to be, and which I don’t think was the intent.

I definitely got the sense that Soren was at least a Zuko-type character, though still not a Zuko clone, and as with Zuko I was consistently able to empathise and sympathise with him and his predicaments. I also appreciated that his dilemma is the result of his convictions and not him being kind of dense, which would’ve been all to easy and probably would’ve ruined his character for me. As it stands he is extremely milktoast, but perfectly functional for his purpose in the story and I can definitely see him evolving further and getting more interesting as we go on.

Claudia is where it gets complicated. Again, I can see the Azula parallels. But unlike that character, who is her father’s animal 110%, Claudia doesn’t strike me as a victim of Viren’s manipulation the way Soren undoubtably is. The way she talks about and uses Dark Magic, how she talks down to Soren and how even Viren finds it difficult to communicate with her, tells me as an audience member that she is an independent person. Which tells me that the cruelty and enthusiasm for causing harm she regularly displays is her own will. And that was before she straight up leads Callum on to manipulate him.

On the other hand I can absolutely relate to her devotion to her family, her big sister role (even though she is younger than Soren) and the way both the separation of her parents before the story and Soren’s injury in episode 16 must’ve affected her because of this. I know that, if my brother had become paralysed from the neck down and I knew a way to heal him, I would not have hesitated to kill that fawn either. Then again her relationship with her father is very different from parental relationships I am familiar with, so I can’t really say I see why she is so devoted to him, other than she promised her mother to stay with him years ago? ¯\(o_Ō)/¯

So basically Claudia falls into an emotional grey space for me. I can’t really tell how to feel about her either way and I’ll just have to see where she goes from here, which, while fine, isn’t necessarily great for an end of season cliffhanger imo.

Seeing as I’ve already talked about some of the show’s shortcomings, I think it’s time to dive into some of the what I would consider flaws.

Firstly this show needed at least 12 episode seasons. I have never made a secret out of my dislike for the modern short seasons and while I recognise that in the current climate in the industry giving everything full 25 episode seasons isn’t really doable, the pacing of this show, especially for the first season is just outright bad at times. It works as of the second season, but the first season alternately feels like it’s either rushing through or crawling along the whole way through.

The believability of Rayla’s and the princes’ relationship really suffers from this the most. It comes a bit out of nowhere on the boat ride and is then taken for granted way to quickly. Like Callum, seriously, this girl tried to kill you and your brother not even a day ago and you are currently cut off from all allies you have ever had until now. A little skepticism isn’t misplaced here. I also wold’ve liked if we’d just gotten a bit more of a sense of movement with the characters. I get that this is not the kind of show where we can just make an entire episode about the characters travelling and camping, intercut with plots centred around a more expansive supporting cast, but still I really would’ve preferred if Xadia didn’t feel quite so around the corner.

Another issue is with setup and payoff, which I think is partially a consequence of the pacing as well. A lot of smaller plot points are set up within the same episode as the payoff just wreak havoc on the narrative structure. A good example is the episode where they ride down the river in a boat and Bait tires to go into the water, but is saved by Ezran, who then explains the story behind Glowtoads and how they are pefect bait for large water predators. Then Bait falls into the water and is attacked by a massive water monster. This happens within five minutes of one episode and never comes up again. To me that looks like sign of rushed editing, which is probably not entirely the crew’s fault, given that they are on a schedule from Netflix, but it’s still a point of critique.

It unfortunately also manifests in the occasional line of horribly forced dialogue, often for things we can literally see happening on screen. Again, this is mostly the case in the earlier episodes, but it never completely goes away.

Finally, and this is where i get into serious issues that made me want to write this, we gotta talk about representation in this show.

First: disabled representation, meaning Amaya. Why is Amaya deaf? Because it’s good to have disabled representation.

Why is Amaya deaf and a high-ranking military officer? Because they didn’t think it through.

I know this may be a contentious opinion, but it is my belief that the purpose of representation, particularly of disabilities characters may suffer from, in fiction is to, y’know, represent people as they are in life. That includes especially the struggles they face and have to overcome, sometimes their whole life. This is not just me talking out of my ass either. A couple years ago I discussed this with several people that are disabled, specifically blind or otherwise severely visually impaired, in a different context obviously, and the general consensus was that it’s better to have representation that shows their life and their abilities as they are, rather than how they might wish they could be.

A mute or deaf person cannot be a medieval fantasy army general, no matter how good they might be in melee combat or who’s sister they are, because at the end of the day, they’re not able to give commands while they are holding a sword and shield. That such a massive logical oversight, especially in comparison to the extremely well done example of representation I mentioned above, and has so little impact on the plot that it leads me to believe, this aspect of Amaya’s character was tacked on in the last minute without being given any thought for the sole reason of the story having a disabled person in it. All this does is necessitate the existence of two otherwise entirely unnecessary characters, Gren and Kazi, both of which achieve nothing, aside from sometimes being literal set dressing.

That is where representation ends and tokenism begins.

And unfortunately this generally lacklustre attitude also extends to the LGBT+ representation on the show.

As of S3E7 “Hearts of Cinder” we have had two onscreen gay couples on the show (onscreen in the sense that both partners were onscreen and they were somehow confirmed to be in a relationship on the show). One of these, the queens of Duren, literally die in the same flashback they are introduced in, which incidentally also features them invading a foreign nation to poach a rare animal and subsequently starting the conflict at the series’ core. Not a great look.

Aside from serving as a tragic backstory for their daughter, the most impact they had on my viewing experience was that they made wonder how the fuck royal succession works in Duren. (People who know me are rolling their eyes right now because I’m bringing anarchism into this Dragon Prince review, but I’m telling you, this why fantasy monarchies aren’t compatible with LGBT+ politics in the same setting. Dynastic governments are inherently bigoted, you can’t have it both ways.)

The other couple are Runaan and Ethari, Rayla’s caretakers, although if I’m being honest you wouldn’t be able tell based on Runaan’s treatment of Rayla in the first episode. By the time we actually meet Ethari and find out about their relationship with Rayla, Runaan is suffering “a fate worse than death” (direct quote from the show) trapped in a gold coin.

I mean come on. That’s about as “technically not ‘bury your gays’” as it gets.

I think I need to reiterate here that my point is not that this show or its creators are somehow malicious. As i stated in the TL;DR: I don’t think this is a dealbreaker for liking this show. But it does demonstrate that they are prone to slipping to some potentially harmful tropes and this needs to be criticised and pointed out to them.

In conclusion, I really love this show. It’s not ATLA, it never will be, nothing else will ever be ATLA no matter how badly (and terribly) Netflix tries. But it does and should not have to be.

What it has to do though is improve. A lot of the building blocks are already there, such as Aaravos or Claudia’s development, Callum’s father, the origin of Ezran’s ability, the purpose of the “Key of Aaravos”, the true fate of King Harrow (we all know his soul is in the bird, right?) etc. Some things like the treatment of Amaya’s disability unfortunately won’t be fixable as far as I can tell, but if they at least manage to fix the gay representation I can make my peace with that.

¹ I know I said I wouldn’t go into each of the characters individually, but a) you should never trust a stranger on the internet and b) I really want to talk a bit about Callum. Specifically the “mystery” of why the hell he is connected to the Sky Primal. I write “mystery” because I think it’s fairly obvious from whence this talent came: there is only one humanoid species we know of with innate access to the Sky Arcanum and one of Callum’s parent’s is unidentified, presumed dead. 2+2=4. Callum’s father was a Skywing Elf. That’s why he recognised Nyx’s boomerang weapon. He remembered one like it either from his very early childhood (remember that he has photographic memory) or Sarai kept one and he found it at some point.

On top of that the name “Callum” or at least the pronunciation is clearly derived from Latin “caelum” meaning “sky” or “weather” and I already mentioned that Ancient Draconic is just bad Latin. It’s not very subtle. Unless they pull a complete 180 concerning the lore about Primal Magic he’s definitely going to be a half-elf, which would also just so happen to make him the perfect mediator between the Human Kingdoms and Xadia. Hmm, it’s almost as if they are planning ahead.

My question: How the fuck did that happen? Or rather: how did that fuck happen? I don’t think even Harrow knew or he probably would’ve a) paid more attention when Sarai advised against poaching the Magma Titan, because obviously she’s gotten around Xadia more than him, if y’know what i’m sayin’ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) or at least b) put it in his final letter to Callum. Unfortunately we know basically nothing about Sarai except that she was a soldier alongside Amaya and already had Callum before marrying Harrow. So does Amaya know? This is probably the most interesting plot thread in the whole story and as far as my friends told me it’s not going to be touched on anymore in the last two episodes than it already has thus far, which is basically not at all.

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anncanta · 3 years

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‘Dracula’ and ‘Doctor Who’. Blood is testimony

Stephen Moffat is often accused of using similar plots, repeating the same plot lines, and returning to a number of his favorite ideas.

Moffat really develops a certain set of specific, quite recognizable topics, and in his different scripts, he one way or another tells similar stories.

But with his recurring motives and ideas, as, indeed, with another stuff, not everything is so simple.

First, the outstanding authors are most often accompanied by craving for certain narratives and archetypal forms, as well as cross-cutting themes. Some of this authors create ‘frames’ for these ideas in the form of multivolume novels or novel cycles, others devote wreaths of sonnets and collections of stories to their favorite topic, and others choose whole genres for reflection on issues that are important to them. I think that none of those reading this article will have any difficulties with examples.

Secondly, there are not so many really interesting stories.

And thirdly, repetitions can be different. Like any feature, it can exist on its own, or it can – if the author has a large-scale talent – become another way to tell a story like no one else do.

In Stephen Moffat's case, we are dealing with a very unique situation where the author's stories are literally read through one another.

I will make a separate reservation: I am not talking about postmodern ‘intertextuality’ – a vile definition for references and quotations that have existed in literature since the emergence of storytelling and are news only for postmodernists themselves – but about a peculiar use of certain plots and motives.

If you want, you can find a huge number of such things in Moffat's scripts. The viewers who have been closely following his work since the period when he became the showrunner of Doctor Who will immediately name a dozen of them. But I would like to dwell on one example – the newest one for today.

When the TV series Dracula by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss was released on BBC and Netflix in 2020, some viewers noted the similarity of its style, and in some places, the plot outline, with Doctor Who, and directly called the main character of the film, Agatha Van Helsing, the female version of the Doctor.

The first is obvious, and the second is quite understandable in light of the two years earlier release (absolutely disastrous, in my opinion) of the eleventh and twelfth seasons of Doctor Who.

But the beauty of both Moffat's game and the whole story is that there`s not Agatha who is the Doctor here.

Yes, by all appearances, it is this brave, interested in science, well acquainted with evil, fighting against it and even – partly – traveling through time, the heroine who seems most suitable for the role of the Doctor in the new setting. There was a calculation for this: Moffat, during his time as the showrunner of the series, who, it seems, tried all the plot possibilities except this one, and who left on the eve of the epochal transformation of the character, it would seem, had to offer the audience his version of the female Doctor. Well, he did: on the surface. As if he said: ‘Here is a heroine with such qualities. This is how you imagine her, isn`t it? Well, get it.’

And inside this shell, as inside the unfortunate Jonathan Harker (Moffat, as a true Briton, uses materialized metaphors and often literally shows what he means), there is another story.

In order to understand it, you need to take a close look at Dracula and – at Doctor Who written by Moffat.

With Dracula everything is simple. As soon as you start looking for the main character of this film who: a) lives for several centuries; b) collects human stories; c) travels in time; d) always has one or more people next to him – you instantly find him. And if you've watched an entire episode and a half and still don't understand anything, in the middle of the second one you will hear a direct quote.

'The sophistication of a gentleman, Agatha, is always a veneer.'

'Even a gentleman like Mr. Balaur?'

'Mr. Who?'

But that's just one detail.

A deeper level opens if you try to read Dracula through Doctor Who itself.

In the Christmas special Twice upon a time, which ends the last season, written by Stephen Moffat, the plot is centered on the Doctor's encounter with strange creatures, as if made of glass, which are living vaults of memory. The episode itself is full of layered ideas and references. But for us now only one dimension is important.

At the very end of the special, the Doctor addresses the glass creatures with an ardent speech – one of those that he loves so much.

‘You're just memories, held in glass. Do you know how many of you I could fill? I would shatter you. My testimony would shatter all of you. A life this long, do you understand what it is? It's a battlefield. And it's empty. Because everyone else has fallen.’

Does this remind you of anything?

It seems to me that this is a literal description of what is happening with Dracula.

What he says throughout the film, and what Agatha did not understand even at the end, because in order to understand this, you had to live his life.

And in order to understand this whole context, you need to understand that the Doctor was never a good guy. He always said this to everyone but no one believed him.

No one believed the stories of the horror before which entire civilizations tremble, about a creature that destroyed its entire species in order to stop the most destructive war in history, about the person who does not need weapons so that the captains of warships flocked from the most distant corners of the Universe, after listening to him for a couple of minutes, ran away without looking back.

The Doctor was never a good guy, but just as important, he always knew it. For the Doctor of Russell T. Davis, this position looks like a fact with which neither the character himself nor the people around him and aliens are very inclined to interact. I guess it’s a matter of Davis’ very outlook on the story and perhaps his own worldview.

But the Doctor of Moffat is a hero who lives with this knowledge and with the impossibility of passing this knowledge on to others.

Because the Doctor is always the one they are waiting for, the one they go to for advice, the one with whom they travel around the Universe, the one who opens the door to the magical world, the one they hope for.

He is never the one who sits on the roof of the TARDIS, surrounded by the loneliness of the starry sky. Not someone who lives longer than any human being, not someone who knows what it means to make monstrous decisions in circumstances that most of us cannot imagine.

And the one in whom there is so much testimony that it is able to break the vessel that they will try to fill with.

In Dracula, all these details, motives, and meanings are repeated sequentially.

The most obvious is ‘blood is testimony’. This is not self-quotation, as it might seem, but a literal proposal of the author to look in a certain direction.

The blood in Dracula is not only memory. It's also a way to watch. And to see a bright and diverse world, which otherwise would have become boring long ago.

In the fifth season of Doctor Who, there is a moment when Eleventh says to Amy Pond, ‘You don't understand. I have the whole Universe in my backyard. I'm used to it. I don’t notice it. But when you appear, I look with your eyes. And it becomes a miracle again.’*

In this sense, the ‘brides’ and everyone that Dracula ate are in some way his companions. If you remember what a great sense of guilt towards most of his companions the Doctor felt and how some of them ended up, the comparison turns out to be not so poor.

Dracula, like the Doctor, has companions with whom he has a very special relationship that he cannot explain to himself. He travels through time and space, discovering one day that all human experience is stored and cataloged somewhere in his head, and there is nothing new.

And – as is often the case in Moffat's stories – here one character completes and harmoniously implements a theme started by another.

If the Doctor, being who he is, and fully aware of this, tormented by endless insatiable loneliness and memories of life as an empty battlefield, invariably continues the path that seems to him more and more meaningless, then Dracula decided to end the life like that.

And all this, the whole story, is organized as a transition, as a movement forward and backward in time, which unites and brings to life what is dissolved, inherent, basically exists, and ‘spilled’ in blood. The blood here is also the same as the space in the Doctor Who, it is the Universe, which belongs to everyone and flows inside everyone, and inside which everyone exists, and which determines everyone. In order for blood to become an individuality, it takes time, a specific moment at which each specific individuality comes to the surface. So, for example, the return of Agatha takes place. There must be something she wants to come back for. Like the TARDIS, blood is always within us and speaks through us. In the case of Dracula and Agatha, this is their bond, their love for each other. Even if this love is unaware, – sometimes the TARDIS acts on her own and travels wherever she wants, forcing the Doctor and his companions to act in the circumstances she suggests.

And all this, this whole context, the whole story, with all its dimensions and additional meanings, became possible only due to the fact that Stephen Moffat, the author of both series, is not afraid to describe ambiguous heroes, to reflect out loud on their adventures, and – sometimes – to repeat.

* The words of Eleventh quoted from memory.

#dracula 2020 #bbc dracula #count dracula #agatha van helsing #doctor who #moffat

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timeagainreviews · 3 years

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My Series 10 Rewatch: Knock Knock

Hello, my fantastic friends! I am sorry I have been so quiet. I got coronavirus in February and it really wiped out my energy. I am finally starting to bounce back and feel like leaving the house once more. This beautiful Scottish spring we’re having has definitely helped. I also lost my grandpa this week, so I've been all over the place, emotionally. Obviously, such a big pause in the middle of a series 10 rewatch is disruptive, so I would rather just dive back in if it's all the same. When last we were gathered, I was talking about "Thin Ice." Since then, the ice has thawed and I am now up to series 10 episode four- "Knock Knock," by one-time Doctor Who writer Mike Bartlett.

An aspect of Doctor Who which I love about Steven Moffat’s era is that the Doctor and his companions didn’t spend every waking moment of their lives together. Unlike companions of the past, who basically left behind their family lives to galavant across time and space, the companions of the Moffat era had home lives. Not only did this make for some humorous moments, such as the Doctor landing his TARDIS in Clara’s bedroom on date night, it also set up the characters for something of an actual life. "Knock Knock," uses this separation of worlds to establish one of its central themes- can you have a normal life with the Doctor?

Being a poor student in London, Bill is forced to look for a flat with a group of people she only sort of knows. This is your typical group of students, eclectic and young. The biggest commonality they have is they can’t afford a place on their own. One of the ways in which this makes the episode suffer is that none of them has much chemistry together. However, it does enable Bartlett to explore deeper concepts, such as the fear of meeting new people. Our characters are forced to deal with a deadly situation with people who are basically strangers.

The other commonality they have is Bill’s mate, Shireen. I got momentarily excited the first time I heard her name, but only because I thought it was going to be Rose’s best mate Shareen. Also, it would mean that Rose and Shareen had like a 10 year age difference, which would be weird. Shireen is a bubbly sort that seems gung-ho about everyone getting on. This doesn’t stop 90% of their interactions from being a total cringefest. Not one of these characters is particularly likeable. Pavel, the musician of the group, and the one character with maybe a bit of culture becomes a wall pretty early on, so it’s a bland time from there on out. But that’s getting a bit ahead of ourselves.

After a montage of disappointing flats ("Oh my god, the toilet is is what room?") the gang stands defeated. But like a beacon of light, comes a glimmer of hope in the form of John, a man who clearly prowls the streets for groups of youths. The gang is willing to overlook the obvious stranger danger about John because he has something they need- a giant house at a reasonable price. It’s another one of those deeper concepts being explored here that I think Doctor Who does so well. The show operates well when it preys upon basic fears. In this case, it’s the fear of the creepy landlord. The fear that your home life may be dictated by a creepy man who carries a tuning fork and forbids you to enter certain parts of the house like it’s Beauty and the Beast.

Arriving as if to say "No, Bill, you can’t have a normal life," is the Doctor. After using his TARDIS to move her belongings, Bill is quick to send him off. She even foregoes the traditional six-pack of beer and pizza, the universal payment for friends helping one move house. Of course, the moment the Doctor enters the derelict abode, his Time Lord senses are pinging. The Doctor isn't just an embarrassing "grandfather," type, but also a threat to any semblance of a normal life Bill can hope to have. As I said, this is familiar territory in the Moffat era. A funny side effect of the Doctor's attempts at allowing his companions to live normal lives is it only adds to the sharp contrast between both existences. Perhaps this is immersion therapy on the Doctor's behalf. Letting his friend remember what the world is actually like so as to not disassociate her from her own time and place. Or perhaps it is the Doctor softening the blow of eventually losing his friend.

The Doctor leaves long enough for two things to happen. Firstly, Pavel is listening to some music and suddenly is eaten by the house. Nobody seems to notice. Secondly, the new housemates have a bit of a games night for their first night at 11 Cardinal Road. There's no cellphone reception and the house is nowhere near up to code. I applaud them for trying to build up these characters, but it never really gels. Their merriment is cut short after hearing a noise in the kitchen. Scooby-Doo style, Bill leads them to the pantry where she finds the Doctor never actually left. They decide to head to bed, but the Doctor decides he's going to stay up with Felicity and Harry and listen to music. He also reminds Bill to maybe check on Pavel who has not been seen all day.

Now back in the sitting room, the gang is surprised to find John present. He addresses their problems with the amenities and waxes strange about having a daughter to look after. The Doctor asks John who the Prime Minister is, but he is unable to answer. Before they can ask more questions, John disappears down the hallway, but not before sounding his tuning fork against the wood. On her way to bed, Bill has the most cringe conversation with her new housemate, Paul. Paul fancies Bill. Bill fancies girls. I get that they may have wanted a scene where Bill flat out says to the audience that she's gay, but Paul comes off as super creepy. I wouldn't have an issue with this, but I feel like we're meant to find Paul endearing. It's hard for me to place what exactly they were going for in this scene. Paul, mate, you just met her. You just moved in together. Maybe let the paint dry first.

Luckily, like a shot from the dark, the plot saves us from having to stand in the hallway of awkwardness. Paul, having gone to his room, screams. Thinking he's having a laugh, Bill and Shireen go knocking on his door, only to find the return knock sounding across the hallway wall. The house begins to creak and shudder while doors slam shut. It's like something from a haunted house movie. In many ways, it follows a familiar trope from Doctor Who. The house haunted by aliens. We've seen it in "Ghost Light," "Hide," or even Edward Grove from "The Chimes of Midnight." Though I would argue that here, there is less grist for the mill. "Knock Knock," is a more stripped back, simple story. And in that way, I find it begins to lose me as the mystery unravels.

As the housemates run through the house, trying to escape whatever is happening, they find Pavel in a state of flux. Something about the music on his record player skipping has kept him from being completely absorbed by the house. I will say, this is a great bit of body horror on the makeup department's behalf. Everything about Pavel looks like a guy getting eaten by a wall. As it turns out, the tuning fork and the music have more to do with what's going on as the Doctor discovers the house infested with alien lice known as "Dryads." Using his sonic screwdriver, the Doctor is momentarily able to draw the bugs out from the grain of the wood. The Dryad is not your common woodlouse, as it appears to move through wood like water. Even in my second viewing, I found myself wondering if this is kind of cool or kind of dumb. I vacillate between the two.

In many ways, this is both Doctor Who's greatest strength and its greatest weakness. The surreal nature of a time-travelling police box affords us things like sentient planets, talking chair frogs, and killer mannequins. On the other hand, it gives us farting aliens, gamma radiation in the form of lightning, and the Doctor screaming until a window smashes. I remember reading an Eighth Doctor book where horse people read books on their planet by licking them and tasting the story. Sometimes, Doctor Who is bloody brilliant, and other times, it's bloody embarrassing. But that's partly why I love it. This kind of freedom gives it freshness. One week we get a priest buzzing like a wasp as he talks, the next we get River Song and the Vashta Nerada.

Now, I'm not saying "Knock Knock," is bad, but it is a little dumb. I've already complained about the dopey kids nobody cares about, and the silly aliens that aren't that scary, but the end of this episode is where it really kind of evens itself out. As I said, I vacillate between this being a good and a bad story. We learn that the reason John doesn't want anyone up inside the tower of the house has nothing to do with safety, and everything to do with a dark secret. After discovering the unclaimed belongings of previous occupants over the span of decades, the housemates learn that they are just the latest in a long line of people being fed to the house.

I found the motivation of the Dryads a little hard to understand. It seems weird to me that a woodlouse would want to eat people, but here we are. As it turns out, John has found a way to keep his "daughter," Eliza, alive using the Dryads. After noticing they respond to sonic vibrations, John has been using the tuning fork the make them do his bidding. It's a simple arrangement- he feeds students to the Dryads, the Dryads keep Eliza alive as a wooden woman, hidden away in the tower like some forgotten ghost. Once again, the makeup department has done its job. You genuinely believe Eliza is a woman made from wood. I especially like how they used papery twine for her hair.

They do a good job giving reasons why the housemates can't call for help. No wifi, no reception. But it is hard to imagine that over the course of decades, nobody came looking at this giant house for clues of their missing loved ones. Maybe they did and the house ate them as well. All I know is that it's mighty convenient that not one prospective tenant said to their mum or dad "Hey, I'm moving into a giant house at 11 Cardinal Road." Hell, even the Doctor helped move Bill in. What was John's big plan for when the Doctor came around looking for his "granddaughter?"

By this point, several of the housemates have been eaten by the house. Honestly, I could care less about which ones. I think Paul got his, and of course poor wooden Pavel. Or would that be wooden panel? I can't stress how little I care about these characters. Am I cold? I don't think so. We never see them on the show again. They don't matter in the slightest. With the Dryads closing in, the Doctor and Bill have to think quick. Which is when they realise that the timelines don't match up. If John were Eliza's actual father, he would be long dead. Seeing as he is not also made of wood, they deduce that he is in fact not Eliza's father, but her son. Unable to say goodbye to his ailing mother, John has been preserving her. Eliza has been through so much trauma that she has completely forgotten this fact. It's all rather depressing if I'm honest.

Depressing is okay though. What's Doctor Who without the occasion trudge through misery? Of course, it's not all doom and gloom, as Eliza restores all of the young people, once again leaving me to question why they were eaten in the first place. Were they transmuted into energy and simply recombined? It's the best explanation we're going to get, which is fine. David Suchet gives a powerful performance as he begs his mother not to end their lives. His performance is, by far, one of the strongest elements of this episode. Eliza and John are both overtaken by the Dryads, who are off presumably forever. I suppose the threat of Dryads is no longer looming now that their puppet master is no longer pulling their strings.

All in all, I find myself without much to say about this episode. It's not bad, but it's not a banger either. Even writing this review has been a bit of a slog. I find myself hard-pressed to really have any strong feelings one way or the other, and sometimes, that's just how it is. I will say it is the brownest episode of Doctor Who I’ve seen since the ‘70s. The BBC really knew how to dull down colour back then. Sigh... The best I can say about "Knock Knock," is that it's fine, really. There's nothing really wrong with it other than being kind of dull. I think if they'd have tried harder to make the characters more relatable it could have helped. Not every villain needs to be the new Daleks or Weeping Angels. Unlike some of the other episodes in my series ten rewatch, my opinion on this episode has changed very little. I would be as equally surprised to hear someone say this episode was terrible as I would be to hear it's their favourite. This is the kind of Doctor Who you can have on in the background.

Much like we followed the lacklustre "The Unicorn and the Wasp," with the transcendent "Silence in the Library," I am very excited for the next episode in my rewatch- "Oxygen." Another anti-capitalist romp in the vein of "Smile," is just what I need right now. Now that I am back and feeling up to writing again, you should expect to see a bit more output. I wanted to cover the BBC's Youtube Dalek series, of which I have not watched a single frame. I've been putting it off because I wanted to talk about it on here. I have a few non-review articles in mind, but I don't like to promise too much. What I am saying is that you can expect more, soon! Take care!

#doctor who #series 10 #knock knock #David Suchet #bill potts #Pearl Mackie #Twelfth Doctor #Peter Capaldi #dryads #wood #bbc #tardis #rewatch #Time and Time Again

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1-800-roflmao · 3 years

Text

Wash Day Delight Pt. 3

Rating: General Audiences

WARNINGS: None

Fandom: Undertale (Video Game)

Relationships: Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale) & Reader, Papyrus (Underfell) & Reader

Characters: Papyrus (Undertale), Reader, Edge (UF Pap), and Mentions of Other AU Skeletons

Additional Tags: Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), reader is poc, Reader has curly hair, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Friendship, Wholesome, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, I'm Bad At Summaries, Not Beta Read, Romance if you squint, Subtext, Let Papyrus be Sassy, Edge Is The Unwilling Dad Friend, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Humor, Slice of Life

*I was vague with reader's scent on purpose. Some of use love coconut milk or oil or Shea butter, but it's not universal. I like Manuka honey blends~

And it's always the bra that get ditched first!

PREVIOUS || FIRST || NEXT

“So, what took so long with Mrs. Ida?” She had just finished locking up the house and they were now descending the back staircase. It had been a mad dash to get finished and out the door since she flustered Papyrus in the bathroom. If it was petty vengeance for teasing him, she didn’t know, but he had threatened to carry her out in a much similar way to how he does with Sans if she didn’t “MAKE HASTE.” Needless to say, she hadn’t been given a moment until now to inquire what had happened earlier that evening. “I was startin’ ta wonder if you’d gotten lost…” she mumbled, her tone giving away just how worried she had been despite trying to joke it off now. She could hear him lightly click his teeth in acknowledgement.

“Mrs. Ida Had Not Driven Here,” he started and she arched a brow before chuckling as it clicked. How had she not considered a woman of Ida’s age might not drive? Would it have been presumptuous to have asked though? “She Had Said She ‘Caught’ A Cab, But Not Literally,” he was rambling a bit, but she wasn't complaining. She lifted her gaze from the paved pathway they were walking along and up to her friend. She could hear an edge of bashfulness to his voice as he admitted the old woman taught him about “euphemisms.” His retelling was quickly veering off into a tangent, ranging from complaining and praising the many different facets of language to pondering if it was worth getting his brother some study materials. He griped it was a fifty-fifty chance to either improve his jokes and puns, or make them so much worse.

“Oh, I think it’d be worth it!” she piped up, looking away as he cut off his rant and directed his gaze down at her. She didn’t need to look at him right now. She could very easily guess his expression and just knew those sockets of his were narrowing as he sent her a suspicious look.

A beat of silence then “THEN I WILL LEAVE SANS ALONE.”

She fought back a giggle, “Aw, c’mon! Don’t you want his puns to be up to your standards?” She tipped her head back as she directed a cheeky grin his way.

Papyrus just huffed, crossing his arms over his chest which was now missing the pastel sweater from earlier. He had taken it off before they left the house to reveal his “Jog Boy” top. “IT IS OBVIOUS YOU ARE HOPING FOR THE OPPOSITE!” he rebuked, “AND DON’T EVEN TRY TO ARGUE. I KNOW YOU TOO WELL! BEST. FRIEND.” He emphasized those last two words like it was the most solid evidence to ever exist.

With a little defeated shrug of her shoulders, she blew a raspberry his way. “Fiiiine,” she drug out the word, “But you know you love his jokes and puns anyways.” A frustrated noise hissed past his teeth as he shamefully agreed. “Soooo, going off that logic…” she started, a devious curl to her lips and twinkle in her eyes as she moved in front the skeleton. “Wouldn’t you love his jokes EVEN MORE if they got WORSE?” she pushed, brows waggling as she watched Papyrus freeze, his mind working through what she just said. Once his mind finally wrapped around her hypothesis, he gripped his skull, falling to his knees, and let out possibly the most anguished, dramatic scream. Apparently, he couldn't find fault with his human friend’s absurd logic.

○●○●○●○●○

The temperature outside had dropped once again in such little time and despite the slight chill, she couldn’t feel any of it. It would be a miracle at this point if she could. No, she’d be thankful to as it would mean she wouldn’t be having the workout from hell right now. Maybe she had teased him a wee bit too much.

“Paaaapiiiii!” she griped, surprised she could even get out a whine that long considering she could barely catch her breath, “I said! I was-!” What was supposed to be an easy jog had turned a into suicide run. “SORRY!” Papyrus was behind her setting the pace and any time she slowed too much, he would pinch or smack whatever part of her he could reach at that moment. So far, her left butt cheek had felt the brunt of it along with her upper thighs.

“FOCUS! CONTROL YOUR BREATHING, HUMAN!” he snapped, ignoring her plea, and she wondered briefly if maybe Edge had snuck up and taken her normally gentle friend’s place. A pinch on her elbow had her picking up her pace and focusing on the now. She had already learned she wasn’t allowed to look back, plus it didn’t help any with balance or keeping pace. “LOOK! THERE IS YOUR GOAL ONLY A FEW MORE STEPS UP AHEAD!” Curse him for not even sounding out of breath. She knew these skeletons don’t technically need to breathe, but at least huff a bit or something in sympathy here.

Papyrus had not been lying though. Just one more block down was the gym, or as she thought of it: her salvation. Zeroing in on the building that was getting closer and closer, she focused on her breathing to bring it down from frantic pants to something more disciplined: slower and deeper. It was a strange feeling as her mind calmed. Heh, maybe her old coach had a point when he said the human body can do a lot more than the mind thinks.

“START SLOWING DOWN,” she gratefully followed the order and began easing her pace, but aware of him behind her still setting the pace. She supposed one day she would be grateful to him for not letting her come to a dead stop. Today, in this moment, she wasn’t as the slow ease of the pace was almost as tortuous as the marathon she had been forced to run. “WE’VE ARRIVED. YOU CAN REST NOW.” He didn’t need to say it twice as the young woman nearly crumpled before the doors of the gym. Bent over with hands on splayed knees as she sucked in air like it was going to get away. She could feel a large hand rubbing her back and was aware that Papyrus was saying something, possibly praises or encouragements, but she could barely hear over the rush of blood, her pounding heart that seemed so much louder and next to her ears, and her puffs that were thankfully slowing as she caught her breath.

○●○●○●○●○

Papyrus felt just a little guilty as he watched his friend recover from their run, but not enough to apologize. He kept rubbing soothing circles onto her hunched back. “AMAZING WHAT WE CAN ACCOMPLISH WHEN WE PUSH OURSELVES,” he gently pushed at her spine, encouraging her to straighten it rather than bowing. He had a feeling she wasn’t hearing a word he was saying, but continued to sing her praises as he opened his dimensional box and took out a bottle of water. “LOOK AT THE BRIGHT SIDE! YOU ALREADY HIT YOUR HEART RATE GOAL FOR TONIGHT AND WE CAN WALK BACK,” he cracked the cap on the bottle. He couldn’t hear her gasping for breath anymore, but she was still hunched over. “COME ON, WE STILL-”

“I THOUGHT I RECOGNIZED THAT UNCEASING CHEER,” a new voice cut in, one he recognized as well. Looking up from his friend, he spotted the pricklier version of himself leaning out the doors of the gym. Edge’s narrow sockets stared the two of them down, but he felt no ire from the other, just curiosity and some irritation.

“OH, WELL HELLO, EDGE,” he greeted as cheerfully as he could despite the mounting confusion he was feeling. He could feel his friend tense for a moment beneath his hand before relaxing again. Her heart rate had slowed to normal by now, but had picked up just a bit at the mention of Edge. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” If he remembered correctly, his fell counterpart usually didn’t work out this particular day, or at least not at night.

Edge only huffed as he finally stepped fully outside and marched up to his doppelganger. “WHAT DO YOU THINK?” he snipped, arms crossed as he came to a stop just a few feet from the two.

Oh, how hard Papyrus’s eyelights would have rolled if he had them. “OH, I DON’T KNOW, BUT SINCE YOU ASKED SO NICELY!” he started, hand lifting to tap a phalange against his chin in feigned thought. “AHA! YOU HAVE FINALLY DECIDED TO VISIT THE CHIROPRACTOR WHO WORKS TONIGHT AND GET THAT ATTITUDE STRAIGHTENED UP!” he declared with utmost confidence, somehow managing to sound sincerely elated in a way only Papyrus could.

A silent staredown ensued as Papyrus just kept smiling brightly in feigned innocence. He could see that Edge wanted to be mad at him, but couldn’t hide that little proud quirk of his sharp fangs. The moment was broken as his friend brought attention back to herself with a poorly smothered laugh.

○●○●○●○●○

She had been quiet through the entire encounter. Hearing Edge’s voice after just wondering about him during that hellish run had her wondering if she had somehow summoned him with just a single thought. She took a moment to pray to whatever gods or deities were out there to take mercy on her. She would hold back on the teasing and being a little shit, just no more torture tonight. Maybe if she stays real quiet, she could avoid getting Edge’s attention and lessen her chances of irreparable damage.

That all went out the window as a little snort pushed past her lips. Leave it to Papyrus to sass one of the pointiest, scary-looking monsters around. “I need to know where you get that audacity from,” she didn’t bother trying to contain the laugh anymore as she straightened up with a roll of her shoulders, “I could use some of it.”

Both skeletons huffed at that, but it was Edge who spoke up first, “YOU HAVE PLENTY OF IT ALREADY, BRAT.”

Papyrus nodded along, “ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING YOUR BEHAVIOR TONIGHT.”

She pouted, parting her lips to argue, but froze as Edge had uncrossed his arms with an appraising look sent her way.

“OH? AND JUST WHAT HAS SHE DONE?” Edge questioned, voice full of amusement as he watched the human between them shake her head and send a pleading look to Papyrus. She was begging with just her eyes for him to not throw her under the bus. No such luck as he began filling Edge in on all her teasing and poking fun that night. He decided to add on that she had been running late at that.

Throughout it all, Edge was prowling closer and closer until he was practically invading her space. He must have already been working out when they came since she could smell something spicy, like cinnamon, with just a little musk wafting from him once he was close enough. Usually he was very keen on making sure his scent was barely noticeable, especially after the first time she commented on it. It hadn’t been a bad comment. It smelled quite nice, just like now, but since then she only got lucky to get a whiff here and there. As much as she wanted to take a step back, she stubbornly kept eye contact and straightened up even more.

“BUT SHE DID RUN ALL THE WAY HERE. NONSTOP,” Papyrus had finished his recount with her most recent accomplishment. She let herself feel proud as she watched Edge’s cruel smile soften just a bit with awe and pride. With how close he was though, she could practically feel the rumble as he hummed thoughtfully.

“Then I Guess She Has Earned Forgiveness,” his voice should not be allowed to be at that volume. It still had that scratchy quality to it, but the low volume just increased that damnable rumbling that was causing warmth to bloom in her chest and hopefully not on her face. “BUT,” she gulped as that cruel lilt returned and he leaned in, “WHY STOP THERE?” No. “I THINK IT’S TIME WE HELP OUR FRIEND LEARN WHAT HER NEW LIMITS ARE. AREN’T YOU CURIOUS, BRAT?” No, no she was not.

In a last ditch effort to get out this, she leaned to look pleadingly at Papyrus, but he wasn’t even paying her any mind as he seemed to be pondering something. One foot was tapping as he rested an elbow in the palm of his opposing arm’s hand. A water bottle was pinned between his arm and chest. A distal phalange tapped away at his temple as he hummed. Sockets squinted for the few moments he took to think it over. Hope bloomed as he finally looked to them with that signature toothy grin of his. “GREAT IDEA, EDGE!” How quickly hope shattered.

○●○●○●○●○

~THREE HOURS LATER~

○●○●○●○●○

“I hate you both…” the words lacked energy and any true vitriol. She couldn’t even muster the energy to feel any shame or shyness pertaining to her current predicament. She was now aware of muscles she never knew she had and she was sure the next morning would be hell. Would she even be able to move tomorrow? These two had done just what they promised and pushed her to find new limits, but the cost was her ability to pretty much function on her own. Her legs were like jelly and her arms were just barely listening to her. Her core wasn’t putting up a fuss right now, but she knew it was coming. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too bad as the two had made sure she drank water, stretched, and did cool downs.

Papyrus had taken pity on her when he saw her physical state and insisted he carry her. He had won despite her stubborn efforts to stand and walk in the locker room afterwards. Edge had even chided her, telling her to quit being fussy, and just accept the help or crawl. She doubted he would have actually let her crawl out the gym.

“We Know You Don’t Mean That,” one of her tormentors answered with a far too jovial tone. The other just snickered off to her left and feeling contrary, she turned her face the opposite way, which ended up with her pretty much nuzzling into Papyrus’s neck as he was currently carrying her piggyback. Rather than looping his arms under her knees and holding her that way, he had gone with braiding his fingers behind his back and letting her pretty much sit on his palms. His arms kept her legs pinned to his sides. He was bent forward slightly which kept her from having to hold on as tightly and instead just lay against his back.

An indignant huff was the only answer she graced them with. She could feel Papyrus’s little laugh more than hear it as it caused her to bounce gently on his back. Meanwhile, the smell of sweet mint and citrus invaded her senses from where her face was tucked. It was honestly a little unfair how these skeletons could smell so good after a hard workout. She hoped she didn’t stink…

A sharp distal poked her shoulder and stubbornly she ignored its owner. The pokes continued until finally it was just stabbing into her already sore flesh and she gave in, rolling to face the sharp skeleton once more. To her surprise, a banana was currently being held right in front of her face. It had already been partially peeled. She blinked and it was still there. “A banana?” she mumbled, mentally slapping herself for stating the obvious.

Edge snickered, “AT LEAST THAT MUSCLE IN YOUR HEAD IS STILL SOMEWHAT VIABLE.” His humor had always been drier than the Sahara and now was no exception. Any witness would have thought he was beating a dog that was already down.

“If you’re talking about my brain, it’s actually made of fat,” she replied, just as dry and resting her cheek against Papyrus’s shoulder. For a skeleton, he was surprisingly comfy and his easy pace was gradually rocking her to sleep. Said skeleton made a noise best described as a “SNRK!” not long after what she said. Edge had only released a drawn out sigh. At least one of them appreciated her humor.

“JUST EAT THE DAMN BANANA, YOU BRAT,” he moved it closer insistently, looking and sounding very much like a tired mom trying to get her child to eat the last piece of broccoli on their plate.

A pause then, “No.”

“NO?”

“No.”

“WHY?”

“Where did you even get a banana from?”

“I HAD IT.”

“So, you just carry around a banana all the time?”

“NO, YOU DISCOUNT KAOLA.”

“Awww, and here I thought I was an upgrade.”

“QUIT TRYING TO DIVERT THE CONVERSATION AND EAT IT.”

“Fine… but only if you tell me why I should.”

Edge sucked in an unneeded breath as he nearly vibrated in irritation. He took a moment to calm before gritting out, "FINE." She was just a little impressed he had an answer. “POTASSIUM IS SUPPOSED TO BE GOOD FOR EASING AND PREVENTING CRAMPS. BANANAS, I READ, APPARENTLY CONTAIN IT. THUS EATING IT SHOULD HELP YOU BE LESS OF A USELESS LUMP TOMORROW,” he explained, concise and leaving no room for argument, “AND QUIT YOUR LAUGHING, CREAMPUFF. YOU’RE NOT HELPING THE MATTER.” Her sleepy, tired brain processed the information and found no fault. A memory of an old movie where the parents were shrunk and the kids were left on their own came to mind as she remembered it mentioning something about bananas and potassium as well.

“Okay, you win,” she conceded, chuckling quietly as the scarred skeleton sighed in relief. Edge had far more patience than most give him credit for. At one point in the past, he would have just shoved the fruit in her mouth or just stormed off, but now he was willing to put up with the back and forth. Maybe he actually enjoyed banter? Earlier, he seemed to be proud of Papyrus’s sass.

Sleepy and not thinking, she leaned forward and took a bite of the banana. It was just at the right ripeness she noted as she chewed contentedly. She didn’t notice how quiet either skeleton was or that they had come to stop before a black classic Ford Mustang.

○●○●○●○●○

Edge’s mind had blanked as he watched the scene play out. This human, rather than simply taking the fruit from his hand and eating it normally, had instead leaned forward slowly and carefully. There was a little sway to her movement, a little shake in her arms as she curled her fingers tighter in to the Creampuff’s shirt to steady herself, and he instinctively brought up his free hand to hover near her just in case. “WATCH WH-what you...” his words faded out as she finally reached the fruit and took a small bite. To top it off, she was doing that absurdly cute little wiggle and hum that human women seemed to commonly do when they ate something they liked.

“I Can Just Feel The Cavities Forming…” he grumbled under his breath, diverting his eyes from her and her adorable display before a blush could rise. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his doppelganger sending him a sly look and he didn’t bother suppressing a growl. It was cut off as he felt her taking another bite. “WOULD YOU JUST HOLD IT?” he snapped.

“But I’ve got to hold on,” she had mumbled in reply after swallowing her last bite, “And you told me to eat it. You didn’t tell me how.” He resisted the urge to pinch her nose for that smart remark and just sucked in a deep breath before slowly releasing.

“She Makes A Good Point,” his softer counterpart imputted.

Edge could only level a deadpan stare on his duplicate, “NOT. HELPING.” Papyrus had the nerve to laugh and the woman resting against his back giggled as she bounced due to it. Shaking his head, he fished his keys from his black joggers’ pockets and unlocked the driver’s side door. Before he got too far, he pushed the banana into the young woman’s hand with a quick order to hold on to it since he needed both his hands. He swiftly put down the seat so the back seat could be accessed. While he was sure Papyrus wouldn’t mind her riding in his lap on the way home, he didn’t think he could take anymore public displays of affection tonight. No matter how platonic they are.

“Alright, Get In The Backseat,” he ordered as he moved to the side. He pinched at his nose ridge as he watched Papyrus move to get in the back with her, “NOT YOU. HER. JUST HER.” There was no room for argument and no matter how much the Creampuff looked like a puppy that just had its treat stolen, he wasn’t giving in. Thankfully, the woman’s little head pats she placed on his skull seemed to appease him. Wait, how was she- oh. He held in a snicker at the ridiculous image she presented. She had freed up one of her hands by holding the banana in her mouth, while her other still gripped at his shirt. A good sign she had some of her strength back at least.

○●○●○●○●○

Papyrus had at first been annoyed at the thought of Edge butting in on their hang out time, but had warmed up to it rather quickly. Plus, Edge had informed them that he had missed his usual work time session the day before due to an emergency at his restaraunt. It truly was coincidence. It had been fun and having Edge there kept him from going soft on her tonight. It was honestly amusing how she’d gripe and moan and beg, but would push through through the sets and exercises anyway. He’d seen a new side to her as Edge decided to poke at her pride during weight lifting and she had lifted more in that deadlift than he could have ever expected. She’d said it had been fueled by “pure spite” at that moment and not to expect it as the norm. They had new bars set and she’d be less peeved at them when she saw how far she had come along.

Afterwards, it had been decided they would take Edge’s car back to her house, rather than parting ways. While he wasn’t feeling it nearly as intensely as his companion currently resting on his back, he had been pushing himself as well to be fair. Edge, being as observant as ever, had noticed. He couldn’t argue against the logic that it wasn’t a good or safe idea for an exhausted monster and person of color to walk home this late. By now, Sixth Street should be bustling with life and sometimes a few strays wander down teh other streets. They’re not always trouble, but why risk it?

With her this close, he was surrounded by her scent. Mostly her hair products, but he could smell the musk of her sweat as well and sweet lotion. It wasn’t bad, but he knew not to comment on it either way. He was sure she could smell him and he just hoped she didn’t mind. She hadn’t pulled away at any point or complained so maybe he was safe. He kept one gripe to himself about tonight. At this moment, if she had kept her hair down, those curls would be touching his face and neck. A sorely missed opportunity.

Her and Edge had bickered most the way and he had valiantly tried not laugh, only to fail in the end. It was just such ridiculous little diatribes. It was all so cute, Edge included, but now they had reached his car and he’d have to put her down.

She was currently petting his skull in an effort to comfort and it was working. Her cheek still rested against his shoulder with her lips wrapped around the banana, just holding it in her mouth. Her free hand that wasn’t gripped his shirt had stopped the gentle petting motion and now just rested her palm against the top of his skull. He could feel one of her fingers just rubbing in a slow circle. Now, that just isn’t fair-

“I WILL HAVE DUSTED BY TIME YOU TWO DECIDE TO FINISH WITH THIS,” his doppelganger snipped with an irritated huff and jerk of his hand to the back seat once again. “EITHER PUT HER DOWN OR I WILL CONFISCATE HER MYSELF,” he threatened, his already sharp sockets narrowing further as his sharp teeth tipped up at the edges.

Papyrus didn’t know if he should be impressed the other had not threatened to just leave them or flustered at his counterpart's subtext. He would leave those thoughts for later. For now, he crouched down carefully and with Edge’s help, they helped their companion off his back and into the seat. By the time he made it around the vehicle and settled into the passenger’s seat, Edge was already seated in the driver’s side and in the rear view he could his friend eating with ease. He called her name and she looked up curiously, still chewing her last bite, “Do You Need Require Any Water At The Moment?”

She just shook her head and swallowed her mouthfull, “Not unless that water is part of a shower.”

“A Shower Does Sound Nice Right Now,” he agreed. He could hear Edge grunting in agreement as he turned the key in the ignition and put the car into gear. The engine roared to life and the dash board lit up, showing off the upgrades Edge had done to the classic model. It wasn’t long before they pulling out the spot and onto the road, heading back to her little abode on Eighth Street.

“Human,” the sharper of the two skeletons called and glanced into the mirror to check if she was paying attention, “Hopefully, You Do Not Plan To Work Tomorrow After Tonight.” It should have been a question, but it sounded more like a command.

“I Have To Agree With My Cousin On This,” Papyrus piped in as he saw her looking like she wanted to argue. She pursed her lips as he kept talking, “You’ll Be Dreadfully Sore Tomorrow Most Likely.”

“And I wonder whose fault that is,” she didn’t hesitate with a little click of her tongue. Papyrus atleast had the shame to wince, but beat down the guilt as their driver sent him a sharp look. A look that said don’t back down.

“No Matter Who's At Fault Here,” Edge started, coming to a stop at a four way and putting on his blinker. Sharp red eyelights lit in his sockets and locked with the young woman’s gaze in the mirror. “Your Body Still Needs Rest. Doing Anything Other That Tomorrow Would Only Be Punishing Yourself For No Good Reason,” he scolded and gave her a moment to nod and voice her understanding before extinguishing his eyelights.

The rest of the car ride was void of chatter as Edge put on some soft music and his passengers fought off sleep. One because the trip was too short to provide a decent nap and would just result him being groggy. The other because she was now responsible for an empty banana peel and she’d rather not drop it on any part of this vehicle that felt far too expensive for her to be sitting in.

○●○●○●○●○

Finally, Edge was pulling the black Mustang over and parking just infront Papyrus’s red Ferrari. She swears these two just visiting the area raised property values. She scooted closer to Edge’s side as he got out and started putting down the seat. Once it was down, she took Edge’s offered hand and let him help her out. She was happy to see she could stand again, but that didn’t say anything about the stairs she needed to climb. Even ground was one thing, but an incline… she may be crawling to bed after all.

“Do You Think You Can Make It OR-?” her sharp friend started to question, but let the rest hang for her to fill in. Despite how prickly he could be, he was honestly a sweetheart once you earned his trust.

“Well…” she trailed off as Papyrus cleared his nonexistent throat and made his presence known once again. One glance at him and she felt like smacking herself for almost forgetting. “Oh right, Papi, you left your sweater inside,” she laughed, “You’re lucky, I could use another comfy sweater to add to my collection.” There were a few of the skeletons whose sweaters she’d love to steal; namely, the lazier of the brothers had the prime specimens.

Papyrus just shook his head, “Maybe Asking Nicely Would Get You Better Results,” he adminished.

Is that so? “Pretty please, can I keep your sweater?” she went for it with a hopeful smile, which was quickly dashed as he cackled softly with a dry “NO.” She could even hear Edge snorting as he stifled a laugh behind his fist. If she had the energy, she’d whine a bit, but her bed was calling her. Turning her attention back to Edge, she nodded, “Thanks for joining us tonight. It was fun.” After a moment, she added one last thought, “You should join us more often.” She meant it. Even if the workout had been harder than she was used to, it was nice to have someone who knew how to push her buttons and get her to push herself.

Edge’s sharp visage softened just slightly and he sent her an appreciative smile, nodding. “Maybe I Will.”

○●○●○●○●○

It had been a blessing that Papyrus needed to get his sweater from the apartment as she had nearly crumpled going up the stairs. The poor skeleton had been fretting about her something fierce and ended up just carrying her up the stairs as watching her struggle had apparently been too stressful. It had taken plenty coaxing and reassuring that she would be fine and wouldn’t be completely helpless on her own. He’d made her pinky promise to not shower or bathe tonight as he didn’t trust her to not slip and fall or fall asleep and drown. He’d ordered her to bed immediately and she wasn’t arguing. That had been an order from the heavens.

She’d wasted no time after sharing a hug goodbye and he was on his way down the stairs to lock up and draw her curtains. She’d shed her clothes like a snake once she had stepped foot in her room. A trail of clothes, starting with her bra and ending with her socks and shoes now stretched across her floor. She didn’t bother finding a night shirt and simply face planted on her bed with relieved sigh as the cool sheets and comforter kissed her bare skin.

She wasn’t too worried about going to bed sweaty. She’d decided on the way home to have a wash day tomorrow. It’s been due, but now with this workout, it was definitely needed. She could just enjoy pampering her body, hair, and scalp. A nice little spa day. She could change and wash her sheets then as well, so no harm done.

Her phone buzzing from somewhere in her room barely registered with her. It wasn’t until it buzzed a few more times that she forced herself to sit up and look around her dark room for the infernal device. It needed to be plugged up anyway now that she remembers. Spotting the phone on the floor near her abandoned clothes, she slid off her bed and scooped it up. Tapping the screen, she winced as it lit up and quickly lowered the brightness.

No longer in danger of being blinded, she saw the notifications from earlier that she had forgotten to check and a few new ones. Some were junk, but most were messages from friends, family, and one for work. She would reply to the work one tomorrow when she has a fresh mind and it was a decent hour. She rolled her eyes good naturedly as she opened a message from Papyrus.

Papaya: REMEMBER TO REST TOMORROW. GOOD NIGHT!

Papaya: WHY ARE YOU NOT SLEEPING?!

Papaya: PUT DOWN THE PHONE AND GO TO BED!

Papaya: I KNOW IT’S A DIFFICULT THING TO DO WHEN YOU HAVE A TXTING BUDDY AS GREAT AS ME!!

Papaya: BUT YOU MUST.

A little snort burst past her lips as the messages kept coming in, all along the same note. She tapped the little text box and sent him a quick little message:

Flooffie: Pot calling the kettle black

Flooffie: XP

Closing the convo as she saw him typing, she breezed through the rest of her texts. She sent quick little replies where needed, but most turned out to be bad puns and one liners from the jokesters of the family. Coffee had sent her a cute little doodle he had made her with a note saying he’d like to see that hairstyle on her. It was cute. She sent him a couple heart emojis and a thumbs up. She could type a thought out reply tomorrow. Switching her phone to silent, she plugged it up and crawled back into bed. It seemed her head had barely hit her pillows before sleep swept her under.

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cadomoisspokenfor · 3 years

Text

Legion Rewatch Notes,

Chapter 4:

Frizzytop

I theorized in episode 2 that David could see through the 4th wall, or at least into a different universe. At the start of this episode Oliver outright breaks the 4th wall. Perhaps powerful reality benders just have that capability. If David knows, and Oliver knows, then Farouk definitely knows.

“A great philosopher once wrote, ‘In times of peace, the war like man attacks himself.’ This is the route of all our problems.”

“We are the route of all our problems. Our confusion, our anger, our fear of things we don’t understand.”

If we carry those 2 quotes throughout the rest of the show, then no doubt the tragedies that happen later on are caused by a collective misunderstanding of each other. And a collective lashing out at that misunderstanding of each other.

“Violence, in other words, is ignorance.”

The most central theme of the show is empathy vs fear. I s’pose whenever there’s a conflict in the show we’re supposed to be asking whether the characters should answer with empathy or fear. Certain characters lives have revolved heavily around fear. And that informs their decision making quite a bit. This will all come up again at multiple points throughout the show.

Syd... probably can’t break the 4th wall. So maybe it’s most logical to interpret this as her inner monologue. Very Jessica Jones esque.

The same voice lines from when Syd was searching for David in episode 1 are played. I guess there go to whenever Davids lost (whether in the world or in his mind) is to transmit Syds voice calling his name in hopes he’ll hear it and come back.

Kerry can pick locks.

The concept of “bad mutants” is well established amongst the veteran summerland crew. Ptonomy’s caution about David is probably because he feels he has a selfish vibe, and that’s a well known red flag of “bad mutants.”

It should also be noted he’s partly afraid of him because he has so much trouble understanding him. His powers, which when used affectively are essentially the ability to understand where someone’s coming from, keep getting overrided by Davids.

It’s now to the point where Ptonomy is doubting his own ability to tell what’s real and what’s not real. He was pretty confident he’d always know somehow in episode 2. Now, not so much.

Ptonomy very early on is open to the idea that David both has powers and psychological issues. “He’s unstable. You try hearing voices for 10-15 years, self medicate with hard drugs and then get dumped in a looney bin.”

Ptonomy also determines that because of his instability combined with the fact he has powers, David is a bomb waiting to go off.

I suppose if we’re trying to figure out their logic with the whole “the combination of being mentally ill and having powers makes him dangerous”, and considering that their right now going over an incident where David robbed his therapist for drug money and then bashed the doctors head in when he came back, the direct concern is that David makes bad decisions and/or selfish decisions (at least), and if he were to make a bad decision regarding his powers a lot of innocent people could get very badly hurt. Or killed. Along with the worry that the voices in his head don’t exactly give him the most angelic of advice at times, and because of his powers he’s very capable of fulfilling their wills, so to speak.

Based on Olivers speech at the beginning of the episode though, it might be safe to say the overall message is instead of acting on fear they should act on empathy and help David overcome his problems instead of vilifying him for his mental illness.

Syd suggest Davids hiding his real memories behind a fake ones and Ptonomy says she going through a lot of effort just to convince herself Davids a good guy. I never really got what he meant, but I guess what he meant is that Syd’s trying to find a justifiable reason for why David would attack Dr Poole like he did when the obvious answer is just “He’s got violent tendencies.” I always just thought she was genuinely hypothesizing, ya know, trying to solve the case. Maybe she was and Ptonomy’s just mean.

“I was looking for the man I loved. Or did I just love the idea of him? The face he showed me?” Doubt springs up early. Why can none of the characters reconcile that a person can have both good and evil in them at the same time? That’s... all people, in fact.

When Kissinger ask if Amy knew David had powers Amy says, “I think so.” Amy potentially acted on fear as well, in regards to her and Davids childhood that is.

Kerry mostly only thinks of herself in relation to Cary.

Cary misses Kerry when she’s gone. Even besides the roles they fill for each other, they generally enjoy each others company. They’re quite literally as close as 2 people can be. Each one living for the sake of the other.

Davids once again surrounded by a crowd of people all yelling in his face. After they disappear though he recovers pretty fast. I guess he’s used to it.

Clockworks Podcast pointed out that the music Davids wincing at is sax heavy Jazz, which is (abstractly) the sound The Devil With Yellow Eyes makes whenever he appears. If my theory about David seeing through the 4th wall is correct, then maybe he’s actually hearing that sound whenever TDWYE is around. Alternatively, Farouk blast that in his head everytime to mess with him.

“Sorry... I forgot about your um... I had a similar- proclivity? Malady? I forget the word- what’s the word? I’ve been here a long time.”

If the previous paragraphs are right, Oliver’s probably implying he was also affected by a mental parasite at some point. It might’ve even been what stranded him in the astral plane.

From Davids perspective he skipped over the entire second half of Chapter 3.

Oliver is essentially explaining the plot of the show to David and the audience before it’s even been unfurled.

“You have an unquiet mind, so you war with yourself, like a dog trying to chew off its own tail.”

David’s still in a very pessimistic guilt ridden place at this point in the story. That’s probably the internal war Oliver’s talking about.

... why can’t Oliver leave the astral plane again? If he did have his own mental parasite, it seems long gone by now. If he just can’t find his way back, then how does he do it in Chapter 7?

Syd calls non-mutants “normals.”

“We were the ghost in a haunted house.” ~Syd, Chapter 4

“You think ghost like living in a haunted house?” ~Syd, Chapter 12

Why does Syd keep hallucinating The Angriest Boy? Or is that just visual metaphor?

Ptonomy’s a very, “Get the job done and look classy while doing it” sorta guy.

“To fight and conquer in all our battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting.” ~Sun Tzu, Ptonomy

Is the above quote perhaps relevant to the shows message during other conflicts throughout the series? Could it be subtly implying all the characters should always look for non-violent ways to defeat their enemies? I.e. not just a classy line from Ptonomy, but a statement of themes within the show.

The food David, Philly, and Dr Poole are having in Philly’s memories is cherry pie.

In Philly’s memory David says, “I don’t keep a lot of stuff.” And Philly comments that there’s no evidence David had a past. At least among the things David owns at that point. I know Farouk edited a lot of Davids memories, but why did David himself get rid of so much physical stuff? Syd said the reason he broke into Dr Pooles that day was to destroy their taped conversations. What’s compelling him to erase himself from existence? Is it as simple as “Farouk”? It seems like on a deeper level David doesn’t want anyone to know too much about him. Everyone’s only allowed to know what he tells them. His way of feeling in control I guess.

Philly did the classic “I can fix him” when she started dating David.

Philly implies David going off his medication and keeping bad company is what caused the downfall of their relationship. And subsequently his life, probably.

Despite everything, Philly still feels sympathetic towards David.

“Whoever altered Davids memory-“ Ptonomy very early on humors the idea that Davids being acted on by a 3rd party.

The longer Kerry is away from Cary, the more antsy she is for a fight. She’s not supposed to have to sit through all this “boring stuff.”

Ptonomy left after he got the info on Pooles location from Philly. He probably wanted to get the rest of the information from the source. Ironically, they probably woulda gotten closer to the real answer if he’d just looked a bit longer.

Sys proudly says “Yes” when “Dr Poole” ask if she’s in love with David.

It never really comes up again, but Kerry and Cary are physically linked. Maybe even psychologically. When one of them gets hurt, or even exerts their body a lot, the other can feel it, even if their own body doesn’t take on the actual damage. This is still true even if they’re miles apart.

Syds definitely portrayed as the hero at the end of this scene.

“All those years of practice-“ A part of David always knew he had powers. I wonder, did he practice a little in secret? Or is he saying he was at Summerland for years? That doesn’t really add up. But then... what does he mean by years?

Lenny encourages David to get angry so that his powers will strengthen enough for them to overpower the astral plane. Sort of... cheating his way out. David will later achieve more feats of strength through honing his emotions. Like many heroes, his level of power is intrinsically linked to his emotional state.

Very directly here, Davids violence is caused by ignorance. He doesn’t know Syd switched bodies with Walter and is trying to escape.

#legion fx

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xperiwrites · 4 years

Note

can you do some soft!geralt? 🥺🥺🥺 pretty please

This feels a tad like a cheat as I co-wrote this with @doodled93 for @geraskierweek buuut…..

TITLE: Conduction

SUMMARY: There’s a snowstorm, and Bards don’t hold heat the same way Witchers do.There is a (cuddly) solution.

WORD COUNT: 1801

(Netflix’s The Witcher)

Day #3: Protection

Rating: G

Triggers/Warnings: None, just some cuddling and sharing body heat

Ao3 Link

The storm as it comes is not a surprise—it had been threatening and picking up since yesterday. Geralt had known from the start they wouldn’t make it to the next town in time. Jaskier had known, too—he could tell by the fact that the bard kept hypothesizing that, with a frankly unlikely amount of luck, they may yet beat the storm.

“The next town is four, five days you said? If we make it four, and maybe find an as yet unknown shortcut, that may cut it down to three.”

Geralt had hummed, watching Jaskier squint at the grey clouds, hands on his hips.

“Maybe if the wind stays at our backs we may travel at speed, cut it down to a further two and a half days…”

“The wind would have to push us off this mountain.”

“Why yes, Geralt, that is one way to look at it. Now then, two and a half days, well, two and a half days is nothing. The storm may not be that bad, you know? Despite all the,” he gestures, and he could mean the grey sky, the cold wind, the chill in the air, the darkness in the distance. “Well, you know all this. Could push through this grey and, ah, wind, and I bet at a good speed we could be only two days away from the next town… in fact,” Jaskier strode forward, arms sweeping ahead with flair, “in fact this wind is nothing! One might imagine that there might not be—ah, fuck!”

The wind picked up, then, and Geralt is smirking when Jaskier is shuffling back to Roach, arms tucked back to his sides, hands under his armpits.

“Well then,” Jaskier nudges into Geralts leg. “Four or five days to a town when there’s a storm like this brewing isn’t as impossible as one might expect, you know. I mean, it’s not entirely impossible we might encounter a… portal, of some sort. One we could reasonably and reliably assume would bring us, say, even a days’ ride away from the next town, and we’d certainly beat the storm with that sort of time on our hands.”

“And I’m sure you could recognize one such a portal, as well as the location it would bring us to?”

“Ah,” the man looks off to the side of the path, humming in a considering manner. “I… I do have many skills, as you well know. While that is not one of them—that I know of—it’s not unreasonable to assume that there are some skills I do not yet know of, but am perhaps born with. Perhaps I’m also a man with the skills to unconsciously put off very bad storms until after four or five days?”

“I suppose we’ll see.”

It would perhaps be annoying, all this hypothesizing, if the bard didn’t come up with consistently different ridiculous ways they might escape the inevitable. He’s been writing an ongoing maybe-it-would song for the past three years now, with familiar verses repeated with every bit of bad weather they encounter, the tune catchy even without an instrument. A quick beat to walk to, steps naturally falling in quick-time.

It’s not something Geralt has heard at a tavern, yet, so it likely hadn’t reached some milestone of completion Jaskier had set in that fool head of his—some of his songs were done in days or weeks, fine tuned to an audience well oiled with alcohol.

Then some of his songs, like this one, were worked over the course of months and years; Geralt could admit that the one about the nightwraith was both factually correct and catchy, but if he got it stuck in his head one more time…

The sky got steadily darker as more verse was added to the song, Jaskier repeating the established bits he’d gotten down the last time they’d been caught out in an awful rain storm. Geralt had caught two rabbits and a grouse in the meantime, hanging them from his saddle.

It could be the wind will come sweep us ahead

Skip days of this trudge—off some cliff, and we’re dead!

The clouds are so dark who’s to say night or noon

To be out in this cold must be truly a l-loon!

The d-damp it sinks in, soaking deep in my cl-lothing

So s-soggy I ssay, soon a Drowner be roaming—

“No,” Jaskier interrupted himself, shaking his head and following to where Geralt was leading off the edge of the path, only barely visible in the snow. “N-no, it’s no longer happy maybe’s, I’m afraid this bit of lyric has gotten away from me.”

Geralt got off Roach and led the two further off the path, listening to the faint whistling of the wind against an opening.

“You know, I don’t suppose it’d be very, ah, good to put the thought of a drowner d-down ones pants either, so—ah! A c-cave! Are we certain that it’s an unoc-c-cupied one?”

Geralt led Roach into the protection the cave’s narrow opening offered, checking the ground just beyond there for any recent markings. Theirs were the only tracks leading in or out of the cave, and that meant exactly nothing with this type of wind.

He checks deeper into the cave and finds nothing but dried brush blown in form years past and old, old bones. He comes back to a shivering bard and the beginnings of a puddle from where Roach shook off snow.

“Hmm.”

“Oh th-thank f-fuck.”

Geralt humms again and heads back out into the blistering cold and wind, heading further into the scrub and trees in a hunt for wood that should still be fairly dry—there was snow, yes, but with the sudden cold snap he’s hoping there’ll be enough just encrusted with snow that they can get a decent fire started.

He brings back what he finds that’s dry, nodding when he finds that Jaskier’s already looked after Roach, her things laid out over one of the rocks, her coat tended to, and sets his pile down next to where Jaskier is setting up rocks for a pit. Heads back out for more wood to put in a pile to dry out.

By the time he’s done Jaskier is still shivering, but has managed to coax a fire into existence; Geralt sees a pile of the dry brush from further in the cave in a heap to the side, more tinder should the fire get low.

They divide preparing the rabbits and cooking in relative silence, Jaskier’s shivering abating to a fine tremor. It’s never completely silent around Jaskier; even now the bard was peering at where he had set his lute, case protecting the instrument form the cold and damp. He’s humming, low and melodious, and every time he glances to his lute he’s flexing his too-pale fingers, and then putting them closer to the fire. Geralt doesn’t recognize the tune. They eat in that same relative silence, colour returning to the bards cheeks… the shivering doesn’t go away.

“Take off your jacket.”

“T-that—oh.”

Jaskier had looked up with a frown that cleared at the sight of Geralt pulling open his own jacket, undoing the ties. Jaskiers hands are still stiff even after the warm meal and the fire, so in the time it takes him to wrestle off his jacket Geralt has his open and has moved to open his bedroll close to the fire. Has pulled both their blankets nearby.

When Jaskier finally frees his last arm from the damp clutch of his sleeve, he seems surprised when Geralt plucks it from his hands, draping it over one of the rocks near the fire.

“D-d-damn it Geralt h-humans need a b-bit more than th-that… w-what are you d-doing?”

It takes very little effort to pull the shivering bard down into his lap and arranging stiff limbs to his satisfaction—tucking his arms into the warm cocoon within his jacket, and using one hand to pull that hunched back into his chest. Geralt arranged the blankets around them and over Jaskiers legs until just his feet were out, propped next to the fire, and pulled the rest around them into a barrier against the cold.

Having access to warmth seems to make Jaskiers shivering worse, chattering teeth just a mess of sound rather than any words Geralt could actually pick out. He hummed in response anyway, and that seemed to satisfy the bard that he was heard enough to settle down in Geralts lap.

That didn’t stop the humming from coming back—Geralts sigh at the sound only has Jaskier wiggling back even further, tilting and turning his head until it was pressed back to Geralts shoulder, and Jaskier was pressing a cold nose to his jaw. The humming was clearer, louder, and Geralt could feel a smile pressed against his neck.

He adjusts how Jaskier is sitting and happens to give him a squeeze, coincidentally pushing all the air from him and halting the noise, if only temporarily—when it starts up again it sounds distinctly fond pressed up against his skin.

The things he does for his bard.

Geralt has slipped into a meditative state by the time he realizes that the humming has petered out into even breathing, Jaskier having curled further in his embrace, face tucked into the hollow of his throat.

He’s been adding to the fire as needed, an ear to the howl of the wind—listening for the howl of anything else on the wind.

He’s not looking forward to hearing about a cricked neck from Jaskier however, and makes the decision to shift him; using one arm to prop him and the other to swing his legs first to the side, and then further manoeuvring him around…

Once the hard part is done, Jaskier adjusts himself well enough, tucking his face back into Geralts neck with a sigh, arms going around him and hands up his shirt to press against his warm back. It takes a bit of shuffling but the Bard settles more into his lap, seemingly happy enough to wrap his legs around behind him. Geralt readjusts the blankets to be sure that Jaskier is entirely covered in this new position straddling his lap, and settles back down to monitor the fire.

This new position means that along with not kinking Jaskiers neck, with them belly to belly like this it should keep Jaskiers neck, belly, and groin warm enough to not be damaged by the cold. In the morning he’d leave him on the bedroll to see if he couldn’t find more wood and possibly hunt something else to tide them through until the storm has fully passed. Until then he’d enjoy the rare quiet, arms holding his bard close.

#geraskier #fanfic #xperi writing #xperi prompt #geralt x jaskier #sharing body heat #sharing warmth #co written #soft geralt #cuddles #snuggles #doodle has information about staying warm in winter that i do not

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gofancyninjaworld · 4 years

Note

I think people are allowed to be angry that their favourite fight got removed out of existence

I have many, many things I hope I will see in OPM. There are parts of the story that make me go ‘I hope that they have a way to make this pay off’ (e.g. Darkshine’s current handling). There are things that would give me the Big Sad if they didn’t pan out. There are even things that would alienate me and make me drop the series. But what none of them are things I’m entitled to be angry at the author about for including or omitting. If there’s anything an original writer has the right to do, it’s to write a story in the way they want and hope a readership agrees with them enough to buy in.

Make no mistake, I loved Child Emperor’s fight with Phoenxman as originally construed. I said so at length in several places (1) (2). Unexpected Boss Fight in Aisle 9 is just the sort of unpredictable challenge that too few stories can capture and I liked what it brought out about Child Emperor. However, ONE and Murata have looked at the story, thought about where they want it to go, and decided that that’s not precisely the sort of challenge they wanted for Child Emperor. So they’ve changed the focus of the struggle (3), looked deeper into monsters, brought in the concept of a spiritual world (foreshadowing for ‘God’?), and have been looking at the tension between standing on your own two feet and looking for support from things or people. All at a level that’s believable for a ten-year-old.

So far, I’m still digesting what the changes mean. They do work for me, and I’m interested in seeing where they go from here. I see a lot of plot points and thematic concerns raised that I hope they explore so that there’s a really good pay-off for the changes.

If the changes don’t work for one, totally, I see nothing wrong with saying so -- and I’ve seen some nice critiques to that end. If they alienate one such that one finds oneself less interested in the story? That’s totally right, too. An author is not entitled to the engagement of their audience. But being angry about the change? Please!

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spirit-science-blog · 3 years

Video

youtube

Ahhh, interstellar, a simple classic movie, about a farmer his family Some dust and a transdimensional interstellar quantum gravitational space travel.

Seriously!

So the basis of this movie is that in the future, the earth has become a global dustbowl due to humanity being excessive. It’s mostly a commentary on monoculture farming, which we’ve explored in our food series. Primarily by farming the same thing on the same land over and over, you lose the majority of your nutrient base due to lack of plant diversity. You also lose your root system, making it easy for winds to pick up dirt and throw it for miles and miles. Interstellar begins with a warning - if we continue living the way we are, this could be our world.

So the film introduces us to our main characters, Cooper, or Coop for short, and his daughter Murph. Now, there’s an interesting thing in these opening scenes, where we see Murph's teacher talking to Coop about his daughter's progress in school. She remarks about how the moon landings were fake. They were entirely propaganda to fool the Soviets into pouring their resources into the space program so that the Americans could gain an advantage in the war.

It’s so exciting seeing a Hollywood movie talk about this, because of course, if you google this, there are massive conspiracies today that say the moon landing was faked. Then again, we also have ex NASA officers and astronauts who publicly have said: “Yeah, we went up there and met a bunch of aliens and it was so crazy that NASA hid it from the world, and never went back.” You can learn more about that in our Sumerian Epic series. Ultimately, you’re going to have to decide for yourself on this one, but still interesting that we even see it mentioned in Hollywood!

Now, in many storylines today, we see this narrative of the hero’s journey, which often begins with a call to adventure. Interstellar features this through these strange gravitational anomalies vibrating morse code patterns in Murph's bedroom, which Coop and Murph translate to be co-ordinated to a nearby location. They make their way there and find none other than Nasa.

In this movie, Nasa is a driving force of the plot, providing the technology and the plans to execute a journey into a magical wormhole way out near Saturn. Now, I’m not here to get into the drama and conspiracies against or for Nasa, though yes, these things exist out on the internet. Curiously, we find a spiritual lesson about this in the film itself, and we’ll come back to that soon.

In these scenes, we see the opposing mentality of the many vs. The few. Mostly, everyone these days are just concerned with farming, they’re focused on survival and just getting enough to make it through to the next season, even though their crops are slowly growing smaller and smaller. The few, on the other hand, such as Coop, exclaim, “we used to be pioneers, explorers, adventurers… not just trying to survive”. And this becomes a question we can personally ask ourselves are we pushing the boundaries of what we know, or are we just trying to get by in life?

So upon the discovery of Nasa, we learn about this wormhole, a link through the spacetime into another galaxy, where there might just be a way to save their dying species. So Coop, Anne Hathaway, and two other characters who don’t make it to the end all get in a rocketship and blast into the universe to save the human race. Bringing with them, some unique and friendly robots, and a bunch of test-tube humans that they plan on growing somewhere, and they intend that if they can, maybe they can even transport some people there.

Perhaps one of the most fundamental hidden spiritual truths of this movie is that the deeper you get into science, into the unknown, into the universe, the more mystical reality gets. We see this with the wormhole itself. The funny thing about the wormhole, though, is that it was produced using the mathematics of an actual wormhole according to General Relativity! The visual fx artists worked with renowned Physicist, Kip Thorne, and used a mathematical representation of a massive black hole, then plugged it into their VFX generator, and this is what it turned into! They even produced a scientific paper about it. So this is an actual wormhole simulation, not just a fancy visual effect.

Now, maybe this is just me - but watching the sequence of going through the wormhole felt to me like my mind was expanding. Like reality was being stretched, like more was possible than it was before. It feels to me like this was an encoded message for the audience watching the movie, implanting within us this idea of what it looks and feels like to perceive spacetime differently, getting us ready for our transcendent evolution of consciousness.

Now, on the other side of the wormhole, they have three planets to visit in hopes of finding a new home for the human race. Their first guess takes them on a short trip to Waterworld, where they go surfing and chilling in the shallow side for the equivalent time of 23 earth years. It doesn’t go so well, and returning to their ship, they’re limited on fuel. So there’s this moment where they have to decide on which of the two planets to visit next, and they better pick well.

So it’s revealed that Dr. Hathaway is in love with one of the astronauts on one of the nearby worlds, Dr. Edmund. And there’s this very rousing speech from her about following our hearts., that love is powerful - it has to mean something. Love is the one thing we’re capable of perceiving that can transcend the dimensions of time and space. It’s an overall very moving and emotional scene, and it might even make you cry.

Now, this IS Hollywood, so OF COURSE, the man immediately takes control of the situation and steers directly towards the other guy. The legendary, the one, the only Dr. Mann.

I gave him a little hype just now because this is how Dr. Mann is portrayed in this film. He is a legend; he is the best of the best; he was the one who brought everyone together and made this mission possible And then, well, this happened.

Dr. Mann is a personification of the ordinary human consciousness and our ego. I mean, his name is Mann. He is the one who could create miraculous things, but watch how quickly that personality can turn when it is filled with fear, dread, and isolation. This is what happened with Dr. Mann - He was isolated, stranded alone on a frozen planet with nobody else for the rest of his eternity. The last time he went into cryosleep, he didn’t even set wake-up time. This isolation and the fear of not surviving caused him to lie, caused him to tell people to come to his planet because it was the one. It caused him to betray his comrades, and in arrogant defiance to the truth - got himself killed. A valuable lesson for all of us doesn’t arrogantly defy the reality, or you shall suffer horrific karmic repercussions.

With the power of persistence, determination, and undying faith in the universe and himself, coop successfully reconnects his ship to the space dock even with it exploded and spinning like mad. Herein lies another secret lesson - if we set our hearts upon doing something, and we do it well, there’s nothing we can’t accomplish!

Okay, let’s pause for a moment and reflect briefly on the events back on earth. Throughout the film, it is slowly revealed that the head of Nasa has been lying. Coop's daughter noticed that it looked like he was doing equations with two hands tied behind his back. Then it was revealed that he knew a long time ago that it would be impossible to save the human race by using science to negate gravity and lifting off into a super space station. He could not reconcile quantum mechanics and general relativity. Still, he convinced everyone that it was possible, and he was working on it - so that people would work on the technology and carry out the mission.

THIS is the key to the whole Nasa conspiracy thing that we mentioned earlier. Because look - there is some evidence and speculation that NASA is hiding something, but instead of throwing shade, the film reminds us this valuable lesson that even the people who are behind NASA and other giant organizations are just that - people, subject to human desires and emotions, the positive and the negative, and are easily influenced to do things, such as lie or create deceptions, out of their fears and insecurities. The Nasa chief in the movie wasn’t able to see beyond the solution to his formula, he couldn’t conceive of a quantum interdimensional answer, probably because there was nowhere for him to go and take Ayahuasca. So he fooled everyone in a way that he believed was safe.

Jumping back to another galaxy and another timeline, Coop’s new plan is to slingshot them around the wormhole and over to their last remaining planet where maybe they’ve got a shot at growing some modern humans. In the process, coop sacrifices their robot and himself to make it happen. In a scene of great wisdom, Cooper says, “to get ahead mankind has always had to give something back/let something go,” and in this case - it was him. Honestly, this was a scene of tremendous bravery and courage to let oneself die to save their species.

And this is where Interstellar becomes a mystery school for us all. Cooper falls into a massive sphere inside the black hole, which then becomes these tunnels of lines, revealed to be pockets of time. On the other side of his tracks is his daughter's bookshelf, and he connects through his radio with Tarz, his robot buddy, also trapped inside this wormhole - who explains that he is inside a three-dimensional manifestation of a 5th-dimensional timeline. It’s time represented as a physical dimension, and Cooper can manipulate gravity from inside this time matrix because gravity is the only thing besides love that can go forwards and backward in time.

Cooper realizes that the gravitational anomalies that he saw at the beginning of the movie were him all along, giving himself messages from the future. He realized that the whole time he was thinking, “wow, it was THEM who have been helping us along,” alluding to some alien species. Still, honestly, that “them” was us - it was the evolved human consciousness that became 5th-dimensional beings through conscious evolution. It sent gravitational anomalies through time to help humanity grow in the first place.

What’s especially surprising about this is that that’s EXACTLY what the channeler Bashar has been saying in his channelings for years. That who he is channeling is himself from the future who, along with the rest of humanity, has evolved to higher consciousness, and he’s sending back information from the future about human evolution and how to make it happen.

Now, here’s a fun question that the movie will not even get into…. Why did the wormhole bring him THERE? Why that moment in time? Why that location? Well, in the bigger picture of the story, it’s because his daughter was the genius who could finish the mission and get quantum gravity liftoff to their earth-tech and save humanity. However, that’s only half the reason. The other half is because of something Dr. Mann said. When you’re about to die, you push a little farther to connect with your family and live longer.” The reason he went to the bookshelf was probably just as much because that’s what his subconscious manifested for him. After all, his loved ones were what he wanted most in life. Much of his driving actions in this film were because of his love for his children. Embodying the true spirit of the word Husbandry - the original meaning of which speaks to the nurturing and supporting of everything around the masculine father figure. This film asks us - what is it we truly care most about in our heart of hearts? And to dig deep into ourselves and find out what lights us up inside.

So Cooper transmits the quantum data to his daughter through time using morse code, and then he disappears into the void and wakes up in a hospital bed. A very long time has passed since he first left home, and his daughter is now an older woman on her deathbed. But Plan A is now fulfilled, using the data Cooper was able to send through the wormhole, young Murph was able to solve the gravitational propulsion problem to get Plan A, and the massive space station where Cooper awakens, out in space.

In an absolute heart-shattering scene, she tells him to leave her, she’ll be with her new family now, and that he should be with Anne Hathaway, and start a new life on a new planet and raise a new generation of humans on a new world. I’m sorry, this whole scene made me cry.

And so, that’s what Cooper does, bringing this film to an end. But the hidden spiritual meaning here goes on. See, the foundational message of Interstellar is not what most people think - the most excellent idea conveyed here is that of human evolution. That one day, we will evolve into a higher dimensional species, capable of perceiving time fundamentally different than we are today.

However, it will take some time to get there, and it’s up to us to make it happen. Interstellar warns us - we have to learn the lessons of caring and nurturing for each other and our world if we want to have a world to live on at all. We very well could destroy ourselves with our greed and excess. In other words, we must check ourselves before we wreck ourselves.

One thing Interstellar does make us feel this message takes us through large jumps in time. After Coop’s relatively short visit to the water planet (where he’s there for only several hours), the audience and Coop see both their astronaut comrade and young Murph age by 23 years. After he emerges from the black hole at the end of the film, his daughter is an older woman. These events show us viscerally that time is always passing, and compels the audience to make the most of what time they have, and show us the deep pain of missing out if we don’t seize the day, every day!.

But there is an even deeper message from this - because also if humanity destroys itself, even if we are pushed to the very brink of destruction, we can ALWAYS find our way back. All that it takes is unshakeable faith, love, and determination to see it through and do the things that are both scary and exciting.

So get out there and evolve into a multidimensional being!

Make sure to let us know what else you’d like to see a Hidden Spirituality about, and we’ll be sure to cover it soon! Peace out, and lots of love!

#spirituality #science #ascension #mystery school #spirit science

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shardminds · 4 years

Text

The Swan that fell for the Sea (1/3)

To @itsfabianadocarmo ♥ It is me, your Secret Santa!

You've been the most lovely giftee and gave me LOADS of free reign on this one and, as a result, you're receiving one of the longest works I've ever written! I went off your love of Captain Duckling and Silver Fox!Killian, wove in some Christmas elements and a sweet epilogue and sprinkled in some ~drama~ and here we are! You're a fantastic part of this fandom, my love ♥ Here’s to a wonderful Christmas and I hope that 2020 brings you love and joy and lots of good times! also, this monster is the reason I haven't got around to posting the drabble prompt you requested yet ;)

Thank you to @cssecretsanta2k19 for running this event! You’re a star and have brought so many people joy! I hope you have a wonderful Christmas ♥

And, finally, a HUGE thanks to @thisonesatellite for whipping me into shape and helping me mould the idea of this into a story. I owe you a million hugs and a bottle of something nice. ‘Tis the season, after all!

Emma Swan falls for a man of the sea. She doesn’t mean to but she does all the same. The scent of salt and leather and rum lingers on her skin long after he’s gone and, as the warm summer breeze makes way for winter’s icy chill, she wonders if he’ll ever return.

He does, and things will never be the same again.

Part 2 ¦ Also available on AO3 ♠

Emma had never wanted for much in her life.

A sunny day, here and there, perhaps. A brief reprieve from the mundanities of her duties, now and again.

Here, now, there is nothing she wants more than for time to stop.

It’s selfish, to want one moment to last an eternity, not to mention impossible. At many points in her twenty-one summers, she’d been told falling in love was an impossibility too.

Yet, here she is.

The far off crash of the waves and the gentle ebbing of the ship had awoken her far earlier than anticipated. Sleep still grips at her lids, her wrists, her ankles, and though its draw is ever so tempting, to bathe in the ignorant bliss of it all, she wills away its tendrils and lets the familiarity of worn sheets keep her company. Through the cabin window, the sun has not yet breached the horizon and the stars still stand prominent between scattered clouds, the collection he’d named for her glinting softly. A reminder.

He hadn’t named it after her, he’d named her after it.

Cygnus.

Swan.

She’s already forgotten the moniker she’d used before that. Her true name, she remembers, and, more than anything, she longs to tell him. Just once, she wants to hear him say it, to hear it fall from his mouth in the throes of passion, to hear it whispered in her ear when there’s no one else around, to hear it spoken proudly in front of an audience at their wedding.

But there’s no time; no time for questions, no time for confessions. There’s only time for this.

Killian holds her tighter, his arm tight around her bare waist as his solid chest presses to her back in the same way they’d spent all previous nights that summer, with the scruff of his beard catching at her temple along with the brief softness of his lips. It’s sweet, reverent, and it takes everything in her power not to meet him in a fierce kiss and resume their activities from the evening before and somehow sear his touch into her flesh so she’ll never truly be without him.

He’s leaving in the morning.

She cannot stand to see him go.

It had been early summer when The Jolly Roger had first made port in Misthaven. The solstice celebrations had come and gone, but the cool ocean breeze and promise of excitement coaxed Emma to the docks each night, visiting taverns in tattered skirts, drinking from bottles of cheap wine and cheaper ale, dancing barefoot in the streets around glowing embers of what were once fires and just being in a way that was so foreign and yet so familiar that existing among it made Emma’s heart swell. By beggar and thief, soldier and sailor, wench and widow, she’d found a place for herself.

That’s where they met.

Ruby, her friend, barmaid of the tavern closest to the shorefront, and always dressed in shades of red, had brought it to her attention first.

“It seems you have an admirer.” She noted, toothy smile parting her red-stained lips while slamming an overflowing tankard on the table beside where Emma sat, tucked into the corner just enough to avoid unwanted attention while still being able to see the commotions of the crowded inn unfold. “This is from him.”

“Ruby–”

“Trust me on this.” Flashing the five gold she’d taken as payment, Ruby smirked. Five gold. To most people, five gold would fund an entire week of celebration with a few silver to spare. But not Emma. She flashed her friend a smile, bringing the tankard up in thanks before taking a sip. She let the flavours dance on her tongue before swallowing. Wiping the foam that had escaped her lips with the sleeve of her dress, she looked in the direction of her admirer.

Candlelight painted him in a warm glow, catching on his worn leather overcoat, embroidered crimson waistcoat, and the chain around his neck that lay nestled in the dark hair of his chest. Dragging her eyes up, she caught sight of his face. He was older, significantly so, but he still held a youthful essence in the strength of his jaw and the quirk of his brow, it caught her off guard in a way she hadn’t expected. Grey and white teased at his temples and in the stubble of his beard but despite it all, he was captivating. In fact, it enhanced his appeal.

In his eyes, blue as the summer sea, a brewing storm.

With a knowing smile, he raised his tankard and took a deep gulp, mirroring her as he wiped the moisture from his lips with the cuff of his sleeve. Her eyes followed the movement intently, transfixed on the brass buttons and definitely not on the softness of his lips. She didn’t even realise she was staring until he winked and she abruptly turned to focus on her own drink.

Surrounded on all sides by crowds of drunkards, cowards and fools, the only sound in the room was the beat of Emma’s heart and the rush of blood in her ears. The tingle of a smile creeping to her lips.

She’d avoided looking his way again that night, knowing that she’d find him looking right back, with eyes dark and dangerous. It didn’t stop her thinking about what his lips would taste like.

The next few nights were more of the same. She’d dance in the late evening with the children out way past their bedtime, sing with the sailors sat atop empty barrels, drink and laugh inside the tavern on that same little table tucked away in the corner, but he never came over. He sat a fair distance away, sending her a tankard of the sweetest ale each night along with smiles, winks, stolen glances and nothing more.

His friends each had a woman in their lap most nights, sometimes two, but he never did.

It was five days before she even learned his name.

“Captain Jones.” Ruby yawned, on a rare break from her duties, sipping a cup of something with a sweet and spiced scent. “Story says he’s moored here all summer but one of his men let slip that he’s waiting on an important contract from the palace.”

“So they’re sellswords?” Hiding her surprise, Emma finished off the dregs of her brew. It’s not likely that anyone in the palace would stoop to such levels. They had armies, navies, dedicated men who would lay their life on the line for the crown. They had no use for pirates. That’s not how they do things in Misthaven.

Two tankards thunked to the table, catching both women by surprise.

“Pirates, actually.”

It’s an accent she couldn’t quite place but there’s no mistaking who it belonged to. Her stomach dropped as he took a seat beside her, not imposing on her personal space but still close enough that the scent of the sea air rolled off him, enveloping her in its comforting embrace. “It seems our favourite maid is taking a reprieve, so I took it upon myself to bring this over in person. I gathered it’s well past due that I make your acquaintance.”

Up close, the crow’s feet at the edge of his eyes were unmissable, but they didn’t distract from the intensity of his gaze. His whole look had an ageless and yet ancient quality to it, like somebody who’d seen too much and yet still longed for more. Emma searched his face for any sign of threat, ill will or nefarious intent but found none, only met with a soft smile and eyes she could drown in. She wanted to.

“I do believe you have my name already.” Honey. It’s what was in the beer, and what coated his voice, thick and deep and teased with a sharp edge. Her name sat on her tongue, heavy as lead, and she reluctantly swallowed it back. Here, Emma did not exist. Here, she was someone else.

She allowed herself to smile, or really, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. There was something about him, something intriguing that drew her in deeper each time their eyes met. Against her better judgement, she wanted to know him and, more worryingly, she wanted him to know her. Lifting up the drink he’d provided in thanks, Emma responded.

“Leia.”

His focus shifted from her eyes to her lips and, instinctively, she darted her tongue out to wet them. Averting his gaze with a smile, he shook his head, dismissive.

“No, that’s not it,” Emma’s kept her face blank, fighting the urge to react to his observation. How had he seen through her so easily? How had he been able to hear one word from her mouth and know, instantly, that it was a lie? His eyes still held no trace of malice, a softness coming over them in a familiar understanding and she wanted to trust him. “but your secrets can be yours.”

He didn’t push further and Emma didn’t offer an invitation to, but the conversation flowed comfortably, well into the night, until the shimmer of dawn lightened the horizon as they walked along the empty beach and he, Captain Jones, pointed up to the barely visible stars, reciting long forgotten stories of men that lost themselves in the sun and their lovers who mourned them.

“Swan.” He said, with an outstretched finger pressed to her chest, just above the neckline of her dress. Had it been any lower, she’d have given him a playful smack but, as it was, the contact made her smile, warmth emanating from his touch. The smile he wore in return was free and open, with straight white teeth and lips pink as middlemist petals. How he managed to captivate her, with the threat of sunrise rapidly approaching, was beyond her comprehension, her alcohol-addled mind thinking far too deeply into things better left unsaid.

“Pardon?” She started, looking up from his finger into his eyes, dark in the predawn haze but kind in ways she didn’t then understand.

“That’s what I’ll call you.” His eyes lingered for a second too long on her lips, something he’d been doing a lot, not that Emma minded.

She found herself doing the same thing.

“Why?” She hummed, placing one hand on his chest and feeling the steady beat of his heart. She could’ve danced to it, a waltz at a masquerade ball, with full skirts and sharp suits and masks slowly slipping. A memory of another life.

“Tomorrow. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” The words reverberated through his chest beneath her fingers and, more than anything else, she wanted to kiss him. The alcohol was probably to blame, and the rush that comes with welcome attention from a handsome stranger but, above all else, it was the ease of their conversations that night, how no matter what subjects or topics they veered down, they were there together, unravelling each other in a much more intimate way than ever expected.

She wanted to be Emma with him. Just Emma.

Maybe one day she’d allow herself that privilege.

She wanted to kiss him, drunk on ale and good conversation and something else.

So she did.

Rum and salt. A calloused hand holding her cheek. Stubble teasing at her chin. Soft hair beneath her palms. Heart hammering against her chest.

It was gentle, a press of lips before the rising sun bathed them in an angelic glow. He pulled away first, resting his forehead against hers to catch his breath, eyes closed and still smiling, but Emma leaned in for more, catching his lips again in something deeper, only satisfied when his other hand found its way to the small of her back and he pulled her close until not an inch of space was between them. She was on fire, from the tips of her fingers, one with a fist full of hair and the other still over his heart, right down to her toes, where the ocean lapped at her bare feet, shoes forgotten in the sand.

The next night was a similar evening spent enjoying the summer festivities, and when she found him at Ruby’s tavern, he greeted her with a slow kiss. She leaned into it, deepening it with a press of her tongue against his lips until her breath was short and his hands made their way to her hair. Before he could take control, she pulled away, catching the end of a quiet curse under his breath. His men cheered on and the Captain threw some colourful expletives their way, all the while following Emma to her corner table. They spent the night there, drinking and talking and laughing and existing until need got the better of her and she pulled Killian by the sleeve of his coat out of the tavern and towards The Jolly Roger.

She held onto him the whole way, fearing that losing his touch would cause her newfound courage to dissipate into the sea. She wanted this, this spark of elation that had overcome her so suddenly, and the anticipation of what it could bring, no matter how temporary. Emma knew that summer romances weren’t meant to last – she’d heard as much from the hushed voices of maids and servants when no one thought she was listening, stories of hope and desire, falling with the umber leaves come the first touch of chill – but she couldn’t not chase this feeling.

It was something new, dangerous and it left her soaring, light as a feather, released from all the burdens of the life she’d have to return to in the morning. It was escape in its basest form. She had not felt anything as intoxicating in her life.

She had not known him long, less than a day, really, but her mind was made up.

He tasted of laughter and smiles and the sweetness of summer wine when she kissed him on the deck. The moon their only audience.

“Swan,” He sighed, her name a whisper on his lips, as Emma let the cloak around her shoulders drop to the wood below and reached to unlace her bodice, urgency coursing through her, a fire in her veins. Her dress was simple, only slightly nicer than what she would’ve usually worn, with fewer tatters at the hem and tighter lacing that enhanced her chest. It was a world away from what she would have worn at home but then again that’s exactly where she was. A world away.

He caught her hand in one of his own, untangling her fingers from the leather ties as he brought them to his lips. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t truly want to. I don’t want you to think I expect this from you.”

Confused, she searched his face, finding a conflicted frown there. Did her inexperience show that badly? Yes, the nerves were there, simmering within her as he kissed the pad of each finger but, at that moment, she’d never wanted anything more than to be one with him. She’d waited a long time to feel that way about anyone. No pressure, no expectations, nothing guiding her other than her own agency.

Reaching for him, she let her thumb trail his jaw and trace his lips. He smiled, focused on the path of her thumb as she stepped into his space.

“I do want to, Captain–” His eyes snapped up to hers and she almost lost herself in them, their depth threatening to swallow her whole. If it was his intention to devour her with one look alone, he’d succeeded.

“Killian. Please call me Killian.”

Below deck, two pairs of hands worked at Emma’s bodice.

His and hers.

Naked together, exploring each other, she felt part of herself slip away, finding its home in the gaps between his ribs, in the scars of his back, in the hair below his navel. She felt a part of him too, in the hollow of her collar bone, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her spine.

It was slow, exhilarating in a way that had the hairs of her arms standing on end, gooseflesh spreading across her thighs as Killian caressed her in all the places she’d craved to be touched. He built her up to a precipice she’d only ever reached by her own hand and encouraged her over the edge with his tongue. Her legs trembled as she fell, clenching around his ears, orgasm overtaking every atom of her being with a rush of energy emanating from her core. If she screamed out, it was lost to the crash of the waves and, later, Killian’s greedy kisses stealing her breath.

“You’re divine, my Swan.” He whispered the words against her mouth, lips slick with an unfamiliar but not unpleasant tang. It took her a second, world slowly becoming clearer through the haze of her orgasm, to realise that the unfamiliar taste was her own.

When he finally came to enter her, she was beyond ready, begging for his touch with nails biting into the flesh of his shoulders from sheer want alone. Gasps of please fell from her parted lips as he pressed kisses into her skin, some delicate as butterfly wings, others fierce and sharp that she hoped would leave bruises, some kind of token that the pleasure she gained at his touch was real.

He built a rhythm, gentle at first, easing her through the discomfort with words of encouragement and languid kisses. Emma felt as the uncomfortable stretch of him faded away with each slow entrance of him, replaced only by her own urgency to reach her peak. When her hips bucked up to meet him, unsatisfied each time he wasn’t fully seated inside, he knew she was ready.

One finger trailed over her breast, circling her peaked nipple and teasing the pebbled flesh there, and in his eyes was pure lust. The touch of it enveloped them both in a fog that had her reaching out for him, a single whine falling between them as the angle of them shifted and he met her in a kiss that ignited fire beneath her flesh. He rocked deeper, faster and soon they were both clinging to each other, awaiting release on each thrust, gasping with the sensation of it.

They fell apart together, with Killian using two fingers to stroke at the apex of her thighs as his rhythm became quick and uneven, and Emma not able to hold back the moans that tore their way out of her throat, rough and broken but oh, so good. It was blinding. Emma couldn’t help but arch against him, hair frayed from its usual braid and eyes squeezed shut as the entire world flashed white behind her eyelids.

She awoke in the dark, sore, sated and happy, not quite remembering how she’d fallen asleep in his arms, only knowing that she didn’t want to leave.

“Cygnus.” With a kiss pressed just below her ear, Killian started, his voice deep and husky. The roughness of his beard tickled her skin and sent promising shivers down her spine, her body already anticipating where his touch might lead her.

“Cygnus?” Emma prompted, turning in his arms so she could look upon his face, see the satisfied smile and unruly hair and know that it was all her doing. Her own smile followed and she pushed herself up from his chest to greet him with a kiss, languid and warm. He tasted of her and his hand fit just right against her lower back, stroking soothing patterns with his fingers. Two unlikely puzzle pieces slotting together so perfectly. The Pirate and the–

“It’s a group of stars above this realm. You can see it so clearly in these parts.” He nodded towards the far side of the room where the window was and the stars beyond it. “There, can you see?” Through the wind-beaten cabin window, a cluster of lights shone back at her, a stark contrast to the canvas of black. She knew nothing of the stars but he told her anyway of the stories that predate the histories of all realms, the love and the loss and the pain they’ve suffered and yet, through it all, how they still manage to shine. He told her how it was his favourite, with heavy lids and a slow smile. How, whenever he saw it, he felt a little more at peace.

Emma let herself fall again into his arms, dragging him with her by the chain around his neck for a kiss that sent heat to all her most intimate parts. A boldness the had taken root in her, the nerves from earlier were nowhere to be found, and she revelled in it, taking advantage of the feeling while power still fizzled in the tips of her fingers. Killian let her roll him onto his back, sat astride his hips as she kissed him with a passion she’d always craved to possess. She only came up again for air, softly gasping as his smile against her lips sent her heart fluttering, pace as erratic as a rabbit escaping a fox.

“In the common tongue,” He said, quiet as a whisper, free hand making its way to pull out the braid in her hair, letting the blonde fall from its restraints and unfurl in a curtain around them. “Cygnus means Swan.”

She kissed him again.

And again.

Until the stars were no longer their witness and Emma left his bed with a soft smile, reluctant to leave but dreading the consequences if she stayed, as she laced herself back into her dress and made her way through the back streets, trailing in the dim morning shadows until she reached her home.

The Palace.

In the months between then and now, something changed. Whatever tied her to this earth before; her father, her mother, her people, her responsibilities, none of that matters now. She’s never felt more whole, more at home, than she does with him.

And that worries her.

He doesn’t even know who she is, not really. He knows her, body and soul, he knows his Swan with her love for seashells and the acquired taste of sweet rum, he knows she carries more secrets than she lets on and more than she could ever tell, but he doesn’t know Emma.

Princess Emma, sole heir to the Misthaven throne.

Future Queen.

No one does.

Between song and dance and kiss and touch, Emma had convinced herself that she was only Swan; that she was born of normal birth and had no ties to the crown, that the money lining her purse was from adventure and gambit rather than allowance, that the dresses cinched to her form were her best and not stolen from the maid’s quarters. In his arms, surrounded by a brand of adoration and care she’d never known before, she believed it too.

She can’t lie to him forever.

He shifts behind her and she turns to face him, to take him in, perhaps for the last time. His beard is longer, what once was trim to his face now developed into a thicker scruff streaked with grey and ginger, and his face glows with the kiss of summer sun, but it’s more than just that.

He’d shown her more of herself than she ever thought she could know.

He’d taught her to seek freedom and rebellion and excitement and love in all its many forms. He accepted her in rage and fury at the truth kept locked behind the prison of her teeth, bitten off before she can reveal it. He never pushed for her history, or how she knew so much about what occurred behind the palace walls, or how occasionally she’d hide behind his form when the King’s soldiers drank themself stupid on the shorefront, with kisses to her knuckles and a wisened smile saying only “when you’re ready, my Swan, I’m here.”.

She fell for him somewhere between their first kiss and now, slowly coming to the terrifying realisation that, her life would be bleaker without him in it. The docks would become the dirty, sullen place they were before his time here, the taverns sapped of their joy, the beach a place of driftwood and windburn.

And she would be alone.

No matter her company, loyal subject or bar rat alike, without him, there is an emptiness, unlike anything she’s ever felt. It’s overwhelming how she’s let herself become so dependent on the presence of another person in her life in such a short amount of time that, without them, she is destitute.

No.

She can, and will, survive his absence. She will come through it stronger and when he returns she will tell him her name.

Because now, with his sleeping face mere inches from her own, she is a child in a glass house preparing to throw a rock, willing the glass to not shatter and for her heart to not break. The confession is stone, jagged and true, and in her hand, it draws blood.

There are tear stains on her cheek when he opens his eyes. She pretends they’re not there, letting a smile fall into place while she’s greeted with the sleep-darkened blue that she’s come to look forward to every morning. She’ll miss them the most.

He smiles sadly at her, bringing a calloused thumb to wipe the wetness from her cheek with such reverence she could swear he was savouring it.

“Come with me.” It’s barely a whisper, carried on the borrowed breath between them but it hits Emma like a punch to the gut.

If she were anyone else, if she were just ‘Swan’ or ‘Leia’ or any of the countless personas she’d curated, there would be no doubt about her answer. His eyes are hopeful and honest and open and it breaks her heart to see how much he wants her to accept.

She can’t look at him directly, choosing instead to bury her face in his chest, the soft hair caressing her cheek, listening out for the comforting beat that lulled her to sleep many a time before. Tears come but they do not escape.

She has to be strong for this.

“I can’t.”

Quiet falls, as if not even the sea wants to disturb them, and Emma counts the seconds before he responds, his arms winding their way around her back and holding her there. She’d come to associate his embrace with good things, safety and protection and warmth and peace, and she wants to melt into it, forget about her responsibilities and agree to his request, setting sail by his side.

But she can’t.

Fifteen.

Fifteen seconds of silence.

“Swan–”

“Killian,” She pleads, unable to stop her voice from breaking. It’s too much. It’s all too much. “Please don’t, I won’t be able to say no again.”

The weight of the crown sits heavy on her head; a chain she can’t break, a burden that only she can carry.

Killian lets his fingers tangle in her hair, the same way he does before drifting off to sleep only now he’s wide awake and tense in a way that Emma wishes she could smooth out. She wants to kiss him and feel as the tension bleeds out of him with the pressure of her tongue.

But it’s too late for that now.

“I don’t know what keeps you here, lass,” He hums. She can’t see his face but she can hear his frown – a mix of concern, frustration and something else, something more. His lips press to her crown and her stomach flips at the feeling. “I wish I did. I don’t trust half the bastards in this kingdom.”

Emma leans up until she can meet his eyes, wearing a matching frown. “I can take care of myself.”

“And I don’t doubt that.” He laughs, and Emma wishes she could trap it in a conch shell and listen to it forever, light and carefree and hers. He kisses the crease from her brow and she lets him, leaning into it before pressing their foreheads together.

He loves her.

He loves her and she can see it in his eyes, how they’re creased with a smile but still fogged by sadness at the thought of distance between them.

“I think what I’m really trying to say is… I don’t want to be apart from you.” His lips are so close, slightly parted, his warm breath ghosting her own.

“And I you.”

The kiss itself is smouldering and inevitable, fire and passion and so much more. It burns away every modicum of doubt in her mind, everything that had tried to convince her against this man who held her as if she was someone to be cherished and celebrated.

She pushes everything she can into it, a goodbye passed between their tongues in a language no one else can speak.

Time passes as it does, each grain of sand in the hourglass bearing the weight of a thousand things left unsaid.

“My Swan,” He sighs, pulling away to bury his face in her hair, inhaling as if to commit her scent to memory. Emma does the same, breathing him in. “I will show you the world one day. That is a promise.”

“You’ll come back for me?” She asks, softly, shifting so she can see his face.

“Aye, Always.”

Emma has always been able to decipher lies, being such a compulsive liar herself, but there’s nothing short of the truth in his voice. Her heart hurts all over again.

“I’ll be back when solstice comes.” Her blood turns to ice at his words. Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. Four months away.

If he comes during solstice, there will be no hiding. He’ll see her paraded through town, the prized jewel of the kingdom, and she doesn’t know how he’ll react to that.

“When I see you again,” Her voice begs to crack under the weight of her promise. She does not let it. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Now, that’s one way to guarantee a man’s return.” The chuckle catches her off guard, it’s short-lived as he brushes the stray hairs that managed to fall in front of her face so gently she barely feels it.

“And what’s the other?”

“I do believe we’re already quite familiar with that particular activity.”

She bats at his chest, only causing him to laugh more before he pulls her close again, any distance between them proving too much. “You really are a dirty old man.”

“I bathe quite frequently, thank you very much.” Raising an eyebrow in his typical fashion, he takes a sniff of his own underarm. She can’t help but laugh as he does so, peels of laughter cutting through the silence of the night.

It’s this that she’ll miss. The effortlessness of their relationship. There’s a piece of her in Killian Jones, it snuck beneath his skin while she wasn’t looking and now it lives there, staring back at her from his eyes, wearing his smile.

“I’ll miss you.” It’s out before she can stop it.

She watches the smirk die on his lips, replaced with only a sad smile. This is the oldest she’s seen him, ocean eyes dark and misty and filled with so much love she feels her own tears spring from where they lay dormant.

He shushes her sobs, in the safety of his arms.

“And I you, my Swan.”

There’s a shallow clink of metal before an unfamiliar weight falls to her chest. His chain, it’s pendant the thick iron ring that once belonged, as Killian put it, to a far better man than him, rests heavy between her breasts. In the starlight, it glints, the robust scarlet gem reflecting dull pink facets on her skin.

“Look after it for me.”

#itsfabianadocarmo #cssecretsanta19 #captain swan #cs fic #cs fanfic #ficminds #the swan that fell for the sea #merry christmas everyone!

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capsensislagamoprh · 3 years

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Okay so, I saw WW 1984 and I have thoughts. SPOILER WARNING.

Good stuff. AND I hope Steve gets his third death. This will require that the cinematic universe admits Hades is neutral and that the only reason people fear him is because they fear their own sins. Hades is the ultimate Judge. Not death itself. This matters. Elysium: the place were good souls go : if for those who have lived golden lives full of exceptional behavior great sacrifice, and other laudable deeds. Each soul that gets into Elysium can stay there as long as they want. OR the truly brave can choose to go back into the cycle of life. IF they do, they risk everything. They could wind up in any other part of the after life. None of them are as wondrous as Elysium. However, if they manage to face the most uncorruptible of Judges and again get into Elysium, then they face the same choice. Stay there or go back. It’s the third death that matters. If you manage to get into Elysium a third time... you got to the Isle of the Blessed. This is where the demigods and heroes live... eternally. They can come and go from there as they please. They must return for an amount of time, but they are granted... immortality in a limited capacity.It’s sort-of like finding out you get to live your best life for as long as you want and get ‘day passes’ to the mortal world as often as you like, provided you’re back at the end of passes duration. (Three days, a week, just be back on time.) While in the mortal world - should you die - you just return to the Idle of the Blessed. And... the Gods/demigods can come visit you. Which means ... You know what it means. So how would I do this? Details are vague. Generally I would use the loop hole that the Gods themselves would have gone to The Isle of the Blessed when they ‘died’ in the war. However Hades... Hades is Khthonian. He rules that realm and goes where he pleases in it. The catch? So is Persephone. I would use the gentler imagining of their tale. The one where in they are a happy married couple, she is his Queen and gets all the respect she deserves... but there is a catch. She is the goddess of spring. When she dies... she goes to Hades and lives there to recover and when the time it right she is reborn to the mortal world. Thus the cycle of very good time vs very bad times. The next Wonder Woman takes place after the Justice League movie as confirmed by people in the know. This is a cycle of bad times - as established by the cinematic universe - and so Persephone should be returned to Hades... Where in comes my plot. Wonder Woman is doin’ as you do. When someone gets a hold of an artifact. Maybe ambrosia because they want to live forever, or they have found and are stealing the apples of immortality, juicing them to harvest the enteral beauty of the goddess by keeping her alive in a hidden hospital, thus upsetting the cycle of life as they also try to steal her powers or become the new Queen/ruler of hell because they envy the Persephone/Hades relationship and have some sort of twisted view of what being the Ruler of Hades means. (heads up it’s the most powerful position and the most thankless and you must be absolutely neutral. This can cause great problems when a humans hubris gets involved.) Ether way this is keeping Persephone from ‘dying’. Hades has to show himself to Diana when she goes to the mouth of the underworld - any dark cave that leads towards the center of the Earth so there is room for creative license (and metaphor as this place exists within every living soul as well.) to deal with some particular issue. She sees Hades, who can walk the Earth any time he wants - and does - but if he gets involved it Must be to restore the balance. Until then he has to rely on heroes like Diana (and the Justice League) to do what must be done. Every god has a limit and that is his.He gives her what help he can, sadly not much and cryptic. He looks like he wants to help more as she returns to the land of the living, but Diana doesn’t see that as she cannot look back (the gates of Hades have a particular Rule about looking back that has killed more than once (see Orpheus)). This look should tell the audience that he places his trust in her. Diana is trying to do what she needs to do, but eventually there should come a point where she needs help. Que understanding what Hades told her. When things are down - not final act down mid movie conflict, end of the first act sort of down- she winds up being dropped to the ground. Her hands hit it. She’s angry and determined and cannot lose this fight. She slaps her hands again to push herself up calling out Hades name in order to tell the villain that He trusted her to save/fix things and she wouldn’t fail. And that’s how you summon Hades - slap your hands on the ground twice and call his name. The timing is everything to this scene. The villan scoffs, as you do, because they are seriously winning... until ghostly form after ghostly form appears behind Diana. Each steps into being. Heroes and demigods of the Isle of the Blessed have been sent by Hades to answer her call. Among them, Steve Trevor.They turn the tide. The movie goes on. Mystery. Intrigue. Tension and high stakes. As the final battle ques up we find ourselves drawn into the action... hero after hero falls. And so dose Steve. Doing what is right. The third death. Wonder Woman wins. Once again torn by loss. She is by the aria where Steve has fallen. Stoic. She has known this loss twice before. And when the world starts to set itself to right, she drops to her knees. This time she slams her fist into the ground in sheer frustration. When she’s spent herself there steps into frame a dark figure, simple sandals, flowing robes. Two pronged staff. As he steps into the real his clothes change to a simple modern man holding a wooden staff - like something you found in the woods and felt like a mystical druid with like a weird branch hanging off it with leaves still attached. It’s Hades as he helps her stand, he tells her that he understands. He has to go through it every cycle. Cycles are longer for the gods. He can watch Persephone on earth, grow and live, and laugh, and every time she has to leave all that joy and wonder to return to him it breaths his heart. And every time she returns it’s bitter sweet. She never minds, but oh the pain. Diana now can understand this personally and hopes Steve does well in Elysium. Hades says he’s not there. She is shocked and upset. He explains Steve earned the Isle of the Blessed and as such Diana can see him when ever she wants. But Steve is limited to the pass system which cannot be abused. She understands this means every hero who answered her call gave up their chance to be in the mortal world until their next pass comes due. Persephone is also grateful for being set free, knowing well her place in the cycle and how much that matters on a cosmic scale, that she offers Diana that she will give Steve back to Dian for a mortal life time... if she wants, but it will be one bound like her own. Life, death, again and again, never ending. Diana is wise and chooses to let Steve choice to come to her when he can and she will go to him when she can visit. But life means accepting more than loss and pain, it means knowing your place in it. And the limits of that roll - no matter how great. And thus Diana has grown, Steve gets his third death, and we break our hearts over a really good movie yet again. Oh, and if you guys don’t give me back Antiope (what a woman!) as one of those heroes with Asteria played by Linda Carter as the one who helps Diana understand how to access the underworld and guides her through the rituals and deeper understand of a heroes life, I will frikin riot, causing earthquakes to sink your studio. I’m a very old god. Don’t do me dirty.

#wonder woman #WW 1984 #1984 #DC comics #cinematic universe #thoughts #ideas #story time #Patty Jenkins #USE THIS #please #I mean #I like it

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chelledoggo · 4 years

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[Fanfiction] Inner Melody [101 Dalmatian Street]

genre: slice of life, oneshot

age rating: all ages

content warning: none

summary:

when Dvorak ( @doglover502 ‘s oc) finds herself struggling with an identity crisis, Deepak offers his guidance in helping her find her melody again.

“Meow-ow-ow-owwwwmmm...”

The two dalmatian pups chanted in unison as they sat meditating in the backyard.

Deepak's expression was as serene as could be as he led the session between them.

“...And breathe...” he instructed in a soft whisper. “...slowly and deeply...feel the loving vibrations of the universe...caressing you within and without...”

But Dvorak, the older of the two siblings, didn't seem to be into it.

She'd been going through a bad case of musician's block and agreed to try meditation with Deepak, hoping it'd help her find some inspiration. However, this didn't seem to be the case.

Instead, the musician pup just sat and stared thoughtfully into the orange glow of the morning sky. The warm breeze blew the soft tufts of her long fur as her mind wandered.

“...Dvorak,” Deepak's soft voice snapped her out of her stupor.

“H-huh, wha-?” she mumbled, shaking herself back to reality. She looked over at her brother, still wearing the same tranquil expression.

“What has you so troubled?” he murmured.

“Pshh, what?” She nervously snarked. “How would you know if I'm troubled or not? You didn't even open your eyes.”

“Don't need to,” Deepak responded calmly. “I can sense it in your energy field. You seem to be vibrating at a lower frequency today.”

“Uhhh...Alrighty, then,” Dvorak replied dryly, not understanding a word of her brother's new-agey vernacular.

“Sister Dvorak,” Deepak said in a comforting tone. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? I would never judge you. I just want to help.”

Dvorak thought her brother's proposition over for a moment, and then sighed in acquiescence.

“Well, it's like this,” she began. “You pups all have your own 'thing,' y'know? That one thing that sets you apart from the rest. You have your meditation and stuff, Da Vinci has her street art, Dolly's got her skateboarding...”

Dvorak paused for a moment, unsure how to continue putting her thoughts into words.

“For the longest time,” she continued, “I had music. That was my thing. I was the musician of my litter, and it always made me happy that I had that going for me. It was what made me stand out from my siblings.”

“Does music not make you happy anymore?” Deepak asked, tilting his head.

“I-It's not that,” Dvorak replied shakily. “It's just...well, ever since our families joined together and DJ walked into my life, I feel like my thing isn't as...'special' anymore. Like...I have to try and share the spotlight with DJ, but it feels like everyone cares more about his music...It feels like my stuff's just kinda white noise now compared to his.”

Dvorak looked at the ground as her eyes welled up with tears.

“So where does that leave me?” she asked in a wavering voice. “Music is the only thing that ever really clicked with me. If I'm not the musician of the family, then what am I? Am I just a nobody now? Am I doomed to just be one out of a hundred-and one?”

Deepak looked over with empathy in his eyes, and gently stroked his sister's paw to comfort her.

“You're dealing with a lot of insecurity,” Deepak replied. “This is very normal. But remember that these negative thoughts do not define you or your worth. You are merely the observer of these thoughts.”

Dvorak glanced over at Deepak, then down at the ground again. She didn't seem convinced.

Deepak thought for a moment...

“Sister Dvorak,” he said in a comforting tone. “There's a meditation technique I'd like you to try, if that's okay. I think it might help you. Would you like to give it a go?”

“...I guess,” Dvorak grumbled.

She sort of doubted his technique would be of any help, but she figured she'd try it just to make him happy.

Deepak continued to gently stroke Dvorak's paw as he began to lead her into the meditation.

“First,” he began, “You must come to a place of profound calm, for only when we quiet the mind can we truly achieve a deeper connection with ourselves.”

Dvorak mustered up everything in her not to roll her eyes at this rather cheesy statement,

“Close your eyes,” Deepak whispered. “Just focus on my words...Breathe deeply and silently...Relax your muscles...Let everything but the sound of my voice fade away...”

Dvorak closed her eyes and did as instructed.

Deepak was silent for a few minutes, in order to allow Dvorak to reach this altered state of consciousness.

After those few minutes had passed, Dvorak felt herself sitting in a warm, silent, comforting void. It was as if the entire backyard around her had faded out of existence and she was just calmly observing the nothingness around her.

“Now,” Deepak's hushed voice continued from beside her, “Bring your attention to your Root Chakra at the base of your spine. Picture a warm, red energy radiating around you, bringing you a sense of security, grounding you to the earth beneath you.”

Dvorak started to feel a sensation that felt like sitting by a cozy fireplace. A warm, comforting feeling wrapped around her like a blanket.

“How are you feeling right now?” Deepak asked.

“...Warm,” Dvorak murmured dreamily. “It's...nice...”

“Good,” Deepak soothed, gently stroking Dvorak's paw again. “Now, repeat this mantra aloud: 'My melody is my own. My song will always ring through. My light is irreplaceable. I know this to be true.'”

Dvorak took in a deep breath, and began calmly droning her mantra.

“My melody is my own...My song will always ring through...My light is irreplaceable...I know this to be true...”

“Very good,” Deepak praised quietly. “Just keep repeating it for a little while. Let the words sink into you.”

Dvorak spent the next minute or two chanting. It felt awkward for her at first, but after a few repetitions, she found the words actually begin to resonate inside her mind.

“Now that you've internalized your mantra,” Deepak instructed, “I'd like you to sing it.”

“...Huh?” Dvorak was a bit taken aback by this proposition.

“Listen to your inner melody,” Deepak whispered reassuringly. “Trust in it, sister. It will guide your voice.”

Dvorak inhaled slowly, and began singing.

🎶 “My melody is my own...My song will always ring through...My light is irreplaceable...I know this to be true...” 🎶

The words flowed from her mouth like a ballad; warm and uplifting like a light shining in the darkness. A peaceful smile adorned her face as she listened to the melody her soul had composed.

She sang the mantra through a few more times, feeling more and more confident in herself. She felt that love and connection to music again. Music was still her 'thing.' It never stopped being her 'thing.' She'd just lost sight of it for a while before. Now that spark was returning to her again, and she knew her music was still unique and special.

“Sister Dvorak,” Deepak murmured. “I believe you have an audience.”

Dvorak slowly opened her eyes to see Dizzy, Dee Dee, and DJ sitting in front of her, listening wide-eyed and intently.

“Oh! Uhh,” Dvorak jumped a bit in her seat. “Hey, guys. Uhh...What's up?”

“We were listening to your song!” Dizzy yipped.

“It was really pretty!” Dee Dee chimed in.

“Yeah, Dvorak,” DJ concurred with a nod. “You write that yourself?”

“Well...” Dvorak answered bashfully. “Deepak here gave me the lyrics. The melody just kinda...came to me, I guess.”

“Well, it was incredible!” DJ exclaimed. “Wish I could compose something that nice.”

Dvorak tilted her head in confusion. “You...do? But...aren't you the 'music pup' around here?”

DJ chuckled sheepishly and looked away. “Eheh...I'm only one of the music pups around here. Your compositions are super unique. And, to be honest, I've always really admired them.”

“You...really mean that?” Dvorak asked with a somewhat skeptical expression. “You're not, like...just saying that to make me feel better or anything, right?”

“Not at all!” DJ replied. “You're a big inspiration to me, and you definitely deserve recognition. We should have a jam session sometime if you're ever up to it.”

“Oh, uhh...Thanks, bro!” Dvorak replied with a smile. “Yeah, I could probably take you up on that sometime.”

“Hey, pups!” Dylan's voice called from inside the house. “Breakfast is ready!”

A wave of excited pups could be heard from inside, charging down the stairs shouting “BREAKFAST! BREAKFAST!”

“C'mon guys,” DJ yipped as he began walking away. “Let's go get some breakfast!”

“Uhh, Deepak and I will catch up with you in a sec,” Dvorak replied. “Don't wait up, okay?”

DJ, Dizzy, and Dee Dee all happily trotted off into the house.

Dvorak got up and turned towards Deepak, smiling graciously at him.

“Hey, Deepak,” she said in a soft voice. “Thanks for the meditation session. It really helped me figure things out. I feel way better, like I'm ready to go back to writing the songs I love again.”

“No trouble at all,” Deepak replied. “I recognize the melody in you, sister. Always have. And you deserve to recognize the melody in yourself, too. I'm always willing to help you with that whenever you feel you need me to.”

Dvorak smiled and chuckled softly, then bowed deeply to her brother. “Namaste, bro.”

“Namaste.”

The two pups walked together toward the house for breakfast with a spring in their step, as the orange morning sky began to dye into a soft blue hue.

#101 dalmatian street #deepak dalmatian #dvorak dalmatian #doglover502 #fanfiction #i hope you like this aaaa

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orihara-infobroker · 4 years

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Hobbies and Criticism

I sat on this when it happened, and again yesterday but it’s something I do want to speak about because I’ve seen it happen often enough that it merits discussion. There are a few separate elements here and I will try to be cohesive in stringing them together.

It’s long so it’s going under a cut... Sorrynotsorry XD

On Unsolicited Criticism

Fan art and fan fiction are, fundamentally, hobbies. I am not addressing commissions here. I am talking about artists who create their art out of their own desire to make something based on whatever inspired them. Some people love sharing that art with the world. Some people don’t. They are not doing so because they are being paid for their work but because they want to create something out of personal love for it. Those who share it with the world are not obligated to. It is a gift. A gift, by virtue of the internet, that you are not required to accept or like - certainly I don’t like every fanfiction written about my fave pair. In fact I don’t like most of them. It is still a gift, however and the mannerly thing to do when you come across a gift that isn’t to your liking, is to simply pass on it. It’s very easy to do on the internet. Hit the back button. Scroll past it. Block the artist if you find their art repulsive. The fundamental rule of mature fandom behavior on the internet. Curate your own experience.

Further to this, when a person offers up a gift, it isn’t your place to critique them, unsolicited. You aren’t doing anyone a good turn by pointing out where they are fucking up. You may think you are somehow contributing to fandom by “helping” a struggling artist to improve their works by providing unsolicited criticism but you aren’t. In fact, from what I have seen and heard from artists, it’s usually the opposite. Many fan artists aren’t professionals. Some might be, more so I’ve noticed in the graphic art sphere than in the writer sphere, but most aren’t. Many fan artists are beginners. Many fan artists are students of their art. Many are learning as they are doing. Most importantly, many are doing this for fun, as a hobby, and aren’t aiming to become professionals.

Many fan artists who are either learning as they go or just doing this for fun when they have time are more than aware that they aren’t professionals. They know that they aren’t the best. They usually have an idea of where their weaknesses are. Sharing their art often takes a great deal of courage for them because they know they are offering something up that isn’t perfect but they love it enough to share it in the hopes that other people will love it too. Coming into their space after they’ve shared a work of love and pointing out all the things that are wrong with it is more likely to cause a new writer or artist to recoil and give up than it is to cause them to double down and try to get better. This isn’t theoretical for me. I’ve heard former artists and writers say that they gave up because all they ever heard was how bad they were. Again, not people who wanted to be professionals. People who just wanted to create things for fun. Who had that fun stripped away from them by strangers who thought it acceptable to enter their space and shit on their work.

When a child is learning to do something we do not take the picture they drew of their stick people families and smiley suns and tell them “Honey, the sun doesn’t have a face. People aren’t sticks. That’s not how to draw hair.”

We do not do that because it is not productive. It is hurtful. We know this and yet fans seem to think it’s “helpful” and acceptable to do this to other adults. Assuming the artists are adults, which is a fallacy. Many are teens as well. Under the assumption that adults aren’t going to burst into tears because you pointed out their failings, you shovel your criticisms over them without stopping to consider that maybe, just maybe, they will because they know they aren’t that perfect. They know they can’t draw hands. They know that their grammar isn’t the best. But they’re trying and they’re creating and they just want to share their ideas. They want to share their love with people who love the thing too.

They didn’t ask for criticism. They provided a gift and had someone take a shit on it. This is not kind and helpful and certainly I would not be inclined to continue to provide gifts to anyone who treated me in such a way. Unsolicited criticism does not improve artists, it drives them away.

On Solicited Criticism and Being Constructive

I’m going to talk from a writer’s perspective here because I am a writer and I don’t entirely understand artists methods because I never took any sort of art classes. I still think the overall theme of this applies to artists as well, especially when discussing the purpose of criticism and the method of delivery.

Many artists and writers do want to improve and would appreciate genuine criticism of their works. This is a double-edged sword, of course because in my experience we aren’t taught how to take criticism as a flaw in our skill without feeling like it is a flaw in ourselves. We associate our worth very strongly with our ability to do things and as such, addressing our flaws can become a very emotional battle.

When an artist solicits for constructive criticism, they aren’t asking you to point out everything that is wrong with their work. That isn’t what criticism in this situation is meant to be. They are asking for explanations on why things don’t work. They are asking for guidance on how to improve. If you cannot provide that kind of feedback, don’t give the criticism in the first place.

As a writer I do wonder if I am perhaps more attuned to the way words work than the average reader. As such, I try to give people the benefit of the doubt when it comes to word choices and I want to talk about that a bit as it relates to online conversations around criticism. We give tone to certain words. A single word’s meaning might not be negative but how we use it in day-to-day conversation can very much instill a level of emotional subtext to that word that translates into how people write and read that word.

When giving feedback to a person, it’s easy to make a checklist of all the things they got wrong. In some cases, this can be acceptable, such as with basic grammar mistakes. If you’re asking me to proofread your work for grammar, I’m just going to red pen it and note the corrections in the margins because this is simply the mechanics of writing and I know plenty of native English speakers who don’t understand the full complexities of the language. I speak about English (which is the literal worst language in existence) because it’s my native tongue but this can apply to any language.

However, when you begin to delve into deeper things like characterization, themes, plot and so on, this becomes significantly less straightforward. When you add a writer’s voice (or an artist’s vision) into the mix, it gets very messy.

The one thing that should never change when giving criticism is tone. One should not be cruel or harsh in delivering criticism. One should be kind and understanding. The artist is opening themselves up and asking for help which is difficult enough on its own. The response should be patient and helpful. Take care to choose your words to support and uplift the artist, not to tear them down. For every criticism you offer, you should also try to offer a solution or a guideline for the artist. If the criticism is about how the pacing of the story is too slow, making the story drag, then explain what makes it feel slow and why that is a negative thing. Offer suggestions on what might improve the pacing.

Ex. I noticed that in this chapter it felt like nothing was really happening to further the plot and that left me feeling bored. Perhaps you could improve the pacing of this chapter by including some reference to how this affects the greater plot? Or add something to the end of the chapter to bring us back around to where the plot is headed?

As many “beta readers” are also not professionals, it’s understandable that maybe you don’t know how to offer constructive criticism. Maybe you just have a feeling that something doesn’t look or read write but you don’t know linguistics well enough to identify the why behind it. That’s ok too, as long as you convey that honestly and kindly.

Ex. When I was reading this part of the chapter it didn’t feel like it flowed very well but I’m not sure why. If you have another editor, maybe ask them for their opinion on it?

Because sometimes when we are reading something our own internal biases will create problems where there are none, or catch problems without knowing why they are problems. This is especially useful if you’re being asked for your opinion on whether or not someone is handling a sensitive topic well (race, sex, sexual orientation etc.).

When it comes to the writer’s voice, this is where criticism is very difficult. If an author loves their purple prose (overly flowery descriptions of everything) and it bothers you as a reader, you’re probably not their audience and criticizing them for it isn’t actually helpful. It’s fine to ask them if they mean to write in that manner, or ask if it serves a specific purpose to them but if their response is that it is the way they enjoy writing, then it is not a topic that is open for criticism.

Conclusion

Artists - Nay, People grow by learning from their mistakes but they need support in understanding what those mistakes are and how to improve them. They do not grow by constantly being told to “get better”. Respect those who are gifting you with their art. Give them the respect they deserve for being kind and brave enough to post their creations. If they don’t want criticism, respect that boundary. If they do want criticism, give it in a kind and helpful way.

Lastly, and especially because this is what bothered me the most about the incident that caused me to write this:

Artists grow by doing. They cannot get better without doing and making mistakes and doing more and making more mistakes. This is the literal process of learning a skill. Do not ever tell an artist to stop creating because they aren’t good enough. It doesn’t make you ‘helpful’. It makes you a giant fucking douchebag.

#writer things #or artist things #fandom observations #constructive criticism #what it is and what it isn't #just really needed to put this out there #cause I really hate watching artists and writers #getting shit on in the name of constructive criticism #and the entitlement that some fans show #thinking they have the right to determine #what is good and what is bad in fandom art #ps I hate the term beta reader #like there's a word for this already #so why'd you go and steal an tech term?#what's wrong with editor?

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livsoulsecrets · 4 years

Text

Fictober Day 1 - Confession

Prompt number: 1 Fandom: The Last Hours Rating: General Audiences Warnings/Tags: Unrequited love, Angst

Part 1

Part 2

Summary: “The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

—

Cordelia finds Matthew in the library, with a copy of “The Picture of Dorian Gray” in hand, all his attention focused on the book. His long legs are over one of the chair’s arms. The position looks uncomfortable, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind it. Cordelia can’t help but smile at the sight, not when Matthew seems so relaxed, none of his usual charm deflecting attention from his real self.

— Each of us has heaven and hell in him. — Matthew reads, looking up. Cordelia gasps, surprised he noticed her. — Do you have both as well, Cordelia?

— Of course I do. — She answers, fixing her dress before sitting across from Matthew, composing herself. Matthew was looking at her attentively, the way he usually did: as if he knew something she didn’t. She thinks of the lies she kept to this day and adds: — We all have both, I believe.

— I could argue you have only heaven inside yourself, but you know it better than I do, I suppose.

— You think too highly of me. — Cordelia dismisses his claim, putting a stead of hair behind her ear. Matthew closes the book and puts it down, moving to sit properly at the chair.

— Maybe. — He complies, shrugging. — What brings you here? — Matthew asks, bending his head, moving to a topic that would be less controversial.

— Lucie said she needs to help her mom before we start training, so she told me you were here and could keep me company until she was ready. — Cordelia explains. If Lucie had offered any other boy’s company, Cordelia would have refused it in favor of staying in Lucie’s bedroom and reading her newest “The Beautiful Cordelia” chapter. Thomas and Christopher were lovely and would never behave poorly, but she still felt a bit awkward being alone with them. James was, of course, out of the table, since they broke off their engagement and everything between them became even more complicated and embarrassing. But Matthew was a steady presence in her life now, somebody that she could trust as a friend.

She still felt like she didn’t know so much about him: why he was so attached to the cursed flask he carried around and why he sometimes felt so distant even standing so close to her. The only thing she knew is that, despite his bad fame and careless facade, Matthew saw Cordelia as herself, not an extension of Lucie or James, not as the product of her parents or as Alastair’s sister, Matthew saw the dreams Cordelia had inside herself and the fears she carried within her heart. It was something she had cherished more and more since the news of her broken engagement reached across all the Shadowhunters society.

— I guess it is my duty to entertain you meanwhile. — Matthew says, eyes facing Cordelia with attention.

— I would like nothing more. — She answers, taking some solace in the idea of being distracted by Matthew. He could always make her smile.

— I am afraid I am not that entertaining today, though. I find myself in a quite monotonous mood.

— Is that why you are reading “The Picture of Dorian Gray” again? — Cordelia asks, curious.

— Perhaps it is. I know what will happen in every page of this book, it gives me a sense of comfort. — Matthew explains, caressing the cover of the novel.

— Well, then you should continue reading it, I can be entertained elsewhere. — She offers, not wishing to disturb him even further. He stays silent for a moment and she takes it as a sign to leave. Cordelia gets up from the chair, ready to flee.

— Cordelia, no, come back! There is no need for that. — She stops, surprised. — Your presence gives me just as much comfort as the book, don’t misunderstand me. I just did not know how to express it. — Matthew doesn’t face her eyes, which is incredibly out of character for him. Cordelia chuckles with his response and sits back down.

— I am happy to know that. — She answers and Matthew sighs, relieved. — That being said, wouldn’t it be good for you to talk about what is bothering you? I am a great listener, as Lucie can confirm. — He smiles at her, his hands crossed in his lap. His shoulders are down, as if a weight is pushing Matthew’s body towards the floor. It breaks her heart.

— I do think it would be good for me. I just do not believe it would be good for anyone else. — He confesses.

— This is quite a pessimist way to look at it.

— It is the truth.

— “The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” — Cordelia quotes, a sad smile on her face. He looks up to her, surprised.

— That is not Dorian Gray...

— It is still Oscar Wilde. I did some research on him, I had to know why you adored him so much.

— And? — Matthew questions.

— And what?

— Did you find out why?

— Yes, I believe I did. — Cordelia complies. — He is a lot like you, very rebellious and strong-willed. It is such a shame he wasn’t understood in the way he deserved. No one should go through what he went through.

— I completely agree.

— So, you must agree with him about the truth, right? About it not being so simple?

— I absolutely do. — Matthew answers, intrigued about where she is going.

— Therefore, it is impossible for you to know if telling the truth will be bad for anyone. It is not so simple. Taking such shortcut will only upset you further and deeper. I believe you should take a leap of faith and trust me.

— You are very stubborn.

— It is my fatal flaw, I believe.

— Do you wish to know what is mine? — Cordelia nods, interested.

— Always doing what you ask me to do. — Matthew answers, earning a surprised laugh out of Cordelia.

— Does it mean you will tell me the truth? — Cordelia is at the edge of her seat, barely controlling her curiosity and concern.

— I guess one could say that. — Matthew gets up from the chair, his sorrowful posture forgotten now. His eyes are shinning, like he is a mischievous boy plotting something. It is a good change, Cordelia thinks. He walks to her and offers his hand to help her get up. She takes it.

— Promise me that, no matter what I say, you will not leave. — Matthew whispers, his voice so low she only hears it because he is standing close to her in the silent library. He didn’t let go of her hand yet, she can’t help but notice.

— I promise. I would never, Matthew. — Cordelia swears, meaning every word she says. He takes a deep breath, finally looking into her eyes, his hands still attached to hers. Matthew seems to be gathering the courage to say something.

— You are destroying me, Cordelia. — He finally says and Cordelia feels all the air being sucked out of her lungs. The weight of his words is so powerful it feels like he just pushed her out of a cliff. She lets go of his hands in the middle of her shock. — Not because you wish to do so, but because I do. I wish for you every single day.

She tries to say something, but no words come, Matthew smiles sadly at her, not surprised with her reaction. Cordelia hates how much pain goes through his eyes when he notices her silence, still, she says nothing.

— I do not expect a future with you. I would be a fool to do so. I know where your heart lays as it is where my heart lays as well in a way. I just needed you to know, even if it is selfish and stupid and reckless. — Matthew barely breathes while he speaks, his heart pounding in his ears. — I need to say it, even if it is only once, even if it is pointless: I love you, Cordelia Carstairs. I love your fierceness every time you walk into battle, I love the courage you carry yourself with no matter what comes your way. I love you because most of the people I know barely exist, but you... You live. You shine brighter than I ever thought was possible to. I love everything that makes you the hero you are. You make me want things I can’t have. I’m aware it is the worst moment for me to tell you this, but I can’t live one more second of my life without you knowing where my devotion lays. It is with you, it will always, always be with you. — Matthew’s eyes are wide, an immensity of green that Cordelia could not handle staring at right now. Her hands are gripping the sides of her dress so strongly she could tear it apart.

Cordelia had noticed Matthew cared deeply for her, but she never thought, even for a brief moment, that he could love her. Still, here he was, baring his whole heart to her. She felt awful for not having any answer for him. Despite that, Cordelia was also flattered by his words, blushing all over, barely believing someone on Earth could feel so strongly about her, that Matthew of all people could so desperately love her.

— I’m sorry to burden you with my confession, but I hope you find in your heart the will to forgive me. — Matthew adds, his look was so haunted Cordelia had to fight the urge to reach out for him. She remembered one of the times Matthew took her home, his jacket over her shoulders, his arms surrounding her. She felt safe in his embrace. Looking at him in so much pain, so crushed and hopeless, made Cordelia want to make Matthew feel better. Still, she was painfully aware that the only thing that could truly mend his heart was returning his love completely and, that, she could not do.

— Oh, Matthew... You know I would always forgive you. — Cordelia says, a sad smile on her lips. — I’m afraid you know how I feel. — Matthew flinches, staring at the ground. He doesn’t seem surprised, but listening to her words still hurt just the same. — I once said anyone you loved would be dear to me. What I never told you is that anyone loved by you is so very lucky. I have been watching you for months now and it is admirable how much love you hold in your heart, for your parents, James, Thomas, Christopher, Anna... So much love you even give it to me. I can’t possibly know what I did to deserve it, but I’m so deeply honored for receiving it. — Cordelia reaches for his hands, his eyes finally facing her. Matthew is quiet, no walls protecting him, nothing keeping them apart. — I really love you, Matthew, so very much.

— Just not in the same way. — He completes her words, pain flashing trough his eyes while Cordelia holds his hands among hers even tighter. — I understand.

— Yes... I hope that doesn’t ruin the friendship we built during those last few months. — Cordelia says softly. — I know it is asking for too much, but I don’t want to lose you. I don’t like picturing my life without Matthew Fairchild in it.

— I imagine it would be very boring. All tones of beige and gray, I suppose. — Matthew offers, an attempt at a smile on his lips. He still looks exhausted, but he also seems somewhat relieved he isn’t hiding this truth from her anymore. Matthew has always been so good at hiding his emotions that Cordelia feels privileged for being able to see him experiencing so much at once.

— Oh, the saddest ones, it would be a tragedy. — Cordelia agrees, mesmerized by him as she usually is.

— I- I will need some time, getting used to you knowing the truth, but I promise I won’t wreck our friendship. I will do everything in my power to stay beside you. — Cordelia knows he means it because there is no trace of his usual playfulness in his voice. He is absolutely serious now. It is quite a sight: his carefully brushed hair falling in his eyes, his eyes a bit weary as if looking at Cordelia takes more effort than he can bare, his hands, so surprisingly soft for a Shadowhunter, tangled among hers. She wonders if she is one of the few people that have ever seen Matthew like this in a very long time. That sends an alarm through her whole body and she takes a step back. She is horrified by the thought that crossed her mind.

— That is all I wish for. — She says, her voice trembling. — Matthew, there is one more thing I must ask of you, if you would allow me.

— Anything you need. — Matthew complies. Cordelia lets go of Matthew’s hands. He straightens himself up, seeming to miss the contact between them. But what Cordelia is about to say takes a tool of her and she can’t do it still being so connected to him.

— Matthew, I say this with all the respect I have for you, please, believe me. Still, I must ask: this reckless behavior you have adopted... The lack of regard you show for yourself at times, is it all because of me? I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but the last thing I would ever want was to be the reason of your suffering. I need to know if I’m the sole cause of it. If that is the case, I must do everything in my power to lighten your burden. — Cordelia wished she had succeeded in her intention, that she hadn't offended Matthew or pushed him away for good.

— My suffering? — Matthew repeated, sounding astonished. — You are concerned about my suffering? — He laughs, but the sound is shallow, no real happiness attached to it. — Cordelia, I wish I could explain to you what truly haunts me, but that would go against what I promised you. I said I wouldn’t ruin our friendship and telling you the truth would do just that. If it eases your heart, know you are not the only source of my pain. Trust me, even the pain you cause me is welcomed into my heart. Don’t feel like you must purposefully ease my distress because your mere presence accomplishes that every time we are united. Don’t ask me to explain it any further. I’m afraid I won’t be able to deny you anything for much longer, so, please, respect my wish.

Cordelia is still worried for him, wondering what he is hiding from her, from everyone, but she decides she won’t push. She asked away too much from Matthew already, the least Cordelia can do is follow his desire.

— If you prefer it this way, then, of course, I will not ask for anything else. Just know that if you ever decide to talk about what concerns you, I will be right here.

— I appreciate that. — He answers, nodding. After that, she couldn’t stop herself any longer, Cordelia took a step towards Matthew and he met her halfway. She wrapped his arms around his neck, holding on to the boy with all of her strength. His arms circled her waist, attaching himself to her as if she would disappear at any moment. — I am glad you told me, despite how hard it must have been for you. — Her head was tucked in the curve of Matthew’s neck, her voice muffled.

— I am glad for that as well. Thank you, my dear Cordelia, for always knowing the right thing to say. — Matthew whispered back to her, his love becoming their very own secret in that moment, something that bonded the two of them together deeper than anything else ever could. Cordelia found she didn’t want to let the boy go any time soon. Matthew was so familiar to her at this point that being surrounded by him felt natural to her, despite what he just shared with her. Matthew breaks away from her, reluctantly. — I think I must go. I need some time to process everything that happened today.

— I understand, of course. Just- Promise me you will be okay? — Cordelia asks, her heart heavy. She wishes to ask him to come back to her soon, but she refrains from doing so.

— I will try. — Matthew answers, reaching for Cordelia’s hand and kissing it softly. She holds her breath, a chill going down that spine. The gesture is somehow more intimate than the hug they just shared. It is Matthew’s last act of vulnerability.

— It is all one can do. — Cordelia says, watching Matthew carefully while he takes a step away from her.

— Goodbye for now, Cordelia. — Matthew smiles at her, a bit shy, but just as brilliant as always. She smiles back.

— Goodbye, Matthew. Only for now. — Cordelia replies, watching him walk away. She sits down at one of the most comfortable chairs of the library, but remains restless.

For some reason, Cordelia despises watching Matthew leave. It feels awfully wrong, even if she knows it is what he needs to do for now. She can only hope it won’t be too long until he comes back because, if Cordelia is sure of anything, it is that London is more her home than any other place has ever been and Matthew is one of the people responsible for that.

All she really could do was wait... And she would, for as long as he needed her to.

#the last hours #fictober20 #the last hours fic #cordelia carstairs #matthew fairchild #fairstairs #matdelia #fairstairs fic #matdelia fic #chain of gold #my fics

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chilligyu · 5 years

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info: jeon wonwoo/reader, general audiences, record shop au genre: fluff, romance, glimpses of drama | word ct: 9k warnings: none summary: to most, jeon wonwoo was the surly owner of a hole in the wall record shop. to her, he was a simple mistake she kept making time and time again. notes: reposted from my old blog, @dimp1ejeon

cross posted on ao3

Her first mistake started with a record shop.

(It of course wasn’t her first mistake, but for the sake of this story let’s pretend that it was.)

It began in a record shop, an actual record shop. Something she honestly didn’t believe existed anymore. But as her new music obsessed boyfriend was happy to point out, they did, in fact, exist, and it would be good for her to get acquainted with vinyl. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to take that, but he was hot, the most popular guy on campus, so she would gladly “get acquainted with vinyl” for him. Didn’t mean she completely understood what that meant.

She barely understood what that meant.

Once she found a record shop, she was sure to muster all of her fleeting attention to soak up everything she could. She wandered the aisles with pristine precision, analysing every single cover, every genre, every artist, for some secret she was sure lied within. She wanted to be as knowledgeable as her amazing boyfriend, she wanted to be cultured and wise. Of course, that was easier said than done, and she still had no idea what she was doing after an hour of pretending like she did. She honestly couldn’t tell one record from the other and she was too embarrassed to admit defeat.

“Can I help you find something?”

She looked up and found herself face to face with a chipper looking sales clerk, his name tag read Mingyu. His face read how can I help you on this fine day?

“Yes!” She beamed in relief. “I’m looking for a record for my boyfriend, he wanted me to find something he had never heard of before. Which will be hard because he’s basically listened to every song on the planet.”

While she laughed and he laughed along politely, she hoped that he wouldn’t see right through her.

“What kind of music is he interested in?”

“Oh all sorts.” She clarified and yet didn’t clarify at all. “I really have no idea what to get him, if I’m personally honest. He likes some crazy bands like—Moldy Peaches? I think?”

Mingyu nodded and hummed as if she had provided him with everything he had ever needed. “Looks like you need a personal recommendation from the Wizard. Follow me.”

I need a what from the who?

Despite her evident confusion and general reluctance, she followed after Mingyu with moderate scepticism. They weaved their way through the aisles while he offered quiet statements such as “I’ll be right with you” and “can you man the front” to customers and employees they passed. She had no idea where he was taking her, but they were heading deeper and deeper into a store she wasn’t quite sure was even big enough to be that big. For a moment she wondered if he was guiding her to her doom.

In a way, he was.

As they rounded a corner, they finally found some semblance of life in the form of some dreary looking fellow hunched over his computer, narrowing his eyes at it in either concentration or frustration. All around him were stacks of papers, records, books, and everything else you could imagine to stack. Looking closely, she noticed that his name tag said Woo and for some reason all she could hear was someone saying Woohoo very unenthusiastically in the back of her mind.

“Wonwoo, you busy?”

Woo/Woohoo/Wonwoo didn’t even look up as he shrugged. “Kinda, what’s up?”

“We need to consult the Wizard.” Mingyu said like it was the most normal thing ever. “Music recommendation for a musically inclined boyfriend who’s into indie.”

Without missing a beat, and without looking up still, Wonwoo pulled a record out from one of his stacks and handed it over to Mingyu. “Here.”

“Thanks man, I owe you.” Mingyu returned and turned to her with a smile. “Think this will do?”

She was too busy trying to understand the odd situation with the “Wizard” to really offer an intelligent response. “Yea—yes. This looks perfect, thank you.”

Mingyu beamed with pride. “Don’t thank me, thank the Wizard. He does all the hard work around here anyway.”

While she halfway expected Woo/Woohoo/Wonwoo/Wizard to return with some sort of witty retort, he simply shrugged. But she could see a different response swimming in his ebony eyes. As if he was afraid to speak his mind in front of her. Interesting.

“Thank you, Woohoo—Wonwoo.” She stammered, cursing the little voice in the back of her head. “Thank you Wonwoo.”

The response he offered was little more than a nod of the head. She almost missed him sneak a glance, it was so quick she wasn’t entirely sure it had even happened.

“Alright, we won’t keep you.” Mingyu interrupted when there really wasn’t anything to interrupt. “Thanks again, hyung.”

She wasn’t quite sure what just happened.

As quickly as she had been guided into the secret nethers of Meanie’s Record Shop she was promptly escorted back out. Looking back over her shoulder she could’ve sworn she heard the surly Wonwoo say, “don’t forget about my 10% consultation fee,” with a ghost of a smile. It was perhaps the warmest smile she had ever seen.

Now she knew that she was imagining things.

Long after she paid for her record, said goodbye to the overly chipper and undeniably handsome Mingyu, she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering to thoughts of the elusive Wonwoo.

Her boyfriend thought his existence was hilarious, a record shop Wizard, and they spent quite a long time laughing about it. She didn’t necessarily find it funny, she found it intriguing. But she had a hard time disagreeing with her boyfriend so she laughed along with him.

When he asked her to go get another record for him, Meanie’s was her first (and only) choice. The way he asked her though made her think that he doubted the validity of Wonwoo’s capabilities and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Still, she did as he asked. She found her way back into the little hole in the wall and smiled happily when she saw Mingyu standing behind the counter.

This was her second mistake.

“Welcome back!” He exclaimed, perky as ever. “Did your boyfriend approve of the Wizard’s decision?”

“He did!” She returned. “He liked it so much in fact that he wanted me to come back and see if the Wizard would be right twice.”

Mingyu chuckled underneath his breath. “In all fairness to your skeptical boyfriend, Wonwoo is never wrong. He always knows what you need.”

“And that’s why you call him Wizard?” She halfway teased.

“That’s why we call him Wizard.” He agreed, motioning for her to follow. “Let’s step into his office and see what he has for you today.”

Then they embarked on the same journey for the second time. She could’ve sworn that her heart rate picked up a little in anticipation, but she was probably imagining it. She had the same feeling the first time she was lead back into Wonwoo land so it was most likely the underlying anxiety and nothing more. Still, she did her best to ignore it and was failing miserably.

When she spotted Wonwoo amongst the clutter it looked like he hadn’t moved since the last time she was there. He might’ve even been wearing the same outfit but of that she couldn’t be certain. The only difference she noticed immediately was that his many stacks of many things gained in stacitude. She tried not to be too overtly amused, Wonwoo seemed to notice anyway. She could’ve sworn that he almost smiled.

Almost.

“Hey Woo.” Mingyu greeted with a curt wave. “We have a repeat customer, remember uppity musically inclined boyfriend who’s into indie? His girlfriend is back for round two.”

“Hey!” She protested behind him. “We never said uppity!”

“You didn’t, I did.” Mingyu winked playfully. “So, you got the goods my goodly good man?”

Wonwoo, on the other hand, already had a record ready for her. “Is that all?”

Taking the album in hand, Mingyu bowed slightly in respect, or awe. “Yes, thank you Grand Master Wonwoo. Your services are without equal.”

“So he’s the Grand Master now?” She chimed in. “How many nicknames does he have?”

“Plenty.” Wonwoo clarified, much to her surprise. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m pretty busy.”

Nodding in understanding, she turned to leave when she thought she heard him swear under his breath. She couldn’t resist, she peered around to look at his computer screen. He was playing Fortnite.

Mingyu burst out laughing. “Oh she’s done it now. You’ve been busted, the whole dark brooding aesthetic has been shattered.”

Wonwoo honestly didn’t look fazed in the slightest. “I don’t have a dark brooding aesthetic.”

“That, my friend,” Mingyu began to her, “is what we call oblivion. Hyung,” turning back to Wonwoo, “you have no self awareness.”

He shrugged in response. “That’s fine. I’m still busy being dark and brooding while playing Fortnite.”

Oh. She halfway gasped when she spotted a coy grin twitching at his lips. He’s trying to be funny. He’s actually really funny.

She couldn’t help it, she started to laugh. There was just something about Wonwoo sitting there surrounded by eclectic treasures with his typical emotionless expression and being sassy to his friend that made her giggle out of control. She was sure that they were probably giving her the oddest look but she didn’t care, she had never met anyone quite like Wonwoo and she was sure that he was a one in a billion type of guy.

Regardless, he was chuckling along with her. It was an interesting sound, or it was interesting how that sound made her feel. His laugh was very light, despite his deep voice, and it lifted her spirits considerably. It made her feel--comfortable, almost as if his laughter was some unknown cure from some even more unknown ailment that ailed her. While hearing it she was suddenly overcome with this strange realization that she couldn’t recall ever feeling anything quite like it. She would’ve loved to hear more of Wonwoo’s laugh. She wanted to feel the things that his laugh made her feel.

“This is starting to get weird. Wonwoo smiling, laughing, it’s unnatural.” Mingyu muttered, amusement clear on his face. “Let’s get you out of here before it’s too late.”

Nodding and trying to compose herself, she waved goodbye to the Wizard. “He’s right, I should get going. Thanks again for the personal recommendation. It was nice seeing you, Wonwoo.”

That seemed to catch him off guard but a hesitant smile creased his lips. “You too, have a good one.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

She decided to ignore the strange sensation and instead followed Mingyu back out to the front where she would pay for her record just as before and most likely never see either of them ever again. The thought didn’t make her sad, per se, but it didn’t make her happy either. Not in the slightest. Surely her boyfriend was capable of going to the record shop on his own time but she had enjoyed her trips to Meanie’s up until that point and hoped they could continue. She wanted nothing more than to sit there and chat away with the two young men she had such a fun time with, even in the smallest of doses.

I could always keep Meanie’s a secret. She mused to herself as she sat next to her boyfriend while they—well, he—watched a documentary on the Rolling Stones. I don’t see why I can’t keep making trips for him. It’s not that big of a deal.

That small decision was her third mistake.

In the following weeks she made a couple of trips to Meanie’s for her boyfriend, but she also made a couple completely unprompted. Just to stop by to see how Mingyu and Wonwoo were doing. She never stayed long, only a minute or two each time. A quick hello, a stray smirk, a flutter of a feeling that she couldn’t name, and a hesitant goodbye moments later. She enjoyed her time there, she enjoyed learning more about music from people who didn’t belittle her.

Not that her boyfriend belittled her, not exactly. Sometimes she just felt that he thought he was better than her for his extensive knowledge of obscure bands and her lack thereof. Of course it wasn’t intentional, he cared about her and she cared about him. He would apologize if she brought it up, and she’d forgive him each time. She’d smile, kiss him gently, and all would be forgiven but not necessarily forgotten.

On a cloudy Wednesday after a lunch date with her boyfriend, she found herself almost unconsciously heading towards Meanie’s. She was intellectually exhausted after learning about the shift from classic rock to modern rock and how music was dying--according to her boyfriend, and she needed a break from that. She needed to just forget about all of the things she had to remember since she agreed to go out with her music obsessed boyfriend. All of the facts and all of the history, it was too much for her to process some days. Most days.

Walking into Meanie’s she was shocked to see Soonyoung behind the counter instead of Mingyu. It was silly of her to think that he would always be there no matter what, he was a living breathing human with a living breathing life. Still, she walked right up to him with confusion evidently evident on her face.

“He’s out for lunch.” Soonyoung clarified immediately. “He should be back in the next 20 minutes or so if you want to wait.”

Pursing her lips, she shook her head. “No, that’s okay. I’m just going to go back and say hi to Wonwoo then I’ll be gone.”

With a polite wave she said goodbye to Soonyoung and headed back towards her favorite place in the whole store. Alone. A nagging sensation at the back of her mind.

Maybe I shouldn’t be here.

Maybe I should.

Which was her fourth mistake.

“Hey.” She greeted sheepishly when she turned the corner and saw him sitting there as always. “Busy?”

Looking up from his computer, Wonwoo almost smiled. “No, not really. Need another recommendation for the boyfriend?”

She shook her head. “Not today, just wanted to stop in to see how you and Mingyu were doing. But he’s not here so I guess I’m just here to see you!”

Wonwoo’s eyes lit up. “Oh—well, thanks for visiting. Mingyu’s going to be sad that he missed you.”

“Make sure you tell him I said hello.” She continued, uneasiness rising inside of her.

“Will do.”

There was a brief silence when neither really knew what else to say, up until that point they always had Mingyu to smooth over any awkward tension that might exist. Without him, they didn’t know how to proceed or how to act. As they stood there and the silence persisted, she couldn’t help but wonder if stopping by was such a good idea after all.

She had to say something before her face started to show the embarrassment she felt.

“What’re you listening to?” She suddenly blurted out when she spotted the lone earbud in his ear.

A look of confusion crossed his face before he remembered that he was, in fact, listening to music. “Oh, umm… it’s—" he began as he started clicking away with his mouse. “Hollow Caves, heard of them?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She admitted honestly, something she would be afraid to do if her boyfriend had asked. “Mind if I have a listen?”

“S-sure!” Wonwoo sorta stuttered, unplugging his headphones so she could hear. “If you don’t like it we can always listen to something else.”

She wasn’t sure why that polite sentence made her heart race. She always felt like she was on her toes around Wonwoo, like she was afraid of offending him or something. Perhaps some part of her expected all musically inclined people to behave similarly, because she was afraid to disagree with her boyfriend. His music taste was superior to hers and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Out loud. Constantly.

Wonwoo was different.

She liked different.

For the first time since they met (for the sake of story), Wonwoo got up from his seat at his computer and crossed the crowded space to a couch she had never noticed before. Not that most would notice it buried underneath the mounds and mounds of boxes and discarded record sleeves. As he started to clear it off she couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt.

“You don’t need to do that!” She protested a bit louder than she intended. “I mean—I’m fine, you don’t need to clear it off for me.”

Despite her objections, he didn’t stop. “I’ve been meaning to organize this place a little anyway, besides, there’s literally nowhere else to sit.”

He was right, the only other thing she could see that even resembled furniture was the chair behind his desk and now she realized that it was just a pile of boxes. Somehow that added to his charm. Whatever charm he possessed. He wasn’t bothered by the little things and he made the best of what he had. She kind of liked that, she liked that he didn’t make a big deal out of it either. It was—refreshing.

“There.” He huffed when he was finished, hands on his hips. “Good as new.”

She wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not since the couch still looked like it had been salvaged from a collapsed building. She decided that he wasn’t and that somehow made the whole situation that much funnier.

“Thank you but you really didn’t have to.” She persisted. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble.” He countered, a ghost of a smile twitching at his lips. “I wanted to do it.”

Again, her heartbeat started pounding in her ears. She was beginning to wonder what was wrong with her.

“Of course you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.” Wonwoo sputtered suddenly. “I’m sure you’re busy and have better things to do than keep me company in this poor excuse for an office.”

She offered him a kind smile. “I really don’t.”

(She really didn’t.)

The smile he returned was far kinder. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

Nodding, she sat down on the old tattered couch and watched Wonwoo stuff some papers into a filing cabinet that had seen better days. As had most everything else in his “office”. A word she would never have associated before he said it yet now that’s all that she could see. From the business reports strewn across the floor and the order invoices tacked to a wall with darts embedded in them, it was definitely an office. A horribly chaotic office, but she didn’t find a problem with that.

Once he tidied up, he plopped down on the opposite end of the couch. He had two waters in hand, one he happily offered and she happily accepted. Leaning back, she really listened to the soothing music that was slowly filling up the empty space around them. They didn’t speak to each other and she didn’t mind it. The silence between them wasn’t as nagging as before, she wasn’t looking for a way out or something to say. Silence with Wonwoo wasn’t that awful, it wasn’t even bad. She actually enjoyed it a little, in fact. Once she got used to it.

Being comfortable with the silence didn’t mean that she didn’t have things she wanted to ask him. She wanted to ask him plenty of things, like what he did at Meanie’s, how long he’d known Mingyu. Why did he always wear beanies and how did he get so involved with music? Wonwoo was a curiosity and she couldn’t help but be curious. She couldn’t help her poor impulse control either.

It was as if a verbal dam burst in her damn mouth.

While she prattled on, he chuckled at either her ridiculousness or her abruptness. Whichever it was she was blushing nevertheless, embarrassed by how rash she was behaving. That didn’t stop her motormouth from motoring on.

“I’m a manager here.” Wonwoo began once she had run out of breath. “And a co-owner with Mingyu. We’ve known each other since we were kids, I was his first pick when he acquired this place. I always wear beanies because it’s cold back here and I can’t really remember how I got into music. It just happened one day.”

She nodded along as he spoke, unaware that he had nothing more to say.

“Is that all?” He questioned with a smile. “Anything else that you’ve been dying to ask?”

“Ah—no, that’s it.” She stammered, wringing out her hands in her lap. “At least--at least for now. I’m sure I’ll think of something else because I can’t stop—"

She stopped herself before it was too late. Can’t stop thinking about you? Was I really going to say that to him? As much as it might be true I can’t just go around saying that to people, it makes me look weird!

“Can’t stop what?” Wonwoo asked innocently, completely oblivious to the raging turmoil inside of her.

Laughing nervously, she waved it off like it was nothing. “Can’t stop thinking up weird questions, obviously.”

Obviously.

Luckily for her and her friendly relationship with the two Meanie boys, Mingyu appeared from around the corner with a bewildered look on his face. It probably completely contrasted her euphoric look of pure relief.

“When Soonyoung said that Wonwoo had a visitor I thought he was lying.” He started. “Should’ve known it was you!”

“Hey, I was coming to visit both of you!” She protested, springing up from the couch and giving her unknowing savior a hug. “It’s not my fault you weren’t here, that’s your problem.”

Wonwoo cleared his voice behind them. “I’m going to get back to work now.”

Startled, she turned and saw him return to his desk where his face had morphed from the pleasant smile she loved to the emotionless deadpan she first met. The switch was drastic and a bit unsettling, she didn’t really know what to make of it or what to do. Looking back to Mingyu he obviously didn’t notice the shift like she had. He was saluting his coworker and leading her out before she could even question what just happened.

“Thanks for stopping by.” He mused as they walked. “It’s good for Wonwoo to interact with real live people every now and then.”

She pressed her lips together in thought. “I don’t know, he didn’t seem too happy about it.”

“Are you kidding?” Mingyu half asked half laughed. “You should’ve seen the look on his face, like he’d just seen the sun for the first time. He only ever looks like that when I bring him food.”

I did see the look on his face. She reminded herself. That doesn’t change the fact that it disappeared at the drop of a pin.

“Either way, don’t worry about it too much.” He tried to reassure her. “He doesn’t really know what’s good for himself anyway. That’s what he has you and I for.”

“R-right.” She agreed hesitantly, trying her best to accept his words even when her heart was screaming at her to go back.

Had she gone, it would’ve been her fifth mistake. But that mistake was saved for her next visit after getting into a disagreement with her boyfriend.

She couldn’t remember much from early that day, only that she was supposed to introduce her boyfriend to her parents that morning and he was, decidedly, nowhere to be found. He knew about the meeting, they talked about it the night before, but where was he? She had no idea. After a handful of calls and a couple dozen text messages, she made up some excuse why he couldn’t make it and apologized to her poor parents (who, mind you, had driven all the way from Busan to meet him).

Turns out he had rushed out to buy some shady band merch from some shady character under some shady bridge somewhere in shadytown. That’s why he missed probably one of the more important milestones in their relationship and she wasn’t too happy with him. But instead of talking it out with him she decided it would be a better idea to go and pay Mingyu and Wonwoo a visit, she prefered their company most days anyway.

Which was why it was her fifth mistake. And quite possibly her sixth.

When she came in it must’ve been pretty evident that she was having a rough day because Mingyu immediately leapt over the counter and approached her with open arms. She wrapped herself around him and nuzzled into his chest. She just wanted to forget about the past six hours and enjoy a little peace and quiet. Meanie’s was exactly what she needed.

“Why don’t you head on back.” He whispered to her. “I’ll be right there I just have a few things to take care of.”

Nodding, she did as she was instructed and let her feet carry her through the store as they had a dozen times before. Wonwoo said something to her when she came around the corner but didn’t seem to grasp her current situation. After a minute or two and she was just standing there without saying anything, he started to put it together.

“Hey, are you alright?” He asked, genuinely concerned. “Come sit down and I’ll grab you some water or something.”

It was hard to place what she was feeling, she was trying desperately not to let herself be angry or annoyed and didn’t really know where that left her. Dating her boyfriend seemed to be a lot of low expectations and hoping for the best. She remembered when he asked her out and she thought it was the best thing to ever happen to her. She was certain that it would all work out, he was a guy worth hoping for. That’s what everyone said and she wanted desperately to believe it.

Eventually she was able to shake the dark cloud hovering around her loose and slowly returned to reality. She was sitting on the couch, Wonwoo was an arms length away from her, and there was a warm cup of coffee in her hands. She did her best to smile if only to ease Wonwoo a little. He looked so concerned—she couldn’t bear it.

“Thank you, Wonwoo.” She mumbled. “But I’m okay, really. I just—needed to collect my thoughts.”

“I think you need a little more than that.” He objected. “What happened? Is there anything I can do?”

She sighed and raised the coffee to her lips. “Can you turn back time? Stop my boyfriend from standing me up? Stop him from standing my parents up? No? Then no, I don’t need anything.”

She paused for a second, realizing how she was coming across. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so bitchy. I’m just—I’m tired? I think? I had to make up excuses for him so my parents didn’t get the wrong impression and think he was this bad guy when in reality—”

“When in reality he’s actually a bad guy?” Wonwoo finished with a stern look. “I don’t care what his excuse is, no guy worth anything ever stands anyone up. Especially not his girlfriend.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He interrupted. “Don’t let him get away with this, okay? You deserve way more than that.”

Leaning back, she knew that he had a point but she couldn’t quite accept it. “I just want to move past it, put it behind us. He’s really a good guy he just--he gets sidetracked.”

Wonwoo didn’t look entirely, or even partially, convinced. “Alright, sure, he’s a good guy. Can you give this to him? Personal recommendation from me.”

Before she could question him he had a CD held out towards her. North of The Yellowhead. She didn’t even know that they had CDs and didn’t really know what to do with it.

“I know it’s not a record, my apologies for that.” Wonwoo continued. “But make sure he pays special attention to track 10.”

Track 10? She wondered. “Maria’s Last Words? Do I even want to know?”

“Let’s just say you should be a bit more like Maria.” He smirked. “Because he’s being a real Captain Tractor right now.”

She couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled past her lips. “So the answer is no, I don’t want to know. But--thank you, Wonwoo. Your strange pep talk actually helped.”

“Anytime.” He smiled triumphantly. “Oh, and this—is for you. Free of charge.”

It was another CD. Custom, slipped into a purple sleeve and a simple two words written on it. Feel Better. She looked up at him in disbelief, there was no way that he was going to know that she needed cheering up. No offense to the wizard, but he couldn’t be that good.

He toed a stray candy wrapper sheepishly. “I just wrote that on there. I had the CD for a couple of days.”

Of course. She realized. “Is this a mixtape, Jeon Wonwoo?”

“Kinda?” He admitted. “They’re just some songs I thought you’d like. You don’t seem like the record type so I was a bit out of my element.”

“You didn’t cheat with your Wizard powers?” She teased him with a smile. “I’m a bit shocked, if I’m being honest.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, she could’ve sworn he was blushing.

And her heart was pounding.

“Well, I—”

“Alright!” Mingyu suddenly shouted, barrelling into view with a large mysterious pot in his hand. “Here we have the perfect feel good food. That’s right, you guessed it, my special homemade tteokguk to wash away all worries and all troubles.”

“You just have tteokguk ready and waiting?” She laughed quietly, thankful for the distraction. “Is it the New Year and I missed it?”

Wonwoo shook his head at her skepticism. “You’d be surprised how many meltdowns people have, Mingyu’s tteokguk has saved lives. Lives I tell you.”

Laughing, she found herself relaxing even further as Wonwoo and Mingyu pulled out bowls and utensils for their meal. It didn’t last long, she wasn’t one to sit around while others worked. While she waited on the couch she felt herself grow restless. Each time she attempted to help them set up they ushered her back into her seat, they wouldn’t even let her lift a finger.

“The tteokguk is an experience.” Wonwoo tried to tell her. “You just sit back and relax, we’ve got you covered.”

Resigned to her fate, she sighed. “Do you guys do this often? You seem very prepared.”

“I’m always prepared.” He said, his eyes softening. “Don’t you know that yet?”

Her mind wandered to the burned CD lying in her lap and she smiled. Wonwoo seemed to have a knack for knowing exactly what she needed. And she wasn’t sure if that was a result of his so called Wizard powers or if he was just genuinely an observant and caring human being. Maybe they weren’t so disconnected, maybe it was a little bit of both.

She decided not to think about it. She wanted to enjoy Mingyu’s special tteokguk and forget all about her boyfriend, if only for a moment. Wonwoo’s smile helped with that, it made the emptiness she felt feel warm. It made it more bearable, and less noticeable. She could get used to that. She wanted to. She wanted to spend more time with Wonwoo, and she made sure that she did.

That was the sixth mistake. And Mingyu seemed to notice.

He didn’t bring it up right away, it was probably after a few weeks of unknowingly interrupting her and Wonwoo’s music sessions that he decided to say something. Even then she was the one who broke the ice. He was escorting her back out front, uncharacteristically quiet, hands stuffed in his pockets, and she knew something was on his mind. Mingyu was usually a big ball of unyielding energy, the silence was unnerving. She couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m about to explode.” She finally admitted, stopping dead in her tracks. “I can practically hear your thoughts from here and it’s starting to scare me. Whatever you have to say, please spit it out.”

Mingyu chuckled. “Is it that obvious?”

“Definitely. What’s on your mind?”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stress you out I’m just—I’m thinking.”

“About what?” She prompted. “It’s got to be pretty serious if you’re—”

“It’s Wonwoo.” He attempted to clarify, but it only made her panic more. “Oh God, he’s fine, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that—it’s—it’s actually got to do with you too.”

“Okay?” She dragged, unsure of where their conversation was going. “Care to elaborate before you give me a second heart attack?”

He looked extremely troubled and she had no idea why. “Maybe? I—I don’t know, well, I know that I should. But I have something I want to ask you first I just—I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”

“Oh my God, Mingyu.” She groaned. “Out with it already! It can’t be nearly as bad as all this waiting, trust me.”

“Alright, if you insist.” He continued reluctantly. “Are you—are you happy with your boyfriend? Like actually happy?”

Admittedly, she was slightly taken aback. “What? Of—of course! Why wouldn’t I—why are you asking me that of all things?”

“You’ve just been spending a lot of time with us lately.” He shrugged. “And by us I really mean Wonwoo.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Let me get this straight, you’re all worried about my relationship with my boyfriend because Wonwoo and I are friends now? Are you feeling okay Mingyu? You really should stop overworking yourself because you’re not making any sense.”

“So you’re telling me that there’s nothing going on between you two?” He pressed. “Nothing at all? Just friends? That’s it?”

“That’s it.” She sighed in relief. “Jesus, Mingyu. I thought this was something serious, you were starting to scare me.”

“You don’t think it’s serious?” He basically scoffed. “You spend all of your time with Wonwoo and I haven’t even heard you bring up le boyfriend in weeks. I figured I’d ask the question!”

Crossing her arms, she wasn’t amused. “While I totally appreciate your interest in my love life, I promise you that everything is fine. Wonwoo and I are friends. Just. Friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Is that all you had to ask?”

“Yeah. That’s it.” Mingyu finally relented. “Sorry for being nosy I’m just—keeping an eye out for Wonwoo. He—he knows that you’re just friends right?”

“Of course!” She protested perhaps a bit too loudly. “I mean—wait, has he said anything?”

He pursed his lips in thought. “Well, no, but I know my best friend. He cares about you. Just keep it kosher and make sure the boundaries are set. The last thing he needs is a broken heart.”

“Don’t worry, that’s not going to happen.” She swore. “I would never.”

He nodded with a smile. “Good. Thanks for humoring my paranoia, and thanks for dropping by again. You know you’re always welcome here.”

“Thanks for always making me feel welcome.” She beamed. “Even when you’re asking me awkward questions.”

“That’s my specialty.” He laughed. “Now get out of here before you miss your bus. Again.”

“Alright, alright.” She conceded, backing out of the shop. “Goodnight, Mingyu!”

They waved goodbye with a few dramatic kisses blown into the night, but his words were stuck in her brain. She hadn’t noticed a lack of interest in her boyfriend, he was actually out of town for the time being while he trailed some indie band across Europe, and yet Mingyu had. Just because she wasn’t obsessed with him didn’t mean that she was losing interest. Even so, he was the sort that appreciated a bit of distance. Sometimes a whole continents worth. Maybe—maybe she should’ve had more of a problem with that. Maybe she should’ve asked more of him.

Maybe she should’ve wanted to be with him.

This started the first real fight she ever had with her boyfriend. While she couldn’t really remember what it was about, she could only remember feeling belittled and ignored. How he would disappear for sometimes weeks on end and come back like nothing happened, how he didn’t feel it was necessary to include her in his life. She was angry, hurt, miserable and more. She cried and screamed, he sat and said nothing. He didn’t know what she wanted, and she didn’t know either. That somehow made her angrier. So she stormed out of his apartment and headed straight for Meanie’s without even thinking to question it.

Which was just another mistake, her seventh.

When she came in after he hurt her the first time, Mingyu knew. When she came in for the second time, he knew again. Sometimes she wondered who the real Wizard at the record shop was. He could read her easier than any book and he was next to her before the door even closed with his arms around her.

“You know the drill, head on back and I’m going to go get some freshly baked bukkumi.” He informed her as he pulled on his jacket. “You get comfy, relax, forget about the douchebag, I’ll be back soon.”

Fearing that anger would be laced into her voice, she simply nodded with a forced smile. He seemed to understand, with a salute he was out the door and off to cheer her up as he often did. She sighed once she was alone, waved unenthusiastically to Soonyong and headed towards the back. Not quite sure what she wanted Meanie’s to do for her, to make her feel better or make her forget. She would’ve taken anything at that point.

But the sight of Wonwoo sitting there didn’t do either, it just made her incredibly sad. He stood abruptly, sensing her distress, and she practically ran into his arms. Burying her face into the hollow of his neck she felt herself start to cry. She didn’t want to stain his shirt, she didn’t want to trouble him like that, but she couldn’t bring herself to step away. If anything she actually tightened her grip around him. She half expected him to protest, or push her away, except he didn’t budge. He was even holding her closer still, unbothered by her tears or her desperation for—what?

What did she want?

His calming hand on her back, his heart pounding against hers, she felt a lump settle into her throat. Eventually she either ran out of tears or the energy to produce them, her eyes were red and raw and she just wanted to sit down. Wonwoo took a good look at her while she wiped at the corners of her eyes. With a sad smile he brushed her hair aside, letting his fingers dust across her cheek. He didn’t say anything, at least not aloud. His eyes said it all though, all of the things she needed to hear. Slowly she started to feel better.

He guided her to the couch without a word and she collapsed onto it. Leaning her head back she closed her eyes, wondering how things had gotten to that point, how her perfect boyfriend turned out to be anything but. She sighed, telling herself not to think about it too much. Things would get better, or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe she could just stay at Meanie’s forever and never see him again. Maybe that made her happy.

Suddenly, soft music surrounded her. The best cure she could’ve possibly asked for. She didn’t even flinch when Wonwoo occupied the spot beside her, she didn’t say anything as she relaxed against him. Didn’t protest when he wrapped an arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. She let her heavy lids flutter closed as she came to one single realization.

She would rather be at Meanie’s than with her boyfriend, and she had known that for quite some time.

She would rather be in Wonwoo’s arms than anyone else’s.

Mingyu was right, she felt something more for him than she should’ve.

Which wasn’t fair to him, not when she still had someone in her life. She knew that, understood that, but denied it all the same. She would let herself be selfish for a few moments more. She would let fantasy be reality, she would pretend that she belonged in the once place she shouldn’t be. She would be happy, hopelessly happy, for just a bit longer.

And then she would finally stop making mistakes.

Her relationship didn’t end in fire, it didn’t end like something out of a coming-of-age story on Netflix or a dramatic soap on Lifetime. As easily as they became, with a smirk and a well placed comment, they were out each others lives altogether. He didn’t fight, she didn’t cry. They exchanged pleasantries and parted for good. They never belonged together in the first place, she finally understood and accepted that.

She never intended to go to Meanie’s the night she broke up with her boyfriend, she planned on heading home and sleeping off the emotional exhaustion. Of course she should’ve known that she was drawn to that dusty old record shop in ways she couldn’t name or explain. Late at night, her mind wandering to moments and memories lost, and she still found her way there. She stood outside the glass doors, some part of her wanting to turn around and save that discussion for another day. Wonwoo deserved thought, deserved time, while she knew her relationship with her boyfriend was a mistake it would’ve been a bigger mistake to rush into something new without stopping to think.

So maybe she wasn’t done making mistakes after all.

When the door dinged overhead, Wonwoo didn’t even look up and instead offered a robotic, “sorry, we’re closed. Come back tomorrow.”

“I know.” She smiled. “I was hoping to catch you before you left.”

Looking up with a start, his surly expression melted at the sight of her. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize it was you. What brings you here so late at night? Don’t you have class in the morning?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t really feel like going though.”

“That’s not a good attitude to have.” He chuckled quietly. “But I won’t turn you away, I’ll take every minute I can get.”

Thump.

“Sweet talker.” She mumbled. “Can I help at all? I don’t want to keep you.”

Pursing his lips, he looked around. “I’m—actually almost done. If you don’t mind waiting, that is.”

“You’re worth waiting for.” She let slip without realizing. “I mean—you’re the reason why I stopped by so it’s only fair that I wait for you.”

“Oh—right.” He hesitated, a light blush dusting across his cheeks. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

What the hell was that? She chastised herself. Wasn’t the plan to give him some time before you start confessing?

She knew what the answer was, she also knew that life didn’t always go as planned.

“I broke up with my boyfriend.” She suddenly blurted out moments later. “I just—thought you should know.”

He stopped stocking shelves to look at her, eyes wide with shock. “Is that what you came down here for? To tell me that?”

She nodded.

She could see the turmoil swimming in his eyes. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. In all fairness, neither did she. That left them motionless, frozen in time while their minds tried to process the impossible and make sense of their rapidly changing hearts.

“Mingyu can take care of this in the morning.” He suddenly muttered, grabbing the keys and pulling on his jacket. “Let’s go for a ride, it’ll probably do you some good to get your mind off of it.”

“Yeah.” She agreed. “Thank you, Wonwoo.”

He offered her a hesitant smile. “No need to thank me, I’m happy to help. Always.”

Her heart was racing, her mouth was dry and her mind empty. She didn’t know what was going to happen, she didn’t know what to expect. She simply followed Wonwoo just as she always would, she would follow him anywhere because he was the one person who reminded her of home. Of sitting on an old ratty couch, content with silence and being close. Where words meant nothing and music meant everything.

Their car ride was silent apart from the hum of the radio and the rattling of the engine. She didn’t pay much attention to it, opting instead to look out the window and watch the city disappear in a blur of lights. Where they were heading, she didn’t know and didn’t ask. She trusted Wonwoo, trusted him to know what she needed. He hadn’t failed her yet and she had no reason to believe that he would. Every now and then she would steal a glance in his direction but his gaze didn’t waver. He looked out into the night, watched asphalt vanish beneath tires and watched concrete turn into trees.

They stopped at the outskirts of town, so far away from the bustling city they called home that they could even see the stars spattered across the night sky. He exited the car first and didn’t wait for her to follow. He hopped up onto the hood of his car and leaned back against the glass with an arm tucked behind his head. She followed suit shortly, not bothering to question why he left the car running. Why he let a symphony of melodies fill their unyielding silence.

She sat beside him, knees pulled into her chest. She didn’t know what to say, what to do, she had never seen Wonwoo outside of the record shop and the mere thought was exhilarating. She wanted to see more of him, she wanted to spend her every waking minute with him because he understood her. His existence in her life wasn’t fleeting or temporary, Wonwoo had someone integrated himself into her life so seamlessly and perfectly that she barely noticed when it happened. She hadn’t realized until there was no turning back.

“Did you love him?” He asked suddenly, peering at her out of the corner of his eyes.

It was a loaded question, one she considered more than once in her time with him. She could’ve sworn that she did, the first few weeks were absolutely perfect, she was happy and he was happy and happiness was all that they needed. They didn’t care that they didn’t have anything in common, that their interests constantly kept them apart, for that brief moment in her life none of that mattered. Of course, in reality, it meant more than anything.

She wrapped her arms around her knees. “I think I was, at first. I don’t know what changed. I don’t know who started it or why, but suddenly I felt like I was dating a stranger.”

“I’m sorry.” He lamented sincerely. “That couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“No, it wasn’t.” She agreed. “I just—I’m not entirely sure I know what love is anymore. I was so certain of myself, of him, but maybe I never knew. Maybe I was in denial for so long that I created my own definition of love.”

“Well--everyone does that.” He said. “Love is never the same twice.”

She offered him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

“Love is—difficult.” He started. “Love is about endless possibilities, like anything can happen. Good and bad. It’s being hopelessly happy, terribly sad, horribly scared, and everything in between. Being in love isn’t perfect, it’s messy, it’s dirty, it’s sudden and chaotic, whirlwinds of feeling and moments that linger in every memory you share. Which is why I stand by the fact that love is always different.”

He paused to sit up straight.

“There’s different kinds of love too, and not a lot of people understand that. The love of being near someone, of hearing their voice, of understanding, the love of culture and intelligence. Love can be anything and that’s why it’s so powerful. I believe that love is something that you’ll never feel the same way twice. At least not forever because everyone feels those butterflies, feels like their stomach is about to leap out of their chest. But love is forever changing.

“Love is finding that one song and wanting to listen to it day after day. The idea of you being in love, wanting to see that person every day, is like that song you come back to no matter what. Each love stays with you in one way or another. It’s your whole life falling apart and not knowing which way’s up, which way’s down, but knowing where they are. And that feeling stays with you in one way or another. Whether you want it to or not.”

As she listened, soaking up everything that he said, she couldn’t help but think of the moments they spent together. How Wonwoo had been there for her through it all, how her whole world could turn upside down and she would be able to find him in her sleep. How she cherished each moment with him for a variety of different reasons, he made her feel safe, comfortable, understood and—loved. With his small gestures he made her feel like she could do anything.

So that’s what love is.

Pressing her palms into her eyes, she leaned back against his car and tried to calm down her chaotic thoughts. Whatever part of her wanted to wait, to be patient, to give Wonwoo the time and thought that he deserved had long since vanished. The only voice she could hear was the one begging her to kiss him. The selfish part of herself that she hated, the one she found herself listening to time and time again.

But it was Wonwoo who kissed her first, and therefore it wasn’t a mistake.

At first she pulled away in pure shock, his lips felt perfect against hers, almost too perfect. In that moment she wondered if she was actually dreaming, if the stars above them were nothing more than her rampant imagination and childish whims come to life. She watched his face fall in sadness, she could see the terrible thoughts rolling through his head.

None of which were true, so she indulged the selfish voice and made her last mistake.

She pulled him in close and kissed him harder and more fervently than she ever intended. Wonwoo was soft, warm, and she felt like a tornado in his arms. Her mind was reeling, fireworks dotted her vision as she fell further down the rabbit hole. Every decision she had made in the past three months brought her to this one perfect moment on an old car on a night where everything was going wrong and somehow falling into place all at the same time. When Wonwoo was the only thing she needed, the only thing she cared about.

But none of this was fair to him.

“Wait.” She clipped, scooting away from him and pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. “I’m—I don’t want to rush into this, I don’t—I’m not sure—“

“Not sure of what?” He asked breathlessly. “I think I’ve been pretty clear.”

She chuckled quietly. “You have, you really have. But—I need some time to think. I don’t—I don’t want this to end up the same way again. I don’t want you to be another thing I regret.”

He nodded and she tried not to notice the hurt in his eyes. “I guess I understand, it’s all pretty fresh still, isn’t it?”

“A little bit.” She agreed, her gaze falling to his lips again. “I didn’t even plan to come to Meanie’s tonight, I was going to go home and think things over before seeing you again.”

“I can’t say I’m mad at how things turned out.” He smirked. “Still, if you want to think, you think away. Can I take you home at least?”

“Of course.” She smiled with a sigh. “Thank you, Wonwoo for being, well, for being you. And for being there.”

His eyes softened as he pulled her into a hug. “Anytime.”

There was no awkwardness between them as he drove her home. The silence was palpable but they were used to it. Silence with Wonwoo was always a comfort so there was no need to fill it with senseless ramblings. He dropped her off and waved goodbye as if nothing had ever happened between them. That’s perhaps what she liked most about him. He didn’t question her decisions, he could see where she was coming from and accepted her stance on the matter. Wonwoo was, for all intents and purposes, one of the kindest people she had ever met.

And she loved him.

Her decision came easily, she knew the moment she laid beside him that her heart belonged to him and him alone. But she needed some time to make sure that her decision wouldn’t change. Three days passed and she could only think of him and fevered kisses underneath the stars. The thought of seeing him again made her heart flutter. The longer she stayed away, the faster her pulse raced. Her body knew her answer long before she wanted to admit it, perhaps since she first met him.

I love him.

When she was sure she hailed a cab and paid the driver extra to speed all the way there. She had to see Wonwoo, had to, like the sun needed the moon. Her heart was thundering in her chest but it didn’t faze her. Nothing could stop her, she burst through the door to Meanie’s and didn’t stop to even acknowledge Mingyu or Soonyoung. She only had one thing on her mind, one purpose, and nothing was going to distract her.

Except, he wasn’t there. His desk was empty, his office eerily silent, and there was no sign of him. He was always at Meanie’s, always, she didn’t care that he was a living breathing human with a living breathing life, he was always there. There was nowhere else he could be, at least—none that she knew of. Her heart started to sink and she almost lost hope.

Almost.

She heard a rustling sound behind her and suddenly something toppled into her. A box of papers and such scattered across the ground, she followed suit, as did who/whatever knocked her over in the first place. She laid there motionless with a heavy weight on top of her and a warm breath on her face. She could feel her chest pounding, theirs was too. And a pair of black eyes she had lost herself in stared back at her.

“Hey.”

It was Wonwoo.

“Hey.” She returned with a breathless smile. “You busy?”

“For you?” He questioned. “Never.”

She pulled him down for a kiss she’d been carving for days, weeks even. He happily indulged her, smiling against her willing lips and searing her soul with every word he wanted to say to her but feared to admit. She meant to tell him the truth, to confess her true feelings so there wasn’t any room to doubt. She had learned that things didn’t always go as planned, and she was happy with the alternative they both faced.

“I love you.” He said suddenly, pulling away and pressing his forehead to hers. “And I know that the timing sucks and I really shouldn’t say it but—I can’t hold it in any longer. I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way, it’s something that needs to be said. I love you. I really really love you.”

While she didn’t mean to, she laughed. “Of course I feel the same way, aren’t you supposed to be a Wizard or something? Shouldn’t you know this already?”

Pressing a chaste kiss to her lips, he smiled. “I’d rather hear it then guess, if I’m perfectly honest.”

“Okay.” She lamented. “I love you, Wonwoo. No more guessing.”

“No more guessing.” He agreed. “I think I can get used to that.”

“Oh this is a sight for sore eyes.”

Startled, Wonwoo rolled off of her to see Mingyu and Soonyoung standing over them. The former looked as chipper as ever, the latter seemed to be sporting a disappointed scowl.

“Alright Soonyoung, pay up.” Mingyu goaded, an open hand to his friend. “Told you they were into each other.”

“I didn’t doubt that.” He mumbled back. “I just assumed that Wonwoo wouldn’t have done a damn thing about it.”

She was blushing, so was Wonwoo.

“Well, he did.” She clarified, cheeks reddening by the second. “And I’m forever grateful for it.”

As Soonyoung regretfully stuffed several bills into Mingyu’s hand, Mingyu cast her a chastising glance. “I hope le douchebag is out of your life, otherwise I have to rescind my excitement.”

“We broke up.” She confirmed. “No need to worry about that.”

“Good!” Mingyu exclaimed. “So—where does that leave you?”

Unsure of how to answer, she simply looked at Wonwoo. For whatever reason he started laughing and she followed soon after. She didn’t know what he found funny, but what she found hilarious was that every mistake she made since she first discovered Meanie’s boiled down to one fact:

He was the best mistake she ever made.

#wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo #m:jww #g:fluff #g:romance #g:drama #tw:none #t:oneshot #w:9k #p:3rd #s:reader #r:g #chilligyu #lex writes #*record #fic:svt

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