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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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The aftermath of Merlin snapping, and yelling at Arthur in the middle of the forest;

Arthur pushes for change, the gang takes bets on when Merthur will happen, and someone, somewhere, is grumpy.

Part 2 of Merlin’s Angry Outburst.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Once Arthur has a first draft of the repeal, the first people he brings in on it (with Merlin’s approval, of course) are the 5 knights, Gwen, Gaius, and Morgana.

(Morgana, who later that evening comes back to Arthur's chamber in tears (Merlin is also there) to reveal her magic, and thank him for not being Uther.)

All of them enthusiastically agree, after only a little conversation.

Elyan and Leon are the most... dubious, but only because of the practical factor, they don't disagree with the actual repeal.

After months of the gang working in secret, they reveal their best draft to the council. At least half the council are new members that Arthur appointed, the rest are left over from Uther’s time.

They argue back and forth for a while, half vs half. A few of the older members, who were around before the purge, slowly start changing their minds.

In the end, it takes them maybe a month to get a majority, and Arthur overrules the remaining opposition. He is King after all, technically, he doesn’t even have to have a council.

Days after the agreement is reached, Arthur goes out personally to collect a few specific Druids, who had been waiting just outside the border for the go ahead.

It takes maybe another month to go through all the laws thoroughly, changing and editing and altering what needs to be altered. With the help of Arthur's close advisors on the political aspects, and the help of the Druids, Merlin, and Gaius, on the magical aspects (what should be allowed freely, what should be monitored, and what should remain fully banned).

The city celebrates when the announcement is made, they all loved the new King anyway, and had been overjoyed with the drop in executions, and deliberate ignoring of small instances of magic.

After a feast to celebrate the new found freedom among the people, the gang gathers once more, in private, and Merlin tells a shortened version of the story he'd told Arthur all those months ago.

None of them are that surprised (Gaius, Morgana, and Lancelot already knew, of course).

If they hadn't suspected Merlin of being a sorcerer before this whole thing started (Leon, Gwaine, and Gwen definitely suspected) , then they had certainly begun to in the last few months. They cheer when Merlin finishes telling them "just how often I've saved your oblivious arses" .

They cheer even louder when Arthur announces that he would be made court sorcerer, and it would be made official in a ceremony before the week ended.

There are no cheers when Morgana stands.

Curious eyes land on her, probably due to how terrified she looks, but the small encouraging nods and little smiles she gets from her brother (her Brother), Merlin, and Gwen, give her the strength she needs to tell everyone of her magic as well.

They see she is frightened, they imagine how difficult it must have been, being at first Uther’s ward, and then his daughter. They smile gently, and she receives hugs a plenty. Once all the congratulations are out of the way, she sits back down next to Gwen, still shaky and full of adrenaline, but happy.

She spends the remainder of the group’s quiet celebrations with her hand gripped in Gwen's under the table.

(Read this how you want, I personally envision it as the start of something)

So the days draw on, Merlin is announced Court Sorcerer, Arthur hires another manservant and gives Merlin a large set of chambers in the same hallways as Arthur's, complete with all the books on magic Arthur can find, and several of the magical artefacts that had previously been kept locked away (Merlin and Arthur are the only ones who are able to gain access to the room, something magicky I guess).

(No one mentions that that corridor is supposed to be for royalty only. Leon figures they're bound to realise that they're in love with each other any day now, and then Merlin will practically be royalty anyway so... might as well cut out the middle bit of having to shuffle chambers again later on).

The kingdom is prospering, and for months after the initial announcement, and implementations of the new laws, sorcerers and nobles from all over Albion, visit Camelot, to give congratulations to the King.

They give gifts and provide knowledge.

The Druids, however, are a slightly different story.

The ones who had been helping with the paperwork, had been... odd(?) around Merlin. But they respected his wish to keep all of that under wraps, or at least until it was announced publicly.

Arthur and Gaius know the whole Emrys story. Lancelot and Morgana know bits of it... but other than that... as far as anyone is concerned, the newly promoted Court Sorcerer is just another wizard.

The new Druids entering the kingdom are paying brief respects to the Forever King (I mean... at this point, he's still only King of Camelot... which is what he was before the magic ban repeal), before staring in reverence at the Court Sorcerer stood by his side.

They respect his wishes to keep the worshipping and gift giving to a minimum, though they still come to him for requests of miracles and ask him to perform druid ceremonies (blessings and name-givings and weddings and funerals (though they prefer to call them celebrations of life, rather than commiserations of death) and such).

Merlin can only brush off so many displays of such awe before the rest of The Gang demands to know what’s up, at which point he has to come clean about the whole... “Most Powerful Warlock To Ever Walk The Earth” thing.

Much to Merlin’s chagrin (and everyone else's amusement) the Druids still insist on calling him Emrys. The stubborn ones sometimes even go for "My Lord Emrys", which gets them a scowl from Merlin (and barely concealed laughter from everyone else).

Maybe... later on... when Morgana is more comfortable with her magic, after a few months practicing with Merlin (with a supportive Gwen Always at her side) , she is announced as the Court Seer.

Merlin had never had much luck with prophetic visions, but once Morgana’s fear died down, once she learned to let it flow, and breathe through it, the visions come easier, and kinder.

She stops seeing only visions of doom, and worst case scenarios, instead she has dreams of the many paths the future may take.

She does not panic when a path seems grim and dark, for she has a King and a Warlock and Gwen, by her side. Always. And they work through the future together.

So the ban has been repealed officially for around 6 months.

Arthur is a couple months away from completing his second year as King. And he and Merlin are still beating around the bush.

The betting pool for when they’ll finally get together has been growing bigger and bigger. Practically the whole castle is in on it now, with Gwen and Morgana as the ring leaders. Whoever wins... will be very lucky.

(It's Leon in the end, he pays attention, and he know what his boys are like. But he's a noble and has no need for the money, he pays for a few rounds of drinks and donates the rest to one of children's homes in the lower town).

But the war comes first.

Camelot has been prospering, and has many supporters throughout Albion, but one of the kingdoms, it doesn't matter which, you decide, does NOT like this.

Scouts and small patrols have been needling Camelot’s borders for months now, and Arthur and his Council (and Inner Council) have been making quiet preparations. They know that some sort of... something, is coming soon.

Especially when Morgana begins to dream of battles and blood and lightening.

They prepare for, and expect, a full scale war, but they hope for some negotiations and a peace treaty with the opposition.

Their hopes are dashed, when a messenger is escorted into the throne room, wearing The Opposition’s colours, with a letter.

Said letter is an angry rebuttal of everything Camelot stands for, full of accusations of abandoning tradition, and spitting in the face of great leaders, of which this soft boy-king should NOT be counted as.

At the end, there was an official declaration of war.

The messenger boy was obviously scared to death, and once Arthur read the P.S, which invited Arthur to torture and/or execute him to the whatever extent he wants, he understood why. Without any hesitation, he offers the boy a job in the stables, a new wardrobe of clothes, and a servant’s bed in the castle.

After the official council meeting on the matter, setting up war committees, laying out contingency plans, organising the distribution of emergency evacuation plans, and discussing potential aid that could be requested from allies, Arthur pulls the gang together, for their own meeting.

“We knew this was coming, and there is no need to panic yet. Our outer borders are well patrolled, and we’re still getting up to date reports. The city walls hold strong, but I want to send out patrols to warn the villages of what’s coming. Start closer to the border, and work our way in. Leon?”

“My Lord, I have teams prepared for exactly that already, I just need to give the word and they’ll go.”

“Good. Morgana, I need you to try and keep focusing your visions, if we have even a small idea of how they might try to initiate the first battle, it’ll be a huge advantage.”

“Me and Merlin have been practising some new techniques to control where and when I can see, we’ll write everything down, and ask the Druids if they’ve seen anything as well.”

Arthur holds in a smile at the confidence in her voice. He is unendingly proud of how far his sister had come, and made a mental note to tell her that when all this was over.

“Brilliant, keep me in the loop. Gwen, when we’re done here, go and let the forgery know, the Royal Household will pay them extra to push out as much long range ammunition as they can. Arrows and crossbow bolts, we need as many as they can produce.” Gwen nods, and Arthur finally looks towards Merlin:

“And Merlin, I need you to be ready. Don’t wear yourself out too much in the next few weeks, I need you in good condition, if we’re to win this with minimal casualties-”

He glances over at Morgana before he continues:

“If the two of you could also ask the Druids if they have any volunteer healers. Make sure they know they aren’t obligated to come, but any help in the infirmaries would be greatly appreciated.” Morgana nods once more, as does Merlin, before he speaks:

“There’s a camp a couple hours ride outside the city at the moment, we’ll head out at first light-” He pauses and closes his eyes for a second, tilting his head, before looking to Morgana:

“They’re expecting us.”

Arthur addresses the room again:

“Right. I think that’s all for now, anyone have anything to add?”

Gaius responds after a moment:

“My Lord, if I could make a request for a few servants to help me set up supplies for the infirmary? Extensive preparations will need to be made to ensure that I have all I’ll need. Preferably people with rough herbal knowledge, if at all possible.”

Arthur nods straight away, responding:

“Yes, of course, I’ll ask the Housekeeper and the Steward who they can spare this evening, and they’ll be ready for you in the morning. Anything else?” At the silence in the room, Arthur tells everyone to get to work.

Leon marches straight down to the training grounds (Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan following him) to ring the summoning bell and inform the knights of the developments, and their tasks.

Gwen heads straight to the forgery (her and Elyan still oversee work there, but they have employees (and a few trainees) to run it) to give the Kings order.

Gaius shuffles out, and makes his way back to his quarters, already making mental lists of ingredients needed, and work to be done.

Arthur, Morgana, and Merlin are left, the royal siblings thinking to themselves, and Merlin thinking to someone else. Arthur contemplates that the whole mental link thing he had going on with the Druids was extremely useful.

Both his and Morgana’s thoughts were interrupted by Merlin huffing, and clenching his fists as he opens his eyes, obviously unhappy with whatever was said:

“Merlin?” From Morgana has the Court Sorcerer looking up from scowling at the table. He replies after wiping the frown off his face:

“Oh, it’s fine. They just made a... stupid suggestion is all. Don’t worry about it.”

“Stupid? Doesn’t sound like the Druids. What was it?”

Merlin looks mildly uncomfortable at that, and replies slowly:

“It... doesn’t matter. I’ll tell you another time. It’s late, you should practice some meditation and head to sleep, no potions tonight. And remember to keep some parchment and a quill by your bed, so you can scribble down anything you see-”

Merlin stands abruptly and heads towards the door:

“-I’m going to check the wards on the outer wall, and push a little more energy into the wells. I’ll see you both bright an early.” With that, Merlin heads out the room swiftly.

Arthur looks to his sister questioningly, but she shrugs as she responds:

“Who knows. “I’ll tell you later” means he doesn’t want you to know, OR he’s hoping I’ll forget because he doesn’t want either of us to know. He’s right though, I should meditate for a while-”

Morgana stands at this:

“- hopefully I’ll see you before we head off, if not, I suppose it’ll be dinner in the evening. Good night, brother.” Morgana leaves the room gracefully, heading in the direction of her chambers.

Arthur thinks for only a moment, before rushing off, catching up with Merlin as he readied his horse, preparing for the journey to the outer walls:

“I’ll come with you. I find I quite enjoy watching you do magic, and to be perfectly honest, I could do with some fresh air to help me think.”

Arthur pretends to ignore the slight blush that dusts Merlin’s cheeks, and readies his own horse. The two of them ride out of the stables and make the journey down the cobbled roads in comfortable silence, side by side.

They take their time on the journey, and the 15 minutes of companionable silence is finally broken by Arthur, who looks at Merlin curiously, as he says:

“So what did they suggest?”

Merlin looks up sharply at that, broken from his deep train of thought as he dumbly replies “What?”

“The Druids. What was the stupid suggestion?” Merlin’s eyes widen at that, and he blushes once more as he looks determinedly forward:

“Oh. That. I told you, it doesn’t-”

“Merlin...”

“Oh fine! They suggested that I... that I forge a mental link with you. Like the one I have with them.” The sorcerer purses his lips at that, and continues to avoid Arthur’s gaze:

“You can do that? Well... would it be such a bad idea? I mean we aren’t going to be able to meet and discuss things as often as I’d like through this whole ordeal. AND you’re basically the Kingdom’s powerhouse, I’m sort of relying on your magical know-how here. Surely it wouldn’t be a bad thing? For us to be able to converse across the battle fields?”

Arthur, in an effort to not be hurt, reminds himself that he doesn’t know all that much about magic, and it very well could be a stupid suggestion, instead of one that Merlin is just personally opposed to.

Merlin, in response, looks to Arthur in great shock, before sighing and looking down to his horses mane:

“It.... is possible. And fairly easy, technically. But it would be painful, AND permanent. I wouldn’t be able to undo it after we won. And a temporary connection takes far too much energy to maintain, even for a short time. I just figured you wouldn’t want me in your head for the rest of our lives.” He tries to inject a little humour into his words, but it falls flat, and he just seems sad.

Arthur pretends he doesn’t notice however, and responds quickly:

“How painful are we talking? I mean I’ve been hurt pretty badly before. And... how exactly does it work? Would we be able to read each other’s mind constantly, without the other knowing? Or what?”

Merlin raises his eyebrows in shock at that, and his answer comes out slowly as he looks at Arthur:

“Like... a really bad headache? Imagine the hardest you’ve ever been hit, without passing out. It would last for a few minutes after the connection is initially forged, but would fade slowly over the next day or so. And no. Once the connection is established we wouldn’t be in each other’s head all the time, we would just be able to sort of... project our voices to one another. Other thoughts would be safe, even if you were thinking about me, I wouldn’t hear it unless you were thinking to me... if that makes sense.”

By the end of his explanation, he’s looking nervously at the King, who is deep in thought:

“Hmm. Ok. I... only if you agree but... it might not be a bad idea. Even after the war is over. There have definitely been times where I’ve needed your opinion on something but you’ve been elsewhere, or we’ve been in the presence of someone else. Of course we’ve been fine so far, if you don’t want to, but-”

Merlin interrupts him, speaking quickly:

“I’m fine with it. I agree, it would be useful. So... I can bring what we need back from the camp tomorrow?”

Arthur nods firmly:

“Yes. The sooner the better, we can do it tomorrow evening, if that’s enough time for you?” Merlin once again looks shocked at this, as Arthur stares at him:

“Oh! Yeah, Yes. That’s fine. Like I said, it’s not particularly difficult, and I can ask Gaius to prepare us something for the pain during the day. Are you... are you sure? It is Permanent.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and huffs:

“Yes, you said that already Merlin. Are you sure?”

Merlin nodded his head decidedly, and spoke confidently:

“Yes. You’re right, it’s not a bad idea. Come on, if we hurry, we’ll make it to the walls, and then to the main well, and then back to the castle, before dark.”

The pair of them hurry their horses, and after another 10 minutes of comfortable silence, they finally reach the City Gates.

The guards give a quick bow, and The King and The Court Sorcerer jump off their horses before handing the reigns to one of the Gate stablehands.

Arthur (and the guards) watch in barely concealed wonder as Merlin presses his hands against the rock of the wall, and closes his eyes.

The golden glow can still be seen from below his eyelids, and he hums slightly as he frowns in concentration, seeming to push into the wall.

Arthur sees a short of... sheen, ripple across the rock, and extend into the sky. Merlin steps back and nods, admiring his handy work:

“They’re holding strong, I’ve extended the height as well. Kilgharrah and Aithusa should be the only ones able to get over it without alerting me now, from the air at least-”

Merlin heads to retake his horse, Arthur following him, before he continues:

“Though I still want to check the tunnels again at some point in the next few days.”

“Of course. Relax Merlin, it’s barely begun, and the borders still hold strong. We’ve plenty of time before things kick off in any way.” He makes sure to speak quietly. A public announcement hasn’t been made yet, and it would be bad if rumours started spreading before The King had time to put together a proper disclosure.

Merlin nods distractedly, and urges his horse to go faster as he heads towards the main well, in the town square. It’s late, not long until sunset, so there shouldn’t be many, if any, people there. Arthur speaks again:

“Why are we visiting the well? I wasn’t aware of any problems?”

“There aren’t any, but once the announcement is made, and once the outer villages are told what’s happening, we’ll have hundreds, probably thousands, of people flock to the city for safety. I just want to make sure we’re prepared for such an influx, and boost our water levels a little.”

Arthur nods at his response, but doesn’t say anything. He chooses instead to admire the man Merlin had become. He held himself differently, more strong, confident in who he was. Just like he had back when he was still a manservant, he served Arthur, and his people, above and beyond his job description. Merlin took upon himself, not only the politics he was supposed to oversee, but the personal safety of both the King, and every Camelot citizen, and he did it all with an alarming amount of grace.

Arthur sometimes catches himself thinking that it was almost as if Merlin was built to be a king. He may not like the spotlight, but he was a protector, and leader, unlike anything Arthur had ever seen before.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you, Merlin. It feels like years ago now, that you yelled at me in a forest.” He says it with a grin, but Merlin flinches. He continues before The Sorcerer interrupts him though:

“Really Merlin. Thank you. You were right, I would’ve got there in the end, but it wasn’t fair for people to suffer in the mean time, and you took the fall in their place. You’re a hero to your people... and to me. You should be proud of your accomplishments, I know I am.”

Arthur resists the urge to duck his head as Merlin looks at him in bewilderment, a definite flush on his cheeks as he replies:

“I... thank you, Arthur. I always had faith in you-” Merlin begins to grin before he continues:

“-and besides, someone had to knock you down a peg. Perhaps you should hire someone to take you into the forest and yell at you every once in a while.”

Arthur laughs at that, and Merlin tries to push down the blush as Arthur responds:

“Now Merlin, why on earth would I hire someone for such a job, when I already have you?”

Merlin chuckles as he answers:

“Yeah, and don’t you forget it, My Lord. Hold the horses, I’ll just be a minute.” With that, Arthur realises they’ve made it to the well, and dismounts as Merlin has, holding both of the horses reigns as he watches Merlin approach the well.

The Sorcerer crouches down, and once again closes his eyes in concentration as he presses his hands into the stone of the well. The glow is a little less bright this time, but Arthur admires it nonetheless.

Merlin finishes quickly, and gathers his horse from Arthur once more, nodding towards the castle.

Arthur follows as Merlin hurries towards the looming building. He wasn’t sure why he was in such a rush, but he only begins questions it when Merlin hurriedly hands the horses of to a stablehand, and continues to run up the castle steps.

Arthur can only just keep up with Merlin, not having the breath to ask him what’s wrong, before Merlin suddenly comes to a stop, catching his breath for a moment to go through a door leading to the highest balcony on the West of the castle:

“Merlin... what.... what are you-”

Merlin wordlessly interrupts The King as he points to the skyline, the sun only a few minutes away from touching the horizon.

There’s not a cloud in sight, and the sky is painted in oranges and pinks in front of them, bleeding into deep purples and blues behind the castle.

Merlin finally mutters, not looking away from the sunset:

“Call me a girl all you want Arthur, but nothing compares to this. It’s beautiful, I come to watch it whenever I’ve got the time.”

Arthur had only glanced briefly at the sunset before looking back at Merlin in wonder, a fond smile on his face (not that Merlin would notice).

He stares at the side of Merlin’s face, the orange sky making the gold in his eyes look even brighter, and the glare of the fading sun making his hair shine. A gentle breeze has Merlin shiver slightly, and Arthur’s smile widens as he responds, so quietly he’s not even sure if Merlin hears him:

“Hmm. Beautiful.” He doesn’t look away.

THIS IS COMPLETED! All 5 parts have been posted:)

If y’all want my thoughts on anything specific let me know✌️

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imaginedxlan · 3 years

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Champagne & Shackles; Beta Part Two (Fred Weasley)

a/n: i’m SORRY i’m terrible at time management, school is kicking me ass. i had no idea so many of you had the same affinity for the brothers of the beta fraternity as i do, this is for all my frat rats out there i love you most. this is an ode to my very favorite date party theme: champagne and shackles. in which you and you’re chad or brad of a date are candcuffed together until you finish a massive bottle of champagne between the two of you.

weeks after the infamous beta darty, you can’t seem to pull your thoughts or presence away from the ginger boy who made your heart skip a beat. That is, until you’re invited to the beta champagne and shackled date party.

y/f/n: your friend’s name

warnings: cussing, alcohol, mentions of sex, modern!fred, and also very typical frat boy lingo stolen straight from the mouths of frat boy i associate myself with

disclaimer: while they’re semi-drunk in this they’re still coherent and stable enough to know what they’re doing. nothing that happens in this is coercive or decided under an incapacitated mind. king freddie would never take advantage of a girl like that.

part one

consumed.

You have been completely consumed with the the thought of a certain red head for weeks now. Since you kissed him goodbye on your front lawn, the image of Fred Weasley has yet to leave your brain. While you’ve been at the same school for almost two years, you’ve seen him more in the few weeks following the beta darty than you have in the 18 months you’ve spent on campus. Lines in coffee shops, the terrace at the union, the corners of the library you’ve inhabited for years. He’s everywhere. Not that you’re complaining.

The grin that plays across his lips every time you catch his eye sends your heart into overdrive. You’ve spent countless nights awake in y/f/n’s bed analysing every text, every snapchat, every story. You replay the day in the beta backyard at least once a day, yearning for the feeling of his touch on your skin. You’ve hardly returned to the brick-faced mansion, however. You’ve of course been invited through Draco and the countless group messages that flood your phone the nights leading up to a beta party, but you want him to invite you. You want him to want you there.

Of course he wants you there. He spends hours in that filthy basement he calls home every weekend searching for you among the dozens of drunk girls, hoping you had decided to turn up this time. But you’re not there.

Y/f/n mentioned date party to you this past weekend. Draco being social chair of the fraternity, he’s been planning the function for weeks. Champagne and Shackles. A fan favorite among every sorority girl throughout the school. Mixing together handcuffs and a massive bottle of champagne would have nearly anyone begging for an invite. You decide not to get your hopes up, constantly reminding yourself that while he is the boy that made you feel like you were the only two people in the world while you were surrounded by hundreds of drunk college boys, he’s still a twenty year old beta boy. It’s hard to stray from the hook up culture that he’s been practically bred into. Nevertheless, there is still a glimmer of hope in you that you’ll be cuffed to him this Saturday night instead of another girl he’s probably found on greek row.

He’s been drafting this text in the notes app of his phone for three days now. He’s changed the wording, the punctuation and the amount of details in his intended invite to you one hundred times now. George and Oliver groan every time he stops their studying or game of Call of Duty to read them the revised text he’s come up with this time.

“My god, Weasley, you’re acting like you’re writing your vows.” Oliver jokes, setting his xbox controller down on the makeshift coffee table in the twins room. “Just send it, you know she’ll say yes.”

But that’s the problem, he doesn’t know that.

“Wood we’ve thrown six times in the past month, she’s come once.” Fred reminds him of the painful fact that it seems like you’re just not that into him. “If I was sure she was gonna say yes I would have done it by now.”

George snatches his twin’s phone from his hands, copying the now final draft of this overly thought out text asking you to his date party. Before Fred can spring up from his bed, George has already got the message pasted into Fred’s text chain with you and hit send, making the color drain from his twin’s face.

“Are you fucking serious, George.” Fred finally reaches his younger brother and tackles him to the ground. “I barely read through it she’s gonna think I’m a fucking weirdo.”

George is able to shake his brother off of him, bursting out laughing with Oliver at Fred’s crazed state. George knew Fred had feelings for you, well practically every who spoke to a drunk him for more that ten minutes knew, but it was still comical to see his twin get so worked up over a girl he hadn’t even slept with yet.

“Fred you’ve been reading the stupid thing for an hour now,” He points out, Oliver nods his head in agreement. “What’s the worst that could happen? Huh? She says no and you ask one of the eight hundred other girls who fawn over you every chance they get. I know you like her Freddie but this isn’t a life or death thing.”

As Fred caught his breath from his outburst, he knew George had a point. He wouldn’t drop dead if you rejected his offer, but it sure help like he would.

hey idk if you’ve heard but our date party is this saturday and i was wondering if you would want to come

Your phone lights up just as you sit down to eat dinner with a couple of your friends. Once you see the name fred weasley next to the notification your heart stops. Taking y/f/n’s hand in yours, you turn the screen so she can read it. Her lips turn up in a grin as she squeezes your hand.

“I told you he would ask you,” She squeals, shaking her shoulders in her little ‘happy dance’ as she likes to put it. “Draco won’t stop talking about how tweaked Weasley’s been over some stupid text. I knew it was about you, I just knew it.”

You laugh at her imitation of her boyfriend, knowing it’s not far off from how he actually sounds. You reread the text probably thirty times, feeling even more giddy over such a simple and honestly not very personal text, but you don’t care. He asked you.

You spend far less time crafting a response than Fred did writing the initial text to you. If what y/f/n said is true and he really mulled over this for days, you may pass out.

i’d love to :)

The love seemed a bit overboard in your opinion, but y/f/n convinced you that it was a perfect response. You didn’t allow yourself to start looking for possible dress options until he really asked you, afraid you might jinx it if you bought a dress prematurely. Now, however, you’re on a time crunch. Someone in the house had to have something you could borrow. That night you try on at least ten dresses, all the girls on your floor flooding your room gushing over the fact that the Fred Weasley is taking you to his date party. He’s someone nearly everyone knows, and if they didn’t they were probably a geed, or lived in sophomore slums.

You finally land on a dark blue, spaghetti strapped sequin dress that clung tight to your curves. While nearly every dress you tried on felt like it might work, this is champagne and shackles after all, you have to dress to impress. Y/f/n won’t stop talking about what Fred will do the minute he sees you in the dress, praying she gets to watch his jaw drop. The two of you stay up late into the night again mushing over the thought of the two of you being swept off your feet by beta boys, the same boys you could hardly think about a month ago without becoming nauseous.

pregames at the house, malfoy and i will come by yours to grab you and y/f/n at 6:30

The text comes in Friday night. You can hardly contain the bubbling feeling in your stomach. As much as you feel like you’re sixteen years old again, you don’t care. You’ve finally joined the ninety percent of girls on greek row in one category, you’re crushing on Fred Weasley.

As the day finally rolls around, Fred is surprisingly back to his calm and collected demeanor. As much as the boys, and to be honest he himself, expected him to be bouncing off the walls over a slew of what if’s regarding the night ahead of him, he was rather calm about it all. He’s one half of the coveted Weasley Twins after all, he has a reputation to uphold.

The same cannot be said for you. As you curl your hair and apply your makeup to perfection, you can’t stop your knee from bouncing under the vanity counter you’re sat in front of. What if he secretly thinks you look bad in your dress? That you look like you tried to hard? As much as y/f/n tried to remind you of the fact that he was the one nervous about asking you, nothing seems to ease your growing anxiety. The hours tick closer to six-thirty and you sit patiently on your bed, completely ready and aimlessly scrolling through your socials to keep your mind off of the fact that in only twenty minutes Fred and Draco would be at your door to take you back to beta. The actual date party would be at one of the satellite houses, the penthouse of a nearby apartment paid for by betas massive budget.

Y/f/n takes your hand and forces you to look at her.

“Y/n,” She begins, now holding both of your hands between hers. “You are the hottest bitch this campus has ever seen. No one, not even Fred Weasley, deserves to be blessed with the absolute vision you are right now, but I guess he’ll have to do.”

You laugh at her attempt to hype you up in ten hopes that the knots in your stomach fade away. They partially do, but part of you is still in shambles over the thought of seeing him. He probably looks like even more of a greek god in a suit. Y/f/n’s phone buzzes with an ever so poetic ‘here’ text from her boyfriend and she gives your hands one more squeeze before dragging you down the staircase of your house. The boys are waiting just beyond the lawn, the same one you kissed Fred on weeks ago. The two of them have their hands in their pockets, looking like they’re deep in conversation, not even noticing that you and y/f/n are standing walking toward them.

He’s wearing a dark gray suit with a white button down with the top three buttons undone. His hair is perfectly messy. You didn’t even think it was possible for him to get any hotter, but here he is.

The boys turn their heads and immediately stop their conversation. The blonde’s face turns up in a smirk as his eyes trail over y/f/n’s body, but Fred is standing perfectly still with his mouth slightly agape as he watches you come closer to him. His cool and collected affect quickly runs out of his body as he watches your dress glitter under the street light.

“Told you.” Y/f/n whispers in your ear before she drops your hand to meet her boyfriend.

Draco greets y/f/n with a kiss and Fred pulls you into a hug. You melt at his touch. Even in the heels you borrowed from y/f/n, he still towers over you, his chin resting on top of your head.

“You look...” Fred trails off, trying to find the words to describe the sight in front of him. Heavenly, goddess like, like he might just skip the date party and get down on one knee. “...incredible.”

You muster up whatever confidence you have in the midst of your imposing anxiety to give him a somewhat composed reply. “You don’t look half bad yourself, Weasley.”

That heart-melting, mind-scrambling smile returns to his lips before the four of you begin walking what to the beta house. Fred keeps his hand on the small of your back the entire walk, desperately trying to keep you close to him.

The ungodly amount of alcohol you consume at the pregame seems to overtake any remaining worries in your body. Fred never leaves your side, as if you’re already cuffed together before you even arrive at the function itself. You talk with George and Oliver again, and meet some of Fred’s other fraternity brothers like Lee Jordan and Theo Nott. They all seem to know who you are before you can even introduce yourself. It would be difficult to not know your face after watching fred gawk over your every instagram post. Any sort of reservations you once held about the beta boys melt away. They may be wildly intimidating to a stranger that passed them on the street, but watching the boys sing along to whatever song is blasting through the speaker while dancing like they’ve just learned to walk shows you that they’re like every other boy you’ve met.

The walk to the penthouse is short, but it seems to take forever to reign everyone in everyone once in a while. Fred is continuously checking up on you, grasping your hand or your waist, making sure you aren’t cold in your dress. The second you make it to the penthouse you’re immediately cuffed to the red haired boy and handed a comically large bottle of champagne and told the rules.

No unshackling until you’ve finished the bottle.

The party is far more cramped than the one in their backyard. You can’t bring yourself to care about the occasionally bumps from someone in the crowd or the growing smell of alcohol around you. You’re completely consumed by the angelic giant dancing with you. Even with the handcuffs, Fred’s fingers are still intertwined with yours as his other hand is holding you close to his body, roaming from your waist to your back and over your ass. Anytime you go to open the bottle you’d been given at the door to continue on feeding the buzzed state you’ve been in since you arrived at the beta house, Fred stops you. He still grabs you drinks from the makeshift bar and pulls you into the ‘shot room’ to send copious amounts of burning liquor down your throat, but the bottle stays off limits.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about you this month, y/n.” Fred hiccups his way through his confession as his lips are pressed close to your ear to make sure you hear every word he says over the loud music. “You do something to me.”

You know whatever you try to say will come out slurred, so you do the next best thing you can think of to tell him that you’re feeling the same way. You wrap your free hand behind his neck to press your lips to his. He immediately pulls you closer into him like he was a dying man grasping onto his only source of oxygen. Again, with your lips tangled in his, you’re suddenly the only two in the room. This moment is one you know will occupy your thoughts until the end of time. Held by the boy you’re completely enamored with as the world seems to stop around you. In every sense of the word, it is perfect.

When you pull away from each other to gasp for air, you move your lips to his ear.

“Why can’t I open the champagne?”

He leans back to look you in the eyes. The colored led lights changing on his face make him somehow even more breathtaking. That same smile appears on his lips before he leans down toward you again.

“I don’t want to finish it,” He yells over the bass of the speaker. “I want you to be stuck with me for as long as possible.”

Without a second thought, you pull your hands together to take the bottle from Fred’s free hand to pop the cork off the top before he can stop you. You bring the freshly opened champagne to your lips and take a swig before offering it over to him. His brows furrow in confusion, wondering if maybe you do want to be unchained from him.

“Freddie, if you think it’s going to take an empty bottle to get rid of me you’re wrong,” You try to shout, even in all the noise he hears you and his chest tightens. “Cuffed or not, I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

He doesn’t reply, he simply takes the bottle from your hand and begins to chugs the fizzy drink, spilling over his face slightly. Watching him fumble over the liquid you know isn’t easy to take in large amounts, you can’t help but laugh at the sight in front of you. The words of Kid Cudi’s Pursuit of Happiness flood yours ears and you pull yourself right back against Fred’s body. He pulls the bottle from his mouth and hands it back to you before bringing his hand to your cheek to meet your lips once again. You’re sure you’re perfectly done hair and makeup is a wreck by now but your mind is continuously pulled back to the impossible reality that you’re kissing Fred Weasley. Of all the girls in the party, on this campus that flock to his side any chance they get, you’re the one that Fred Weasley suddenly became nervous around. The one he spent days wracking his brain to craft the perfect image of himself to.

His hand entangles in your more than likely sweaty hair, keeping you held exactly in place against his body as his hips sway against yours. His lips move from yours to your jaw, placing quick and light kisses across the skin. Something that would under any circumstance feel sexually driven feels lighthearted, pulling numerous giggles from your lips. His hand wanders down to your side and in a swift motion begins to tickle you through you dress. You laugh only become louder as you try to keep from doubling over.

“Fred!” You squeal through the stream of giggles. “Freddie stop!”

When you begin to snort, Fred loses it. He can no longer contain his stoic face he had on when he began to tease you. You’re eventually pulled from the party, Freds hand clasping yours as he discards the empty bottle in some corner of the penthouse and brings you to be unchained from him by the pledges standing by the entrance. Even with the cuffs off your wrists, you’re still chained to him as if you’re forced to be.

Before you can leave the apartment, Fred’s jacket is shrugged from his shoulders and placed around yours. You pull yours arms through the sleeves that are obviously too long for you. “What a gentleman.”

“Can’t have you catching a cold,” He replies, holding you by your waist as you walk back to the beta house. You’ve never seen it so empty or quiet, no one around with the exception of a few boys studying in their lounge. You return to the bedroom you were in only hours ago, it’s a mess from the pregame but you’re able to make out Fred’s bed from his brothers. Massive movie posters and stolen items from various sororities hanging on the walls around his bed, the Good Will Hunting poster above the bed with the blue comforter being a dead giveaway that it belonged to Fred. He told you it was his favorite one night.

“You don’t have to, but you’re welcome to crash here,” He asks, beginning unbutton his now stained dress shirt, revealing his toned abdomen. It’s a sight you don’t think you’ll ever quite get used to. You stop yourself from nearly drooling and shake yourself back to reality. “You can borrow some clothes, probably be pretty big on you but they’d be better than that dress.”

He already has a tee shirt and boxers held out for you. He’s secretly hoping you’re too tired to walk back to your own house so he can spend a little while longer with you. Taking the clothing from his hands, you begin to slip the straps of your dress down, signalling Fred to immediately turn around to give you some privacy. You mouth a quick oh my god to yourself before continuing the change into the boy’s clothing.

“You can turn around,” You tell him and his eyes meet yours once again. He gives you a quick once over before his lips break out in a smile. “What? What are you so smiley over?”

“I like you in my clothes.”

Immediately your heart begins to hammer in your chest as your cheeks begin to heat up. Exhaustion washes over you, the lack of sleep you got in the past week due to your constant overthinking finally catch up to you. After switching off the lights, he pulls back him dark comforter to let you slip into the warmth of his bed. As soon as your settled you turn on your side to face him. You’re both quiet, wordlessly taking in the sight of each other.

“I like you, y/n. A lot,” He finally breaks the silence. You can’t help but wonder if he’s drunker than he’s let on. He’s not, he knows exactly what he’s saying and means every word. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone before.”

You reach over to trace your finger up his defined cheek bones before resting your palm on the side of his face. His arm is lazily slung over your waist, absentmindedly keeping you close to him. You lean in further, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“I like you, Freddie, more than you know,” You confess. Your heart has never felt more full, you’re sure this whole month has been a dream and every second you’re terrified to wake up without even knowing Fred Weasley like you do now. “Thank you for taking me tonight.”

He softly chuckles, his hand moving up your body to stroke through your hair. Even in the dark you can see his bright smile, you’re new favorite sight. “I should be the one thanking you,” He tells you. “You have no idea how nervous I was that you wouldn’t come.”

You continue to shift closer to him, trying to expel the practically nonexistent space between the two of you. You nestle your face into the crook of his neck, finding his steady pulse quite calming. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Freddie.”

“I like it when you call me Freddie.”

You hum a response, suddenly becoming too tired to even speak. The warmth of his body radiating against yours mixed with the rhythm of his heartbeat lull you further into a deep sleep. His arms return to being wrapped around your waist, drinking in this moment and silently praying in would last forever. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before whispering, “Goodnight, y/n.”

Hours later George, Lee and Oliver stumble into the room, all with slices of pizza from the late night shop down the street and are met with the sight of you and Fred tangled in the sheets, light snores coming from the red haired boy. They wish they could find something about the moment that they would tease him about later, but they come up short. The image laid out in front of them looks like it was taken straight from a movie.

Needless to say your constant thoughts of the beta boy are soon replaced by his presence anywhere and everywhere you go. You aren’t sure of many things in life, but you’re certain that he was made for you and you for him.

tags:

@justmesadgirl @greyspilot @sunflowerdarlingx

#fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #frat boy fred weasley #fred weasley modern #fred weasley x reader #weasley imagine #harry potter imagine #harry potter #weasley twins

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

Text

Fig & When the Flood Comes | Short Story Update

Hi folks!

It has been some time since I’ve updated you on my writing on this blog and that’s because I’m back in university! Adjusting to Zoom university life has been really interesting and also a bit tiring, so for those of you who are also doing online school, I’m thinking about you! <3

Today I’m back with updates for two flash fiction stories I wrote for class. First we’ll chat about Fig! TW: this story deals with heavy topics such as kidnapping and murder so tread carefully if these are sensitive topics for you.

Plot:

Two young women held in captivity prepare a celebratory breakfast after murdering their captor.

Genre: Literary fiction, flash fiction

POV: First person present tense

Word count: ~947

Characters:

Unnamed narrator (unknown age)

Trying to “preserve the peace” but is actually chaotic

Dominant of the duo

Zip (unknown age)

Subservient, nervous, docile, unsure

Conception:

I honestly don’t know where this idea came from tbh! I’ve been on a steady roll with short fiction and wanted to upkeep that momentum throughout the school year (usually I write one short story every 6 months!) and I believe this idea came from an image of these two girls alone in an apartment. The story itself is not very plot oriented which worked in my favour because I was mostly interested in this intricate, undefined relationship between these two characters.

The writing bit:

Writing this story was very fast initially because it’s so short! I needed to keep the word count pretty low (under 1k) and so I wrote the draft in one or two sittings. HOWEVER, I was admittedly not very happy with the finished draft because it seemed a bit rushed and missing something. As my deadline for workshop drew nearer, I began some revisions to get the story ready which essentially boiled down to me writing out “the crux” of the short story.

Writing out “the crux” has become a necessary part of my short fiction process, and I’ve done this for the last few stories I’ve written: essentially writing out the “heart” of the story. This usually has something to do with character motivation/goals and how that interlaces with theme. I find understanding this very necessary to writing a successful short story.

I pants my stories, so most of the time, I don’t know what the story is even AFTER I’ve written it. So my process currently looks like: get an idea > write the idea > be confused about what I just wrote > write out “the crux” > revise, and this has been working quite well for me! Getting a handle on the crux allows me to have a clearer perspective on the events of the story/how that interacts with character, setting, etc, and so I find writing out a few sentences at the bottom of my document in this vein is crucial!

Aesthetic:

Now let’s chat about WHEN THE FLOOD COMES! TW: natural disasters

Plot:

A portrait of a community before and after a flood ravages their town.

Genre: Literary fiction, flash fiction

POV: The first half is told in first person collective (present tense), and the second half is told in first person present tense.

Word count: 593 words

Characters:

The community

There’s no autonomy in the narrative, the entire first half is told in this conjoined voice.

Unnamed woman

After the flood, we switch into a single first person POV of a woman who lives a reclusive life in the wake of the devastating flood.

Conception:

We do weekly writing prompts in my fiction class and this was one of them. We had to write a dual flash fiction description of two very different places and it had to be 500 words long (one half was one place, the other was a very different place)! If you’ve ever done a description exercise where all you write is description you know how hard :) this :) is :) I thought contextualizing this description as an actual story would make this task a little easier to complete and I’d gotten an image of a flood a few days earlier I wanted to explore so this was the perfect opportunity!

The writing bit:

Like I said, writing this was hard! It’s difficult to write a 500 word description that has poignant, relevant details and so I definitely ran into that, but centering this description around “characters” was really helpful. While the narration shifts to first person I think it’s quite seamless to the point where it isn’t all that noticeable. I decided there’d be a POV shift for ~thematic reasons, as the community is so tight-knit (hence the collective POV) and that sense of collectiveness is shattered (hence the shift to a singular first person).

Last night I added a section between the before and after to talk a little about the flood since that wouldn’t have been relevant for the prompt and I actually ADORE how this story turned out. I don’t often write flash fiction because I am ~bad at it, but this was really fun to write despite being so difficult to hit word count initially. The vibes are so eclectic and fun but then move to somber so quickly! For the details, I drew on a lot of my personal experience living in Ontario and would canon this story as being set in a Toronto suburb and the rural bits of Ontario not too far away.

Aesthetic:

And that’s it for this update! Hope to be back soon with an update for Feeding Habits! :)

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #shortstories

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sweetestrequiems · 4 years

Text

I: Meetings and Photos

Word Count: 3,025

A/N: Hello you lovely people of the Queendom on Tumblr. I’m Kit, and... well, you’ve seen me around enough. I wrote Silence is Never Better, The Tower of London, and maybe a few other things you might have seen around. Anyways... Welcome to the first chapter of Out of a Book! I’m very excited to share this with you all. I truly hope with heart and soul that you all enjoy this. If you ever want to leave any feedback, feel free to message me, or contact me at one of these profiles:

Instagram: @/Reinapuff Twitter: @/Reinapuff

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, let me know! I’m always happy to share my work with others!

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A rather early Thursday morning in the city of Syracuse, New York. The time’s about 7:15 in the morning.

The sun was over the horizon, but there was little to no noise inside of the apartment. The birds sang their graces and none of this seemed to be the thing to wake up the sleeping woman. In fact, a little snore escaped from her while she slept. Had her roommate not needed to go to work, she would've turned that against the woman in a heartbeat. But of course, this was not out of malice; the two would see the situation being out of fun. Getting up this early in the morning, however, never came easy for the woman that was still in bed. There were two things able to get her to wake up: the sun hitting her eyes, or an alarm of sorts, whether from a phone or a clock.

On this Thursday morning? It was both of those things that would wake her up.

An aggravated Catherine Parr turned to face away from the sunlight, and to reach for her phone. Forcing herself to sit up to turn the alarm off, Parr set the phone down before stretching her arms up and yawning. She noticed the quiet of the apartment about a few minutes from initially waking up. This meant that she was half asleep for a good little bit. “Ah, Lina went to work. Right, I almost forget she’s a teacher sometimes,” she finishes her sentence with a hum. Catalina Aragón, someone she affectionately called Lina, or even just Aragon. She found it fun to have a Spanish roommate, if she was being honest with herself. Made for a more entertaining time some days.

Parr’s never-resting mind began to try to think as to why she had set an alarm so early in the morning. Was it due to the fact she kept waking up too late? Was it a meeting with her publicist? The woman, for the life of her, could not remember. A hand came up to her forehead, rubbing it a few times before pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is bollocks. I can’t remember why I set my alarms so early,” a groan of frustration comes out under her breath. If she hadn’t turned her alarm off so quickly, she might’ve read the reminder that she had put for it. That didn’t matter much. It would come back to smack her in the face later.

Letting her legs swing over the edge of the bed, Parr pushed herself up and on her feet she landed.

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7:45 am.

For Catherine to admit she was ready for the day, she needed one thing, and that one thing was in her hands as she walked back to the small table. Sitting down, the ceramic mug came up to her lips. Coffee. That was the one thing she needed. Her shoulders came up for a moment before they eased up, a smile helping her expression soften up from grumpy-seeming to amused. Opening up her laptop, Catherine softly hummed. A buzz makes her gaze shift from the laptop screen to her phone’s screen, seeing the notification on it. Tapping on it, she allows her phone to open up the email.

From: Cleves, Anna To: Parr, Catherine Subject: Planning for next release

Parr,

Writing a short email to remind you about our 8:00 am meeting for the first steps of getting the announcement of your upcoming book release. If you have any ideas post-conference, be sure to write them down and send me an email with them. We can further discuss those at a later date.

Anna Cleves Media Agent/Public Relations

Bringing her free hand up to her mouth, Catherine Parr forced herself to swallow the mouthful of coffee and then hissed under her breath. “That’s today?! It’s 7:55, I have barely any time to get ready!” Gold star for Cathy Parr. Standing up, the author gave a sigh and quickly disappeared off to the space that was her room in the apartment to at least make herself presentable from the torso up. It did not matter that she was wearing black joggers, so long as she looked like she was ready for a business meeting.

Adjusting her curls so they wouldn’t fall over her face, Catherine paced over to the chair, and sat back down. Now that she had her headset on, and got ready in the nick of time, she patiently waited for the call. There it was. Taking a brief moment to look at herself and adjust her blouse, she answers. “Good morning, Anna.”

“Good morning to you too, Cathy. Glad to see you’re awake at an early time. And you got all dressed up, too! You didn’t have to,” a chuckle. Cleves ran a hand through her hair and gave a smile. “So, we’re looking at what kind of a timeline for the release, exactly?” A slight roll of the eyes, and a shake of the head. “Would’ve been nice to know before I spent the last five minutes panicking over being dressed decently. Anyways, to the main topic. My editor is getting ready to give me the list of revisions made to the draft and then I’m going to once again, go in and edit whatever needs to be changed per her advice. We’re... aiming for maybe... three to six months from now.”

A nod from Anna. Catherine could see the woman looking at a second screen and typing something. Probably notes about all of this. This conversation carried on past 8:30, until it was Anna herself who decided to conclude it. “Sounds wonderful. I’ll be in touch, as per usual. But now that this is over, we can talk about something else, if you’d like.” Although they saw each other maybe once or twice a month in person, Anna and Catherine were quite the close friends–– about as close as Catherine and Catalina, since the two have been roommates since their university days. “Look, I woke up this morning thinking I had nothing to do, and I was just going to text Lina for the grocery list but then your email popped up,” a laugh. The German woman simply shook her head.

“So you got dressed up in a panic, Cathy? I’m shocked.” There was another bout of laughter that interrupted them. Parr found herself nodding. “Of course I did. I’m not going to just answer a conference call from you in a crop top and joggers, and with a messy bun.” The thought of Parr actually having a messy bun made Cleves laugh. “You and messy buns? You’ve got to be kidding me. But good job admitting you’re still halfway in your pajamas.”

Now she rolled her eyes. She rolled them so hard, they could've rolled right off her face.

Catherine shook her head, not being able to help the smile. “Hush. As if you weren't in your own. You’re at home, I know you are!” Her hands went to grab the cup of coffee, and she brought it back up to her lips. She was a bit proud of herself for not having touched it the whole time during the meeting, but now she was craving it. So, she began to drink it, allowing Anna to talk. “Where’s Lina? I’m surprised the woman isn’t around there. Wait, no... never mind, don’t answer that. She’s at work, isn’t she?” A nod. “Yeah, she’s a teacher, Anna. She leaves early. Comes back by dinner time normally.”

It was a safe assumption to say the two were having a fairly good time speaking to each other.

––––––––––

11:11 am.

“Perfect. That’s the shot,” a southern English voice rang out in the studio apartment. That was the voice of the beauty that took the world by storm: Anne Boleyn. “Tu as un bon oeil avec une caméra, Maggie! Ça a l'air super, vraiment. Go on and head on home, you’re good to go. Have fun with the pictures,” the ruby-lipped woman gave a kiss on both cheeks to her photographer friend, who packed up soon after and headed on out. Sitting down on the loveseat, Boleyn ended up getting herself to lay down and hold her phone right above her face.

“Lame.” She scrolls past one post.

“Seen it.” Another.

“What’s this?” A new post from her favorite author. She’d never admit it, but deep down inside, she was a huge nerd. Anne skimmed over the post, her thumb double tapping the screen. Parr’s posts were always inspirational quotes, or some snippets from her works. This one was just an appreciation post. A smile began to form, with it eventually becoming a light laugh. “She’s so kind! It’s amazing how someone so famous has a golden heart. And I’m sure she knows she’s got the fame.”

Most of the remainder of the morning for Anne was spent laying down, on Instagram, with no care in the world. Truly, the woman was one of a rather mellow personality. And in her spare time, she loved a good book. Deciding she’d had enough of Instagram for the time being, she closed out of the app and opened up another one. Probably delivery or something, considering it was approaching the afternoon and she felt her stomach rumble just a little. “Good thing I decided to get food. Has it really been almost five hours since I ate?”

An early riser, she was. On most days, Boleyn woke herself up at around three in the morning to go work out from maybe 3:30 to 4:45 in the morning. Sometimes she’d extend that work out to 5:45 in the morning. Then it was off to come back home, shower and get comfortable to be in the kitchen and cooking food for herself by around the 6:45 mark. She was always eating by seven in the morning, if not ten minutes later. But she was feeling particularly lazy today, so she’d take advantage of the day to just lounge around.

Standing up, Anne left her phone face down on the loveseat. She didn’t need it to get comfortable. And to be fair, it took her maybe about ten minutes, because the majority of it was her washing her face and making sure to take good care of that. She did however, come out of her bedroom with her glasses on. Now that she was alone for the day, she could just be Anne. No contacts, no sunglasses. Just plain Anne Boleyn. She was a huge nerd growing up, and she knew this to be quite true. She loved herself, and she truly did love her modeling career, but she found it odd to be both a nerd and a super famous model at the same time.

So, she’d keep her personal life to herself. Just like that.

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1:00 pm.

Having finished her lunch around fifteen minutes ago, and having cleaned everything up, Anne found herself at a crossroads during the day. She could take her glasses off, grab a blanket, and take a nice nap. She could go out to the local shops and peruse their inventories. She could get into the kitchen, and do some meal prepping. She had options, but she just couldn’t quite put her finger on what she wanted to do. Shrugging it off, the woman reached for the bookshelf. One of Parr’s books was in her hands.

Anne couldn’t quite tell what drew her into Catherine’s writings. Her books were not quite memoirs, but not quite fully opinionated pieces either. However, they did fall into the non-fiction category. Think of it as a discourse, kind of–– but one full of opinion, experience, and even proven fact. She was a strong woman, and had morals. Anne Boleyn was drawn to that from the first day she picked up a book by Catherine Parr. Laying back down on the loveseat, she opened up the book with a smile.

“A well deserved following,” she’d softly mutter. Her smile became less and less of one until her face was deadpan; a sign she was focused on reading. Word by word and page by page. Killer looks in front of the camera and the world, but a calm and soft appearance in private. This was something Anne showed maybe once or twice, since she has occasionally posted on her Instagram stories a picture or a video with her in her glasses.

One page became another as the time passed. Page to page, eventually book to book. Anne was in one of her reading holes, humming to herself to add a little more entertainment to her already uplifted mood. What broke her out of the daze was her phone ringing. A phone call. Pulling the phone out from underneath her, Anne answered after reading the caller ID. Maggie. Probably an update about the pictures or something.

“Anne! Bonne nouvelle, mon ami! I’ll have these edited by tonight or tomorrow at best. You’ll be right back on a runway soon enough with these,” Maggie sounded excited. A smile came across Anne’s lips. “Besides, you now have an updated picture for events instead of having to use the one from three years ago! Isn’t that great?” Sitting up, Boleyn set the book down and nodded to herself. “Oui. Merci à vous, comme d'habitude, Maggie. You work miracles,” she chuckles. “We’ll talk later. I might just take a nap or binge some Netflix.”

The conversation carried on for maybe five more minutes before Maggie hung up. Quite literally Anne’s best friend from childhood. Put the two together nowadays, and if Maggie had her camera or Anne’s phone in her hand, it was a photoshoot wherever they went. Safe to say that Maggie was responsible for the solid 90% of Anne’s feed that wasn’t selfies and food posts. Count your blessings, they always say. And despite the overwhelming following, Boleyn truly was grateful for what she had. Every single bit of fame that came her way? She was thankful she managed to get that far.

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6:30 pm.

“Cathy? Estoy aquí y traje comida!”

Catalina had shut the door to the apartment as she finished that statement. Catherine peeked from behind the wall, before stepping out into view and smiling. “How was work, Lina?” Setting the food down on the table, one could see Catalina’s eyes roll to the back of her head for a moment. Looks like she had a troublesome day, considering she wasn't too cheery coming in the door. “Don’t get me started on it, Cathy. They were so unruly today for no reason. Part of me wonders if it’s the fact that they’re teenagers or not, but... it was unreal. The few that sit by my desk in the back of the classroom? They kept their cool, and I was glad about that.”

Catalina and Catherine both opened up their respective take out containers.

“Pero, gran y poderoso Señor... it was a nightmare today.”

A snicker came from Parr. “That’s why I don’t teach English. Could you imagine it? I’d be being told I’m spelling stuff like colour and favourite, or honour wrong! I’m English, we spell it differently than the Americans!” That snicker became a laugh. Catalina couldn’t help but laugh herself. “But truly, I’m so sorry you had to deal with a rowdy bunch today. Maybe they will be more mellow tomorrow. One day is just one day, and you have had one bad day... what... once every few months normally?”

“Yeah, it does happen every few months. So, I guess I won’t worry too much.” Catalina just shrugged it off, stuffing a spoonful of rice into her mouth.

––––––––––

A bite of chicken found itself on Anne’s fork. She was staring at her food, debating whether she should, or should not, post the dinner she so graciously decided to make. One could see the questioning glimmer in her eyes. The voice across the room made her attention snap from the plate to the source of the voice. “Je sais que c'est joli, mais allez, Anne. You haven’t touched your own food!” A bit of a laugh from Maggie. “I know, I know. Look, I just... wonder sometimes, if there’s anything else I can add to it. I always do that after I finish something.”

“I can tell. Just like when we were kids. You ALWAYS wanted to experiment more with your food. It’s almost like you live to be chaos.”

“Well, I mean... have you seen how I look? I’m chaos disguised as a babe. I like to think I’m pretty fit, after all,” there was the laugh from Boleyn. Shrugging it off, she just started to eat. Maggie was the one to continue the conversation. “Speaking of things you like, Anne... has that favorite author of yours posted anything? You always had a bit of a love for books. I saw that appreciation post earlier, and thought that was sweet. Even with the fame she has to her name, she remains humble. D’you know what, Anne? It reminds me of you a little.”

“How so?”

“Because you are the exact same way! Even with this huge following, you... you take the time to reach out and say thank you! You’re quite humble, despite what your looks say about you. I guess that whole don’t judge a book by its cover thing is real. Also, how do you just know how to make chicken taste good? This is amazing! I’m surprised you didn't go to culinary school,” Maggie practically shoved her food into her mouth, knowing that it would make Anne Boleyn laugh.

––––––––––

At the end of the night, both women could be found doing the exact same thing before they made themselves fall asleep:

Scrolling through their social media pages. One admiring the other’s confidence, and one admiring the other’s intelligence. A fair trade off to it all.

And despite the surprisingly good chaos from earlier on in the day, Anne Boleyn and Catherine Parr both could agree on one thing:

That there would be one day that their paths cross.

#Out of a Book #Catherine Parr #Anne Boleyn #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #Parrlyn #six ff #six fanfiction

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noctisfishing · 3 years

Text

2020 Wrap-Up and 2021 Wishes

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to do this or not, but I decided, why not? Even though this year was pretty wild for everyone in various ways, I want to celebrate my writing progress and accomplishments, and share with you what I wish for in 2021.

I’ve already posted a similar post on Reddit, although this one has a more detailed breakdown and includes my fic titles! I won’t link any of the fics mentioned, but you can visit my FFN or AO3 pages to find them. You can also click through my Welcome Post or find them all listed here (if you’re on desktop) (*every project I talk about can be found somewhere on my Tumblr :D)

Click below for some nice Fic Stats!! (mostly wordcounts and rambling!!)

Preview: I wrote a good amount of words, got some nice progress on some long fics, churned out dozens of ficlets!! Plus: What’s on my fic mind for 2021, and a short bit about other personal wins.

Before I ramble with numbers, I think we can all agree that we should say goodbye to 2020 this way:

Now, the numbers you’ll see are close approximations to how much I’ve written this year. I’m including works that I’ve published on AO3, FFN, Tumblr, and Reddit, and also works unpublished (and will post probably next year).

So, here it is:

Total Wordcount: 107,662 words!

Dang, I wrote a lot more than I thought. I think there was one year that I wrote 200,000 in a year and I’ve always set that number as my standard. But I’m still pretty happy with this year’s number! I think I’ll make 100K my “soft goal” for 2021 given how topsy-turvy life can go but it would be awesome to hit 200K again :)

And now, we break it down:

Completed Works (54,432 words)

2 Multi-Chaptered Fics (10,353 words)

Both happen to be Sorato! I posted the last chapter of The Sound of His Goodbye back in March (I started the fic late 2019), and I posted all of The Last One Wins towards the end of November. Both gave me reminders earlier and later on in the year that I can complete fics, haha! It’s possible!!! \o/

38 Ficlets/Scenes (19,667 words)

“Ficlets” don’t typically have a wordcount but are generally less than 1,000 words. I’d have to say that the impact of quitting my job, moving back home, and the pandemic brought on major changes and responsibilities that I had to adapt to. Simpler, smaller scale ideas were easier on my basket case of a mind and kept me writing, and that is most likely why for most of the year my inspiration was more drawn toward different little scenes. I got to write for and explore six new fandoms outside of Digimon which is cool!

When I say “scenes,” I mean those that either didn’t fit in the (slightly) larger works I’ve published, or those for future projects (which technically shouldn’t be counted as “complete” but I had to stick them somewhere :P).

9 One-Shots (24,412 words)

Day 6 Prompt of Takari Week just barely made it to be counted as a One-Shot, but the rest in this category are all Taiora: six for Taiora Week, as well as The Princess and the Dragon, and Colors in Distance. The Color Shot was actually sitting unfinished in my drafts for a few months so I’m glad I found the motivation to finish it before the year’s end. The other fics were inspired by prompts with deadlines - this was the first year I’ve participated and completed those and I’m happy I did them!

Works in Progress (53,230 words)

I’ve posted one new chapter each for Digital Recovery (4,770 words) and Tsukiakari (2,292 words) and I had the hope of working more on both of these this year! But you know, this year was tough (see also why I threw so many ficlets at my readers). I had three huge ongoing longfics and I made the decision to set these aside and put my main focus on one of those so as not to overwhelm myself. These fics are mostly planned out. They just need to be written more! We’ve got a long way to go with both of these.

Just One Drink (10,131 words) was.. probably my most popular fic this year, lol. I don’t see this one being too long (I would be surprised if it goes past 50K) but I see myself continue to update this next year. ;)

And let’s talk about The Spark of Dawn (DoreDore Adventure Part II) (24,316 words). This was my chosen longfic to focus on this year, as evidenced by the wordcount, and even the number of chapters I’ve posted - three with 10,659 words total. This fic also carried me through July’s Camp NaNoWriMo where I reached my word count goal of 12,000 words. I think two chapters from that event ended up being posted, and there are still 13,657 words’ worth of content yet to be published. Overall, I think half of this story has been written out (including the content I haven’t posted yet) but that being said, this fic remains as one of my priorities to finish before moving along to my other WIPs!

Here’s a list of the rest of my unpublished works:

Untitled Taiorato Fic (1,433 words)

More Taiora Snapshots (2,454 words)

The Girl Who Stands Out (7,834 words) - This one is a Mimato, and should show up really soon. ;)

2021 Wishes: My main wish is for me to *keep writing*!

I’m already making some pretty elaborate spreadsheets for myself to help track my personal writing and reader stats. Hopefully they help motivate me in my writing progress in 2021!

Toward the end of the year, I felt the need to “clear out” my plot bunnies folder and realized that fics from few ideas weren’t going to be as long as I initially thought. That’s where The Last One Wins came from, as well as The Girl Who Stands Out. I think once the latter is all written out, I will work more on DoreDore and see where it goes.

I want to tackle my “Write Your Melody” prompts, because since I’ve written them I feel obligated to. XD I’m sure there will be room for more ficlets and one-shots in next year’s endeavors; while it’s ideal to work on one big longfic until it’s done, I know for a fact that I’ll need writing breaks along the way.

Other Personal Wins (Not Writing-Related): This year, left a job and living situation that took a toll on my mental health. I also started to learn R and SQL programming languages. I was asked to be a moderator of one of my favorite communities! I made new friendships and a few of my friendships grew. And I found joy and comfort in things I hadn’t been able to in years’ past. I had a fair share of rough moments this year, but looking back at my small wins gave me reminders of the good I have. <3

If you made it to the end of this post, GO YOU. I’m optimistic that next year will bring more good things. I hope to continue remembering to take time to breathe and rest, and keep talking to my friends and loved ones. Many of my wishes are for long-term goals/projects in general, but rather than setting year-end deadlines, I want to focus on just working on them, my efforts varying between chipping away at them little by little, or hardcore-drop-everything-and-spend-the-weekend.

Anyway, thank you for reading! I wish you all the best as we head toward a new year. <3

#noct musings #end of year wrap up #2020 #noctiswriting #writing progress update

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captcas · 4 years

Text

Worth Fighting For

WORTH FIGHTING FOR by capthamm

Killian “Hook” Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma “The Savior” Swan’s career was cut short. When Hook’s manager moves up and the office brings in UFC’s youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?

read on ao3 // tumblr: ch 1/ ch 2

[CHAPTER 3/?]

Saturday night brings their monthly movie/game night and Emma has never been more grateful for a distraction. Ruby and the Nolans will come over around 6 o’clock and Henry is practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. Tonight’s theme is Star Wars and this will be Henry’s official introduction to the series; at David’s insistence they’re starting with A New Hope and going release order from there. They’re also going to play Star Wars trivia which Henry will undoubtedly suck at.

Should be a fun night all around.

And it was, until Henry went to bed and the “adults” got to talking.

Ruby cracks another beer and turns to Emma, “So, Emma, you’ve got probably the coolest new job in the world and you haven’t said jack shit.”

She shoots Ruby an icy glare as David and MM stop bickering over whether or not Kylo Ren deserved a redemption arc to hear what Emma has to say.

Emma sighs, “It’s going alright. All the onboarding is underway and between the perks, benefits, and pay, Henry should be set for life.” She’s been fortunate to live off her winnings for the past nine years, being mindful of money and not giving into the lifestyle of frivolous spending many fighters take on, but -even her friends know- she doesn’t have a money tree.

The looks on their faces when she mentions Henry being set for life could melt 1000 Olafs. When she arrived at Ruth Nolan’s home at the age of 16, she never expected to find a family. Hardened by a life too lived for anyone her age, Emma assumed they’d be like every other foster home and use her for the money. To this day, she’s never been so happy to be wrong.

Emma’s not sure what twist of fate landed an orphan with such a great support system, but she’ll be forever grateful. David took to the “protective brother” role immediately. Soon after Emma moved in, he met Mary Margaret (fireworks and butterflies and all that mumbo jumbo) who introduced them to Ruby. They’re small, and maybe a bit scrappy, but they’re family.

She breaks out of her thoughts and returns to the present, “I will need some babysitting though; I’m required to attend each of my client’s Fight Nights. But overall it’s great, really!”

She hopes she squeaked away without having to mention Jones at all but the glint in Ruby’s eye tells her otherwise. “Ok that’s all fine and dandy,” Mary Margaret shoots Ruby an incredulous look, warning her to tread carefully, but Ruby ignores her and continues, “but who’s the client?”

David is giving her a protective father vibe, Ms is practically vibrating, and she's pretty sure Ruby is salivating. Emma sighs realizing she shouldn’t postpone the inevitable, “Killian Jones.”

Ruby practically drops her drink and Mary Margaret squeals, David rolls his eyes and turns back to the TV where SportsCenter has been playing in the background. Mary Margaret beats Ruby to the punch, “THE Killian Jones?! As in Killian “Hook” Jones?!”

Emma nods, standing up to refill the only slightly empty chip bowl in front of her. She knew this was going to happen and she wasn’t exactly looking forward to her friends thirsting over her client– client… right.

Ruby speaks next, “Well that is probably the best case scenario. Do you think he can get us tickets? Have you met him? Is he as gorgeous in person as he is on TV? Can we meet him?”

Emma, now glad she’s in the kitchen with space to breathe, is starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. She knows Ms can sense it and is unsurprised when she speaks next,“For Christ’s sake Ruby let her breathe. She’s probably only had her initial meeting with him.”

Ruby seems to get the hint and it doesn’t take long before Ms is in the kitchen helping Emma pick up the leftover pizza, “We’re happy for you, Emma. He’s a huge client for them, they obviously trust you to do a good job.” Emma nods in thanks and they both head back into the living room. Her sister-in-law’s warmth always calms her (and Ruby) down which allows David to jump in and change the subject to the coverage of some football player’s arrest on SportsCenter. Emma finally catches a breath and realizes just how lucky she is for the friend dynamic they have before settling in to debate if this James Spencer kid should still be eligible for the draft.

As she lays in bed that night, Ms’ words ring through her head. Despite the rollercoaster of emotions she’s been feeling, Killian is a huge client, one that was formerly represented by a namesake for the company. This re energizes her a bit and helps her fall asleep, actually excited for what's to come.

She wakes up Sunday morning and makes Henry some pancakes and declares it a lazy Sunday. Henry happily obliged, cuddling up on the couch with The Deathly Hallows while Emma threw on some shitty reality TV.

. . .

When her alarm rings Monday morning, Emma pulls her pillow over her head like some teenager from one of those Disney Channel movies.

It takes her a second to remember what day it is and why she’s up at this godforsaken hour.

Killian Jones. Right.

She audibly groans before rolling out of bed and getting ready for the day. Between her shower and breakfast she gets Henry up. School starts at 8 so he’s technically running a bit behind but he’ll make it on the bus in time… hopefully.

She’s pouring him a bowl of cereal when he comes out of his room zipping up his sweater and rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, kid. Coco Puffs or Fruit Loops?” He mumbles some semblance of what she thinks is Fruit Loops so she pours the bowl and slides it across the kitchen island. He smiles in thanks as she pours her own bowl and sits beside him.

“So today’s the big day?”

She didn’t tell Henry about her new client and when she spoke to the Nolan’s and Ruby, he was definitely supposed to be sleeping. “How could you possibly know that?”

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are and I’m not as tired as you think I am.” He yawns as if to punctuate his point.

“Uh huh, sure, kid.” He gives her a knowing glance and she realizes she’s not getting out of this. She runs her hands over her face and sighs, “Yes, today is the first meeting and I’m only slightly nervous to fu— screw this whole thing up.”

Henry chuckles at her attempted censorship (she never said she was a perfect parent), “You’ll be great, Mom, and Hook seems like a decent enough guy. I’m sure he won’t give you too much trouble.”

She stares at Henry a bit dumbfounded. It shocks her everyday how old he’s getting– nine going on nineteen for sure. “Are you hiding some Weasley’s Extendable Ears in your room or something? Are you a wizard? Should you be at Hogwarts?” Emma is very obviously trying to derail this conversation but it works, setting Henry off about how he’s finally on the sixth book and explaining the concept of a horcrux.

Oh, her sweet summer child.

God, maybe he is old enough for UFC.

When did that happen?

She ushers Henry to the bus, promising him they’ll watch the sixth movie tonight if he finishes the book today and is to school on time. It’s only September and he can’t be late three times in the first month of school. She kisses his forehead and he wishes her good luck.

Sometimes she wonders how such a screw up ended up with the perfect kid.

After cleaning up the kitchen, Emma finishes getting ready. She jumps on the subway and finds herself at the office with a half hour to spare. She’s never early so she chalks it up to nerves and uses the time to prep for this meeting.

Over the weekend she received multiple emails from Gold’s team surrounding a possible spot for Killian on the card for the pay-per-view Fight Night in November.

A pay-per-view card. She did enough research about Killian this weekend to know that would be his first.

Emma feels like she’s been thrown into the deep end before being taught how to swim.

Go big or go home.

She did a lot of research about Killian and learned practically nothing. She knows he came here from London almost ten years ago and that his team includes his head trainer Robin (husband of now former manager Regina Mills), and three other men named Will Scarlett, August Booth, and William Smee (he’s really selling it with that whole Hook theme). Other than that all she found was his record and highlights. He’s 6-0 which is insane for only being in the circuit for a year and a half– fighters are usually limited to three, maybe four fights a year.

4 of his 6 are knockouts.

He’s good… really good.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a light tapping on the edge of her cubicle. She glances up to find none other than the man himself. She can’t help but double take.

Real professional, Emma.

She's only ever seen him in the ring, at the gym, or dressed up for a business meeting. She’s not sure what she expected, but a leather jacket and pants that fit him like his own skin definitely weren’t it.

He looks good… really good.

Emma snaps herself out of it, “Hi, Mr. Jones, just give me a moment and we can head to the conference room.”

“It’s Killian, love, please.” She notices he winces at the seemingly habitual pet name. Emma ignores the ring of disappointment that runs through her gut at the realization that it may not be reserved for her. “A conference room’s a bit formal, don’t you think? Let’s get out of here, Swan.”

He grabs her hand before she can answer. “Mr.— Killian. Is this allowed?”

He chuckles. “We can plan the meetings at our leisure,” he says the last bit in an almost scary imitation of Regina, “but even still, Regina and I never met in office. A bit silly for two people to take up an entire conference room, yeah? Come on, lass, try something new. It’s called trust.”

Emma rolls her eyes but follows along anyway. The elevator ride should’ve been awkward but Killian kept the conversation flowing by asking her preferred drink. “Coffee, tea, or smoothies?”

Despite the risk of sounding like a child, Emma finds herself being honest with him, “Uhh, I actually prefer hot chocolate… with cinnamon.”

He smiles brightly at her, as though her drink order was the most brilliant discovery this century, “Perfect, Swan. I know just the place.”

She was so swept up in his ambush, she doesn’t realize that this isn’t the cocky, asshat Killian Jones she sees on tv or at the gym until he’s practically dragging her across the street to a small cafe. This Killian seems genuine and carries this almost childlike excitement.

Emma tells herself she has no interest in learning more about this Killian.

(Emma doesn’t have to tell herself that that is complete bullshit.)

. . .

He can’t stop himself from beaming when she offers up her drink order without hesitation. Killian feels like a bloody teenager around her. He promised himself he wouldn’t feel this way again, but something about Emma Swan has completely entranced him.

He finds himself fascinated with every part of her, including the small things, like the fact she takes cinnamon on her hot chocolate.

Once they get to the cafe across the street, Killian forces himself to dial it back. He can tell she’s guarded and as much as he’d like to be friends (more than friends) with the lass, he knows business has to come first.

It wouldn’t exactly be a good look for him if he ran “The Savior” out of the office on her second day.

Somehow he thinks he doesn’t have that power.

He’d like to. (Obviously not to run her out of the office, but he’d like his existence to mean that much to her.)

Bloody hell, he's being ridiculous.

They sit down across from each other at a small table by the window. He expects to start the conversation but before he can form a coherent thought she’s speaking.

“So, Killian. I’ve already received some correspondence from Gold’s team. I’m not sure how much time you usually take between fights and I know it’s already the end of September but…”

She’s rambling and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anybody so adorable when they’re nervous.

Adorable is not a professional descriptor.

Killian Jones doesn’t want “professional” with Emma Swan.

Fuck.

“...Gold is hoping to get you on the main card for November 14th.”

Did she just say main card?

He chokes on his coffee.

“Main card, Swan? I’ve never been on the main card. Strictly early prelims…”

She eyes him suspiciously, “Usually that’s a good thing. Upward momentum and all that. His team is clearly impressed by your dominant record.”

“Is his team the only one impressed?” The flirt escapes him before he can stop it.

Bloody idiot.

She doesn’t even bat an eye, “The entire league seems to be impressed, Jones.” Her tone tells him she knows what just happened but she shut it down immediately.

He likes a challenge.

Emma Swan may be his favorite challenge yet.

Emma Swan is off limits, but Killian will be damned if he cares.

. . .

Emma is surprised when Killian pays for their drinks despite her insistence that she can charge it to Mills Management. She’s also surprised by how nice he is.

She keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She’s still waiting.

He’s definitely flirtatious, every other sentence being easily twisted into some sort of innuendo, but she can tell it’s a front. The little things he does like tipping the barista an extra fifty cents or holding the door for her, let on to the man behind the persona.

Well, and the fact he practically chokes when she tells him they want him for the main card.

He seems genuinely shocked that anyone would be impressed by him. His mask comes out almost immediately, another innuendo laced into his question. She doesn’t let him go there, shutting it down as quickly as it started. For this to work, she needs him the real him. Not the cocky MMA fighter who he used to catch the eye of UFC execs. She compliments him, and it’s beyond genuine. That seems to calm his nerves a bit as they move into social media management and he shifts into a professionalism she’s not entirely prepared for.

She’s not sure she wants professional Killian Jones.

Whoa, Emma, pump the breaks.

She shakes it off as she watches him take notes on what she’s saying about the importance of a lead up on Twitter and how it can set the tone for the entire fight. His tongue runs along the inside of his lower lip as he concentrates and she can’t help the overwhelming wave of attraction that hits her.

Like lightning.

It’s not just the tongue, (but that’s not helping) it’s his dedication to this sport and how he actually gives a fuck about what she’s saying. Killian never displayed even a hint of the deeply rooted misogyny that runs rampant throughout the industry. He actually seems almost humbled by her presence. The words escape her mouth before she can’t stop them, “Why are you actually taking anything I say seriously?”

Very professional, Emma. Way to instill confidence in your client. Smooth.

His head snaps up at her abrupt question and he looks confused. “I know you don’t like being called a legend, Swan, but you were a damn good fighter. If I walk out of this partnership with half the following and success you had, I’d call that a win.”

She’s stunned by his sincerity.

Brick. Wall. (She thinks she hears Pink Floyd somewhere in the distance.)

“And I suppose you think you know all about me from our, what, three conversations now?” She knows it’s snippy, that’s the point.

He stops typing and puts his phone down. “Pardon me, love, but you’re a bit of an open book.”

Emma scoffs, “Anyone with the internet knows I prefer people don’t call me a legend.”

“Aye, but do they know it’s because you feel too young with a career too short to have made an impact? That you feel choosing yourself, a life, over MMA removes all glory from your name?”

Emma is entirely shaken by his apparent ability to read her like a fucking picture book. (Does that even make sense? Do you read picture books?) Emma never had a formal retirement ceremony; gloves in the middle of the ring and all that. She had asked Gold to be taken off the roster and for a quiet exit and that’s what he’d given her. The public doesn’t know the real reason she left MMA, her attempt at keeping Henry’s life as normal as possible, but somehow Killian–

Brick. Brick. Brick.

“Let’s talk about Instagram.” She sees the disappointment sweep across his face, realizing she can read him pretty well too. That’s terrifying.

Way more terrifying than social media plans.

They keep it strictly business for the rest of the meeting. She’s startled when her stomach rumbles and she checks the time.

12:00. They’ve been strategizing for three hours.

She’s not sure where the time went, and when Killian asks her if she wants to grab a bite to eat together, she’s startled again by her initial gut reaction to say yes.

Obviously, she says no and makes up some lie about needing to get back to the office. He knows it’s a lie, she can see it all over his face. He doesn’t push her though, and she’s grateful. They set their next meeting and Emma’s heart speeds up, seemingly unaware that this is a business meeting and not a date. She shakes his hand and promises to have a full plan ready for Thursday before practically sprinting out of the cafe.

In three conversations Killian Jones has gone from asshat to… who knows. One thing Emma does know is that Killian Jones is off limits to the highest of ethical degrees. But what scares her most, is that she’s not entirely sure she cares.

. . .

As soon as he asks her to lunch he knows he’s pushed too far.

Actually, he perhaps pushed too far by letting on just how easy it was for him to read her, but lunch, well that was just asking for a brick wall. He runs his hands across his face, completely taken with someone he has no right to. She’s witty, smart, and could probably kick his ass— scratch that, could definitely kick his ass— but she also has demons, he can see them swimming behind her eyes. Demons that seem scarily similar to his, maybe not on the surface but definitely in their damage. Emma is raw and unapologetic; a real human being who is, for all intents and purposes, unimpressed by the suave persona of Killian “Hook” Jones.

She’s bloody perfect.

He’s fucking fucked.

Eloquent.

Killian decides to grab a quick lunch from the cafe and head to the gym. He has a lot of pent up frustration and really feels the need to punch something. Thank god that’s his job. He scarfs down his sandwich, not realizing how hungry he was and jumps on the subway to the training center. He miraculously finds a seat and is able to scroll through his phone a bit. As he pokes around Twitter he finds an article announcing Emma “The Savior” Swan’s comeback to the UFC. He clicks on it, curiosity getting the better of him despite probably knowing the gist of the article.

He didn’t expect a timeline of her very impressive career:

2008: Swan joins the UFC with her Boston gym. Her debut match against Aurora Rose ended in a TKO. She’s back in action six months later fighting Ella Tremaine. She wins again, this time after three rounds by split decision.

2009: A dominant start to the year for The Savior with a first round submission against Tiana Dampier in January. She rounded out her year with another first round submission against El Oldenburg in May, and a third round knockout against Esmerelda Gringoire in October.

2010: Swan goes three rounds with Merida Baer and wins by unanimous decision. Swan wins again after three rounds by split decision against Megara Alcmene. The Savior’s final match is a KO against Mulan Fa rounding out her record to 8-0. Her next match, meant to be for the women’s title, was declined with no comment from The Savior.

2020: Swan joins Mills Management as a talent manager assigned to Killian “Hook” Jones.

Killian knew Swan was good, an early legend in her own right, but he had no idea she was this dominant. He also had no idea she left without so much as a wave goodbye. He figured he’d just missed the announcement seeing as it came well before his introduction into the sport. Against his typical moral code, he tries to google why she left but finds nothing. She knocks out Mulan Fa and then just stops being added to cards and fades away as new fighters take her place.

He knows there’s a reason for her secrecy and he’d be lying if he said curiosity was the only driving force behind his attempt to learn more. He finds himself wanting to know everything there is to know about Emma Swan; a deeper part of him aches for her to be the one who tells him.

He’s positive he can only dream of gaining that level of trust from her, but he has to try. Liam's words ring heavy in his ears, "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets."

He gets off at the stop closest to the training center and walks through the front doors, waving to Belle at the front desk before heading into the locker room. He’s fortunate to be on the UFC roster, allowing him to keep his training gear at the center and not have to worry about lugging it around with him. It also gives him the freedom to come here whenever he needs to let off some steam. He changes quickly and finds a treadmill to warm up. He jogs a mile and a half before picking up the pace. Killian’s in the midst of his runner’s high when someone steps into the machine next to him. He turns his head to offer them a small smile in hello, it’s not that big of a gym, exclusive to the UFC industry and a few friends of friends, so chances are he knows the person at least in passing.

Oh, Killian knows them alright, and he practically falls off the treadmill when he sees her green eyes blown wide.

#Captain Swan #cs ff #cs modern au #emma swan #killian jones #capthamm #worth fighting for

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sheliesshattered · 4 years

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writing update: This Isn’t A Ghost Story

Yesterday was one of those magical days that I try not to take for granted where the words were flowing and I had time to write.

I started out the day worrying that I might need to chop up chapter 3 of This Isn’t A Ghost Story and completely rework the tone, but I made myself sit and and re-read the whole thing from the beginning. There is definitely a tonal shift between the start of chapter 1 and the middle of chapter 3, but it happens gradually enough that I’m actually really happy with what it’s doing. Despite the almost silly tone it starts out with, this story is going to go to some dark places before it’s over, but I really like the way the mystery is unraveling and the way the world-building has come together. This is the first non-canon AU I’ve written for the DW fandom, and it’s definitely been a shift in my perspective, letting go of canon like that, while still being able to echo it in places.

I ended up adding about 1600 words total for the day, which is a huge number for me, anything over 1000 is a really good day. The entire story is sitting at about 11,000 words right now, with each chapter a bit longer than the last so far -- ch1 is about 2500, ch2 3300, and it’s looking like ch3 will be between 3800 and 4200 words. The second half of chapter 3 still needs some connective tissue, but the big stuff is all in place, and I’m hoping I might even be able to finish ch3 today. We’ll see if my muse wants to cooperate.

The structure of the story is looking like it’ll probably be five chapters long, maybe with a chapter 6 as an epilogue, if chapter 5 gets unwieldy. I know the ending, so it’s just a question of how many words it takes to get there. I’ll just have to see how it works out. My plan right now is to sit on the finished chapters until the whole story is done or nearly done, and then start posting them one chapter per week, probably on Fridays, straight through until the whole thing is posted. Happy ending, with a good dose of angst and pining before we get there. Also, a ghost, a mystery, and some darker topics along the way.

I’m really enjoying working on this story, both for its own merits and as a change of pace from my canon-based AUs. I was feeling really stuck on the next part of For As Long As We Get, despite having the whole arc mapped out and knowing exactly what this next part needs to do. I’ve just started getting the itch to work on it again in the last few days, so I’m hoping that if I stick with This Isn’t A Ghost Story until it’s done, inspiration will have built up for the next part of For As Long As We Get and I’ll be able to dive right back into that one.

I very much appreciate all of you who have cheered me on during my writing efforts, and shown interest in the rough draft of the first chapter of This Isn’t A Ghost Story that I posted here on Tumblr (called Poltergeists and Real Estate (Do Not Mix) when I initially posted it). My favorite sort of writing is with a core crew of fellow fans who I can get to know over time and who are excited for what I’m working on. It’s incredibly motivating. The little die-hard Whouffaldi fandom here on Tumblr has really been that for me the last few months, and it’s been so lovely to have that. ❤️

#This Isn't A Ghost Story #Poltergeists and Real Estate (Do Not Mix)#my writing #process thoughts #Doctor Who fanfic #Clara and the Doctor #I am so excited for you guys to see this you have no idea #❤️

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himluv · 4 years

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How do I talk about March? What will I expect to find in this blog post this time next year? Five years from now? How do I capture the way normalcy was utterly shredded in what felt like two days, and then pasted back together in a totally new pattern? The start of March was one world, the end of March is another. Which is only weirder, because I didn’t pick goals until mid-March, when I realized I was going to be home more than usual.

March Goals

Edit The Lament of Kivu Lacus

Keep Reading!

Write 2000 words

How’d I do?

Edit The Lament of Kivu Lacus

Yep! I’ve sent it to a few people for a beta read. Once I hear back I’ll make some more adjustments and then start submitting.

Keep Reading!

Oh, yeah. That’s pretty much all I’ve been doing. I read 6 titles in March.

Write 2000 words

Yarp. Actually, a bit more than that.

Total Word Count: 6,956

This month has been so long. I know we all feel the same way about this. I initially embraced the order to stay home, looking forward to gaming and reading time. But it only took about three weeks of limited outside interaction to realize I was feeling pent up. Trapped. Thank goodness I’ve been out of the house for work these last couple of days.

Lots of reading, quality Dragon Age time, a bit of editing, and making videos for my students got me through the last half of March. I still have two short stories out on submissions right now, as per usual. I’ll be sure to let you all know if that should change.

April Goals

Submit The Lament of Kivu Lacus

Begin Tavi revisions

Keep Reading!

Write 4000 words

As it sits right now, I’m feeling good about Lament. Well, not really. It’s horribly depressing, and I don’t know if anyone will want such a deeply sad story (especially right now) but craft-wise I think it’s pretty well done. I like the changes I made, the risks I took. I think the story pays off and is the best I can make it without outside opinions. Which means I’m playing the stage 1 waiting game: waiting for beta readers to tell me their thoughts!

Tavi edits is a big job. Not because the book is in bad shape, I actually think it’s the most cohesive first draft I’ve ever written, but because it’s almost 90k words that I have to read and sculpt over and over again until I feel about it the way I feel about Lament. I’m guessing that’s about a three month project, at best.

There’s no shortage of reading material in this house. I still have two more books from the public library to read, and then I’ll start tucking into all those books I bought over the years but never read.

I’m not so sure about the writing goal this month. I don’t have any writing planned, other than fanfic, which has been giving me some trouble this last week. We’ll see how much output I have while I’m revising and back at work, at least in some capacity. I did have a short story I was working on, but I decided to pause on that because it’s one of those cases where my writing hasn’t quite leveled up enough. I want to play around with the timeline and experiment with it a bit, but I don’t even know where to start. Something to read of/about, and then try again at a later date.

So, yeah. Reading, writing, editing. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I’ll be back on Monday to talk goals, and hopefully with another review video, if I can get either Vengeful or The Ocean at the End of the Lane finished up over the weekend.

Until then, Bloggarts!

The Recap – March 2020 How do I talk about March? What will I expect to find in this blog post this time next year?

#Books #Editing #Fantasy Fiction #goals #Novels #Reading #revisions #Science Fiction #Short Stories #workworkwork #Writing #writing life

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frazzledsoul · 6 years

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Back when I used to type large essays on this website regularly, I always saved two until I was ready to post them. One was about Luke and his offspring, and how it was unfair of the show that he always had to prioritize Rory first. I may finish that one someday, but it’s hidden in my drafts. Suffice it to say that one of the things the S7 writers did right was make it clear that Luke was allowed to love other people as much as he loved Lorelai and Rory, and that his biological child was one of those people.

The other was that horrid plot twist at the end of Partings.

I’m not RTing the post this came from because I don’t want to clog it.

@fuckyeahgilmore said in this plot thread:

I still think Season 6 ending is well written; that final scene is heartbreaking and so effective. It is the face of a woman who is broken; void of feeling. She just gave herself over to him in an attempt to fill and unifillable hole in her heart. All of her self worth is gone because, in her eyes, the only man she’s ever loved had rejected her. The only person to ever always be there for her in gone. I think it’s well written and beyond heartbreaking.

Oh, no. Hell to the no. Fuck no. No fucking way.

There is no way that what Lorelai did to Luke at the end of that season comes anything close to being well written or is justifiable even in the most fucked up and twisted value system in the universe. Negan, Cersei Lannister, Angelus, and Mitchum Huntzberger combined could not formulate a moral universe in which that shit flies.

This kills me because according to that horrid interview that showcased ASP’s lame ass justifications for the crap she wrote that I am linking here as proof Amy wanted people to hand her ribbons and trophies and accolades for what she wrote. After it’s pointed out to her (by Michael Auseillo, of all people, and you know it’s got to be bad if he’s willing to criticize her) that the fans are really, really unhappy with her, she claims that she did it so that Lauren Graham could win awards. It disturbs me when people say that all of the awards that Mrs. Maisel won are retroactive awards for Gilmore Girls, because that is in effect rewarding ASP for this episode and telling her she was right. It’s also untrue (I don’t think the Emmy voters care about the WB dramedy the creator of their beloved Mad Men pastiche did ten years ago: they like what they like for a reason, and it’s got little to do with Gilmore Girls, and um, shouldn’t the people who actually worked on Maisel be allowed to enjoy the fruits of their specific labors?) and like it or not, by the time we got to the end of season six no one on this show should have been handed any awards. I don’t know who these characters were at the end of this wretched season, but they weren’t the people I knew and loved for years. Unless you are nominating Most Twisted and Soul Destroying Iteration of A Formerly Beloved Character, the acting nominations should have been way off limits.

The person at the end of Partings wasn’t Lorelai Gilmore. The Lorelai Gilmore I knew and loved for six years would not have done that to Luke. She would never have done that. The woman I respected would have remembered that she watched Luke throw himself in jail after another woman cheated on him because he was so upset he couldn’t handle it and told him to his face that he didn’t deserve it. She is in a relationship with him for two years, proposes to him, claims she loves him, and then runs away and sleeps with the person he hates and fears most in the world, fulfilling his worst nightmares and insecurities, all because he won’t put aside the other person he’s now responsible for and get married right that instant.

The Lorelai I knew would never hurt Luke like that. She would know that it was the worst possible thing that she could do to him, that it would emotionally devastate him, that it would wreck him. She would not do that.

Any writer who puts that rot into print isn’t worthy of the name.

It wasn’t just Luke that Lorelai hurt, though.

She goes to Christopher, someone who still pines for her and who she claims to actually care for. He misinterprets their night together as an indication that she actually might be interested in him, only to later find out that she’s using him. I despise Christopher Hayden and he should have told her no, but I don’t think he deserved this.

She put Rory in the middle of this accursed latethirtysomething love triangle and forced her to choose teams. She inflicted a huge blow on Rory’s relationship with not just one but two father figures. What makes this worse is that Rory was actually becoming closer with her dad and starting to form a relationship she had wanted for her entire life. You’re telling me that Lorelai Gilmore, who has spent her entire life sacrificing for her only child, never once considered the effect her actions would have on Rory? She didn’t think of that once?

That’s not Lorelai Gilmore. More than anything else, that is not Lorelai. Any decent writer would know this, instead of twisting her lead character into someone she never was, in order to get the result she wanted.

There is absolutely no justification for what Lorelai did that night. The claim that she was emotional or that she needed to do this to end her relationship is not fucking acceptable. What kind of moral compass do you have, what kind of putrid excuse for a writer do you claim to be to make her hurt the people she loves most in the most damging way possible and expect us to cheer it on? No way. No fucking way.

Screw you, ASP. You’re dead to me forever for this. I mean, it too: I will never, ever watch another one of her shows. I only watched the revival after reading spoilers to ensure that I what I feared would happen didn’t actually happen.

But let’s back up a minute and remember how exactly we got to this shitshow.

Luke turned into a complete pod person all season in order to prioritize his daughter. He keeps it a secret from Lorelai, initially claims he is not going to live up to any parenting responsibilities whatsoever (um WUTTTTT???), fumbles through caring for April for months despite the fact that he has already half-raised two teenagers already, seemingly forgets his engagement date, reassures Lorelai that they’ll get married but eventually reverts back to his bad behavior, claims he can’t let Lorelai meet April because he’s afraid she’ll like her more than him, lets Lorelai rescue April’s birthday party, and then goes back to keeping Lorelai away when his baby mama throws a tantrum.

None of this made any sense whatsoever. It wasn’t good writing. it was the opposite of good writing. You tell me you’re going to take Luke Danes, the most self-sacrificing, giving, quietly loyal person on this show and make him a deadbeat dad who can’t parent his kid? That he’s going to neglect Lorelai, who he practically worships? What the hell, Amy? WHAT THE FRIGGING HELLL???!!!???

Atrocious.

So Luke backs off because he’s terrified of his baby mama. Lorelai goes to see her to try to get her to change her mind, fails, and instead of doing the thing any sane, logical person would do in this circumstance, which would be to seek out her fiance and see if they can find a way to work this out because the situation is out of his hands, she runs away and convinces herself that it’s already over. She then encounters the most horrendously unprofessional therapist in all of recorded history, a woman she does not know and who does not know her and who is not qualified to be her therapist. I don’t know what kind of ethical guidelines exist that prohibit advising someone you’ve known for ten minutes about life-altering decisions, but I’m certain that all of them were broken during that backseat therapy session. That therapist didn’t know Lorelai, she didn’t know Luke, and she didn’t know what kind of reasons (and by this time there were some fairly significant real world reasons, and just because Lorelai was emotional doesn’t mean that those reasons don’t matter) Luke had for postponing the engagement. This woman was in no position to advise Lorelai of significant life decisions based on the little information that she had, and she certainly was in no position to advise Lorelai that her relationship was worth giving up on if she didn’t immediately get what she wanted.

You know, maybe I’m crazy and this thought just can’t be allowed to breathe in the advanced moral and intellectual universe that is Amy Sherman Palladino, but shouldn’t a therapist ideally advise a troubled couple to sit down and talk about their problems? Isn’t that the sort of thing that they encourage?

Isn’t that that what rational, sane people do when they have relationship problems? Sit down and figure out a way to solve them? There was no need to force Lorelai into this illogical decision so she could give Christopher a test drive. She loved Luke at that point and Luke only, and if she had only sat down and approached her problems like a grown-up, she could have found a way to solve them.

Running up to your fiance after you have been missing for days and insisting that you get married right that instant is not grown-up behavior. Luke kept trying to get Lorelai to sit down and talk to him because she had been missing for days and he was worried about her, but she wouldn’t have it. She insisted on screaming and ranting and having everything she wanted in life delivered right that minute. But there is no feasible way Luke could have given that to her right then. He had a daughter to take care of and he had to weigh his options carefully so that he wouldn’t lose all access to her.

Those were real things that Luke was concerned about, and he was right to be worried about them. Those things don’t immediately cease to exist because Lorelai is upset. He should be allowed to love April as much as he loves Lorelai, and the fact that he hadn’t been fair to Lorelai in the months ahead of time does not take that away.

It was horrendously cruel and savage for Lorelai to punish him in the exact way that she knew would hurt most. And for what? For not being able to pass this impossible test of proving how much he loved her by sacrificing the other things that were important to him. Luke didn’t deserve that. We didn’t deserve that. ASP twisted Luke and Lorelai into monstrous shapes so that they could do as much damage to each other as possible and expected us to applaud. This was nothing more than shitting on everything her audience loved and wanted. You don’t do that if you care about your characters or your audience. She didn’t fucking care, and she proved that by writing the worst possible outcome she could in the pre Shonda Rhimes era.

There is nothing about destroying the entire fabric of your show that is anything close to good writing.

So what was the reason for this disaster? My theories are well known on this website. It’s my own fault. I consumed too much press, and almost none of it is still around. But I’ll tell you why I believe what I believe.

Luke Danes was never supposed to be a main character. He was originally supposed to be a woman, and was only added to the cast because they needed an extra character. Jess was brought in as an obstacle to keep Luke and Lorelai apart. When ASP gave interviews about this, she would briefly talk about how she needed to keep Luke and Lorelai apart because she didn’t think she could write it properly, but she would go on and on about Christopher and Lorelai and how wonderful it would be if they could get their shit together and become a couple. David Sutcliffe (who plays Christopher) got another job, and ASP brought in Jason as added him to the main cast. The ratings went down. She was forced to break them up and get Luke and Lorelai together in order to save the show.

She later said that the only reason she got Luke and Lorelai together was because she knew that David’s show was canceled and he could mess things up for Luke and Lorelai.

That Holy Trilogy of Luke/Lorelai episodes in late season 4? ASP did them because she was forced to. She wasn’t willing to write Luke and Lorelai without Christopher as an obstacle. She never wanted them to be a stable couple.

I do not recall Amy Sherman Palladino ever saying a positive thing about Luke Danes or Scott Patterson. Ever.

In her post AYITL interviews, the Luke/Lorelai wedding was something that the fans forced her to do but she freely cooed about how gorgeous David still was.

(You know that this sounds like? It sounds like a woman who is having an affair with one of her actors, and ends up promoting his character because of it. I have no proof that this happened, of course).

So did she do all of this because she has the attention span of a toddler or because she has an irrational obsession with Christopher Hayden? Who knows? I believe that she wrote Luke and Lorelai because the fans wanted it, but that her real passion was Christopher and Lorelai, and that she ended up obliterating everything that many of us loved about this show to make her beloved ship happen. She thought it was in their best possible interest for them to rip each other to shreds so that Lorelai could fuck Christopher.

I even believe that ASP had Zach destroy Hep Alien’s musical career so that he could then propose and Christopher could escort Lorelai to Lane’s wedding. Think about how cruel this is for a moment. Even if you don’t believe that ASP ruined Lane’s hopes and dreams so she could set up a situation where she could sell Christopher as the better option, we had to endure an episode where Rory arranges Christopher to take Lorelai on a date to a wedding of someone Luke is close to while she is engaged to Luke so she can incorporate Christopher into a Stars Hollow event and Christopher can save from the indignity of sobbing over how upset she is over Luke. We had to witness all of that shit so Christopher could swoop in on his white horse with his bags full of money and save the day.

You know a good writer would do? She would know that if her side character is so impressive in his own right, he wouldn’t need that much help.

The more positive side of me believes that ASP only intended to have Christopher and Lorelai explore their relationship for a while, and then she would have Lorelai end up with Luke because she knew what the fans wanted. I view the speech Luke has in AYITL and Christopher’s comments to Rory and I suspect that those things were written a long, long time ago. However, in the end I know what happened before, and I know the history of Amy’s comments to the media, and part of me cant make myself believe that. I don’t think if ASP had started writing the Christopher/Lorelai relationship that she had dreamed of for years she would have been able to stop.

I also suspect that she only got Luke and Lorelai together because the fans took the ending of season 6 harder than she thought they would, and she knew her reputation wouldn’t survive both a Christopher/Lorelai endgame and Rory’s wretched fate. She initially planned something very different.

When ASP views someone like Luke Danes who is a redneck stereotype in almost every way but the political, I think he is something of an exotic creature to her. This wasn’t who she originally envisioned Lorelai with: all of Lorelai’s other love interests except for Alex were refined, upper-class, and somewhat well-off. It doesn’t escape my attention that towards the end of season 6 the show pushes both Rory and Lorelai towards the monied love interests who can make up for their personal failings with wealth and charm. Humble guys like Luke, Jess, and Marty are left in the dust. It also doesn’t escape my attention that they start to engage in increasingly selfish and amoral behavior, culminating in Lorelai’s huge betrayal at the end of the season that ASP wants us to believe is justified and Rory’s aborted attempt to cheat on Logan with Jess. As always, our more humble love interests and their unglamourous moral codes are left behind.

Those values of honesty, decency, integrity and respect for others that Lorelai attempted to raise Rory to cherish? They would eventually be abandoned for a richer, more cynical life, and so would Stars Hollow. I don’t believe that solid value systems are not endemic of any sort of lifestyle choice, but I do think that ASP possibly associated a small-town life with a coherent moral code in her mind, and found it insufficient. The life that Lorelai cherished in her humble small town would be found wanting, because ASP doesn’t really understand how it outweighs the appeal of a more cosseted life. If she could justify that ending, I don’t think she really values that moral code anyway, no matter who is practicing it.

If that sounds like a betrayal of what the show was about, so were the last 4 words, and we got them anyway.

All of this is to say that my cynical view of ASP’s worldview is not something I want to associate with personally, and much of it has to do with the horrid way in which this season ended. I don’t value a worldview that prizes characters treating each other this way, and there is nothing logical or coherent or emotionally purposeful about anything that was thrust at us with this plot twist. I know people hate season 7, but the reason I excuse that season for its shortcomings is that even after this major gulf has been opened up between Luke and Lorelai, they become responsible, compassionate people who are able to takes responsibility for their actions and eventually care for each other again. They aren’t twisted into shapes I don’t recognize.

I know some people don’t really see this the way that I do. There’s a deep split in the fanfiction community between those who view Lorelai’s actions as justified (or think that Luke saying yes to the elopement plot would have magically solved everything) and those that see them as the huge betrayal that I believe that they are. I’ve gotten eviscerated by a popular fic writer for Luke taking Lorelai to task for her part in it, and I’ve watched fic writers whose work I’ve loved defend what I believe is indefensible. I do believe there is a generational split here, and it’s not insignificant, but I think most of us are in agreement on one thing:

This bullshit should never have fucking happened, and there was nothing positive about the writing that delivered it.

#long rambling thoughts delivered!#man that was a long one #luke x lorelai #gilmore girls #sorreeeeeee

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ernmark · 7 years

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an ugly idea: juno's mother found out about him being a werewolf and, in an effort to use it against him, she accidentally put ben in the way

This one’s been sitting half-finished in my drafts for a while. It’s a challenge, partly because I didn’t have a very clear image of what kind of person Juno’s mother was, and partly because it’s a hella dark situation compared to the surprisingly fluffy rest of the series.

Blood and child abuse ahoy, so… yeah.

When Sasha and Mick find him, he’s quiet. The blood and snot and tears have all dried; he’s even stopped shaking. All he does is stare straight ahead. The only sign he can see them at all is the way that he flinches when they approach. He doesn’t answer when Mick demands to know if somebody hurt him. He doesn’t resist when Sasha searches him for injuries.

She’s the one who figures it out first. “Juno–”

He can sense the question she’s going to ask, and he curls into himself like he can hide from the answer. She grabs him by the shoulders and forces him to face her.

“Juno, whose blood is this?”

It takes him a long time to form the words. In the end, only one of them makes it out.

“Ben.” He looks like he might cry again, if there was anything left in him. His voice is faint and raw. “He’s dead, Sasha. I killed him.”

It’s Mick who sits with him for the next several hours while Sasha collects herself. It’s too soon after what happened to Annie, her nerves are too raw, it hurts too much.

In the end, though, that’s why she comes back: because she still doesn’t know exactly what happened to Annie. And goddammit, she can’t go the rest of her life not knowing what happened to Ben.

There’s no crime scene, no line of police tape to cross. Juno carried his brother’s body to the hospital long after it had gone cold, but it’s too soon for the cops to have found the right place– and that’s assuming they’d even look. After all, people die in Oldtown all the time. Some of them are kids. And when they’re already past saving…

She swallows back bile.

It happened at an abandoned house not too far from Juno’s place, one with heavy chains over the boarded up windows and doors. During Juno’s cycle, one of the sets of chains is held together with an old-school combination lock, so she and Mick can sleep without having to worry about anyone getting in there while Juno’s feral… at least, that was the idea. But the chains over the side door hang limp, and the lock lies in the dust beside them.

It was Ben’s lock, from back when he was in his retro tech phase. He would have known the combination to open it.

The irony hits her like a punch in the gut. She has to take a minute to steady herself.

She can do this. She has to do this. For Juno’s sake. For Ben’s. For Annie’s.

She takes a deep breath and pulls open the door.

This is one of the old buildings, back when they were made to last, with plaster over concrete walls. It looks like Juno found that out the hard way: the rotting carpet and imitation hardwood is ripped to shreds, and the walls are scored with clawmarks from months of frantic digging. Every flat surface is covered by several months’ worth of thick red dust, interrupted only last night.

There are multiple sets of tracks here, but it’s not hard to pick out Ben’s from Juno’s human footsteps. His feet are– were– too big for him, so much that he skipped right past wearing Juno’s hand-me-down shoes and started having to wear their mothers’. Sasha follows the footsteps carefully.

He was running, that much is clear. The tracks turn sharply to the left, and then zag to the right, toward the basement door.

The doorknob is free from dust where it was recently grabbed.

The moment she opens the door, the smell hits her, coppery and thick enough to make her stomach turn.

She runs away. It’s a secret that she’ll take to her grave, but she’s out the door and vomiting in the alley before she knows what happened. She stays there until she stops crying, until her heart stops trying to ram its way out of her ribcage, until she can actually breathe again.

And then she spits out the taste of acid and marches back into the house.

Because it’s awful– it will never stop being awful– but she has to know. Juno has to know. And if this gives her even more nightmares… well, the old ones could use some company.

And so she marches down the hall and into the basement.

It’s strange. There’s so much blood– and so little. There should be more– or there shouldn’t be any at all, but if the universe has to take someone like Ben out of this world, then at least it should have the decency to give him the kind of sendoff he would have gotten excited about. Instead it’s just there, a single pool, cracking and curling as it dries, interrupted by a few smears and a handful of bloody paw prints.

She feels queasy again, but there’s nothing left in her to throw up, and so she looks harder. Once she gets over the initial wrongness, a new kind of wrongness sets in.

Because she remembers what happened to that poor rabbit that ran into Juno in the sewer. She found traces of blood everywhere– on the walls, on the ceiling. This is too clean. Even if Ben had died in one bite, it would still be too clean.

She turns on the flashlight of her comms and looks again, and this time she spots what she missed before: the dust on the stairs looks strange, wiped away in patterns that are too unsteady to be deliberate. On the edge of one step, two thirds of the way down, there’s a small splash of blood.

And the puzzle pieces click into place.

Ben running, going through the door– maybe he didn’t even realize it led to a flight of stairs– and then he fell. He hit his– with all that blood, it must have been his head. That’s where he landed. That’s where Juno circled him once, as a wolf, and then… laid down next to him?

God, Juno.

The human footprints leading up the stairs are incomplete, the blood clinging to the soles already half-dried.

But that can’t be right. Because Ben was obviously running from something, and so fast that he didn’t bother to look where he was going. What, though?

She climbs the stairs again, looking more closely at the footprints. There’s her trail, going to the basement and back and back again. There’s Juno, with the holes in his sole where he used his shoes to climb over razor wire. There’s Juno’s paw prints. And there’s Ben, running to the stairs and doubling back before–

No. Wait.

The footprints are the same size, the same brand, but they’re different. One of them has the tread mostly worn off the sole, while the other looks fairly new.

The worn shoes only go one way. The newer ones make it as far as the basement, then back up to the wall and go back the way they came.

Ben was chased.

And Sasha knows who did it.

Sasha climbs in through Juno’s window, her feet bare to avoid making a sound on the cheap linoleum. There’s no need to be so careful, though. Sarah Steel is passed out over the kitchen table, an overturned bottle of scotch in her hand, her dust-stained shoes still on her feet.

She leaves her there.

The important part is letting Juno know what really happened. It’s up to him to decide what to do with her.

#ingridlake #the penumbra podcast #writing prompts #fanfiction #in which I demonstrate why Dark Matters snapped up Sasha at the first opportunity

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emmamiri8 · 5 years

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Things to be Noted While Applying for a Job

The pursuit of employment in Dubai is no stroll in the recreation center; in reality, it's likely more awful than getting your UAE driving permit. You likewise get the chance to hear expressions like 'terrible market', 'no hiring season' or even 'recession' now and again—and keeping in mind that there may be some fact to it—not all expectation is lost!

When you're finished updating your resume, sifting through occupation sheets and simply wallowing in self-centeredness, include these seven must-get things done in your pursuit of employment agenda.

1. Make your resume or CV stand out from the crowd

A conventional resume with worn-out expressions like 'fantastic cooperative person' and 'solid hierarchical aptitudes' would have cut it had it been 2000. It's 2017, and your resume should likewise grow up. Redo it with each application that you submit. Make it all the more interesting, include a few hues, give numbers any place required—just by and large zest it up. Do likewise with your introductory letter, don't Ctrl C, Ctrl V the equivalent review in each email you send, redo it with the position you're applying for. Like the kind people on Twitter say, and we agree, in the event that you haven't altered your introductory letter with each application, have you connected AT ALL?

In the event that you need to make things all the more interesting, go for a video continue. That offers a chance to the business to measure your character, certainty and relational abilities even before they've met you, in this way giving you an edge among many different contenders vying for a similar position.

2. Try not to get smug with the thought of time

A month or two will fly by in simply finding your foot in a remote land, let alone in looking for a vocation. It's profoundly fitting to take a three-month visit visa in case you're just starting out at this point. The key is to begin the quest for new employment a month or two before your date of shifting. I got my first interview following one and a half month of landing here. And keeping in mind that few out of every odd experience is the equivalent, the story is pretty much well-known, if not more regrettable, for everybody.

On the off chance that your mate is as of now working here, we'd suggest you take a needy visa very quickly. That makes you a worker that can begin working ASAP—something that is constantly favored over representatives who have long see periods.

3. Never let go of any chance and apply away to the magnificence

On the off chance that there is one exercise we would all be able to detract from Donald Trump, it's that anybody can land the position. Your work understanding and capabilities will take you ahead a lot, concurred, yet a tad of karma is constantly involved when landing a vocation. Search through each occupation entrance dynamic in Dubai, scour all the outsider places of work and apply to every last one of them even remotely identified with your field. It might appear to be dreary from the outset, yet registering on occupation entryways gives you a decent push in starting your quest for your fantasy work. Not exclusively it's an incredible method to get some insight on the current hiring pattern yet additionally to comprehend if there is any interest for your particular arrangement of aptitudes.

A portion of the proposals as far as reaction, work cautions, prevalence and application tracking are—Internsme (truly, they have listings for both full-time and temp occupations), Bayt (an incredible method to apply at home-developed brands), Gulf Talent, Monster Gulf, Naukri Gulf, Indeed.ae and even Dubizzle among others. You can likewise enlist in one of these recruitment agencies of Dubai that continuously update their employments and go about as your very own talent scout—HR Source, Charterhouse Consultancy, TASC Outsourcing, HAYS UAE, Nadia recruitment organization, MCG and partners, Randstand MENA and Jivaro Search.

Aside from that, make LinkedIn your go-to web-based life networking webpage—to the point that when you get up in the morning, the principal thing you beware of your telephone isn't Facebook, Twitter or Instagram, yet LinkedIn! Utilize the stage to make a solid profile, and continue updating it as and when you get familiar with another ability. LinkedIn enables you to join your portfolio, work, and your CV legitimately in your profile, in this way making it the most exhaustive activity hunting and networking site there is. You can utilize its PULSE blog to expound on things you're genuinely interested inexpertly or innovatively. These reviews consequently appear on your profile that solitary further improves your page.

4. Knowing Arabic is profoundly alluring in the present market

All things considered, this is as evident as it can get. Knowing the language of the land you're on is constantly an additional bit of leeway. I can wager my life if there are two up-and-comers with comparable qualities and ranges of abilities, the person who realizes Arabic will be contracted in the end. Give yourself that edge and begin learning the language immediately.

5. Skirt the go-betweens business and straightforwardly associate with the supervisor

The odds of getting an answer again from the individual in-control is in every case a lot higher than getting one from the HR. Which kind of bodes well, since let's be honest, an HR gets some 20-50, or presumably much more, CVs every day—I mean they're truly swarmed in resumes, what makes you think they'll answer back to your messages explicitly? Try not to misunderstand us, some of them even do that, yet they are rare. And keeping in mind that we are busy, you should likewise figure out how to find some hidden meaning. For instance, if HR answers to you saying, 'We'll hit you up,' they are clearly not going to hit you up, senseless. Or on the other hand when they state, 'the concerned individual is on leave. Will get back to you once he will be,' he's correct they are giving this mandate and you can doubtlessly kiss the activity farewell.

Having said that, you do have nothing to lose so should simply take care of business, draft a decent introductory letter and send that email to the specialist straightforwardly.

6. The system, system, and system

Individual references go far in securing an occupation in Dubai. In the event that you have a companion here working in a similar field whom you haven't addressed in quite a while, it's a great opportunity to be indecent, pick that telephone and approach them for some help. Get reacquainted, take them out and interact, who knows the great word they'll place in their organization for you may very well enable you to find a new line of work.

On the other hand, make proficient contacts through LinkedIn, approach each significant character in your field with a well-considered message. Chances are 9 out of multiple times they won't pay regard to your message, however, regardless of whether there is one percent shot of you coming under the radar of a business, we'd suggest you dive in. Continuously keep your eyes and ears open and observe all the expert networking meet-ups happening around you. Be that as it may, we've to caution you, in the event that you think finding and securing an invitation for these meet-ups is intense, holding your very own in the gatherings is harder. There will be individuals in gatherings likeness Mean Girls who'll quietly give you the 'you can't sit with us' vibes; you've to build up a tough skin to manage them. In spite of the fact that things are not as highly contrasting and you will likewise acknowledge with each new interaction that there are great individuals out there who genuinely need to help other people. Keep them close.

7. Try not to surrender

There are a few people who are scouted from an outside spot, there are rare sorts of people who land the position within their initial three months of landing in Dubai. Some of them get an open door following six to eight months but there are other people who take a year or two to land the position they need. The point is, everybody has an alternate story to tell, no two encounters are the same, so there is no measuring stick with which you measure the normal time taken to find a new line of work. This appears as though something that is more difficult than one might expect—yet you should be quiet and determined enough to not surrender this burdensome procedure of occupation hunting. Have confidence in yourself and remain positive, there is a vocation for you that is simply waiting for the correct minute to occur.

Employment agencies in UAE, Recruitment agencies in UAE, Recruitment agencies in Dubai

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naomi-l-tiessen-blog · 7 years

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Tips on Breaking Out of Your Writing Hiatus

Helllllooooo everybody ~

Happy Thursday Blogday!

Well, we’ve all been there. We didn’t mean for it to happen, but it just…did.

We stopped writing.

Life got busy. I’ve never been a fantastic multi-tasker, and back in the summer of 2016, it seemed like suddenly everything was happening at once. I was playing roller derby, and had practice 3 times a week. I was still working full-time at the hospital. And on top of it all, I was in the process of moving to a different city, soooo packing, packing, packing. As much as I didn’t want it to, writing sort of went onto the backburner, and then it slipped off completely. And I let it. I didn’t even think twice about letting it not be a priority. One week became one month, then two months, then three months, and then I stopped counting.

So, when the time came that I finally decided to pick up the pieces of my nearly finished manuscript, I was sort of at a loss of what to do. I had stopped in the middle of a chapter (ouch), and said chapter was a heavy duty one (double ouch). I had no clue what to do. I knew that I had overcome the hardest part by accepting the fact that I had screwed up, but somehow, it didn’t seem as simple as sitting down and writing again. In truth, I didn’t feel worthy to write. I almost felt like I needed to confess my sins, plead for forgiveness from my abandoned novel baby, and join a Seven Steps Program or something.

All this sound familiar?

I have done a good chunk of research, and have come up with ten useful tips on how to overcome the mountain that is known as Hiatus. Some of these may work for you, and some of them may make you cringe so hard it looks like you’re seizing. But whether all of them apply to you or not, they are still little gems to put in your writer bank!

1) So, first and foremost, allow yourself that pity party your brain is begging you to have. Eat junk food, wallow in guilt, maybe cry a little (ahem *points to self* moi), and procrastinate a bit more. Get it out of your system. And then, when you are finally ready to face the music (…manuscript?), move on. I know, I know, weird tip right? “But Scarlette, everyone else tells me to stop beating myself up immediately!” Ooook. Well, you’re going to feel guilty regardless of whether I tell you to or not. So let’s all just be real about this. You’re a human being. You feel things. You’re going to feel guilty about abandoning your baby and letting it collect dust. You’re going to want to beat yourself up about it. Use that to push yourself forward. Do it. Do ittttt. And then carry on.

2) Start slow. Maybe do some writing challenges or exercises. Do a writing prompt or two...whatever it takes to get the brain juices flowing (ugh...that sounds nasty). For me, I went back momentarily to fanfiction. Writing fanfiction was my safety blanket for a long time, and it felt nice to be on familiar ground while I more or less tried to un-rust myself. And really, much to my relief, it didn’t take long to get my groove and confidence back. One thing to keep in mind is that it's not a race; you need to figure out what works best for you to get back in the swing of things. It may take a couple writing prompts, or it might take an entire fanfiction. Go at a pace that is good for you. Your novel baby knows you are working hard. It’s not going anywhere. It’ll be there when you are ready. It’s not a race. Unless you have an epic deadline….then this is super awkward…may I refer you to my previous blog regarding motivation?

3) Do research. And by research, I mean reading. A lot of it. And I don't know about you, but sometimes when I'm reading, I'll find myself thinking, "Well fuck, I could've written this better." Yes. Hell yes. Use that. DO THAT. GET WRITING.

4) Once you are actively writing, allow yourself to get into the groove, and don’t stop. Unless you desperately need a pee break, sustenance in the form of snacks and liquids, or it’s a family emergency, don’t stop. Whether it’s for a page, or thirty minutes, or 500 words, or an entire chapter/scene, write your little cynical, introverted heart out. You’re going to force that groove out of its hiding place, the stubborn bastard.

5) Set a concrete, measurable goal. “Write.” is not gonna cut it, trust me. I’ve done it before where I’ll get home after work, look at my Honey-Do List and see WRITE in big, aggressively bold letters staring back at me. I’ll then toss the list aside, grab my video game controller, and say, “Well, technically I wrote all day. Charting on patients counts as writing, right?” No, no it doesn’t. Give yourself something to work towards, such as a word count, page number, or set a timer and tell yourself that you’ll write for the next hour without stopping.

6) Don’t edit as you go. For the love of God, don’t edit as you go. Accept the fact that you are going to be rusty, and move on. Right now, all that’s important is getting words out of your noggin and onto paper. Save the editing for later. That’s what drafts (and drafts, and drafts) are for. The minute you start analyzing what you are writing, you’re going to only focus on how awkward and rough things are sounding, and you’ll lose your gumption to push forward. Instead of thinking, “Writing, writing, writing,” you’ll be thinking, “Shitty, shitty, shitty. Oh God, make it stop.” No. Bad. Don’t do that.

7) Accept the fact that your writing style has most likely changed. It's going to be almost comical re-reading and editing my first draft of HBE, considering I started writing it in 2014 and have grown so much since then. And by comical I mean I'm going to cry. A lot. But that’s the harsh truth of going on hiatus in the middle of a project. Things are bound to change. You aren’t the same writer you once were when you first started. Maybe this change is for the better, or maybe it’s for the worst. But guess what? You won’t actually know the answer unless you START FRICKEN WRITING.

8) Maybe start somewhere you were once really excited about. Now, I don't normally recommend this...I’m a fan of writing in chronological order, but if you are stuck on a killer scene and are dreading going back to it, especially now that you are feeling a bit out of touch with your writer side, maybe start somewhere a bit lighter, easier. Maybe there’s a scene you’ve been dying to get to, and you know that you could totally make that scene your bitch. If the only reason why you haven’t already pounced all over that scene is because of a fear of breaking out of chronological order, then you’re being stubborn and silly. Come on. Try it. Give in to my suave charm and give it a shot. It could be a confidence booster! And then, when you are feeling ready, go back to that killer scene and kick its butt.

9) Build up your habit/restart your ritual. Some people throw dance parties right before they get to writing. Some people like to read right before they dive into their own work as a way to be inspired. I personally like to clean my entire house about 15 times before I finally decide to sit down and write (DO NOT RECOMMEND). What was your previous ritual? Did it work for you? If it didn’t, switch it up! Instead of waiting until nighttime to write, perhaps get to work in the morning when your mind and body are refreshed and not weighed down and jaded by the day yet. Maybe try location writing. I know, I know, the idea of getting out of the house might seem awful and panic-attack inducing, but it might help stimulate your brain juices (ugh…said it again), and inspire you. Find a quiet little coffee shop, or hunker down in the corner of a book store. Get your favorite coffee/tea/cleverly disguised alcoholic beverage (no judgement), and write until closing time. Find a ritual that works for you, and perform it until it becomes a habit. Think of it as your bedtime routine. The moment you start doing this ritual, whether it’s brushing your teeth, washing your face, or putting on your PJ’s (this doesn’t work for me, considering I wear my PJ’s all day), something triggers in your brain, telling it, “Hey, it’s time for bed! Hooray!” The same will happen with your writing routine. The minute you initiate the writing ritual, your brain is going to register what is happening and jump into Writer Mode.

10) Revamp that outline. It's going to help remind you of all the hard work you’ve already put into your manuscript, how far you’ve come, and the fun things to come. Set aside some time to laze out on the couch with a glass of wine, and read your outline from start to finish. Not gonna lie, chances are it’s going to make you cringe a little *once again, pointing to self*. You might find plot holes, or god-awful ideas that sounded so good at the time but what the hell were you thinking? Were you wondering why I mentioned an alcoholic beverage earlier? This is why. You need to sift through all the bullshit and find the reasons why you fell in love with your novel baby in the first place. Get excited all over again. Review it, revise it, love it.

Bonus Tip: When you are done writing for the day and about to pack it in, set yourself up for success. Organize and prepare for your next writing adventure so that it isn't like pulling teeth when you attempt to convert brain vomit into word vomit. Personally, I like to stop in the middle of a sentence. I might know how I want that sentence to end right then and there, but I save it for the next day. So, when I open up my manuscript and see that half-done sentence just begging to be finished, I can easily do it. BAM! First sentence done. Piece of cake. I’M ON FIRE! Now onto the next one. It's a bit of a mind game, I know, but it's also a confidence booster for me.

And that’s it! See, jumping back into that novel doesn’t seem so terrifying now, does it? And keep in mind to take these with a grain of salt; some of these will work for you, and some of them won’t. Everyone is a unique, delicate flower, and not every drop of water from the watering can is going to make its mark on you. God. Cheese please. It sounded so much better in my head.

With that said, I post new blogs every Thursday, and if there is anything you’d like me to discuss, feel free to message me on here, or tweet me @ @ScarletteStone

Until next time, my beautiful, delicate flowers:

Happy writing!

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1890ish-foursquare · 5 years

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The Initial Journey

I grew up about a half block from Lucy, our new-to-us American Foursquare with Queen Anne Influence. I knew the man who owned the home, but couldn’t pick him out of a crowd. I’d ride my bike past the house, my already-inatuated-with-old-homes little 8 year old eyes ogling at the size, the expansive front porch, the sheer perfection of the landscaping, not a paint flake in sight. I remember being reminded of the Victorian homes in Disney’s Lady and the Tramp, and thinking it’d be right at home on Lady’s block, its stately form holding its own against the massive Italianates and delicate Eastlake Victorians.

Gib Martin owned the home, and had for a long time, from what I understood. More on him after I can gather more history from his daughters (who are ecstatic we’re rescuing her and bringing her into the 21st century). He was friends with my grandfather and they hunted together. He was married to my cousin’s grandma, so I only knew the home truly as “Grandma Mary’s House.” She’d come up in passing with chats with my cousin, I knew my cousin cleaned her house, but until December 2018, that’s where my knowledge ended.

“Gib should give me his house,” I started telling my mom, beginning my habitual needling over a thing I wanted. We’d just moved back to town after selling our first home in the Chicago Suburbs, and were looking at everything that didn’t work. Eventually the idea faded as we settled into our little 1940′s bungalow we’d inhabit for nearly 6 years, two of which were spent searching for something bigger.

March 2017 Kyle finally relented and allowed me to contact a realtor. Our second child was 6 months old and it was becoming apparent (to me, not so much him) that our house was becoming too small. We started our search with a massive 4,000 square foot behemoth inhabited by a hoarder. I begged Kyle to let me offer on a house $30,000 over our max pricepoint while he was out of the country (it sold before I had a chance to submit a laughably low bid, saving me from some certain embarrassment). Another 4,000 square foot mess on the outskirts of town. A beautiful brick foursquare with the most amazing woodwork and leaded glass windows I’d ever seen that was simply too small. Finally in November we had an offer accepted on a large brick foursquare with beautiful woodwork, massive front porch and incredible enclosed back porch, and palatial finished attic and we listed our little bungalow. We were never sold on the location of the home, and because of this, listed our house for much more than it was worth. We weren’t willing to pay a dollar more for the home than we absolutely had to, and knowing we didn’t HAVE to move, we had that at our advantage.

While we waited for our house to sell, I always had “Gib’s House” in the back of my mind. I’d never so much as set foot inside it, but being an old house nerd, I can tell the layout of an old house just by studying the outside. As there was a family connection I always thought it was within the realm of possibility, but maybe it was immaculate inside and they’d need a ton of money for it. After all, I’d always heard stories about how meticulous Gib was.

Finally one day my aunt gave me Gib’s daughter’s phone number, telling me she’d mentioned to her Gib needed to downsize. Mustering all the courage I could I drove to the Wal Mart parking lot in January to get away from screaming background children, and left her a voicemail. She called me back that afternoon.

She was shocked anyone would be interested in a big, old house that hadn’t been updated since the 60′s. “The kitchen is all avocado green,” she told me. “The entire house has wool carpeting, including the kitchen and the bathroom. But it’s an amazing home. The way the morning light comes in the round window in the staircase is something to behold,” she said. “It’s five bedrooms, a bath and a half. No shower.”

“But what is that glassed-in area on the second floor above the screened porch? It kills me,” I asked, hoping she’d tell me it was the sleeping porch I’d pined for since the summer nights I spent on a friends’ similar porch.

“Oh, that. It’s a porch. It’s got a real skinny, funny door through a hall closet. It hasn’t been really used or opened up in years.”

I was taken. We wanted a four bedroom house plus office, or a five bedroom house. I knew that unless all of the original character had been removed from the house I’d be in love with it. But, I admitted, we were contractually obligated to another house unless ours never sells and the contingency expires. Her dad knew it was time to move out; he and his elderly wife couldn’t keep the house the way they’d always wanted anymore, and needed to downsize. Cherie said she’d try to find out what his plan was and keep me updated, and I’d do the same.

And that’s when I really started hoping our contract would fall through.

Being listed far too high, our house sat until March, a year after our search began, when our realtor called and said our brick foursquare had received a competing offer that, unless we were able to remove our sale contingency, the sellers would like to accept. And that was that. We let it go.

In the time since I’d spoken with Cherie about Gib’s house, Gib had moved into a Veteran’s Retirement Home and his health had taken a turn for the worse. Cherie and Gib’s wife, Mary, didn’t speak, so Cherie had no more say in what would happen to the house, and wasn’t privy to Gib’s will, so had no idea how anything would play out should the worst happen to Gib. So that was that. I let that one go, too.

Our home continued to sit on the market while we combed real estate listings until the listing expired and we mostly gave up in August. We decided to relax a bit, but the real estate combing continued.

Gib passed away June 1st, and Cherie told me the home was to ultimately be sold, but she wasn’t in charge of the sale. So the final nail in the coffin was hammered in. I tried my best to move on, but still I thought about Gib’s house, knowing his 92 year old widow was still living there, knowing her laundry was in the basement and her bedroom upstairs, and just thinking if only I could wait it out, she’s got to downsize eventually.

The real estate listings were grim and new things were slow to be added. I decided I really wasn’t scared of anything so, why not? I had postcards printed with a statement on the back about our long, fruitless home search and our love of old Princeton homes and Princeton at large, and I made lists of addresses of homes I liked and planned to drop them in mailboxes. For some reason, while I wasn’t nervous to give them to anyone else, I was terrified of the thought of putting one in the mailbox of “Mary’s house.” But it was still my first address on my list.

I guess I just sat on them for a while because I only ended up giving out two of them, and life continued on, I was busy with the kids and quilting projects, and time marched on. But still I’d needle my mom to get information out of my cousin. “Mary should give me her house,” I’d remind her. “You should ask Maura what Mary’s plan is.” We’d go to her restaurant for lunch, and finally one day I asked her. “That’s a great house,” she told me. “You could move into that house and not do a thing.” (considering how I’ve spent the last week this will end up being the most hilarious statement of the entire journey). But nothing else came of it.

Until finally, in November 2018, I had my mom draft a long text to send to my cousin, telling her how much trouble we were having finding a house that would fit our needs and if her grandma was considering downsizing we’d love to consider it. “It would be a great house for Catherine and Kyle,” she responded. “I’ll mention it to my grandma. She does need something smaller.”

I mostly forgot about the text as time continued on, but the day after Thanksgiving as we were pulling up outside another iconic home (the legendary home from A Christmas Story in Cleveland, Ohio, a place I’d wanted to visit for years), I received a text from my cousin: “Hi. I talked to my grandma last night and let her know you were interested in her house. She was happy about that. If I were you I would go to my mom’s store some afternoon and talk to her in person. She goes there every day but Monday.”

The rest, as they say, is history. I knew it was my house the moment we stepped into the little vestibule inside the foyer. And here we are, day 4 of owning “Lucy,” the name my daughter gave the house when we realized we could no longer call it “Mary’s house.”

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relatewithrelations · 6 years

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Week 1 Journal Entry 6/17-6/23

My first week at my internship was more of a transitioning period for not only myself but also the people that I'll be working with. This company is really just the two brothers I work side by side with every day, Pablo and Nacho. I think the idea of bringing in a new member for them was a little daunting as they have to teach me everything they know but at an accelerated rate. This is only made more difficult by the fact that Nacho can't speak very much English and Pablo's English, while proficient, sometimes falters with the technical business jargon. The first few days were the most difficult as I hadn't truly adjusted to hearing Spanish all the time so I was processing most information in English. After the second day or so though I was able to comprehend better because I was better acclimated to constantly thinking in Spanish. I was also able to communicate better because sometimes language is like a switch for me, it takes a second to jumpstart it but once I do I can process a lot quicker. I think the biggest struggle of the language barrier wasn't actually the barrier itself, it was how mentally exhausting it can be to sit and translate all day. My main task over the next few months is to help streamline the company so they can enter the UK and American market and to do that I have to take everything that Pablo pitches and teaches me in Spanish and transfer it to English that is easy to understand. This isn't very hard in theory, but I didn't realize the mental drainage it takes to listen to an hour and a half pitch, translate it in my head, understand it in my head, and then take cohesive and understandable notes that in a few months I will be able to use and do the same thing in English.

My main project for my first week was helping our outbound sale strategies while Pablo focused on inbound work. That involved building a landing page for our new AdWords campaign that should be launching the 25th/26th. It has been a very interesting process because I've never done something like this before. I started the process with doing research on what makes a good landing page, how they function, different design options and the pros/cons. From there I sketched out a layout that I felt would be most effective with vague general points that I could ask about to get more specific answers. After getting the initial approval and information from Pablo, I continued on in designing the website itself. I was able to find a website that made the process a bit easier because it was a drag and drop process vs coding (which I haven't done since my freshman year of university when I was still a BME major). After finishing the draft, I went to Pablo once more, made some fixes, and got the final approval. From this final approval I then had to translate my now English landing page to a Spanish landing page. This part of the process was a bit more difficult just because I don't know a lot of the technical terms for things. The irony of it is that this following semester I am taking Spanish for Business, which would be very helpful right now. After translating it to Spanish and getting it fixed (extensively) by Pablo the site was complete. From there I had to research how AdWords works on Google, efficient ad styles, how to create profitable ads, etc. I now have 3 drafts of ads with corresponding keywords. For me this project was fascinating, but not very challenging. I enjoy this type of work because I am able to be creative and also work within my own time. I think the most difficult part of this process was actually for Pablo. I believe in his mind this project was going to take me about 2 weeks or so to finish, but it took me about 3 days. What I've come to find in Spain is that work is not very efficient. There's lots of breaks and dull time of not doing anything. Not only is this very strange coming from the US where we are known to "work through lunch", but personally I'm a very efficient person. I. rather work really hard for 3 hours and be done then work inefficiently for 6 hours, it is hard for me to process getting to work at 9am, taking a coffee break at 10:30 until 11, having a two hour lunch from 1-3, then leaving work at 6. Because of this difference in society, I spent a lot of time idle my first week.

Despite all of this I think the biggest challenge I have faced so hard is the difference in the definition of professionalism in Spain. Now part of this difference is because this a tech company so they follow different rules from a "normal" corporate scheme. My three biggest struggles have been:

greetings

speech

dress

To start with greetings, everyone in Spain greets each other with two cheeks. This was an adjustment in it of itself, but I didn't think that practice would transfer to the business world. But it does. I find it highly unprofessional that I greeted my boss and new business meetings with kisses. It didn't seem the proper place for me, but it is extremely common here and it's also considered extremely rude not to. On a few occasions my boss would have to give me a little push to remind me of the practice when I would instinctively stick my hand out. Next was the speech here during business meetings or encounters. In the USA meetings are very formal and require proper jargon and proper speech. I mean there's people that are actually paid to just teach business's how to speak properly during a pitch. Here everything is very laid back. It would not be uncommon for someone to swear or use slang. When I first heard this I was a little taken aback at how informal everything was. In Spanish there is the tu form which is very informal and the usted form which is more formal. Every meeting is discussed in the tu form as if everyone has been friends for ages and not discussing 100000$ deals. Finally is the dress code and how informal it is in as opposed to the usa. So I believe there's 2 main causes of this, first being this is a tech company on the google campus so most things are informal dress wise; and the second being that it is almost 100 degrees every day here so I imagine it's difficult to dress super formally all the time. But my first few days here I was definitely one of the most dressed up person in my building, only really rivaled by the German company downstairs who I imagine have similar codes to the USA. But even then I'm not that dressed up, currently I'm wearing dress slacks, a dressy blouse, and flat sandals (I know scandalous) while Nacho sits besides me in jean shorts and a ragged t-shirt. It was a bit strange my first few days trying to define what was appropriate and what wasn't. I've pretty much defined I'll dress to the formals standards I would be expected of at home minus the things that might cause heat stroke. This would include a blazer, it's way to hot and sunny to be covered up; long sleeve shirts; tights, for the days I wear a dress or skirt I don't need to keep having to worrying about tears; makeup, I still wear some sometimes but I just sweat it off and feel gross and I work with 2 guys so they don't notice the difference anyway; and heels, I have a 30 minute walk to work every day and don't need to break and ankle in the process. Even with these "relaxed" rules I have created for myself I'm still far to formal for the workplace. But some habits die hard.

#weekly journal

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tanmath3-blog · 7 years

Text

I’m going to start this interview a little differently. This is the blurb for Andy Graham’s new book. Enjoy!!!

You’re eighteen. Bored. Dad’s away a lot. Says its business, but you’ve seen the lipstick stains. Mum’s home. Too much. Keeping the world gin market afloat on her own. There’s Ariel, the family maid. She’s cool. The one piece of this messed up world that makes sense. And then there’s Raph.

Raph’s the leader of your gang of two. He gets off on doing those things to the animals you both catch: the slicing, crushing, and maiming. Buried a few alive, too. His relationship with that hammer of his is sick.

You run with Raph because, well, nothing else to do out here, right? Except if your folks found out what you’ve been up to, there’d be hell.

Then you find it. Whatever it is.

It can’t be what you think it is. Those things don’t exist. But it’s staring at you. Asking for help. Is it dying? Can these things die? You need to do something for it. Raph wants to do something to it.

Time to choose. Do you run with the human devil you know, or take a chance on this thing that fell from the heavens?

An Angel Fallen is a tale of divine retribution from British author Andy Graham. On a day when the world is struggling to stay sane, and is being ravaged by biblical plagues, what price will two teenagers pay for their past?

Please welcome Andy Graham to Roadie Notes…….

1. How old were you when you first wrote your first story?

Mid-teens. It was a mash-up of LOTR and D&D, written in a red exercise book I’d nicked from school. I don’t know what happened to the original story (it may be gathering dust in a box at the back of my Mum’s loft), but some of those ideas resurfaced recently in some of my short stories, e.g. a spiral staircase that always turns left, whether you’re going up or down it. I then had a long break from writing when the teenage years (and hormones) kicked in. I wrote a lot of short stories when I was working as an EFL teacher, and even looked into publishing them, but didn’t start writing properly until a few years ago.

2. How many books have you written?

Three novels. One set of short stories. One novella.

The novels are my main work to date. The Lords of Misrule is a series of dystopian political thrillers set in an alternate world based on 21st Century EU/ US. They are dark, ambiguous, and the events are very, very possible. That is proving to be both their strength and weakness with readers. Some people like the ‘greyness’ and moral flexibility, others prefer their stories and characters more black and white.

My short stories and the novella explore the dark themes of human psyche in more detail than my longer works. Purely by nature of the stories being shorter, the nastiness is much more concentrated.

3. Anything you won’t write about?

Sparkly vampires with a heart of gold. It’s a crazy idea, it’ll never work. Apart from that, I haven’t found anything I won’t write about, yet. I think most subjects are fair game, it’s the way they are handled that’s important. G.R.R. Martin, for instance, tackles the theme of incest in ASOIAF, but doesn’t go into intimate detail (thankfully). I don’t want to deal with that particular topic, but if for some reason it came up in a story, would I go there? If it revulses me, would it revulse a reader? Is the ‘duty’ of a fiction author purely to entertain? If so, does provoking an emotional response count? I guess if it serves the plot, yes. If it’s there just to be cringe-worthy, then no.

4. Tell me about you. Age (if you don’t mind answering), married, kids, do you have another job etc…

I’m in my mid-forties (as a friend of mine pointed out – ‘over half-way’), married, and have two kids who are still at the wonderful age when they want to spend time with me, and I with them. My wife, fortunately, also still wants to spend time with me. I do various things outside writing: I play bass in a band, teach sports massage, and I am a qualified osteopath. It’s a little manic at times trying to keep up with all of these things, but I like the variety, and it gives me plenty of material to use in my stories.

5. What’s your favorite book you have written?

Ahhhhh. Pass… Not sure. The first proper novel I wrote (Franklin – The Lords of Misrule: Book 2) is probably my favourite story. I Died Yesterday (the titular short story from my compilation), is the one that haunts me most. An Angel Fallen (this novella) is the one I’m proudest of.

6. Who or what inspired you to write?

It’s always been something I wanted to do. Not entirely sure why. Maybe because I grew up in a house full of books, or because I was a shy kid, happier with words than people. As I mentioned before, it took me a long time before I actually started writing properly. Eventually, it was a case of just making time for something I’d really wanted to do. It’s something I’d encourage everyone to do – if you really want to do something, make time for it. Otherwise, it’s never going to happen.

7. What do you like to do for fun?

Make things up and write them down. Outside of that, I play my bass, run around with my kids, and go to the gym (though that’s more like therapy, to be honest).

8. Any traditions you do when you finish a book?

Drink. Wine. Beer. Slivovice. Then start writing the next book.

9. Where do you write? Quiet or music?

I write wherever I can. That’s one of the beauties of the job – you just need a keyboard and imagination. I’m happiest in my front room, sitting in an armchair. I can’t write with music on, it gets in the way of my plot (and spelling).

10. Anything you would change about your writing?

Yes! I seem to have an allergy to punctuation. I’d love to be able to clean that up, it would help the editing process in particular. I tended to get carried away with some of my descriptions in my earlier books. That has improved, I’m much more concise now.

11. What is your dream? Famous writer?

Revenge: to watch my kids struggling with their own children as I struggled with them. Otherwise: Fame? No, not too concerned. Money? Yes, being financially secure would be great. (Anyone who says money’s not important is either lying or loaded.) Success as an author would be fantastic. But, without wanting to be too pretentious, my main dream is for my kids to grow up happy and healthy in a world which is not full of people being such f*****s to each other. But, then, if we did live in such a world, I wouldn’t feel as inspired to write dark fiction.

12. Where do you live?

At the moment in Prague, but we’re in the process of moving to a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. Mixed feelings about it, to be honest. Prague’s a great place, we have good friends, the kids are happy, but the opportunity to ‘go native’ out in the sticks and get ready for the apocalypse is too good to miss.

13. Pets?

The kids have two budgies, initially called Bertik and Pirko. (The latter means ‘feather’ in Czech.) Through sheer bloody-minded persistence and repetition I’ve managed to get them renamed Bucket and Pivo. (The latter means ‘beer’ in Czech.)

14. What’s your favorite thing about writing?

Being judge, jury, and executioner. I get to control who lives and dies, who gets vengeance, and who gets what they got coming to them.

15. What is coming next for you?

I want to finish book four of my main series (The Lords of Misrule). I’m about a third of the way through the first draft. I’m finding it tough going at the moment because there’s so much else going on. I’d like that published by the end of the year. I also have a collection of short stories set in that world coming out in a few months’ time. Then, who knows? I have a few ideas knocking around to build on An Angel Fallen, also supernatural horrors, and similar in length. I have rough plans for a few supernatural thrillers, or I may dip my toes in Joe Abercrombie’s pond and go full, epic grimdark.

You can connect with Andy Graham here:

http://www.andygrahamauthor.com twitter – @andygraham2001 FB – andy graham author.

Some of Andy Graham’s books:

Getting personal with Andy Graham I'm going to start this interview a little differently. This is the blurb for Andy Graham's new book.

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