#Now. COULD THAT TRANSITION HAVE SAVED THEM?- /J | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wylanslcve · 1 year ago

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Something I don't see anyone speak about (if you have and I just haven't seen it... I'm sorry :( ) is how Wylan not only reclaims his identity by the duology's conclusion, but he also reclaims Marya's. I feel like we as a fandom overlook just how much J*n put Marya through in an attempt to erase Wylan from the public memory: he had her declared insane as a grounds for divorce and institutionalised her, leaving her "abandoned along with her defective child" in order to "forever rid himself of any evidence that Wylan had existed". This transcended to J*n not allowing Wylan to grieve his mother's 'death' because, as he put it, "it didn’t pay to dwell on the past" - and Wylan tells Jesper that J*n never brought Marya up after breaking the news of her finality to his son, confessing "we just stopped talking about her".

What we also need to remember is that the Van Eck mansion "had belonged to Wylan’s mother’s family for generations before Van Eck had ever set foot through the door". (Edit: I didn't mean to write that the mansion belonged to the Hendriks - it was part of the property under the Van Eck name. Sorry about that!) Just like how J*n separated Wylan from his mother, he simultaneously took so much from Marya - first her home, then her name, her fortune, her own child. This is why Marya was admitted as Marya Hendriks, not Marya Van Eck: this is J*n quite literally stripping her of her name to permanently erase her from the public memory. The nurse addresses Marya as "Miss Hendriks", to which Marya mutters "Van Eck" in response, because "she was not Marya Hendriks, she was Marya Van Eck, a wife and mother stripped of her name and her fortune." So why is it that Wylan says, "I am Marya Hendriks' son" if Marya Hendriks is the woman who's left after Marya Van Eck had her name and her life taken away from her? Because this is Wylan reclaiming his mother's identity.

If we examine the moment Wylan visits his mother at Saint Hilde, Marya's first words to him are "did you come for my money? I don’t have any money" to which Wylan replies that he doesn't have any money either. The money neither of them have comes to signify the lack of autonomy they have over their identities, which have spent so long confined by J*n's contempt as he gradually works towards making them vanish entirely. J*n tried desperately to erase Marya's memory as a means of gradually erasing Wylan's - however, Wylan is the only one who keeps his mother's memory alive, just like how Marya keeps her son's alive. Upon arriving in the Barrel, Wylan detaches himself from his father's name and, instead, uses his mother's maiden name. Yes, he's doing it to not draw attention to himself (because what would the child of one of the richest men in Ketterdam be doing in a place like the Barrel?), but he's also preserving Marya's memory, clinging to it like a lifeline without even realising it. In a way, it's saving him.

Before I go on any further, I'm taking a brief detour to discuss the transition in Wylan's motivations upon discovering what really happened to his mother (it's relevant, I promise). Wylan completely breaking down when he realises that his father is indeed evil is such a pivotal moment that marks a major transition in his motivations. Jesper comforts Wylan during his breakdown, assuring him that "Kaz is going to tear your father’s damn life apart" - a sentiment that "felt like cool water cascading over the hot, shameful feeling of helplessness he’d [Wylan] been carrying with him for so long". His continued contribution to the Dregs’ mission is no longer about making the money to “get out of town and never speak the name Van Eck again” - now, he's "here for her". Now, it's about punishing his father, saving Marya and returning all J*n took from her: “what am I doing here? But he knew the answer. Only he could see his father punished for what he’d done. Only he could see his mother free.” He realises that J*n's life falling apart means that, with his money, "he could take his mother from this place. They could go somewhere warm. He could put her in front of a piano, get her to play, take her somewhere full of bright colors and beautiful sounds. They could go to Novyi Zem. They could go anywhere." He could save her, liberate her from the confines of J*n's contempt - and only he can do it, because who else would?

Meanwhile, Marya clings to the memories of her child even though J*n took him away from her. While institutionalised, Marya would paint - and in her paintings, "repeated again and again, was the face of a little boy with ruddy curls and bright blue eyes". We know that J*n wanted Wylan to disappear "the way he’d made Wylan’s mother disappear" - what we don't know, however, is what J*n told Marya during the time she was institutionalised. Did he visit her after sending Wylan away, supposedly to study music in Belendt, to tell her that Wylan is dead? Did he ever visit her before then and tell her that her son is dead to expunge his memory from Marya? We can only speculate - but what we do know is that, regardless of whether or not she thinks he's dead, Marya is grieving the loss of her child.

Something that Wylan fears if the Dregs’ mission is unsuccessful is that he’s “going to die and there will be no one to help her. No one to even remember Marya Hendriks” - and the same could be said about Marya’s feelings of responsibility for preserving the spirit of her child. Amidst her grief is the strive to save him and his memory, because she’s really the only one who’s willing to remember him. At the asylum, her paintings are thrown out “every six months” because “there just isn’t enough space for them” - but that doesn’t stop her from continuing to paint the face of her child and, thus, remembering him, making sure he doesn't disappear. Wylan confesses to Jesper that his parents “fought all the time, sometimes about me”, revealing how Marya has always fought for Wylan - and her being institutionalised, having her paintings thrown out every so often, won’t put an end to her fighting for him. She's hellbent on ensuring he doesn't vanish, because there’s no one else who would. (Think of this in relation to the meaning behind “no mourners, no funerals” - if Wylan disappeared, “no one would come looking”, as is the case with the rest of the Crows.)

Now, let's examine how, by the end of the duology, Wylan not only liberates himself from the pain caused by his father's wrongdoings, but also saves his mother. He'd "chosen to use a portion of his newfound wealth to restore his home", exemplifying how inheriting his father's fortune represents him reclaiming his identity from the pain and abuse J*n's contempt inflicted upon him. However, I mentioned earlier that the Van Eck mansion didn't actually belong to the Van Ecks in the first place - it belonged to the Hendriks. (Edit: again, not the mansion, but part of the property under the Van Eck name.) Thus, Wylan's position by the end of Crooked Kingdom also comes to represent him reclaiming his mother's identity as he returns everything J*n took from her. By "restor[ing] his home", he's also restoring Marya's.

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girls-are-weird · 5 months ago

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MASTER LIST: One Fic for Each Fandom [A-I]

i've been working on this for months now, y'all, i'm so tired. Dx

many, soooo many years ago, i came up with the idea of recommending one fic, not necessarily the best or biggest or most popular fic, but definitely my ultimate favorite fic for every fandom i was in at the time or had been in at some point up to then. there are some fics i love so much that i go back to them periodically, maybe every couple of years, even if i'm not active in that fandom anymore. so i thought having a list of them somewhere i could easily find them was a pretty good idea.

narrator: she forgot where to "easily" find the list.

but i still liked the idea a lot, and i told myself when i found the list again, i would update it with fics for all the fandoms i've joined/read for since then. well, a couple of days as of the first drafting of this post, i finally found my original list on my old livejournal (christ, i'm old) and decided i would start on that update, but to post on my tumblr blog instead.

so here it is. they're not all romance, though most of these will include one or more of my favorite ships for their respective fandom (which you can find at my ships archive), even if it's just in the background. some of the fics are the same as i had in my original list, but some of them are not, simply because i've found fics i love even more since then. needless to say, most of those that were 'ported from my original list are quite old or written before canon was finished (the list is from 2006… please refrain from commenting if you weren't born back then, lol. i'm acutely aware that my early fandom life is basically ancient history to most of you). even some from more recent fandoms might be pretty old or non-canon-compliant, simply because i've been collecting fandoms since time immemorial. some might contain elements that would be considered problematic in this day and age. some might be unfinished. they're all special to me in some way.

some fandoms seem to have slipped through the cracks in the transition between FFN (where favorites and alerts are very organized but i always forgot to use them, and there's no read history) and AO3 (where subscriptions and history are unreliable and impossible to search through, and there's no way to see which fics you've left kudos on)-- srsly, how hard is it to just save everything in this age of big data? smdh. some of the links might not work, as you might imagine-- it'll take me some time to find new links, or to figure out if the fic is still even on the internet. if you've heard of these fics and know where they can be currently found, please let me know! because of that reason, i haven't listed ratings for every single one, though i've tried to add that in where i can find it. still, i hope this is helpful for someone, and i'm going to keep it pinned on my blog so i NEVER, EVER forget where it is again (and can regularly update it as i am sucked into more fandoms).

back in the day, i had hoped this format could catch on as a meme type of thing, so that other people could take it as a template and make their own fandom recs lists. so i'd love to see yours! be sure to tag me if you decide to do this. :)

[ FANDOMS A-I BELOW, J-Z HERE ]

THE ADVENTURES OF SHIRLEY HOLMES

the case of the mysterious man (and sequels!) by HA senidal / @ha-senidal (PG/T).

with newcomer blake hewitt joining her and bo, shirley investigates a stranger who might know something about the recently stolen mona lisa.

AA! MEGAMI-SAMA / OH! MY GODDESS

no mere mortal (and sequels!), by ed sharpe.

keiichi's cousin kenji comes to visit the temple for a week. what mischief will he get in with the three goddesses?

AGENT CARTER

renegades by inkdust / @ink-dust (M).

or, peggy & daniel against the world

the real world doesn't have a hollywood ending. in fact it doesn't even pause. but they're a team. a wonderful team.

post-finale.

ANNE WITH AN E

the secret of distance by lil_redhead / @royalcordelia (T).

anne and gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. courting across 1000 miles isn't easy, but they're more than willing to step up to the task. (a post s3 story).

ARTEMIS FOWL

endings and beginnings by novawastaken / @nova-fanart-dump (T).

begins right after the second to last chapter of the last guardian and continues on to the final chapter and beyond. spoilers for the last guardian! SPOILERS! no romance in here, but artemis/holly romance in the epilogue.

ATTACK ON TITAN

stress relief by pepin-bones (M).

soldiers lead stressful lives, which means they need ways to unwind and cope with the stress of what they see and what they do - sometimes in unconventional ways. but eren thinks it's ridiculous, or at least he did…

AVATAR: THE LAST AIRBENDER

annakpok by dariussobreitus (E).

a "stolen" wife amdist a world rebuilding after a century of war, a repentant fire nation trying to redeem its wrongs and earn good deeds. excuse for invasion or not, the wife who left the northern tribe chief will be reclaimed, even if the poles of the south, and the capital city of the southern tribe, annakpok, must melt.

an AU of the avatar series with events inspired by the movie troy and their versions of the illiad. there will be differences, in both characters and events, with emphasis on key characters, battles, war, strategy and hopefully some the nuance within.

while serving in similar roles to the illiad/troy counterparts, the avatar characters are very much themselves and not heavily influenced by the illiad characterizations.

BACCANO!

the successful wooing of chane laforet by splashfree (T).

“i’m in love with you, chane laforet,” he says. “and at the end of the day, that’s all there is to it.”

claire and chane go on a date. wackiness ensues.

BANANA FISH

fool for lesser things by snow_falls / @nightofviolet (E).

"he knew irrefutably that if eiji left he would take something fundamental to ash with him, and without that, what would be the point in living? he might as well have let Foxx finish him, if he was going to cop out now. no, sing was right, the little brat, what the fuck would be the point if he didn’t go with eiji? god, he was an idiot."

or the fix it fic we all need. the alternate ending i cherish in my heart of hearts.

BLEACH

next, home by inlay (T).

rukia was sitting in his room the first time he opened his eyes after. he does not know if this was a dream, or reality—remembers only that she looked very pale, and that there was a small, black hell butterfly perched on her finger. in this vision, she looked startlingly similar to the girl who used to crouch on his windowsill before school, shiny black shoes and black hair. he watched her for as long as his eyes could stay open, waiting for her to notice him and tell him what was happening. the battle hadn't felt like the deciding, dramatic finale he'd been subconsciously expecting, and he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

what next?

(or, sometimes it takes a couple lifetimes to learn the difference between a love and a soulmate)

THE BOOK THIEF

a changing of hands by antistar_e (kaikamahine) / @kaikamahine (T).

it happens like this, in a single fateful moment. a pilot sneezes, and the bombs, when they fall, are off-target. [AU].

CAPTAIN PLANET

heroes for earth (and sequels!) by stephensmat (T).

our world is in peril. the conscious soul of the earth is aware that since the error is ours, the power to stop the chaos must be ours as well. an updated retelling of the series pilot. an origin story based on the premise of the show.

CARD CAPTOR SAKURA

haikei (and its sequel, kitaku), by ciircee (PG/M).

when eriol left japan tomoyo promised to write. a history of time, in letters. ExT. part of third arc universe.

COWBOY BEBOP

tuesday's gone by neviana (M).

she always had a way of surprising him. everything from emptying her glock into the ceiling of the bebop when he left to the icy glare she gave him upon his return. though somehow, this stunt seemed to top them all … spikeXfaye.

DANCING WITH THE LION SERIES / ALEXANDER TRILOGY / ALEXANDER THE GREAT RPF

non frustra vixis by aramley, meretricula / @meretricula (NR).

in 2008, the previously all-women st. hilda's college at oxford began admitting men. in 2009, classics afficionado, rowing prodigy, and all-around posh bastard alexander macedon decided his new ambition was to join his best friend at hilda's and start a men's rowing dynasty.

DARK

face your fears by narrative_bear (T).

the inevitability of an event doesn’t necessarily make it any easier to experience. the recent birth of mikkel nielsen weighs heavily on michael kahnwald, who begins to withdraw from his family. in an effort to reconnect with his wife and son, michael decides to accompanies them to the nielsens’ where he is forced to confront his past.

DERRY GIRLS

maybe someday series by areseebee / @areseebee (T).

capturing moments when james and erin are growing up and growing together at 17, 19, and 27.

these fics all take place in the same timeline and build on the overall story in each part. while personal space can stand on its own, smoke break and someday are best enjoyed as companion pieces.

DIGIMON ADVENTURE

if you by chichamunkyhead.

sora poses as yama's girlfriend… sorato, takari, jyoumi, hint of kenyako. that's all of a summary you're getting!

DRAGON BALL/Z/GT

automatic flowers (and sequels!) by rayne.

running away was never the way of the son family and pan son learns this lesson the hard way as she returns home to face a problem she never could quite solve.

THE DRAGON PRINCE

a delicate arrangement by jelly / @jelzorz (M).

it’s not that it’s a bad idea. in all honesty, ezran thinks it’s a well thought-out, completely reasonable, perfectly sound idea that could solve a lot of his own problems, callum’s problems, and katolis’ problems, in one fell swoop - if it works, that is. it’s a little risky, he’ll admit, but it’s not the same as, say, running away from home at ten years old with his brother and a moonshadow elf assassin (whose mission was to kill him, mind) to return a dragon egg in the midst of a centuries-long war, and hey, they’d managed that all right. compared to that mess, politics should be easy, right?

right?

[or, the arranged marriage rayllum romantic drama no one asked for]

FINAL FANTASY VIII

new seed (and sequels!) by klepto_maniac0 / @klepto-maniac0 (E).

an accidental start to something not so innocent. how far can a relationship run on pure lust before it turns into something else? set in a time when things haven't gone downhill yet.

FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST (2003 ANIME)

he who searches for himself, by yuuki hikari / weatheringtea / @weatheringtea (M).

this story continues on fullmetal alchemist where episode 51 finished off. alternate ending to the series, not based on the movie. FMA gen!fic. characters and events up to 51 are included. the rating is for language and later violence.

GUNDAM WING

a toast to the bride and groom, by orla.

in this fic by orla, duo made the mistake of opening the floor for speeches at his wedding. see what everyone has to say.

HARRY POTTER

paradigm of uncertainty (and sequels!), by lori summers.

carla says: this fanfic series is the bible for any self-respected H/Hr shipper. lori's a wonderful storyteller. it is SO well-constructed.

HAVEN

aether or by callmehux (T).

paige came to haven for a new life. she didn't realize she was coming to find some old ones.

this takes place after the series finale and probably won't make sense unless you've seen the whole run of the TV show.

HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON

persephone by sunflowerb (M).

she was meant to be the price for peace; her life in exchange for the dragon master's mercy. her captor wasn't supposed to be a ghost from her past, and she wasn't supposed to become his ally…or his lover. and when news spreads of a blonde-haired girl at the dragon master's side, there will be repercussions for dragons and vikings alike.

THE HUNGER GAMES

lone star state of mine by jenye (M).

modern AU. there are three types of people in dawson, texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the mellarks. mellark ranch; largest cattle ranch south of dallas, employer of ranch hand, katniss everdeen, and home of the ohio state buckeyes' running back, peeta mellark. and peeta mellark is coming back home today.

INUYASHA

dressing wounds (and sequels!), by personification of fluff.

SM [completed] rated R for citrusy situations. when sango finds out how much miroku cares for her, it's the battle of the sexes! the prize? sango's heart, of course. fluff-filled chapters, and an attempt to break every cliche and fill each plothole!

[ FANDOMS J-Z HERE ]

#one fic for each fandom #cali loves fanfic #for future reference

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moyazaika · 4 months ago

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My birthday was on the 25th of July, but due to certain circumstances we couldn’t have a celebration with my family (both sides of my family). I had a small celebration with some family on my actual birthday and it was really nice, but we will be having another celebration on the 3rd of August, this time with both sides of my family and also with some family friends. It’ll be Spider-Man themed because I’m a sucker for him. I had wanted to do a “dress inspired by a marvel character” but I don’t think it’ll happen. I’ll save you a plate of cake and also some of the food served. A family friend will be cooking and he’s amazing.

Know for a fact that the moment some sort of lore of Red is dropped, I’ll be the happiest person on the planet. I’ll defend their actions with everything I’ve got, they’re my beloved and they have a special place in my heart. I just wanna get inside their head (and Valentine’s too) and just,,, learn. I kinda feel like the pathetic yan, maybe that’s why I like him so much. But,,, I just need to understand them. Or maybe just to learn more and more and slowly piece together all the information given. I love your characters, they’re probably the first ones who have me like this.

So, while I was reading the part about the scene bitches I actually snorted and almost choked on my drink. The same thing happened while rereading an ask an anon sent that said “It’s always 2 dumb bitches telling each other exactlyyy”. I’ll keep them in the small folder I have of things that make me laugh. There’s many amazing anons here and even if they may not know me, I love all of them.

My middle school self felt attacked by the “he would totally make a powerpoint presentation and it definitely has those stupid fucking star transitions that are so slow they take 3 entire seconds to get to the next slide.” I felt so cool adding transitions and animations and even those clapping sounds in the end, now I see why some classmates thought I was weird /j😭 Twinning with pathetic yan

My main language is considered a romantic language (Spanish), so I can’t really say much regarding the preference Europeans have for themselves. Latin Americans winning once again- Still, I love languages, I love learning, and so far I’ve seen so many amazing phrases and words that have me just frozen in place having to understand just how beautiful a word or a phrase can be. Languages can be such a beauty, I’m hopelessly devoted to them. Something I wanted to share: There’s this word in Nahuatl (native language in Mexico) which is “apapacho” that could be translated in English to cuddle. It means “to caress with the soul”. It’s one of my favorite words. And there’s also this phrase in Nahuatl which is “Mitztemoa noyollo” which could be translated to “My heart looks for you”, which as far as I’m aware could be used to say you miss someone.

I feel like I write too much, end acting like some sort of overexcited puppy. I just get too happy, can’t help it. I’m jumping from one topic to the other 😭 anyways, hope you have an amazing week, you deserve it. Remember to drink water, eat well, and all the stuff you’re supposed to know. Keep the hard work but remember to rest when you need it! And even sometimes when you don’t feel like you need it but you’re supposed to. You deserve nice things, hope life treats you very well. Also, been thinking about drawing once again but I don’t really know what to draw, so please do share some ideas or stuff.

- With love, ❤️‍🩹 anon.

BRO I /COMPLETELY/ MISSED THIS ASK HEART NONNIE BELOVED HELLO <333 always loveeeee hearing from uuuu 💗💗💗

i hope ur bday was the loveliest so far!! as well as your actual celebration. would have been a week since then, but nevertheless i hope u enjoyed yourself!! spider man themed oh yEAHH i remember we gushed over the spider verse movies around the time the second one was popular good times haha when the internet was obsessed with o’hara fuck i need that man carnally 😂🙏🏼

know that every time you mention my oc’s in an ask you send i am in love with the way u talk about them. it just feels so introspective and i can tell u put thought into what u say and it flatters me greatly bshshuhshushjsj

I REMEMBEE THE CLAPPING SOUNDS HAHSU back in the days we used to use microsoft powerpoint now everyone just wants to use google slides damn 💔💔 but the dissolve transition.. the star one… they will Never lose their charm that shit was fire

languages are so lovely!! ive always wanted to learn spanish purely bc i hear it’s relatively easy for english speakers apparently, but it sounds so different to anything i speak and conjugations and grammar rules fuck me up and i’m scared 😭😭

my heart. my heart What. my heart. MY HEART LOOKS FOR YOU. IM FLOORED GAGGED THATS SO GORGEOUS OH MY GOD. bro. bro don’t even i’m like 2 seconds away from downloading duolingo i need this in my daily vocab ❤️❤️😭😭😭 oh that’s actually so beautiful; LOTE expressions of love my beloved <3 it reminds me of farsi’s jiggaram which is like,,, technically my liver,,, but comes off more as a term of endearment for people reeeealllllyy dear to the speaker and the connotations when speakers use it to mean like,, a part of myself i can’t be without,,, T_T I LOVE LANGUAGES THEYRE SO BEAUTIFUL 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

hmmmmmmmmmm i’m super indecisive so the worst person to ask for conclusive ideas or advice but maybe try drawing some marvel character? i know you like the mcu, so that might be fun!!!

#take care of yourself baby!!#i’m glad you’re in a drawing mood #i love your art so much !!!!!!#hope ur having fun doing whatever ur doing rn <3 #ring ring #lovely anons

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the-haunted-office · 5 months ago

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For the portrayal meme! I was tired last night so sorry this is kinda later lol. It's hard for me to proper words to things sometimes. But I think the way you write is very fun! I know we haven't written long, but I think your muses are very lively and you do a good job of balancing the comedy and horror enough it can still be serious at times and silly in others without feeling too discordant or out of place.

I also think you manage to make your characters feel like people, who are imperfect and have flaws, from what I've read of them in our threads and on my dash. They are fun, and you give us ways to see the kind of people they are. You don't just say 'my character is verbose' you show it-- and i think it's very fun getting to understand the kind of person your character is just from seeing them in action and picking up the details!

If there was one thing I could think of, it's just that some minor tweaking to pacing could make your already good writing a tiny bit stronger! As an example, in our first thread with Thursday, I think the way she talked was great! It really showed Artair that who he was talking to was friendly and enthusiastic, without you having to say 'she's friendly and enthusiastic and chatty' or anything like that necessarily. It helped me understand a character i barely knew a bit better and endeared her to me. Honestly in my brain i was like 'oh sometimes i do that xD' seeing her response!

But i think having it be her talking a bunch, and then immediately transitioning to them moving on made it a bit wonky for me, because my muse wasn't given the chance to respond without it being back-tracking to reply. And that's not necessarily a bad thing! But my trouble with back-tracking is that if you have too much, then it almost.... morphs into characters having multiple conversations at the same time, but one is set further back in time, but they're overlapping each other? It just kinda gets messy in the timeline lol, which i used to be horrible about and the number of conversations would get huge and it'd be --- a real mess lol

So for me, I think it can be better to either leave the replies with the space to interact first before transitioning (maybe save the paragraphs of the transition to use, but next reply once there's been a chance for a reaction), or even hit up the other mun to see if it's a good place for a transition if I'm worried-- OR to lean into it as a character trait! Like having her talking but barreling ahead on purpose! I kind of adapted my response to be more like Thursday had said all she did and then kind of continued on in a vein similar to that, despite you mentioning her waiting, so it'd be more like Artair had to hurry after to keep up and didn't get time to respond, to keep it more in the present with the dialogue but still following the transition. I don't think there's anything wrong with a muse forcing a transition, it's just better if we play it like it's purposeful, or give the other muse a moment to react if we want it to be more of a mutual proceeding ahead. xD

Now I do want to say we only JUST started rping so it's not like it's even something I could call a trend at this point! It's just something that I worked around because-- -that's part of rp! keeping on your toes and working with stuff! it definitely wasn't anything bad, and certainly not enough trouble i had to reach out about anything, but in the spirit of trying to offer something constructive, i think that's the only thing I can think of! So far I'm really enjoying our rps and think they are very fun and your writing has a good energy that keeps me engaged and immersed. I'm excited to see more of Thursday and Doomsday and the kind of people they are and what they do, and learn about the world they're from in the meanwhile! ^^

Thank you for coming to my TED talk /j

Yooo, thank you for sending this! This is super detailed and helpful!

We have just started rping together and I'm already having lots of fun with our character dynamics and I'm enjoying your muses and writing and everything. So I really appreciate you sending this in to me!

Don't worry, you are absolutely not the first person who has pointed out this critique to me. Pacing in my threads is definitely something that's something I'm aiming to work on. I think it's become a difficulty for me because a lot of times I feel compelled to take the lead on threads. If I may be candid, and hopefully this doesn't come across the wrong way or offensive to anybody (certainly not to you because we just started rping together!), but a lot of people I've rped since I've started roleplaying on tumblr have a tendency to... I guess take the back seat when it comes to threads. That is to say, threads stagnate because their muses aren't doing anything, they are simply reacting to what my muse has said/done. So I always feel compelled to have my muse say/do something at the end of the thread to move things forward, and that causes that disjointedness and "moving things too quickly" that's happening. Does that make sense?

I will work on this for sure, especially since you are the second person who has brought up this same critique today alone. I sincerely appreciate that even though we're new at writing together, you have taken the time and courage to share your views with me. It is extremely helpful to me!

Regarding the compliments, thank you so much! Showing not telling is something I always wonder about in roleplay because I'm sitting here thinking, is my rp partner picking up on this or do I need to explain my muse's actions in text? I love writing, so sometimes I can send a whole book at you, but I have to try not to do that because I don't want to overwhelm my writing partners either. I'm really glad that my muse's actions and characterizations are shining through!

Also, I have to say, being candid again, and this might be a bit critical - but I hate "perfect" characters. It really bothers me when there's a character who can never do any wrong, or when people tailor their characters to be completely perfect and never make any mistakes in any situation ever, they always get along with everyone, they always have the "right" answer, they're stronger than everyone else, they're just perfect in every way. It just bugs me. And not just when it's roleplay muses, I'm talking about characters in any kind of media. Give me flaws! I need people to feel more real and for there to be ugliness and conflict! Not everything in roleplay has to go 100% smoothly, at least not for me. So yes, my muses WILL be stupid and erratic and make mistakes sometimes, and I will never be sorry for it. I'm always glad when people point out that they're flawed. :)

Again, thank you so much for sending this in. I sincerely appreciate it! 💞

#townofcadence #and i ended up writing you a book anyway xD

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happilestangi · 2 years ago

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Don’t look at them, they’re not there, let them be the dirt beneath your feet as you decide on the light and living in life and not their made-up lies to suit themselves whatever that is, oh right the dirt beneath my feet and I’m opening up the hole that takes them back to where they’re meant to be I took that giant lying snake and slipped him down into his abyss forever and now they all go low low low back to Hell from which they came back to the lower dimension their own hellscape they have fire in their future and they knew it when they made the choice in giving themselves to the endless darkness, this is the nature of things this is the real workings it’s just another transition and phase so don’t be worried and don’t be afraid, the ones who are born to be free in sight in the right workings in the light made up of all the colors all beings all the good and all that would decide on serving first before being served, forgiving first before being forgiven repenting before moving in the way of righteousness which they picked up on from ME,

yeah I told you how it could be and what do you do? You act like it’s already yours, when you don’t even feel it… yes you should’ve been ashamed how else can you repent or want to be forgiven and SAVED, you need to feel bad for what you did this is how life works, not what your mind thinks! Listen to the heart, yes even when it’s hard and taking you to places YOUR MIND doesn’t want to be since it hasn’t healed yet I guess or did you decide on something you shouldn’t have? Believed something you shouldn’t have? Yeah I shouldn’t have been so nice, to even give you the opportunity give me bad advice and to hurt me, I really shouldn’t have been that way, the way my mom made me to be, the way of loving people and helping them if I can!!!!!!! Regardless of where they’ve been what they’ve done because EVERYBODY CAN BE FORGIVEN and they can turn a new leaf and absorb light to grow into masterpieces of God’s creation, she was AMAZING

and the only problem she really had was being open to (lying) friends, like moths to a flame they wanted the same and they took it if they could and didn’t guide her in positive and correct directions they were too selfish to tell her the truth about herself and what she was doing or did or how she could do better and be better and no option was offered out of it, she entrusted these people but they didn’t deliver what she hoped they would by inviting them to her parties and being so giving and nice letting them see her art her house and children, she just thought life was supposed to be better and she took the risks to make it better and unfortunately people don’t see how special they were to be chosen by her and she wasn’t trying to project a delusion she was trying to be liked and for the love to lead the way to a possibly better future and Heaven on Earth was her goal, I’m sorry if you think it was her, sometimes a team can exploit their members or even the front runner

And yeah I’m realizing all these things and more, the revelations keep coming as I keep going in an upwards trajectory regardless of peoples complete disregard and ignorance for me, my mom and I made beautiful things, amazing pieces of art and writings and none of them have a real genuine recognition, no real support for the work we channel onto this currently dark world that desperately needs what we have to offer, we just kept getting bombarded by all these liars coming and going like buzzing and annoying flies, their intensely selfish desires taking over their lives and taking them down slowly but surely, trying to take us with them, all they really do is metamorphosis from maggots constantly eating and talking shit, they don’t grow into anything significant, their language is disturbing and their impoliteness is disgusting, I wonder why they think they’re so important? Self-fulfilling prophecies and DELUSIONS, all that comes out of them is exactly what they are made of (bullshit) I guess it’s just the numbers, the amount of them!

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meatcodistributor453 · 25 days ago

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Interactive Tool: Calculate Your Warehouse Savings with Drive-in Racking

Have you ever walked into your warehouse and thought, Is there a better way to manage this space? Warehousing costs can skyrocket if your storage isn’t optimized. That’s where drive-in racking comes into play—a game-changing storage solution that maximizes your warehouse space. And now, thanks to an innovative interactive tool, you can calculate just how much money this system could save you. Intrigued? Let’s dive in.

What is Drive-in Racking?

Imagine parking cars in a garage, bumper to bumper. That’s the concept behind drive-in racking. It’s a high-density storage system where forklifts drive directly into the racks to load or retrieve pallets.

Unlike traditional pallet racking systems, drive-in racking uses a last-in, first-out (LIFO) method, which works wonders for items with long shelf lives or large quantities of the same product. This system is perfect for warehouses that need to store bulky goods while keeping costs low and efficiency high.

Benefits of Drive-in Racking

Why should you consider drive-in racking? Let’s unpack the key benefits:

Maximizes Space Utilization With drive-in racking, you can store up to 75% more inventory in the same space compared to standard racking. Think of it as turning your warehouse into a Tetris game—every square foot is optimized.

Cost-Effectiveness By fitting more inventory in less space, you reduce the need for additional warehouse facilities. It’s like downsizing your living room but still hosting the same party—efficiency at its finest.

Streamlines Operations With fewer aisles and a simplified structure, forklift operators save time and effort, making the whole process smoother. Who doesn’t love a shortcut?

Why Use an Interactive Savings Tool?

Ever tried to budget without a calculator? It’s messy and inaccurate. That’s why an interactive tool is your secret weapon. It does the heavy lifting (pun intended) by calculating potential savings based on your warehouse’s specifics.

Projection Made Easy Enter a few details—like current storage systems, warehouse size, and inventory—and get instant insights into your potential cost reductions.

Better Decision-Making When you see the numbers clearly laid out, it’s easier to make informed choices. Wouldn’t you want to see how a small change can lead to massive savings?

Key Features of the Warehouse Savings Tool

Let’s talk about what makes this tool a must-have for any warehouse manager:

User-Friendly Interface No one has time for complicated software. This tool is intuitive and straightforward, so you can get results without a manual.

Real-Time Calculations Time is money, and this tool respects that. Get your savings projections instantly—no waiting, no hassle.

Detailed Insights It doesn’t just spit out numbers; it explains why and how you can save, breaking it down so even your grandma would get it.

How to Use the Tool Effectively

Ready to get started? Here’s a simple guide to make the most of this tool:

Gather Your Data Collect details like warehouse dimensions, current racking system, and average inventory turnover.

Input the Information Enter the data into the tool. Don’t worry—it’s as easy as filling out a shopping list.

Analyze the Results Review the savings projections and compare them with your current costs.

Plan Your Transition Use the insights to develop a strategy for implementing drive-in racking. Need help? Most tools include support or tutorials.

Real-Life Savings Examples

Want to see it in action? Let’s look at a hypothetical scenario:

Case Study: ABC Logistics Before switching to drive-in racking, ABC Logistics used a standard racking system, housing 500 pallets in 10,000 square feet. After implementing drive-in racking, they stored 750 pallets in the same space. This change saved them $50,000 annually in storage costs alone.

Your Turn What could your warehouse save? The tool is designed to help you find out.

Final Thoughts

Optimizing your warehouse isn’t just about saving space—it’s about saving money, time, and resources. Drive-in pallet racking is a proven solution, and the interactive savings tool takes the guesswork out of the equation.

So, what’s stopping you? Dive into the tool, crunch those numbers, and discover how much your warehouse can save. Your wallet will thank you!

Meatco Distributor

3265 Gateway Rd, Suite 350, Brookfield, WI

800–558–5104

#pallet racking #pallet challenge #milwaukee

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haveyoureadthistoo · 2 months ago

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My most read authors

Growing up, I loved answering questionnaires. Who’s your closest friend? What’s your best quality? If you could trade places with one person for a whole year, who would it be? I would answer fast and surely, regardless of how definitive the questions sounded. Cut to now, when I’m supposed to know myself better, and I can’t pick favourites to save my life. All that confidence was lost somewhere between discovering too much and figuring out I knew too little.

For a long time, I said Jane Austen was my favourite author. Then Jorge Amado and Ernest Hemingway threatened to take her place for a spell. In the past 10 years, Kurt Vonnegut has steadily gained a spot in my heart. The bottom line is, I don’t know.

Looking into Bookstats, I found out that, of all the authors I’ve read, only about a third were visited more than once, and sometimes just because I was reading a whole series. For instance, my most read author is Lemony Snicket, but just because I’ve read the whole “A Series of Unfortunate Events”, which in my mind counts as one, not thirteen, since it’s the same characters in a continuous story.

Following that logic, these would be my realistic top read authors:

AGATHA CHRISTIE

It all started with “And Then There Were None”, which was an excellent, if lucky choice to begin with. Very often that first book will determine your whole relationship with the author. That’s why I haven’t read as many Stephen King books, for instance. My first experience was bad and it took me years to try again. I also don’t like the way his books make me feel in general, but that’s another topic altogether.

Speaking of King, he and Christie both fall into that category of authors with impossibly high numbers of books published in their lifetime. Let’s call them high achievers. So, if you’re an avid reader, you’ll probably have at least one high achiever as part of your top read list, be them a favourite or not.

Agatha Christie is definitely one of the best, if not the best, crime novelists of all time and I can’t say I’ve ever found any fault with the carefully crafted investigative plots of her books. There is, however, the occasional racist, sexist or simply classist comment that makes you cringe - until you remember she lived in a racist, sexist and classist society, so it’s not surprising, even if it is enraging. Still, because those personal views can every now and then affect character construction as well, it makes her a reliable, but not always consistent choice, so I wouldn’t necessarily call her one of my all-time favourites.

HARUKI MURAKAMI

In my mid-20s, I was really focused on finding new voices. By new, I mean outside of my general bubble, which was basically Latin America and English-speaking countries. So when I picked up “Colourless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage” it did feel fresh in terms of story. Now that I’ve been in touch with other Japanese and Korean authors, I can’t help but look at Murakami more as a transitional option, as there’s a lot of Western influence on the way his novels are structured.

What really drew me to his books was the added magical, speculative element that permeated an otherwise mundane and very real character or setting. Maybe it’s the Pisces Moon to my Capricorn Sun, but that combination really works for me - when well done. A few books later, “1Q84” was such a disappointment that I still haven’t managed to like his other stuff as much as I liked those first novels I read. In fact, I started perceiving new flaws, or rather personal pet peeves in his style.

But alas, I don’t speak Japanese. Therefore I can only have access to translated versions, which makes it harder for me to be too decisive about my opinion. My partner loves his books, so I still pick up a new one occasionally, hoping to feel the way I did before. No luck so far.

ROALD DAHL

You know what? Roald Dahl, J. R. R. Tolkien, Walt Disney. Same energy. Grown man on the outside, creative children on the inside. And I’m all here for it.

I didn’t read any of Dahl’s books as a child, but I was obsessed with the Danny DeVito adaptation of “Matilda”, a common occurrence amongst bookworms, I’m sure. “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory” was also part of my childhood, but it was an older film, so I was much more into the Tim Burton version that came out later, when I was already in my teens. I would periodically gather sweets and randomly watch it for the millionth time.

In 2014, having had the opportunity to watch “Matilda - the Musical” in London, I came across the book in a charity shop the day after, just like magic! My expectations were so high. And, to my relief, I loved it. Since then, there have been many others and I’ve never rated any of them below 4 stars on Goodreads. Dahl just exhales strong chatty grandpa vibes and I find it magical.

NEIL GAIMAN

I’m not a crier. That’s just not how I operate. So when I read the preface of “Coraline” and cried my heart out, I knew I wasn't dealing with an ordinary guy. Mind you, I don’t usually rate his books 5 stars, but that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s not about perfect stories, it’s about talent. Some people are just born storytellers.

The eerie element has a special place in my heart, too. My dad died when I was little and my mom would always take me with her to visit his grave, so I feel very comfortable around the theme of death and can’t help looking at the cemetery as a peaceful setting. Every time an author approaches both death and cemeteries in a natural, whimsical way, I’m very pleased.

Gaiman also manages to reach a very difficult audience - teenagers. And he does so beautifully, which is unfortunately uncommon. Self-proclaimed Young Adult authors tend to purposefully tackle “hormonal” themes to stay relevant, often with very little tact. Gaiman talks about it without ever really talking about it. Talent.

JANE AUSTEN

It is a truth universally acknowledged that you can’t talk about Jane Austen without making some wordplay with this iconic sentence to begin with. “Pride and Prejudice” is the book I read most times in my life and I intend to continue rereading it every couple of years for the rest of my existence. It’s flawless. The characters, the dialogue, the descriptions, even the dancing.

I know every teenage girl in an English-speaking country is introduced to Jane Austen at school, but in my case it was a big coincidence. The 2005 adaptation came out without any buzz in Brazil. I just randomly rented it one day (yes, I am renting-videos years old), but couldn’t find the time to watch it and was about to return it unwatched when an acquaintance offered to copy the DVD for me so I could watch it later. Thank you, acquaintance.

After obsessing over the film with my best friend, I bought the Portuguese translation of the book and we both read it several times. I can’t say I ever felt the same about Austen’s other books, though I really liked most of them, except for boring “Mansfield Park”. Still, the cleverness and wittiness, paired with a carefully developed romance is just unmatched. Especially considering she was an unmarried woman writing in the early 19th century.

It’s amazing how the majority of male authors strongly enjoy discrediting Jane Austen. That is such a red flag for me as a reader - and as a woman. I don’t know if they speak without even reading the books or if they just don’t get them. The criticism is never in the realm of taste, but in such objective terms that it becomes impossible for me to respect the critic, and therefore their work. Austen is my forever hero and everyone should read her.

KURT VONNEGUT JR.

White. Male. US author. Writing about war. It was a clear "swipe left" for me, but I just had to try. And he proved me wrong. So wrong. My experience with Vonnegut is similar to my experience with the TV show “The Wire”. War on drugs has to be the worst theme ever, so how come the show is so wonderful? And how come Vonnegut’s books are so wonderful? The answer is: good writing.

Some authors are great with plot development, but their character construction is a bit underwhelming. Some authors are the other way around. Vonnegut is a master of both and writes the most clever, mind-blowing sentences to top it off, without sounding pretentious or bringing the whole mood down. It’s a perfect match for me.

His interviews and masterclasses are a spectacle of their own. If you’ve never read any of his books, just promise me you’ll try.

PHILIPPA GREGORY

I think Gregory was my first real experience with historical fiction. I’m a little obsessed with the Tudors. I don’t think fiction, with all its given freedom, has produced such mindblowing characters as Henry VIII and Elizabeth I. So when you decide to come up with a clever literary account of their lives and you do it well… I mean, it’s just *chef’s kiss*.

I’ve only ever read her Tudor books, but I enjoyed them immensely. As a contemporary woman, she manages to dive into those female characters with something other than the regular male gaze through which they have been historically catalogued. The intelligence, the lust, the cunning - and yes, the romance.

She’s a victim of people’s disregard for romance. As though all her research and her complex creative process were undermined by her wish to entertain. But whatever, at least she’s a rich victim.

CECELIA AHERN

We all need an emotional pillow, and mine is an Irish girlie who carved a substantial writing career to herself on top of being the daughter of a former prime minister and singing in a pop group that almost made it to Eurovision.

It’s been a while since I last read one of her books, but Cecelia Ahern helped me navigate complex emotions from my late teens to my mid-20s, and I’m grateful for that. Her books might be severely tear-inducing, but they’re so full of hope, too. Happy endings and all that. An ode to love in all its forms.

JORGE AMADO

I can’t begin to explain Jorge Amado in English. It’s even hard to place him outside the Northeast of Brazil. His prose is so clever, seductive and fundamentally nordestina, I’m not sure it could ever be properly translated.

Thinking mainstream, if you’ve enjoyed “One Hundred Years of Solitude” and can understand why the fisherman in “The Old Man and the Sea” did not give up, then you´ll probably find a place in your heart for Jorge Amado. I certainly did.

He came to me at the right time, too. As a classic Brazilian author, he might have ended up as a mandatory reading at school and it would have been too soon for me. The first book I read was “Mar Morto” (Dead Sea) when I was 19 and it was the perfect book for such a romantic and passionate age. His books can be tragic, funny, historical and sometimes all of the above. I might not be able to call him my undisputed favourite, but he’s definitely my favourite Latin American author.

What I take from this is that my reading goals and perceptions are always changing - because I myself am always changing. There are books in my top 10 whose authors I never thought to seek again, same as there are authors I keep revisiting just because they’re so consistent that I know exactly what to expect.

Besides the despair of realising we’ll never have enough time to read all the books we’d like to read in this lifetime, there is also the relief of knowing we will never run out of good books - of all kinds, for all moods. They're just perfect like that, aren't they?

#books and libraries #writers #book blog #booklr #bookworm #bookish #books and reading #have you read this too #HYRTT writing

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soir-rouges-esprit · 4 months ago

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xxxi.j: Coke, Blood & Handguns, and just drop it, none of your damn business anyway, focus on fucking driving instead of my relationships why don’t you ... “Yeah whatever, fuck you too then … some of us still don’t have the option to run away to SuGaR MoMmY and look for other options ok, This! is what I got, and what I’m good at … keep your judgment for yourself and Ok! Maybe you should focus more on Your relationships then instead of My! business, considering it’s not yours to care about in the first place … street rat.” Whatever J … keep doing what you’re doing then and get yourself zeroed, I’ll hold my judgment for the day I’m watching you and your forever bed getting lowered into a six-foot hole at your closed casket funeral … street … rat. We sit in silence for a long while, leaving The City through our back city roads and alleyways, making our way out of The City through our un-tolled route. … … … We make our way about halfway to Denver our first checkpoint, where we are well through my playlist of songs, now put on shuffle. So when did it all happen? “It was probably last summer … I figured if I was able to start up on my own supply I’d have my own shit for one, so you know … no dealin or needin to buy the shit, plus less risk in a way … and then I could sell the extra shit for profit, maybe save up and buy one of those shit plots of land outside the city for dirt cheap … make one of those “Shipping container homes” … but you know, actually good and cut them up a bit and really improve on that shit, order some lumbar and make my own little joint, just like we did in Kechi with dad back in the day” Hmm … yeah I've thought about it myself … not the fuckin container thing, I think that shit is cool for a moment but not really something I wanna live in long term at fuckin all … but more so … a castle. “A CASTLE!?!” Yeah! a castle, gray stone brick and all, spruce floors … Castle Cazbium, Home of The Reds. “REALLY!? You're not fucking with me?” NO I'M NOT FUCKING WITH YOU … It's a long shot I know … and more expensive than a hundred fucking homes but … dreams a dream and I'd like to chase it. “BRO! … Fuck Yeah! A castle would be hella sick, DUDE! WE NEED A COAT OF ARMS, Maybe like a Knight with two swords crossing them? Or what's a cool fuckin bird they always have cool fuckin birds, like a hawk or somethin? What'd yah think?” Hahahaha! I like the enthusiasm … I don't know maybe, I haven't thought that far into it honestly, just more so it'd be mad dope to live in a fuckin castle. “Castle Cazbium! … Mmm, Castle Caz for short, home of The Reds huh? Wouldn't it just be Home of The Red? Or just Red? I only see double of you when I'm ten shots deep in tequila so how's it house of the plural?” I was thinking of expanding that you know? Like yeah I'm Red … but everyone around me and everyone I care for is also … a Red … You're a Red, Knights a Red, M's a Red … We're all a fuckin Red. I've been hesitant on it honestly, it's cool to me but I'm sure not many wanna kind of be wrapped under my name as a Red so … place holder. “Nah dude that's sick! I'll be a fuckin Red. I'm sure Knight would as well … M definitely would so got her … So would we all go by Red then? That'd be ridiculous haha, or maybe we go by like side names?” Side names? “Yeah! Like I'm Jester Red, Knights the Knight Red or maybe strong Red, M is Imp Red etc” Nah … I think you'd all just go by your names, maybe though, I like just as a last name sorta deal? I could be down with that, however wouldn't that make me Red Red? “Yeah … it's not fool proof I guess, but maybe like Salem Red?” Mmm maybe … I like the idea of a Coat of Arms … a kind of symbol to unite us? … that's dope. We continued to drive and talk about the future as well more on Castle Cazbium and The Reds. We make it to Denver … transitioning seats to me now driving and J loudly snoring … we pick up some fast food, and fill up the gas tank. “Mayonnaise and mustard is a fucking insane combo, no exceptions dude.” I think they could work. “WHAT!? How??” ... [To Be Continued]

#creative writing #writing #original story

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lookedupandfellasleep · 1 year ago

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“Casablanca” During World War II and the Impact It Created Then and Now

Casablanca (1942) is regarded as one of the greatest films of all time. It has undeniably made history and secured itself one of the top spots in every movies-you-must-absolutely-watch list. Using contemporary themes accurate to the era it was being made in, weaving in dramatics and fiction that made it just a little bit easier to digest, but nonetheless, delivering a powerful story, Casablanca managed to capture the hearts of its World War II audience and transcend time with its relevance and sentiment, as good cinema does.

Funnily enough, despite being a film enthusiast, I have never watched Casablanca. Despite the noses that would definitely turn up at me for saying this, I can’t pretend that classic films have the same appeal to me as modern films do. My attention tends to sizzle out with the sing-song delivery, dialogue-heavy style of old movies. However, there are exceptions to this and I will have to say that Casablanca is one of them.

Casablanca follows the story of Rick Blaine, former freedom fighter turned nightclub and gambling hub owner in Casablanca, Morocco. Rick's Café Américain has become the number one spot in Casablanca for displaced refugees that seek safe passage to America through illegally obtained letters of transit. Despite his past, Rick now chooses to stay “neutral” and isolate himself from any political affairs, “I stick my neck out for nobody”. At least, that’s what it seems like on the surface. This existence is disrupted when his former lover and the cause of his cynicism, Ilsa Lund and her husband, Victor Laszlo, enter his saloon. The past quickly resurfaces and the flame within Rick and Ilsa is rekindled. He now has to face the choice of keeping his love by his side or doing the right thing for the greater good and losing the love of his life again. In the end, Rick cannot help but go back to his roots and do the right thing, “… three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world”. He ends up saving his rival, Victor Laszlo, and helping him and Ilsa safely flee Casablanca for him to continue his work as a leader of resistance in the war.

Casablanca was adapted from an unproduced play by Murray Burnett and Joan Alison then titled Everybody Comes to Rick’s. The idea for the play's premise came about when Murray Burnett traveled to Vienna to help out his Jewish relatives. While he was there, he learned that refugees used a route that traveled from Marseilles to Morocco to Lisbon to then bring them safely to the United States. Many refugees stopped over at Casablanca during the Nazi invasion of France in 1940.

Casablanca, the film, came about when Irene Diamond, story editor for Warner Brothers, read the unproduced play while on a visit to New York City in 1941. Diamond, being a long-time collaborator of Hal Wallis, convinced him to buy the play’s rights for $20,000. The name was then changed from Everybody Comes to Rick’s to the iconic title, Casablanca.

The film started production in May 1942, during the height of World War II with A-list actors already in its roster: Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, and Paul Henreid. Production for the movie had to be rushed when Stephen Karnot saw an opportunity that they could take advantage of when Japanese forces attacked Pearl Harbor. He saw this as a massive publicity boost and made the film’s themes extremely relevant at the time. Due to this and a couple of other hiccups, filming did not go too smoothly.

Julius J. Epstein, Philip G. Epstein, and Howard Koch were enlisted to write the screenplay. The script was only half-written when production began. Nobody knew how the film would end. Bergman came to Howard Koch to ask which man she should play like she’s more in love with, Victor or Rick. The scriptwriter couldn’t answer this specifically and instead just told her to play them both “evenly” as they also had no idea what was going to happen. The script went through many more rewrites during filming.

Production also suffered with shortages and limitations at the time of filming. Because of the ongoing war, production could not use materials such as rubber, aluminum, nylons, and silk because of the shortages. Costumes and sets had to be made differently. Filming also could not be done on location or at nighttime because of the looming threat of a Japanese attack in mainland California. Casablanca had to be filmed entirely on soundstages.

Casting was also affected by the war. Almost all of the cast of Casablanca were actual refugees, which, in part, may have contributed further to its success. Emotions ran high while the cast sang, “La Marseillaise” in the now iconic scene. Both on- and off-screen, this symbolized for them unity against the fascism and oppression that was happening at the time. The passion can be heard in their voices as they drown out the “Die Wacht am Rhein” of the Germans. Real tears are shed by real refugees who were displaced in the war.

Censorship also played a bit of a hindrance in the making of Casablanca. The film was dealing with a lot of sensitive topics at the time: adultery, war, and propaganda. It had to go through a lot of rewrites and plot changes for the film to be considered “appropriate” for the audience. Censors had to make sure that the film did not condone adultery and that it would send the right message when it came to supporting the war effort.

From an insider’s point-of-view, the film seemed lackluster and a bit of a patchwork with its unfinished script, production limitations, numerous rewrites, censorship, and actors that barely wanted anything to do with the project. However, the way it all came together was magical and exceeded the expectations of everyone who was a part of making the movie.

Much like how production was rushed for this film, the premiere was also moved from 1943 to November 1942. Additional scenes were supposed to be filmed but canceled to be able to hasten its release. This was to take advantage of another major moment in the war: the Allied landing in North Africa and the Battle of Casablanca. This was huge publicity and helped not only to draw the crowds for the film but to also increase its resonance with the people. The film continues to grow in popularity and has achieved “classic” status in today’s time.

I believe its success comes from the raw romanticism of sacrifice that this film portrays. Boy does not get girl. Instead, sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good. It’s a satisfying ending that had us all wanting to do the right thing. This film is about love but it’s not just about romantic love. It’s about the love that we have for people, in general. The good that we see in the world even in times of darkness.

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nothorses · 4 years ago

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I feel like the idea that “TERFs really only target trans women” has become a pretty widely-accepted one in recent years, and there’s a reason for that.

TERFs are louder about trans women, and they paint trans women as the aggressors and the perpetrators of the crimes of the trans community. They target them with violence, hate, and aggression, and those things are glaringly obvious.

But it goes unchallenged that trans women are the only victims of TERF rhetoric; even that TERFs love trans men. Look at all the transmascs who are TERFs! if they joined the cult, surely that must mean the cult honestly cares for them?

J.K. Rowling is only one TERF, but her “terfifesto” exemplifies the attitude TERFs have toward transmascs.

To say that J. K. Rowling is obsessed with trans men may sound like an overstatement, but consider that she spends more time on fears about women mistakenly transitioning and becoming trans men than any other single topic in her essay. [...] In total, she devotes more than 1,200 words—about a third of the essay—to these fears she has about trans men.

Why is it that the common, widely-accepted narrative around Rowling is that she’s only spoken about her hatred for trans women? Is it really because she “loves” trans men?

Rowling goes on to claim that “[TERFs] aren’t even trans-exclusionary—they include trans men in their feminism, because they were born women.”

It’s worth pausing to linger on this. Rowling [...] finds this defense—that trans men are included in TERF feminism by virtue of being misgendered and disbelieved—persuasive enough to be worth passing on to her readers. Where could she have gotten this from? Certainly not from trans men, who by definition aren’t interested in being included by a group of women who refuse to see them as they are.

This, for me, nails down exactly why this narrative persists. TERFs include transmascs because they are, to TERFs, just women who have been led astray. “Lost lesbians”. They don’t accept transmascs as they are; they don’t want us to be who we are.

TERFs believe that trans men are women, that they are victims of trans ideology, and that any day now a cleansing wave of detransitioning trans men will sweep through the population.

Their ultimate goal is to pressure, manipulate, and abuse transmascs into detransitioning. That is why they “include” us. That is why they obsess so much over us.

It’s deeply insidious, and it’s incredibly dangerous. Transmascs are not “loved” by TERFs any more than trans children are “loved” by transphobic parents who deny them life-saving healthcare, and attempt to manipulate and abuse them into denying their genders. “I know what’s best for you” abuser rhetoric is not love. Manipulation and abuse is not love. Corrective rape certainly is not love.

The article is a great read, and it goes much deeper into Rowling’s beliefs and how they work. I really recommend checking it out! For now I’ll leave the last point here:

The idea that young female-assigned people are uniquely vulnerable, easily led, and unable to know or speak for themselves is, of course, classically sexist. [...]

It is unacceptable for us to be painted as victims led astray by trans ideology in this way. Trans men are autonomous individuals who make choices and decisions. Trans men can speak for ourselves, and we’re telling you: We are men. We are not women. We don’t need people who hate and demean us to tell us what’s good for us because they think we’re women and women can’t think for themselves.

#transmasc #trans #transgender #ftm #trans men #jk rowling #jkr #feminism #transphobia tw #rape tw #not horses

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expectingtofly · 4 years ago

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What It Means to Love, 3k

established dean/cas, hurt/comfort, post 15x20, human!cas

day 2 of @thiscastielhasflown and i's follower celebration

prompt: hurt/comfort

“Dean, I am perfectly fine, I—” Cas paused, face scrunching up, then he sneezed before he could finish his sentence.

Dean took a step backwards. “Dude, gross! Seriously? Sneeze into your elbow. That’s like preschool 101.”

“Oh, then it’s so great that I went to preschool,” Cas said, managing to sound sarcastic even with his nose stuffed up. Dean winced as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his trenchcoat. “It’s not like I haven’t been a human for only three months.”

Right. “Yeah, well, guess this is the perfect introduction." How the hell did Cas manage to still look so adorable slumped against the kitchen counter, clothes wrinkled and nose red? “Welcome to humanity, you have a cold. Here, stop that.” He couldn't watch Cas wipe his nose on his sleeve again. They didn’t have tissues in the kitchen, but he grabbed a napkin and handed it to him. Dutifully, Cas took it and blew his nose. “What you need is to get in some comfier clothes, lay down, and get some sleep.”

Violating the few feet he'd put between them to stay clear of the germs, he stepped closer to loosen Cas' tie. Cas let him, saying, "I can still help research—"

"No, no." Cas leveled him with a glare, but it had lost its bite now that Dean knew he couldn't strike him dead with his angel grace. Okay, it was still pretty menacing. "I'm trying to save your ass. Sam will kill you if you sneeze on his laptop or precious books. Come on, take off the coat, you gotta be burning up."

He was helping Cas slip it off when Sam walked into the kitchen. “Ew, gross," he complained, covering his eyes with his hand, and Dean realized he was essentially undressing Cas in front of the kitchen island. "Get a room."

"Grow up," Dean said, draping Cas' coat and tie over his arm. Okay, so maybe they’d given Sam a reason to be on-guard now, but, "It's not what it looks like."

Sam lowered his hand, then frowned at Cas. "Woah. What happened to you?"

"I'm sick," Cas answered, as if that wasn't obvious enough by his glassy eyes and disheveled appearance.

"Well, uh, wash your hands," Sam said, stepping back as Cas started for the door, Dean following. "Don't wanna spread any germs. And try to stay out of the library."

"Told you," Dean whispered to Cas as they went down the hallway. In their room, he gestured for Cas to sit on the bed as he rummaged through their dresser. “T-shirt and sweatpants,” he said, handing them over.

Cas unbuttoned his white button-down which was identical to the dress shirts he always wore as an angel. Apparently old habits died hard—in this case, an affinity for business casual. Actually, maybe Cas getting sick and out of his old clothes was a good thing. Dean didn't know the last time the trenchcoat had been washed.

Collecting Cas' shirt and pants, he said, “I’ll get rid of these disease-ridden clothes.” He thought he caught Cas rolling his eyes as he pulled Dean’s sweatshirt over his head. "You watch TV or something, I’ll go see if we have cold medicine.”

After starting a load of laundry and raiding the medicine cabinets in the bathroom and cabinets in the kitchen, he returned to the room to find Cas sitting cross-legged under the covers of the bed, remote in his hands.

“Here, you go,” Dean said, handing over a warm mug. Ancient Aliens played on the TV; one of Cas' favorite pastimes was refuting every crazy claim and theory the show presented with his own recollections of the ancient times. “Sam said this tea will help. He ran out to get some medicine.”

Eagerly, Cas took the mug from him and took a large gulp, then coughed. "Ow. It's hot."

"Drink it slowly, idiot."

Cas took a more hesitant sip, then squinted up at him. "This tea is incredibly flavorless."

Dean snorted. "’Cause your nose’s clogged up. And you probably burned your tongue. Another joy of being human."

Groaning, Cas dropped his head back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling. "Why is being human so difficult?"

Dean inwardly winced at that. Or thought he did so inwardly, but his expression must've revealed something because Cas glanced over at him, then straightened up, nearly spilling his tea. "Dean, I didn't mean anything by that."

Clearing his throat, Dean shrugged and sat down on the other side of the bed. "No, it's fine. You're right, being human sucks."

"And I wouldn't trade it for the world," Cas said.

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

Cas seemed about to say more, but then he sneezed. Into his elbow this time. Progress.

Ancient Aliens finished, and they got halfway through an episode of UFO Hunters before Cas started to nod off. Dean took the mug from him, and his eyes fluttered open, head jerking up. "I'm fine," he said.

"I know you're tired because you missed them saying aliens created the lost city of Atlantis."

Cas sniffled. "That's ridiculous. Everyone knows Atlantis was formed by—" He was interrupted by a yawn, and Dean made a mental note to return to that subject later.

“Come on, take a nap.”

“I am not a small child, Dean,” Cas protested, but he settled down anyway. Dean couldn’t resist adjusting the covers, essentially tucking him in. He wasn’t trying to baby him, but it was second nature seeing how miserable the guy looked. Turning off the lights, he went to the door. "You good? Need anything else?"

"No." Cas squinted one eye open to look at Dean over the blanket pulled up to his shoulders, and, fuck, if he wasn't still the most beautiful man Dean had ever seen, even sick as a dog. "Thank you."

A tiny alarm went off in Dean's brain about germs, but he returned to the bed to kiss Cas on the forehead anyway. True love, and all that. God, he was getting sappy in his old age.

Cas looked marginally better when he woke up from his nap. If marginally better meant pillow hair and pillow lines on his cheek. Well-rested, at least. He swallowed down the cold medicine Sam had brought home, complaining that he could taste enough to know the flavor was not, quote, "similar to anything occurring organically in nature."

"Whaddya wanna eat?" Dean asked him as he drained his glass of water. "And don't say PB and J," he added before Cas could speak.

Cas set his glass down on the nightstand and slid further down under the covers. "Anything that won't make my throat hurt more."

"My, uh, mom used to make me soup when I was sick."

"That sounds wonderful."

"Whatcha making?" Sam asked, coming into the kitchen. He lifted the lid of the pot on the stove and Dean snapped him with the towel.

"That's for Cas, back off."

"Wow," Sam said, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. "Look at you."

"Look at me what?" Setting aside the pot lid, he scraped the celery he'd been dicing from the cutting board into the pot.

Sam shrugged. "Taking care of Cas, making dinner, you're almost domestic."

Dean turned red and scrambled furiously for a comeback. "Yeah, and you're, you're still a little shit." Nailed it.

Sam laughed. "Wasn't an insult. Just meant, I don't know. Different for you, I guess."

Dean eyed him, stirring the soup. "Don't have much of a choice. Poor guy just turned human and he's already going through it."

"I think he's dealt with worse than a cold before."

"Yeah, well, wish he didn't have to deal with any of it." Any of it meant plenty. Between Dean’s own fuckups, world apocalypses, and near-death and actual death experiences, Cas had been through the ringer several times over. And now he was human—which, by all counts, wasn’t the worst thing he’d been through, but it wasn’t ideal. It’d been a rough transition, anyway.

Cas seemed better recently, though, since getting somewhat used to being human. And things were going well between them. Getting sick was just one tiny wrinkle compared to everything they’d been through, right?

He stared at the soup and startled when Sam straightened off the counter with a comment that Jack was out with friends, he was leaving for Eileen’s, have fun giving Cas a sponge bath. Dean flipped him off as he headed out the door.

When the soup was finished, he ladled a bowl full and returned to the bedroom. Cas looked up from his phone when Dean entered with the bowl of steaming soup. “Hear from Claire?” Dean asked, nudging the door shut with his foot.

“She says she and Kaia have almost closed up the case." He set his phone aside. “They’ll be able to visit soon.”

“You tell her you’re sick?”

“She was incredibly non-sympathetic—thank you." Cas took the bowl from him. “She seemed to find it amusing that I once ruled garrisons and now can’t go five minutes without sneezing.”

Dean tensed, hoping Cas wasn’t hurt by the comparison, but Cas didn’t look offended. “Sounds like her.”

"Yes.” He breathed in the steam coming from the bowl. “This smells incredible.”

"Family recipe," Dean joked, sitting down next to him. "Well, someone's family. Straight from some blog online. Think it's pretty close to what my mom would make." He watched Cas pick up his spoon, and added, "Don't tell Sam." He'd never hear the end of it if Sam knew he was reading mommy blogs.

"Your secret is safe with me."

Dean picked up the remote as Cas ate, wondering if he should give Claire a piece of his mind. Sure, Cas was pretty easy-going about the whole giving up his grace thing, but no need to rub it in his face. Becoming human had to feel pretty pitiful after ages of being an angel.

He was trying to make it better where he could, though. “You wanna watch a movie tonight? I'll let you pick because you're bedridden."

"I am not," Cas protested, though he looked more than a little pleased at the idea of getting to choose. Dean braced himself for whatever ridiculous romance or musical Cas insisted on watching now—to date, he'd been subjected to La La Land , the ending of which had reduced Cas to tears for the rest of the night; Pride and Prejudice, okay not too bad, though he'd never admit it; and You’ve Got Mail, dammit not bad enough for him to hate either.

Instead of suggesting a movie, though, Cas said, "You're very caring, Dean."

"Uh." Dean turned from cycling through the movie options on the TV to look at Cas. He felt himself turn red under the look Cas was giving him, head tilted, that fond almost-smile he got. "Yeah, uh. What I do."

"Yes," Cas agreed. "It is what you do. You're very good at taking care of others."

"Oh, God, don't start that." By that, he meant the long compliments Cas so shamelessly gave him now, like he'd been storing them up for a long time and was finally able to hand them out. It was like the dam had broken that night when Billie and the Empty—

But he didn't want to think about that. Not when all the events since that day had led to Cas now sitting in bed blowing his nose, the trashcan by the bed overflowing with tissues. Poor bastard; he'd gone through one whole Kleenex box already.

"I'm only going to stop because talking hurts too much," Cas told him, tossing a tissue at the trashcan and missing sorely. Dean grimaced.

They nearly got through Mama Mia before Cas dozed off, head resting on Dean’s shoulder. It wasn’t the most comfortable position and Dean’s arm was half-asleep, but he refused to move. The mere fact that they were sitting together in bed, pressed against each other, was still enough to send him into shock anytime he thought about it too much. Cas—a literal former angel—had fallen in love with him. It was almost too good to be true.

But Cas was currently slumped against him, drooling on his shoulder, so he guessed it really was true.

As the credits rolled, he turned off the TV and touched Cas’ forehead with the back of his hand. Not as warm as before. At his touch, Cas blinked awake.

“It’s over already?”

“Whaddya mean, already? I just had to sit through two hours of singing and dancing.” It hadn’t been that torturous, but he couldn’t admit that—he had a reputation to uphold. Straightening, Cas rolled his eyes. “Feel any better?"

Cas’ expression turned thoughtful, as if taking stock of every physical sensation in his body, and Dean had to grin at his seriousness. He nodded. "Yes."

"Great.” He glanced at the time on the clock and realized it was later than he’d expected. “You probably wanna get some rest.”

Cas nodded with a yawn. "You don't have to sleep here if you don't want to."

Dean froze in the middle of pulling back the covers, mind immediately spinning out. "What?" They'd only started sharing a room a month ago, oh God, he'd known it was too good to be true, Cas was sick of him—

"I want you to," Cas said quickly, as if sensing Dean's downward spiraling. "I just don't want you to get sick."

Oh. Oh. Feeling a little sheepish for immediately jumping to the worst conclusions—one of his greatest talents, if he did say so himself—he shook his head. "Nah, I have a great immune system."

Cas' expression turned guilty and Dean narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"About that..." Cas started slowly. Dean gave him a look. "Well, uh... Your immune system isn't quite as healthy as you think. I've been giving it a boost for the past several years, every time you started to get sick."

"What?" Looking back, it was pretty remarkable that he'd never gotten even a common cold with all the other shit they dealt with. "Fuck."

"Sorry."

"No, don't apologize. I should be thanking you. So, uh. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Of course Cas had been taking care of him for years, Dean thought, when they settled in bed and he turned off the lights. Cas told him he was caring, but it was Cas who was the caring one. He’d sacrificed his life for him, for Christ’s sake. Then gave up his grace to return to Earth because he wanted to be with Dean and Jack and Sam and everyone. The guy didn’t have a selfish bone in his body.

The thought should’ve been a comforting one, but instead he felt antsy, unable to stay still, shifting under the blankets.

Turning onto his side, he nudged Cas, whose eyes had fallen shut. With a grunt, Cas opened his eyes and looked over at him.

“You alright?” Dean asked, which wasn’t really what he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure how to say it.

“I was when I was falling asleep,” Cas grumbled. But he shifted to face Dean. In the faint light coming from the bunker hallway, Dean could see the concern in his eyes. It sent a pang through him. Cas had given up so much, and Dean was doing all he could to make sure he never regretted it, and Cas told him all the time that he was content with his choice, but still the worry sat heavy in his stomach.

"Listen,” he started. “I just wanna let you know that being human isn’t all bad. I swear it won’t be miserable forever. I know you've been introduced to the bad shit first, but—"

"That's not true," Cas interrupted, touching Dean’s hand resting between them. Dean raised an eyebrow. "Dean, being human has been the single most rewarding experience in my entire life second only to raising Jack. It started with you rescuing me from the Empty and revealing my feelings weren't unreciprocated like I thought. I would say that's far from miserable.”

"Yeah, but you had to adjust to living without your grace, and eating food, and getting sick..."

"It's been difficult, yes. I won't lie and say I enjoy bodily functions or sneezing or headaches. But I do enjoy being with you and eating chicken soup and watching absurd TV shows. I wouldn't change this for anything. Whatever happened in our lives, it led us here. And I’m happy with where we are.” He studied Dean for a moment before asking, quieter, “Are you happy?”

“Yes, yeah, of course,” Dean hastened to say, because it was true. Fuck, it couldn’t be truer. “Of course. Just feel bad, I guess. That you gave up your grace and all that. Feel like I’ve hardly done anything.”

Castiel’s expression softened. “You’ve given me more than I could’ve ever dreamt of. And anyway, it’s not a competition, Dean. I take care of you, you take care of me. That’s what love is.”

Throwing that word around, love, still made Dean’s heart skip a beat. But it was true. He loved Cas and he’d do anything for him. The same, he knew, was true on Cas’ end.

Cas said it best, so he settled for lifting Cas’ hand and kissing his knuckles.

“I would kiss you," Cas said, smiling, "but I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Screw it," Dean said, and propped himself up on an elbow to kiss him. Then he shifted, turning over and pulling Cas’ arm to wrap around him. Even if the bastard was sick, Dean was making him be the big spoon.

"For the record,” he said, feeling Cas curl around him. “I wouldn't change anything either."

And he meant it. Even when he woke up the next morning with a sore throat and stuffed up nose. Cas—who seemed to have gotten over the worst of his cold—took only one look at him before declaring it was his turn to play doctor, throwing extra blankets at him and demanding the chicken soup recipe in a flurry of activity.

He’d take care of Cas, and Cas would take care of him. It sounded like a good life, Dean thought, settling back against the pillows with a smile. He wouldn't change a thing.

#j&kcreatorfest #destiel fic #fluff #hurt/comfort #human!cas #established dean/cas #post 15x20 #destiel #cas likes watching romances and musicals i decided for this fic #and history channel shows too #dean and cas' love language is forcing each other to watch shows and movies the other dislikes (or pretends to dislike)#expectingtofly writes

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thesewordsareallihavetogive · 4 years ago

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no body, no crime - allison argent x reader

(gif source)

Summary: When y/n disappears after confronting her husband about his affair, Allison takes matters into her own hands. Based on “no body, no crime (feat. HAIM)” by taylor swift [x]. You can find the mood board for this fic here

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: cursing, infidelity, implied kidnapping, implied murder, murder, alleged murder, alleged/implied death of reader, reader is married to a man with a j name 🤢

a/n: hi everyone! it’s been a hot minute since i posted a new fic & this is why. i’ve been working on this since late december of 2020, so this is the longest i’ve ever spent on a stand-alone work. i’ll include more gory details about the writing process at the end if you’re interested :)

dedicated to: elle (@demxters) for all of her help and ideas! this fic literally wouldn’t have gotten finished without her, send her some love <3

this is also dedicated to caoimhe (@free-pool-trash) for not murdering me after i gave her a preview several weeks ago and then just ✨stopped writing✨

master list

Este's a friend of mine

We meet up every Tuesday night for dinner and a glass of wine

“Hey!” Allison greeted cheerily as she met y/n at their usual table tucked in the corner of their favorite restaurant. y/n returned the brunette’s smile as she stood up to hug her friend, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Allison saw through y/n’s facade and furrowed her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” she asked as concern spread across her features.

“I think Justin is having an affair,” y/n admitted. The statement dropped like a bomb between the two women, causing Allison to nearly spew the wine in her mouth all over the table. She coughed a few times and drank some water to clear her throat before she composed herself enough to ask questions.

“What happened? Did you see something?” Allison asked hesitantly. Her mind was still reeling from the mere concept of y/n’s husband cheating on her. Sure, Justin had never been Allison’s favorite guy, but it was normal for girls to think that no guy would ever be good enough for their best friend. Right?

Her husband's acting different and it smells like infidelity

She says, "That ain't my merlot on his mouth"

"That ain't my jewelry on our joint account"

y/n explained what had been going on over the past few weeks. Justin had been acting distant, which wasn’t too abnormal, but when he started coming home from work much later than his shifts ended and disappearing at odd hours of the night, y/n got concerned. The day that she had planned to approach him about everything and ask if anything was wrong, she got a call from her bank while driving home from work.

“Hi Mrs. y/l/n, this is Kathy from the bank. I’m calling to inform you that there have been a few large cash withdrawals from your joint account recently under your husband’s name, as well as a pretty expensive purchase yesterday at the jeweler,” the rest of Kathy’s words sounded muffled to y/n. It was nowhere near her birthday, Valentine’s day, or their anniversary, so y/n didn’t know what he could possibly be spending all their money on.

The next incident came a few days later when both y/n and Justin were home. y/n’s husband was in the shower and his phone buzzed with a new text message alert. Typically, y/n was never the type to snoop on her husband’s phone, but she figured she should check in case it was a work message. At least that’s how she justified it in her head. Justin had saved the sender’s number under the contact name “Spam Risk.” It was clever, y/n had to give him credit for that at least. Upon further inspection, y/n quickly realized that those texts weren’t sent from a telemarketer bot.

6:24 p.m. I can’t wait to see you tonight, baby - Spam Risk

6:25 p.m. Don’t keep me waiting too long ;) - Spam Risk

y/n thought the messages were strange, but the picture that followed the messages was definitely what threw y/n for a loop. There, on her husband’s text message thread, was a racy photo of a woman’s body that definitely wasn’t hers. y/n was quite literally stunned to silence as she dropped the phone back down onto the dresser. For the rest of the night, y/n was numb and quiet, not that Justin noticed. Then, like clockwork, he left the house at 11 p.m. with no explanation of where he was going or when he would be back.

By the end of y/n’s story, Allison’s mouth was open so wide she was sure her jaw would hit the table.

“What are you going to do?” Allison whispered, still in shock. y/n grimaced before clearing her throat and speaking her next words with finality.

No, there ain't no doubt

I think I'm gonna call him out

Este wasn't there

Tuesday night at Olive Garden at her job or anywhere

“Hi, there should be a reservation for two under Allison Argent or y/n y/l/n for tonight,” Allison greeted warmly as she approached the hostess stand at their go-to girl’s night restaurant.

“Right this way, ma’am,” the hostess said with a smile as she grabbed two menus and led her towards their usual table. Two menus. That must mean that y/n wasn’t there yet? Allison thought it was strange, y/n almost always was the first of the two to arrive. Allison brushed off the thought as she thanked the hostess and sat down. She had intended to look over the menu, but the strangeness of it all wouldn’t leave her mind. y/n was late. She was never late. Allison pulled out her phone to text her best friend, and it then occurred to her that she hadn’t heard from y/n since last week. Allison had been away on a “work” trip with her dad for the past six days and had just gotten back into town. After 30 minutes of sitting at the table alone, half a dozen unanswered text messages, and even more calls sent straight to voicemail, Allison dropped a few bills on the table and left.

As Allison pulled out of the parking lot, she turned on the radio in a futile attempt to drown out some of her racing thoughts. Between songs the radio host took to the mic to make an announcement.

“Hello Beacon Hills, we now interrupt your regularly scheduled listening with an urgent message from the Sheriff's department. Speaking now is Sheriff Noah Stilinski,” the host trailed off before there was a brief crackle as the audio transitioned to the Sheriff’s press briefing. Allison turned up the volume as the Sheriff’s voice carried across the radio.

“Thank you all for attending and tuning in. It is with great displeasure and a heavy heart that I inform you all that y/n y/l/n has been reported missing. Shortly after 8 a.m. this morning, we were informed by her husband that she didn’t show up for work yesterday morning and also didn’t come home last night,” Sheriff Stilinski continued speaking but it all began to sound like white noise to Allison. It took everything she had in her to focus on not veering off the road so that she could head to the Sheriff’s station and speak to Stilinski in person.

Conveniently, her route took her right past y/n and Justin’s house. Allison didn’t know what to expect as she sped by their house, but the fact that Justin’s normally filthy truck had been cleaned and waxed definitely caught her eye. The truck and driveway were soon out of sight due to the speed she was driving at, but at first glance, it looked as though his tires and grill had been replaced.

He reports his missing wife

And I noticed when I passed his house his truck has got some brand new tires

About a week had passed since y/n had been reported missing. Allison wasn’t sure how many search parties had been held, but they all resulted in the same thing: nothing. There wasn’t a single trace of her best friend, in fact, everything in Beacon Hills looked completely unchanged and normal. Allison’s focus and appetite seemed to have left with her other half, try as she might to desperately hold onto them. Her marksmanship had even been affected, something that hadn’t happened since high school.

Allison started driving around town during her free time. She wasn’t headed anywhere in particular, she mostly did it to try to clear her mind, though most times she was unsuccessful. She’d been mindlessly taking right and left turns and before she realized where she was, she passed y/n’s house.

Allison hadn’t planned to slow down as she passed the house, it was a mindless act if anything. Seeing a moving truck backed up to the house while Justin and some unfamiliar blonde woman were unloading boxes ensured that her decision to park her car where it couldn’t be seen and spy on the pair wasn’t mindless. Despite her gut telling her not to, Allison decided to give Justin the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he needed a roommate now since y/n couldn’t pay her share of the rent? Allison tried her best to keep all of her judgments and suspicions at bay as she watched the otherwise uneventful event unfold while biting her fingernails.

A few boxes later, Justin pulled the blonde in by her waist and kissed her with a fervor that would make most people blush. Allison’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as she sat there in shock with her mouth wide open. It took a while, mostly because the kiss lasted for an obnoxious amount of time, but Allison finally regained control of her body. It was like her brain had to go through a hard reset before she was able to face the reality of the situation.

y/n was right. Justin was cheating on her. Not only that, but Justin had cheated on y/n, spent less than a week grieving her disappearance, then allowed this to happen.

And his mistress moved in

Sleeps in Este's bed and everything

Allison found out that Justin Smith’s mistress’s name was Rebecca Baker. She was a few years younger than y/n and she worked at the same company as Justin. It didn’t take long for Allison to hack into both of their iCloud accounts. A few hours of scrolling later she was really regretting her decision, especially when she got to Justin’s messages to Rebecca about y/n.

2:47 a.m. What about your wife? - Spam Risk

2:47 a.m. What about her? - Justin

2:48 a.m. Are you going to leave her or kick her out or something? - Spam Risk

2:48 a.m. It’s been taken care of. - Justin

2:48 a.m. Taken care of? Justin, what does that mean? - Spam Risk

2:49 a.m. Justin??? - Spam Risk

Each new message ensured that bits of Allison’s fingernails had been gnawed off while her left hand fidgeted anxiously in front of her mouth. Allison decided that those messages were probably the most incriminating thing she’d find digitally, but the time and date stamps caught her eye. The texts were sent early Monday morning, the day that y/n allegedly left home and then didn’t show up for work or return home.

A chill spread from deep within Allison’s bones up to the surface of her skin, making goosebumps appear. Allison didn’t know what exactly, but she knew something terrible had happened to y/n and Justin had something to do with it. She shut her laptop a little harder than necessary as a resolved look spread across her face.

No, there ain't no doubt

Somebody's gotta catch him out

Good thing my daddy made me get a boating license when I was fifteen

Allison regularly accessed her personal armory, whether it was to prepare for a job or pack for a trip to the shooting range, but it had been a while since a powerful and unforgiving feeling hung over her shoulders. Allison carefully ran her fingers over her custom silver arrowheads as she considered her options. Her father’s words from one of her adolescent archery lessons rung in her head.

“The type of bow and arrows you use doesn’t matter. As long as you use them right, you’ll be able to make any shot. Don’t get hung up on the technicalities.”

Not too long after, her bag was stocked with her essentials: a bow, her trusted black leather archery glove, as well as a handful of arrows, though these ones lacked the silver heads she typically reserved for more exotic expeditions.

The rare dark clouds in the California sky at sunset were reflected in Allison’s cold eyes. The drive to her target’s house was familiar, the turns she made were almost instinctual. Normally these roads reminded her of her coffee dates with y/n and nights they spent talking for hours until sunlight crept through the windows. Now, her mind was blank and her heart was devoid of all emotion.

Even though Allison had disabled her car’s GPS earlier, she parked her car about a mile away from his house. When she was done, there wouldn’t be any evidence that could be traced back to her. She memorized his schedule; at 5:00 p.m. his shift ended and recently he’d been getting home by 5:20. His girlfriend got home sometime between 5:30 and 5:45, but she would leave for her pilates class around 6:30 and wouldn’t get home until 7:45. Allison had just over an hour window to get the job done, but it wouldn’t take that long. If everything went according to plan, she’d be off the property within a few minutes of taking the shot.

When she arrived her target had just come home from work and was alone in the house. She waited patiently, hidden by the trees that the property backed up to. She watched as he moved around through the open curtains and then as his girlfriend entered the house and kissed him with a passion that made Allison’s stomach churn. She watched as they ate dinner together, as her target’s girlfriend got ready for her gym class, and watched as she got in her car and drove away. When Allison checked her watch it was only 6:25 p.m., she had far more time than she needed.

The plan was simple, really. Under the cover of darkness, she’d flip the breakers, effectively cutting the power. When her target came out to investigate, she’d let him fumble around in the darkness for a while. He’d always been a paranoid individual, so it wouldn’t take much to get him on edge. A rustle in the bushes here, a small snapped tree branch there, and then something that would get his attention. Allison wanted his eyes to be on her when she took the shot.

Allison’s target was watching TV so he knew immediately when the power went out, plus the fact that the once illuminated house was suddenly bathed in darkness. The high-pitched yelp that escaped his throat almost made Allison laugh. She had to keep quiet though, at least for now. As expected, the dopey man scurried around to the side of the house where the breakers were located in no time. The batteries in the flashlight he held were on their last leg, that much was evident in the way the light beam flickered every few seconds.

Just as he opened the door to the circuit breaker panel, Allison moved. A rustle here. The sound practically echoed in the silence of the night, causing the man to whip around and shine his flashlight directly at the source of the noise. There was nothing there. It’s just the wind, he reasoned before getting back to work. After a few switches had been flipped - none of them for the outdoor lights - he heard another noise. This one was much louder than the last, a small snapped tree branch there. Again, the flashlight’s flickering light beam uncovered nothing, but it was enough to make all of the hairs on the back of Allison’s target’s neck stand up straight. He hastily flipped the rest of the breakers and the outdoor lights finally came on.

When yellow light from the backyard fixtures flooded the area, both Allison and her target were revealed. Allison stood a considerable distance away from the man, but she was close enough to see the blood drain from his face and his Adam's apple bob. When his eyes darted to the bow hung by her side, realization dawned on his face. He began to turn away with the intention of running, but Allison’s voice held him frozen in place.

“Don’t move,” she ordered quietly without any aggression behind her tone. Her face wasn’t threatening, she just looked calm and focused. Allison’s smooth features and peaceful expression was what scared the man the most.

“I- I’m sorry- I didn’t-” he stammered out, his arms and legs beginning to tremble.

“Shh,” Allison chastised as she raised her bow, loading it with an arrow. Her fingers moved with precision, her muscles knew this routine well.

“Please don’t- no, you can’t, you can’t do this!” the man pleaded. He wasn’t above begging on his knees, but Allison wasn’t about to give him the chance. Her gaze was sharply focused on her target, the view of her tightly grasped bow in her peripheral vision.

“Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent.”

When Allison’s fingers let go of the bowstring the arrow flew smoothly through the air. The only sounds heard were the arrowhead piercing skin and the man wordlessly falling to the ground. The arrow went straight through his heart. Maybe Allison’s shot landed right where she intended. Maybe there was a metaphor in there. Allison checked her wristwatch, the numbers 6:45 shining back at her. An entire hour to spare.

Time to take out the trash.

I've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene

The job didn’t take long at all and it was definitely one of Allison’s least challenging ones, but it still felt nice to take a hot shower and sit in front of her fireplace with a cup of tea. The fire served a dual purpose; the crackles of the burning wood soothed her like a lullaby while the flames licked around and destroyed her bloody clothes from earlier. All of her equipment had been cleaned and put away, positioned exactly as it had been before. Everything was the same, nothing changed or out of place. There was just one less heartbeat in the world that night.

Good thing Este's sister's gonna swear she was with me

On the second day of the trial, Rebecca Baker’s lawyers were throwing whatever they could against the wall to see if something would stick. That morning they began to argue that Allison Argent might’ve abducted and murdered Justin Smith in retaliation for y/n’s disappearance. It was all speculation at best, but the theory unfortunately made sense to the jury. Before things could get too far, the prosecution called its first witness of the day to the stand.

“Mrs. Martin, where were you on the night of Mr. Smith’s suspected disappearance?” the prosecution lawyer questioned calmly.

“I was with Allison at my house. We were having a girls night in, you can check my security cameras,” Lydia answered confidently. Lydia still had a pocketful of favors from her MIT days, so when the jurors were shown the clips from Lydia’s home security cameras, they saw exactly what they would’ve expected based on Lydia’s testimony.

Truth be told, Lydia didn’t know anything about what happened that night; including Allison’s whereabouts and any details related to Justin’s alleged demise. All she knew was that Allison called and asked for a simple favor - an alibi for just a few hours. Lydia didn’t ask questions and Allison didn’t give answers.

Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy

On the third day of the trial, Rebecca Baker took the stand. Her lawyers tried to help her as best they could, but the prosecution was ruthless. All of the evidence was circumstantial at best - all parties, including the judge and jurors, knew that - but it was enough to make everyone reconsider the spotless image the defense had tried to create for Ms. Baker.

“Ms. Baker, is it true that you knowingly engaged in a romantic relationship while Justin Smith was married to and living with his wife?” another one of the prosecution’s attorneys began.

“Yes,” Rebecca replied meekly. Allison internally scoffed from her seat in the gallery. She found irony in the fact that Rebecca didn’t find any humility or shame in sleeping with another woman’s husband until she was under oath.

“Is it also true that within approximately a week of Mrs. y/l/n’s disappearance, you moved into Mr. Smith and Mrs. y/l/n’s house?”

“That is correct,” Rebecca said as she began to wring her hands together anxiously. The judge tapped his wrist watch and shot a stern look towards the prosecutor. The man nodded in response and continued to his final points.

“I’ll wrap up my questions for you, Ms. Baker. Can you confirm that shortly after moving in with Mr. Smith, multiple legal and financial arrangements and adjustments were made? And these new arrangements make you the sole beneficiary of Mr. Smith’s life issuance policy, assets, and investments?”

By the end of the prosecution’s final question, every jury member and spectator sat up straighter and waited to hear Rebecca’s response with bated breath. The blonde ball of nerves sighed defeatedly before turning to face the attorney directly as she answered his question.

“Yes, that’s true.”

“No further questions, your honor.” As the lead prosecutor returned to the plaintiff’s table, Rebecca’s attorney stood up to address the judge.

“Your honor, the defense would like to request a brief recess,” the defense attorney nearly pleaded. Though his poker face was much better than his client’s, it was clear that he was getting nervous.

“We’ll reconvene in 15 minutes,” the judge ordered with a stern glare cast towards Rebecca.

They think she did it but they just can't prove it

It soon became clear to Rebecca that the recess her legal team requested was nothing more than a “kiss your dignity goodbye” meeting. If she hadn’t been queasy before the recess was called, she definitely was upon re-entering the courtroom.

The rest of the trial seemed to move in slow motion for Rebecca. A few more witnesses were called to the stand, more lackluster evidence was presented, both sides made their closing arguments, and the jury left to discuss the verdict. After what felt like an eternity, the jury returned with an official decision.

Silence settled over the room as a single juror stood to address the court.

“The jury finds the defendant not guilty on count 1 of murder in the first degree based on lack of sufficient evidence. The jury finds the defendant not guilty on count 2 of kidnapping based on lack of sufficient evidence. The jury finds the defendant guilty on count 3 of insurance fraud based on…”

The rest of the jurors’ statement sounded like white noise to Rebecca. She was just barely coherent enough to hear the judge deliver her punishment a few minutes later. $50,000 fine and 200 hours of community service.

Allison stuck around to the bitter end of the trial to hear the verdict in person. In all honesty, Allison didn’t want Rebecca to go to jail. It wouldn’t be right for her to serve time for a crime she didn’t commit, but Allison did find satisfaction in the fact that Rebecca would soon be picking up garbage in a fluorescent orange vest.

After the majority of the spectators had vacated the courtroom gallery, Allison leisurely gathered her things. Justice had been served to Justin, she personally made sure of that, and now justice had been served to Rebecca. The blonde and brunette women briefly locked eye contact as Allison made her way towards the exit.

“You did this,” Rebecca whispered to Allison. Suddenly, it was like a flip switched within her. One moment she was numb, yet calm and collected, and the next moment she was screaming (literal) bloody murder and had to be held back by her lawyers.

“YOU DID THIS! YOU KILLED JUSTIN, YOU BITCH!” Rebecca cried, though her words fell on deaf ears. Allison exited the courtroom with her head held high as the courtroom deputy and defense lawyers did their best to calm the hysterical woman.

She thinks I did it but she just can't prove it

A week later the court case was still on Allison’s mind but the emotional scars had begun to scab. Healing was never a straight or smooth path, Allison had learned that the hard way over the years, but this was a start.

y/n’s landlord had been generous enough to allow Allison to gather y/n’s things before he cleaned out the house for new renters. As Allison walked through the home she once considered to be an extension of her own, she felt her throat dry out and tighten up. She hadn’t realized she was crying until she was wiping salty tears off of the picture frames she’d carefully picked up. Each photo unlocked a new memory, some even elicited a chuckle out of Allison amidst her tears.

A photo from y/n’s wedding day stood out among all the rest as Allison’s eyes jumped from frame to frame. It was a candid shot Lydia had taken while they were in y/n’s dressing room before the ceremony. y/n looked as beautiful as ever in her flowy white gown and Allison’s mulberry maid of honor dress complemented it well. As Allison put the final touches on y/n’s hair and makeup, y/n fastened the clasp of a custom necklace behind Allison’s neck. On a thin, medium-length chain hung an arrowhead from the first time Allison had ever tried to teach y/n how to shoot a bow and arrow. y/n failed miserably, but it was a cherished memory for both girls. Since that day, Allison had only taken the necklace off a handful of times.

Allison smiled bittersweetly at the memory and wiped a fresh tear off of the decorative frame before pulling her necklace out from underneath her shirt. She pressed a gentle kiss to the cool silver arrowhead and then to the photo frame, right above y/n’s styled hair.

A feeling that Allison couldn’t quite explain flowed through her body just then; it was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after being stuck underwater or seeing the gentle rays of the sun for the first time after a hurricane, it felt like freedom. Allison felt almost as if y/n was right there next to her, with her head resting on Allison's shoulder and wrapping her arms around the brunette’s torso. In that moment, Allison somehow wordlessly knew with every fiber in her being that y/n was finally at peace.

No, no body, no crime

I wasn't letting up until the day he died

a/n: AHHHH DID YOU LIKE IT? it was kind of a wild ride from start to finish and i definitely shed a few tears while i was writing it. please lmk what you think!

okay, now onto the writing process from hell: i started drafting ideas for the fic on dec. 21 or 22 of 2020, after i put together a mood board. i had written more than half of the fic when i decided i hated it and scrapped the whole thing on xmas eve (~3000 words 🤡). after that i was kinda in a rut and couldn’t decide how i wanted to end the fic so i ended up writing and deleting ~2500 words over the past month and a half. @demxters is an absolute GODDESS and helped me come up with the ending, so i am eternally grateful to her for that. if any of this seems a lil strange it’s probably because i finished writing it at 4:45 a.m. after working on it for 3ish hours straight. have a great day lovelies!

join my tag list!

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nehemia-deserved-better · 4 years ago

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Elorcan deserved about 500 more chapters all to themselves, so I decided to write one of them. I intended this story to be as canon-compliant as possible, so that it could plausibly be considered an extra Elorcan chapter in Empire of Storms. It would be set a day after their fight over Lorcan killing the ship owner in chapter 43, and before the next time we see them where Elide claims to have not spoken to him for 3 days.

So without further ado: How The Light Gets In

The nightmare began at the top of a stone stair. Elide’s heavy, uneven footfalls echoed ominously in the tight space as she descended, spiraling down into the fetid air of the dungeons. The chains snaking around her ankles rattled and slithered with each step. Yet it was not that sound which frightened Elide; it was the cacophony of despair emanating from below. Women’s voices: moaning, screaming, and—worst of all— pleading. She tried to flee back up the stair, but a phantom hand seized her chains and sent her pitching headlong into the unforgiving stone. Her fingernails splintered and bled as she scrabbled for purchase, fighting to crawl away from that horrible noise. But the pull on her chains was relentless. Elide was dragged downwards into that ocean of misery, each voice crashing over her until she was drowning in sound, unable to distinguish her own screams.

—————

Lorcan stood at the prow of the ship, illuminated by the light of the stars, and cursed his keen fae hearing. He couldn’t block out the soft whimpers coming from within the ship’s cabin, or the rustling of a small form tossing under the blankets. He didn’t want to know that Elide was having a nightmare, didn’t want to care. After all, why should he? Pathetic she had called him, nearly spitting the words in disgust. Jealous, lonely, pathetic, unhappy—each insult flung from her with greater conviction than the last. And when she had finally finished, face mottled red in rage and chest heaving, he couldn’t even muster a convincing facade of anger. Instead, as he looked down on that tiny, furious woman, he felt only admiration and a surprising amount of desire. When was the last time someone had dared speak to him with such candor? He had killed males for lesser offenses, and she knew it. And yet, she remained stubbornly unafraid.

But when she had followed that outburst with a demand to leave the ship, to leave him... Lorcan realized belatedly that the gut-wrenching sensation he'd felt then had been fear. He tilted his head up to look at the stars, admonishing himself for that weakness. This human should not have such power over him. Still, he knew he would not allow this fierce creature out of his sight. He wanted more of her. He wanted to feel her thick, dark hair between his fingers, and to do more with that red mouth than just gaze at it. But mostly, he wanted more of her passion, honesty, and bravery— her ability to see right through to the core of him with those cunning eyes. Lorcan found himself striding for the cabin door before he could think better of it.

—————

It is a peculiarity of nightmares to seamlessly blend one horror into the next, forgoing transitions in exchange for an unending montage of terror. And so, Elide suddenly found herself standing at the base of the stair. She pressed her palms over her ears to no avail; nothing could block out that endless, many-voiced wailing. A long hall lined with torches and iron doors stretched out before her. She knew what lay beyond those doors, though her mind recoiled from the thought of witches and alters and demons. In the flickering light of the fires stood a ghostly woman draped in black. Kaltain raised a finger to her lips and, as though by her command, a curtain of silence fell over the hall. Elide didn't spare a moment to be relieved. She stepped toward Kaltain, trying to tell her that they must run, that they weren’t safe here. No words passed her lips— they never did, in her dreams. The Lady merely stared at her. “You can’t save them. Only I can do that now.” Elide furrowed her brow in confusion, prompting a breathy laugh from Kaltain. “Don’t you remember? Or did you forget about my sacrifice so easily?” Her lips split wide in a mockery of a smile, her mouth opening and opening until the flesh peeled away completely. Beneath, shrugging off Kaltain’s skin like an oversized coat, was a pale woman with blood red lips. “And what of my sacrifice, my darling girl? What became of me?” Elide reached for her mother, but she crumbled to ash between her fingers.

—————

Lorcan’s breath caught as he laid eyes on Elide sleeping fretfully in the narrow cabin bed. The blankets were twisted around her legs, becoming thoroughly tangled as she continued to shift in agitation. A sheen of sweat glimmered at the base of her throat. Distress was clear in her expression, despite her face being partially obscured by her disheveled hair. Lorcan had no idea what to do. He wanted to soothe her and provide comfort, but he had no experience with such things. Besides, if Elide’s resolute silence of the previous day was any indication, she would likely not welcome his presence. And yet, he found himself unable to walk away, as though some gravity beyond his control were pulling them together.

Gently, Lorcan reached down and brushed the loose strands of hair from her face, smoothing them behind her ear. His hand lingered for a moment, brushing against her cheek. He marveled at how small she seemed under his broad palms. She stirred, and he quickly retracted his fingers, scolding himself for his stupidity. How incensed would she be to wake and find him standing over her? He began to turn away.

“Stay.” The word was a single breath, so quiet that Lorcan was fairly certain it was a hallucination brought on by wishful thinking. But then it came again, soft as a prayer, “stay.” He simply stared at her. Elide didn’t even seem to be awake. It was very possible that she was speaking to someone in her dream, utterly unaware of his presence. Just as he was convincing himself of this, a hand lightly grasped his own. Her fingers were so little in his, delicate like the bones of a bird. But he knew the strength that lay there, knew she had calluses and scars to mirror his own. Lorcan softly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, Elide's hand still in his. He wasn’t used to holding something with such care, not with these hands that had wrought so much death. He found that he liked the change.

“Elide?” he whispered. No response. “Are you awake?” Her eyes remained closed but she spoke slowly in reply.

“Lorcan...You’re not usually here.”

“In the cabin?”

“In my dreams.”

He took a moment to absorb that blow to his male ego. Before he could think of a suitable response, Elide was tugging on his hand, trying to pull him closer. Lorcan was conflicted. She was clearly not fully awake, hovering in the limbo of her dreams. As much as he wanted nothing more than to lay down and pull her close, to see just how well the curves of her body fit with his own, it didn’t seem right to take advantage of her hazy consciousness. And in addition, there was no way his massive frame would fit on that bed with her unless she was nearly on top of him. He struggled to divert his imagination away from that particular path of thought.

When he looked back at her face, he was startled to find her eyes wide open. The gaze that met his own was clear, apparently awake. “Stay,” she repeated, and the last of his reservations disappeared. She scooted up against the wall, occupying the narrowest strip of bed possible. After some adjusting of bodies and untangling of blankets, Lorcan wound up on his back. His shoulders took up the entire width of the bed, and still he was precariously close to the edge. Elide was pressed between his body and the wall, her limbs sprawled out across him: an arm resting on his chest, a leg bent up over his own, her foot pressed between his calves. Gingerly, he slid his arm underneath her head, providing his bicep as a pillow.

“I thought you were still angry with me,” he grumbled.

“I am. I don’t think I’ll ever speak to you again, because you are a cruel bastard,” she responded sleepily, snuggling closer. Lorcan had gone past the point of confusion and was now hovering somewhere in the realm of utter bewilderment.

“I’ll find a way to manage without you.” Why could he never find the right thing to say to her?

“No, you won’t, because you promised.” She paused there for a yawn. “As mysterious as you think you are, I know that promise matters to you... that I matter to you. Why else would I dream of you after a nightmare?” She yawned, more pronounced than the first time. When she began speaking again her voice was thick with exhaustion. “I know I’m safe with you. I know that you will protect me.” And with that, she was fully asleep once more. Not a trace of the nightmare remained on her face, and her breathing was deep and untroubled.

Lorcan could only stare at the top of her head, stunned. Despite how lucid she seemed, she had clearly still been half in the grip of her dreams. But her words, her absolute confidence in him, the comfort she had found in his arms...He had never experienced this before. Receiving affection without sex or motive, soothing fear instead of creating it— this was all uncharted territory. Something in him fractured with astounding force. It was as though every place their bodies touched was cracking open and she was the light pouring in, pushing back all that darkness he had gathered throughout the centuries. He had no word to name this feeling coursing through his blood, but he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so unburdened. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and whispered “I will always keep you safe”. Then, he laid his cheek atop her hair and listened to her breathe for a long while before he fell asleep.

—————

Elide woke to the smell of cooking trout, and the soft sound of water lapping against the boat. Even through her closed lids she could see that daylight was pouring through the windows of the cabin, meaning she must have slept very late into the morning. She rolled over with a groan and reached out a hand for...for whom? Was she expecting to find someone in her bed? Sitting fully upright now, she looked around in confusion. She’d had a very strange dream. Lady Kaltain had been there, in the dungeons of Morath… she shuddered at the memory, both of the dream and its real-life inspiration. She’d vomited for days after she saw behind those iron doors, and had no desire to recollect the specifics either awake or asleep.

But then she’d left the dungeon and arrived in the ship’s cabin, where her fear-addled brain had conjured an image of the only true safety she had known for the last decade: Lorcan. A soft smile graced her face at the thought, quickly replaced by a grimace as she remembered him killing that man, and their resulting fight. He provided safety for her, perhaps, but he brought only death to those who got in his way. Her thoughts lingered on the barge owner who had once slept in this bed, dutifully cleaned the cabin windows, adorned the small table with an embroidered cloth— she bolted out of the bed and through the door, suddenly needing to be anywhere else.

Fingers gripping the ship’s railing so tight that her knuckles threatened to pop out, Elide leaned into the wind off the river water. Lorcan may well have saved both their lives by ending that man’s. An innocent bystander he may have seemed, but one likely to jump at the chance to profit from their capture. Lorcan had done it, as he seemed to do everything these days, to protect her.

That thought brought her back to her dream. It had been so real. She could recall the way his breath had stirred her hair, the feeling of his muscular chest under her fingers and his considerable bicep cushioning her head, how she had confidently declared how much he cared for her— she stopped as though her thoughts had crashed into a stone wall. She felt the blood drain from her face. She never, never spoke in her dreams.

A gentle tap on her shoulder had her shouting in surprise; Lorcan couldn’t normally sneak up on her, to his eternal annoyance, but she had been too deep in thought to notice his approach. Wordlessly, he held out a plate of trout. He betrayed no expression beyond a slight quirk of the eyebrows, likely in reaction to having a small woman scream at him in a pitch only bats and immortal demi-fae could hear. Elide studied the harsh planes of his face as she accepted the food in silence. She found nothing there to suggest she had spent the night curled in his arms. He seemed to be examining her expression as well. His lips parted, as though there was something he wanted to say, but something in her face seemed to convince him to remain quiet. With a soft shake of the head and a furrow in his brow, he turned away.

As he walked back toward the prow, she let out a sigh of relief. It had just been a dream. She felt an unexpected disappointment at the thought. It was harmless to admire his power and strength from a distance, or to feel sparks of desire as his gaze slid to her lips every damn time they spoke, but to spend the night in his arms? She watched him tirelessly propelling the boat with a long pole, his dark hair sticking to his neck in the hot midday sun. No, it had been a dream, and that’s all it would ever be...right?

Thanks for sticking around all the way till the end! It would mean a lot if you would comment and let me know what you think of my first ever fanfiction :)

#Elorcan #empire of storms #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elide x lorcan #throne of glass #elorcan fanfiction #elorcan ff #throne of glass ff

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haro-whumps · 4 years ago

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Hey how do you think that would be a reverse version of GW? Like, instead of Galo getting the whumpees, the seven of them somehow, through a legal technicality, get a Galo that was Bethany's slave?How donyou think they'd all be, in this situation?

I would like to clarify that Galo and Bethany are NOT related in this version.

"... an old paramour," Greyson stated, hedging an explanation. Bethany had been, well, significantly too old for him, at the time. But he'd liked that.

Even so, he wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to disclose his past questionable relationships with his housemates.

"And what did she leave you, exactly?" Evan asked, wearing his joggers and leaning against the doorframe, Lilah dressed similarly and walking past him with a deep pull from her water bottle.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Greyson said, passing him the letter. Lilah propped her arm up on his shoulder, only to be dislodged as he propped his arm up on her head. The two leaned in and read the letter together, their faces screwing up at almost the exact same moment.

"Well that's cryptic," Lilah said, taking the page from Evan's hand and flipping it over, checking the blank back. She handed it back to Greyson, who nodded his assent.

"So my bet's on bird," Evan said, ganking Lilah's water bottle and finishing it off.

"Evan!" Nyla called from the other side of the house, "Have you sent me your portion of the mortgage yet?"

"I thought the point of buying a house was to get away from landlords," Evan muttered to Lilah, who snorted.

"Evan!"

"Doing that now!"

Sasha entered and gently shoed the athletes out. "I n-need to get st-started on dinner."

She placed her hand on Greyson's shoulder. "It'll be fine. Maybe it's j-just a dog?"

Greyson shrugged, sighing. He wondered why he'd even been IN the woman's will at all.

"N-now move. I'm cooking."

Greyson smiled playfully back, bumping his hip to Sasha's, and left. He found Nyla rifling through the rest of the mail.

"Are you sure that's all they sent you?"

"Unfortunately."

Nyla huffed, letting the letters smack against her skirt. "Why couldn't they have had a lawyer write to us or something? Anything to save a dime, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to be preparing for!"

"We can run to a pet store the day it gets here. If not, a night in the garage won't kill it," Greyson assured. Also, wasn't HE supposed to be the one preparing? He set his hand on her shoulder. "You worry too much."

"I worry exactly the right amount, thank you," Nyla said, whapping him with the mail. As she walked towards her office, she called out, "Lilah, you'd better have put those in the hamper!"

"Does it bring you joy to endlessly nag?!"

"I live in a house with four other people!"

Greyson chuckled. He was also probably overthinking this. It was weird, and definitely unexpected, but it would all be fine.

That was a human person.

Tall, with choppily short hair, kneeling in their front entryway between Evan and Lilah's running shoes and the narrow side table Nyla used for mail and key rings.

That was a human person.

They all looked to each other, wondering what to do, and this was technically Greyson's problem, which meant he was the one who should do something about this. Why. Why this. Why him?!?!

When it became undeniably obvious that the other four were waiting on him and the silence was stiflingly uncomfortable, Greyson cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Hello?" He hadn't meant for it to sound like a question.

"Hello master," the slave returned, skirt fisted with shaking knuckles.

"I am Greyson," he cleared his throat again, "What's your name?"

"...Galo."

Oh Greyson was so out of his depth.

"So uh, you're Bethany's pet? Ex pet?" Evan asked, and Greyson was relieved someone else had said something.

"Yes master."

"This is weird," Lilah stated, shifting anxiously from foot to foot with jittery energy. "This is fucking weird. Why did your ex girlfriend give you a slave? Why were you dating someone who likes slavery?! Greyson what the fuck!"

"Okay deep breaths!" Nyla ordered loudly, everyone complying instantly. "This is. Unexpected," she agreed. "But let's not get out of hand. Galo, sweetie, would you please stand up?"

"Yes mistress."

"You don't need to call anyone master or mistress."

"Ma'am?"

"Ma'am is fine. Let's get you settled in. You can probably stay in Sasha's room at the moment, who'll sleep with me?"

Sasha nodded.

"Okay, good. Are these all of your belongings?" Nyla asked, gesturing at Galo's duffle bag, who nodded again.

"Okay, great. This way."

Greyson was so, so grateful to know Nyla. So glad she was in his life. Her competence was unparalleled.

"I-I'm going to make d-dinner."

Galo followed his mistress, who he wasn't going to call mistress, to a baby blue room with impressionist paintings hung from the walls, leaned up against each other, stacked against the desk and dresser. Canvases were just about everywhere, but it didn't seem messy. Just full.

"This is Sasha's room but you can stay here until we figure all this out. Oh! My name is Nyla, sorry, I spaced on that, we'll get you introduced to everyone properly once... once we settle down."

Galo bowed, hand crossed over his chest.

"This is just a little unexpected. We hadn't known you were--human."

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"No, no, no need to apologize. Just some information lost in the pipeline. Why don't you settle in and... we'll chat more at supper."

His mistress left, closing the door behind her, and Galo was left standing in the center of a room that wasn't his.

He took a shaky breath. Well. They'd accepted his name, at least, which was nice. Maybe someday he'd tell them about... him being a man. Maybe. Definitely going to wait and see on that one, he wasn't interested in a repeat of what had happened last time he'd told an owner he was a man.

There were five of them.

Galo sank to his knees, duffle bag hitting the floor, his hands covering his mouth. There were five of them.

He was a fairly gigantic failure at keeping one owner off his back, how was he ever going to please five?!? And the little one had been so angry with his presence--he would have to show his gratitude to Mistress Nyla, later, for stepping in.

Oh god, what would they use him for? This house was no estate--maybe they would just have him clean. Yeah, maybe, maybe he could just clean for them and stick to the shadows and he would be ignored.

A hysteric peal of laughter bubbled out of him.

Ignored.

Yeah, right.

But for some reason, that... did seem to be the case. They ignored him. Mistress Sasha and Master Evan especially seemed to have no idea what to do with him, and would awkwardly prompt him to leave them alone if he guessed their routines wrong and ended up in the same room as them.

Master Greyson made earnest attempts to speak with him, which Galo responded to as best he could. But the conversations were stilted things. The most successful ones hinged around Mistress Bethany, and Galo always found himself stressed and exhausted after talking about her.

Mistress Lilah seemed to find him a curiosity, asking him questions and prodding him into helping her with her "Influencer Gig," which mostly involved holding light sources or cameras for her. She would occasionally do up Galo's hair and makeup, and Galo tried very, very hard not to show how miserable that made him. To smile and be grateful and not waste her product and time with babyish tears.

Mistress Nyla was his favorite. She had him help with the household chores and spoke kindly to him. She would praise and sometimes touch him. Conversations with her were... trickier, though.

Mistress Nyla has a very good memory. She would ask questions, know things he'd told Master Greyson or Mistress Lilah, gently pull his life's story from him. She would sometimes make him ask uncomfortable questions about himself, too, about his place as a slave, which--he knew better. He knew better!

She would stop, when he started shaking, though. Ask him to please go clean the kitchen or bathroom or fold laundry. It made him feel weak. A useless, manipulative slave who cried to get out of situations he didn't like.

"It's okay, Galo," she sometimes murmured, petting his hair and letting him kneel at her feet with his head in her lap. "You're being good for us. It's alright sweetie."

Master Evan didn't like talking to Galo. So he knew better. But one day, a couple friends of Master Evan's had come and gone, and one of them--

Not that Galo wanted to assume, or presume, but she'd. She had looked.

"Yeah, she's trans," Master Evan confirmed, looking desperately uncomfortable. Galo would find a way to apologize later. He just. He had to. He.

"And that's okay?" he blurted gracelessly, instinctively flinching back for two reasons.

"Yeah? I mean, yes, absolutely, I respect and support her 100%."

Galo fidgeted with his skirt, something Mistress Bethany had bought that he wanted little more than to burn.

"Are... do you, wanna tell me something?" Master Evan asked, also not making eye contact. "Or, maybe tell Nyla something, since I dunno if I'm really the guy to, uh." He gestured at himself and Galo bit his lip.

"The others are also, okay with, uh?"

"Being trans. Yes. It's not bad... bro? We're all chill and respectful here. Oh you know Sasha? Sasha's like, super smart, and knows all about this stuff, she could talk to you about this?"

"Yes sir," Galo said, knowing he'd overstayed his welcome the moment he'd opened his mouth.

"Cool. Chill. Yeah. Okay then," Master Evan said, and left the room quickly.

That night Galo had found a pair of Master Evan's sweatpants and a couple of old t-shirts on his bed.

The next time Lilah pulled Galo to help with her Influencer Gig, she'd done his makeup and hair and he had cried, to see a man who looked like him staring back from the mirror.

Mistress Nyla took him shopping. She held his hand, both literally and metaphorically, with increasing frequency as he started to transition and actually began to feel like this new house was his home. That these people weren't going to hurt him, that they maybe even liked him. Almost.

Mistress Sasha had him help her move her remaining belongings from the blue room. His room. They were, officially and permanently, making her old room his. Her paintings were either hung up throughout the rest of the house or set into storage in the garage. He helped her carry whatever else was left into Mistress Nyla's--now hers and Mistress Sasha's--room and organize so Mistress Nyla didn't work herself into a fit over the clutter.

"Thank you," he said quietly, crouched in front of the dresser and slipping some of Mistress Sasha's less-used attire into the drawers.

"Hm?"

"For, giving me your space, ma'am." For everything. For all of it.

Mistress Sasha crossed over to him and sat in the floor where he was, opening her arms to him. He leaned in, slowly wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face to her shoulder.

"You're part of the f-family now," she said warmly. "Of c-course."

#answers #thanks!#writing #mine #anonymous #gw #Galo #Nyla #Greyson #Sasha #Lilah #Evan #AU #slave Galo AU

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