#Tawny would totally say worth it though

[girls-with-boys-names]

Tawny’s first day at Fort Briggs 😂

I can’t believe I forgot to post this here but this audio from the Try Guys was too good not to use for my chaos child

[spectrum-color]

Hello :) I wanted to ask how would you “advertise” Realm of the elderlings to someone, like how would you get them to read it ?

Lately I’ve been interested in it I saw a TikTok about a while ago and the person that posted the video about Robin Hobb’s books looked soo happy !! Also the covers look really beautiful. I’ve taken an interest in some fantasy books and Robin Hobb’s books always there on a list with Asoiaf, Lotr etc I’m not totally against fantasy books btw I guess I just haven’t found the right one yet I’ve read some but they just haven’t stuck with me like the characters, plot world etc.

This is a great question! First off, RotE isn’t super high fantasy. There is magic, but it’s not a “hard” magic system with rules, but rather a “soft” magic system that mostly serves the plot and characters.

Basically, it’s about Fitzchivalry Farseer, the bastard son of a prince growing up as an orphan (because his mother abandoned him and his father refused to be in his life) at Buckkeep, his families castle. The story follows him from 6-65. He isn’t in Liveship Traders or the Rainwild Chronicles, but he’s still very much the heart of the story.

Fitz is a really great character. He’s a bundle of trauma and attachment issues and struggles with trusting others and forming relationships. He’s depressed and utilizes denial as a coping mechanism and he’s often his own worst enemy, but he’s also caring and brave and (often unintentionally) funny. He is fully rounded and human. He loves, he does great things, he makes mistakes, sometimes you want to hug him and sometimes you want to smack him upside the head. One of the most believable characters I’ve ever read.

His co protagonist takes some time to get going but he’s called the Fool; he’s Fitz’s grandfathers court jester. He’s gender-fluid (usually presents as male but sometimes female and refuses to discuss his sex assigned at birth and treats gender as a trivial detail) and queer. He can see the future and is dedicated to working for the best possible path. He’s also funny, and clever, and creative, and cares very deeply for the world, especially people who are cast aside and looked down upon. He and Fitz are canon soulmates who have a very ambiguous relationship that could best be described as queerplatonic and is at the center of the story.

The characters are all great! Fitz’s foster dad, the alcoholic stablemaster Burrich who has the heavily stigmatized magical gift to communicate with animals and tries to shame it out of Fitz when he finds out he has the same thing (it’s a blatant queer metaphor) is a big one, as is his great uncle Chade, the spymaster who trains Fitz to be an spy and assassin using tactics that are disturbingly reminiscent of grooming, his uncles Regal and Verity who hate each other and are locked in a power struggle that he ends up in the middle of, Nighteyes, a wolf who he bonds closely to (remember he can communicate with animals,) and many others.

Basically, I would say it’s a character driven drama. Most of the plot is about personal relationships and the dynamic at Buckkeep and beyond (we eventually travel all over the world, from the wealthy democratic city state of Bingtown to the jungle full of magical artifacts the Rain Wilds to the city of dragons Kelsingra.) It is second to none in the genre for it though. It can be very tragic; Robin Hobb loves to break the readers heart. But it is always worth it.

Reading order: Farseer trilogy-Liveship Traders trilogy-Tawny Man trilogy-Rain Wild Chronicles quadrilogy-Fitz and the Fool trilogy

[every-dayiwakeup]

For the beautiful @suspiciouslackofclowns 😘 (the world is a lot brighter when I get your asks 🥰)

The World's A Little Brighter (Modern! AU)

Tw: mentioned and implied abuse, body insecurities, two dumb boys in love, Neil Hargrove(mentioned), cheesy pick up lines, anxiety

“It’s hot as a motherfucker,” Steve groans, stealing a glance at Billy, who still hasn’t taken off his Metallica hoodie, despite beads of sweat dripping from his damp tawny locks onto the black fabric. Only a mad man would wear that to the beach.

Come to think of it, Steve hasn’t seen him shirtless yet. Whether they’re making out in Steve’s bed or a broom closet, the lights are off and Billy’s clothes stay on. Some boyfriend Steve is. But are they boyfriends? They haven’t actually put a name on whatever they’re doing. All Steve knows is when he’s around Billy, the world’s a little brighter.

“S’ not so bad,” mutters Billy, putting down his makeshift fan.

“You’re gonna get a heatstroke,” Heather says, sounding very un-Heather-like.

Billy merely shrugs, and she bonks Steve over the head with her magazine before jogging over to try her newest pick-up line on a bemused Robin. He swears Heather and Billy were twins in another life. Or they co-wrote Notice Me, Bitch, a handbook for pulling your crushes pigtails until they’re aware of your existence.

Steve never needed the peacocking, though. He would rather eat rocks than admit it aloud, but Billy Hargrove stole his attention before that infamous mouth even uttered a word. Steve was a lucky bastard, getting to be the one to kiss those cherry lips. One taste would never satisfy Steve’s cravings. Billy was insatiable.

Right now, though, he was clearly in discomfort. Steve wasn’t all too good at the nonsexual aspects of relationships, but for Billy, it was worth a try.

“If I left a hickey in plain sight or… if it’s… Neil…”

Billy grinds his teeth. “He’s too smart to leave marks. Wasn’t you, either, Pretty Boy.”

At least he’s talking. Keep him talking. “Gnarly waves today, dude.”

A giggle escapes Billy before he claps a mortified hand over his mouth. Cute.

“That bad, huh?” Steve says, grinning.

“Was that your best, Harrington?”

“How dare you? I’m in my beginner’s stage!”

“Duolingo isn’t charging you for those lessons, I hope,” Billy jabs, loosening up a little.

“Ouch. You totally crushed my vibe. You’re harshing my mellow, dude. Not cool, man, not cool.”

Billy keels over laughing, slapping his thigh.

“A refund, then?” Steve jokes, poking his side.

Billy goes quiet, hugging his knees close.

Steve thinks he may know what’s going on. Still, it’s better to be sure. “Body Blues Day, Bills?”

Billy nods, sniffling. “I wanted to surf, but… I don’t look good.”

“Is this you or Neil talking?”

“I wish it was just him. The mirror tells me shitty things, and I know you said they’re lies, Stevie, I try to ignore them. W-when people stare at me, it makes it worse.”

“Did Neil say anything to you?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does!”

Billy jumps at his tone, and Steve takes a deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth like his therapist told him.

“Jesus, if I’m shitting on your summer with my crap feelings, no one’s holding you hostage. I’d hate to harsh your mellow, Harrington,” Billy sneers, looking away.

“I don’t think your feelings are crap,” Steve says, keeping his volume on the down low so as to not startle Billy further into his shell.

“Oh, spare me. You needed a rebound for Wheeler, is all. It’s not like we’re in love or anything-”

“And if one of us was, would that change anything?” Steve blurts before he can stuff a fist into his mouth.

“W-well, yeah I guess, but-”

“Then I do.”

“Huh?”

“I love you.”

Billy snorts loudly. “Maybe the heat’s getting to me. I’m hallucinating or some shit…”

“Bills. I. Love. You. Now please, let me take off your hoodie before the boy I love passes out.”

“You won’t like what you see, just a disclaimer,” Billy stubbornly insists.

“Can I be the one to make that determination?” Steve says, swallowing the extremely ill-timed I’ve jacked off thinking about this moment.

“Fine,” Billy spits, “Take it off.”

“Are you sure-”

“Today, Steve! Before I change my mind.”

Billy puts his arms up, stiff as a board as Steve slips the hoodie over his head, tossing it aside.

“Better? Why you wore black, babe, I’ll never-”

The sight before him is nothing short of heavenly; Billy’s hair a golden halo in the sunlight, thick tanned thighs that Steve knows are strong enough to crush a watermelon (and hopefully one day Steve’s head), a nice round tummy resting on those sinful thighs. Damn.

“Don’t ask me the color of anything,” Steve says, gaping shamelessly.

“My big, dumb belly kinda covers the outfit, I know,” Billy begins, starting to tremble. “‘S ugly, like I told you-”

“No, no, no, baby, your tummy’s not dumb or ugly!”

“You were staring. I look hideous, don’t I, Steve? Don’t-don’t lie!” Billy sobs, hugging himself tighter.

“Your swim trunks are red,” Steve says calmly. “They have surfboards on them.”

Billy nods, his breathing slowing a bit. He still won’t look at Steve, but it’s a start.

“They look really good on you, which isn’t a surprise because everything looks good on my boyfriend.”

Billy stops crying, oceanic eyes taking up his hopeful face.

“You-you called me your boyfriend.”

Oh no. Was this whole thing a mistake? Can he delete Billy’s memory of the last ten minutes?

“If you don’t want-”

“You’re an idiot, Steve,” Billy says fondly.

Steve smiles back, relieved.

“Yes, but I’m your idiot.”

“Yup.”

“I really do like your swim trunks.”

“Yeah?”

“They look better on my floor, though.”

Billy swats Steve’s chest, snickering. “The worst thing you’ve ever said to date, Harrington.”

“Back to surnames? That’s low, Hargrove.”

When their hyena laughs die down, Billy takes Steve’s hand and places it on his tummy. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks, shy and uncertain.

Steve will just have to meet him halfway, then. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

“Holloway!” Billy calls out, “Steve’s gonna be my ride, so you better find one of your own!”

“She’s riding with me, Blondie!” Robin hollers back.

“We just got here,” Steve whines. "What about surfing?"

Billy guides Steve's hand from his tummy to his crotch. “Your floor is real lonely, I hear.”

Steve’s never driven home faster.

Tags:

@emeraldwitches

@ouizzyharringrove

@talesfrom-theupsidedown

@cherry-sorry

@wixterirox

@thatawkwardlittlefangirl

@officialjoekeery

@polaris-ursae

@magellan-88

@flayedintheusa

@m0isttoenails

@phishyie

@shipworm

@harringroveho

@whoringrove

@jaethecreator

@theabyssofdeathandexistence

[spiltscribbles]

You're doing prompts! Yesss you have no idea how happy that makes me cause I love you're writing so so so much its so amazing soo yayyyyyy 🥳🥳 can I request prompt 32? Things you said I wouldn't understand. Maybe some wolfstar? I'm just a slut for your fics so I would probably die if you wrote this. Even if you don't that's fine I never wanna pressure you soo yeah love you 💕💕

~Notes: Gorgeous, this message is literally so fucking kind and I am absolutely SOBBING!!!! You are such a fucking gorgeous soul! And this means the galaxy! And I’m sorry! This screams angst, but I had a really really fucking awful day, so I just wanted to escape with some fluff :( But if you want me to redo I promise I will! Or you can send me another prompt and I’ll write angst! I adore you!!!

.-

A Reblog Is Worth A Thousand Stars  »  Send Me A Prompt  » Things You Said That I Couldn’t Understand

.-

Sirius realizes on an ordinary Tuesday morning as he spills the chocolate chips into the batter of the first batch of flapjacks, that he and his husband of over a decade haven’t had a date night for three months.

Three! Ruddy! Months!

THat’s completely not on! especially considering that now that the twins have entered their terrible twos they’ve barely had any energy at all  to go beyond furtive hand jobs and messy kisses in almost just as long. Sirius misses his bloody husband damn it!

“Daddy?” Angelica asks with owlish eyes  from where she and her younger brother, Teddy, are standing on either side of him with their expectant  plates in hand. “You look peaky.”

“Like you’re gonna puke,” Teddy tacks on helpfully, his ordinarily tawny curls  turning a putrid shade of  green just to emphasize his point. And Sirius silently reminds himself to tell Tonks off for teaching his kid such rude gestures once she gets back from her honeymoon with that Muggle bird of hers.

“Oi, you guys are going to make your old man feel like he’s the Hogwarts squid if you keep on.” Sirius tells them with a soft tug on Angelica’s ponytail and a cluck of a tongue directed towards his son.

“You’re father’s probably still just getting use to the time difference after getting back from the states.”

Sirius straightens up— pulse spiking in that way it always has around Remus ever since they had first begun to go out as fifth years— and spots him padding into the kitchen, beautifully sleep rumpled and cradling a babbling Maeve in one arm, while her twin, Matthew, toddles along side them with a meaty thumb in his mouth. Though he immediately begins sprinting towards Sirius once realizing that he’s finally home from teaching those Americans the newly enhanced defense tactics that the British Aurors have been utilizing to successful degrees.

“THere’s my Matty,” he crows, lifting him up in the air and blowing a raspberry into his belly while the toddler squawks with glee.

“Daddy home! Daddy! Daddy!”

“And he brings with him enough noise to rival the frog choir,” Remus notes absently.

Sirius waggles his tongue over at him, heart stuttering when he watches the morning sun spilling through the wide partition and unspooling golden in Remus’s hair. “You need it, gorgeous, considering you couldn’t wake up to your own ruddy alarm.”

Remus smiles in that abashed way that’s always been more devious than most give him credit for, “It’s the seventh year Ravenclaws, I think they will actually end up giving me an aneurism with how much extra they write in the essays.”

“Alas, I’m too pretty to be a widow,” Sirius sighs, tossing Matthew up in the air once more and cradling him into  his arm before walking over to Remus and dipping down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I’ve missed you.”

“You could’ve woken me up you know,” Remus mumbles, shifting from foot to foot while sliding Maeve into her high chair. “The moon’s not til tomorrow night.”

Sirius ducks his head, scratching the back of it with appropriate diffidence. “I just didn’t want to disturb you, love.”

Remus doesn’t catch his eye as he begins to walk over to the counter and brings the other portions of the meal to the table, lips pinched and shoulders stiff. “I’m not a total invalid, Sirius. I could welcome my husband home after a week apart.”

“What’s that mean, Tad?” Teddy asks, oblivious to the undercurrent of hurt in his father’s tone and  energetic as always while scrambling into his own seat around the breakfast nook, wide eyes glowing with that easy mirth that Sirius is thankful every day his children can feel without any lingering ghosts. “A, erm— In—valvid."

“It means your Tad’s a bit brassed off at me, Ted.” Sirius answers for him, affecting a light hearted cadence. "And that I better get round to finishing up breakfast or else he’ll give me that stiff upper lip of his.”

Remus pins him with a glare from over his shoulder while Sirius sets Matthew into his own seat besides his sister, but his features are softened and Sirius knows that it means he’s close to being forgiven.

“Daddy can I have blueberries in mine,” Angelica asks as he returns to the oven.

“Course, jellybean,” Sirius answers, adopting the pet name that Hope had called her granddaughter ever since they had brought her back from the hospital eight years ago. Sirius loved it even more once finding out that it was actually a reference to some sort of Muggle treat that Remus use to eat by the handfuls as a lad.

“OmyChocomydadzee,” Ted yells towards them with a wedge of cheese in his mouth before sticking his fork into the plate of sliced fruit so to waggle it in front of a giggling Maeve.

“Sorry, son, I don’t understand trollish. Or is that some sort of highly advanced Metamorphmagus language that your Aunty Dora has been teaching you on the sly that we lowly, ordinary wizards couldn’t possibly understand?”

Teddy rolls his bright eyes with a huff, swallowing down pointedly before speaking again. “Only chocolate in mine, just like Tad!”

“Manners, Ted, remember please and thank yous.” Remus says, long suffering as he eases down into his own seat and sips from the mug of coffee that Sirius had already prepared for him. “Though yes, I’d like mine to be chocolate too, Sirius, if you’re taking orders.”

Sirius grins indulgently at them before peering down to his eldest. “Angie darling, what shall we do with their teeth once they fall out from all that sugar?”

Angelica laughs glowingly, and Sirius brushes back her chestnut bangs with a reverent hand.”The snow warlock outdoors could use it since he’s only got a carrot nose after Matty ate the chocolate frogs we were s’pose to  use for his smile.”

“Brilliant!”

.-

After they’ve all eaten, Teddy and Angelica race outside to await the Potters amidst shouts of “Shut your trap,” from a peeved off Teddy every time Angelica taunts him over his crush on Effie, and the twins dig into their toy chest in the living room while Sirius and Remus spell away the mess that always ensues after a meal with the Lupin-Blacks.

“Andromeda wants us to bring the Christmas pudding this year,” Remus idly tells Sirius while he enchants the dishes to begin washing themselves with a graceful flick of his wand. Remus ordinarily prefers cleaning them by hand, so Sirius has an inkling that the impending full moon has already  begun aching in his bones. Merlin’s saggy bollocks does he wish this new, experimental potion would just escape the bureaucracy of the Ministry so that the man who is his other half could at least have a small relief.

“Is that along with the wine and fresh cranberry sauce she’s asked for?” Sirius says, saddling up behind Remus, bending slightly so to nuzzle his nose along the hollow of his long neck.

“Mmm, she thought you might say that, and wanted to kindly remind you that she carried a set of twins for us when she was forty even though we promised that Ted would be the last sprog.”

“Pff, as if I’d let potter outdo us.”

“We definitely didn’t let that happen,” Remus snorts. “The twins and Pip will surely be the next generation Marauders, God save Minerva.”

“Exactly!” Sirius sneers, locking his arms around Remus’s torso. “Besides ’s not like it’s our fault Meda’s bloody eggs decided on a two for one deal.”

Remus stifles a laugh, leaning back into the embrace and setting his hand over Sirius’s where he’s begun thumbing small circles against his abdomen. “Yes, well if you’d like to have that argument with her?”

“Oh, she’s full of it. I know that the twins are her favorites, spoils them rotten I tell you Moons.”

“Well it’s hard not to with such cute faces,” Remus says, turning his head slightly so to peer over at the pair of them through the doorway. Maeve is munching on the leg of her barbie and Matthew is clashing together pieces of two completely contradictory puzzles. Sirius swears that his chest might implode with the love he feels for his chaotic, little family.

“Course they’re cute, Moons,” he says loftily instead of the incredibly sappy emotions that are flooding his insides. “They’re are kids, cute is in the genes.”

“Cocky bastard,” Remus snorts before turning around in his arms and kissing him full on the mouth. And yes, the sight of Remus curled around the latest essay he’s meant to be marking up with the baby monitor for the twins’s room clutched in his left fist, was an absolute heavenly sight, but Sirius thinks this more hands on approach is a much more appropriate welcome after dealing with an ocean between them and six nights apart.

“Mmm, does this mean I’m not in the dog house anymore?” Sirius asks hopefully, trailing a path of kisses along Remus’s jawline and stopping at the hinge where it meets his neck so to suck only slightly, reveling in the beautifully familiar taste of his husband.

“You were never in the dog house you daft mutt,” Remus reproves in a voice that could’ve been caustic if it weren’t for his words going breathy half way through and his hands clutching tightly onto Sirius’s shoulders. “’S just— Just… Nothing.”

Sirius feels his stomach twist, pulling off of him with a scowl set on his face, and refusing for Remus to just brush this aside, the way he’s always want to do instead of talking about anything that actually might be hurting him. Like he’s afraid that his sodding feelings are somehow a burden, the self-possessed bastard.

“Tell me,” he intones, brooking no arguments while he gently takes Remus’s face in hand so he can’t look away.

His gorgeous features twist up, indignant and mulish, but they relax almost just as quickly, a defense tactic that’s melt away almost completely after so long of being intwined with one another in the most intimate of ways.

“Sirius, there was a time that you could hardly keep your hands off of me after being away for less than half as long,” Remus tells him, voice wavering only slightly. “And I understand if it’s getting tiring having to parent around the moon’s schedule—“

“What the bloody fuck are you talking about,” Sirius really meant to listen to him all the way through, he did! But he can’t help just how furious he got at the sound of that absolutely ridiculous conclusion Remus has somehow conjured up in his impossible mind. Positively hates how this is still such a point of sensitivity Remus has when it regards to their relationship.

“Sirius—“

“Don’t be a completely idiotic arse, Lupin!” Sirius very nearly shouts, absolutely broiling. “You are the love of my life, and I wouldn’t change a single sodding thing about us! And I swear to Merlin or Morgana or whoever the fuck else, that if you begin speaking such rubbish again, I’ll have to lock you up in our bedroom, and show you just how intensely I mean that.”

Remus’s face has gone flushed throughout Sirius’s diatribe, and his hazel eyes twinkle with that adoring way of his that always makes Sirius’s heart lodge somewhere in his diaphragm. “Lupin-Black.”

“Pardon?”

“You called me Lupin, it’s Lupin-Black now, has been for quite a while.”

Sirius chuckles lowly, feeling his righteous anger  deflate as  he crowds Remus against the kitchen island and presses their foreheads together. “You done being a senseless sod then?”

Remus locks his hands around Sirius’s neck, kisses his cupids bow with a tender earnestness. “You still could’ve woken me up.”

“I just wanted to make sure that you wouldn’t be exhausted for tomorrow, love.” Sirius reiterates, kissing him with feeling before pulling apart once more. “Though if I’m being totally honest,  I would’ve liked it if you could’ve wanked me off in hello.”

“That’s all you would’ve wanted?” Remus asks smugly, the tip of his index finger tracing idl patterns  against Sirius’s neck.

“Mmm, don’t tease me, Moony.” Sirius tells him before sharing another snog. “I was just thinking earlier on that it’s been three ruddy months since I’ve had you to myself for the entire night.””

Remus’s smile brightens, “Oh yeah? You’ve missed that have you?” He bucks forwards, and Sirius can feel him pressed completely against his front.

“I think I might go mad very, very soon, Mssr Moony if we don’t correct this most awful of grievances.”

Remus laughs fondly, kissing the tip of his nose with a smile on his face. “Well I reckon that the twins are old enough to sleep through the night, and Grandma Lupin is always asking after them.”

Sirius brightens ten fold, “Really?”

“I’m sure the kids won’t mind spending an extended weekend on the Welsh coast.” Remus nods.

“Right, good. Yes! Let’s use that tellamabob thing.”

“But the kitchen’s still a mess.”

“Remus, please have mercy on me,” Sirius begs with his best pleading look until his husband finally relents in that worldweary way of his, even if it’s him who snatches Sirius’s wrist and drags him to that muggle contraption, an excited jittering to his grasp all the while.

Sirius is irrecoverably in love with such a bellend.

~*~

My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

[alexaplaysgames]

Nodus Tollens

Pairing: June x F!Traveller (Celeste)

Fandom: Andromeda Six (I know the fan base isn’t huge so I encourage those who haven’t played to read these and see if you’d like to try it out!)

Warnings: Angst, minor mentions of gore and death.

Words: ~ 1800

Description: When Traveller tries to save June instead.

Notes: I chose my traveller for this little fic but will totally take requests if you’d like me to use yours. Just pop into me DMs and make a request! Also, this is one of several fics for A6 that I have so let me know if you’d like to be tagged.

This is self indulgent nonsense and I am sorry. I will do better next time. Actually I probably won’t.

Tags: @amlovelies @writersgonefishing @oatssss @kimberrrrr @femmeshep @serana-spring

There’s a sort of weightlessness to death.

An instant where you rest suspended in the between. Passed from warm hands into a cold, steel grip, there’s a split second where everything stops. Life no longer holds meeting and death has yet to make known its cruel face, so you are left...

Waiting.

It takes a moment for Celeste to realize that this isn’t the weightlessness she’s feeling. The sensation of suspense is not one due to hovering between life and death. The strength which holds her is not of some otherworldly being.

She looks up and sees kindly grey eyes. June cradles her head with gentle, reserved strength. Tawny strands of his hair fall against his forehead as he looks down at her with an expression of fear and unbridled concern, one that is utterly unfamiliar on the usually calm gunman’s features.

His fingers press against her side and withdraw, sticky and crimson with blood.

“Celeste,” June whispers, though it’s faint with the ringing in her ears.

Her name on his lips sounds sad, agonized even. The feeling that knowledge invokes within her is foreign. Once, existing only as the youngest child in a line of royals, fated for a life in the shadows, she held the belief that no one would mourn her death. Now, the look of anguish on his face makes guilt flare in her gut; she doesn’t want to hurt him like this.

He pulls her close against his chest, draws her into his arms as easily as if she were, truly, weightless. She knows of the strength that lies hidden under the layers of his sweet, gentle exterior, buried under his warm smiles and soft, thoughtful gestures.

Her fingers’ weak grasp finds his wrist, delving into the crisscrossed scars written in his skin. In them, she finds the affirmation she seeks.

Even if it drains her of blood, life, and spirit, it was worth it. For in this, just once, he will remain untouched.  

**

She wakes to metal tables and blinding white light.

“Hey, easy now,” comes Ryona’s soothing tone. Her pale blue skin and soft, pretty features follow as she stands from her desk before rushing to Celeste’s side.

Ryona immediately starts fluttering around, reading numbers on screens and pressing buttons as Celeste puts her hand over the bandage on her newly-sewn side with a wince.

“You’re in the med bay. Came in pretty banged up, if I do say so myself. June had to carry you back.”

The incessant ringing has cleared to the steady beeping of the surrounding machines. For the second time, it occurs to Celeste in her clarity, that man has pulled her back from the brink of death and carried her toward safety in his arms.

“I’ve never seen our cowboy quite so upset,” Ryona adds, her tone full of meaning. “He really cares about you. Remember that if he-“

Celeste shifts on the table. “If he what?”

“I had to give you eight stitches, and you lost a lot of blood. You should-”

“Ryona.”

Golden eyes, filled with conflict, meet green.

“June doesn’t handle strong emotion well. He’s afraid it makes him volatile, destructive. Dangerous.”

“Oh.” The plastic sheet crinkles as Celeste settles back against it. The non-answer makes her nervous. “Okay.”

“He’ll be fine,” Ryona comforts, squeezing her ankle softly as she sits down by her feet. “Luckily, so will you. I was worried.”

Celeste stumbles in her attempt to formulate a reply. “I- thank you.”

The words stir some strange sentiment within her, an immense wave of affection threatening to drown her in their wake. Never in her life did she imagine she would be lucky enough to be cared for so deeply by people so utterly kind.

Suddenly, a knock sounds at the door, startling both women where they sit.

“That’s probably June. He sat by your side for hours until he went to get a blanket. Said you looked cold,” then, louder, “come in!”

June almost has to duck under the door, given his immense height, and he enters carrying a stack of blankets high enough to clothe a small army.

“I didn’t know which ones-“ he begins, setting the stack of fabric on the countertop, then trails off as he registers the sight before him.

“You’re awake.”

Silence ensues. Ryona’s eye flit between the two of them before she stands, says, “I’ll be outside if you need me,” and excuses herself with a warm, supportive smile over her shoulder.

“June-“

“I am so, so sorry,” he breathes, air rushing forward from his lungs, coming to kneel by her side. His eyes search her face, looking for what, she doesn’t know.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I should’ve protected you. I shouldn’t have let you get hurt.” He looks disgusted with himself. This, this self-loathing, is something she recognizes. “There are a lot of things I should have done,” he adds softly.

Celeste moves to sit up and hisses as the skin around her bandages stretches.

Realization dawns in June’s eyes before they shift to her side. “Can I?”

She nods, lifting the edge of her shirt to reveal the expanse of fabric that hides her wound. Looking briefly into her eyes for confirmation, June lets his fingers brush against her skin, tracing the edges of the bandage and sending a tingling feeling up Celeste’s spine. At every point where their skin meets, warmth trickles outwards from his fingertips, seeping through her skin and settling in her veins. She can feel his breath, the unmistakable warmth of it, against her bare skin.

“You’ll have a scar,” June murmurs.

“So? You already have so many.”

He frowns. “I don’t want you to be like me, Celeste. I don’t want to make you like me. How could you- that’s the last thing I want.”

“You told me to run and I chose not to. You didn’t make me do anything. I’m responsible for my own actions. Did you really think I would leave and risk you getting hurt?”

That seems to throw him for a loop. His jaw drops slightly, eyes wide. “You- you wanted to protect me?”

She traces a featherlight touch along his cheek with a shaking hand. June’s eyelashes flutter, briefly, at her touch. “Of course.”

“You’re delusional,” June says, though it lacks any bite. He simply sounds lost, a little confused. “I’ve survived much worse than a back-alley gunfight. I can handle a few more scars.”

“But you shouldn’t- you shouldn’t have to.”

She swallows, jaw working as she looks toward the ceiling, yet she can see how he shakes his head, features pulled between frustration and overwhelming torment. “You shouldn’t have to put yourself in danger for me. I’m not worth that.”

“But you are-“

“I am not.” And the finality of his words draws her gaze towards his once more. She sees something there that she’s only seen once before, the day she stood outside his cabin and he shut the door in her face .

Anger. Fire, bright flames quickly smothered with a brush of his large palm over his face.

He breathes deep, chest rising with the motion under his vest. His grey eyes look more like steel than rainclouds as he speaks. “If you can’t follow orders, I won’t be able to take you on supply runs any longer.”

“June, please. You don’t mean that.”  

She doesn’t know what she’s asking for. Acceptance? His friendship? His love? Would she dare?

Could he even give her such a thing?

“I’ll see you in the morning, Celeste.” June stands again, sleeves shifting further up his forearms to show his scars. “Get some sleep.”

He doesn’t once look back once as the door closes behind him.

The metal table beneath her feels so much colder without him there. How cruel he is, to let her taste what it’s like to have him by her side, then rip it away. Left with nothing but the hum of machinery and her thoughts, she begins to wonder if she’s broken, or he is.

Or maybe they’re both broken, she thinks. Maybe they both have jagged edges, and no matter how hard she tries to fit them together, there will always be a little space in between.

It’s an uncomfortable thought, one that lulls her to sleep under fluorescent lights and the weight of her own fractured heart.

**

Outside, June slumps against the wall, running his hand through his hair with a sigh.

How his heart ached when he turned her affection aside, how he wanted nothing more than to relish in the feeling of her caring for him, for him, to bask in it and soak in it and let it fill all of his cracks and crevices and make him whole.

And how he knew, just as deeply and with equal certitude, that that was the last thing he could ever let himself do.

He is no stranger to pain. But the hurt he feels now is different, gnawing at a part of himself he didn’t know existed. Not since he closed it off, so long ago. Not since-

No. Not going there. No amount of time will strength long enough for him to open those doors again.

Just look at what you’ve done to her already. All you’ll ever do is hurt her.

June presses his fists into the wall by his sides, hands trembling with the effort not to leave dents in the metal. It’s so easy for him to break and ruin, so difficult to build. And that is why he cannot have her. He won’t let her become another beautiful thing shattered by the strength in his hands.

How difficult she makes it, when she looks at him as if he’s fragile, when her lips form words like care and protect and things he never thought a monster like him could ever hope to receive. He wants to lay himself down at her feet and thank the gods for giving him something so sweet.

But he is dangerous and he is deadly and he has no idea how to love someone the way she deserves.

“You could stand to let someone in, every once in a while.”

Ryona crosses her arms as she leans against the wall beside him, one eyebrow raised.

“I won’t kill you to let yourself feel, June.”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about killing.”

June tries not to flinch as she lays a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not the monster you think you are,” she says.

A part of him wants to scream, to say that she doesn’t understand, that’s she’s wrong, but that part is smothered by the warmth that bubbles in his chest at her words.

He lets his head hit the wall and closes his eyes. “I don’t know if you’re right.”

“Am I ever wrong?” Ryona grins, eyes twinkling.

He has to admit, she does have a point.

“I hope you’re able to work this out,” she says, pushing herself off the wall. She walks back into the med bay and June keeps his eyes scrunched closed until he hears the door slam shut.

More than anything, he hopes for that too.

[harleyquinnamiright]

Crossroad High - Chapter One

also on Wattpad and AO3 Ships: (Eventual) Analogical, Royality, and Dukeceit/Demus Triggers: None that I can think of, please tell me if you’d like me to tag anything!

a/n: I don't know a lot about cheerleading and most of what I'm taking for Patton's cheerleading stuff is my fencing experience. Since it's a winter sport I didn't think it'd be fitting of Patton so. sorry for messing anything up there.

Remus Sanders is not a happy camper. After spending the entire summer at his Aunt and Uncle's house where all he could do was chores and school work, he gets one day to be at home. One day off before school starts again with the exact same day to day schedule as his so-called vacation. It would be bad enough having to do chores, having to do them while your guardians sit around and just tell you to be a different person is horrendous.

“HONEY! I’M HOME!” He chirped loudly the second he slammed opened the door, successfully scaring someone if the sound of something crashing had anything to say about it. He smirked to himself as he grabbed the door, seeing no dent in the wall, and kicking it back into place. His camo duffel bag that was slung across his shoulder was the only thing that he went to his Uncle’s house that he came back with, so he felt very smug waltzing into his kitchen. Even his wardrobe he wasn’t able to keep completely, though he was still wearing an outfit he had been able to hide by burying it. It was covered in dirt, but that never mattered to him. It was a black Billie Eilish shirt of her with her green hair, a pair of dark purple fishnets, and black ripped baggy jeans.

“You’re home.” Remus’ mother said with a sarcastic smile as she watched Remus walk into the kitchen. She was leant over the sink, a broken plate clearly having been just broken below her. Remus mentally high-fived himself. “You’re still doing makeup.” She said after a moment of silence, not trying to hide her disgust. Remus’ smirk turned into a smile as he remembered the loud purple eyeshadow and cat-eye he put on this morning.

“I am here. And yes, makeup is still on my face.” Remus smiled brightly, leaving the two standing in silence. “Welp. Bye!” He screamed the last word just to see if he could shock her again. It didn’t work, but it was worth a try. Walking to and up the stairs, it wasn’t surprising nothing changed. Whenever he left something seemed to change so it was a bit refreshing to see that the decor had left the same. No one else seemed to be in the house, which was a bit strange, but he didn’t note anything as he was glad to be home.

He almost screamed the second he opened his bedroom door. He didn’t actually scream, but he goddamn he wanted to. Everything that made his room his was gone. There wasn’t even a dresser anymore. His clothes he left were folded neatly on a silver shelving unit that looked like it belonged in a cafeteria, and there was no longer a mirror or desk. Half of the clothes there weren’t even his, or weren’t when he left, and he could tell that from the doorway. There wasn’t a trace of makeup and the walls had gone from his favorite neon green to a hospital white.

Not screaming, not thinking, he threw his bag at the bed that now had a sporty blue bedding instead of the green and purple octopus quilt he had specially commissioned, and climbed out his window. The roof below his room wasn't very strong but he walked on it enough to know where to step to get to the lattice and climb down relatively safely. He still wasn’t really thinking, but he got to his family's garage pretty easily.

Before he knew what he was doing he was holding a baseball bat above his mother’s favorite car. The only thing that made him stop and start to think was the garage opening to show his Dad's car. Knowing he wasn’t visible yet, he threw the bat half-hazerdly towards the corner and left the room garage towards the door facing his backyard, not really rushing, but still very much fuming.

—-

Seeing someone climb down the side of what seems to be their own house is not an everyday occurrence. Though, being in Roseville is not an everyday occurence for Janus Glass, so it’s not like he can actually speak about it. He couldn’t stop staring as he watched the interesting boy across the street climbing, but it was clear the other didn’t notice him. From what Janus could make out the other boy had white hair or white in his hair and was wearing clothes very different then from what Janus knew.

“Jay!” Janus heard, turning to see his Dad waving excitedly from the new house. It was a two bedroom house that was way bigger than it should have been, but the fact they could now afford it was amazing, and something neither of them had considered before.

J walked up to his front door and looked around, his dad running up the porch stairs excitedly. Neither of them had much time considering the fact that J had to get to the school soon for a tour, but it was nice to look around a house you never thought you’d actually get.

“What time was your school thingy again?” His dad shouted, now far inside the house.

“2:23,” J lied, wanting to be at the school early and liking the way the time sounded better. He looked around the living room which was connected to the front door briefly for a clock, coming up empty, but already spotting where one could go.

“So 2:30 or 3:00?” His dad responded, knowing his son's language.

“Former.” J responded, trying to visualize the rest of the room and decorations, a lot of which he and his father had already agreed on, but imaging again with different decor was nice.

“We, my boy, are going to be late.” His father said running down the stairs, walking quickly back into the car.

“What?” J asked deadpan as he followed him.

The two got into the car in silence, Janus half worrying about being late, half trying to imagine what the school would look like. Both thoughts got cut off by his Dad's car stopping shortly in front of a boy with sunglasses and a brown leather jacket. The boy looked up from his phone, gave the both of them a half dirty look before backing out of the way of the car. The two drove away with nothing but a look at each other. The rest of the car ride didn’t leave a lot of room for thought, being filled with Queen. Janus and his dad only got through two songs before arriving at the bland looking building that tomorrow would officially be Janus’s new school. The back of the building was boring at least, a solid wall of grey brick. The front had more sectioning off and was painted different quotes and pictures representing pride in the school and town, though not distracting from the statue in the middle of the front courtyard.

“Well look at that! This place looks fun! Am I dropping you off or should I know where your classes are? What are we doing?” Janu’s dad asked excitedly, clapping loudly once.

Janus totally didn’t flinch. He didn’t. Chad still looked apologetic. “You’re just dropping me off, Dad.” Janus replied, nodding to himself. The word dad made Chad light up as he unlocked the car. Despite the fact that Janus had gotten comfortable calling Chad Dad long ago, the fact he did made the other very happy.

“Text me when the tour is over! I’ll see what we can do about milkshakes afterwards, yeah?” Chad continued to smile brightly, not matching Janus’ low energy at all.

“Sure. Bye.” Janus was once again deadpan though trying not to be rude as he turned away from his father and towards the front entrance of Crossroad High. This was going to be a fun year.

—-

Roman should not have shown up 15 minutes early. It wasn’t a good idea when he left the house for the 10 minute drive, and it wasn’t a good idea when he got to the building. The front door was open by the time he got there, but there were no people around for what seemed like miles. The back parking lot full of cars, but it always was, and there never seemed to be any people.

The fifteen minutes wasn’t hard to fill when there was finally silence to think. In a house filled with the fights about Remus coming soon or Logan just needing people to know they were wrong, it was very hard to think. Sitting on the floor was also very nice. The silence was nice until there was a random voice behind him.

“Hey.” The voice was quiet, but it was still there.

“Hi.” Roman responded, turning around, instantly glad he spoke before looking as he looked at the others face. He seemed to have heterochromia of the eyes, one being almost yellow, the other a tawny brown. Also, half his face was covered in burns that looked so organized it looked like a waffle iron was pressed to his face.

“So. I, um, I assumed you were, a, my tour guide? If not, sorry for bothering you?” The other said cautiously, his voice rasping slightly, dragging out his s’s, going from somewhat deadpan to panicked in his time talking.

“Oh, yeah, no, yeah! I’m your tour guide! I’m Roman! Hello!” Roman said with a princely flourish as he stood up from his place on the floor, wiping his hips slightly.

“Greeeaaaaaat.” Janus nodded slowly as he drew out the word. “I’m Janus, with a u-s. Did you want the schedule I had or are we going around the whole school? or..?”

“We could do either! I wasn’t given a lot of strict instruction so I think we can do whatever. I was told you and I had the exact same classes, hence why I’m the one showing you around, so. Yeah.” Roman explained, smiling awkwardly. “That’s the front door.” He said after a second of Janus just staring at him.

“Math.” Janus seemed to force the word from his throat, for some reason not being able to speak. His face also had a slight tinge to his face that could have been blushing, from his burn scars, or because of the school lighting.

“Math. Yes. We have Algebra first. That starts upstairs. We go from here, down all the way to the middle school blocks, then use the left staircase, go all the way up, and the second door is the Algebra room. It sounds a little more complicated than it is.” Roman explained, pointing at the path he was talking about as he started walking.

“Middle school blocks?” Janus said a little easier as it was clear Roman would be able to hold most of the conversation for the day.

“Yes, the middle school isn’t really connected but it used to be. The 9th graders have to sometimes come here for elective classes because sometimes. I took a theater class that could only be held in this auditorium so me and my class walked here everyday from the upper lot.” Roman explained, smiling accomplished while talking about theater, obviously passionate about the subject.

“Oh, so you’re also a freshman?” Janus asked, surprised, his face turning confused again in the middle of his sentence.

“Yes, I have an older brother and again, theater class, so I am quite acquainted with the building.” Roman once again explained, turning to open the door but searching Janus’ face for reactions. There wasn’t much of any.

Janus nodded when he realized Roman was expecting someone and continued nodding throughout the rest of the tour. The school was broken up into wings so it was pretty easy to navigate. By 3:30 there was only one place left for Roman to show Janus.

—-

Cheerleading practice was rewarding but it was hard. A lot of people seemed to think it was easy, Patton at first included, but wow was it hard work. Not even mentioning the exercise before and after actually practicing things specifically for cheerleaders.

“Pat! We were all going to the movies later today, wondering if you’d like to come?” Regina, the head cheerleader, asked him cheerily.

“I’d love to! Should we meet in your locker room or mine?” Patton asked, already knowing the invitation was going to be revoked.

“Oh. Um. We kind of have to leave now.” Regina smiled apologetically, though she started tensing a tad.

“Oh, alright, then I guess I’ll see you next time!” Patton waves as he was the first one walking away, not pointing out several of the girls preferred to change too, and that many probably invited were already walking towards the school. Or that it was the fourth time they had invited him only to not revoke that when he reminded them he used a different dressing room.

It’s not like he was the only male cheerleader, he was just the only one who didn’t try out and get in in kindergarten. He joined in first grade, never thinking he was out of the loop. He didn’t even realize he was until 6th grade, when he and the three other male cheerleaders were chosen for the main twelve cheerers who were picked for competitions.

Suffice to say, thinking you’re alone in the locker room then hearing voices is pretty scary.

“And this is our last stop of the day! These are the locker roooo--- HI PATTON.” Roman, a boy Patton knew from theater class announced loudly upon seeing Patton. Patton laughed slightly, unsure of the loud reaction seeing as he was still fully in uniform and wasn’t doing anything he thought would cause such a thing.

The boy next to him waved slightly after a sec, looking at Roman strangely.

“Heyyy, Rodrick?” Patton asked unsurely, smiling brightly.

“Ro, uh, Roman.” Roman answered, though his tone was very questioning.

“Alright, hi Roman! And hi, you! I’m not sure we’ve ever met before! I’m Patton!” Patton waved more enthusiastically.

“Janus. With an u-n. It’s nice to meet you, Patton.” Janus nodded, smirking slightly on the side of his face that wasn’t burned. Patton was unsure if he wanted to ask but he was sure he wanted to know whatever or whoever was behind that sooner or later.

“Well. This seems a little awkward.” Patton said, closing his locker, deciding not to change out of uniform today. “I know why I’m here. Can I ask why you two are here?”

“I’m starting this school tomorrow and I needed a tour around.” Janus explained easily, drawing out the s, though his voice seemed like an emotion Patton couldn’t place.

“Oh. That’s fun. When walking in I think I heard you,” He paused and pointed softly at Roman, “say that this was the last stop? If that’s true, would you guys want to hang out? I’m a bit bored.” He finished, smiling and scrunching his nose, hoping it didn’t sound like he wanted to take over their day.

“That’d be nice. I’m also new to town so finding where to hang out would be, well, nice. Heh.” Janus answered after it was clear Roman was going to do no such thing. He stood there smiling like a polite cat, nodding continuously.

“Awesome! Let’s go!” Patton turned around, giving Roman a polite smile as to ask if he was coming. Roman just kept nodding. “Alright.” Patton shrugged, and started walking out the field to the back parking lot.

—-

Logan knew, for sure, that school didn’t start until tomorrow. He did. Then again, his brain never officially decided school was over, therefore he was in the clear of deciding he was overworking himself. It wasn’t like he was starting freshman year over again, he was going to school as a sophomore. He didn’t know why, but it seemed like this year was going to be important. Or dangerous. It’s school, who knows.

He was startled out of his thoughts about scheduling when his phone started playing Fergalicous. “Babes, you better not be hunched over your desk.” Logan’s friend, Remy, said after Logan answered the phone.

“I’m not hunching.” Logan answered honestly, pressing up his glasses.

“Working counts as hunching hun.” Remy paused to slurp his coffee, “Also I’m at your front door.” Remy said, sipping again.

“Of course you are.” Logan rolled his eyes fondly as he walked downstairs. He had earlier heard a crash of some kind of already figured his younger brother had been home and had probably left by now. Logan didn’t support what his parents had done to Remus’ room but since he didn’t stop anything he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to Remus yet.

“Why was your brother climbing down the side of your house?” Remy asked as soon as Logan opened the door, confirming his suspicions of Remus being gone. His mother was now also nowhere to be found but she typically didn’t mind Remy being over.

“Probably because our parents completely cleared out his room after sending them to our Uncles.” Logan answered, walking upstairs, trusting Remy to shut the door and follow him up the stairs.

“That a quote?” Remy asked scandalously, obviously wanting more information.

“Not directly. Here’s what was said,” Logan started as soon as he closed his bedroom door. Talking with Remy was always fun, he was trustworthy, and truly the only one who appreciated gossip as much as Logan.

The fact that Remy was only not in Roseville for a week did not stop him from having a world of new information from where he was and Roseville. Logan didn’t have as much info as the other but he had plenty and he had plenty of new information on people to walk into sophomore year. —-

When Virgil got home, he genuinely did not know what day it was or when it was. He knew it was dark. It’s not like he was gone for long but when the sky gets dark around 6:00 you can lose track of how long you’re outside. The only reason he left in the first place was because his mother's boyfriend Derrick was coming over and Derrick didn’t particularly like him. He didn’t ask him to leave but while he was there it was clear he didn’t want Virgil there. In his own home. Virgil didn’t mean to fall asleep in a public park and get driven home by a cop with no clock in the car whatsoever.

“Honey! Oh my gosh I was so worried!” His mother said, hugging him tightly the second she opened the door. He tensed and squirmed but she didn’t care. Despite the fact they were still semi outside, Virgil knew Derrick wasn’t home based on his mother's closeness.

When she finally let him go, before he was able to say anything, she glanced at something and suddenly got a hard look in her eye. “Sweety, you have school in two hours. None of your chores are done. I’ll let you know when you have time to change.” She was swaying slightly and her eyes showed she clearly wasn’t all there, but when was she ever.

Virgil just nodded, not like his mother was in front of him anymore. She was probably going back to sleep herself, but Vee couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t know how long he slept and still doesn’t know an exact time, but he just plugged his phone in before getting to work on chores. He had no idea why he needed to change but then again his mother did care about what others thought about him. In public at least.

His mother never called him to get changed but luckily he set an alarm his phone was loud enough to alert him of. He didn’t really have time to fully change what he was wearing so he just grabbed the first sweater he saw and the backpack with all his summer work in it. He was dressed fine, an intentionally ripped dark purple shirt and distressed black jeans, the sweater being a favorite and one he worked to fix when broken many times. He heard the bus coming before he saw it and he didn’t get a second to breathe until he was sitting in the seat directly behind the driver. He realized he left his headphones home way too late, but tried to comfort himself by knowing there wouldn’t be time throughout the day to listen to them. It was the first day of freshman year, after all.

taglist (ask to be added or removed): @fandomfan315 @dragon-hair @a-long-suffering-artist @aleiimm @sadgayisme @falsehoodx @jessibbb @notveryglittery @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @izzyfandoms

[gasp-iwrotesomething]

How about R14 and R15 for Cal because he deserves some happiness after all the angst I've requested for him.

Haha, that’s true! I really like how you’re wanting something fluffy to make up for the angst you’ve requested. Thanks for your request, @jewalsgem​, and I hope you enjoy!

R14: “You look so handsome, I really mean it.”

R15: “You make me feel so safe and I’m so grateful for you.”

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Somehow, above all other good things that Cal could latch onto, it was MC.

The thought crossed Cal’s mind as he held MC in his arms, blanketed by the silver luminescence of the moonlight. Her head was buried in the hollow of his neck, her eyes closed despite the beauty in front of her--MC was more so focused about the beauty that wrapped around her and transmitted feelings fuzzier than the wool of their cover. Cal was quiet and so was the night and that was how they preferred; the only sounds being their muted breaths billowing. MC sighs and snuggles closer, her nose grazing Cal’s tender pulse, her untamed chestnut hair tickling his chin. But the gunslinger hardly minded--only shifting his head so that his honed chin rested on a patch of smooth and silky tresses. The atmosphere was too perfect to shatter--a silence so comfortable that even a hushed word would fracture it and down they’d fall from their haven.

Their night away from trouble began with the classic tongue-in-cheek banter that lasted for a while--countless minutes wasted of the endless battle to be victorious. Cal had suggested to take the night off together--or rather, he shyly asked MC to a date on the rooftop of the bike shop and she agreed--since drama never spared them ever since they became a couple. MC was glad for the opportunity to relax with Cal away from all of the cyan and red and green-faced demons who popped out of every corridor they stepped into. But the only mission at hand was to outsmart each other, snapping witty comebacks left and right to have the last laugh. Once the two ran out of ways to call each other dimwitted losers, their conversation fell into a solitude and drifted off with the gentle breeze, the words isolated and forgotten once the romantic setting became known. “Wow,” Cal muttered after a moment of gawking, his blue eyes illuminated by the speckles of light kissing the sky, “guess I scored big when I suggested stargazing on the roof.” 

His cocky grin is vocalized in his tone and MC resists the need to roll her eyes and quip back. Instead, she jabs a gentle finger into his side and smiles softly, swayed by the cozy air. “You guessed right. For once.” MC adds once she sees the proud smile climb his mouth, her own turning wry. Though the tease might’ve been the initiation another full-fledged war, all it does is tug a string of chuckles from Cal who seems more amused than irritated. “Says you. You’re like the epitome of lousy guesses.” MC should’ve been defensive at that, should’ve felt her hackles rise and the urge to argue , but like ice cream on a scorching summer day, that compulsion melts into something sticky and sweet; something that encourages a smiley eye roll. Maybe it was the fond note that tainted his voice. Maybe it was the stunning smile that still laced his features; a handsome spool of thread woven with easy intricacy. Whatever the reason, MC loved to fool around like this; her heart a harbor that held each positive happening like it was the most valuable artifact ever garnered. After that, Cal had scampered off down the stairs connecting to the roof to fetch a blanket so they could properly settle under the stars. Just for good measure, the trick shooter snagged two--one to protect their backs from the chill of the rooftop and the other to protect them from the chill of the moon. 

Fast forward to now and it seemed like there was no chill under the blankets--only the serene and soothing warmth that Cal and MC exchanged. Eventually the soundless aura they were engulfed in becomes too much and Cal breaks the streak of quiet. “Would it be heartless to ask if I can fall asleep with you like this?” His voice is light yet curious, a bite glued to the end that told MC he was asking a genuine question that he wanted a genuine answer for. She swats his chest, her hand limp and frugal at what it was told to do, but it was intentional. MC understood where Cal was coming from; the soothing tranquility and everlasting warmth was liquefying her thoughts and making her entire body feel woozy and drunk with fatigue. “Not heartless,” MC tilts her head upwards to Cal, her tawny gaze undulating as she flickers from his eyes to his parted mouth, “just not thoughtful of the girl who you invited to this date in the first place.” The words fall softer than the skin of Cal’s throat against the tip of her nose and if anything the air lightens and the stars, twinkle just a hint brighter. “Huh, what a difference. Sorry for saying something so off-beat.” Cal retorts, subdued mischief in his voice. Another silence rains on their nurturing mass of tangled limbs and murmuring breaths, joined heartstrings fluttering with each thump of their hearts. MC’s eyes returned to silky smooth slab of the sky, blemished with the halos of hundred and hundreds of small freckles--each cluster differing in size and luster. Argent gems floating through a sea of sapphirine silk; something so simple yet so beautiful when in the arms of the one you love.

If MC dared get tawdry, in the arms of her star.

As if reading her thoughts, Cal’s arm encircling her torso clutches her tighter and synchronously urges her closer under the moonlight--if closer is even possible at this point. Rather Cal coerces MC’s hands to stay splayed on his chest, right where the disheveled path of unbuttoned shirt meets toned skin--muscles that offer a soft embrace despite their tough appearance. She slides her fingertips farther left, to the second cleft of his rumpled tie, right were his defined chest was undermined by the subtle tap of his heart. It gently spoke in couple-second-long beats to her ear, mumbling an aimless song that wasn’t one she could decipher words from--but feelings. She could perceive that he was at ease; not a cloud of worry or fear or anxiety lined his mind, only crowded with the setting he was in. It was a guess--a very educated guess--but MC had the feeling that she was correct in more than one sense. Caught up in the moment, MC lifts her head and looks deep into the bluest eyes she’s ever seen and whispers, “you look so handsome, I really mean it.”

The look she receives is worth the heat creeping up her neck as Cal’s blue eyes widen, dilate, then hood as a blush waltz onto his face. Sheepishly, Cal clears his throat and dodges her eyes. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line? I thought we weren’t gonna go down that sort of road tonight.” Though his voice is quiet, the truth behind his words has more volume. Cal had once said--in a fit of rage, mind you--that romance wasn’t his thing, so maybe something as blunt as ‘you’re so handsome’ might be the sentence to totally fluster him. MC smiles. “I don’t know what you mean, Cal,” she hums as her eyebrow lifts against his brawn chest, “after all, you’re the one who suggested to sleep under the stars--don’t know what gets more romantic than that. Aside from that, are you trying to say I’m handsome?” She teases lightly, her whisper wafting over his bare skin before reaching his ears. Perhaps it was her imagination, but MC could’ve swore that Cal smiled--even just for a second. “Maybe. Honestly, I’d use any adjective that means ‘attractive’ to describe you.” At that, MC’s turn to flush red like a tomato comes and her cheeks burn against his chest, almost the same color as the pulsating organ just beneath her head. “Now who’s going down that road?” MC remarks. Part of her frustrated declaration bleeds into the mustard fabric of Cal’s shirt and the gunslinger grins, arms still a tight shield sheltering her close. “Can’t help it,” the trick shooter murmurs against the dark night, “you make me feel so safe and I’m so grateful for you.”

An awkward yet intimate quiescence befalls them like the moonlight dappling their wool blanket, before the two of them turn the color of blood out of embarrassment.

“We’re such trash, aren’t we?” Cal says, stilted, as MC’s affection-starved mind roves the sentence he whispered just a few moments before; reveling in the loving implications. She blinks, then erupts into low laughter that’s swallowed by the echo shrouding the roof. 

“Well, at least we’re trash together.”

There’s a beat of silence before the cunning Cal North speaks up again, smirk placid as it curves his features. Mischievous.

“...total trash.”

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Thanks again for taking the time to request! I really loved writing some Cal fluff for you!

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[lemonietrinket]

Mishap ||| Yuta x Reader

Summary: Yuta is not known for his woodwork skills. He is also not known for any common sense that would also come with it. However, good things can be made of the worst scenarios, and Yuta is not completely inept—no matter what Winwin tries to assert. Genre: Comedy Warning(s): Some swearing (2x s**t) Word Count: 2361 Theme Song: Rock it For Me - Caravan Palace AN: I tend try to make my oneshots gender-neutral but in this circumstance, this is a fem!Reader. Sorry if this puts anyone off :(( Also this is written in 3rd person so, that’s a thing? Anyways this has been a long time coming (remember that yuta fic i mentioned i was writing back in like november of something? this is it bois) so I hope the wait has been worth it

~~~

Yuta had made a mistake.

This wasn’t unlike Yuta who, known for many talents such as his sharp tongue and wit, as well as his dashing good looks, was not particularly known for rationality and sense.

And—yes, perhaps in hindsight he should have asked the landlord how thick the apartment walls were, and yes, perhaps he should have requested Johnny’s help in the matter, who, though lacking in the same departments as Yuta, did possess more of a proficiency in woodwork. However, that would require more than three levels of sensibility—an area of which, Yuta was steadfastly stuck at level two. 

And so, there Yuta lay, crooked upon the debris of his IKEA shelving he’d been attempting to attach to his wall; the lower half of his body in his apartment, the rest... well, that was in next door’s.

Now normally, he would have presumed, this wouldn’t have been such an issue, lacking the grand scale characteristic of Yuta’s mishaps. The person who inhabited the next-door apartment was very busy, he’d rarely bumped into her, and when he had, it was always notably a very brief encounter. Always in a rush, Y/N was a good neighbour, Yuta knew. Never one to bother a soul, she was respectful, determined and very focused upon her job. Yuta also had discerned—from that good wit I mentioned earlier—that she was also rather easy to fluster.

He hadn’t inclined to discover it, and was rather startled to find it, but the first time he spoke to her and he’d met her gaze, she plundered from the realms of reserved and controlled into (oh he couldn’t help but describe) a bumbling, blushy mess.

Which was cute.

But he never had intended to encroach on your personal space. You were career-focused, and he probably also had too little time, if he was quite honest with himself; in the end, he figured that your story was not for his co-authoring and thus he would, quite rightly, let you be. 

However, Fate—or was it Misfortune?—had other ideas.

Because this was a Yuta-scale mishap. 

As not only was Y/N in the front room of her apartment when Yuta ever-so-suavely-and-totally-not-accidentally flung himself through the wall, she was also only garbed in a very, very small towel. 

.

Truth be told, this was another action of Fate or Misfortune, as Y/N had, in fact, messed up her timings again.

Keeping on top of all the small, consistent tasks of her job that each day held was an easy enough assignment. However, the ability of micro-managing seemed to not have seeped into her home life, hence laundry day had been the most recent victim to pay the price.  Thus, Y/N had relinquished her exit from the shower to be garbed in a spare, slightly-bigger-than-average handtowel.

It did the trick—it wasn’t as if anyone was going to see her, right?—and all seemed well, even as her boss who out of poor mind—or was it spite, because quite frankly why would a man in possession of a soul call on the landline after being begged eight times to not do so for the sake of a humongous phone bill—rang the landline to enquire about the progression of a report she was managing.  She headed into the main room, shivering at the chill emanating from the window left ajar out of habit, and answered, carefully and intrinsically masking her exasperation so he would be unprepared for the earful he was going to receive the next morning.

The wired phone that seemed like a good idea at the time (which was based on the vintage style, block baby blue matched to the curtains and looked chic as hell—just a shame the lead didn’t extend beyond a couple of feet) hung loosely in her hand, held at just a distance so the cold plastic wouldn’t come into contact with her bare skin and brand her with stab of iciness.  Even as the man tumbled through the wall and onto her silver carpet.

Her eyes drifted across the cacophony of torn plaster, scraps of tawny grain strewn amongst the immaculate sea of grey, before they rested upon the sheepish smirk of the man pretending that this hadn’t impacted his confidence in the slightest.

“Hey.” He flashed a gleaming smile. Though upside-down, it perhaps appeared slightly more menacing.

Y/N screamed. It was uncharacteristic, but a reflex nonetheless and she sighed at herself exasperatedly, willing her body to move towards something to throw instead.

Yuta’s grin immediately slipped from his face, as he spun himself onto his front, a palm levied in an apology. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, this was a mist—”

Y/N clutched at her towel, haphazardly trying to pull the hem further down her thighs, while not letting it slip from her torso, her feet twitching to head towards the kitchen. 

Yuta felt his throat tighten out of sheer embarrassment, snapping his eyes closed and pushing through with his frantic apologies. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m not looking—I won’t! You... I...”

Watching him tilt his head away, his eyes no longer trained on her, Y/N managed to retrieve her rationale, as well as her breath. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“I...” he swallowed, hand falling to support himself on his elbows, “was putting up a shelf—”

“A shelf? You’re in my apartment!”

He glanced back, biting his tongue to stop himself remarking ‘only half’, he knew this was not the time for jokes, and kept his eyes firmly closed. “I know, I’m sorry, I misjudged—”

“Yeah, no shit!”

“—the wall, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Stay here!” Y/N ordered. “Don’t move! I’m not discussing this with you right at this moment, when I’m not...” Words faltered as she was reminded of her bare skin.

“No, of course, I’ll be right here, I promise. Please, do whatever you need.”

The sincerity in the strange man’s voice shocked her, to say the least. She still wasn’t going to leave him to his own devices, however. A spark of inspiration hit her, as she snatched her mobile from the end table, propped it up on the sofa and set the camera on record.  Then she slipped back into her bedroom, throwing herself into the first clothes she could find.

Yuta very hesitantly opened his eyes once he heard footsteps pad away and a door close. 

The first thing his eyes met was the mess he’d made on her lovely carpet. The next thing was the sight of just how little of the shelving remained, with bits of wood scattered like a shipwreck upon a silver ocean. The final thing was the phone propped op on the couch opposite, no doubt recording his moves.

Smart, he thought, as he sheepishly waved at the camera lens.

Y/N returned very quickly, slipping back through the door, her eyes focused upon the man sat like a schoolboy amongst his carnage. Dressed in unmatched pyjamas, her features were harden in concentration. In her hands was a wooden pole, fashioned with a metal hook at the end. Yuta swallowed thickly. She was holding it most definitely as if she knew how to use it to make it hurt. 

And Yuta couldn’t deny that she probably did. 

“What’s your name?” she demanded, after several seconds of eyeing him up and down.

“Yuta. Nakamoto Yuta.”

“You live next door?” 

He nodded compliantly. “Always have done. I was here before you moved in.”

“How long?”

“Sorry?”

“How long were you here before I moved in?” Her eyes searched his for something. Yuta couldn’t tell what however.

“I...?” he stuttered. He didn’t know what to say to that, or to reassure her. “I don’t know, really. A few months? I haven’t really been counting anything.”

She stared him down, eye to eye, weapon brandished to her intruder. He raised his head further, palms raised in surrender, slightly fearing the worst.

Then she put down her guard, hook knocking the floor. 

“I recognise you now,” she sighed, looking at him with disdain, “you really are my neighbour and you really did just break through my wall because you really are that shit at woodwork—Jesus. Christ.”

How she hadn’t recognised him at first astounded her too. He had grown out his hair, yes, and he seemed a little broader, but his eyes were the same dark spools of wonder that she’d accidentally stared into for too long in that one encounter. And anyhow, it wasn’t as if the small changes made him look any different, it just made him look more...

She caught her words before she finished that sentence. He fell through your wall, she asserted in her head, you cannot go anywhere near words like that around someone dumb enough to—

He cocked his head quizzically. She was talking as if she knew him, after all.

Y/N discarded her weapon—which he now recollected was a tool to pull down the ladder on the side of the building—against her sofa which she collapsed onto, retrieving her phone languidly. It was as she pressed the button to stop recording when she glanced at him.  She paused. “Mark? Friend of yours? He told me one time that you’re not exactly the best at woodwork.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Oh Mark! Mark Lee? Yes, yes, good friend of mine!” It was only then that the realisation sunk in. “Wait, Mark said what—?”

“You didn’t hear anything from me,” Y/N sighed, leaning forward to get a closer look at the mess of the wall and on her floor. “Well, that must be a good... what? Tenner? Down the drain?”

Catching onto her question he shook his head. “No, 30. Plus hinges.”

Her eyes widened. “Jesus.”

He picked at one of the slabs, splintered at one end and snapped completely at the other. “Yeah, I made the mistake of choosing one of the slightly more expensive units...”

When he looked back up, Y/N was shaking her head desperately, brow creased and vision narrowed upon the hole in the wall.

“Yuta! You—” she exclaimed, hesitating before looking at him. Her eyes were pained, breath shaky as she clenched her fists at her knees.  “Do you have any idea how much that is going to cost, Yuta?” she managed. “I can’t afford barely any of the prices required to fix that! Do—do you know how much your stupidity is going to cost me?!”

The words fell from his lips without a moments hesitation. “I will pay for all of the repairs,” he said earnestly, “I’ll cover all of it.”

The woman was stunned to say the least. Her breath stopped, silenced, and hung in the air as if it had been snatched away from her, as she stared into his eyes, searching for honesty.

“You’ll pay?”

“Yes.”

“For all of it?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll take full responsibility?”

“Of course!”

“You’ll pay f-for the hole?”

“Yes.”

“And the re-plastering?”

“Yes.”

“And the paint?”

“Yes!”

“And my broken plant pot?”

“There was a plant pot?!”

She pointed to the scattered soil and ceramic shards to his right, and the overturned shrub bowed amongst it.  “Yes, his name is Jeffrey.”

“I’m so sorry Jeffrey!”

“It’s ok he’s a strong boy.”

“Thank god. I’ll pay for Jeffrey too.”

“For his lavish new pot?”

“He’ll have the best damn pot in the entire garden centre.”

Honesty was all that she found.

She straightened in her seat. “Well that’s going to be a lot of money.”

“It’s fine,” he waved a hand, “it’s my fault entirely, and besides, you’ve got better things to spend your money on.”

She frowned. “Like what?”

He glanced around her apartment’s living room. “Fancy things no doubt. Things to make you happy, things to make you smile. Things you need to distract yourself from all the mess required to fix the huge ones stupid men make of your walls.”

She laughed softly at that. Though she stopped herself, there was something about the way he spoke that meant she couldn’t help but be amused, even in spite of the situation. His voice of silk, ebbed with a lilt of something, and flowed through her head like streams of water flowing back to the sea on a sun-kissed beach.

“I think you’re right,” she hummed, rising to her feet. Stepping carefully towards the carnage, she outstretched a hand. “Need some help, Mr Nakamoto?”

He took a glimpse down at the pieces of wood and plaster and bits that made up a wall. A glimpse was all he could muster though, as he felt his eyes be drawn back up to meet yours again. He felt the need to stare into them for as long as he could, not that he could deduce quite why. “I think I could use some, Miss...?”

“Y/L/N.”

He took your hand, levying himself out from the carnage with your aid.

“Thank you, Miss Y/L/N.”

“My pleasure,” she replied, curtsying swiftly with a scoff as she headed towards her dining table.

Dusting himself off and checking the scale of the mess, he only looked up when she returned. He accepted her open laptop with open arms, but confusedly to say the least. It was logged on, with the cursor flashing along the search bar. 

“Y/N...?”

She peered over her shoulder coyly. “Well, you promised to get me the best pot for Jeffrey. You’d better start searching for it.”

He grinned, feeling relief wash over him. Sitting on the sofa where she had been perched, he placed the laptop upon his thighs.  “And once I find it?” he enquired neatly, eyes glimmering at the back of her head, caressed with tresses catching the setting sunlight from through the window.

Slapping a replacement pot found from the depths of her cupboards on the table victoriously, Y/N stepped over towards Jeffrey laid strewn on the carpet. Cradling him in her hands, she made her way to temporarily re-home him. “Well then... I guess you’d have to take me to the shop and buy it for me.”

Gazing at your back, he felt his lips twist into a smile, catching onto what you were inferring.

Maybe this wasn’t a mishap after all. Perhaps it was a Yuta-scale twist of fate, instead.

~~~

AN: im sorry this is so late, but its up now!

i tried real hard to funny i hope i succeeded :((

thanks for reading!

Masterlist

[preserving-ferretbrain]

The Precise Moment I Stopping Reading City of Bones

by Wardog

Wednesday, 24 September 2008

Wardog is probably a bit patronising.~

Like all inflexible people, I like to think of myself as being relatively open-minded and, therefore, in the spirit of open-mindedness I recently got round to reading (or rather attempting to read) Cassandra Clare's City of Bones. I wanted to like it, no really, I genuinely did. Cassandra Clare, for all those who have been living under an internet stone, is a pseudonym of a pseudonym, but Cassandra Cla(i)re, back in the day, wrote fanfic, the very popular Very Secret Diaries and The Draco Trilogy, which seems to be no longer available on the internet at the request of its author (interesting that, hmm?). Well, when I say no longer available on the internet, what I mean is ... not available unless you spend about five minutes looking, which I might have just done. For the record, said trilogy is beautifully decorated with anime-style Draco Malfoys and black roses. Awww. She also has a hefty set of pages over at the Fandom Wank Wiki (trust me, if anything needs a wiki, it is fandom wank), which are suitably, painfully entertaining in a "for what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?" kind of way.

Anyway, background cheapshots and raised plagiarism eyebrows aside, I really have no strong opinions on either fandom or Cassandra Cla(i)re, but I quite liked the idea that a popular, moderately competent fanfic writer managed to break into the publishing world. Fanfic is a difficult beast to comprehend unless you're right there in its mouth but, as far as I see it (and, bear in mind, if you do write fanfic this is probably going to sound like the simplistic flailings of an outsider), there are three possible attitudes, or at the very least a spectrum with some definable stopping points on it:

1) Fanfic is art, man, art and there is ultimately no difference between If You Are Prepared and Bleak House. They're both pretty damn long for starters.

2) Fanfic is like original fiction but not as good, and is basically written by people who can't get their own stuff published

3) Fanfic is entirely different from original fiction

Since the first one is clearly non-viable, and the second is actively rude, I subscribe to the third. Writing for fans and writing for publication is vastly different, and to assume that the one aspires to the other is rather to miss the point (and, arguably, the pleasures) of fanfic. Even so, I would have thought the gulf between fanfic and original fiction to be eminently jumpable. I mean, the ability to string a decent sentence together is a transferable skill, right. Right? Well, evidently not. To be fair, my problems with City of Bones a are not about the sentences (although they are of questionable quality), they goes rather deeper than that.

The truth is I actually couldn't read the damn book. I had to give up. It's not that it was, y'know, bad as such, although it occasionally was, it just didn't - to my mind at least - make the leap from fanfic to original fiction at all successfully. I know attempting to draw a distinction between fanfic and original writing is likely to get me shot at dawn but it's the only hope I have of articulating why City of Bones just doesn't work.

As far as I could tell from the sliver I read, City of Bones is young adult urban fantasy. The heroine, Clary Fray, (and let's not even ask why an author who calls herself Cassandra Clare decided to call her heroine Clary) is exactly the sort of spunky young thing you would expect of a modern heroine. She's out at a nightclub with her best friend Simon when she happens to witness a supernatural murder. Demons yadda yadda vampires yadda yadda Shadowhunters yadda yadda sardonic attractive blonde yadda yadda yadda wise old mentor with bird yadda yadda. Look, truthfully, I don't really have any idea what the plot is because I only made it to page 63.

And this is the exact moment when I snapped.

"In the distance she could hear a faint and delicate noise, like wind chimes shaken by a storm. She set off down the corridor slowly, trailing a hand along the wall. The Victorian-looking wallpaper was faded with age, burgundy and pale grey. Each side of the corridor was lined with closed doors. The sound she was following grew louder. Now she could identify it as the sound of a piano being played with desultory but undeniable skill, though she couldn't identify the tune. Turning the corner, she came to a doorway, the door propped fully open. Peering in she saw what was clearly a music room. A grand piano stood in one corner, and rows of chairs were arranged against the far wall. A covered harp occupied the centre of the room. Jace was seated at the grand piano, his slender hands moving rapidly over the keys. He was barefoot, dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt, his tawny hair ruffled up around his head as if he'd just woken up. Watching the quick, sure movements of his hands across the keys, Clary remembered how it had felt to be lifted up by those hands, his hands holding her up and the stars hurtling down around her head like a rain of silver tinsel."

Let's skim all over the things that are awkward about this passage ... wind chimes only make sounds when they're stirred and piano music doesn't sound like that anyway ... how can wallpaper be faded with burgundy ... can a skill be desultory but undeniable ... why does it have to "clearly" be a music room, surely it is just is one ... how many times can you say "hands" in one sentence ... how does she know he's barefoot, he's playing the bloody piano ... and what the fuck is with the rain of silver tinsel...

But, yes, skim all that and riddle me this:

Wouldn't that whole scene be so much better if it turned out be Draco Malfoy sitting at the grand piano?

There's a technical name for what's wrong with this passage. In the industry we call it "blowing your load prematurely" (question is, what industry). Seriously, though, we're on page 63, we've spent all of 20 of them in the company of this character (and, let's face it, he's a pretty, sardonic, wise-cracking faintly angsty type very reminiscent of Cla(i)re's take on a certain slytherin): why the fuck should we be even remotely interested in the sight of him at a grand piano? It's a very senses-heavy scene: we have the sound distant music, the wallpaper beneath Clary's fingertips, and the lovingly detailed description of the ruffle-haired eyecandy sitting at the piano, so there's this self-conscious build up, deliberately (albeit not entirely eptly) evoking something of the fairytale, and what's the pay off? Up until this point the tawny-haired Jace has been a rude and snippy, so it's clear that this little scene is meant to show us a different side of him but character revelation scenes only function when you know the character well enough to experience it as a revelation. This is just ... information, excessively presented. It's like being hit over the head with a neon sign saying: "you should fancy this character now." And for the record, he's a demon hunter, not a concert pianist so there really is no reason to have that scene there except as drool-footage.

Possibly I'd feel differently if I was a teenage girl but I hope I'd have more taste.

What the scene did for me, aside from inducing me to throw the book across the room in disgust, was exemplify the subtle sense of wrongness I'd been getting throughout the previous 62 pages. Essentially City of Bones reads like fanfic - and I don't mean that as kneejerk indicator of poor quality, I mean that it reads like something constructed for a different purpose, functioning on a different ruleset. Leaving aside any criticisms of the actual style, this scene would probably work - for me - if I read it as fanfic. It's visually and linguistically striking - the juxtaposition of scruffy boy and fine old instrument (sorry), the hint at aspects of a character hitherto unknown, the touch of submerged melancholia (playing the grand piano to an empty room is a lonely hobby), all this would be fine if the mysterious pianist turned out to Draco. I mean, playing the grand piano is one of the things that one could potentially imagine Draco being able to do. Well, if you stopped and thought about it for a moment, probably not, because surely wizards have ... like ... magical pianos, or house elves to produce their music for them. But given that Draco is a repressively raised posh kid, it seems to me at least credible his parents made him have piano lessons, even if he hated it. And Draco, being the wizarding equivalent of genetically modified, would probably be reasonably good at it regardless.

I truthfully have no idea what it is that makes fanfic work but it seems to me to have something to do with potential plausibility. Scenes of certain characters doing things they never explicitly did in the books (even if this is fucking each other) resonate with you because it feels both novel and familiar - to continue the musical theme, if I presented you with Remus Lupin playing the electric guitar you might raise an eyebrow because he's far too bookish and quiet, but it would totally suit Sirius Black for example. Or even James Sodding Potter. And such scenes require no build-up because the reader already knows the characters being written about. Equally, dwelling on the details, and presenting very visual, senusous scenes, seems less purple than it does when you do it in original fiction because it helps to establish a familiar character in what may be an unfamiliar setting: for what's it worth, I can picture Draco Malfoy playing the grand piano very vividly. Pale hair, slender fingers, whatever. Fan fiction, even if you're looking at a 100,000 word AU fic, seems to be all about the establishment of moments, which need not necessarily (and probably don't) exist as part of a continuum of moments.

This is absolutely the opposite to a book.

The scene of Jace/grand piano has utterly no resonance for the reader because, well, partly because it's rubbish and partly because no time has been given to properly establishing the character so it's essentially meaningless, but mainly because it has no real sense of its place in a connected, developing narrative. Although the 63 pages I read did occasionally have moments of genuine mediocrity that made me suspect I should try to be more generous with the text, the whole reading experience felt so ultimately hollow I couldn't bring put myself through it. There's nothing inherently wrong with something reading like fanfic - fanfic reads like fanfic and I quite enjoy the stuff - but City of Bones is a work of original fiction, it's a book that I paid real money for (more fool me) In essence, then, it's original fiction without the necessary underpinnings, and fanfic without any of the characters you like. Worst of all possible worlds.

Comments:

Dan H

at 12:57 on 2008-09-25So I've started reading it now, to pick up where Kyra left off (nearly at good old Page 63).

I actually don't think it reads that much like fanfic (at least not like *good* fanfic). There's way too much exposition (fanfic tends to assume that everybody knows what's going on) including some truly wonderful scenes with people actually saying things like "surely you recognise a girl, your sister, Isabelle, is one" (Isabelle, it should be pointed out, is *right fucking there*).

Favourite line so far: "Her hair was almost precisely the colour of black ink".

What colour would that be, exactly? Black, perhaps?

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Arthur B

at 15:32 on 2008-09-25It strikes me, actually, that while most of us have a good idea of what "bad" fanfic is like, good fanfic must by its nature vary widely in style, because at least part of the point of fanfic is to produce something that is reminiscent of the source material, so good Lovecraft fanfic will read different from good Firefly fanfic, or good Pratchett fanfic.

(Which would mean that, say, "good" Cecilia Dart-Thornton fanfic is a contradiction in terms: if it's good, it's no longer reminiscent of the source material.)

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Dan H

at 18:38 on 2008-09-25I think Lovecraft fanfic is a special case actually, because it borrows Lovecraft's ideas rather than his characters. Lovecraft fanfic (and, to borrow Arthur's term, peerfic) is all about eldrich horrors from beyond the void, it's not like anybody writes Herbert West/Charles Dexter Ward slash.

Actually they probably do.

By contrast, I actually think with most fanfic the style is fairly consistent between fandoms (although I admit to limited experience here). Part of Cassandra Cla(i)re's big plagarism debacle, indeed, was the fact that she regularly borrowed lines from Buffy for her Draco fics.

In further updates on City of Bones I've now got past the point reached by our intrepid editor and have the following to add:

Holy Crap the wise old mentor dude is a lot like Dumbledore. There's a bit where he asks the heroine if she wants anything and I *totally* expected him to offer her a sherbet lemon. And if you don't read "Muggle" for "Mundie" every time you're a better man than I am.

Also, some exposition from earlier in the book which I found particularly awful:

"Demons," drawled the blond boy, tracing the word on the air with his finger, Religiously defined as hell's denizens, the servants of Satan, but understood here, for the purposes of the Clave, as any malevolent spirit whose origin is outside our own home dimension."

"That's enough, Jace" said the girl.

"Isabelle's right," agreed the taller boy, "nobody here needs a lesson in semantics - or demonology."

As you know, I *almost* applaud the bare faced cheek of it.

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Arthur B

at 00:38 on 2008-09-26

I think Lovecraft fanfic is a special case actually, because it borrows Lovecraft's ideas rather than his characters. Lovecraft fanfic (and, to borrow Arthur's term, peerfic) is all about eldrich horrors from beyond the void, it's not like anybody writes Herbert West/Charles Dexter Ward slash.

To be fair, there aren't that many recurring characters in Lovecraftian fiction except for the Old Ones themselves, who get reused all the time. And I've lost count of the number of times I've read stories about long-lost offshoots of the Whateley clan or where yet another dozy protagonist realises they come from Innsmouth stock.

I agree, though, that the Lovecraft-tribute scene is pretty unique; I expect this is partly because Lovecraft was one of the first authors who genuinely encouraged people to write stories set in his mythology, to the point of sending them detailed letters showing them how to boost their fanfic to peerfic. Having essentially established the core of his own fandom before he died, that core went on to set the norms for Lovecraft tribute works forevermore.

By contrast, I actually think with most fanfic the style is fairly consistent between fandoms (although I admit to limited experience here). Part of Cassandra Cla(i)re's big plagarism debacle, indeed, was the fact that she regularly borrowed lines from Buffy for her Draco fics.

I would suggest that this may be the result of people writing to indulge the sort of mores that have grown up around fandom-in-general, as opposed to writing to emulate the original work.

Which might explain why City of Bones exists. Once you don't care what the background to what you're reading is, so long as it has shipping and mary sues and whatnot, it becomes easier to accept the idea of fanfic-like work which is fanfic of nothing in particular - nothing, that is, except fanfic itself.

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Montavilla

at 01:55 on 2008-09-28

I truthfully have no idea what it is that makes fanfic work but it seems to me to have something to do with potential plausibility. Scenes of certain characters doing things they never explicitly did in the books (even if this is fucking each other) resonate with you because it feels both novel and familiar - to continue the musical theme, if I presented you with Remus Lupin playing the electric guitar you might raise an eyebrow because he's far too bookish and quiet, but it would totally suit Sirius Black for example. Or even James Sodding Potter.

Sadly, you made me immediately start wondering what Remus would play in James Potter and the Silver Marauders band. He might, ala George Harrison, play lead guitar. (Sirius would be play rhythm guitar and James would play the bass). Peter, of course, would be on drums. Which might explain why they put up with him all that time. It's hard to find someone who's got their own drum set.

Favourite line so far: "Her hair was almost precisely the colour of black ink". What colour would that be, exactly? Black, perhaps?

To be fair, comparing hair to ink is a difficult image these days because we only really see ink in the stems of our ballpoint pens. Perhaps it might have been better to say, "Her hair was almost precisely the color of laser toner. In a really old printer. You know. The black-and-white kind."

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Dan H

at 12:18 on 2008-09-28

To be fair, comparing hair to ink is a difficult image these days because we only really see ink in the stems of our ballpoint pens. Perhaps it might have been better to say, "Her hair was almost precisely the color of laser toner. In a really old printer. You know. The black-and-white kind."

Hee hee.

In all seriousness, though, it's not the comparison to ink that bugged me, it just strikes me as elementary that if you're saying "X was the colour of Y" then unless you're doing a Blackadder style joke "Y" should not include reference to a specific colour. "Her hair was black as ink" "her hair was black, like ink" "her hair was ink-black" would all have been fine. So for that matter would be "her hair was like black ink". "Hair the colour of black ink" is like something out of the Bulwer-Lytton contest: "Her hair was the colour of black ink, her eyes the colour of a blue crayon, and her dress the colour of a dress made out of red silk."

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Wardog

at 14:16 on 2008-09-29

Since we're playing Favourite Lines, my personal shoutout goes to: "He had electric blue dyed hair that stuck up around his head like the tendrils of a startled octopus..." I guess it's just the awkwardness of the construction coupled with that startled octopus...

Arthur: I would suggest that this may be the result of people writing to indulge the sort of mores that have grown up around fandom-in-general, as opposed to writing to emulate the original work.

I'm not sure emulating the original work has ever real been the goal, well, not unless there's specific stylistic feature *to* emulate if that makes sense - like Lovecraft. I mean, you want to make your characters sound like the characters they are but ... well ... to indulge a bit of JKR bashing just because that's what we do here, most of the Harry Potter stuff I've read has been stylistically objectively better than the author.

"Her hair was almost precisely the color of laser toner. In a really old printer. You know. The black-and-white kind."

Hehe!!!

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Arthur B

at 15:47 on 2008-09-29

I think direct stylistic mimicing is, as you point out, actually rare, especially since a lot of fanfic is written about TV series, so you're translating a visual format into a literary one. But at the same time I think that the aim of a lot of fanfic is to emulate the source work in the sense that the writer's trying to tell a story that is a) reminiscent of the source material, in that it establishes a mood and tells a story which could recognisably fit within the source, and b) features the characters behaving in a manner recognisable from the source (unless the explicit point of the fic is something like "What if Captain Lolcats got possessed by a brain worm?"). At the very least, a lot of fanfic authors seem to want to produce something where the reader would look at it and say "Yes, that's very much how it would have happened on my favourite show if the screenwriters had only had the courage to write an episode where the ship's doctor and the robot owl consummate their love".

I say "a lot of fanfic" because I've seen the occasional piece (generally AU fics) where the premise is so utterly far removed from the source material that I start scratching my head and wondering why the author bothered retaining the link to the source material in the first place. Sure, perhaps the characters retain scraps of their personality, but they're in such an utterly different scenario it becomes a stretch to call them the same characters; to my mind, at least, characters are at least partially defined by context. Being a cheeky black marketeer on Deep Space 9 is a very different proposition from being a cheeky black marketeer in Blitz-era London.

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Wardog

at 16:01 on 2008-09-29

We are now mainly haggling over semantics, dear boy.

So instead I would like to play the "Her hair was" game.

I submit: Her hair was almost precisely the colour of one of those motorola telephones, the ones with that come with a gloss finish not matte."

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Claire E Fitzgerald

at 16:32 on 2008-09-29

Her hair was almost precisely the colour of a grey cat in a room that was totally dark, such that the colour of the cat was indistinguishable from black.

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Arthur B

at 16:59 on 2008-09-29

Her hair was the colour of television, tuned to a dead channel.

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Wardog

at 21:20 on 2008-09-29

Oi! Minus three points from Slytherin for being meta.

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Arthur B

at 00:26 on 2008-09-30

“Minus three hundred points for turning the comments section into Harry Potter fanfiction," muttered Harry, glowering at his Nintendo DS. He was pretty sure he was on the right track in this Phoenix Wright episode, but the game was being evasive about precisely which investigative avenue he should pursue. Harry was not looking forward to the half hour he'd have to spend looking for the plot, but he supposed he couldn't complain: he normally had to doss about for half a year before getting anything done in real life.

"How's my hair looking?" asked Ron, anxious about his big date with Hermione. He had spent the last six hours smearing his skin with Hackiburr's Very Useful Ointment in order to conceal the telltale marks of gingerness, and was now in the process of rubbing the stuff into his scalp. Harry glanced at his bare-torsoed chum and then returned his attention to his game.

"Your hair is all carroty," quipped Harry, "like someone was just sick in it."

Draco giggled and ran his hands through his hair, which was bright yellow like artificial egg yolk.

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Rami

at 12:17 on 2008-09-30

I think these are still worse, but you're getting there ;-)

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Guy

at 04:26 on 2009-07-24

Her hair was almost precisely the colour of light with a frequency of 590 nm and a wavelength of 526 THz, and as she moved the angle of its inclination to her scalp seemed to undulate with a regularity that spoke softly to his soul.

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Rami

at 04:41 on 2009-07-24

a frequency of 590 nm and a wavelength of 526 THz

I think you got the wavelength and frequency swapped around ;-)

A redhead, eh? Why is it that female protagonists never seem to have violently ginger hair?

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Guy

at 08:34 on 2009-07-24

Oops, so I did. I could pretend that it was a deliberate attempt to further enhance the awfulness of the sentence, but no, I just muddled it up. :)

It would be kind of interesting to see some kind of frequency histogram of female (and male) protagonists and the wavelengths of their hair colours... but I suspect nobody would be mad enough to actually do the work to make such a thing.

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Michal

at 05:29 on 2011-09-29

And I only stumbled on this when I found out Cassandra Clare will be one of the instructors at the 2012 Clarion Writer's Workshop.

Suffice to say, I won't be applying. (Jesus Christ guys, you had Neil Gaiman and Ellen Kushner and Particia C. Wrede and Gene fucking Wolfe as instructors and now you've had budget cuts or what?)

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Arthur B

at 11:25 on 2011-09-29

Well they also had Orson Scott Card.

I guess it's like Hogwarts. Not everyone can be a Griffindor or a Ravenclaw. They also have to recruit Slytherins (Card) and Hufflepuffs (Clare).

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Michal

at 13:30 on 2012-11-18

There's a movie now.

I think I caught a half-second glimpse of Henry VIII at one point.

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Arthur B

at 14:05 on 2012-11-18

Urgh, they actually say "mundanes".

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Ibmiller

at 15:05 on 2012-11-19

It's like they learned nothing from Golden Compass...

Also, are they deliberately trying to recreate the "awkward teen significantly older British actor" Twilight vibe?

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Wardog

at 15:36 on 2012-11-19

Oh no, that's Jamie Campbell-Bower. Officially the drippiest boy in Hollywood.

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Arthur B

at 15:44 on 2012-11-19

Also, are they deliberately trying to recreate the "awkward teen significantly older British actor" Twilight vibe?

I suspect they are going to mimic Twilight/Potter as closely as copyright will allow. It's got that "clinging to the underbelly of the bandwagon and trying to scrape as much gold as you can out of it" look. (Of course, this is likely to lead to jibbering incoherence due to Potter and Twilight being two different bandwagons...)

The extent to which Blonde Love Interest looks like a reject from the Draco Malfoy auditions is hilarious.

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Fishing in the Mud

at 16:51 on 2012-11-19

The extent to which Blonde Love Interest looks like a reject from the Draco Malfoy auditions is hilarious.

Hey, at least they got that right.

[lamentalia]

Lamentalia - Alfred - Ch.5, Pt.2

“…Lovi! Welcome back!” Feliciano’s voice rings a little too eagerly. “You’re home so late! Everyone was worri—“

“Feliciano, I’m not an idiot.” Comes the low voice, cutting through Feliciano’s greeting like a sharp knife through a um… a potato? Alfred winces again, trying to keep still.

“I know there’s a tom here.” The voice continues. “I’ve been tracking his scent all over this gods forsaken forest, and I find what? His tracks lead right. Fucking. HERE. And you are not going to tell me that you, and everyone else standing outside this door, don’t know about it.” Stomping footsteps take the low voice closer to where he’d heard Feli stop.

“Ehhh…..” Alfred hears Feliciano’s nervous voice wavering and unable to retort. There’s a short pause and some shuffling sounds.

“You’re shitting me. That’s him, isn’t it.” The low voice breathes. Oh… Uh oh? Well, that didn’t take long. Oh, shit shit shit, footsteps! Coming closer! What now??  

“Lovi aspetta, non—”

The blankets fly off of him and there’s nothing he can do but await a reaction. To his credit though, Alfred does his best impression of a potato and stares blankly up at a very furious looking cat.

He looks uncannily similar to Feliciano; not identical like Alfred and Mattie are— his jaw is squarer, and his nose is kinda different; he’s probably a little older too— but they must be brothers at least.

‘Lovi’ looks at Alfred with an expression that threatens unspeakable violence before turning to Feliciano, probably to start yelling again. Weirdly though, he pauses, looks back at Alfred again, mouth still open, and just sort of stares at his face and down to his prone form for quick second. Alfred somehow resists the urge to smile nervously and wave. He is a potato right now.

“Per piacere Lovi, ascoltami! Non sa de—”

Alfred hardly has time to register that Feliciano is speaking an unfamiliar language, but whatever he said, it causes 'Lovi’ to snap out of his momentary gazing. He turns his snarl back on Feliciano.

“No excuses!” he shouts. “I spend years keeping this place a secret, I shed my blood, sweat and tears every day for this place, and for what!? We have ONE RULE, Feli—”

“—But Lovino—”

“What?! What could have possibly been worth it?!”

“H— he just… he showed up on the doorstep by himself, Lovi! Out of nowhere, I swear! And he was wet and freezing and I thought he was going to die out there, and then he—” Feliciano’s eyes are tearing up and his mouth wobbles.

“Oh, Yeah? So you decide it’s worth the safety and the livelihood of every molly living here for—”

“—AAAhhhh Lovi!!—”

Feliciano wails loudly over the end of Lovino’s sentence and Alfred is briefly as startled and confused as Lovino looks.

“Lovino! Stavo cercando di dirti che non sa delle micie! Era svenuto e quando si è svegliato non sapeva nulla!!” Feliciano rattles off to Lovino, who’s mouth drops open in shock, glancing briefly at Alfred with wide eyes. He recovers quickly, though, and argues back in the same language.

They go back and forth for a bit, so Alfred puts his brain to work with the context he has. Lovino definitely just said that there are mollies here. Objectively speaking, all Alfred knows about them is that they’re super rare because the Void causes them to get sick and die really easily. Not counting Mama, he’s never even met a molly before.

Judging by what Lovino’s been saying and the way Feliciano’s been acting, it stands to reason that Alfred has stumbled upon a secret hideout that protects mollies. Mollies who will be in danger for some reason if the secret gets out!

Something resonates in Alfred’s chest at the thought. This is actually really cool! Kinda like the stories he used to make up about the cats in the history books. Like the lost prince of Balia who he imagined would return one day to save the cats of his kingdom from tyranny! (Mattie made fun of him and said it was cliché, but it was one of Alfred’s favorites.) Uh. Anyway! Lovino and Feliciano are out here helping cats in need and now they think he’s jeopardizing their efforts! He needs to tell them that he can be trusted! More than trusted!

“Hey? Hey, guys?! You said there are mollies here? And they’re in danger? I’m so on board with this operation, you don't even know!” Alfred’s eyes are practically sparkling as he interrupts their argument, earnestly. “Don’t even sweat it! Your secret is totally safe with me!”

The two of them stop arguing to stare at Alfred, then the tension seems to crack. Lovino slaps a hand over his face and even Feliciano groans a little, looking less than relieved. It’s not exactly the reaction Alfred was expecting!

“Dobbiamo parlare.” Lovino says sternly, turning back to a grimacing Feliciano. “Fuori. Ora.”

He then turns to the door. “Feliks!”

The door opens immediately, as though the cat behind it had been waiting for their cue.

“No problem, boss.” A cat with chin length blond hair, tawny fur, and a bored expression steps inside and leans against the wall near the door frame, hand on hip. “And if it’s not a problem with you, or whatever? The mollies wanna patch him up.”

Hey now, that sounds nice!

Lovino raises an eyebrow at the newcomer and begins pushing Feliciano brusquely toward the door. Er… what now? Who is this? What’s going on? Alfred tries to sit up, but he’s got such a cramp going, he can’t really budge. It seems like his ankle doesn’t want to take any weight right now, either.

“They can do whatever they want to him.” Lovino says as he passes Feliks. “And don’t call me boss.”

Without a single look back at Alfred, Lovino and Feliciano have gone. He’s a little let-down to be dismissed like this, but now he has another new cat to interact with. A cat who is staring him down with a neutral, appraising smile and those intensely bored eyes. It’s not quite like the familiar sizing up that enemies give him before a fight begins. Honestly, that would be comfortable in comparison. In fact, he’s beginning to realize that Feliks’ ‘bored expression’ is deceptively hard to read and rather unnerving. He feels as if he’s being read like a book.

Then, when the silence has stretched Alfred’s nerves to their breaking point, Feliks smirks, head tilting to the side. The tense moment is over. 

“Pff. Yeah, no, this one’s not gonna be a problem.” Feliks says toward the door, then addresses Alfred. “Like, welcome to the Sanctuary, I guess.”

★TBC★ Thanks again to @flamaflavio for the Italian! :D

This part took a while, but it was fun. Hope you all enjoy! Crit and Comments welcome! :D

[homespork-review]

Homespork Act 1: The Note Dawdling Tension Plays (Part 2)

BRIGHT: The next bit of narration continues to establish John’s character: he has no idea what to call the red arm on the mailbox, and doesn’t care. We also learn that much like many teenagers, he doesn’t want to spend hours with his Dad. The author uses this opportunity to drop in a reference to the title.

The next page has a loading screen! I think this is the first interactive page in the comic. (For a certain value of interactive - you can mouseover the vertical lines of the games in the CD rack, and the cover of the game will pop up. Some of these link you to other works by Hussie.)

CHEL: Unfortunately, we then go into sylladex shenanigans AGAIN. Mercifully, this time it’s brief. We’ll let this one go, but I’ve got one eye on you, Huss.

TG messages John again, making reference to “TT”, who is confirmed female and alleged to be “mackin on” TG, and to his “bro” who “basically knows everything and is awesome”. How sincere he is in either of those remains to be seen. Finally, John actually gets told how to use his sylladex. Maybe the shenanigans will stop now… Anyway, he selects hammers for his strife specibus, or his weapon of choice, and the sylladex is confirmed able to hold things which would be too big to carry normally, such as Colonel Sassacre's Daunting Text of Magical Frivolity and Practical Japery, a book roughly as big as John is. At least the stupid sylladex actually has some practical use - I’m sure John’s as happy as I am to know that!

Next we see the review which put TG off; GameBro magazine explains “Why the ‘Game of the Year’ or whatever isn’t as good as some other stuff I like that’s better”. As it turns out once you get past the Totally Radical verbiage, the reviewer didn’t even play it. Something suspect’s definitely going on if it’s so hyped up on so little information… erm, is it just me or is the term “Brotel Rwanda” rather tacky? I don’t know if that’s worth a point, the point of the joke could be that the game reviewer is an idiot…

FAILURE ARTIST: I’d have that squarely as a point.

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 1

CHEL: Okay, then, here’s our fourth count. Title is a reference to a line later in the comic, and I think the point of the count is pretty obvious. Mileage may vary, all works would get at least a couple points in this, and I don’t think it’s a big problem unless/until it starts to climb out of proportion. Not gonna use a WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM count because the reviewer, as seen in the pic, is supposed to be a white guy.

Regarding the rest of the review, I did consider whether this falls under the heading of HNTWAN’s “I, Youngster” (using slang or references from one’s own youth to write a contemporary younger person), but I’d say no, because it’s supposed to sound ridiculous. Same with John’s movies; his taste is supposed to be bad, I don’t think Hussie actually thinks kids in 2009 still all liked bad movies from before they were born. That, and Hussie’s word choices are frankly like nothing I’ve ever seen anywhere else in any time period.

We shall move on, as so is the comic. Forty-seven pages into the comic, the main character finally leaves his bedroom. Wow. Things are happening at breakneck speed here.

TIER: Truly the pace strides forward like a Colossus through Lilliput.

GET ON WITH IT!: 2

CHEL: Though the silly Groucho Marx disguise he puts on is cute.

BRIGHT: Of course, since it would be interesting to see what’s in the mailbox (or at least would move the plot along a bit), John spends the next few pages examining his home.

I’m torn about this. On the one hand, it does a bit more fleshing out of John and his home life, which is more interesting than endless sylladex shenanigans, and the narration is entertaining. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure that on my first read through I clicked through all of it, trying to get to something happening. It holds up better on the re-read to me.

Well, something does happen, John knocks over the urn containing his grandmother’s ashes and opens a box from his father which holds a full-sized harlequin doll. Again, how much this appeals depends on what you think of ‘loveable dork’ characters fumbling around.

Then we return briefly to John’s bedroom, where we meet the third character of this webcomic, tentacleTherapist, or the alluded-to TT. The conversation isn’t very long, but it does give a good sense of what TT is like.

CHEL: Specifically, prone to sarcasm and sesquipedalian loquaciousness. Also to inappropriate jokes. An invocation of the hentai trope "tentacle rape" (read her handle quickly) is a fairly uncomfortable username for a child to have.

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 2

Anyway, it seems she knows John very well - she’s able to guess he’s wearing “one of your disguises” with no clue in his messages, so evidently he does this a lot. She’s probably the smartest character introduced so far, and she and John seem to have a good relationship.

Now, again, this was originally a reader-driven forum game, but when it was collated into a webcomic, it might have been better to have the conversation with TT moved to before John left the room, so we’re not going back and forth unnecessarily. One journey through the house is enough, I’d say. Another GET ON WITH IT point, or does this come under the heading of the second point still? I’ll be nice and not count it, since he was going back to fetch an item and not just randomly wandering.

We definitely get more points from the text in Colonel Sassacre’s joke book:

And what of that tawny gent who puts his lackadaisical lean near the sarsaparilla font? You’ll have that listless octoroon find the spring in his step just yet! CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 3 WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 2

The point of these lines is that the text is outdated and racist, not that it should be emulated, but the “outdated” point was more than got across by the language used already. And it would seem fairly weird for a person who wasn’t white to read a line like that and not comment on it - okay, maybe John’s read it before and is used to it, but the narrator ought to point that out if it had ever bothered him.

FAILURE ARTIST: Colonel Sassacre is basically Mark Twain with a party hat photoshopped on to him. Mark Twain’s most famous work, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, has gotten into trouble in recent years because of the name of one of the characters: [N-word] Jim. The novel is progressive for its time but it hasn’t aged well. I’m guessing Colonel Sassacre’s unnecessary racism is a nod to that controversy.

CHEL: Get used to Photoshopped depictions of real people, too.

BRIGHT: John ventures out into the house again, ostensibly to retrieve the game but really to stick his fake arms to the harlequin doll and nose around his father’s study. Should the comment about the peanut allergy count towards ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY? In context with the can of peanuts I think there’s meant to be a joke here…

There is also a CAN OF PEANUTS on the desk. Ha ha, oh DAD. You won't be falling for THAT one again any time soon. A severe peanut allergy is a terrible affliction to cope with.

CHEL: That line? Yeah, it's a reference to the snake nut can prank item - have you seen those on cartoons, where someone offers canned snacks and a spring-loaded toy snake pops out? A dark joke, sure, but my sense of humour tends to run that way and I loled. CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS instead, possibly? I don’t know if people with life-threatening allergies would be offended by this - the joke isn’t that they’re weak or stupid or anything, the joke is the play on the reader’s expectations. I wouldn’t mind it if I had a peanut allergy, but as I said, my sense of humour is pretty dark.

FAILURE ARTIST: I feel like if a certain other parent we meet later did that people would take it as abusive.

CHEL: My assumption was that John’s dad didn’t actually mean to give him food that would kill him, that was just an unfortunate way of finding out he was allergic, but in this comic, who the fuck knows?... Come to think of it, maybe he did mean to. Peanut allergies run in families and it’s established much later on that one of the relatives involved (it gets complicated) also has a deadly peanut allergy, so it would seem logical that Dad would also have one and thus wouldn’t have them around to eat himself. Even if he did, that’s a bad move with an allergic person in the house. Maybe it is worth an ARE YOU TRYING point, then? Maybe this is just overanalysing, but then overanalysing is the whole point of this exercise, so there it goes!

ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 1

For clarification of the listed counts, this isn’t going under CALL CPA PLEASE because that one’s for when the kids do something disturbing themselves. We’ll show you what we mean when it comes up. We'll be nice and let Rose have an inappropriate username, that's not out of the ordinary for kids that age.

And speaking of said points, what about Dad giving John at least four birthday cakes? (He has two untouched ones in his room at the point he says he’s been eating cake all day, and Dad soon tries to give him yet another one.) That sounds cool from a thirteen-year-old’s point of view, but it kinda comes across as if Dad’s trying to feed him to death, and intentionally making kids horribly unhealthy can be a form of abuse. Or possibly to make up for something awful he knows about… Is the latter further evidence for the “guardians know about what’s coming” theory? Dad’s coddling John because he knows horrible things are going to happen? Hell, were the peanuts an attempted mercy kill, if we wanna get really tinfoil hat about it?

All that’s for later, though. Meantime, we get our first page with sound, as John plays “Showtime”, a nifty little piano tune.

"Homestuck // Showtime (Piano Refrain) // Piano" (Watch on YouTube)

The other kids get their own individual little musical parts too, later on, which merge to form one full piece.

FAILURE ARTIST: Music is a big draw in Homestuck. Not just these four main characters but pretty much every character has their own leitmotif.

[deanssweetheart23]

Once Upon A Flannel

Title: Once Upon A Flannel

Summary: Dean doesn’t know how or why he fell in love with her. But he does know one thing. It all started with a flannel…

Author: deanssweetheart23

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer (mentioned), Castiel (mentioned)

Word count: 3977 (totally worth it, I promise)

Warnings: Fluff. Angst. Some language. Implied smut. Death of a loved one, mentions of blood and references to grief. 

Author’s Notes: This is my very late submission for @luci-in-trenchcoats‘ AU & Things Challenge. Michelle, I can’t even thank you enough for being so patient with me about this. I fell so in love with the story and wanted to do it justice. 

Special thank you to twin @ravengirl94 for reading parts of it over for me and listening to me whine, I don’t know what I’d do without her.

My prompt for this was flannel (obviously, lol) and you’ll see what I did with it in the text *winks* Also, this fic was loosely inspired by Ed Sheeran’s How Would You Feel (You need to listen to that, btw, his new album is amazeballs)

Thank you for all of your love and support. Enjoy <3

The first time Dean sees her in one of his flannels, it’s after a wendigo hunt.

Autumn’s slowly creeping its way into his life again, its tawny leaves and withered hedges painting the scene in golden colors and, even though he rarely takes the time to appreciate things like these anymore, he stops for a second and breathes it all in, the crispiness and the rustles and the shadows of change.

And then, she swims into view.

She’s sitting on the hood of a Bronco in Bobby’s scrap yard, fallen leaves dancing at her feet, as she stares straight ahead, at the sky that’s turning to orange, and smiles.

And he doesn’t notice at first, but there’s something familiar there, in the red and white fabric that wraps around her, in the way the garment dwarfs her, in the rolled-up sleeves and the hem that reaches her mid-thigh and he realizes that it’s his clothes she’s wearing.

She looks beautiful.

“D.,” she smiles, a smile that’s all softness and warmth, “I thought you weren’t supposed to get back until tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck, “we finished up early.” A pause. Eyes lingering on her a bit too long. “Nice shirt, by the way.”

He can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees her cheeks flush pink.

“Yeah, it’s…soft. And.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know it’s gonna sound creepy, but, damn, dude, it smells nice.”

He chuckles.

He really can’t help it.

“C’mere, kid.” He says and pulls her to him, arms holding her tight against him until he’s pretty sure she can’t breathe anymore. 

“Hmmm. Looks like somebody missed me.”

“Shut up.” He groans, but the corners of his lips curl up in a shy smile and something tugs at his heartstrings. “How’s your leg?”

“Healing up nicely. Bobby says I’ll be ready to go by the time you two find a new case.”

“Good.” He pulls back to look at her. “S’ been a nightmare not having you on this one.”

“What, you and Sam had to pose as a couple?”

A groan.

Eyes rolled skywards.

“He made me eat rabbit food, Y/N. Rabbit food.” he whines and she laughs, rich and sunny.

He loves he’s the one who made it happen.

It surprises him, how her laugh affects him, how it has been affecting him for a while now, but he just assumes that after everything they’ve been through together, it’s good to know that she can still smile as brightly as she used to, good to know that there’s still a spark in her, one that the grief and the loss and the danger haven’t managed to burn out.

“Don’t worry, D. Tonight, I’m making the unhealthiest burger you’ve ever had. And Health Freak Sam’s not invited.”

Mischief floats across his features.

“Bacon cheeseburger?” 

“With cheddar and extra fries.” She bits on her bottom lip. “And, if you’re real nice about it, I might just bake you a cherry pie, too.”

He chuckles, all awe and gratitude.

“Kid,” he breathes out, clasping the side of her face, “you’re fucking perfect.”

“I know.”

“And a brat.” he adds, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but I’m your favorite brat.” She snorts and wraps an arm around him. “C’mon, old man. Let’s get you inside.”

“Excuse me,” Dean gasps, jutting his chin, “did you just call me old?”

“Well, aren’t you like a hundred years old now?”

“Oh, that’s it. Y/N, you better run.”

And she does.

She just sprints away from him and heads for the house before he even has the chance to think about grabbing her, crazy laughter escaping her, and he’s left behind to watch, watch as the crimson light dances across her skin and the flannel sways with the wind, and he feels, maybe for the first time since he returned from the hunt, he feels at peace.

She should wear his clothes more often.

The next time she’s dressed in one of Dean’s flannels, it’s soaked in his blood.

The wound’s nothing but a deep cut across his stomach, just another scar he’ll have to add to the map of his skin, but the what ifs it brought along with it are still there, trapped into the blood that’s smeared across her skin. 

The sight of her breaks his heart.

“Okay,” she breathes out, sterilized needle in hand. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to lay down for a minute.”

“Y/N,” Sam says softly, placing a hand on her shoulder, “you should go get changed. I can do this.”

“Yeah, no. As pissed as I am at Dean right now,” she throws a pointed look his way, “I don’t hate him enough to let you patch him up.”

Sam’s jaw drops.

Dean snorts.

“What are you talking about? I’m-”

“Awful at patching other people up.” She cuts him off, head titled the left. “Sam, I love you, but my left side looks like a frigging Picasso painting because I trusted those gigantic hands of yours.”

“That is so –you know what?” Sam groans, furrowing his brows in a scowl. “You’re a horrible human being.”

And Dean might be in pain and worried about Y/N and how mad at him she is, but he still laughs a gruff laugh at his brother’s childish pout and smirks when the man rolls his eyes.

“You think this is funny?”

“Oh, Sammy. I think it’s hilarious.”

Sam’s lips press into a thin line.

He clenches his jaw.

“Whatever. If she tries to stab you with that needle while I’m in the shower, don’t come to me for help,” he deadpans and disappears behind the bathroom’s door.

Silence stretches in the room until it’s too much for the eldest Winchester to handle. He looks at Y/N, who’s examining the blood-stained flannel, something dark settling over her features.

He clears his throat, quietly.

She looks up.

“Uh. You’re not gonna stab me with that, are you?”

“That depends.” She takes a seat next to him. “You gonna tell me what the hell were you thinking?”

“That I needed to stop that son of a bitch before he could get away.”

“On your own.” 

Dean swallows, hard.

“You and Sam weren’t there. And I needed-”

“You could have died.” She says and it might be just a whisper, broken and a bit scraped, but there’s anger burning its edges and it makes his stomach plummet. 

“You keep saying what you needed to do but you never…” She shakes her head and looks up at him. “What about what I need?”

He blinks.

“What you-”

“I need you to be okay.” 

It’s a simple statement, frustrated but honest, and despite everything they’ve been through together, it still catches him off guard, how there’s someone out there other than his brother that really cares about him, someone that wants him, needs him to be okay.

“You just… For God’s sake, Dean, you’re always so hell bent on keeping us safe and it’s never occurred to you that maybe we want to do the same thing? I mean, you’re,” she huffs out air through her nose, not quite a laugh, “you’re my best friend. And I know it’s the life and I’ve lost people, but I don’t think I can…”

She’s struggling now, all the things she wants to say stuck in the back of her throat, so he wraps his fingers around her wrist and tugs.

“Hey,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “m’ not going anywhere anytime soon.” A small smile. “You know that, right?”

She purses her lips, something he can’t quite put his finger on flashing across her face.

And then-

“Yeah,” she tells him, soft hand covering his, “yeah, I know.”

Dean smiles at that, and lets her get back to work, storing her tender smile into memory.

And when she crawls into his bed later that night and tangles herself with him, chest pressed against his back and hands flattened against his stomach, he doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t pull away. Instead, he holds her and lets her hold him, trying to ignore that there, in the way she’s tucked against him and keeps him close, there he thinks he can find a home.

He dreams of warm smiles and plaid flannels until he falls asleep.

She’s making pancakes again.

For the past two weeks, Dean wakes up to find Y/N making pancakes in Rufus’ kitchen, dressed in his flannels while classic rock music plays in the background.

She’s doing it for him, he knows, tries to distract him from the fact he’s got a broken leg and the Leviathans are out there taking over the world, one person at a time, and even though he’d normally mind, he doesn’t even remember the last time someone tried to do something for him.

Her tenderness warms his heart.

“Morning there, cupcake.” She smiles when she sees him entering the kitchen with his crutches.

A groan.

Eyes narrowed the size of half-dollars.

“Y/N, how many times have we talked about this?”

“Plenty.” She shrugs as she places a plate in front of him. “But you know me, I’d do anything to piss you off.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Nice bedhead, by the way.” She smirks, ruffling his hair.

“You’re such a brat.”

“Yeah, yeah, you love me.” She gloats, all mischief and playfulness. “Eat up. And be quiet, I got to finish this book, or I might actually die.”

He laughs at that, surprising even himself, and watches as she gets lost into the pages of unknown kingdoms and noble heroes.

And the world around him is crumbling down, slowly and surely, but when she  looks up at him and smile, a smile of love and sunshine, he can’t bring himself to care.

And he knows.

He’s in love.

Dean rarely admits he’s scared.

It’s something he’s learnt to consider a weakness, ever since he was a kid, but the feeling’s almost always there. It’s there in moments of great danger and moments of stagnation, it’s there in the middle of the battle field and in the punchline of a joke.

It’s there no matter what he does because he always knows that everything can be taken away from him in the blink of an eye.

Tonight’s different though.

Tonight, he’s not scared because he’ll be going on a suicide mission in the morning.

Tonight, he’s scared because he has something to lose.

And that hurts twice as much.

“You’re back.” Y/N’s soft voice pulls him out of his thoughts as her figure springs into view, clad in one of his flannels.

“Yeah, Cas… He zapped me back a while ago.”

She hums and climbs next to him on the hood, handing him a bottle of beer.

“Things are bad, aren’t they?”

He doesn’t say anything.

Her bottom lip wobbles.

“Hey,” he says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder to pull her to him, “we’ll figure this out.” A temple kiss. “We always do.”

He’s pretty sure she doesn’t believe him, but she still nods and plants a kiss on his shoulder, grip tightening around him.

For a minute, they just hold and see and feel, breathing in air that’s dusted with their secrets, and when it becomes too much Dean lets himself believe that maybe it’s not too late. He lets himself live in a world where they can still have this, they can have tonight, and he can kiss her and make love to her like he’s dreamt about for months, no matter what happens.

But he can’t.

He can’t be selfish, can’t give her a part of him and take a part of her, only to take it all away in the morning. He’s not doing that.

“Sam told me about the plan.” She whispers after a while. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Dean-”

“You just have to stick to it, Y/N.” he says and it’s a bit harsher than he intended it.

“Even if it gets you killed?” she implores, unable to keep the venom from her voice as she pulls away. “Because none of us knows what’ll happen once you stab that son of a bitch.”

And he wishes he could lie to her, wishes he could tell her everything she needs to hear, smile and say it’s going to be okay, that he’s going to be okay, but nothing’s ever that simple in his life.

So, he sighs and runs a hand over his face, mumbling a guilty I know under his breath.

“Screw the plan then. We’ll do something else. We can figure it out.”

“God, kid, I wish but that’s –that’s the only way this can work.” He reaches out for her hand. “Sides,” he clasps his free hand on the side of her face, “you know me. I’m not good at staying dead.”

“Don’t joke about that.”

He laughs, but it’s brittle and wrecked.

“Okay, just…” Ragged breath. “Promise me something.”

“Dean-”

“No,” he swallows, hard, squeezing his eyes shut for just a second. “Just… No matter what happens tomorrow, I need you to keep going.”

“Dean, you can’t... You can’t possibly ask that from me.”

“Well, I just did, so... Sucks for you, I guess.”

He expects her to smile, but she doesn’t. 

She just clamps her teeth together, eyes shining with unshed tears and if his heart didn’t break before, it does now.

“Can you just-”

“Try my damnedest not to die, yeah, I got that.”

She chuckles, soft but sad.

“You got a horrible sense of humor, D.”

“Hmmm. Listen.” He presses his forehead against hers. “If we make it out of this alive, you and I are going out. I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go, I swear to God.”

She smiles.

It’s a small smile, hopeless and fades quickly, but it’s something.

“Anywhere I wanna go?” she repeats, feigning surprise. “I dunno, D. M’ sensing an ulterior motive here.”

He smirks.

“Always knew you were a smart one, kid.” He says and kisses her forehead, letting his lips linger against warm skin.

And he almost believes they have a chance. 

Dean loses her a day later.

He’s standing next to Dick and the darkness’s sneaking up on him from every corner, but he still sees her, sees how she bursts through the door and screams for him, how she kicks and punches and yells for Sam to let her go, let her leave, until he’s swallowed whole by blackness and there’s nothing else he can see.

When he wakes up, he’s in Purgatory, but can still hear her screams, can taste her pain on his tongue and breaks, he breaks, when he realizes how much he broke her.

He’s never felt so empty.

Y/N has changed.

She’s beautiful, of course, as beautiful as he remembers, but she looks so tired, that usual brightness of hers gone, leaving nothing but scars and heartache behind.

He hasn’t seen her since Purgatory.

Granted, he wants to call the minute he gets out, but he doesn’t know if there’s a point, doesn’t know if she wants him back in her life or if she’s moved on with someone better, someone who wears his heart on his sleeve and doesn’t hunt monsters for a living.

So, he had avoids that phone call until he can’t avoid it anymore and has to take the leap.

And, God, she is not happy to hear from him.

Instead, she sounds angry and terrified and broken, and even though he suspects it’s because she can’t really believe it’s him, it still stings a little.

She agrees to meet with him though, and that’s more than he could have asked for.

“You’re here.” She says when she sees him, but there’s no emotion there, no spark in her eyes.

And still, Dean wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and never let her go again, because he wants to believe, needs to believe, he can still fix this, fix her, just like she’d done with him, over a hundred times.

But he can’t, so-

“Kid,” he smiles, taking a tentative step forward “s’ good to see you.”

“Don’t call me that.” She spats, biting on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. “I’m going to rip you to fucking shreds for using him against me, I swear to God.”

His smile drops immediately.

“Hey,” he mumbles, holding his hands up in surrender, “it’s really me, kid, I swear.”

“I said-”

“I know, I know. Alright.” He shakes his head a little. “Do you have that silver knife I got you for your birthday?”

She scowls, but reaches for her back pocket and hands it over, watching as he drags it along his skin until it bleeds.

“See?” he gloats, a smirk tugging at his lips.

She rolls her eyes and throws him a flask.

“Drink up.”

He obeys.

Nothing happens.

“Y/N-”

“One more thing.” She says and, before he knows it, she’s pouring a bottle of Vorax over him.

“Oh, c’mon.” he whines, rubbing a hand over his face. “Was that really necessary?”

But she’s not listening. She’s too busy staring at him, that frigid expression that had hurt him so much melting away piece by piece to reveal her, that warmth that’s been missing all along.

“Are you-”

“Me?” he chuckles a little under his breath. “Yeah. S’ really me, kid.”

“But you –this can’t be… I looked everywhere.” She chokes off, the bottle falling from her hands. “You were dead.”

He smiles, timid and fragile and just a tad cheeky.

“Well. I told ya I’m not good at staying dead, didn’t I?”

She laughs then, actually laughs, mad and relieved and real until it’s all laced with tears, bitter and sweet, and she has to reach for him, let him wrap her into his arms and grip like he’s her only lifeline, the only thing she’s got left.

And he takes her in, breathes in every inch of softness, and lets his fingers trace along the familiar pattern of the flannel she’s wearing, painted in green and blue, finally feeling alive again.

“If you ever do this to me again-”

He grins and cups her face, titling her head up.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ll rip me to fucking shreds.” He thumbs away her tears. “Which, if you ask me, sounds kind of sexy.”

She cracks a small smile.

It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“A year later and your humor still sucks.” She smirks, nuzzling his jaw. “I guess some things never change.”

God, he hopes so.

He kisses her two weeks later.

He’s been thinking about it for days, struggling to find the right things to say, the right thing to do, wondering what it would feel like, how she’d feel like, but she always does something to make him fall a bit deeper, a bit harder in love with her, and his words end up stuck at the back of his throat, barely fighting their way out.

And then it happens.

He finds her cooking in Rufus’ kitchen one night, clad in the same red and blue flannel she’d been wearing that day that changed everything for him, seemingly a lifetime ago.

For a moment, he’s back at Bobby’s scrap yard with her on that beautiful evening and everything’s a bit simpler because the old man’s still alive and Cas isn’t stuck in Purgatory and his own brother hasn’t given up on him yet.

And he knows it’s a beautiful memory, but it doesn’t make him as homesick as he thought it would, because she is still there.

She’s always been there.

He realizes then, that all the losses he’s suffered, all the grief and the heartache, don’t hurt him anymore, not as much as they used to, anyway, because he has her.

He has her as a friend and as a hunting partner, has her as a childhood memory, as the person he’s been in love with his entire life without even knowing, as the only one who can work with him to make this work.

He has her in more ways than one, more ways than he deserves or could have ever dreamt of and though he doesn’t understand why, he’s thankful.

And he’s tired of wasting time.

So, he gathers every ounce of courage he has, walks right next to her and tugs at her hand.

“D.,” she smiles, turning around to face him, “I didn’t hear you co-”

The rest of the words are lost when he presses his lips against hers. He takes it slow, gives her time to pull away, space in case she doesn’t want this, doesn’t want him, but she clutches at his shirt, pulls him closer and he growls and wraps his arm around her waist, holding her, really holding her, for the first time in his life.

When he draws back, he presses his forehead against hers, his hands never leaving her.

“Please, tell me this was okay.” He says, and if he wasn’t so caught up in the moment, he’d be embarrassed by how absolutely wrecked he sounds.

She laughs, delighted but scraped, cheeks pink and lips swollen.

“That was –yeah, that was more than okay, obviously, but-”

“Good.” he smirks, his large hands cupping her face. “Because I own you a date.”

“Fucking finally.” She breathes out and kisses him, lips soft and demanding and perfect against his own, and it’s not too long before he thanks God Sam’s out for the night and takes her to the couch, mumbling are you sures and Jesus, you’re perfects into her skin.

Dean takes his time to make love to her that night, slow and sweet, no matter how desperately he wants her. He thrusts into her leisurely, lets himself see, trace and feel every inch of her body, hear her soft whimpers and the short intakes of breath. He whispers words of love and soft praises, tells her how beautiful she is, how he’s never wanted anyone as much as he wants her, and takes everything she has to give, gives everything she wants to take, until there’s nothing left anymore.

And when she lays naked on the floor next to him afterwards, stomach pressed against the blanket he’s laid, his lips trailing up and down her back, his eyes flicker over the stolen flannel that’s thrown next to the fireplace and he laughs.

“What?” she asks, the smile audible in her voice.

“Nothing, just,” he presses a kiss on the back of her neck, “promise me you’ll never stop wearing my clothes.”

She chuckles, rolls into her back then and wraps her arms around him.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” She pecks his jaw. “Oh, and.”

“Hmm?”

She looks into him, looks into his eyes like she can see everything, like she can read his soul.

“I love you, too.”

Dean smiles then because, in that moment, tangled in the sheets with her, he knows that no matter what happens, no matter what life chooses to throw his way, he’ll always have her, the girl that steals his clothes and makes pancakes to make him smile. 

And that’s enough.

Tags: @ravengirl94 @jpadjackles @supernatural-jackles @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @trexrambling @percywinchester27 @pickupthatamulet @hannahindie @emilywritesaboutdean @atari-writes @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba @dancingalone21 @atc74 @juanitadiann @becominglionhearted @imagining-supernatural @impala-dreamer @becs-bunker @tiny-friggin-human @polina-93 @mandilion76 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @wordstothewisereaders @sgarrett49 @myrabbitholetoneverland @iwriteaboutdean @kathaswings @thevioletthourr @spngeronimo @captainemwinchester @ruprecht0420 @mogaruke @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @winchestersnco @jayankles @winchesters-flannels @wellthatsrandomkek @akshi8278 @escabell @keepcalmandcarryondean @a-glass-of-orange-juice @ravenangel33 @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @holahellohialoha @castianityislife02 @sinistersaltqueen @ultrafandomcat @easelweasel @carryonmyswansong

[evenstevensranked]

#27: Season 2, Episode 1 - “Starstruck”

Ruby desperately wants to win a radio contest to sit in on boyband BBMak’s recording session. Meanwhile, Louis finds an incredibly lucky penny and milks it for all it’s worth.

Wow, guys! Season 2 opens with the BBMak/Lucky Penny/Louis gets a makeover and looks smokin’ hot and Ruby develops a crush on him and I'm like "girl, same" episode!!! Let’s do this.

Alright, so within the first minute of this episode we learn that Ruby is absolutely obsessed with BBMak (a boyband that actually existed and is now unfortunately so irrelevant that some younger viewers of today assume they're a fictional band) and she’s trying to win a contest to go to their recording session when they come to Sacramento. She’s been listening to the radio on her pink, cheetah print walkman for hours on end trying to make sure she’s the lucky caller. Ren is concerned that her intense devotion may not be healthy.. but, Ruby insists she’s not obsessed with them. Her bedroom and behavior says otherwise: 

At school the next day, Louis ends up finding a lucky penny which leads him to experience the best few days in a row ever. It kicks off with him narrowly escaping death and his big history test being canceled due to their teacher’s monkey having babies. The usual. If you binge watch the show, like I’ve done more times than I care to admit, the first few seconds of this scene are shocking because Louis' voice is obviously deeper and he looks obviously older. Yet according to Disney logic we're supposed to believe he's still in 7th grade, lol nah. Maybe at least the second half of 7th grade... We've gone over this before.

Louis seconds away from potentially dying over a penny.

Like I've mentioned, Disney is notoriously bad at airing episodes out of order. So here, we get an episode featuring Ren’s old friend Nelson. The only issue is that this aired 6 episodes before Thin Ice, which is Nelson’s formal introduction. The only explanation I can think of for this is that the Disney execs thought the BBMak thing would make a stronger season opener and switched up the airing order after they were already shot sequentially. I guess they assumed, or hoped, no one would notice or care that there's a new character we've never seen before just chilling with the gang like BFFs lol. According to Wiki at least, Season 2 was aired horrifically out of order when you compare the production code to the number it aired in the season. Like, WOW. For example, this episode was shot as Episode 13. I think that says it all.

No wonder Louis seems so jarringly older in this episode. He’s totally younger in the episodes that were supposed to air during the front half of S2.

Anyway, both Ren and Nelson are concerned about Ruby’s wellbeing now. She has practically turned into a fanatic zombie. They approach her and she says “I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. Do you really think I wanna chat?” completely zoned out of her mind. Yeah, I’d be worried too. We also see that she’s not doing her schoolwork either. Her entire binder is full of BBMak, including this rather disturbing pop-up: 

Continuing his string of good luck, Louis gets to eat Principal Wexler’s extravagant birthday lunch for whatever reason and ends up winning a free fashion makeover courtesy of "Fruity Fruit Cocktail." ....ok. Tawny starts to get freaked out and Twitty simply says "I'm starting not to like you" which is understandable, because Louis is quickly slipping into another arrogant phase due to all of the luck he's been having.

Ren and Nelson give Ruby an intervention to stop her ridiculous obsession with BBMak and wanting to marry one of them. Why is this something that never goes out of relevancy? This is still happening today. It’s perhaps more relevant than ever with the rise of internet fandoms and socials like Tumblr. Teens are literally spiraling into genuine insanity over bands like never before. As long as there are teen idols, there will be teen idol fanatics. Can’t really go wrong with a plot-line like this. Ren tells her "You deserve a real life person who's gonna be perfect for you" - Ruby agrees and decides to turn over a new leaf.

The new and improved made-over Louis comes waltzing in, and just like that Ruby replaces her BBMak obsession with a Louis obsession. She’s just blown away by his beauty. Same, tbh. Y’all already know that I HAD THE BIGGEST CRUSH AND THIS EPISODE KILLED ME!!!! Now that I think about it, this very well might've been the episode that solidified my everlasting fondness for Shia LaBeouf.

This isn’t even overdramatic. Ruby is so me. 

Even Ren and Nelson tell Louis that he looks stunning! Well, “stunning” was Louis’ word, not theirs. They just agreed with his conceitedness, lol. Suddenly a bird comes flying into the house and lands on Louis’ shoulder. Of course, it happens to be Pecky -- a missing bird with a $50 reward. OF COURSE!

The next day, Ruby happily tells Ren that she has officially moved on from BBMak. There’s a new guy in her life! Ren is so excited until Ruby reveals the new object of her affection to her: 

Um, is this my room circa 2001 or Ruby’s? I honestly can’t tell. Also I would so buy that big’ol poster of Shia on her closet door. That thing has made a few appearances throughout the series. It’s kind of iconic looking, don’t you think? Maybe that’s just me... 

Just thought I’d mention: Ren asks her “How did you get these pictures?!” and Ruby explains “I downloaded them from the internet. Louis has a very interesting website.” Do I even want to know? Aside from the implied potentially disturbing content, part of me wishes Disney had some sort of interactive fake louisstevens.com website or something like Nickelodeon did with amandaplease.com! 

Tawny insists that Louis' lucky streak is nothing but “admittedly weird coincidences,” until Louis calls in to win the huge BBMak contest and......... wins. I love how he acts so blasé about it. The DJ is so excited and Louis is all "Eh.. What can I say? This whole charmed life thing is getting kinda old." Also, the DJ in this scene, who appears two more times in the series, was one of the many actors recycled for That’s So Raven. He played a news reporter on that show. Similar field. Huh. 

Ren believes that Ruby is simply rebounding with Louis and decides to show her his nasty bedroom to make her realize she doesn't actually like him. Ren also tells Ruby that he’s rotten and selfish, which... Is kinda true sometimes, oops. But at the same time, that scene always makes me a little sad inside. Louis is a good guy at heart, Ren!!

Just then, Louis appears in the doorway asking "What are you doing in my room?" and we get this incredible exchange:

(credit)

Louis then proceeds to very unselfishly invite Ruby to the BBMak recording session which only reinforces her crush on him. 

Okay. We finally make it to this darn recording session! Thank god. Louis might as well’ve brought his entire extended family because he brought four freaking people along with him like it’s some free for all. You usually don’t push your luck when you’re gifted something like that... but, oh yeah. Lucky penny. I freaking love this bit where Ren whispers to Ruby “Woo! He’s gorgeous...” referring to Christian from BBMak, and Ruby says “I know.......” in reference to Louis! LOL. 

Ren is so disgusted and once again Ruby is me.

Shia has been gorgeous in my eyes for nearly my entire life!!!!!!!!! Apparently I'm weird because I've seen so many memes about him that say things like "He was that ugly, weird kid on Even Stevens and then he magically became good looking" I'm just sitting here like??? Y'all are about 14 years late to the party.

Louis and Twitty get distracted by a table with free cheese on it, which honestly is the best part of any and every function or gathering. Not even gonna lie. While hanging around the cheese table, Twitty decides to seize the opportunity and give BBMak an Alan Twitty Project demo tape of “Sacramento Girl.” (YESSSSS!) They lie and say they’ll check it out — but immediately stuff it under a block of cheese. As a musician, I can confirm that this is too real. It’s impossible to get successful/established artists to take you seriously. I met Fall Out Boy at a local radio junket once and slipped Pete Wentz a demo. I never heard anything, sooo... It stings to know that he most likely hid it under some cheese the second I left. 

BBMak are looking for a ‘Sacramento sound’ (whatever that is) and encourage Louis to play some tambourine on their track! They tell him “If this works out, you could come on tour with us!” If only it was that easy to land a national gig in real life. Ruby mentions in passing that she needs to tell Louis how she feels, and TAWNY IS NOT HAVIN’ IT! Omg. She kinda gets jealous of Ruby’s crush and they start a small argument over him. Ren cannot believe what she's witnessing and I love it. Also, Christy looks fantastic here? Whoever did her hair and makeup: Good job!! wow!

Unfortunately, Ruby’s attraction to him is short-lived and comes to a screeching halt the second Louis loses his penny during his tambo solo, jumping around like a lunatic with no rhythm. (Again, HOW does he become a drummer later on? It’s a mystery.) It’s very subtle, but you can tell once Ruby starts finding Louis "odd and annoying," that Tawny is secretly happy about it and still obviously likes him unconditionally even though he's literally insane. Same, Tawny.

So, yeah. Louis loses his penny and his luck runs out. BBMak basically kick him out of the studio. I love how Louis asks them “What about the record and the touring?! What about BBMak-Stevens?!” as if the conversation ever went that far. It’s great. I might’ve spoke too soon about Shia being gorgeous because the faces he makes when he realizes the penny is missing from his pocket are the furthest thing from the adjective: 

It is hysterical, however. And that outweighs everything else here, so.

This episode ends on an AMAZING note: A super cringy music video for “Sacramento Girl”! What more could you ask for?!?! We get some Twitty-Stevens Connection action here and it’s something to behold. 😂  Be on the lookout for Shia doing his classic “shirt-over-the-head” thing he does, HAHA. You can tell some of the vocals were done by middle-aged men (probably Jim Wise) which makes it even more hilarious. My favorite lyric has got to be the Grammy award worthy: “Before I met the girl I had it made... Now she scores higher than the whole arcade. YEAH!” And of course, the episodes’ immortal last words "TAKE THAT, BBMAK!!!!" will go down in history.  

That’s it! I honestly don’t even know why I’m ranking this one “lower.” It’s probably one of my personal favorites but.. Idk man. There are simply other episodes that I like more, lol. This is a totally solid episode though! Super memorable, pretty strong humor (including music-related humor... which you know I love!), and two awesome plot-lines that blend really well! But, even with all of that.. something felt slightly flat about it when re-watching. It could possibly just be from me watching these episodes waaay too much, tbh. It also probably has something to do with it being a “special” episode with guest stars and whatnot. Episodes like that tend to feel like totally separate things to me. 

At this point, we’ve officially reached the REALLY REALLY GOOD part of the list, though. So I don’t feel too bad about placing it here. There are no “bad” episodes from here on out. Well, there are no bad episodes of Even Stevens in general really. But.. you guys know what I mean.

I’m probably gonna regret and rethink this entire list once I finish it anyway so, lol. 

Thanks for reading! 

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[fantasticalscholar-blog]

Getting Started - Playable Races, Mithra/Miqo’te, and Akadoubutsu!

Now it’s time to populate this gorgeously fun world you’ve created! Final Fantasy normally utilizes Humans to fill most corners of the world and to serve as the leading protagonist; BUT! That does not necessarily have to be the case for your FFD6 campaign! I

In fact, you can choose to include or exclude as many races as your heart desires! Heck! Make new one’s too! I know I ended up doing so for my Eleos campaign and it’s been a lot of fun!

No matter what you choose to do, there is a list of suggested playable races in the FFD6 PDF starting on Page 176. I personally think that this list is a great start, but there are a good handful of other races, or details that the PDF does not cover. As such, I introduce you to one of the biggest topics I’ll be touching on in this Blog: HOME BREW CONTENT (Game and System aspects that are not included in ‘official’ resources for tabletop role playing games!)

I’m not going to share all of the home-brew race content I’ve created just yet, since that’ll just be an absolutely enormous post that’ll take up half your feed. Instead, today, I’ll go ahead and focus on two entries.

I think it should, while PC Races are on the shelve, worth noting that FFD6 does not usually offer bonus Attribute Points or Skill Points (A topic saved for a post in the near future). However, if you are a die hard for adjusting stats and skills due to race, go nuts! I’ve included some suggested scores to improve, but a word of warning; FFD6′s level up system involves improvement of Attribute Points (AP, we’ll abbreviate) at every level, so the bonus would end up being a small push or detriment within only the first few levels.

I’ve also included a Favorable Jobs section to give suggestions to PC’s in case they have no idea what kind of Job, which is the equivalent of classes in FFD6, they want their character to have. With that being said, it is still to your preference and imagination for what Job a character should have. Honestly, some of the craziest combinations make for wonderful character concepts!

So with that in mind, sit back, and maybe consider some of these other fantastic Final Fantasy Races that have appeared in other games (and potential revamps of mentioned races!)

~ ~ ~

The Mithra / Miqo’te

Meet the Mithra and Miqo’te, felinesque residents of the Worlds Vana’diel  and Eorzea (FF XI and FF XIV). Technically different races, I still see it prudent to lump the two together as their design is essentially the same, and I observe few differences between the two. At the very least, I wish to highlight Mithra as they are discussed as a sub-race of the Viera. I personally like the idea, lore-wise, but I think it’s good to further distinguish the two more.

I’ll keep this brief as there are only a handful of differences between the three races;

Mithra: Sporting cat tails and ears, this  race does not stray very far from their description in the manual; the Mithra are heavily dominated by the female sex, as male Mithra have a fairly low birth rate comparatively. Very athletic and nimble, the Mithra are renowned for their tenacity and fierceness in battle. They are fairly conservative when it comes to technology, and are highly tied to their natural roots.

It should be known that if a Mithra, much like Viera, leave their homeland (typically tropical rain forests, deserts, and other tropical biomes), they are most likely to be treated as an alien upon their return. That doesn’t stop most adventurous Mithra, however.

Miqo’te: A sort of human-cat hybrid in appearance, the Miqo’te people are agile, clever, and often quite crafty. Whereas the Mithra are incredibly tied to nature and their clans, Miqo’te are loners for the most part, and are typically territorial to others around them (not in the least, other Miqo’te!).

It should not be surprising at all that Miqo’te are the kind of people to become wanderers. Cats very much so do what they want, and I think it’s fair to say that Miqo’te can embody this sort of fickle nature seen in many of our feline friends. But in the same breath, the phrase, ‘If I fits, I sits’ is also not that bad of a Philosophy for the Miqo’te, as it would only make sense that city life can be a good break from the hustle and bustle of adventure.

[Average Attributes]

Typical Height: 1.6 - 1.8 m / 5′ 2″-5′9 [Males and Females Similar]

Typical Weight: 49 - 66 kg / 107.8 - 145.2 lbs. [Males and Females Similar]

Hair Color Ideas:   Reds, tawny, blacks, grey

Eye Color Ideas: 

Mithra: Reds, Golds, Silvers 

Miqo’te: Blues, Greens, Yellows

Lifespan Suggestions:

Child-Adolescent: 8-17 Years Old

Young Adult - Adulthood: 18-90 Years Old

Older Adults: 91 - 180 Years Old

Suggested Attribute and Skill Bonuses (If Applicable):

+2 Dex, (-1 RES)

+2 Thievery, +2 Nature, +2 Lore: Cities

Ideas for Favorable Jobs:

Mithra Females:

Warrior - For the strong willed and fierce, may work with tribe in squads.

Geomancer - For the spiritual leaders of tribes, may even be the Matriarchs.

Ranger - For the loner and marksman, also make for good hunters.

Mithra Males

Geomancer - A good, spiritualistic class to gain favor in the eyes of  female compatriots in the tribe.

Thief -  For those who have literally gone rogue and abandoned their tribe, and entered human society.

Entertainer - For the light hearted wanderer, and one who was tasked with music or poetry within the tribe.

Miqo’te

Theif - Light on their feet and quite possessive, good for the mischievous.

Gambler - For the fickle of heart and cocky. Besides; Black Cat with gambling powers anyone?

Dragoon - With incredible reflexes and jumping power, Cat Dragons are totally in this season.

~ ~ ~

Akadoubutsu

The next race I’d like to introduce is, as I will dub them, the Akadobutsu (Ah-kah-doe-boot-sue). Though there is no official name for the race, the  Akadobutsu first were introduced in FFVII where the main party encountered and was joined by one of these beings named Nanaki (pictured above).

The  Akadobutsu are a sentient race, capable of learning and speaking the Common languages of the world, and are known to be highly intelligent. As many of the other animal like species in the worlds of Final Fantasy, the  Akadobutsu are known to function in groups of tribes, often residing in areas of great spiritual importance. It is also known that, in their appearance of FFVII, a flame was kept at the center of the Akadobutsu settlement, which may hold some significance to the eternal flame that burns at the end of their tails. Depending on the setting of your FFD6 campaign, the GM and the player of a  Akadobutsu PC can determine if this is significant.

The Akadobutsu are known to be incredibly tied to the natural world, and are very in tune with the condition of the world. This strong bond has manifested itself in a way that many  Akadobutsu are mistrusting of large civilizations, and even more so of incredibly advanced technology that can damage the environment. Furthermore, such close connections with nature has also shown to increase the magical prowess of the  Akadobutsu, though they are known to more so rely on their fangs and claws for weapons.

One last thing to talk about; The  Akadobutsu are normally Quadrupeds. This can either limit what weapons they can use, or you can have an explanation as to why the fiery character can wield a 30 pound sub-machine gun. ESP maybe? They are also capable of walking on their hind legs? Do they start with natural weapons with their claws and teeth? Who knows! Make sure to talk to your GM and vice versa to figure out how you can live out your fantasy while playing as an   Akadobutsu.

[Average Attributes]

Typical Height: 1.2 - 1.25 m  / 3′9″- 4′1″ [Male]  1.0 - 1.05 m / 3′2″ - 3′5″ [Female]

Typical Length: 1.4 -1.5 m  / 4′5″- 5′ 0″ [Male] 1.2 - 1.4 m  / 4′0″ - 4′5″ [Female]

Typical Weight: 63.5 - 86.2 kg / 140 - 190 lbs. [Male] 52.2 - 77.1 kg / 110 - 170 lbs. [Female]

Fur Color Ideas:   Reds, golds, oranges, auburn

Eye Color Ideas:  Yellows, Greens, Reds

Lifespan Suggestions: 

Child-Adolescent: 20 - 140 Years Old

Young Adult - Adulthood: 140 - 460 Years Old

Older Adults: 460 - 700 Years Old

Suggested Attribute and Skill Bonuses (If Applicable):

+1 DEX, +1 MND, (-1 RES)

+2 Athletics, +2 Nature, +2 Lore: Religion

Ideas for Favorable Jobs::

Geomancer: To be so attuned to the world around them, Akadobutsu  would make for excellent candidates to unleash the power of nature on those that wish it harm.

Dark Knight: A particularly tragic hero of the Akadobutsu could go rogue, harnessing the powers of darkness after witnessing the destruction caused to that which was considered sacred.

Samurai: For an enigmatic, lone wolf of a character, to choose to be a Samurai allows Akadobutsu to uphold and fight with honor though they have left their respective tribes.

~ ~ ~

Well now! That took me awhile!

After several sessions of adding info and researching, I present to you a start on races! I’ll again suggest glancing at Chapter 6 in the PDF (it starts on Page 174), and from there you can glance at the provided list of races and the worlds they normally inhabit!

I hope that now you can start feeling comfortable with the sense of freedom FFD6 offers, and if you are eager to unleash your imagination, that you go for it full throttle!

If you see grammar mistakes, contradictions, mathematical miscalculations, have observations, or suggestions, please let me know! With this mention of AP (Attribute Points) and SP (Skill Points) this time around, you can expect a character creation post just around the corner! Is it weird to abbreviate those, or should I just type them out? FIRST HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT QUESTION!

Anyways; thank you for your time and your interest. I hope you have a wonderful evening, and enjoy the approach of summer and last hurrahs of spring!!! ~ Ryan

- Lots of credit this time!

Thank you KuraudoStrife from the site ‘The Lifestream’ for the image of the races at the top!

Pictures of the Miqo’te found on the consolegames wiki site, where you can find their page and info right here!

Pictures of Nanaki, or Red XIII, and information on his character and race were found on the Final Fantasy Wikia, and you can find this page right here!

The Miqo’te, Mithra, and proclaimed Akadobutsu races were originally conceptualized by the creative teams at Sqaure Enix, and much of the information gleaned for this post comes from the Final Fantasy Wikia and the FFD6 PDF created by ‘Dust’.

[nikihawkes]

Title: Assassin’s Fate

Author: Robin Hobb

Series: The Fitz and The Fool #3

Genre: Fantasy

Rating: 5/5 stars!

Release Date: May 9, 2017*

The Overview: Fitz’s young daughter, Bee, has been kidnapped by the Servants, a secret society whose members not only dream of possible futures but use their prophecies to add to their wealth and influence. Bee plays a crucial part in these dreams—but just what part remains uncertain. As Bee is dragged by her sadistic captors across half the world, Fitz and the Fool, believing her dead, embark on a mission of revenge that will take them to the distant island where the Servants reside—a place the Fool once called home and later called prison. It was a hell the Fool escaped, maimed and blinded, swearing never to return. For all his injuries, however, the Fool is not as helpless as he seems. He is a dreamer too, able to shape the future. And though Fitz is no longer the peerless assassin of his youth, he remains a man to be reckoned with—deadly with blades and poison, and adept in Farseer magic. And their goal is simple: to make sure not a single Servant survives their scourge. -BN.com

The Book Review:

What can I say about the conclusion to the series that has dazzled me for years (becoming my all-time favorite) other than: wow.

Assassin’s Fate was beautiful, terrible, and profound. I savored each page, painfully aware it might be the last time I experience this world. I’ve never been as emotionally invested in a story as I was with Hobb’s work, her writing draws you in so completely that you forget yourself for a while, totally at the mercy of her story. Each of her series evoked real emotion – a sense of love and loss that is almost unparalleled by anything else I’ve ever read. Assassin’s Fate was the most gut-wrenching to date, but it was worth every painful, poignant moment. I’ll be reeling from this one for years to come.

I love this series for so many things: its rich histories and epic world building, its endearingly human characters (flaws and all), its immersive writing, but one of my favorite things about it is the subtle weaving of dragons into the story. It’s quite brilliantly done – dragons always seem to be the center of the overall arc of each series, but are often kept on the periphery of the events within each book (with the exception of the Rain Wilds Chronicles). The further you read, the more you start to realize their significant impact on the world and characters. As someone who loves dragons almost obsessively, I ate up every word. Hobb’s representation of them is truly breathtaking. Oddly though, I wouldn’t call these series dragon-centric because, while essential to the plot, they are usually not the focal point.

At the conclusion of Fool’s Fate, (the final book in the Tawny Man Trilogy, a reading experience I’ll never forget), I’d been under the impression Fitz’s tale was at an end. Therefore, when The Fitz and the Fool Trilogy was announced in August 2014, it felt like Christmas had come early. And it was even better than I dared hope! With the introduction of a new POV character, Bee, whom I love just as fiercely as Fitz, this trilogy offered a convergence of every Elderling series before it (Fitz + Liveship + Rain Wilds = Amazing!). It was an unexpected surprise, and I can’t even begin to describe how elated I was. If you haven’t yet experienced the brilliant world of the Elderlings, I suggest reading in the following order (to avoid spoilers):

Farseer Trilogy Liveship Trilogy Tawny Man Trilogy Rain Wilds Chronicles Fitz and the Fool

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Assassin’s Apprentice by Robin Hobb

Ship of Magic by Robin Hobb

Fool’s Errand by Robin Hobb

The Dragon Keeper by Robin Hobb

Fool’s Assassin by Robin Hobb

Above are the first books in each of these amazing series, respectively.

Each series brings with it loads of new discoveries, and I cherished every detail. Learning the histories of this world is also one of my favorite elements to the series. Each new detail felt like a revelation, and it got to a point where I was hanging on every word, hoping to find out more. Who knew it would go so far beyond the somewhat narrow framework of a little orphan boy at Buckkeep castle in Assassin’s Apprentice?

All the books Hobb has written in this world are amazing. Each story is a slow burn that takes its time, building momentum as it goes. By the time you reach the end, you’re hurtling so fast you wish you could slow it down to savor every moment. Assassin’s Fate and every book that came before it are officially The Obsessive Bookseller’s top recommends. I loved every beautiful, gut-wrenching moment and will keep these characters close to my heart forever.

*Thank you Random House Publishing Group – Ballantine, NetGalley, and Robin Hobb for the chance to read and review an early copy of Assassin’s Fate– you made my year! 😀

Other books you might like:

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Dragon Weather by Lawrence Watt-Evans

Thief’s Gamble by Juliet E. McKenna

Blood Song by Anthony Ryan

Pawn of Prophecy by David Eddings

The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson

by Niki Hawkes

Book Review: Assassin’s Fate by Robin Hobb Title: Assassin's Fate Author: Robin Hobb Series: The Fitz and The Fool #3…

[hellacluttered]

Back (Red Harvest)

   It had been a year since the battle for Rose Creek, and you had done your best to move on from what you lost in it. You cried when your baby was born, first from joy and later because your husband couldn’t be there to welcome him into the world with you. You named the baby after him though- Micah. You visited your husband’s grave regularly, often bringing fresh flowers to adorn the cross that stood there.

    You had a couple suitors, and you didn’t know if you weren’t interested them or if you were still in love with your husband, but you didn't fall in love again. So you lived alone with your child. Your husband had worked as an overseer during the construction of the transcontinental railroad and owned several properties in the town, so you had plenty of money to live off. It was a simple, peaceful life, and you were glad to have all the time to spend with Micah.

    You were sitting on the porch of your small house one day when you heard voices and cheers down the street and rose, walking to the edge of the porch with Micah in your arms to see what was going on. Walking down the center of the street were three horses with three familiar figures astride them- Sam Chisholm, Red Harvest, and Vasquez, the remaining of Rose Creek’s intervening saviors.

    The memories they brought back were bittersweet.

    But you still dressed up and joined the festivities in the street that evening as the people of the town came together to give the three a proper banquet. You ended up sitting on the top step of the saloon steps with a group of children, a few parents, and Vasquez, who was telling them stories that had all the children totally entranced. Even Micah’s eyes were on him, though he couldn’t understand the words being spoken. You sensed someone next to you even though your peripheral vision hadn’t alerted you yet and you glanced up to see Red Harvest standing there, quietly eating, apparently listening to Vasquez’s story as well.

    After awhile, Micah started to become fussy and burst into tears and you quickly stood, apologizing for the disruption, and were about to walk away when Red Harvest said, “I’ll walk with you.”

    You’d never heard him speak before- you never even knew he spoke English- and you started slightly. “Oh! Thank you.”     “You’re welcome,” he said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

    “It’s fine,” you said, feeling slightly embarrassed at your own reaction.

    Micah quieted slightly as the sounds of the festivities faded. “Your husband fought?” Red Harvest asked.

    You nodded. “He died in the battle.”

    “I remember him,” he said. “I saw you with him afterward.”

    “Really?” you said.

    Red Harvest nodded. “He was a good man.”

    “He was,” you agreed. You walked in silence until you reached your house and then you said, “Thank you for coming with me.”

    He just nodded and then turned to walk away.

    The next morning you had the teenage girl who lived next door and sometimes babysat for you watch Micah while you went out for a ride. As much as you loved your son, sometimes you needed time totally to yourself, to focus on nothing in particular and get out away from everyone. This morning was one of those times. You rode out of town on the main road, and then departed from it, heading toward the small river you knew was just beyond the horizon. Once you got there, you dismounted and sat down on the riverbank, unlacing your boots and sliding them and your socks off before dipping your feet in the fresh, cool water.

    Times like this always helped you refresh your mind, and being away, on no one’s time but your own… It was freeing. You’d been sitting there barely a half hour though when you heard voices nearby.

    “How much farther til we get to this damn town?” a man’s voice asked.

    “Not much longer,” a second voice said. “It’ll be worth it, I swear.”

    “It better be.” A pause. “Well I’ll be… What’s a horse like that doing out here?”

    A few shrubs concealed you for now, but as soon as the men came to investigate your horse (or steal it, as you guessed they were probably planning on doing), they would find you, unless you managed to hide somehow.

    “Full tack and all; gotta be someone around,” the other voice said as you carefully stepped down into the river, huddling against the bank and wishing it was higher. As it was, the top of your head was barely below it and if they came close to the edge at all, they would find you. You adjusted your position until you were lying on your side in the river, now flatter against the bank though your nose was hardly above the water. You heard footsteps on the dry ground and your horse whinny.     “I don’t see anyone,” the voice of the impatient man said. “Let’s take it.”

    “Wait a minute,” the other voice said and you silently cursed as the sound of footsteps approached the river and moments later a worn, bearded face was leering down at you. “Look what I found over here!”

    You pushed yourself away from the bank and surged to your feet, managing to escape the man’s grip when he reached for you, but you stumbled over the rough rocks of the riverbed in your haste and fell over backward, and before you could stand and properly regain your balance, the man who had found you was in the river next to you, his grip tight on your arms as he pulled you toward the bank. “We just want to talk with you, missy,” he said, but the expression on his friend’s face as he took in your clingy, sodden garments made you think otherwise.

    You cleared your throat. “That’s my horse. I’m from Rose Creek. And if I don’t return, there will be people looking for me right away. You won’t escape.”

    The man who had caught you laughed. “I think we could. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

    Repulsed by the pet name and his greasy smile and implications, you lashed out, jamming your knee into his crotch and he yelped out in pain, releasing you and doubling over, but you turned to run only to be caught by the other man, and when you tried to give him the same treatment as the first, he pushed you away without relinquishing his hold, and had just opened his mouth to speak when there was a faint whistling sound and a thud before the man’s eyes blew open and he swayed on his feet for a moment or so and fell to the ground. Thirty meters or so away was a grayish horse, a familiar figure on its back, and moments later he had reached you, dropping easily off the back of the horse next to the second man, who was fleeing at a run. Red Harvest easily tripped him, and drew one of his knives as he crouched next to him, the blade glinting in the sun as he pressed it to the man’s throat. “Leave now. Don’t come back,” he said, his voice terse, commanding. Then he withdrew his blade and the man scrambled to his feet, eyes filled with fear, and ran for his life.

    “Are you all right?” Red Harvest asked as he approached you.

    You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself as you shivered slightly, both from your drenched clothes and because of the adrenaline that had kicked in during the situation and was now starting to wear off, leaving you feeling drained. “Thank you.” The words didn’t express your gratitude, but they were all you had.

    “You’re welcome.”

    “How did you know?” you asked as the pair of you rode back to Rose Creek side by side.

    “We saw them when we were traveling,” he explained. “I remembered them after I saw you leave.”

    “Ah,” you said. “Thank God you remembered.”

    He nodded. “Yes.”

    After changing into dry clothes and eating some lunch, you were feeling considerably less rattled, and you felt much more yourself than you had earlier by the time a knock came on the door and you opened it to see Red Harvest standing there. “I wanted to see how you’re doing,” he said simply and you smiled.

    “Thank you. I’m doing well.”

    “Good,” he said, and then held out a bottle of whiskey, which you took with raised brows.

    “What’s this for?”

    “Vasquez sent it,” he said. “He said it would help you warm up and calm your nerves.”

    You chuckled. “That was thoughtful. I’ll thank him later. But… Do you want to come in?”

    He shrugged. “Sure.”

    Vasquez and Red Harvest opted to stay in Rose Creek while Sam went about some business in the area, and through the weeks that passed, you kept spending more and more time with Red, as you ended up calling him, though the first time you did it, his expression was unreadable so you apologized, saying you wouldn't do it anymore. But he just smiled and said it was fine.

    You got to know him much better and it didn't take you long before you started picking up on his little quirks and habits, how he couldn't relax as long as there was work to be done, how he was particular about having things be neat and clean at all times, how he never ate breakfast but always ate a snack late at night, how when he got frustrated he turned silent, and how one of the things that bothered him the most was not being able to help people who needed it.

    “Do you want to hold him?” you asked one day as you sat on the porch, Red sharpening one of his knives while you read a book, Micah resting comfortably in your lap.

    “Hold him?” Red repeated.

    “Yeah!” you said. “If you want to.”

    “How?” he asked.

    You smiled, gently lifting Micah and setting him in Red’s arms. The man cradled him gently, glancing at you briefly for confirmation that he was doing it right but when you nodded, his eyes returned to the baby. He'd never seemed that interested in the child before so his rapt attention on him somewhat surprised you, but it was a pleasant surprise. He reached up one hand, his fingers gently touching Micah’s, and Micah wrapped his fingers around Red’s thumb, his tiny digits pale and smooth in comparison to Red’s tawny, weathered ones. Normally you were borderline paranoid about others holding Micah, but Red doing it didn't worry you at all. “I think he likes you,” you said finally, and Red glanced over at you, a small smile curving his lips.

    “Really?”

    You nodded, watching as Red’s eyes returned to Micah, a surprisingly tender expression softening his strong features. In that moment there was undeniably a feeling in your chest that you hadn't felt in a long time.

    Micah soon fell asleep, and Red asked quietly, “Do you want him back?”

    “If you don’t want to hold him anymore, sure,” you said, but Red just shifted the baby to a slightly more comfortable position and relaxed with the little boy in his arms.

    Red Harvest was there in the relaxed times, but also when you needed help, when you were lonely or tired. And eventually he was there the late nights you sat on the porch because you couldn’t sleep. At those times, he didn’t talk. But his presence was more comforting to you than any words could be. You thought of yourself as good at concealing your emotions, but he seemed to be able to read you like a book, and he always seemed to show up at just the right times.

    Tonight, a warm September one, you sat outside alone, lost deep in your thoughts. You wondered often whether Rose Creek was the right place for you, or whether you should travel back east to be with your parents. This had seemed like a perfect place to raise Micah, but now that he was fatherless, you wondered if he needed a stronger familial support system. But you loved Rose Creek, you didn’t want to leave it or all the people in it you cared for, a list that had recently increased by one.

    You laced your fingers behind your head, dropping your gaze to your lap before squeezing your eyes shut. The responsibility was heavy.

    You didn’t hear his footsteps, but somehow you knew Red was there even before the porch creaked quietly and you opened your eyes to see him crouching in front of you, his eyes gazing into yours with curiosity and sympathy. “What are you thinking about?”

     “I’ve been trying to decide whether Micah and I should stay here or not,” you said.

     He nodded, and it seemed like the news came as no surprise to him. “Why?”

     “Because of Micah. He needs more than just me, if he doesn’t have a father at least he should have a family,” you explained.

    “You are enough for him,” Red said simply, surprising you. Normally in times like this he just listened while you talked. Then he reached forward, slipping his hands into yours, which were resting in your lap. His hands were callused and rough, but warm and gentle.

    “Really?” you asked, your heart inexplicably speeding up.

    “Yes,” he said. “No one can take better care of him than you do.”

    Your emotions hit you like a wave then, and you impulsively leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your face into his shoulder. After a moment, he tentatively embraced you back, though he didn’t seem to know quite where to put his hands, and you were fairly certain one was dangling. “Thank you,” you said finally. He didn’t answer, just gently pulled you off the chair to sit on the ground with him, your backs against the porch railing and your head on his shoulder. It was like that that you fell asleep, though you roused slightly when Red carried you inside and up to your bed. In the morning you could vaguely remember him taking off your shoes and carefully tucking you in before he left.

    Sam returned a week later, and all the worries you’d been suppressing rose to the surface again. The feelings you’d almost unknowingly developed for Red seemed too deep and tangled for you to totally understand but you couldn’t imagine him not being around.

    Four nights later you were about to get ready for bed when there came a knock on your door and somehow you already knew it was bad news. You opened it to find Red standing there, an inscrutable expression on his face. “Come in,” you said, stepping aside to give him room. As soon as he’d stepped over the threshold and you closed the door, he said,

    “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

    You gulped, looking down. You didn’t know what to say, so you just nodded. Red’s hands landed lightly on your upper arms, and you looked up as he stepped closer, gently resting his forehead against yours. His proximity made your heart pound, but it felt totally right, entirely natural. “I’ll be back soon, I promise,” he said, and you could feel his breath against your lips as he spoke.

    Your whole body seemed to relax at his reassurance. “Good.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and shifted the angle of your head, gently pressing your lips to his, just once. Your eyes opened and you found him looking down at you with a small smile. He wasn’t one to speak his emotions much, but the way he trustingly closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss you again as his arms, now looped around your waist, pulled you closer, told you everything you needed to know.