#also it’s so hard to give excerpts from this chapter that don’t spoil things | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thephant0mime · 4 years ago

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Dragon Age Origins Fanfiction

So recently, I’ve looked at the first fanfiction I’ve written three years ago as I’m struck with a case of low motivation to continue my current projects. I’m currently struggling with making my writing immersive but the problem is, I have a weird reaction to that. A beta reader once told me to write it through my character’s senses because my current writing is not making readers connect with the character. Problem is, when I try to write as if I’m in my characters’ head, it feels weirdly violating, Like I’m committing mind rape to them. Probably because I write my characters as If they’re real, and I just give them the plot for them to react to it and I to record what they do with it. My characters rarely end up as I intended at first. So this immersion thing really messes up our dynamic and it’s affecting my current works to the point I’ve stopped writing altogether.

Anyway, I read my old finished fanfiction again and while I think it’s not as good as I thought then, it also surprised me. I’ve forgotten some of the old jokes and it made me laugh both because I enjoy it and surprised that I’ve actually wrote those funny things. Then an idea to solve my current problem appeared in my head and I’m testing it out to see if it works.

This is only an excerpt, but I’m planning a rework of my old fic for publication soon. It’s about the Fifth Blight and narrated by Philliam, A Bard wrote it like an interview style/non-fiction book. The old fic in question: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13074672/chapters/29909850

Chapter 2

Paragons are the elite of dwarven society and their symbol of dwarven excellence. They are the equivalent of gods in our society, for dwarves worship their ancestors and they consider paragons a living Ancestor, carrying the wisdom and will of the departed ones. They can be drawn from any caste, even the casteless, which is the only way one can change their caste upward. The house of one of our heroes was descended from such a Paragon.

The Noble House of Aeducan was founded when their ancestor became a Paragon for leading the dwarves against the darkspawn during the Fifth Blight and saved their race. Currently, they were the ruling, royal house of Orzammar, of which our hero belongs.

Now he would have told his tale from when he was recruited into the wardens, but that would not give us an idea of his character. Coaxing him to start during his time in Orzammar before his recruitment was difficult, as I understood it was painful for him to recount those events the most, but I managed it, as you shall see.

Thorin Aeducan’s story:

I am Thorin Aeducan, the second child of King Endrin Aeducan. I have two brothers; Trian was the eldest and the heir apparent and Bhelen the youngest. We grew up close as only boys do, until our coming of age where we went to our separate ways; Trian to train under our father to succeed him and me and Bhelen off to the army and lead them against the eternal threat of darkspawn. Fighting in the Deep Roads wasn’t much to Bhelen’s liking and went off to live like a pampered prince in the Diamond Quarter. I, meanwhile, see no better life than among those who fight and shed bled with each other.

Probably the first sign I had that everything would change for me occurred on the day I was ordered back by my Father to the city to honor my work in the Deep Roads. It started harmless enough, in my room at the palace, as Gorim assisted me in dressing up for the feast. I donned the antique armor of my grandfather which was more showy than practical. The burnished metal was too bright, the metal too thin and the shape too bulky. Looking at my reflection, I could see I was uncomfortable in it. My body was accustomed to my regular armor, which I think was molded from spending too much time fighting it grew callused to make them fit. While not-ill fitting, the ceremonial armor I was wearing was sending danger signals in my mind which I could not shake as Gorim laughing softly behind me, in the same spirit as if he just caught me wearing my grandmother’s gowns.

“Not to your taste, my lord?” he asked, dressed decently in armor that was as not as pretentious as the one I was wearing. His grin made even his wide face wider and his whole face was effusive as the light from the torch was caught in his simply styled, but neat, copper hair.

I looked away from my reflection to his smiling face as he held a matching antique sword in his hand. Then I looked down on myself. “This belongs in the Shaperate,” I said, as I readjust the straps of the gauntlet again.

“Hardly, my lord. If you’re concerned about it breaking apart due to age, then worry not. It was crafted by excellent smiths whose skill is still unsurpassed by anyone alive. It would certainly withstand some bit of walking.”

I groaned. “Not that. It just feels…wrong. This,” I pointed in the mirror at the shoulder guard, which was comically large enough to use as a shield, “isn’t something I’d think to be good to wear. How am I supposed to move in this thing?”

“That was the point. It’s meant to catch attention as fast as possible,” Gorim said, stepping closer to my side. “Its size was supposed to show the breadth of your strength and power and make everyone looking at you fall in awe. Which is perfect for the feast your father threw for you. We can’t have our celebrant looking unremarkable now can’t we?”

I shook my head at their silliness. My regular armors were perfectly fine.

“Now, do you wish to wear your shield to the feast?”

“Yes. Let me see them as the warrior I am and not some dressed-up spoiled prince,” I said as I gestured at my reflection. The shield on my back might calm me enough not to notice what I was wearing in time for the party. A shield saved me plenty of times in the Deep Roads when I sometimes lose my grip on my sword, and nothing was more comforting by the feel of it on my back.

“That would surely tell the nobles that you are a warrior if they hadn’t known already,” Gorim snarked. I shrugged that off. Gorim was more jesting of his lord than other seconds but I don’t mind it. No one was more faithful and more trustworthy than he.

Gorim stopped grinning at last and his tone was serious when he spoke again. “Moving on to the business at hand, the king expects you to make an appearance at the feast, but there’s no rush. The noble family heads will spend hours boring your father with petitions and petty grievances.”

“And you’re suggesting we do something else?”

“Well, as part of the celebrations, permits have been auctioned off to members of the Merchant Caste who wished to sell wares in the Diamond Quarter. Lord Harrowmont has also opened up the Provings for young warriors to test their mettle before the upcoming battle.”

I considered it. Though I would have liked to watch the Provings, it just served in the past for lesser nobles to push their petitions by chatting with me, hoping I’d pass it to my father’s ears. Though I discouraged them at every turn, still they persist so I never enjoyed watching at all.

“The Proving sounds appealing but I’d rather not meet other nobles until it’s time. Let’s go have a look at the Diamond Quarter.”

Gorim bowed. “As you wish, my lord. The day is ours until the feast.”

I cast one look at my room. It was sparsely furnished and decorated, for I rarely use it but today, it was filled with gifts from my friends, other noble houses, commoners whose names I do not know and even from my men who I left in the Deep Roads. Even though they could not leave their post as I did, they still managed to send gifts to me. We sneaked out the palace, bypassing the hall where my father was entertaining his subjects and emerged onto the Diamond Quarter. I huff with satisfaction as I saw the city laid out, sparkling like a well cut jewel. The Diamond Quarter was laid out with two wings on each side and the proving ground jutting out in the middle while the lava flowing below lit bathed everything in warm light. Our ancestors have hewn the rock of this cavern to make our home; in sharp lines, hard walls, and strong pillars.

Every day, the city grows in beauty and I cannot be prouder.

“Shall we take a look at the stalls, my lord?” Gorim gently prompted me.

I smiled at him to excuse my lapse. “Of course.”

We walked down the steps towards the ground at the left of the palace, which was filled with stalls selling all kinds of dwarven crafts in honor of the Proving today. As soon as I appeared, everyone acknowledged my presence through the gradual lessening of their talk.

The previously spacious ground was now filled to bursting with stalls selling every kind of merchandise from the city and the surface. A shop selling dwarven weapons and armor was placed next to one selling human-made trinkets. Behind a rack of smithing tools was a cabinet filled with surfacer curiosities. And tables with sumptuous food from the surface. Bottles of wine and beer known to people.

We dwarves mostly produce what we need, but we could never beat the surfacers in terms of food and cloth. They have simply far more variety up there and I briefly wondered how they could have it. From what Duncan told me, the surface was wide open, with no ceiling, and seemed to stretch from side to side, seemingly without end, so they had more crops than I could count with my fingers. Though Duncan never lied to me, I always thought what he said about the surface as ridiculous. An infinite space like that; however did it not manage to break up and fall apart?

Currently, I was looking at a display of surfacer cloths with the owner standing attentively at my side. I have little use for it as I’m rarely out of armor, save for leather and cotton, but the stall owner has many interesting types displayed today.

“A bolt for your lady, my lord?” he inquired. “We have all manner of cloths she will surely love: wool and velvet from Ferelden, silk from Orlais, cotton, and linen from the Free marches. If you would like something more special, we have embroidered bolts at the back in silver and gold thread. We also have ones appliqued with gems. Just let me get to it.”

I smiled at his insinuation of a mistress. Before I could speak, Gorim spoke. “You are too familiar, merchant,” he scolded the shopkeeper. “This is your prince who you’re talking to and you ought to pay him more respect.”

“It’s alright, Gorim,” I said as the merchant began to cower and mutter his apologies. I smiled wider to reassure him. “No harm done.”

The merchant started to stammer. “Apologies my lord. I wanted to please you so badly that I-”

“It’s alright. I took no offense.”

He nearly fell to his knees. “Oh, thank you, my lord.”

I drew back my hand at the silk bolt I was looking at. “Let me assure you; Your attention to me has pleased me enough that, if I were to be fortunate enough to have a wife, I surely would look for you to recommend to me an appropriate gift for her.”

He stammered effusively his thanks and with a nod, I and Gorim went to the next stall, which was selling something to my taste

“Greetings, my lord Aeducan,” the weapon seller called to me as we stepped in front of his goods. “I am so honored to have you visit my booths.” He stopped and looked as if he was about to say something. When I turned to look at his wares, he spoke, lowering his voice. “If you would excuse me, I have a…preposition but I dare not approach any further.”

I stared at his face in surprise. Gorim stepped closer and looked at the merchant likewise but with narrowed eyes. “Yet you dare now?”

“It’s alright,” I said to Gorim. “I’ll hear him out.”

Gorim nodded at me and turned back to the merchant. “Very well then. Speak.”

The merchant made himself smaller as he glanced around us. “Sorry. So nervous. I have a dagger made. For…you. As a gift for your first command. I, uh, sent a messenger to deliver the dagger to you but Prince Trian threw him out. I don’t know what offense he caused, but I had him beaten severely.”

Gorim and I glanced at each other. We both saw we had no idea why Trian would stop people from giving gifts to me. It was none of his business.

“I’m sure Trian has his reasons,” I said carefully.

He nodded, seemingly to accept my explanation. “Would you like to look at the dagger?”

“Of course.”

He smiled with extreme elation. “Oh, thank you, my lord. A thousand thanks to you. Here…” he bent down to retrieve a box on a drawer. He opened it, showing it to us. Inside nestled an extremely beautiful dagger on dark purple velvet. It was triangular-shaped, with the grip covered in druffalo leather. The guard was embossed with intricate designs and the blade shone dark like obsidian, I knew the blade was silverite just extremely polished to look like the glass. It was not merely decorative a fragile beauty belying its deadliness.

I was silent in admiration. From what I can see, I have no complaints about its craftmanship.

“That’s an amazing piece merchant,” Gorim said, not quite keeping his awe out of his voice.

“You do me much honor ser,” the merchant replied, abashed. “The blade has been crafted over a period of two years by masters of every art. I wish to bless my lord’s first command and hope that someday, when he rules, he will wear it.”

I and Gorim went still as we both understood that the merchant was proposing treason. Dangerous words to speak aloud in the middle of the public market. If his messenger was just as careless as he, then Trian throwing him out was no mystery.

“Trian is heir,” I reminded him gently, hoping that only his enthusiasm had led him to speak treason. “He will rule when my father your king returns to the Stone.”

“If the Assembly wills it,” he said, looking upward in the sign of our Ancestors. “Forgive me ser but whispers say that the second child of King Endrin will be chosen.”

“The whispers are wrong,” I said more strongly to impress in him his danger. “What they propose is treason and you would do well not to speak that aloud.”

The merchant paled.

“I was born a prince and I shall die a prince,” I added. “I have no wish to take the throne as long as Trian is alive to claim it. Pass it on to those who whispered to you and never speak of this again, for your own safety and those around you.”

The merchant bowed low. “Of course. Thank you my lord for warning me. But,” he looked with pain at the dagger in his hands, “what shall I do with this?”

The wise thing to do was to throw it in the lava but as I saw the way he looked at it as if it was his child, I reconsidered. We dwarves don’t treat our craftmanship lightly.

“I’ll take the dagger. I’ll wear it with pride when Trian ascends the throne.”

The merchant looked at me as if I’d just saved his family. I glanced at Gorim and he immediately held out his hands to take it from his hands. The merchant handed it over with reverent care, taking one final look at it, then turned to me, with tears in his eyes. “Thank you. You bring uncountable honor to me.”

I nodded my goodbye and we walked away from the stall. As soon as we’re out of earshot of the merchant, Gorim remarked. “What he meant is this will bring you uncountable gold to him if you wear that piece in public.”

I smiled at his cynicism. “Gorim, be kind to the poor man. He nearly lost his life today.”

“All for a bit of gold,” he answered and shook the package in his arms lightly. “Whispers, indeed. This is a princely gift. If Trian recognizes it, though, it may send the wrong message.” He then gave me a sideways look and added in a low voice, “Or the right one, depending on your view.”

I stopped walking to stare at him in shock. “Gorim, are you sincerely proposing…”

Gorim glanced around us and made his voice low, which, from the chatter of the people around us, would make his words intelligible to anyone but me. “My lord, you should know, though your humility prevents you so, that most people would want you to take your Father’s place instead of Prince Trian.”

I stared at him for a long while and I didn’t know I was holding my breath until it was forced out of me in coughing disbelief. “This is just a steaming pile of brontoshit.”

“I am not jesting, my lord. The army loves you, and the people too in the same way that they do. And the nobles would rather deal with you than with Prince Trian with his volatile temper.”

“Spawn’s balls, Gorim! I am not gonna take my brother’s birthright. My brother, who I love.”

Gorim clamped his lips tight as I looked at him with disbelief that he would dare say something extremely painful to me. “What kind of man do you think I am to think that I would do that?” I asked softly.

Gorim kept silent, looking at the ground in shame.

“Let’s speak no more of it,” I said with finality and we went to other stalls in silence.

While we peruse the next stall in a somber mood than the one we started in, we did not expect to run so early onto the one we were arguing about.

“Atrast vala, big brother. How surprising to run into you out among the common folk,” said a chirping voice to my left.

I turned around and found my younger brother, Bhelen. Despite his greeting, his pale face looked harried and the light blue eyes had no luster. It always was the case when he was with our elder brother, Trian, who was standing next to him, looking like his overgrown version. In contrast, Trian narrowed his eyes when he saw me and gave a deep huff, sending the braids in his light-colored beard to flutter. His face was set in hard lines of disapproval.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Gorim whipped the gift swiftly but deftly at his side, away from the view of my brothers, instead of holding it in front. I glanced at Bhelen quickly, who looked slightly guilty when he met my gaze then back to Trian. I knew immediately Bhelen used me as a distraction to our elder brother. Because Trian looked like he’s about to chew someone out.

“Especially since duty requires you to attend our father the king. Have you little respect for him to disregard his wishes on a day set for you?” he asked sharply at me.

Knew it. Before I can say anything, Gorim spoke up. “Lord Harrowmont assured me we wouldn’t be needed for hours at least-”

“Silence! If I want the opinion of my sibling’s second, I will ask for it,” Trian barked, cutting him off.

Gorim mumbled “Yes Your highness” and stepped back.

My brows drew together in reproof at Trian and I said, “Don’t speak to him like that.”

Trian raised his in surprise at my words then drew together in irritation. “I’ll speak to the lower houses and castes as they should be spoken to,” he said snittily.

Stone, I love my brother but he makes it hard to be loyal.

“Now do as I say,” he added.

I gritted my teeth. “I will go at my leisure,” I said in a measured tone.

Trian stared at me with a shocked face for one moment, as if I’d sprouted another head, then he went red with rage. He stepped closer to me until we were face to face. “If I am king, you will never be allowed to act like that to me again,” he growled, keeping his eyes on me to make me cower. But I stared back hard without flinching, even as a crowd formed around us. Nothing Trian can do to me will scare me after what I’ve endured in the Deep Roads.

“Come, Bhelen,” he said finally, snapping his fingers. Bhelen looked at me, sheepishly, then followed like a dog to our brother’s retreating back. The crowd around us parted out of the way for them, then looked back at me uncertainly.

“It’s just a quarrel with brothers,” Gorim said to them, smiling. “Everyone back to business.” As we watch the crowd disperse reluctantly, Gorim turned to me and said “That was fun. Nothing like being talked down by the next king.”

“He had better not be like that when he is king. The nobles won’t stand a tyrant,” I said, looking on until the heads of my brothers were lost among the crowd.

“Oh? What has your brother done now?”

I turned at the speaker and was pleased with what I’ve found. Finally, a person I like to talk to. “Nerav. Stone met,” I greeted and bowed to a woman dressed fashionably in silk and sable.

Lady Nerav, daughter of Lord Helmi. Also my betrothed.

I’ve seen her many times dressed in a smith’s apron with soot on her face and looked mostly at home with that, but she had no problem being decked out in her best for an occasion.

I gave a look at Gorim to give us some privacy and he retreated to a respectful distance. Then I gestured at her if she would take a stroll with me. She accepted with a smile on her full cheeks and we headed leisurely away from the stalls. Immediately, she asked me about Trian.

I sighed. “He has been throwing his weight again. Reminding each and every noble that he is the firstborn Aeducan, as if they didn’t know already,” I said.

She nodded sagely. “As he should, since the election is coming up. He must be anxious.”

“Yes, skittish as a nug in a dwarven kitchen. I just wish he doesn’t shat on us all while he’s at it.”

She laughed. “Oh Thorin, you were always my favorite.”

“Oh? I had competition?” I teased.

“Plenty. But before you, there’s just no comparison.”

“Good to know. Embarrassing, otherwise. Not looking forward to talking to your father why you chose me and not the others.”

“Oh, don’t worry about my father. I think he loves you more than I do.”

“Hmm. I like my chances. At least I wouldn’t expect him on our wedding day threatening to disembowel me if I did anything funny to you.”

“If you did anything funny to me, I think he’d still adore you.”

I chuckled. This was why I was going to marry her. She had a sensible head on her shoulders and share the same humor as I. We had been friends since childhood and when his father dropped hints that it was time for him to marry, I never hesitated to ask her.

We arrived near the railing overlooking the flowing lava. She leaned on it, the warm light shining on her face and on her dark hair like a halo, and I thought she grew up very beautifully. She is the only woman I’ve spent more time with and I wondered why marrying her never entered my head until she told me one day that I had the right of first refusal for her hand. For many years, she said.

“About the wedding, I want to talk to you about something and you’re not going to like it,” I said.

She turned to me still with that charming, teasing look on her face. “Oh? Is this the part where we tell each other’s dirty secrets? Like you always leave your clothes on the floor so I should expect to pick it up after you forever?”

“Save it when we’re married. This is more pressing.”

She stopped her teasing and waited.

I took a breath before announcing it. “We’re going to postpone the wedding.”

“What?” she yelled, as I expected. I wasn’t aware of the preparations for our wedding but I knew enough that she had worked long on it.

“At least until Trian is crowned. I didn’t like the look I got from him when I announced our engagement.” He looked like he was about to kill me then my bethroted. My brother wasn’t a particular favorite with the nobles, and seeing me, his younger brother, being the toast of Orzammar in alliance with one of the strongest noble houses, must have turned his mood sour.

When we were children, we were thick as thieves and Trian wasn’t this volatile back then. Now that we’re grown, he looked at everyone with suspicion and acted as if everyone was in conspiracy against him all the time. Even his family. And I had no idea why we’ve come to this.

“So we’re not getting married because your brother looked you wrong?” Nerav mocked, drawing her arms across her chest as she pouted.

“Don’t be like that,” I said to her. “We’re still getting married, just later. I don’t want to get married while Trian is in a foul mood. He might crash the cake.”

“Poor cake. I think I should tell the baker to make it from granite.”

“Yeah, tell him to come to me. I think I could find plenty of that in the Deep Roads.”

We shared a laugh, as we always do.

Nerav seemed to be pacified enough about her work being postponed and spoke with the same cheer as before she knew about it. “So, I have work to do, telling everyone the wedding is delayed. And what would the handsome groom do?”

“I’m going back to the Deep Roads, at least, until the election is over. I find I like hearing more of my men’s snoring than Trian’s tirades.”

“So I’m going to play the part of the pining lover?”

“Yes, you do that marvelously, the way you polish your ax.”

She laughed for a while then grew serious. She looked at me with slyness in her eyes. “Don’t you think he has other reasons for being …testy?”

“Like what?”

“Like there having a stronger contender for the throne?”

“There’s no one else who has a stronger claim than he has. Lord Harromont may try, but he’s too loyal to my father. The other noble houses may, but they don’t come close to my family in terms of prestige and honor.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be from another house. Maybe it comes from someone who had the esteem of both the noble and warrior caste by his fearless campaigns against the darkspawn.”

I sighed, a deep rumble. “Ancestors, not you too.”

She cocked her head quizzically. “Not me too?”

I glanced at Gorim. She followed it and turned back to me, understanding on her face.

I rubbed at my temple. “What idiot pushed my name forward?”

“It’s been talked about by everyone. If you were just born first, the deshyrs would accept you as king without a murmur.”

“Well, I’m not the firstborn. Trian is. And I would never go for the throne. Not while Trian lives.”

She nodded, looking down, hiding her face from me, and pressing her lips together. I could sense she thought I was just being stubborn and so annoyed at me.

“Besides, I’m not that fond of sitting on my ass all day listening to nobles argue about who owed money to whom,” I added, turning the conversation light as before.

“Well said,” she said flatly as she raised her head and turned away to continue looking around the city.

I gave a sidelong glance at her. “And don’t you want to be Queen?”

She smiled at me. “Well no, I’m not that fond of being Queen, nudging my husband the King awake while the nobles argue about who owed money to whom.”

I laughed. “So there it is; my dirty little secret. You’re going to marry an unambitious man. There’s still time to get out of the wedding if you have second thoughts,” I teased.

“The second thoughts that I have is the color of my wedding dress but the rest of it,” she leaned close and kissed my cheek, “I have no doubts.”

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age origins #da fanfic

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capmerthur · 6 years ago

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THE BODY SWAP

It's all in the title :) Somewhere end S1 (after 1.11 Labyrinth, but pre 1.13 Morte). In a land of myth, and a time of magic, Arthur awakes inside Merlin's body (and no, not in that way). Alternating Merthur POV. Mentions of Will, Gaius and George.

Excerpt PART VII:

Arthur misses the first step towards the second floor (it's actually the eleventh time today that he misses a step - he still isn't used to Merlin's feet). This time though, his balance is too lost for him to compensate and he falls backwards, landing on his butt and ready to get soaked and hit by the water and buckets he has released when instinctively freeing his hands (one to help catch his fall; one to protect himself from the falling projectiles).

Except nothing comes: no water, no hit - and no falling sound either. And when Arthur takes a look? The buckets and water are... floating above his head?

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDERS CHAPTER VII)

VII. DOOMED (ARTHUR POV)

With a last commanding yet encouraging nod, Arthur leaves Merlin by the Great Hall's entrance and starts to make his way towards the Library.

He is stopped by Merlin's name being called out twice - because he has failed to react right away; Arthur chastises himself. It is the headmaster recruiting hands: his Father wants his bath ready when the pleas end.

Arthur doesn't want to bring Merlin in trouble, of course; so he takes on the ordered job - after all, how complicated can it be?

He is paired with a newcomer answering the name of George who looks up to him as if he holds the sun: the Prince's manservant! Which isn't that bad. Until he starts, seemingly embarrassed but curious all the same, to ask questions like "Is the Prince as terrible as they say?" or "Is it true he throws knives?" and such? Arthur tries to explain that the training field is, well, to train? He isn't sure the message gets across though, as George only holds his eyes with a perplexed gaze...

Arthur can't help but hope that Merlin at least understands that he's not only training himself but also trying to get Merlin to know how to defend himself if not to attack whenever he comes at him with a mace or anything... He should maybe make his intentions clearer, apparently...

Anyway. After yet another round of carrying buckets full of cold or warmed-up water up and down and left and right, Arthur realises there is more to it than it looks; and the bath is only half full still...

And when they're nearly done? His three coworkers and the headmasteer seem satisfied, but Arthur can't help but think while bringing up the last two buckets that they achieved nothing more than a luke warm bath with a clean but no particular scent. Merlin's baths are definitely of a superior category on both accounts, and Arthur doesn't know if he should feel guilty and spoiled for regularly enjoying better baths than the king himself, or more amazed or worried about Merlin's bath-preparing skills (is he even thinking about his safety? he wouldn't actually carry boiling water up the stairs, would he?)

Arthur decides he should address the issue. And maybe take baths downstairs from now on just in case - a little backroom near the kitchen would be more practical than his chambers, wouldn't it? When the space isn't needed for banquets preparations and such of course...

Arthur gasps in surprise, his mind going both blank and reeling...

Then only does Arthur finally get drenched and hit on the shoulder.

Arthur blinks. Twice.

What has just happened isn't normal, at all. Only - only magic could make such a thing possible!

Arthur looks around, instinctively - scanning for a threat.

He is alone; the corridors are empty as far as he can see, and he hears no voices, nor steps.

Which is good, because no one is attacking him then.

Which is the worst though - because if there is no one around... then the only person responsible for what he has just witnessed must be - is - HIMSELF?!

Arthur gasps again; this time in panick.

His first instinct is denial. But he knows what he saw. And somehow, it just makes sense, doesn't it?

It's not the body of the Prince that whoever switched him and Merlin is after. It's his mind...

Put him in the body of a servant, give him magic, and sooner or later (and most probably sooner) he is bound to die by his Father's law. What is he supposed to say in his defense? That he IS the Prince, in another body which had been given an ounce of magic on the sole purpose of getting him executed? Who would ever believe him...

In the meantime, the schieming sorcerer must have judged that a servant in his body may be too delighted by the upgrade in status to be a threat to his plans and would gladly unknowingly collaborate, on top of being totally untrained and incompetent at any of his duties.

Then? One only has to kill the King (which shouldn't be unachievable, for someone having so much magic that he can put spells like having bodies switched even from a distance to start with?) and - for sure - Camelot is doomed to get wiped out from the map by the first band of Saxons passing by (and most probably enticed to pass by very soon after its King's death): its only true heir gone, and the supposed one obviously improper to defend it.

Arthur is more afraid than he has ever been - and he has been in combat enough for that fact to mean something. He feels crushed; defeated, even before the battle - and honestly? He has never despised himself that much. No matter that he has never felt both so unprepared and so intrinsically useless - and not even able to trust himself: surrender is simply inexcusable. Camelot depends on it.

Besides, Arthur owes it to Merlin to fight, right. It's after all Merlin's body that's to die along his spirit. Oh! The villainy, the cowardice in this attack! Use an innocent victim as a vessel to be sacrificed. Sorcerers definitely have no sense of honor indeed.

So. Arthur is angry now. A much more suited mindset, he decides - as long as he doesn't allow it to blind him. And he won't. Merlin's body depends on it too.

Arthur takes a deep breath. He has been taught strategy even before he could talk, right? Time to make a plan of action.

First. He is not as alone as Camelot's enemy has calculated him to be. He is, in fact, not alone at all. He has Merlin.

Loyal Merlin; not only willing but even devoted to getting back into his own servant body rather than happily playing the prince. Magic familiar and open-minded Merlin - which means Arthur has not only someone who won't judge him nor fear him to confide in about his new endangering (and in so many ways) abilities, but also someone who might have some basic understanding of it; since he was Will's friend? Heart-in-the-right-place Merlin: too kind, maybe (but he can at least get aware of it enough in order not to be lead only by it); but naturally just and fair Merlin. Brave, fierce, tenacious Merlin; too reckless though (but again: he can at least get aware of it enough in order not to be lead only by it). Ressourceful Merlin, fast-learning Merlin: he would master his body's strength, eventually; and Leon would be here to lead the Knights in the meantime... Arthur takes an oath. Even if they fail to find a solution to their problem, Camelot won't be left unprotected. Come what may; even the worst? Merlin *will* be ready to take his place. Having Merlin's unique edges smoothed out feels wrong; but it just has to be for show, right?

Second. Well, there is no really second yet; at least not more than what they have already planned. They need to find some books - and pray that they will be useful. And Arthur will just have to be particularly attentive about not repeating the kind of blunder he just did with witnesses present.

Yes. Merlin. Books. Start at the beginning; and with luck, it might just work out in the end.

Arthur cleans up as best as he can, using and wringing his soaked tunic in the buckets, then runs to Merlin's room for a set of dried clothes. Turning up to retake his place at 'Arthur''s side while drenched would only draw unwanted attention...

So. Basically? Yep. This is a magic-reveal unreveal fic. But. I mean... It's Arthur? Also: this fic (to me) is canon (fitting) - so it just can't be a reveal fic. Bonus: it explains too why Arthur doesn't get the courage-magic-strength trio hint later on. He thinks Merlin is magic; but only because there is some residual trace to sense from when his body had magic (aka this fic), not that he actually has magic still at the time... Arthur can be at the same time very aware yet very unaware, and he can be so very biased and decided to see things his way, no matter how circumvoluted, right? (Also, of course Arthur thinks in fact then that HE is magic in the trio: he was after all the one inside Merlin when his body had magic; and Merlin IS courage - Arthur has such a low self-esteem to start with...)

On a side note: Arthur would actually trust Merlin with Camelot (even despite his limits). If that doesn't tell you all there is to tell then I don't know how to express it. *SIGH* *GROSS SOBBING* (Gwen though is innately made to be Queen - but Arthur doesn't know that yet. He isn't wrong about Merlin though - for Arthur's memory? Merlin would do his best to be a great King too, you bet...) *GROSS SOBBING AGAIN*

I. AWAKING (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur awakes; lying on his back - unusual - and rolls over automatically.

He surprisingly falls, down, hard; and jerks fully awake now - on the floor, near a so very tiny bed, tangled in an unknown blanket (harsher than his standards, even while on errands, he can't help but notice).

In disbelief, he eyes his surroundings...

Where is he? Has he been abducted?

Think, he admonishes himself - trying to clear his mind; to remember what must have happened, to guess who has dared to commit such an act, and, most important of all right now: Find a way out.

His eyes then suddenly meet Merlin's, and relief surges through him somehow - Merlin is alive - before his anxiety returns; and double: because poor faithful, loyal Merlin has obviously been taken too; and it's Arthur's fault - he must have failed to save them both from being taken, even though he cannot remember anything...

Except when Arthur reaches out to Merlin for him to come closer (they need to share information and plan, but must be quiet as a mouse), he realizes with fright but indeniable certainty that Merlin is in fact a reflection in a mirror; and worse: *HIS* reflection!?

It his NOT his hand indeed that is stretching out in front of him; NOT his clothes on his person; and definitely NOT his own hair falling upon his eyes, as he notices the black strings in his vision range...

Arthur is dumbstruck. He sees Merlin's mouth shaping a silent O, and he sees the dread in Merlin's eyes... except they ARE - he feels - *his* mouth, and *his* eyes; and everything is just plainly wrong, and plainly impossible - but undeniably REAL.

He is... Merlin? Or better said, *inside* Merlin? How can such a thing have even come to be?

Sorcery, Arthur understands with horror: Camelot is under attack!

But now armed with the knowledge of his predicament, Arthur realizes he is actually in Merlin's bedroom. He's been in here before, once; and he recognizes it all now.

So. Not abducted. All things considered, that still counts as something, right...

And, as it surely doesn't feel as if Merlin is still somewhere in his own head too while Arthur is inside of it, well... Maybe? Logically? Merlin might then be in return inside his own body?

Arthur suddenly finds himself praying for this to be true. It would be for the best, if Merlin was in his body - if they were the only ones concerned by this unnatural situation; because what if *everyone* was awaking inside someone else's body this morning? That would be... precarious - the general panic leaving Camelot completely vulnerable to whoever must have plotted this? The worst though would be if the one responsible for this was right now in control of his body, and acting as Crown Prince to do, well, evil deeds... So yes, you bet Arthur truly wants to find Merlin to be the one inside his own body when he finally finds it.

Arthur jumps on his feet, ready for action. Luckily (even though Arthur feels a bit guilty, as he notices his armour in pristine state against the opposite wall - apparently Merlin has been polishing it late into the night then) Merlin hasn't bothered to undress before falling asleep.

So. First thing first: he has to go to his chamber.

Picking some weapon on the way for good measure, you bet ...

Simply walking the few paces to open the door though turns out to be a challenge. His limbs are too long, and dangly; it feels like he has two left feet, and he has to try thrice before actually getting a grip on the handle - because he isn't used to this body, of course - but maybe it is truly NOT Merlin's fault if he trips over his own feet that often after all...

Gaius is already out - hopefully looking for herbs and not wandering out of his mind... Arthur would have preferred to be able to test right away his theories about how many people were affected by the damn body change; but unfortunately, it would have to wait some more.

The corridors are empty too, except for a stray black cat who walks at his side long enough for Arthur to start questioning himself about asking to the cat if he *is* Merlin - because Merlin HAS to be somewhere, right, as he obviously isn't where he should be to start with; but then the cat takes another turn... Arthur feels stupid for worrying so much about his silly manservant - but he cannot deny that he definitely will worry less only after having indeed finally found said silly manservant.

Arthur relaxes slighthly though when he enters the kitchen: people are working as usual, apparently not in shock, apparently in their right bodies. He picks up the first tray he finds, along with an extra knife that he hides in his pocket for good measure.

He tries to put on a confident grin as he walks (with the most assurance he can muster in this awkward-feeling body) towards the guards at his bedroom's door - and can only hope it will look the same as usual to them. They let him pass without trouble, and Arthur isn't sure whether it's a good thing. On the one hand, he *doesn't* doubt Merlin - he simply, intrinsically doesn't; and would never want him to feel like he did if his guards were to search him whenever he was about to enter his chamber. On the other hand... well, it isn't Merlin right now entering his chamber, with knifes at the ready... This time, it's only him; but what if it happens again, and if the one then inside Merlin's body has ill intentions...

Deciding not to dwell on this for the time being, Arthur enters his bedroom - hoping to find Merlin doing whatever Merlin always does, but preparing for a fight, if need be...

II. AWAKING (MERLIN POV)

Merlin awakes as if in a cocoon; literally. He is surrounded by softness, flush, warmth; he cannot remember ever feeling so comfortable - and the world can wait for just another few seconds before he opens his eyes, right... Merlin wriggles, shifting on his back, sighing softly as he nestles some more into the cushions...

When Merlin awakes for the second time - culpability sinking in as he realizes he has overslept - his eyes open to a Pendragon red canopy he would recognize even among hundreds. Merlin freezes: what the hell is he doing, sleeping IN ARTHUR'S BED?!

Merlin sits upright at once - blankets falling all around him to reveal that he wears ARTHUR'S NIGHTGOWN too ?!

Whaaaaaaaat?!

This... just DOESN'T make any sense. The last thing he can remind is sitting on his own bed, polishing the last bit of Arthur's armour before letting himself fall down to sleep (*AN). He surely doesn't recall walking to Arthur's chamber, and even less...

Merlin's mind is reeling as he shuffles out of bed as swiftly as he can. Oh my... What is Arthur going to think? And come to think of it - true panic now creeping down on Merlin at that thought: *WHERE* is Arthur to start with?

His attention is drawn out right then by Arthur calling out his name (Merlin feels relief, no matter his current embarrassing situation) - in one of those thousands yet unmistakably always Arthurian ways to say his name: a myriad of moods and meanings in those simple two syllables - the voice sounding odd though this morning (is Arthur sick?), and tensed (well, he just found his manservant in *his* bed, that might explain it!).

Merlin turns to face his sovereign, trying to feel less self conscious because he mustn't look guilty, while wishing for inspiration, and buying time until it hits: "There is actually a perfectly valid explan-"

But it is NOT Arthur he sees: it is... himself? His breath catches as 'utter confusion' gets a new meaning, you bet...

At the same moment, Merlin notices suddenly just how *not his* his voice has just sounded, and how he's wearing a very particular ring around one finger of what's NOT his hand, and how *blond* hair is falling upon his eyes... And still nothing makes sense; but at least it *does* explain how he awoke in Arthur's bed in Arthur's clothes: he *is* Arthur?; and... Arthur... is him? MUST be him. He has been calling his name right the right way, right?!

"Arthur?" Merlin barely dares to breathe out, both in wonder and in plea (because Arthur CANNOT be gone - the fear and pain and simple *impossibility* of such a concept slicing through Merlin's mind like a knife).

There is a bright smile then appearing on his face - a smile that doesn't entirely look like his own though - "Yes, Merlin. It's me," followed by a relieved sigh: "And it's you". And, despite the shock about them having apparently switched bodies (?!?!), Merlin can't help but feel warm all over - because Arthur (and yes, it is so clearly Arthur, even in HIS body!) has apparently been worried about him.

(*AN) Headcanon time :

Merlin uses magic to clean Arthur's armour in the beginning, indeed. And he still uses magic for most of the chores, as much as he can, of course (washing clothes, mending clothes, emptying chamber pots, sweeping fireplaces, preparing baths, refreshing beds, cleaning floors, cleaning everything, really (except for mucking the stables, because there are always others around, grrrr). But he quickly grows nearly *maniac* about Arthur's food (picking at it as a way to make sure it's not poisoned etc...) and about Arthur's armour: it's one of Arthur's protections - so you bet Merlin definitely cleans and polishes and repairs and oils the leather ligaments that hold it together and EVERYTHING the hell out of it, with extra ardor and fervor, with his own two hands, all the while continuously trying to put on it any protecting spells he ever finds, and repeating those over and over at each occasion...

Also: mirrors were probably not so advanced at the time... But let's say Merlin has an enhanced one, after all he has magic, right... On a side note, I'm never going to be over Arthur's priority-thinking (I'm in trouble = CAMELOT IS UNDER ATTACK (babyyyy let me hold you - being Camelot Prince/King is NOT your only worth) and Merlin's priority-thinking (what the hell is happening = WHERE THE HELL IS ARTHUR (babyyyy let me hold you - your devotion to The (brave, kind, admirable (shut up Merlin)) Prat doesn't have to mean that you always must come second (and a bit self-preservation cannot be harmful)) *SIGH* I just love those two idiots so much !!!

III. DISABLED (MERLIN POV)

But soon, Merlin is terrified.

And not because of the puzzling body swap.

*HE HAS NO MAGIC!?*

(Not that Merlin knows of any spell to reverse their current situation at once, mind you; so he doesn't actually try anything about it. But Merlin simply knows: there is nothing but blood running through his veins now - no vigorous warmth, no energic flow; there is simply nothing singing under his placid flesh, as he focuses on it.)

He cannot help but wish he's wrong though, and desperately tries to move a quill on Arthur's desk behind Arthur's back - the simplest of things, really; yet he fails, indeed...

His magic is tied to his body. Not to his mind.

No, no, no, no, nooooooooooo.

Merlin is, to his core, *terrified* - as he has never been. Not only because he feels more powerless and utterly helpless than he has ever felt - and worse, unable to protect Arthur! But also because the longer Arthur stays in his body, the more chances he has to find out that he has magic!? (And even though Merlin has nearly told Arthur, once? He is still not ready for him to know right now... Will after all didn't lie to protect Merlin's secret on his deathbed for Merlin to take chances with his life so soon after...)

Merlin though decides to push his panic aside for the moment: he simply MUST focus. No matter which sorcerer has this week decided to deal with the Pendragon line once and for all, Arthur's life is undoubtedly in the balance; and that's dearer to Merlin than all the magic in the world - included his own.

Because Merlin's life *has* tilted, on that rocky beach by The Great Seas of Meredor.

Merlin's earnest readiness to lay his life down to save Arthur's had been instinctive, beyond doubt visceral; and the concrete force of the impulse had surprised him. Because it hadn't been related to his first supposed then anyway indeed wished upon destiny. It had merely been a reflex, a spontaneous reaction: what he had wanted to do; more than what he ought to do. And Merlin had realized right then that he had, somehow, but undeniably, actually come to *LOVE* Arthur? He had known, for some time, that he liked him. And he had felt oddly pleased when Arthur had turned up at Ealdor - maybe Arthur liked him too? But if your first thought when someone is threatened is 'I'd rather die than see him die'? Well, there is a kind of selfishness, even in seflessness, that goes beyond 'liking', right...

It shouldn't have been such a shocking revelation though. Sure, Arthur could be a spoiled, royal prat; an irritating, pompous ass; an arrogant, moronic bully - to list but the top of the iceberg of his massive shortcomings, and without even mentioning the complete dollophead he could sometimes be. But Arthur could also be truly brave, honest, and kind; willing not only to trust but also to actually defend the words of mere servants, ready to defy his father's orders in order to save a child's life, and volunteering to help a village not even belonging to his Kingdom, to note only a few examples. Also: at some point, Merlin had realized how what could at first appear as near manhandling tactility was in fact just Arthur's disguised way to show (or ask?) affection (because one probably just doesn't walk around asking for cuddles while growing up between Uther's judging cold glares and Morgana's sharp witty tongue; and the physical occasional playfulness of the knights training must have seemed like the only way to go...). And last but not least: Merlin owed Arthur his life - if Arthur hadn't gone looking for a Mortaeus flower... So, in short: of course Merlin had gotten fond of the man. For his own values; and not because he was meant to be the other side of his coin or something. And notwithstanding how so annoyingly beautiful he always was (for the record on that particular subject: Gwen is so adorably beautiful, and Morgana so petrifyingly beautiful).

But, as Arthur - bound to be King one day Arthur - hadn't even hesitate before choosing to sacrifice himself, in order to fix what he had recognized to be his error, instead of using the (even offered) life of a simple servant? Well... There is a difference still between having the conviction that Arthur is a good man ready to fight for the greater good, even knowing it could be his death; and knowing as a FACT that Arthur *is* a good man ready to *die* for the greater good, even knowing it *will* be his death. And you bet having been proven *exactly* how pure of heart Arthur intrinsically is has only cemented that burgeoning love deeper into Merlin's heart - simply; truly; and maybe irrevocably. Merlin would now willingly die a thousand deaths to save his Prince.

(And feel free to shout with me about 1.11 because *MAJOR FEELS*!)

(And then hug me as I shamelessly cry because this is still NOTHING next to what's to come - aka Arthur becoming ACHINGLY beautiful, as Merlin turns ready to KILL a thousands times to save his King, blackening his own heart in the process and thinking himself then unworthy of Arthur's love because Arthur is just so BRIGHT; but wishing for it nonetheless?)

IV. PLANNING (MERLIN POV)

Arthur, miraculously (even though understandably; because he must be shaken too, right), is unaware of Merlin's internal crisis as he shares what he's uncovered until now: "It seems to be just us. The kitcheners and the guards all seem to be themselves."

"So. Whoever has done this is targetting you - personnally."

"Nice to see your wits are still so very particularly sharp, Merlin. Is there any reason for the one behind all this to be targetting you?"

It is beyond odd to *hear* Arthur's usual tone in his own voice; but Merlin still has the grace to sigh, before pushing his point further: "But why you?"

"Well, obviously *you*'ve forgotten, but I am Camelot's Crown Prince, responsib-."

"Which is exactly what's bothering me!" Merlin can't help but interject. "Why take on the Prince when you can take on the King?"

"Oh... Do you think... Could someone be... training on us, then? Before attacking-"

"I honestly have no idea. Maybe you got targetted indeed because you're head of security. We shouldn't rule anything out."

Arthur brings his fist down on the table, determinedly: "Well, whatever the evil plan might be, we just cannot permit for it to work. We'll have to find a way to stop this nonsense - no offense. In the meantime, we must act as if nothing unusual is going on. It might be for the time being our best chance at keeping Camelot safe - making whoever planned this think the spell didn't work?"

Merlin can't help but let out a helpless (yet realistic) sigh: "That's... a lot; on both accounts."

Arthur echoes with a helpless sigh of his own: "I know."

But if they are to keep up pretenses, Merlin is going to need to be prepared: "So. What's on your agenda for today - besides the monthly open pleas this morning and the daily training this afternoon?"

"Nothing particular. And there are no coming feasts nor abroad visits planned for the coming time, thankfully. (worried sigh) But there's concil, tomorrow."

"Well, let's start at the beginning. I should do fine enough for the pleas. It's mostly your father's duty; your presence is required, of course, but mostly you're to hear and listen..." Fear grips Merlin at once: "But it's public; so it would be a great opportunity to try to murder you!" He MUST protect Arthur's body: "Will you please go fetch your chainmail in my room?"

"No."

The tone is definitive, and Merlin is torn between begging, or growing impatient - because Arthur can be so obtuse sometimes (now really isn't the time for Arthur to be feeling indignation about being ordered around like a simple servant; even though he *is* one at the moment - not that Merlin would ever think he was one, of course - but what if Arthur thinks he does and enjoys the chance at some payback?): "Arthur, please (again?). It's the expected type of errands of the body you momentarily (because it MUST be momentarily, right?) inhabit - I can't - You're the target. I need your chainmail. I have no fighting skills, nor any kind of skills really to protect yo-"

"I cannot be seen wandering the castle in my chainmail without reason, Merlin; it would attract attention", Arthur interrupts in a somehow gentler tone; and Merlin realizes that Arthur hadn't registered at first how Merlin's concern was about him, more than himself - and is obviously humbled by the thought. "Court clothes are required, anyway. We're not supposed to look threatening, nor threatened, when our subjects come to present their wishes," Arthur pursues, killing any possible protest in the bud. "Besides, the guards will be present. So don't worry too much about anything happening to us", Arthur ends in a lower voice; as if the last part had been more a thought to reassure himself than a phrase meant to be uttered - and Merlin just has to savour that precious 'us'...

Merlin though isn't reassured enough about his Prince's safety: "Please (yes, that's thrice; adamant much?) Sire, at least allow me to wear your thickest leather under your tunic" - willing his voice to make it sound like a not-to-be-denied demand more than a true question.

Arthur holds his gaze; and it actually feels like a blessing when he finally relents: "As you wish; but it won't be comfortable against naked skin."

"I'll manage." Merlin can't help but fidget some before pursuing - asking Arthur to do what is and should be *his* work feeling not only weird but even wrong: "But I'll need your help to tie it in the back?"

Arthur dimissively tousles his hair, grumbling: "I *know*, Merlin." 'My clothes' going unsaid.

Merlin can be relieved about one thing, at least: Arthur obviously isn't piqued about doing a servant's work...

Merlin picks out the largest fitting of Arthur's clothes. He puts on the braies and trousers while still wearing the gown, respectfully tying the belt blindly around his waist. He puts on socks, and shoes. Then only does he take the gown off, and turns his back towards Arthur so that he may help with adjusting the leather's straps.

A surprised but definitely pleased whisper ("Impressive, ain't I?") echoes in Merlin's ears, as the Prat Prince seems apparently unable not to comment about his damn broad back, angling Merlin shortly that way and this way as if to assess it even better.

'Believe me, I know', Merlin can't refrain from thinking; feeling a blush coming over his face, and thankful that Arthur is too busy looking at his own back to notice any of it.

"I think I might even have outgrown Sir Leon - in width at least if not in height", Arthur concludes proudly before finally starting to work the ties - leaving Merlin suddenly ashamed of his initial internal reprimand, and oddly upset. Of course Arthur would only wish to see in his physique the strength of a warrior. Of course his first thought, when finally able to actually see his own back, would be to compare it to his given models - the Knights; and most of all among them, to his own chosen model, Leon - both the noblest and strongest of them all, yet young enough to play the part of the older brother Arthur could look up to while growing up... No one has probably ever told him that he is beautiful, Merlin realizes sadly. But the fact that Arthur is so unaware only makes him even more beautiful in Merlin's eyes...

Merlin forces himself to tease Arthur, hiding his turmoil under their usual banter: "Well, I could ask Gabriel to take measurements, if you so badly wish-"

"Shut up, Merlin", accompanied by a rewarding hit in the back of his right shoulder, which Merlin gladly revels in, no matter the unusual fist size. This, no matter their predicament, feels normal.

And in that short moment of normalcy, when everything feels just right as Arthur ends tying the leather, Merlin notices something he hasn't noticed before, when all he could feel was STRESS.

Oh no.

"Arthur?" Merlin can't help but wince at the intimidated tone in his voice as he turns around; and Arthur is eyeing him now with furrowed eyebrows. "I think I need - I mean you need... to... have to go?"

Arthur makes a face - with his face; except it still looks somehow like a typical outraged Arthur face (damn, this is just too confusing...): "Merlin!"

"He! Do not look at me like this is my fault! It's *YOUR* body! Maybe you shouldn't have drun-"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have brought a full pitcher at dinner then!"

They eye each other, both unrelenting over who is at fault.

And Merlin can't help but think that somehow he is, indeed, no matter what. Because there are levels in intimacy; and he IS definitely crossing a line. There is a difference between being around and trying to avoid his gaze when Arthur walks in and out of his bath, or applying Gaius's healing balm to bruises on Arthur's back because it's a place Arthur can't reach on his own, and, well... watching and touching Arthur's *manhood*, even if only for urinating, technically ensuring no mess is done while doing it?

Arthur suddenly sighs though, and his voice sounds kinder as he offers: "This will surely happens a few times before we sort it all out, huh. To the both of us. So. How should we proceed?"

Merlin scratches his head, summoning some courage: "Do you want to... hold-"

"Your hand, Merlin!", Arthur demonstrates, lifting the would-be-culprit in the air and wiggling its fingers for good measure; and that's a 'No way' if Merlin ever heard one...

"Would you rather it to be your hand-"

"It's *your* hand right now!" Indeed. So. Another 'No way'.

But suddenly Merlin has a solution, of sort: "What if I... go sit into the stream? There's a quiet spot not so far from the castle I found while collecting herbs for Gaius... If I hurry I still can make it back before the pleas."

Arthur actually claps his hands, obviously relieved: "Sometimes, I swear, you are a genius." He hurries over, handing Merlin his tunic and grabbing the Pendragon red doublet before marching out: "Let's go!"

"You're coming?" (hastening to put the tunic on and grabbing a towel before following)

"Well, as I just said, it's bound to happen to me - you - so I might just as well tag along, and know where it is."

Once out of potentially spying ears reach, they plan the day further.

"We HAVE to tell Gaius, at the least, about our situation: no one will contest his word if he says you're not to train for a while - because honestly how am I supposed to spare with your Knights? They will notice right away that something isn't right. And, well..."

Merlin hesitates, not wanting to incriminate Gaius in any way. As it turns out, he doesn't have to:

"You're right. Besides, Gaius has heard about a lot of... stuff, in all his years. I was planning to go around Jeffrey and look for the forbidden books, but I have no ideas how many volumes are hidden down here, nor where they even *are* to start with... If anyone we know might have even the slightest clue about how to fix our problem, it's him; even if it's only about finding an adequate book."

Merlin nods, relieved: "So. After the pleas, I stage a fall, and we go to Gaius, who tells you're not to train for the time being. That leaves the rest of the day free, both for looking up about our situation, and briefing me on what I should be aware of for tomorrow's concil. Do you address things in an established order; who's whose specialisms; what you discussed by the latest concils which might be brought up again tomorrow; and so on..."

"I'm supposed to make the battle plans, Merlin? But as far as plans go, I have to admit this isn't a bad one. Except I'm not you; I do not trip on my feet twice a day. So. I'll make you fall. That's more plausible."

"No way! You'll end up in the stocks!" Merlin realizes how - no matter what he might have been thinking just a few months ago - he simply doesn't want Arthur in the stocks. Ever. "Which is NOT where you should be spending your afternoon." Merlin quickly amends; hiding his concern under logic's sake, knowing it to be the best way to persuade Arthur anyway. "So. You fall. I try to help you. But we both fall. I'm clumsy, as ever; you're noble, as always; everyone get to laugh at me, and praise you; and your father might skip punishing me for you getting hurt in the process, as you obviously didn't want me hurt to start with?" (pause, before adding earnestly, yet fiercely, as Merlin isn't able to tone back the surge of threat in his eyes at the mere idea of having anyone disrespecting Arthur in that way) "If he doesn't though, I'll stand guard next to you."

"Would you?" Arthur seems surprised; but touched: "Well, who knows, maybe I'll return the favor the next time."

Merlin can't refrain a whine: "The next time?"

"Even I can't save you from my father's wrath every time; it's bound to happen, either from your two left foots or your snarky mouth."

They can hear the water now, and Arthur accelerates towards it, as Merlin lags behind, unable not to smile:

"I guess I'm supposed to say 'thank you'?"

"I might have forgotten to mention I'll probably throw something in your face myself at the last moment. Prince's privilege and all that..." - Arthur even turns towards him, giving him one of his goofy faces to boot (Merlin didn't know *his* face could do *that*, by the way).

Merlin just keeps on smiling anyway. He probably hasn't felt that brightly, positively, ridiculously happy since "I'm rehiring you - because someone needs to muck out my stables". Arthur has a particular way to express fondness, and Merlin wouldn't change it for the world.

AN: Sorry? I'm cackling though. Poor boys, what they have to go through... Just remember it's all Bradley's fault anyway; none of this is on my head :)

V. THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT MERLIN (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur is the first to reach the stream, and crouches down to test the water with his hand.

"It's cold", he warns, while Merlin walks in a straight line towards a tree with a low hanging branch and starts undressing - he does come here often, clearly.

Merlin shrugs: "Be grateful it's not winter yet. Try bathing around Imbolc - that's cold." Merlin goes on; stating an afterthought while hanging his pants on the branch: "Still worth it though; everything here is just more... alive, you know. You don't get that indoors."

And Arthur has bathed on patrols enough to know that, honestly?: he prefers his warm baths. He can't help but feel a smile on his face though at the words; they are so intrinsically Merlin.

Arthur had been struck, when they had met. No one had ever defied him, in any way. And it had stung; Arthur could admit. So. He had not been displeased at all when he had overmastered the fool and turned him over. The affront had been too public to be allowed to slide, and Arthur had decided he wouldn't dwell a further thought about the goodhearted fool (Arthur knew terrorrizing people wasn't right. He tended though to react badly whenever anyone acted cowardly (which was, well, all the time, around him); especially as he was actually *praised* for it somehow), but fool nonetheless, who should have known to mind his own business...

It had been nothing though in comparison to his surprise when their paths had crossed again. Arthur hadn't been able NOT to taunt him - hoping, somehow... But the last thing Arthur had been actually expecting had been for Merlin to act *exactly the same*. Surely, now that he knew who he was, he would just scrabble around him as anyone else - not defy him again, knowing it would get him in chains again, right? Arthur had been *delighted* by Merlin's untamable fire - the words, and then the look he had thrown at him while taking his jacket off? (Maybe Arthur had just been waiting all his life for someone to finally stand his ground to him, indeed...) Of course Arthur had let him go without punishment that second time - and any time since then (which was honestly difficult, as Merlin - always fighting for what was right more than for himself Merlin - frequently got riled up, be it in private OR IN PUBLIC, by literally anyone and anything).

Since he has been to Ealdor though, Arthur can't help but see things under a new light.

Hunith is everything Arthur believes a loving mother to be. But there had been no father at home, nor any mention of one. (Arthur knows the sting of this kind of wound - missing a parent; and he had been saddened, as he had realized that Merlin bore such a wound too.) Arthur hadn't dared to ask, but he had wondered: did Merlin ever got a father to start with; or had he been abandoned - intentionally or not? (Arthur knows how even an accident still feels akin to a betrayal in a child's heart.) Which would be the worst anyway? But what if Merlin had been bullied through his childhood because of it? - children could be particularly malicious, when they intended to... Was it how Merlin had learned, the hard way, that fighting - both with his words and his fists - was the only way to end the pestering? And had decided it wouldn't be only for his own sake, but for the sake of anyone who might ever need help? Was it what had brought Merlin close to Will - the fact that they both had lost their father? Was it the reason Will had wanted to learn magic to start with? (Arthur knows the near constant anger, too. As does Merlin, obviously.)

Arthur can't help but feel grateful anew, somehow, and no matter what, still, that Merlin has had Will around: surely, no matter how bad the fights Merlin had jumped into, Will must have kept him safe - at least safe enough - *with his magic*. The thought had been unbidden the first time it had occured, and had definitely surprised Arthur; but he hadn't been able to deny that it was what he truly felt indeed.

Because of course Arthur had come to care for Merlin. Isn't it why he had gone to Ealdor to start with after all...

Merlin.

Definitely not an ordinary manservant. And probably not the champion manservant by any book (fast learner, and smart, and hard working, he was; but only about what *he* deemed important - hence for example his total disregard for any kind of storage? - but Arthur generally agreed with what Merlin deemed important or not anyway). But honestly the only manservant Arthur now could imagine ever having - or ever want to have.

Because Arthur likes Merlin as his manservant exactly just the way he is, and would now never wish for another - no matter (and specifically because of) how well-schooled and zealous to satisfy his every need (and whim) that hypothetic other might be... Arthur now sees what others might judge flaws as assets (Merlin's clumsiness and chattiness are more endearing and uplifting than unefficient, especially as his opinions always sound reasonable; his sarcasm and insults are a sure way to keep Arthur's head from ever getting inflated; and his challenging manners push Arthur to do and be better - from training with the knights to saving people's lifes), and what others might judge insubordinate as being treated, for once, finally, as an equal, somehow (even though they both know and acknowledge they aren't) - no matter whenever it comes out at Arthur's expanse too, food getting shoved into his mouth and getting unceremoniously pulled out of bed included in their everyday banter, as Merlin can give just as much as he gets indeed. But that's maybe what Arthur values the most: how Merlin's respect feels earned and honest; neither forced by birthright or fear for repercussions, nor cajoling nor calculated.

Arthur has never had a private servant for longer than a year - his Father's rule; but you bet Arthur is decided about keeping Merlin at his side when the year would end. He will have to strategize; he will need irrefutable arguments. But if he plays his cards well - and Merlin never ceases to hand him over cards to play - Arthur has no doubt that his Father will actually allow it: it's in the best interest of the Kingdom after all.

Merlin.

A whirlwind. Always animated, always busy; never still, even when he's doing nothing. But always so expressive - so easy to read - a fact Arthur has come not only to appreciate after decades around perpetually guarded scheming faces, but even to *trust*.

A chatty nature-loving poet with dangly limbs, gentle heart, and the brightest smile Arthur has ever seen - Arthur has come to know. Yet the sassiest mouth and the most unrelenting fighter Arthur has ever met; his utter lack of skills balanced by sheer defiance - Arthur has learned right from the start. (Merlin just never backs off, no matter the odds; which is very stupid, but also very brave.)

A confusing, clashing mess of contraries. But an admirable man, with a beautiful soul.

And you bet Arthur wouldn't have him be any different.

Arthur shakes his head. Maybe - just like with his two left feet - it isn't Merlin's choice to be such a poet all the time. Arthur hasn't been inside Merlin's body for more than a few hours, and already he is turning into a maudlin bard himself, huh...

Arthur sighs; bringing himself back to the present - only to be struck by Merlin yet again.

Merlin has by now disrobed of everything except for the leather, which he has rolled up to his chest (logic; it would take too much time to tie it up all once more), and the tunic, which he now holds tightly in a bundle against his chest too, even if (and no doubt exactly because) it must get in his vision range as he enters the water. The lengths Merlin now goes again, simply to avoid to *see* - treating his body with the utmost respect, even when it is betraying him?

It should be insignificant, but the whole endeavour screams once more just how *devoted* Merlin always is, to him; and it is honestly dumbfounding.

He has been willing to die for me. And more than once.

The thought slices through Arthur's mind; as usual charged with guilt, and heartbreaking, yet oddly sweet.

Arthur doesn't understand: he has truly done very little to earn such high esteem - and that's an euphemism. Getting the man in the stocks? Letting him drink poison destined for him? Having his only friend die?

But you bet Arthur cherishes it all the same. And he wants - oh, he WANTS - to be worthy of it. Not because it's what he ought to do, repaying kindness with kindness, loyalty with loyalty; and definitely not because he owes Merlin a friend - you can't replace a friend (even if Arthur never actually had a friend, he knows that it's supposed to be a special, powerful, unique bond). Not even because Merlin does indeed makes him want to be a better man - even if that's true, and definitely positive for the future of Camelot. But simply because HE. WANTS. TO. Arthur has realized by now how he is always tempted, whenever they are together: either to act silly in order to cause a smile; or to provoke Merlin until he bites. Both reactions feel peculiarly satisfying; spreading a pleasant warmth through his whole being - and Arthur just always has to smile...

So.

On impulse, Arthur disrobes Merlin's lower half and enters the (indeed very cold) water while holding his tunic bundled up too, keeping his eyes stubbornly fixed on his own body sinking until the water reaches up to above its waist, as Merlin sits on his knees in the middle of the stream. And yes, the fact that Arthur has just chosen to abide by Merlin's stubborn dedication on that matter, instead of letting his perpetual interest about literally everything run free, for once, (because yes, if he hadn't witnessed Merlin's commitment, Arthur might have taken a look at Merlin's body, out of sheer curiosity; he wouldn't though, not from now on...), is both a pledge and a self-serving whim.

Merlin, drawn by the sounds, turns to him with questioning eyebrows, and Arthur sheepishly drops on his knees next to him: "I thought it unfair to let you have all the fun on your own. Now, ready to scare the fish?"

Merlin howls with laughter. Arthur decides it's definitely worth playing silly while freezing his ass off.

(Imbolc = 31 january)

Feel free to come and fangirl with me over 1.01 and then scream with me over 1.10 !

On a side note, I'm sorry but not sorry about that fish line? It was *totally* unplanned but then it just rolled out and I went 'yep, sure, arthur would, totally; it stays!' ?

VI. THE PRINCE'S PART (ALTERNATE ARTHUR/MERLIN POV)

They get out; get dried; put their clothes back on. Merlin ties the towel to the branch, for future use.

Then, on their way back to the castle, Arthur asks Merlin about his agenda for the day.

Merlin gives him a look - like he's unsure whether Arthur means it. Arthur gives him a look back - meaning he isn't joking indeed.

Merlin smiles, eyes full of mirth: "Your chambers are a complete mess, your clothes need washing, your boots need cleaning, your dogs need exercising, your fireplace needs sweeping, your bed needs changing and, oh, *someone* needs to muck out your stables." Merlin sobers up. "But we have more pressing matters at hand; so I think you can consider yourself free for the day."

Arthur is taken aback. He recognizes his own words, of course. It's both baffling and humbling - that Merlin can quote him, months later? and that Merlin has omitted one part and one part only in his old speech, because they both know his armour doesn't need any repairing (the devotion Merlin shows those metal pieces echoing the devotion he shows to Arthur himself)? Arthur had first planned to give a playful thankful bow; but it would feel wrong.

"So. I'll go bother Geoffrey. Try to get him to show me where the secret books are hidden. I'll tell him Gaius has found a strange herb and wants to make sure it isn't dangerous or something..."

Merlin has to give Arthur that: he is indeed insightful.

The mention of Gaius's name though has Merlin slightly panicking again: Gaius doesn't know yet about their current situation. What if he mentions 'something' upon walking on Arthur thinking he is him? No. Merlin has to be there when they'll get to see Gaius.

"Speaking about Gaius? Stay clear from his chambers. I doubt he'll be as magnanimous as I am. He'll do that thing with his eyebrow and have you pick herbs and brewing healing potions and concocting ointments before you even got a chance to tell him about our predicament - he's really dedicated in my education as a physician, you know..."

"And I believe you rather enjoy it."

"I do, indeed. I mean... It's fascinating - do you know that the same stuff can cure you or kill you sometimes, depending on the dosis? Anyway, who wouldn't want to know how to save lives?" Merlin can't help but twitch. "I'm not sure I'm any good at it though..."

There is a flash of guilt in Merlin's disheartened eyes, and Arthur realizes two things:

1) Merlin feels responsible for having been unable to save his friend Will. Which is understandable, because Merlin must have gathered by now some knowledge from Gaius's lessons; but heartbreaking - because Arthur has seen enough arrow's wounds to know that Will's could never have healed - and perplexing - because Will has died to save *him*, not Merlin; so why would Merlin think the guilt was his to start with? and how come Arthur has never felt like Merlin might blame him for it either?

2) Merlin's face is always *transparent* - a fact Arthur truly appreciates on Merlin's face - but a fact that could turn out problematic, now that it's on his own face...

"Let's get back to my chambers. There is still something you should master better before the pleas."

And that's how Merlin finds himself positioned by Arthur in front of a mirror.

"What do you see, Merlin?" Arthur asks.

"Well, you?" Merlin feels he's missing Arthur's point, but he has no clue...

"Do you? Because I see my body, I see my clothes; but I do not see the Prince of Camelot - I'd like to think I play it better than that - and I must be, because my Father would not allow *this* I assure you - at least I hope or the kingdom is doomed." Arthur ends on a sigh, shakes his head, and then turns commanding eyes back towards Merlin via the mirror. "Close your eyes, Merlin. Think of me. I mean, *picture* me; and more especially, picture me at any official activity you've served me through. See how I walk, how I stand, how I sit, how I move, how I look?"

Merlin does as asked, searching through his memories. After a while, he nods.

"Got it?"

"I think?"

"Then open your eyes, Merlin. What do you see?"

Merlin understands now. He can't help but sigh helplessly. "Not the Prince of Camelot. Obviously. I'm sorry Arthur, I guess I'm just not... majestic enough to play you."

"It's not that hard, Merlin. Come on; I'll explain. Ready?" Arthur grins at him via the mirror, exuding confidence - trust in him?; and Merlin would face (has faced) monsters to earn it indeed.

Merlin nods, their eyes still linked via the mirror.

"First thing first? You're slouching."

"Yes. (Merlin tries not to slouch; but is still not satisfied with the result) I think though the biggest problem is- There's something wrong with your face."

"Because you wear your heart on it, Merlin; and you mustn't. Believe me, you do not want to be lectured for hours about this by my Father..."

Arthur moves away, and Merlin can't see him anymore in the mirror. His voice is directing though, and Merlin focuses on the words to school his face.

"You're a prince, so you *must* always look like one. No matter what you do, you must always, *always*, look confident. That's the first strength of a kingdom - the strenghth of its ruler. That's what keeps your people safe. So. Chin up, Merlin. Square your shoulders. Stand tall - stand *proud*."

Merlin realizes the words are not Arthur's; they're Uther's. He wonders how often indeed Arthur has heared those words - most probably often enough to give himself a internal pep talk before any official anything apparently...

"That's better; but still not good enough. No matter how you feel inside must not show, Merlin. When you're tired, hide it. When you're sick, hide it. When you hurt, hide it. When you're stressed, hide it. When you worry, hide it. When you doubt, hide it. When you're bored, and even more when you disagree; hide it - it's disrespectful; and we do not want wounded pride to fester, don't we Merlin? When you're afraid, definitely hide it. When you're sad, hide it. And the trickiest part maybe: when you're happy, hide it too - or risk whatever is making you happy to be taken away: weakening you is weakening the kingdom; and its enemies will never hesitate to bring you down, if you let them see even an inch of an opportunity."

Merlin is shaken. He feels guilty, somehow. This is, certainly, too intimate. Merlin feels like he's intruding. This feels even more trespassing than being in Arthur's body. It's like being forced in Arthur's head, without his consent. It's nauseating.

"Again, Merlin. Your eyes; focus. It's a part; but it's part of your job. So for the love of Camelot, Merlin, please try harder. Your people reckon on you to lead them and protect them; so it's your duty to be a leader, and to be strong. Work hard; harder than anyone else. You *must* be an example, an inspiration. You must be admirable in everything, so that your people will follow you everywhere. But you must lead, Merlin; never follow. A ruler is alone - *must* be alone. Do not trust anyone; at least do not trust anyone more than anyone else, and surely not more than you trust yourself. Your own judgement must *never* be clouded."

Merlin can't help but turn towards Arthur at the words, both in disbelief and in ache... Because Merlin has grown up hiding, but he had never realized that Arthur had, too; and maybe even more than him. Arthur must not only always pretend and perpetually watch over his shoulder; he must pretend and watch over his shoulder *alone*. And Merlin can only imagine how hard that must have been, and be. Back at Ealdor, Merlin had (and still has) his loving mother, and he had Will. Even here, now, Merlin has Gaius. And somehow, yes: he has Arthur too, Merlin suddenly realizes; and then feels ashamed, because he can't help but feel blessed - Arthur trusts him. Because Arthur is definitely less guarded around him, isn't he? When it's just the two of them; Arthur and Merlin? Arthur laughs, Arthur doubts, Arthur *shows*; maybe not everything - but that's probably not possible as he is so trained - but something at least always shines through; even if it's by putting his feet on his face... But Merlin knows now, how rare and precious it truly is. They can never be friends, maybe; but Arthur trusts him. That's undeniable; and that's everything, somehow.

"Do not look at me; look at the mirror, Merlin. Harden your eyes. Smile; always politely, even when you don't want to smile at all; more genuinely, when it's true - but never let it go up to your eyes. First thing about tomorrow too; as we're at it. Hear everyone out. Listen with your full attention to everyone; whether you agree or not. Never decides right away; except if it's necessary, in war time. Your decisions must be thought upon; never a spur of the moment. If something is unclear, do not let it show during concil. If you favor a position, do not let it show during concil. If you disagree, do not let it show during concil. You need further advice, or even only further information? Seek the appropriate person in private; ask man to man. They will see the honor in it if it's positive, and be thankful you kept it private if it's negative. Also. You must be ready to be impartial, Merlin; because you do not need to be kind, but you must always be fair. You may - and you will, unfortunately - make mistakes; but never ackowledge them. Fix them. If you can't; repair as much damage as possible. Learn from your errors, in order to never make the same mistake again. But never apologize. Come on Merlin; I'm sure you can do it. You're nearly there."

More over, Merlin realizes the Arthur he gets to see nowadays - the true Arthur - has always been there already, even under the pretense of the moron. Kilgarrah is wrong. His destiny isn't to change Arthur; because there is nothing to change. Arthur already has everything to be a great king, the greatest king, all on his own.

And so, Merlin is *angry*. He has now yet another reason to despise Uther, it seems - scarring his child on the inside in such a way. Of course Arthur always feels inadequate; of course Arthur feels lacking; of course the only bond Arthur values is the one with his fellow knights - ride to glory or death, together? It's the only bond Uther has authorized him to authorize himself to ever have... But Merlin's anger is a good thing, apparently - because whenever Merlin thinks about Uther, Arthur finds that he's playing the Prince's part better.

"There Merlin, you have it. See? Right there. Lock it; just like that. That's good enough for anyone looking today; because believe me, someone *will* be looking, even if only my Father and not the one who switched us or anyone else with ill intentions - there is *always* *someone* looking, Merlin."

Fine. Think about Uther; until the pleas are done. Merlin can do it; and he'll gladly do it. He'll probably gladly do anything; for Arthur. He can still have a cry or hit a wall afterwards, right...

Arthur needs a hug. I volunteer. Anyone with me? (besides Merlin, obviously...)

#merlin #merthur #bbc merlin #merthur fic #merlin fic #the once and future fic #the body swap #fanfic #fic #text #my own two spells

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shark-myths · 6 years ago

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Writing Reflection: 2018

I was tagged by @horsegirlharry, who i will smooch in person in ONE WEEK!

1. Number of stories (including drabbles) posted to AO3: 15. I'm trying not to feel critical about my output this year: I was distracted by ~boy problems and emotional turmoil for a lot of 2018, so I absolutely slayed some journals but neglected my fic. but I also tackled some difficult projects, some of which I'm really proud of, and translated a lot of those big emotions back into writing, so there's a lot to give myself credit for.

2. Word count posted for the year: 224,001

3. List of works published this year (in order of posting)

Roman Candle Hearts

I'm A Wing, I'm A Prayer

The Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique

your hips, your lips, are mine

in space, no one can hear you misgender me

Girl Firsts

halfway to your heart (starting from your knees)

Boys Next Door/Assholes

Vices & Vices

Early Morning Company

Jaws of Death

Baby You're A Haunted House

The Fixed Stars of Heaven

Sell Out Girl

Think of All The Fellas I Haven't Kissed

4. Fandoms I wrote for: Fall Out Boy, Battlestar Galactica, Panic! at the Disco, My Chemical Romance

5. Pairings: Pete/Patrick, Starbuck/Apollo, Pete/Brendon, Brendon/Ryan, Patrick/Michael Day, Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Joe/Andy

6. Story with the most:

Boys Next Door/Assholes, aka the peterick SUMMER BOYFRIENDS au, aka the fic I wrote about falling in love with my ex that captures the sweetness and suffering of new summer love in a very specific and tactile way. It has the most hits, kudos, and comments of anything I wrote in 2018. I'm so glad you guys loved it so much!

9. Work I’m most proud of (and why):

Sell Out Girl, the sequel to girl out boy, is incredibly important to me and I'm so fucking proud of how it turned out. emotionally, i am prouder of the girl out boy stories than anything else i've ever done. girlfic is how I am cleaning my wounds and healing my heart, and it is an honor to be doing that with you walking alongside me, and being touched and changed too. this fic was incredibly emotionally demanding but also, on a technical level, easy: there was lots of rambly internal monologues and angst, glitter-sharp language and poetical pain, which is my comfort zone as a writer for sure.

on a technical and writerly level, the one I'm most proud of is Baby You're A Haunted House, because i wrote it *fast*, in a fandom I'm not comfortable or familiar in, in a style I don't usually use, and to achieve a very specific artistic effect with the unreliable narrator and shifting sands of reality, while heartbroken. so I'm pleased as fuck with how it came out. it's one of my favorite things I've written in the past several years, and the perfect kind of challenge for me.

10. Work I’m least proud of (and why):

ugh, The Fixed Stars of Heaven . I usually love everything I write, but my experience of writing this fic was terrible. I was never inspired (except when researching the ISS and zero-g botany!) and the epistolary format meant I didn’t know how to develop the kind of tension I *live* for. the whole time I was writing, I didn’t go back and reread (a typical part of my process for matching tone) because I loathed it so much! I kept saying “well, something has to be my worst story” about it... and I still feel that way.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

It's impossible to choose--I like my writing a lot, that's why I write the way i do. all of Baby You're A Haunted House and I'm A Wing, I'm A Prayer are beautiful to me; the love letter Pete writes in Boys Next Door/Assholes; and the whole bathtub scene from chapter 5 of Sell Out Girl, of which this is the very best part:

“Pete is safe and warm and submerged, an egg in a mermaid’s purse, waiting to swim out as a shark whenever she’s ready. She holds her breath and feels her baby beat within her. She looks up at Pat and fears nothing, nothing but love.”

12. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

every review I get makes impact on my heart. I take screenshots and save my favorites; you guys bolster me and keep me going. The best and most important reactions are the ones I get on Girl Out Boy stuff, and the outpouring of fanworks and support means the world to me. especially the way you guys showed up for and stood with me during my difficult breakup this year—wow. I love you so much.

my favorite reviews I’ve gotten this year have been a few different people who told me I was skilled at capturing the feeling of falling in love. as a feelings-and-process oriented romance writer, that means the world to me! I never know what plots my stories are going to have (my characters always surprise me), but I always know how I want a fic to feel. I’m never more honored than when you feel it too.

13. A time when writing was really, really hard:

during the slow-motion process of one of my romantic relationships coming apart in September and October! I was so anxious and keyed up and self-obsessed and miserable during that time, I literally couldn’t bear to write, and when I tried I just kept wrecking the Girl Out Boys’ lives. you guys carried me through.

14. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

I don’t want to spoil Sell Out Girl, but a ship I don’t typically ship popped up and I went with it, and I was exactly as surprised as everyone reading that it happened and that it felt so right and good!

15. How did you grow as a writer this year:

i tried new types of projects, like the fucking epistolary scifi fic, a flash fiction exercise, the unreliable narrator trope, and sequels. i wrote in a couple fandoms I'm less comfortable in, fairly often off of other people's prompts. I am trying to hone a cleaner writing style: I spend so much time lost and rambly in describing how characters feel, my stories lose a lot of chances for action and motion. i like my writing best when it is spare and vivid, able to actually evoke emotions rather than just tell you what they feel like. i think some of my fic this year really showcases that (like Vices & Vices ). i still grow so much as a writer, and learn so much about the craft, with each work.

i used an editing and revision process for Fixed Stars of Heaven, thanks to my dear friend JM, that i don't usually subject my work to. i also wrote through a project i was not enjoying, rather than dropping it as soon as my interest waned. my discipline as a wild, reckless writer is, slowly but surely, improving.

i wrote through my own shitty emotionally abusive relationship with a parent through the character of Andy in sell out girl, and got better at naming trauma and abuse and setting my own boundaries as a result of that.

i started reading (and a little bit writing) poetry again.

16. How do you hope to grow next year:

oh, i can't see that road! i hope i grow in ways i never expected cuz i'm faced with challenges in my work i could never have anticipated. generically, i hope i keep tightening my style and improving my discipline, and getting better at defending regular writing time.

17. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

- i read only works by women for the entire year of 2018, and the nourishing impact of that on my entire inner life cannot be overstated. i didn't even read a comic book or a work book if it was written by a man. i kept myself entirely pure of the labor of perspective-taking for men, or subjecting myself to men's conception of anybody else's experiential reality.

- @leyley09 my official Fic Enabler, who is SINGULARLY AND SOLEY to blame for at least two fics this year, and has encouraged my very worst ideas about a hundred more

- my unofficial cheerleading squad family on tumblr, who lifted me up and made sure i was healthy, supported, and well through my whole shitty relationship ending debacle. @glitterandrocketfuel, @secretstudentdragonblog, @allkindsofplatinumandpercocet, and @laudanumcafe -- not to mention every other beauty who commented on my sad-ass selfies or my fic. thank you, my loves.

18. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

EVERYTHING IS REAL

most notable and egregious examples:

- the letter pete writes for patrick in boys next door/assholes is a real love letter i gave someone

- the fight brendon and ryan have in vices & vices is a real fight i had with a partner

- the climactic kiss on the streets of new york at the end of sell out girl is my real first kiss with my new boo

the worst thing is that i don't generally farm my *past* life for my fic--everything that shows up is really recent and fresh, because i'm most interested in writing things i'm currently dealing with and experiencing. and yes, i especially steal the sex scenes.

19. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

be curious about yourself and your characters. if you've never written / published in a serial format, where you're only writing a week or so ahead of posting, you must try it at least once! listen to what your readers are noticing about your themes and characters! i learn so much about my the emotional resonance and direction of my stories from the people who read them and comment. my writing is so much stronger as a result of writing the majority of my work this way, and i have much more fun with it than when i write a long piece in an echo chamber with no input from you guys!

20. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

- i'm working on a Rent-A-Family trope + law firm AU + kidfic thing i started messing with last year

- Pete Wentz's Bisexual Realizations, a fic dreamed up and playlist-empowered by @nikadd

- a Venom AU for my beloved @immoral-crow

- Girl Out Boy hiatus fic

- and a MANIA anniversary surprise <3

21. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read.

all of my Peterick creator pals! @leyley09 @shatteredmirrors-and-lace23 @allkindsofplatinumandpercocet @laudanumcafe @glitterandrocketfuel and everyone/anyone else!

#writing #peterick #scarredsodeep

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metacog · 6 years ago

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Herbert Simon On Competition

(This post was excerpted from Chapter 7 of Models of My Life by Herbert Simon. Simon won the Nobel Prize in Economics and the Turing Award; his biography is a wonderful recollection of the life of an academic). Two other considerations have been of much greater importance than money for the path my career took: my attitudes toward competition, and the criteria that, at choice points, directed me down one path rather than another. This is perhaps a good place to review the rules of play, as I conceived them. The record makes clear that I have been, and am, a competitive person, and in addition to the intrinsic satisfactions of academic work, I have never been insensitive to the implicit competition with others that pursuit of a career entails. A highly competitive person has a hard row to hoe. There is no satisfaction in winning a competition unless it is a stiff and fair one. Stiff is easy to define; it is stiff if one’s own realistic assessment of one’s abilities make the odds long—the longer the odds, the greater satisfaction on winning. Fair is harder to define, for if one wins a contest against long odds, there must be a reason. The odds weren’t really long; they only appeared to be so. Isn’t it unfair to appear to be an underdog when one really isn’t? Let’s start with some obvious distinctions: A professional gambler needs to win in order to earn his living. Fairness is not his concern. He tries to be unfair in various ways: Keeping cards up his sleeve is one way that the rest of us universally deplore; the morality of concealing his skill to attract dupes is hardly less questionable. Fairness means at least an honest deal (no hidden cards) and no intentional concealment of one’s abilities. How do these criteria apply to the life of science? I advise my graduate students to pick a research problem that is important (so that it will matter if it is solved), but one for which they have a secret weapon that gives some prospect of success. Why a secret weapon? Because if the problem is important, other researchers as intelligent as my students will be trying to solve it; my students are likely to come in first only by having access to some knowledge or research methods the others do not have. For example, in tackling the problem of understanding human thinking, which will be the topic of chapters 13 and 14, the secret weapon that my research partners, Al Newell, Cliff Shaw, and I had was access to a digital computer, and an idea—derived from contact with computers—that it could be used as a general processor of symbols. The computer and the idea were not available to Gestalt psychologists who otherwise might have written the first programs for heuristic search. We were very pleased in the spring of 1956 when we realized that we had won this competition, that we were the first to explicate the symbolic processes that enable people to think and solve problems. But hadn’t we been unfair to take advantage of our private knowledge and our private access to computers? What merit was there in winning such a one-sided contest? One can see from this example that “fairness” in science is a rather strange, even arbitrary, concept. It isn’t unfair to be smarter than other people (but be sure you aren’t deceiving yourself!). It isn’t unfair to work harder than they do. It isn’t unfair to happen to know relevant things that they don’t know. It isn’t even unfair to happen to have the most powerful piece of equipment in the world. Nevertheless, in the contests we design for ourselves, we always have in mind some implicit criteria of fairness, and our victory is spoiled if the criteria are violated. As a boy, I used my intelligence to win in academic competition, but somehow felt superior to those who reached the same scores with less intelligence but by dint of more effort. Hence, when I was not valedictorian in my high school class, but graduated third (and shortly thereafter was also third in the University of Chicago Freshman Week examinations), I was not bothered by my ranking, for I knew that I had worked much less hard than my victorious competitors. They were overachievers! In my subsequent career, I have certainly had no aversion to being a workaholic, and have not enjoyed my successes less for having worked for them. In the high school environment, where bookworms were not suffered gladly, it was not “fair” to win by studying harder. In the world of science, with no holds barred, overachievement was the normal route to success. Nonetheless, I have probably never quite gotten over the “Look, Ma, no hands” syndrome. Success is especially pleasant when it is effortless—but it seldom is. To save appearances, one simply redefines work as fun (which, unaccountably, it usually becomes). But then, how about the long odds—the special pleasures of an underdog victory? In reviewing the record, I observe that I have always been pretty careful in setting the odds, and have usually behaved like an honest professional gambler, if that is not a contradiction in terms, taking my advantages where I could find them, never eschewing a (legitimate) secret weapon that I found at hand. In giving up thoughts of a possible political career, I felt that being a nonveteran and a Jew was too much of a good thing as far as underdogging was concerned. In one respect, however, I have quite consciously played the underdog. I have never believed that I had to be at Harvard or Stanford or M.I.T. to win the academic game. While I was a student at the University of Chicago, the university still played Big Ten football, although it rarely won a game. When one member of the team, Jay Berwanger, nevertheless made All-American during a season in which every game was lost, there was no doubt that his achievement had special luster. It was a personal achievement that owed nothing to the organization he belonged to. Although I don’t believe I consciously thought of it in this way, that was my ideal: to win without conspicuous social support, whether from family or university. Then it would be certain that I had won “fairly,” and not just by using the hidden, or not so hidden, weapon of a superior environment. I was exceedingly reluctant to leave Illinois Tech even when tempted by schools of greater reputation, and when I finally did leave in 1949, I felt a little disloyal in abandoning the challenge of helping raise IIT in the ranks of academe. Fairness is a tricky concept. Evidently it is not unfair to win the raffle of the genes—with respect to either intelligence or industriousness. It is not unfair to have the experiences or to be at the places that provide one with a secret weapon. It is unfair to inherit merit from the prestige of one’s family or organization. Put this way, the distinctions seem highly arbitrary, and I am not prepared to defend them. I simply report the rules of the game that guided my career and conditioned my feelings of success in competition. As it turned out, they provided me with an enjoyable and winnable game.

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tenroseforeverandever · 7 years ago

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Dear Father Christmas… Chapter 23: December 24, 2038

MASTERPOST

Characters: Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Jackie Tyler; Pete Tyler; Tony Tyler; OC Hope Tyler-Noble; OC Charlotte Tyler-Noble; OC Wilfred Tyler-Noble; OC Therin Thomson; Javic Thane; Gray Thane; OC Tianza; the TARDIS; OC Abby Tyler-Milne;

Rated: Teen

Tags: Family!Fic; Kid!Fic; Pete’s World; Letters to Santa; Christmas Fic; Family; Fluff; Hurt/Comfort; Angst; Romance; Love; gun violence; violence resulting in death; life-threatening injury; life threatening situations; life threatening illness; original characters

Summary: When Rose Tyler was little, she always wrote a Christmas wish list to Father Christmas. As she grew older, the wish list became more of a letter to someone she could confide in once a year, but she fell out of the habit somewhere along the way. Now, as a new mum, celebrating her daughter’s first Christmas, Rose takes up writing her Christmas letter to Father Christmas once again.

Rose’s Christmas letters are excerpts from her life with her beloved Tentoo and their children in Pete’s World, written once a year, for each of 31 years.

Chapter Summary: Jackie decides to make Ugly Christmas Jumpers for everyone in the family.

Notes: Wow! Another chapter that got away from me! LOL And boy, did this one put up a fight.

To my betas, @rose–nebula and mrsbertucci: once again, this chapter would not be what it is without you. You gave me inspiration (which I still feel guilty about!) and we had many, many discussions about lots of things to get me through this, including a particularly hilarious discussion about aliens (I’m dying laughing just thinking about it now… I don’t know why I find it so funny, I just do!) Just thank-you, both, for always being there when I need you, and putting up with my whinging. I love you both!

Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for their 31 Days of Ficmas prompts. The prompt I used today was Santa and/or Elves.

I know it’s the middle of April, but since the weather outside (here in Ontario) is still frightful, I don’t feel too guilty about posting part of my Christmas story. I have eight more chapters to go for the full 31 Days of Ficmas. I’m not sure if I will post any more through the year, or just write them and post them at Christmastime in December. I’ll see how it goes… ;D

Also read at: AO3; FF.net; Teaspoon

December 24th, 2038

Dear Father Christmas,

My mum never does anything by halves. When Jackie Tyler sets her mind on something, she doesn’t hold back. She gets stuck right in; she takes the bull by the horns and beats it into submission. God help anyone or anything standing in her way. Just ask the Doctor…

(On second thought, best not. He might not take it too well, especially not after… well, you’ll see.)

Anyroad, ever since we welcomed my little niece, Abby, into our lives last autumn, Mum’s been on a knitting rampage. She taught herself. She started out with little things like baby mitts and booties, but quickly progressed to sweet little cardigans and jumpers. And she’s gotten really good! My very favourite one was an adorable navy-blue jumper with the words “I LOVE MY DADDIES!” emblazoned across the front in big, pink letters. Tony and Noah (the proud Daddies in question) loved it too, and dressed little Abby in it all the time, until summer came along, and they were forced to admit it was too hot for her to wear it anymore!

This year, sometime around August, Mum’s knitting took a rather… erm… dangerous turn. Stand aside, Molly Weasley: Jackie Tyler announced she was intending to knit jumpers for all of the Tyler clan, and their significant others, this Christmas.

And not just any jumpers: Ugly Christmas Jumpers.

She only told me and Dad, not wanting to spoil the “surprise” for everyone else. Honestly, we just had to grit our teeth and tell her what a “great idea” it was. It wasn’t like it would’ve made any difference if we’d told her how we really felt. Besides, this way we were likely avoiding the pain of a good hard smack, and months of her patented Jackie Tyler silent-not-silent treatment.

Anyway, it wasn’t like she’d told us about it because she was actually seeking our approval. No, we were to be models, though I rather think guinea-pigs would be a more apt description. Honestly, as Christmas approached, I was seriously beginning to think it would have been better to shut the entire Ugly Jumper Project down in its early stages and endure whatever punishment Mum might have dished out, but at that point, we were in too deep to turn back.

The worst part of the whole process was Mum constantly calling me throughout the autumn to come over to the mansion to try something on, or to bring over jumpers the kids had left behind when they came to visit, so she could compare the sizing with what she was knitting. To be honest it got to be a bit tedious very quickly, but I could hardly say no to her when she was throwing her heart into it. Besides, this way I was able to keep an eye out and nix any design I thought wouldn’t go down very well with the intended recipient.

But, the jumpers were, for the most part, not too bad. They were beautifully designed and made. I was honestly quite impressed. Most of them either featured a cute character like a snowman or penguin or something like that, or they were the traditional Fair Isle design, with rows of little repeating Christmas characters and symbols in garish colours. Regardless of the pattern, all of them had some sort of saying on them, like Joy to the World, ‘Tis the Season, or Let It Snow.

“Soooo, which one is mine,” I asked.

“Never you mind, little madam. For your information, I ‘aven’ started it yet. And even if I ‘ad… as if I would spoil the surprise.”

I suddenly had a horrible thought. Cold dread washed over me. “Erm… what about the Doctor’s…?” Ever since he had revamped her dishwasher to sing Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer seven or eight Christmases ago, Mum had been out for revenge. Not that she would admit it. From the look she gave me, you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but I knew better.

“Oh, I’m tryin’ to come up with jus’ the right pattern for ‘im. I’ve a couple in mind.”

“Muuuuum, don’t do anything rash, yeah?”

“Oh, honestly Rose, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud. I’m jus’ tryin’ to create a little Christmas cheer.”

“Oi! I’m the one stuck in the middle of you and the Doctor and your flippin’ Christmas cheer. Me and Dad!”

She ignored me, of course, and did a complete about-face on the topic. “Oh, speakin’ of your Dad… I got his jumper finished. What d’ya think?” She held up a dark green jumper, with a comical Santa body on it. The pattern stopped at the collar, so Dad’s head would be taking the place of Santa’s head (your head, Santa!) The words Ho Ho Ho were knitted in bold yellow letters below Santa’s feet. “I’ll get ‘im to wear a Father Christmas ‘at and all!”

I had to laugh. “Good luck with that!”

“’E’ll do it if ‘e knows w’at’s good for ‘im!”

“That’ll make for more of your Christmas cheer, then…”

“Oh, don’t ya worry; I’ll make it worth ‘is while.” She winked at me. “There’ll be plenty of Christmas cheer and bells a jinglin’ around ‘ere.”

“Mum! TMI!”

“Since when ‘ave you been such a prude? I mean, jus’ look at the way you and ‘imself carry on.”

“Yeah, but there are certain things I really, really do not need to know. And that, right there: that tops the list! Look, I gotta run. Dad’s asked me to give a presentation this afternoon.”

“Oh, well, I suppose… Oh, Rose, wait a mo’. I meant to ask: Charlie, is she seein’ someone regular these days? Will she be bringin’ a date for Christmas Eve? I’ll need to make ‘im or ‘er a jumper too, yeah, whoever they are.”

“I dunno, Mum. I never know with that one these days. I worry… a lot.”

“She’ll be all right, sweetheart. It’s jus’ a phase. ‘Sides, she’s nearly twenty years old. I don’t need to remind ya w’at you were up to at ‘er age… gallivantin’ around with that bleedin’ alien. Not that you cared a fig about my worries!”

“Mum…”

“She’s jus’ like you in so many ways, so bloody-minded.”

“That isn’t helping, Mum! I jus’ hope you’re right… about it being a phase. Anyway, I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything definite about her bringing a date.”

“An’ in the meantime, I’ll knit an extra generic sort of jumper, jus’ in case.” Mum must have noticed I was about to protest, because she cut me off before I’d even had a chance to open my mouth. “Nah, don’t worry; Lor’ knows, it’s no trouble. After all, Therin might still decide to bring someone, too, and I’ll need one for ‘er. Best to be prepared.”

“All right. Suit yourself. See ya soon. Love ya.” I kissed her on the cheek and headed out the door, the problem of Charlie weighing heavily on my mind.

--ooOoo--

That night as I was standing at the stove making supper, the Doctor came up and wrapped his arms around me from behind. He gave me a lovely kiss behind the ear. It was just what I’d needed. I’d been wound up all day.

“Penny for ‘em? You’ve been doing (might I say) a piss poor job of shielding your emotions.”

“That obvious, was it?”

“Yup.” He squeezed me tighter and gave me another tender little kiss. Even without our telepathic bond, I expect he would have figured out something was wrong. And I really had been sloppy about keeping my worry contained. To be honest, I’d been hoping he’d notice. “You could have just told me if something was bothering you.”

I leaned my head back against his shoulder, giving the sauce another stir. “I know. You’ve just been so stressed lately.”

The Doctor had been called in to help with seventeen frightened and violent Trumhurgi whose ship had crashed in Torquay. They were badly injured, and the Doctor was the only one who had any decent knowledge about their unusual physiology. It had been two months of providing medical care for them, sometimes round-the-clock for several days running. He’d been training Torchwood physicians and nurses as well, but it all took time. In addition, he’d been consulting about repairs on the Trumhurgi ship, and travelling back and forth in the TARDIS, obtaining spare parts and contacting worried family members, carrying their messages and even bringing them back to Earth to visit their recuperating relatives.

I’d been working on the case too, but I was helping out the traumatized humans who’d been caught up in the original crash and the violent, defensive outburst that had followed. Shots had been fired and, by some stroke of luck, there had been no deaths, but it had been a close call. Fortunately, I had a huge, experienced team at my command, so my end of the job had been a lot easier than the Doctor’s.

“I’m all right, love,” the Doctor assured me, as we dished up our supper and sat down at the table. It was the first time in weeks we’d actually been able to eat together. “Besides, by end of this week the last of the Trumhurgi go home in their very own, working-better-than-ever ship! Let’s have tonight be about us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Now spill. What’s got you so upset?”

“It’s Charlie. I’m worried. I didn’t tell you about it because… well, the Trumhurgi… but Javic dropped by shortly after all that happened… with news.” The Doctor’s eyes darkened, and his lips tightened reflexively, but he waited for me to continue. “It seems Charlie has been taking a page out of Javic’s book, recently. She’s been, erm… let’s just say ‘embracing her sexuality’… a lot!”

“And he knows this how?”

“Well he ran into her at one of his favourite… spots.”

I sensed the Doctor’s anger flare, white hot. “He didn’t touch−”

“God, no! In fact, he’s sort of taken her under his wing, so to speak. Made sure she’s stayed away from all the dangerous places.”

The Doctor growled. He looked like he was fighting really hard to keep his emotions in check. His eyes flashed at me. It had been a long time since I’d been a target for the Oncoming Storm. It was properly frightening (and more than a bit thrilling!) “And you… you never thought to tell me? This? About our daughter?”

“You were so busy. And it’s not like−”

He launched himself out of his chair with a roar. “You kept this from me?”

Reflexively, I shrank back into my seat, like some timid little creature. “I’m sorry.”

He began to pace, tugging at his hair. Each time he passed me, he opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. His mental shields were locked in place and impenetrable.

After five long minutes, I decided enough was enough. It wasn’t my habit to let him intimidate me and I wasn’t about to chicken out now; history told me, it was far better to confront him, not let him get away with his bullying behaviour. “Doctor, stop! Enough. Sit down so we can talk.”

“Oh, so now you want to talk to me!”

“That’s was the point of having this conversation, yeah? Sit!”

He did as I asked, shoving his plate away from him, across the table. I grabbed onto his hand before he could move it, pouring my love through our bond. I was gratified when his shields began to give; it was only a little, but it was a beginning.

“Any other information you want to impart?” he bit out.

“Well… apparently she has one of Wilfred’s Vortex Manipulators, so… erm… she’s dancing through time and space.”

“Bloody hell!” He moved to stand again, but I held firm to his hand. He glared daggers at me. “Let go! We have to−”

“Have to what, Doctor? What do you propose we do? You’re not going to go storming in there like the Great Exterminator!”

“Try me!”

“This is Charlie… intimidation has never worked on that kid, and it’s not about to this time, either. We need to be rational and calm and supportive.”

“Supportive! But she’s−”

“I know. And Javic has been keeping an eye on her. He’s making sure she checks in with him, and he assures me she’s doing… fine.”

“Somehow, I don’t imagine Javic’s definition of ‘fine’ is quite the same as ours.”

I had to admit (but only to myself) I’d been thinking much the same way, though I knew Javic: he’d go to the ends of creation to protect any of us. “Hope’s been keeping in touch with her too,” I offered, hoping to appease the Doctor.

“Well that, that is a bloody recipe for disaster!” His anger flared.

Again, I had to agree with him, Santa. For all that she means well, Hope tends to get a bit bossy with her younger siblings. She’s mellowed over the years, but still… My arguments were crumbling around me. “You’re right. Let’s go!”

“What?”

“Let’s go… TARDIS. You. Me. Chat with our daughter.”

“But I thought you said...?”

“Changed my mind.”

--ooOoo--

Charlie, it turns out, was not thrilled to see us. I hadn’t been expecting a joyous family reunion or anything, but I think it would have gone a lot better if the Doctor hadn’t barged up to the bar where she was cheerfully chatting up some green-skinned bloke, waving his psychic paper around like some crazed maniac and bellowing to said bloke that Charlie was under-aged (an outright lie… on that planet) and if he didn’t want to find himself in a whole heap of trouble he’d better scram. He’d then grabbed Charlie by the arm and hauled her out of the building and into the TARDIS.

To say Charlie was furious was the understatement of the year! She was ranting on about how it was bad enough her “puritanical” sister was on her case, but the fact that we were now interfering in her life as well incensed her to no end. She only finally calmed after I ordered the Doctor out of the TARDIS. I would deal with him later.

In the end, there was very little I could actually do other than let Charlie know we’d both be there for her if she ever needed us. She assured me she was fine: having fun; being careful; and not doing anything too wild (and “bloody hell, Mum, I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation with you… it’s just wrong…”.) I tried to understand, but I just couldn’t put myself in that mindset, and I told her as much.

“It’s just such a relief to be able to have fun and feel good without any obligations. I have so many obligations, Mum. School, Hand in Hand, work... This makes me feel, well free.”

Oh, Santa, it was then I realized how much that little girl (young woman) had taken on in her young life.

She must have seen the look of horror on my face. She grabbed my hand, and our familial bond snapped into place. She read me like an open book. “Mum, don’t you dare feel guilty. You never, ever pressured me, any of us, to do anything we didn’t want. You encouraged us in the best way possible, you… and Dad.” She chuckled and rolled her eyes at the mention of her father. “This is just my way of letting go a bit, taking time for me. Can you understand that?”

“Course I can, love. I worry, that’s all. Promise me you’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“And listen to Javic.”

“Muuuuum! I know!”

“Now, since we spoiled your evening with that young man, how about we take you out to supper, yeah?”

“That sounds great! And don’t worry too much about my evening. He was a bit of a tosser, anyway. I was just about to walk out when Dad came barging in like some daft Onidsessi on pep pills. Urrrgh,” she groaned, “promise you’ll never let Dad near pep pills. Can you imagine…?”

“Oh, god, your Dad… he’s out there… Not on pep pills, but you know as well as me, he’s quite capable of stirring up all kinds of trouble without them if he gets a bit bored.”

Thankfully the Doctor hadn’t been stirring up trouble. We found him, pacing back and forth in front of the TARDIS doors. Charlie skipped right over to him, stopping him in his tracks and planting a kiss on his cheek. I couldn’t help but smile. We might all drive one another completely mental sometimes, but there was no lack of love in our little family, and this incident had assured me our children always knew we would be a safe haven for them whenever they needed it.

With all our emotions running high, I never remembered to ask Charlie if she was bringing home a friend at Christmas, so Mum could plan an appropriate jumper. At this point, though, I didn’t imagine there would be anyone special, given that she seemed to be determined to stay away from serious relationships for the time being.

I couldn’t have been more wrong…

Santa, I need to run. We’re all at Mum’s tonight, and the jumpers have finally been unveiled. There were a few… complications. And I’m running interference! I’ll try to explain later.

Blimey! There goes the Doctor, now, and he looks far too happy for anyone’s good, especially considering… Look, Santa, I gotta go! I’ll finish this letter up later.

--ooOoo--

Santa, I’m back, but I’m not sure where the hell I’m going to begin. A lot of stuff went down tonight. A lot of stuff.

Mum was just itching to hand out her Ugly Jumper parcels to everyone; I couldn’t get her to sit still, she was so excited. We were still waiting for Charlie to arrive and for Tony, Noah, and Abby, too. The Doctor had gone to collect Charlie in the TARDIS. Mum was bouncing off the walls.

Thank goodness my brother and his family decided to show up just after the Doctor left. Entertaining Abby was keeping Mum rather brilliantly distracted, and it meant I didn’t need to entertain Mum. As it turned out, it was just as well Mum was preoccupied, because it gave her time to ease into meeting Charlie’s plus-one which turned out to be a bit of a shock for her, just not for the immediately obvious reason…

The lovely, familiar sound of the TARDIS filled the room about fifteen minutes after Tony arrived. She landed in her customary corner of Mum’s living room, wearing her traditional Blue Box disguise, but topped with festive snow and icicles, and a colourful wreath on her door. The door opened, and the Doctor stepped out, meeting my gaze with raised eyebrows and a little prickle of warning through our bond. He was being very guarded, not sharing any specific thoughts or images, and that made me distinctly uneasy.

Charlie followed him and was tugging behind her what could only be her date for the evening. The creature seemed to unfold itself from the TARDIS. It was very tall and rail thin. Charlie was holding onto one of its appendages, a hand of sorts, at the end of one of its four upper limbs, formed from an assortment of tentacle-like structures. “C’mon Hrau-Ard,” Charlie coaxed. “You’re gonna love my family! Hell, you and Dad are already like best mates!”

“Possibly a bit of an exaggeration seeing as we only met six minutes ago,” the Doctor countered, allowing Charlie and Hrau-Ard to step in front of him, “but he seems like a fine chap, I have to say.”

It took me a moment to get over my shock. Now, let me be clear, Santa, I have no trouble with interspecies relationships… I mean look at my darling husband, not exactly human for all he looks it. It’s just that Charlie, for all her sexual experimentation has never strayed far from standard humanoid partners before... at least according to Javic’s accounts. That’s why I needed to collect my thoughts before I moved forward to greet our new guest.

“Hello,” I smiled up into the creature’s majestic face. And majestic it was, by any standards… beautiful. Trust Charlie to pick a gorgeous date! A long muzzle, with an expressive mouth on the end, swooped up into a spectacular curved crest above it’s head. The crest had two main parts, a longer one below and a shorter part above. Its face morphed gradually from a rich teal colour at the muzzle to a deep indigo at the tips of the crests and was edged with many sensory tentacles and filaments. Two large purple eyes bulged above the snout, and several secondary eyes protruded from either side of the crests, set on stalks which were each adorned with several metallic rings. “I’m Rose Tyler, Charlie’s mum.” I held my hands out, spread open before me in the universal sign of peaceful greeting.

The creature bowed its head to me and dropping Charlie’s hand, held all four of it’s tentacle-tipped upper limbs out, mirroring me. Its fluting voice emanated from the crests. “Christmas greetings to you, Rose Tyler. My name is Hrau-Ard. It is lovely to meet you.”

“He’s male… mostly,” Charlie informed me, “so it’s okay to use ‘he’ and ‘him’.”

Hrau-Ard piped in, bowing his head to me again, “Those pronouns seem to be the most accurate.”

Before I could respond to Hrau-Ard, Charlie impatiently snagged the hand she’d been holding earlier and tugged him past me. “Well, come on in and meet the rest of the family!”

He hooted in surprise, his long tan-coloured tunic billowing and brushing me as he passed. It dropped halfway down his two legs and contrasted spectacularly with the blues and greens of his skin and had an opening in the back through which a pair of wing-like appendages extended. They were bright turquoise and filmy (too delicate to be proper wings) and vibrated as he moved.

I admit, I couldn’t suppress a chuckle at Mum’s incredulous expression as she met him. She passed Abby back to Noah, and looked Hrau-Ard up and down, offering him all the appropriate greetings. She had come a long way since her “bog-monster” days on the Estate and was extremely well-versed in alien diplomacy. After all, she’d welcomed plenty into her home over the years. But, despite all her training and experience, she was still my mum, and I nearly choked when she repeated his name back for clarification: “Howard? Your name is Howard?”

With a low whistle of approval and if the TARDIS was translating properly, amusement, Hrau-Ard inclined his head, his facial filaments bobbing with the movement. “I enjoy the way you say my name, Charlie’s Gran.”

“Oh, just call me Jackie, please. Howard! Of all the names!”

“Is this name of significance to you?”

Mum glanced nervously over to Pete, who was busy grilling Wilfred and Tianza about the medicinal properties of a Gallifreyan plant he was interested in using in a new Vitex drink. “Oh, ‘e’s jus’ an old mate of mine.”

“Fine fellow! Liked fruit!” the Doctor enthused from the TARDIS door with a broad, toothy grin. “I borrowed his pyjamas and dressing gown once!”

“Well then,” Hrau-Ard bleeped, “I am honoured to be his namesake.”

“Oh, off the two of you go then.” Mum shooed Charlie and “Howard” off to meet Tony, Noah, and Abby. She fixed a glare at the Doctor, who had stepped up behind me. “See, there, Time Lump! A proper alien, tentacles and all! ‘E at least ‘as the decency to look the part.”

“So sorry to disappoint you with my lack of appendages, Jackie (after all, I live my life just to please you),” he snarked back at her. “Fortunately, as it turns out, there’s one Tyler who is rather fond of my one, rather impressive appendage, just the way it is.”

“All right, you two,” I cut off Mum before she had a chance to bite back, “it’s Christmastime, yeah? Peace on Earth. See, the halls are all decked,” I gestured around me, “merry and bright. Let’s try to enjoy ourselves.”

“Ooooh, I’d like to deck ‘is halls, all right…” Mum grumbled.

The Doctor leaned out around me to shoot another barb at Mum. “Is that your resting Grinch face, Jackie, or are you just happy to see me?”

Mum lunged at him, slapping-hand poised and ready. Fortunately for the Doctor, I was still in between the two of them. “Stop!”

“Cuddly as a cactus; charming as an eel… Mrs. Griii-inch” the Doctor sing-songed.

“STOP!” My shout silenced the room, everyone turning to stare at me.

“Oh, don’t mind them,” Charlie cooed at Hrau-Ard, “that’s sorta their normal behaviour.”

“Look what you two made me do,” I hissed at Mum and the Doctor. “Be civil! Honestly!” Fed up, I made to leave the two of them and go to the kitchen to pour myself a well-earned glass of wine, when Mum caught me by the sleeve.

“Blimey, Rose!” she whispered at me. “That Howard fella ‘as wings!”

“Yeah, well spotted! And tentacles!”

“No, no, no! The wings! ‘E’ll never fit into any of my jumpers! Never! And ‘e’s so bleedin’ skinny and all. (Blimey, ‘e makes the Doctor look like a sumo wrestler, ‘e does!) The jumper I made would be…”

“Mum, you don’t need to worry. He’ll understand, I’m sure.”

She burst into tears. “But I wanted everyone to ‘ave… and now ‘e’ll be without something from me… An’ it’s Christmas…”

The Doctor stepped up, concerned. He put a gentle hand on Mum’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? If it’s what I said, Jackie… you know I was just taking the mick.”

“No, no, no… nothin’ like that, ya plum.” She patted his cheek and gave him a watery smile. “I’m jus’ disappointed is all.” She excused herself and rushed off in the direction of the powder room.

“What was all that about?”

“Promise you won’t tell her I told you?”

“Oh, you know I can keep a secret, Rose! Besides, I know better than to cross Jackie Tyler by leaking sensitive information. C’mon, give.”

I explained to him about Mum’s dilemma, how she had knitted ugly Christmas jumpers for everyone (his face blanched, probably imagining what she might have created for him) and now because of Hrau-Ard’s unexpected physical attributes, none of the jumpers she had set aside would ever possibly fit.

“Well, I could help,” he suggested. “She’s probably not going to like it much, and I can’t say I’m much of a fan of it myself, but I have an idea that just might work… if she’s willing.”

--ooOoo--

Everyone was so busy with canapes and punch and cocktails they never noticed Mum and the Doctor bundling into the TARDIS and the TARDIS dematerializing. The TARDIS was proud to be showing off her new “Silent Mode”: there was only a little bit of a breeze to indicate she had ever been there. (My little darling.)

They had only been gone for about ten minutes before the TARDIS rematerialized and Mum burst through the doors, beaming and carrying a neatly wrapped parcel: Hrau-Ard’s gift. To my utter amazement, she turned back to stroke the TARDIS’ doorframe, planting a soft kiss on the blue wood. “Thank-you, sweetheart. You’re a wonder, you are.”

The TARDIS hummed in response, a wonderfully joyous sound, as Mum practically skipped over to the Christmas tree to tuck the present underneath.

The Doctor stepped up beside me, closing the TARDIS doors behind him. “They hit it off like a house on fire,” he told me, “the pair of them, thick as thieves. Turns out when your Mum was ill a few years ago, and I put her in stasis, the TARDIS kept her company in her mind; they became fast friends. Brilliant!” He grinned down at me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me against him as we followed Mum to the tree. Then he paused, and I glanced up at him to ask why we had stopped. The grin melted from his face. “Although… I don’t much like the idea of the two of them plotting against me behind my back.”

I just laughed and put my head on his shoulder. “Blimey… you’re getting a bit paranoid! How long were you gone in your timestream?”

“Five and a half days, Rose. Five and a half days… with Jackie Tyler on my TARDIS! That’s enough to make anyone paranoid!”

I admit, Santa, I shamelessly started to laugh harder. “How did you ever survive?”

“After the first day, I learned pretty quick to keep my head down. I made myself scarce.”

“Oh, you’ll be all right.” I nudged him with my elbow. “They won’t plot against you…” (…much, I added silently.)

“I heard that!” He arched an irritable eyebrow at me. “Do you realize she’s got her own room, Rose? No, not room, suite! The TARDIS gave her an entire suite of rooms with her own telly and a little galley too!”

“Awww, that’s lovely.” I was warmed through that the TARDIS had welcomed Mum so enthusiastically. My darling husband, however, was another matter. “Don’t worry, Doctor, I’ll protect you from any plotting. C’mon, we better hurry. I don’t think Mum will be able to contain herself much longer.”

Mum was gathering everyone together, so she could hand out her creations, and getting a bit shirty at people who weren’t paying attention, so I dragged the Doctor over by the hand and found a comfortable seat for us.

Content that everyone was present and listening to her, Mum spoke: “I’ve decided to start a new Tyler-family tradition: Ugly Christmas Jumpers! Made by yours truly.” She preened and there was a round of groans from the family and a perplexed hoot from Hrau-Ard. “Oi! They’re not really ugly… that’s jus’ w’at they’re called, yeah. See I’m wearin’ one.” She stood up to show off the jumper she was wearing. It was made of soft, silvery yarn and she had sewn tinsel across the front to form the words “Don’t get your tinsel in a twist,” in cursive script. Of course, she also had tinsel tied around her up-do. She looked sparkly and lovely. My Mum… She’s been through so much in her life, experienced so many odd things, and taken it all in stride; things that would make most people go completely loopy. I love her so much. I was positively chuffed to see her so happy, handing out brightly coloured parcels to all our family.

Dad was the first one to get his present, and he was a real sport about it, donning both his new Santa jumper and the Santa hat Mum had included in his parcel. Everyone burst out laughing when he stood up and smoothed his jumper down over his tummy, and said: “Do you think this makes me look fat? Ho-ho-ho!”

“Oh, sit down, you!” Mum admonished, but I could tell she was pleased as punch.

After that there was great excitement as we all opened our packages. Abby’s jumper was the cutest little thing, with an adorable gingerbread man wearing a Santa hat on a bright, red background. There were miniature gingerbread men down the sleeves and a few white strategically-placed snowflakes. I figure it’ll be a new favourite piece of clothing for her doting daddies!

Javic’s jumper featured a grumpy Santa reading his list of children’s names. The words “I’m at the top of Santa’s naughty list,” were emblazoned underneath. He was ecstatic, claiming it couldn’t have been more perfect. My jumper was… well, glorious in it’s tackiness! And I loved it! Oh, Santa, it was TARDIS blue, and a string of knitted fairy lights trailed all over it. In the middle, the fairy lights formed the words “Merry and Bright” and were lit up with little LEDs. Mum had outdone herself.

Hrau-Ard seemed uncertain what to do with his package, but Charlie soon sorted him out, helping him unwrap the gift. He held the jumper up in front of him, looking around at everyone else trying theirs on. He peered at the design on the front, all of his eyes trained on the bright patterns, and gave a long low hoot.

“Well, are ya goin’ to put it on, then?” Charlie prompted. “Here, I’ll help ya!” Together, the two of them made short work of slipping off Hrau-Ard’s tan tunic and replacing it with the jumper.

Hrau-Ard stood up out of his chair to show his jumper off. It was long, like the undertunic he wore, dropping to mid-thigh, and had perfectly aligned spaces for all four of his upper limbs and his wings.

“The TARDIS helped Jackie with the proper design and style, so it was compatible with his cultural expectations and with his body configuration,” the Doctor murmured in my ear. “She even provided all the yarn, if you can believe that!”

I took a closer look at the jumper. It featured an green-clad elf body on a scarlet background. Like Dad’s jumper, Hrau-Ard’s head took the place of the elf’s head. The words underneath said: “Take an ‘elfie with me!” It was hilarious! We were all in stitches, especially Hrau-Ard, who particularly appreciated the pun in the wording, and was honking with joy, and pulling out his mobile to take ‘elfies with everyone.

I couldn’t help but notice Therin was the only one not laughing. He wasn’t even smiling. He sat on the other side of the room glowering at Charlie and Hrau-Ard and their easy familiarity. Clearly, he hadn’t gotten over Charlie. He still loved her, despite her obvious disinterest in him… at least as a romantic partner. My heart absolutely ached for him as he quietly trudged out of the room, wearing his Fair Isle T-rex jumper.

“I should go check on him,” I whispered to the Doctor.

“Nah, he needs to work this out for himself, love. He can’t change what’s in his heart. He just needs time to come to terms with it.”

“I hate to see him so miserable though… I wish I could−”

“Oi!” Mum’s shriek of disapproval cut through my thoughts. “Where’s your jumper, then, Doctor?”

The Doctor shifted nervously next to me, and I felt his crushing fear in my mind. He picked at the wrapping paper on the package in his lap.

“C’mon then, ya big baby! Open it up! I made it special, jus’ for you.”

“That… that’s what worries me,” he muttered under his breath.

“Here, I’ll help you,” I offered. Honestly, Santa, Mum was right. He was being a big baby about it. Coward every time. “Best get it over with, like ripping a plaster off.”

“I don’t like plasters, and I don’t like the sound of your mum saying, ‘special just for you’. That, right there, Rose, sends my entire brain into mauve status!”

“C’mon, how bad can it be?” Even as I said the words, I glanced over at Mum who was watching the Doctor with a piercing, self-satisfied eye, and I braced myself. “Never mind. Just get it over with, yeah.”

By this time, we had the attention of the whole room, and the Doctor in a less-than-convincing act of enthusiasm, tore away the wrapping paper in one fell swoop. He reached into the shredded paper and pulled out the jumper, holding it up gingerly. Santa, I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. I swear the tears were pouring down my face, and the Doctor was scowling at me.

I better explain. The torso and most of the arms of the jumper were mostly brown. Around the cuffs of the arms, and at certain places over the shoulders were knitted green leaves. Some of them also trailed over the torso and back. When we lifted the arms of the jumper, we found dangling from their undersides none other than beautifully crafted, little knit pears! Pears, Santa, which as I’m sure you know are the fruit the Doctor despises most in the universe… for reasons that have never been very clear to me.

The crowning glory was the gigantic bird sewn firmly to the left shoulder: a partridge.

Mum had given the Doctor a Partridge in a Pear Tree-themed jumper!

Strangely, the bird was not knitted but a small-scale but realistic model, complete with feathers… and that gave me pause for thought, and trust me when I say the thoughts were not optimistic for the Doctor…

“Well, w’at are you waitin’ for?” Mum barked. “Put it on, then?”

“What? You expect me to wear this travesty… this… this pitiable excuse for clothing? Nope. Nope. Nope. Not happening.”

“Oh, just put it on, Dad!” Hope cajoled from across the room. “We’re all wearing them.”

“Yours don’t have pears and a great bloody bird attached, do they?”

“The jumpers are splendid!” Hrau-Ard spoke up with an earnest honk. “This is the most comfortable piece of clothing I have ever owned. And it is humorous too. Doctor, you really should try yours.”

Mum just about melted on the spot at Hrau-Ard’s compliment. “Oh, Howard! You’re such a love. But, you’re just sayin’ that!”

“No, I am sincere, Jackie. It is perfect. I think I like Christmas. And Ugly Christmas Jumpers!”

“Well then, sweetheart, I’ll make you another for next year, yeah?

Howard… I mean Hrau-Ard hooted happily in response, and Mum turned her attention back to the Doctor, by which I mean, she glared daggers at him.

“Oh, all right,” the Doctor conceded, “…if it means I don’t have to listen to any more of your harping,” he added under his breath. He stalked off to the downstairs loo, crushing the jumper in his clenched fist.

“I better go help him out…” I made my excuses and rushed off after him.

I heard Wilfred snickering to Hope, Gray, and Tianza, as I passed them. “Ten quid says they’re off for a snog… or worse.”

Hope just laughed. “No deal, little brother! That’s a sure thing.”

“Oi!” (I’m sorry, I had to protest!) “Enough out of you lot!”

“C’mon, Mum, face it,” Charlie interjected, “you two are an embarrassment.”

“Yeah,” Wilfred agreed, “I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve had to spring the two of you from prison for public indecency.”

“Oi, what’s this then?” Mum leaned in for more tidbits of information, and I cleared out of the room as fast as I could.

Exasperated, I knocked on the powder room door. “Doctor, it’s just me.”

He opened the door to let me in.

“Blimey, we’ll have to watch ourselves. That lot are making wagers on whether or not we shag in here, and they’re telling Mum all about our arrests…”

He groaned, sniffing in disdain. “Bloody brilliant! Christmas, an annual excuse for almost completely unfounded gossip and rumour.”

“Exactly!”

“And then there’s this…” He held up the jumper. “I don’t know why I have to put on this preposterous get-up?”

“Because as I recall, a few years back, you mucked about with Mum’s dishwasher. Now it’s payback time,” I reminded him. “C’mon then…” I helped him pull off the (sexy) red jumper he was currently wearing, and I couldn’t resist running my fingers through the sparse hair on his chest. “Tell you what, though: if you’re a good boy and put the jumper on, I will make it very much worth your while…”

“Oh, yes!”

I dropped to my knees in front of him.

“What? Right now?”

“I’ll make it quick… I know all your secrets.”

He growled at me, his eyes darkening. “I’ll be wanting another round later tonight, Tyler.”

“You think so, do ya?”

“Of course, I’ll be happy to return the favour. I’ll make you come so hard, your screams will be heard all the way to Gallifrey and back! Think you’re up for that?”

I gazed up at him with what I hoped was a seductive smile and stroked him where he was now straining against the front of his trousers. “You’re on! But the real question is, can you manage not to scream? We don’t really need that lot making any more wagers at our expense.”

--ooOoo--

Sorry Santa, got off on a bit of a tangent there… It happens sometimes, as you’re well aware.

So… where was I? Oh, yeah, so fifteen minutes later, we came out of the loo. With my help (holding the partridge), we managed to get the jumper over the Doctor’s head. He looked very, very, extremely not happy, despite my recent… erm… display of affection. “I feel ridiculous!” he gritted out to me.

“It’s just for a few hours, love.” I patted his arm and took his hand for moral support and made bloody sure to conceal my amusement from him.

As we returned to the living room, out the corner of my eye, I was pretty certain I saw some money changing hands, although, to his credit, the Doctor had kept very quiet and I had checked that my hair and make-up were in order. Maybe they were wagering on whether he’d be wearing the jumper… Who knows?

Anyway, I had to agree with the Doctor’s assessment: the jumper did look more than a bit silly, but everyone cheered and laughed at it. They were having so much fun over it, and the Doctor ended up being a good sport, showing it off, spreading his arms and making silly faces about the “vile” pears dangling from them.

I admit, I kept to myself the fact that I thought there had to be more to it than just a jumper with pears and a big, daft bird. Mum had waited years to get her revenge. She wasn’t about to let him off with something so… simple. I could only wonder what she had planned and when it would happen.

As it turned out, I didn’t have to wonder very long.

It was only a few minutes later when Mum called us all over for supper. She, of course, had place-cards at every setting. The Doctor was sat between Hrau-Ard and Gray, somewhere in the middle of one long side of the table, and Mum and I were directly across from them. Charlie was on the other side of Hrau-Ard; Noah and Tony were sat on either side of Abby, who was in Tony’s old high chair at one end of the table; and Dad was at the other end. Everyone else was scattered randomly around.

As the first course was served, everyone began to chatter to one another. The Doctor seemed quite relaxed, but I couldn’t help noticing the way Mum’s eyes kept fixing on him as he made cheerful small talk to everyone around him. Her lips pursed reflexively every time he stopped talking. She tried a couple of times to get Dad to tell us about something that had happened at work, but he had insisted he didn’t want to talk shop. He was determined to take some time away from it.

“Fine,” Mum muttered under her breath, “just tryin’ to liven up the conversation. Honestly.”

“I thought we were having a lovely time,” I told her. “Everyone’s relaxed and chatting… well except Therin, but you know… What’s going on? You’re up to something. I know you. You never ask Dad about Torchwood.”

“Pfffft, don’t be daft! Course I ask ‘im. And jus’ w’at do you mean ‘up to somethin’’? W’at could I possibly be up to?” With that, she turned deliberately away from me and began speaking to Hope about the progress of the Lunar settlements and asking her how she was finding living on a base. “I don’ know if I could take it, yeah. No fresh air, being cooped up inside all the time. I think I’d lose my mind, yeah.”

The Doctor’s eyes brightened as he responded to her. I was relieved he didn’t end up spewing out something rude about her already having lost her mind years back, which honestly seemed like it would be the natural course of the conversation. Instead, he launched into one of his diatribes about the environmental systems on the bases and how they purify the air.

With a smirk, Mum sat back in her seat to listen.

“…and remarkably, the fundamental design never changes from base to base, year after year. It’ll be centuries before someone gets the bright idea that basic human needs aren’t quite being met by–″ He was cut off when the partridge on his shoulder swung around and flapped its tail across his face. He frowned, spun the bird back around, and began to speak again.

This time the bird nipped his ear.

“Fuck!” he shouted in pain, which of course was mimicked loudly by Abby at the other end of the table.

“You dolt!” Mum snapped. “Now, look what you’ve done!”

“Oi! It’s your blasted bird that bit me! Oi! It just did it again!”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Giggles erupted from the little girl as her daddies tried to shush her, and everyone had a good laugh.

Except Mum (“Don’t be so stupid! It’s not a real bird, ya numpty!”); and the Doctor, who glowered at Mum but (remarkably) held his tongue.

“Mum,” I hissed at her, “it bit him. I saw it.”

“Bit him? Stuff and nonsense!”

The Doctor shook his head at me, and at his telepathic request, I decided not to pursue it any further.

Abby had calmed down again, her new word forgotten as quickly as it had come, and normal conversation resumed around the table as the main course was served. It wasn’t long before the Doctor had dived into a conversation about the most current medical breakthroughs with Gray and with Hrau-Ard, who was apparently training as a physician as well. They bantered back and forth for a short time and then the Doctor launched into a long discourse about the benefits of some sort of medical scanner or other. About a minute in, the bird wheeled around, slapping him in the face with its tail once more, and another few seconds after that, it bit him again.

“Right! Ow! Again, you bloody– Ow!” He dug into his trouser pockets for his sonic, threatening the bird with it. “Now, we’ll sort– Blimey! STOP! Ow!”

I glanced over at Mum who was chuckling away to herself, while everyone else was up, getting ready to help the Doctor. Oh, she knew exactly what was going on. And I had no doubt she had orchestrated it.

Hrau-Ard had stood up and was holding the bird still, his tentacled appendages wrapped around it securely. He was doing a great job keeping it from pecking at the Doctor’s ear, which seemed to happen every time he tried to talk.

Mum scoffed next to me. “Talks far too much, anyway, that one. Maybe this will teach ‘im to keep quiet and not monopolize the conversation.”

“So, this was you, then? How the hell did you...?”

“Oh, sweetheart, it only goes off when ‘e natters on for too long. It resets again after ‘e’s given our ears a bit of a break.”

“But…”

“Oh, I know a few of the folks down in Tech. They were quite ‘appy to do me a little favour, especially after ‘imself barged in there a month or so back and told ‘em they were sequencin’ somethin’-or-other all wrong.”

“He told me about that. It was all wrong!”

“Well, seems they didn’t like ‘is tone… all ‘igh and mighty and ‘I’m so clever’.”

I flopped back in my chair, and just shook my head. I returned my attention to the other side of the table where the Doctor had adjusted the settings on his sonic and was brandishing it at the animatronic bird.

“Oi,” Mum yelped, “don’t you damage my bird.”

“Priorities, Jackie! Your bloody bird is trying to damage me. Do you realize how hard I had to concentrate to get these ears… not to mention this hair?”

“It is really great hair,” I agreed.

“Oh, shush you!” Mum shot me a scathing look.

“Right then! Allons-y!” Heedless of my mum’s protests, the Doctor activated the screwdriver pointing it at his feathered attacker, and several things happened all at once.

The strangest screeching sound reverberated from Hrau-Ard’s crests in harmonics that mimicked the sonic. He lost his grip on the bird and doubled over, two of his appendages flying to his crests. “This tickles! This tickles! I think I am about to…”

The bird, freed from it’s confines, resumed its attack on the Doctor’s ear, feathers flying everywhere. The Doctor, fumbled his sonic screwdriver, caught it again, and made a quick adjustment to the frequency, constantly yammering and threatening the bird and Mum, not quite making the connection that if he just shut up, the stupid thing would stop pecking him. Finally finding an opening, he pressed the tip of the sonic to the bird’s breast, activating it with a triumphant “Ha!”

Hrau-Ard had resumed his composure once the sonic had stopped but started making that bizarre sound from his crests again once it was reactivated. His facial filaments were absolutely trembling. “It is happening again. I am going to… I am going to…″

The sound seemed to amplify the effects of the sonic. The hapless partridge stopped its attack, but its entire body began to pulse as the wailing hoots from Hrau-Ard’s crest intensified. Everyone was covering their ears, except the Doctor who had turned off the sonic, and was watching in horror, from the corner of his eye, the ominous pulsing of the bird on his left shoulder.

“I am going to–″ Hrau-Ard shouted, and his crests shrieked in a final eruption of noise, and the bird’s body suddenly exploded with a massive blast, sending feathers, sparks, and electronic gizmos everywhere.

“–sneeze,” Hrau-Ard hooted into the silence that had fallen over us all.

A long moment later, just as everyone was catching their collective breath, the Doctor yelped, as cinders from the explosion caught in his hair, causing it to smoulder and burn. “Ow, ow, ow! Blimey! My face! My hair!”

Abby started howling; everyone started shouting; I leaped across the top of the table to get to my poor husband; and Gray, the only one maintaining his composure, picked up a pitcher of ice water and dumped it over the Doctor’s head.

The Doctor sat there, completely stunned, as water dripped from his fringe into his face.

“Oh my God! Doctor!” I pulled his damp body against me, hugging him tight. “Are you all right?” I pulled back from the hug to look him in the face. I took in the angry red welts, the burned hair and…

He must have seen my astonishment. “What? What is it?”

“Your… your left eyebrow. It’s… it’s gone…”

“What? What?” His fingers flew to his brow, where the hair had been singed away. “WHAT?”

“And some of your hair… just up the left side…”

“Jackie Tyler!” he bellowed. He made to get up from his chair, but Gray shoved him back into it.

“Sit still! You have burns. I’ll need to use the dermal regenerator on them.”

“It won’t bring back my eyebrow, though, will it? My left eyebrow too. It’s my most expressive one,” he added wistfully.

Mum had come rushing around the table. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry! That wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ll cut your hair for ya, real nice. And your eyebrow will grow back again in no time, I expect.”

“Yeah, I suppose it will,” he said relaxing a bit. “And more expressive than ever! Makes you think, what would I ever do without eyebrows?” He shuddered at the thought. “And, Jackie, I have to admit, you couldn’t have known that the sonic would resonate with Hrau-Ard’s crests and make the bird explode like that. Though, I have to say, good riddance!”

“It is all my fault. I must apologize profusely,” Hrau-Ard hooted, his wings fluttering.

Mum protested, “Oh, no, Howard!”

“Nah, she’s right, Hrau-Ard,” the Doctor reassured him, “don’t be silly! But now I know not to use my sonic at that frequency in your presence.” He beamed. “Besides, what fun would Christmas be without a little bit of unexpected excitement?”

“At least there aren’t any blinkin’ killer Christmas trees, yeah?” Mum pointed out, as Gray finished up with the dermal regenerator.

“Oh yes! Too true. Looking on the bright side, Jackie. Do it while you can, because you know what…?” He bounded out of his chair, tore the remnants of the hapless partridge from his shoulder, and plucked the Santa hat from Dad’s head. He shoved it over his wet, scorched hair and with a wicked grin spreading over his face, he sang: “Jackie Tyler… you better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout. I’m telling you why: Santa Claus is coming to town.”

Oh, God, Santa, the look on Mum’s face. “Oh, you wouldn’t dare…”

“And Santa isn’t happy, Jackie. Really, you better watch out…” He skipped away out of the dining room, heading directly for the kitchen.

Mum took off after him. “You stay away from my appliances. You’re a bleedin’ hellion, you are,” she shouted.

Hrau-Ard honked in alarm and pulled Charlie next to him, wrapping his tentacles around her.

“Don’t worry, love,” Charlie sounded resigned, “you get used to it once you’ve been around this crowd long enough. We’re all a bit mental, but we all love one another.”

So, there it is, Santa. A typical Tyler-Noble Christmas!

I spent quite a while trying to intercept the Doctor before he did any damage to Mum’s kitchen... and other things. I actually found him mucking about in her en suite. Not sure if he managed to do anything before I caught up to him and got him back home, but at least I got to him before Mum did. Like I said before, he looks far too pleased with himself, despite the missing eyebrow and the singed hair. He must have left some sort of surprise behind for Mum. No doubt I’ll hear about it soon enough.

And right now, I’m just waiting for him to “return the favour” he promised me in Mum’s powder room earlier, something about making me scream so loud I’d be heard all the way to Gallifrey. He’s just spending an awful long time in the loo... probably trying out my eyebrow pencils, if I know him. Maybe later I’ll take the TARDIS out, go back a few days, and get him some of his own for his stocking before everyone gets up tomorrow morning.

Happy Christmas, Santa. Give my love to all. Sorry for going off on a bit of a tangent earlier. I was just lying here, waiting for the Doctor and thinking… Oh, I reckon you’re used to it by now, yeah. There’ve been a few tangents over the years and I haven’t had a lump of coal yet. But, just saying, if you feel the urge to leave a lump of coal in the Doctor’s and my mum’s stockings, by all means, go right ahead! I’m all for it!

Love, Rose

#doctorroseprompts #kidfic #tentoo x rose #christmas fic #extreme silliness #fluff #family #hurt/comfort #ficandchips #tenroseforeverandever's fic

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firewritten · 7 years ago

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The Cringe Wave

I was tagged by @alittle-writer and @oheoo to do this thing. :)

Rules:

1. Post a quote or short excerpt from your early days of writing. (I’m talking old fanfics, slash fics, original fics, etc., that are barely edited and have a ton of technical errors and misspelled words.) This is the cringe part. Don’t edit anything! Let it be horrendous. Don’t Panic.

2. Post a quote or short excerpt from one of your most recent works/WIPs. Something that you’re proud of. Something that you’ve written that makes you smile when you read it.

3. Tag a writer you admire, anyone who you think is amazing, new friends, followers, writeblrs, anyone who you’d like to know more about. If you think someone is a great writer and you want to see how they’ve developed their skills, tag them! Everyone started somewhere.

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Okay, I have been searching for quite some time, but I can’t find the My Little Pony fanfic I wrote when I was 18. I think it’s disappeared into the ancient misty ghost realm of the internet.

So. We’ll go with the beginning of a Sims story I started in 2009 and finished in 2010, and that I was pretty proud of back then but that is incredibly embarrassing now. Good lord. Look at the sudden POV changes and the telling instead of showing and oh goodness, the trolls were right. Also lololol, it starts with the main character waking up and having breakfast, although there was a prologue before this chapter.

Outside Lilith Parker’s window, the sun was rising. The air was filled with the joyous songs of birds greeting the new day and the early morning light glinted off the dew that still lay on the grass. Everything was very pretty and nice for those who had the freedom to enjoy it.

But such beauty is not for those who are enslaved to the alarm clock.

BRRING! BRRING!

“Man, that dream was just getting good. I never knew you could take out bad guys with a forest green milkshake.”

Lilith stretched and pushed back the covers, trying to remember what day it was. Wednesday? Wasn’t there something special about Wednesday?

“Oh man! Today’s the big meeting at work! Please don’t let me get fired. Please don’t let me get fired.”

She stumbled down the hall, wiping the remnants of sleep from her eyes. Something smelled good. Really good.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Oh wow, you made breakfast?”

Jason was so sweet and thoughtful and kind. Lilith often wondered why she couldn’t care for him as much as he obviously did for her.

“So are you going back to your place tonight?”, she asked him, not sure what answer she wanted.

“I don’t know. Probably. Work is pretty busy right now -you know they want me to go through people’s trash and write reports on what I find? I’m not too sure about that. It sounds sort of fascist. But hey, I’ve gotta pay the bills somehow. Don’t you have a big important meeting at work today?”

“Yeah, Shannon said she wanted to talk to me. Didn’t really say more than that.”

“Are you okay? You seem kind of worried. I don’t think it’d be anything bad – you do a good job.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

Jason couldn’t figure Lilith out. She seemed so distant these days. He knew that her job was stressful and took up a lot of her time, but hell – she could at least act happy to be with him. Maybe what they needed was a vacation. A nice weekend in Twikkii Island. He’d start looking at hotels and airfares tonight.

“You know, maybe I should redecorate. Put in some bright colors, get some new furniture. Hey, maybe Shannon wants to give me a huge raise.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Jason just couldn’t shake the feeling that Lilith was just phoning it in. Maybe she was depressed? Maybe she didn’t like him anymore?

Lilith washed her plate, starting to feel a bit anxious. What time was it? She definitely didn’t want to be late for work, not today of all days.

A single soap bubble floated above the sink. She zoned out for a bit, lost in its prism of colors. It must be nice to be a soap bubble – no cares, no worries, no jobs, no boyfriends. Just a few fleeting moments of perfect beauty, and then gone.

She snapped back into awareness, turning off the faucet and shaking excess water from her hands.

Okay, whew, that’s over.

So for current stuff, hmm. There are bits of Surreal Darkness that I really like but I don’t want to spoil it for you guys. But very few of you seem to be reading Emo Pistols, which means I probably need to figure out another way to post it, but it also means that I can use a favorite part of it for this. :) This is an epistolary story and Seth is replying to a letter, which accounts for some things that may seem random or odd otherwise.

All right, I will tell you what freedom means to me, since you said you were interested.

I do like your meaning for it, by the way. It shows that you have whittled away some of your cardboard.

I am not sure how to begin.

Right now I am standing under a string of festival lanterns, looking up at their pink and yellow lights against the black sky, and I feel very….locked in. I’m not sure if that’s the best way to put it.

I am looking at the lanterns and at the stars beyond them and I am smelling the spices from the booths and I am listening to the chatter of the people in the plaza and I am feeling the cool air on my skin and I am picking out Sarah’s voice from the others and she is talking to a vendor about saffron and now someone is tuning a guitar, and I am inside this skin and I am myself and I can never be anything else.

This is a hard thing to find the words for, but I am trying.

There is meaning and notmeaning, and I always have too much of both.

Perhaps, when you are painting or talking to your friends in the park, you feel something similar to this. I do not know. I have not heard of anyone else experiencing this, but then I tend to not talk to other people.

It’s…it’s the pink and yellow buzzing shine of the lanterns pressing down through my skin and into my veins, where it swirls along with the notes of the guitar and Sarah’s voice and my blood and the blackness of the night sky and the air moving along my skin and the spices with their smells of a dentist’s office and old sour pools and the houses of grandmothers, and it’s making me far too real and it means far too much.

My skin is tingling and the toomuch is pushing on it and it hurts, and then when I can’t stand it anymore the pain twists and the pressure reverses and the toomuch becomes the notenough. The notenough collapses inward into a black hole that swallows all the lights and the guitar and the spices and the murmurs of strangers and then, finally, Sarah, and her voice goes silent.

I am still looking up at the festival lanterns, but now they are empty and flat and swinging in a breeze that I cannot feel.

The hell of it is that the notenough is just as beautiful and infinite and painful as the toomuch, and I cannot contain either one.

Freedom, to me, means an escape from this finite universe.

I am working on a door.

Okay, for tagging...

I tag @parthenopaon. @starlitesymphony, @theguildedtypewriter, and @jaimistoryteller. Oh, and a couple new peeps: @lityersess @snowdropwrites

#tagged #writeblr #writing

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cxymercado · 7 years ago

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BOOK REVIEW: TURTLES ALL THE WAY DOWN by John Green

Sixteen-year-old Aza never intended to pursue the mystery of fugitive billionaire Russell Pickett, but there’s a hundred-thousand-dollar reward at stake and her Best and Most Fearless Friend, Daisy, is eager to investigate. So together, they navigate the short distance and broad divides that separate them from Russell Pickett’s son, Davis.

Aza is trying. She is trying to be a good daughter, a good friend, a good student, and maybe even a good detective, while also living within the ever-tightening spiral of her own thoughts.

Source: Goodreads

Disclaimer: This is my very first attempt to review a book so pls bear w me. If you can’t, go to Goodreads. I ain’t your daddy.

R E V I E W

I’ll be honest right off the bat. This isn’t my favorite John Green novel.

Trigger Warning: Mental Health Genre: Mystery / Young Adult Writing: 4/5 Plot: 2/5 Characters: 3/5

Anybody who knows me personally can attest that John Green is my all time favorite author/coming-of-age hero. I’ve always loved him for descibing the thoughts, feelings, and whatnot, that I already perceived indescribable. More to that, it’s impossible not love his sarcastic, too intelligent sometimes, but still realistic enough characters whom I wish to be friends irl. So when my boyfriend told me last year that Green has announced a new book (and that he already pre-ordered me a signed copy because he’s simply the best), my heart grew 5x fatter in an instant.

But Turtles All The Way Down was nothing like his usual literary masterpieces. Which is kind of a good and a bad thing at the same time (more good, no worries).

As I was reading through the first few chapters, I immediately noticed how unGreen this novel is compared to his other writings. Green has always sufficiently perfected his settings without having to redundantly describe the place nor the characters, but still enough for the reader to actually be in the story; but this is different. There are far too many details than necessary and character features that aren’t that much imperative. There are also too many thoughts and subthoughts but I actually liked those since that is how Green perceives anxiety. But if I didn’t know John Green wrote this book, I would’ve thought it’s a Dean Koontz novel if he writes about adolescent mishaps. It even actually bore me on some excerpts. That’s not uncommon. Sorry, not a fan of Koontz, he’s too wordy.

For example:

I don’t think there is much importance of Davis being a billionaire’s son, let alone giving a plot of finding a missing billionaire, just for the characters to be intrigued and follow a mystery. I never expected that from Green. Although that will completely mess up the plot, I was kinda expecting something more.. you know.. realistically unrealistic from the guy. I mean, he was able to perfectly picture out Margo Roth Spiegelman as a mystery without her having a billion cash - just an interesting character.

Pickett leaving his fortune to a tuatara doesn’t seem to be necessary as well. Even if I know that’s only the typical John Green, leaving breadcrumbs of random info about random species.

The actual thought of a billionaire not leaving his kids a single cent seems unlikely irl too. And irrelevant since Davis and Noah don’t seem to be spoiled brats anyway.

Speaking of stuff far from reality, Aza and Davis’ chats sometimes don’t make sense as well. Yes, they were short and brief, but the virtual conversations didn’t really contribute much to their chemistry and/or fictional relationship.

Daisy’s fandom to Star Wars is also out of place. I mean, she and Aza can be friends but I’m pretty sure she could also write regular love fics and have fandoms but not necessarily be obsessed about it, right? She was portrayed as the typical girl bestfriend, why is there a need to add complexity to a supporting character? Just to add a character to a character?

The car accident also does’t add up to the story.

Nor does the hand-sanitizer-thirst.

It’s like there were fillers in the fillers. The sensible plot just in the middle, taking up only a quarter of the novel. It’s like a big pack of Lay’s where it’s 3/4 air and only 1/4 chips.

B U T W H A T I L O V E D T H E M O S T

was how Green turned the bad and the ugly of real-life anxiety into ink. How Aza spiraled her thoughts and subthoughts and made it into turtles all the way down is too beautiful for words. It’s the closest thing anyone can read to actually understand how complex anxiety feels.

The ending was the perfect wrapper too. Although I have read all Green books, I never quite had the grasp of how he would end his novels. It is always the surprising, beautiful, type of endings that you would and wouldn’t ask for more. But of all his literary works, I must say that this has the best, painfully satisfying, achingly beautiful ending. It’s my favorite part actually.

I also loved the fact that Aza rhymes with my name and that my hard copy of this is signed by Green — who is, as I said, one of my favorite humans ever —, but those are out of the question.

Overall, I loved Turtles All The Way Down. I was just a bit disappointed with the plot, but the purpose and the depth have by far exceeded my expectations. It’s the perfect book for people who are struggling with their inner selves, and if you would like to understand how that goes, then I highly highly recommend this.

T O P E X C E R P T S

Your life is a story told about you, not the one you tell.

The thing about a spiral is, if you follow it inward, it never actually ends, It just keeps tightening, infinitely.

Anybody can look at you. It’s quite rare to find someone who sees the same world you see.

“Does it hurt?” “Whether it hurts is kinda irrelevant.”

My good lines are always stolen. I lack conviction.

I don’t control my thoughts, so they’re not mine. I don’t decide if I’m sweating or get cancer or c. diff or whatever so my body isn’t really mine. I don’t decide any of that — outside forces do. I’m a story they’re telling. I am ciscumstances.

You are as real as anyone, and your doubts make you more real, not less.

#turtles all the way down #john green #read #review

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todaydreambelieversfic · 8 years ago

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Author Spotlight: lilyvandersteen day 4

This is honestly one of the finest rec lists because it’s thematic. I couldn’t make all of the authors tag so have tried to list them in the tags too

Day 4: Recs!

Ooooh… I LOVE reccing fics! Only five, though? All right, then…

I’ll try and stay off the beaten path for this. It would be easy enough to mention one of the classics by @anxioussquirrel, @chazzam , @mrscriss2012, @zavocado, @missbeizy , @nadiacreek, @heartsmadeofbooks or Rainjoy, but you already know and love those stories, so what’s the point?

1. One of our fandom’s most original and imaginative writers is @sunshineoptimismandangels. I love her stories. She can take an age-old trope and completely turn it upside down and inside out. I love her take on Kurt and Blaine, and she writes Cooper so well, too. The fic of hers I’m going to rec is Missing Pieces. I’m not going to spoil the plot for you. All I’ll say is that I’ve read and re-read this story countless times, and it never fails to move me. Absolute must-read!

Excerpt:

"Why did those men think we were gross?" he asked. "What did we do wrong?"

"Nothing," Kurt said, turning in his seat to face B. "We didn't do anything wrong. Some people just don't like to see two men together."

"But… They were all men and together."

"Yes, but they thought we were on a date, and they don't like gay people."

"They don't like people just because they are gay?"

Kurt sighed. He hated that this was something B had to learn about the world. "Yes."

"People are scared of things they don't understand," B said, remembering the words Kurt had told him before.

"Yeah, and sometimes people don't want to understand."

B was quiet for a moment and Kurt watched him closely, trying to determine what he was thinking. Slowly, a smile grew on B's lips.

"They thought we were on a date?"

Kurt rolled his eyes and laughed. "That's what you got from what just happened?"

B shrugged and smiled. "I don't mind people thinking we were on a date."

2. I’m a fluff writer, and I also love to read fluff. Nothing brings me more joy than waking up to a new story by @hazelandglasz, @whatstheproblembaby, @a-simple-rainbow, @chatterboxrose, @sir-pyllero, @notthetoothfairy, @skivvysupreme or @fablewriter . They never fail to make me smile and they improve my mood a thousand-fold. If you’re fever feeling blue, I encourage you to look up these authors on AO3 and read some of their offerings – it will make you feel happier in no time.

The piece of fluff I’m going to rec here, though, is a wonderful cross-over between Glee and Enchanted called That’s How You Know, and written by the lovely @afterthenovels . It’s still a WIP, but there’s more than enough of it to capture your attention, and there’s no cliffhanger that will make you count the days until we get the next chapter. And oh, I love this story SO much. Kurt and Blaine are so sweet and shy and oblivious, and they complement each other so well. *Happy sigh* Read it, you’ll LOVE it, that’s a guarantee.

Excerpt:

Blaine steps closer as quietly as he can, but Kurt doesn’t even stir, his eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks as he sleeps. He looks... younger. Less like a prince and more like a regular man.

“I guess you really were tired,” Blaine says quietly.

He unfolds the blanket in his arms and spreads it carefully over Kurt’s body, making sure it covers him from neck to toe. Kurt shifts in his sleep, huddling closer to the warmth and letting out a pleased hum, his lips curling into a small smile, and Blaine can’t help the smile that spreads over his own face.

His hair is a mess, he has no idea where his boyfriend is or why he missed their date tonight, his best friend is worried about his love life, and there’s a strange man sleeping on his couch, looking surprisingly at home for someone who’s clearly very far away from home.

Yeah. Maybe he can deal with all of this tomorrow.

3. Much as I hate scary movies, I love to read scary stories once in a while. Ghosts and vampires and djinns and the like stirring up no end of trouble. I’m reading a delightfully eerie nail-biter right now called Callaway Place (also by @sunshineoptimismandangels), but the story I’m going to recommend here is All the Beautiful Pieces by @lady-divine-writes. Once again, it’s a WIP, but I hope you won’t let that scare you off, because this story has everything to keep you spell-bound: a house with a dark past, voodoo magic, a protagonist with second sight, and a sweet love story between Kurt and Blaine, because of course they find each other and fall in love in spite of all the craziness surrounding them.

Excerpt:

Blaine slips a hand beneath the puppet’s shoulder and another behind his head, lifting him ever so gently and relocating him the final distance.

“Just a few more inches,” Blaine says in a soothing voice, “and we’ll wrap you up and put you in the box.” Blaine gazes at the puppet’s face, into his single good eye. He smiles wider as he lays the puppet on the blanket, but his hand beneath the puppet’s head starts to feel warm. It begins at a spot in the center of Blaine’s palm and radiates like a single ray of golden sunshine. It’s liquid heat, pouring into his veins, shooting out to his fingers, filling his body up like a cup of cocoa on a cold winter’s day.

His eyes are open, his mind awake, but the haze returns. It obscures his vision in a veil of white mist. It drifts in front of his eyes. He can only peek through in random spots where it thins, revealing shimmering images that disappear like the dreams you hold on to in those seconds right before you wake.

“Can you feel that?” Blaine hears his own voice whispering inside his head.

“I do,” another voice replies. It’s high and lilting, pure as silk and singing in his ears.

“What does it feel like?”

“It feels like…like summer all over my body…”

Blaine laughs, pressing his lips to cool skin. “And what else?”

A giggle answers him in that same musical voice. “It feels like…”

The voice gasps, and Blaine feels his body tighten.

“It feels like you,” the voice whimpers breathlessly. “Everything is you…all around me…it’s you…”

Blaine closes his eyes as the world collapses in on him. Behind his eyelids he can see another set of eyes gazing back at him – perfect blue eyes, patient blue eyes, loving blue eyes that shift to grey and glimmer like rare jewels. Quivering pink lips smile at him, part, and then whisper a single, blissfully choked-off word.

“Blaine…”

4. I much admire writers who can make their readers laugh their heads off. So the fourth fic I’m going to recommend is a very funny one. In this category, honourable mentions go to @skivvysupreme’s Drunk Kurt fics, Sexy101 by Sweet Emii, Seduction & Straight For A Week by @Crazy4Klaine and When you read my mind by @alexwishington. But the story I’m choosing to spotlight is called Teenage dreams and movie scenes, and it’s written by @saraklaine100. Both Kurt and Blaine are famous in this fic, and Kurt has a huge crush on Blaine, so his best friends corner Blaine until he agrees to meet Kurt. Cue a very embarrassed Kurt, and an instantly smitten Blaine. This story is amazing. Guaranteed to cheer you up however blue you’re feeling.

Excerpt:

Kurt was working on autopilot. He had no conscious decision to outstretch his hand or the time to process it. He just stared at those hazel eyes he found so fascinating one moment and the next he could feel Blaine's warm hand squeezing his own. He felt prickles all over his skin. Well, up until the moment James and Oliver clasped their hands and all but yelled "We now pronounce you Kurt Hummel and his teenage dream" and Kurt facepalmed at this, ripping his hand away from Blaine's hold.

"Get the fuck out" Kurt hissed at his friends and they knew better than to stay. They patted Blaine's shoulder like he's an old friend, still smiling and he could swear he heard Sean say "Condoms are under the sink" before they left.

Kurt was still craning his face in his hands. "Please just leave" he said. "Just...Look, I'm gonna keep my face covered and you can just run away and you can pretend this never happened. Send me the bill from therapy. "

5. And of course my fic rec list wouldn’t be complete without a smutty fic rec. It’s so difficult to narrow this down to just one fic. Some authors you should definitely check out in this category are @dualwielding, @stellata, icedwhitemochas, flyblckbirdfly and rayychel infinity, but the fic I’m going to recommend is by @caramelcoffeeaddict. It’s called Desperate Times… and it’s absolutely smut-a-licious, but definitely more than just PWP. It’s a wonderful story, and I promise you that you will love it.

Excerpt:

Devon takes a few steps back, so he’s now standing in front of Angel, and starts teasing the removal of his pants; all while dancing seductively to the music. His fingers twist in the waistband of his pants and then he yanks hard, pulling the breakaway pants off, and throwing them at the wall behind Angel. He’s left in just a tight red thong that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Once again, Devon straddles Angel, hovering just above his lap. He stretches his arms above his head, crossing them at the wrists, and rolls his hips down, teasing Angel. Devon turns himself around, bending at the waist, showing off his ass. He cranes his head around to see Angel licking and biting his lips as he stares at Devon’s ass. Devon smirks, and then smacks his own ass once, before righting himself and winking at Angel.

Turning around to face Angel, Devon starts to play with the straps of his thong, giving Angel tiny glimpses of his cock. He straddles him once again, gyrating to the music. “Would you like to touch me, Angel?” Devon asks in a low, sultry voice.

Angel visibly gulps, lets out a shaky breath, and slowly nods his head.

#author spotlight #fic recs #galore!#missbeizy #stellata #icedwhitemochas #flyblckbirdfly #rayychel infinity #caramelcoffeeaddict #crazy4klaine #skivvysupreme #fablewriter #a-simple-rainbow #afterthenovels

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dust2dust34 · 8 years ago

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Pieces of Always: July 2035, Part 2 (FICoN ‘verse)

Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows.

by @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34

Summary: Ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. (You do not need to have read FiCoN to enjoy this, but it will spoil the end. Please see the first installment for additional author notes. Thank you @jsevick and @alizziebyanyothername for the amazing beta!)

A/N: Please see the first chapter for an important Author’s Note, as well as under the cut for an additional one.

A/N: I am taking more of a beta role for right now. The effervescent @so-caffeinated is fully in the driver’s seat (all the Ameliam, omg) and she’s kicking all the ass, so please go send her your love!

Excerpt:

“I did promise you a dance,” Will murmurs, offering his hand to Amelia. She only hesitates a second before placing her fingers in his.

“You did,” she agrees quietly as he helps her up. He doesn’t back up as she stands and it puts them in closer proximity than it should, close enough to make people talk and to make his grandmother huff in distaste. But he doesn’t give a damn that it’s borderline inappropriate. The heat of her body washes over him and, when he breathes in, the scent of her perfume makes him dizzy. He’ll take that over propriety any day… especially because she makes no move to back off, either.

“So, dance with me, Amelia?” he asks.

His voice is soft and heavy, his face utterly serious for once, and there’s no doubt that he’s asking for more than a dance, but he’ll take whatever she’s willing to give.

(read on AO3)

July 2035 - So Close But So Far Away, Part 2

Lillie’s annoyance level is entirely justified. Tonight has been, by far, the worst Will’s ever treated a date and, even though that was entirely unintentional, he still feels the need to make up for it.

“You’re an absolute saint for putting up with me tonight, you know that, right?” he asks, pouring her a very full glass of champagne.

“I think we both know I sin a little too much for that,” she replies with a raised eyebrow and a smirk as she takes the outstretched glass. “But you can keep piling on the compliments. I am really enjoying them.”

“You’re also incredibly charming,” he points out, serving himself a glass, as well.

“Well, your stepmother seemed to agree,” Lillie says. “She told me that at least twice between some really unfortunate mini-speeches about problems with something at work involving down cycling batteries and how your dad needs knee replacement surgery but won’t get it.”

Will winces and makes a mental note to both tell his stepmom ‘thank you’ and ‘what the hell?’ “Sorry,” he tells Lille for what feels like the hundredth time.

“It’s fine,” she sighs in resignation. “If I’d found my younger sibling half dressed, I’d probably have run off to find some brain bleach, too. But, for what it’s worth, your dad really should get that knee replaced sooner rather than later. It’s not going to get any better.”

Neither of his father’s knees are going to be getting any better. It’s not an ‘if,’ at this point; it’s a ‘when,’ despite the fact that his dad is completely unwilling to discuss it. He’s got way too much damage to keep this up indefinitely.

“You’re absolutely right on that,” he agrees with a sigh. “But my dad can be…”

“Stubborn?” Lillie asks, looking up at him with amusement. “Yeah, your stepmom said that, too. Your little sister agreed. Ellie, not the one with the mussed hair.”

“Jules,” Will replies, his eyes instantly skimming the room for his sisters. He finds Ellie right away. She’s chattering away with Sara, looking completely enamored with her best friend’s presence. How, exactly, the other girl hasn’t picked up on his sister’s long-standing crush, he has no idea, but it’s probably for the best for everyone involved. Jules takes him another minute to find, but that’s because she’s on the dance floor, swaying in her boyfriend’s arms. He’s seen Jules dance for more than a decade, but that’s for performances. It’s never been like this. It’s never been just for the sake of closeness with a boy. It throws him, but he also figures it’s something he’s going to have to get used to. “That was… yeah.”

“You’re a pretty solid brother,” Lillie decides, watching him over the top of her glass. “Not the best date tonight, but it’s early yet. I feel like maybe you can make it up to me still.”

Well… that’s suggestive, so apparently the evening with her isn’t a total wash.

“I’m pretty good at achieving things when I put my mind to it,” he smirks at her, slipping a hand around her waist and running his thumb across the curve of her hip. Lillie’s curvy, with full hips and a sizable bust, and while Will enjoys most iterations of the female form, he’s definitely more drawn to Lillie’s than most. This is something he’s made absolutely no secret of from their very first meeting and she’s well aware that he’s more than a little in love with how he can make her body respond to him. She’s a little addictive in that way, in the way so many women are. “Let me know if there’s anything in particular you’ve got in mind for an apology.”

“I feel confident you’ll think of something,” she says slyly, leaning into him a little. It sends a bit of a thrill through him. Not Lillie herself, per se, but the hints of innuendo.

“Well, I’ll put some real thought to it,” he promises, tugging her back toward him a bit and pressing his lips to side of her neck for a brief kiss with just a hint of tongue to it.

If he’d seen her face as he did that, if he’d taken in the way her brow furrowed as her eyes shut and she held in a sigh, he might have figured out right there that things were a little further outside of the norm for him than he’d planned or expected. He might have seen that Lillie’s attachment to him is just a few steps beyond his to her. But he doesn’t. He’s in the dark and at least some of what follows will be a total surprise to him because of that.

“You watching the MI-6 guy?” he asks into her ear.

“What?” she asks with a laugh, tilting her head slightly in his direction.

“British guy near the balcony,” he whispers against her skin. He’s all grins at this point. He knows well how to play this game and it’s one he enjoys greatly. “Keeps tapping his fingers on the tabletop. It’s a signal to his partner at the bar. The leggy redhead.”

Lillie laughs. “Isn’t that the head of the school board? And I’m pretty sure he’s Australian.”

“Nah,” he counters as the man lets out a rattling cough into his sleeve. “That’s just his cover. He’s MI-6 and he’s been poisoned by the Triad. He was in town tracking their drug trade, trying to take down the kingpin, but they figured him out.”

“How’d they do that?” she asks, her grin wide and delighted.

“The signals with his partner, of course,” Will provides, building up the story. Lillie seems to enjoy this, but she definitely doesn’t add much on. “They aren’t exactly subtle.”

“They haven’t even looked at each other since we started talking,” Lillie tells him.

“Exactly,” Will replies. “Highly suspicious, don’t you think?”

“I think… that you are absolutely ridiculous, Will Queen.”

“Hmm, maybe,” he muses. “And maybe you like that about me.”

“I do,” she confirms, though he already knew that. She leans into him more, resting her head against his shoulder as she sips some more of her champagne. “What about that one?” she asks, continuing the game.

He follows her gaze to find her nodding toward the table where his grandmother sits with Amelia, the two of them chatting away like the old friends they are. He swallows hard at the sight and takes far too long to answer Lillie’s question, but he can’t help it. Amelia is so sharply beautiful, so utterly entrancing. The world just slows down when he looks at her, something shifts in the air, sets it alight. He can’t explain it, but it’s very real and he’s not the only one affected.

It’s not more than a couple of seconds before Amelia feels his eyes on her and turns, immediately finding his face in the crowd.

The tension is thick enough that it feels like he could reach out and grab it, but it’s also fleeting. Amelia’s heated gaze slips from him to his date. An unreadable look passes over her face and she quickly turns back to her conversation with his grandmother. He keeps watching her for another moment and he knows she’s fully aware of it from the way her cheeks flush and she tucks a stray lock of her long, dark hair behind her ear.

In spite of Lillie watching every moment of this exchange, it’s not her that jars him from staring at Amelia. No, it’s his grandmother’s piercing gaze. She has always been protective of her protégé and she’s never made a secret of her distaste for his interest in Amelia. If you asked Will, he’d say she’s never made a secret of her distaste for him, but he’s also pretty sure that’s not the way his grandmother sees it.

But whatever… any hope of mending that relationship is long gone. It’s not something that bothers him anymore.

Most of the time.

He tilts his head in a mockery of a greeting toward his grandmother before turning back to meet Lillie’s confused eyes.

“That would be my grandmother and someone from her staff,” he replies, trying to force a smile. “It’s a bit harder to play the game with people you know.” Lillie makes a surprised face and glances back toward the table again with fresh eyes. “She was mayor for like sixteen years. You didn’t recognize her?”

“Politics isn’t my thing, Will,” Lillie replies with a bit of a shrug. “She seems kind of…”

“Cold?” Will finishes.

“I was gonna go with reserved, but…” Lillie supplies.

“Yeah, well, you’re not wrong,” Will bites out.

“The staffer with her doesn’t seem that way, though,” Lillie says. She’s fishing, that much is clear, but Lillie’s just a date and he doesn’t owe her any explanations.

“She’s not,” he confirms. If his voice is sharp, definitely not inviting further speculation, that’s entirely intentional. But Lillie also doesn’t seem willing to let it go.

“Is she an ex or…?”

“No,” he replies, wholly unwilling to elaborate. “Did you want to dance?”

That serves as the distraction he’d intended. Lillie’s entire countenance shifts, brightening as he watches. “I’d love to,” she murmurs, letting him take her glass to place on the counter before leading her to the dance floor.

Growing up the nephew of Thea Queen-Harper means that Will has a more than passable dancing skill-set. Most of his earliest memories of his aunt involve stepping on her toes while she tried to teach him to waltz.

These days, that kind of nostalgia is tinged with just a bit of pain. In spite of the distance between Will and his grandmother, he’s always had a fairly good relationship with his aunt and her dancing days are most definitely behind her now. She’s never been well, not the entire time he’s known her, but her condition has steadily worsened these past few years. His dad won’t talk about it, won’t even acknowledge it, but her deterioration is clear to anyone who stops to look. And Will privately thinks it won’t be too terribly long before they all have no choice but to face it.

Not right now, though.

Right now he has a beautiful girl in his arms who wants to dance.

He twirls Lillie a bit before pulling her in and she laughs delightedly. It’s easy to make her happy, easy to earn a smile and a laugh and a kiss. He likes that about her… most of the time. There’s nothing wrong with simple.

Will doesn’t think about much as they dance, just enjoys the feel of her dress beneath his palms and the way her body brushes against his. Maybe he shows off a bit, spins her about just because he can. He likes being charming, likes the way it makes girls smile at him like he’s special, even if it’s all so much more surface level than any of them seem to want to admit.

“You’re awfully good at this,” she tells him as the song changes and he doesn’t miss a beat. It’s slower and Lillie moves closer, draping her arms around his neck, her fingers toying with the end of his hair. It’s nice, comfortable.

“Prerequisite for being a Queen,” he informs her, looking past her to find his father watching him thoughtfully. It’s like he’s trying to figure something out, and Will’s pretty sure he doesn’t like that idea. The look doesn’t last long, though, because Felicity grabs his arm excitedly and points toward another spot on the dance floor with a tremendous, emotional smile. Both Will and his father follow her line of sight to find Nate asking Ellie to dance. It’s the cutest damned thing Will’s ever seen and he grins and shakes his head as his little brother does a very crisp bow and takes his sister’s hand, just like they’d done as small kids under Aunt Thea’s instructions. Ellie, all of seventeen and never comfortable dancing, rolls her eyes and accepts the invitation.

“Is that your little brother?” Lillie asks, taking in the scene.

“Yeah,” Will says. “He’s a good kid.” Too good, maybe. Will sort of wishes he’d get in a little trouble now and then. That much good behavior can’t be healthy.

“They’re cute,” Lillie proclaims. “I can’t imagine my brother asking me or my sister to dance when we were that age.”

“They’re the best,” he agrees. And they really are. Jules and Ellie and Nate and Beth. They’re the most meaningful parts of his life. Taking care of Bethy and worrying over Ellie’s dedication to joining their dad on his crusade, helping Nate remember that he really is just a kid and being an active part of Jules’ life as she takes one big step into adulthood after another… he thinks these may be the most important things he’ll ever do.

“He’s so proper,” Lillie says with a little laugh. He is. It’s true. Nate is painfully square shouldered and moves stiffly.

“Okay, so some of us got those genes passed along better than others,” Will admits.

“We should switch with them,” Lillie says, looking up at him, clearly pleased with her suggestion. “He’d probably like that, right? Having someone to dance with other than his sister? It’s not like there’s anyone near his age here.”

“I think he would,” WIll agrees. Truth be told, he’d sort of like to dance with Ellie, too. He hasn’t even said hi to her tonight. “You sure you’re okay with that?”

“Dancing with a nervous middle schooler with sweaty palms who might step on my feet?” Lillie laughs. “It’s been a while, but I’m pretty sure I remember how to do that.”

“You’re pretty great, you know that?” he asks her as he maneuvers them across the dance floor in Nate and Ellie’s general direction.

“I try,” she grins. “Besides, I have a soft spot for kids.”

This is the third time in as many weeks that she’s made some kind of statement to that effect and Will finds himself forcing the smile on his face to stay in place. Because that’s a sign. It’s a warning signal he’s well-attuned to at this point, an alarm that tells him this relationship is nearing its expiration date. Maybe he’s wrong this time, though. Maybe she’s just a nurse who would prefer working in pediatrics and wants to be nice to his little brother. He’s gonna cling to that notion for the time being, anyhow.

“Excuse me,” Lillie says, tapping Nate on the shoulder once they’re within arm’s reach.

Nate jumps about a mile.

“Hi,” he squeaks. The poor kid’s voice breaks on a dime these days and he’s so damned embarrassed by it. “Hi,” he repeats a little clearer. He’s blushing tremendously, though, which is… intriguing. Is that because of Lillie? Is he actually paying attention to a woman with interest?

“I thought you might like to switch partners, dance with me for a bit,” Lillie tells him. Her voice is sweet and a bit flirty. “How about it?”

Nate swallows hard, his Adam’s Apple bobbing visibly as he turns absolutely fire engine red. His eyes going huge as they dart nervously to Will. It’s so funny that Will has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“You, uh… you don’t mind?” Nate asks.

The Will keeps a straight face is a minor miracle. Does he mind his thirteen year old baby brother dancing with his not-a-girlfriend date? No. Not even a little. Not even knowing with absolute certainty that Nate’s thoughts about the woman in question are definitely not the chaste sort. He’s thirteen. That’s sort of expected at this point and, really, thank God, because at least it’s something typical for a teenage boy. Nate’s half child, half businessman and nothing in between most of the time. But now… right now, he’s a gangly teenage boy trying really hard not to stare at his older brother’s date’s clingy dress.

“I’d appreciate it, actually,” Will tells him. “I’d like to dance with Ellie, but it would be rude to leave Lillie alone.” Again. Thankfully Lil has the grace not to point that out.

Ellie’s clearly pleased with this notion, letting go of Nate and sidling up next to Will. She’s sort of crazy cute. Her dress is bright and colorful, just like her. Whatever heartbreak she’d endured in getting turned down for a date tonight, it’s nowhere to be seen now. Will suspects that has more to do with Sara and her family showing up than it does any fading bruised feelings, but that’s a delicate thing to address with Ellie. She has always, always been in love with her best friend. He’s glad to hear that she’s moved on a little from that - that she’s at least shown an interest in another girl, even if it went poorly - but he’s also concerned that it’s all surface level.

Because he’s seen the way she lights up when Sara walks in the room. There’s no pretending that her feelings have waned at all for her best friend.

“I… would be honored,” Nate says finally, dipping his head a little in a respectful bow to Lillie as he offers her his hand.

“You Queen boys are so gallant,” Lillie smiles, taking his hand.

“I, uh… I might step on your toes more than my brother does,” Nate warns her nervously as he tries to sort out where exactly to put his hands. “He’s kind of better at this than I am.”

“Good!” Lillie says brightly, as she places his hands on her waist. “Then I get to help you practice. This’ll be fun.”

“That sounds… that sounds… really good,” Nate says, nodding nervously and licking his lips. “Nice. It sounds nice. You’re nice. And pretty. That dress is… very pretty. And so are you. In it.”

Oh god, the boy has no game whatsoever. Will just kind of blinks at him wondering how the hell he inherited exactly none of their father’s genes in this particular department. But Lillie, at least, takes it in stride. She plays it off like it’s cute and she’s flattered, which probably does wonders for Nate’s ego as they shuffle somewhat awkwardly away across the dance floor.

“He’s totally crushing on your girl, you know?” Ellie asks, taking hold of Will’s elbow.

“She’s not my girl,” Will counters with a huff.

“Well, whatever,” Ellie shrugs. “I mean, I can’t fault him exactly. She’s pretty smokin’ hot, but he might short circuit and overload from a hormone rush or something.”

“You think she’s hot?” Will asks, because his brain absolutely stopped there. He and Ellie don’t have this kind of conversation. As far he knows, Ellie doesn’t have this kind of conversation with anyone. She’s been pretty uncomfortable with discussing her sexuality.

Not now, though, and it throws Will for a loop when she blatantly looks Lillie up and down.

“Will, I’m pretty sure I’d think she was hot even if I was straight,” she says finally.

That’s… Okay, that’s something Will’s not sure how to process, but he’ll figure it out. This was always coming, but at the same time he has not one, but two of his siblings pretty blatantly checking out his date and he’s not sure what to do with that.

“Does it bother you?” Ellie asks. The nervousness he’d expected earlier has suddenly shifted to take over her face and he could absolute kick himself for not heading that off at the pass as much as he possibly could.

“Does it bother me that my two teenage siblings are both appreciating my date’s… assets?” he asks, putting her hands on his shoulders and resting his fingers against her waist. “A little. I mean, that’s kind of weird. But it’s actually sort of cool to have you talking to me about girls.”

“Yeah?” Ellie asks, scrunching up her nose. She could not be more adorable if she tried.

“Yeah,” he says as they fall into step with the beat of the music. “I want you to know you can come to me about anything. I’m always gonna be here for you, Ellie. Doesn’t matter if it’s about girls or your parents or school or masks. I love you, kid. And I know I don’t have any idea what you’re dealing with here. I’ve never walked in your shoes, but I get that it’s not easy. That just makes me want to be someone you can lean on more.”

“Oh…” Ellie says softly, a pleased little flush working its way across her cheeks.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Will asks, honestly concerned that maybe he’s given her the wrong signals somehow.

“No,” Ellie counters. “You’ve always been super cool about me being gay. You’re kinda super cool about everything, really. It’s just… it’s weird to talk about, you know?”

“Would’ve been weird hearing you say you thought a guy was smokin’ hot if you were straight too, you know,” Will points out. “I am your brother.”

“Fair enough,” Ellie laughs.

It’s quiet then for a second, but Will feels like he’s on to something and he’d be a fool to let that go.

“So… how’s school? Dad said there was a girl…” Will ventures. Ellie sighs heavily. “He also said not to bring it up, though. Did she turn out to be straight, or…?”

“What? No,” Ellie scoffs. “Why does everyone think the only reason two lesbians won’t date is that one of them is actually straight? My music teacher found out I was gay and immediately tried to give me her niece’s phone number. Because obviously since we’re both gay we must be a perfect couple? Come on… That’s just dumb.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Will acknowledges. “And your music teacher needs to learn boundaries. But I honestly can’t think of a reason anyone wouldn’t date you. You’re kind of incredible, Ellie. So that was sort of my only explanation.”

“That’s… flattering, Will, but no,” Ellie advises with a wince that can only be described as self-deprecating.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Will ventures.

“I joined this club at school, right?” Ellie asks. She’s visibly nervous about discussing this. “For queer kids. It’s good. I mean, it’s actually super helpful to be around other people like me who aren’t all asking if I maybe just haven’t met the right guy yet or something. I asked out this girl from the club. She’s cute and we get along, but…”

“But?” Will asks after she doesn’t finish.

“But she said she didn’t want to play runner up to my best friend, okay?” Ellie asks defensively with a sigh.

“Oh…” Will says, his heart falling a bit on Ellie’s behalf.

“Yeah,” Ellie agrees. “‘Oh’ is right. I mean… it’s not like she’s wrong, but it’s not something I can turn off, you know?”

“I know,” he agrees, his sympathy wholly heartfelt.

“How have you dealt with it?” she asks.

“What?” he asks, jarred slightly. He damned near tramples her toes when he misses a step.

“You date a lot. You’ve had to get over someone you couldn’t be with, right?” Ellie asks. She’s all innocence, entirely looking for guidance, but she has no idea what she’s asking. “You must have. How’d you do it?”

Entirely of their own volition, his eyes shoot past Ellie to where he knows Amelia is sitting. “I’m not the best person to ask that, Elle,” he tells her.

“Why not?” Ellie scoffs.

“Because there’s exactly two women who I’ve needed to get over,” Will informs her. “The first left me in college. I didn’t deal with it well.”

“And the other?” Ellie asks. “How’d you get over her?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” he say, turning back to her with a pained look. He can’t help it, but it’s strange to voice aloud. This is something he’s kept to himself for years. Every time he’s seen Amelia it’s like something in the core of his being screams to connect with her, to make this work. But that’s never materialized. It’s ironic, given how often he has no problem at all getting a date. But when it’s Amelia, when it matters… things just don’t seem to go his way.

“She’s here?” Ellie asks, looking around. Will knows she’ll find her. There’s only a handful of women in the direction he’d been glancing and Amelia is the only one anywhere near his age. But he’s still not really prepared for his sister to call him out about it. “The brunette with grandma? The tall one?” Ellie asks, craning her neck to look in a painfully obvious way.

“Would you stop staring?” Will asks, laughing nervously. “Yes, okay. Yes.”

“She’s looking,” Ellie says, smiling past him and giving a little wave to Amelia. Of course she does. Ellie hasn’t listened to him in the least. He can’t help following her gaze back to Amelia. She smiles back at Ellie before looking at him. Like before - like always - it’s painfully loaded. For a moment, he completely forgets where he is, that he’s dancing with Ellie, that anyone else is there. The room narrows down to the pull of her bright blue eyes and he fails to remember to breathe right up until Ellie mutters, “Holy shit, Will,” snapping his attention back to her.

He blinks hard, trying to clear the image of Amelia staring back at him that’s burned into the backs of his eyelids, and avoids Ellie’s gaze.

“Why the hell aren’t you here with her?” Ellie demands.

“Because we’re nothing,” Will tells her.

“Well, that’s bullshit,” Ellie says, calling him out. “Whatever that was I just saw was absolutely not ‘nothing.’”

“That’s all she’ll let it be,” Will says, feeling the truth of his own words weighing heavily on him.

“Have you asked her out?” Ellie asks.

“Yes,” Will tells her. “Three times in the past three years. She’s very nicely said no every time.”

“That was not the look of a woman who wanted to say no,” Ellie informs him, raising both of her eyebrows at him in challenge. “Have you asked lately?”

“She has a boyfriend, Ellie,” he informs her. “In Central City where she’s moving.”

“Well that’s just stupid!” Ellie declares. She’s thoroughly incensed on his behalf and it’s enough to make him smile, in spite of the conversation. It’s also a firm reminder that - Amelia or not - Will already has everything he needs. His family is the core of what’s important to him.

“I appreciate the loyalty,” Will tells her, tapping her affectionately on the tip of her nose. “But, her choices are her own business. It sounds like a good career move and maybe she’s really happy with this guy of hers. I don’t know. Just because I wish I could change things, doesn’t mean I get to.”

“It’s her loss,” Ellie sniffs, chin held high. “She could not possibly do better than you.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” he says, kissing her on the forehead. “For what it’s worth, I do get what it’s like wanting to be with someone you can’t have. I just can’t tell you how to get past it. Not yet.”

“I’ll give you some tips if I figure it out first,” Ellie sighs. He doesn’t have to look to know she’s watching Sara. “At least you know your girl is interested.”

“Is that better or worse?” Will asks with a dry laugh.

“I honestly don’t know,” Ellie tells him.

“Me either,” Will commiserates. “But you know what I do know?”

“What?” Ellie asks.

“That we’ll be just fine,” he tells her.

“And how do you know that?” Ellie questions.

“Because we have each other,” he points out. “That’s more important than anything else.”

“Yeah,” Ellie agrees with a lopsided grin before pressing up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Having each other is more important. Especially since it means we have someone to run interference for each other.”

“Ellie, what-” he starts as she steps back. She’s entirely mischief all of a sudden, a secret smile crinkling the edges of her eyes.

“Keep up,” she tells him, turning on her heel and heading over to her grandmother’s table. He’s surprised enough that he nearly trips over his own feet in an attempt to do just that. But the sight of his little sister making a bee-line for their grandmother - for Amelia - is more than enough to spur him to action.

That doesn’t mean he’s close enough to stop her, though.

“Hey!” Ellie says as she reaches the table. Will’s still a few feet behind but closes in quickly. “How’s it going, Grandma?”

“Fine, Ellie,” Moira Queen pronounces, folding her hands primly in front of herself. The look on her face is shrewd, like she’s fully aware her granddaughter is up to something. “You look lovely tonight... Hello, William.”

“Grandmother,” he greets with a tight smile.

“Did Grandpa Walter not come?” Ellie asks, looking around the room.

“No,” Moira counters. “He had business in London this week. It was unavoidable, I’m afraid.”

“Bummer,” Ellie says, nodding. “That’s too bad. I’m sure you’d rather be dancing with him.”

“Oh, child,” Moira chuckles. “My dancing days are all behind me. But that’s fine. I’m enjoying the gala all the same.”

“Sure, well, you’ve got company,” Ellie notes, sticking her hand out toward Amelia with a blinding grin. “Hi, I’m Ellie Queen.”

This was, of course, the entire point of Ellie coming over. She’d had no real desire to hang out with her grandmother and Will knows that. Moira probably does, too. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if Amelia did.

“Amelia Prescott,” the brunette counters, shaking Ellie’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you finally. I’ve heard a lot about you from your grandmother over the years.”

“Did you work for her?” Ellie asks. She’s all wide-eyed with fake innocence - like she doesn’t already know, like Nate wouldn’t have told her at some point.

“Yes,” Amelia confirms. She’s talking to Ellie, but she can’t keep her eyes off of Will.

“Oh, so that’s probably how you know Will then, too,” Ellie says, plopping down into the seat next to Amelia and resting her chin on her palm. “I bet you two would like to catch up. With Grandma retired now, it’s probably been awhile since you’ve seen each other.”

“Elizabeth,” Moira says sharply.

“It’s okay, Grandma,” Ellie says, smiling and literally batting her eyelashes at her grandmother. “I’ll keep you company while they go dance. I wanted to pick your brain, anyhow. What do you think of community college?”

Will tries not to laugh, but has to turn his head away instead. Ellie has every intention of going to Starling City University and he knows it. But their grandmother can be a tremendous snob and, somewhat predictably, she bristles at the notion of her granddaughter passing up a four-year university.

“You’ve already applied to SCU,” her grandmother notes sharply. “I thought this was settled, Elizabeth.” Her tone brokers no doubt that she believes it should be.

“Yeah,” Ellie sighs, “I know. But I’m just thinking about options. Maybe I’ll take a year off and travel first. What do you think of hostels, Grandma?” The tight look of annoyance on their grandmother’s face and the force with which she grits her teeth is the funniest thing Will Queen has seen in a very long time. “You two should go dance,” Ellie says abruptly, looking to Will and Amelia in turn. “This might take a while.”

“Elizabeth Dearden Queen,” Moira says in a low breath, shaking her head.

“It’s totally rude of me to drag her into this conversation,” Ellie notes, grinning toothily. No one there has any doubt whatsoever what she’s doing, but that doesn’t mean it’s not going to work.

“I did promise you a dance,” Will murmurs, offering his hand to Amelia. She only hesitates a second before placing her fingers in his.

“So, dance with me, Amelia?” he asks.

His voice is soft and heavy, his face utterly serious for once, and there’s no doubt that he’s asking for more than a dance, but he’ll take whatever she’s willing to give.

“For a song or two,” she agrees, letting him lead her to the dance floor as Ellie cuts off whatever her grandmother had been about to say. It all fades to background noise anyhow. Everything but Amelia melts away.

She’s tall enough that they’re near nose-to-nose when she wraps her arms around his neck. Her fingers rest just above the collar of his jacket and he has to bite back a moan at the shock of feeling that races across the skin of his neck at her touch.

“Amelia,” he breathes out. His voice is shaky as hell and she inhales sharply. He’s holding her closer than he should. It’s considerably more intimate than two acquaintances sharing a meaningless dance. His hand is splayed wide against the small of her back, keeping her close as her thumb strokes just beneath the hairline at the nape of his neck. Her chest brushes against the front of his tux with every uneven breath.

“I don’t know how you do this to me,” she says quietly after a moment. It sends a rush of excitement surging through his veins and he locks eyes with her to the exclusion of absolutely everything else in the room. “What do you want from me, Will?”

“You already know the answer to that,” he tells her. She does. That much is obvious when she licks her lips and looks down briefly, avoiding his gaze.

“We can’t work,” she says after a moment, looking back up at him. There’s no hiding the regret living in her eyes, though, and when he brings one hand up to stroke the side of her face, her eyes slam shut and she bites her lower lip in a failed attempt to keep in a moan.

It’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

“You know that’s not true,” he tells her, unwilling to let her hide behind that excuse. “That’s why you said I’m dangerous. Because we could work. Because we would.”

Her eyes practically beg him to let her keep her illusions. Bright blue and so pained, he has to imagine his look much the same. There’s a longing and a sense of desperation that live in her gaze and he knows it lives in his, too.

“I’m moving,” she reminds him. “I’m with someone.”

“You don’t have to be,” he points out. Her eyes go wide and he swears he can feel her pulse speed up. “Tell him you need space. Tell him you need a break to clear your head. Give this a chance. Give us a shot.”

“This… this is why you’re dangerous, Will,” she points out. Her voice trembles and that alone feels like a small victory.

“Because I want you and I’m not willing to hide it?” he asks.

“Because you make it sound so reasonable,” she corrects.

“It is reasonable,” he tells her. His nose brushes against hers and she melts a little further against him. Suddenly her hand is gripping against the collar of his jacket like she needs a hold on him to keep standing. “But reason has nothing to do with it. This is entirely feeling… Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t feel this, too. Tell me it’s just me.”

“I can’t,” Amelia admits. “You know I can’t. But that doesn’t make it right.”

“Every single thing about this is right,” he counters. “All of it.”

“I’m pretty sure Thad would disagree with you there,” Amelia points out.

“Thad?” he asks.

“Yes,” she agrees.

“Your boyfriend’s name is Thad?” He doesn’t even bother trying to sound respectful.

“It’s not like he picked it,” Amelia scoffs. She’s tensed a bit and he’s already regretting this entire line of conversation, but he’s also just a little too petty, just a little too juvenile to let it go.

“Still,” Will continues, pulling a face. “Who the hell names their kid Thad. The only one I’ve ever even heard of is Thad DeWolfe the Third from the state senate.”

“That… would be him,” Amelia says slowly.

For a moment, Will forgets that they’re supposed to be dancing. He just freezes in place, his arms around Amelia as her hands slip down to rest on his shoulders. They’re a more socially acceptable distance apart now and he hates it

“You’re dating Thad DeWolfe the Third?” Will asks blankly, because this just… this is all wrong.

“I usually just call him Thad,” Amelia replies dryly.

“He’s about to be Senate Majority Leader,” Will says. Like this is news to her, like he’s the one informing her of this fact.

“He is,” Amelia agrees.

“What the hell are you doing with Thad DeWolfe the Third?” he asks. He honestly can’t make sense of this.

“Would you stop calling him by his whole name?” Amelia asks testily.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice wholly devoid of any sort of inflection that might indicate he means it. “It’s just always how I’ve thought of him, on the rare occasion that I’ve thought of him.”

“He’s a good man,” Amelia says, sounding defensive and edgy. “We’ve been together almost a year. He’s ambitious and dedicated to his work-”

“Are you reciting his resume to me right now?” Will interrupts.

“He loves me,” Amelia says sharply. “Is that what you need to hear?”

“No,” Will tells her a bit more soberly. “No, because I don’t give a shit about Thad DeWolfe the Third and how he feels. I care about you. So you tell me, Amelia. Tell me that whatever you have with him is completely fulfilling, that it’s everything you want. Tell me it’s worth giving up exploring whatever this is between us.”

She doesn’t answer right away and he knows he’s got a shot.

“When you dance with him, do you hold on like you’re afraid he’ll let you go? Or is that just with me?”

“Don’t do this,” she says.

It doesn’t escape him that it’s not an answer.

“I think that what you have with him is fine. I think it’s completely… unobjectionable,” Will tells her. If her eyes water a bit at his words and she flinches slightly, he’s equal parts sorry for that and happy about it. “I think it’s ordinary. And I think you deserve better than that.”

She starts to pull away at that, but he holds her closer and she gives in almost immediately, gripping the shoulders of his suit jacket instead.

But her words don’t hold on like the rest of her does.

“I’m not the risk-taker that you are, Will.” She sounds almost mournful about it. “I know what I want from my life. I know who am I and where I’m going.”

“And I don’t fit in your five-year-plan?” Will asks.

“You’ve never fit in my plans,” she replies. “That’s always been the problem. You’re… you’re wild and playful and gorgeous and unexpected. I’m a practical person. I don’t make decisions based on emotion. I don’t choose things just because I want them.”

“Then you’ll never get what you want,” Will notes astutely. “Playing it safe is simple. It’s easy. But you’re going to miss out on so much that way.”

Her eyes practically caress his face as she slips one hand up the side of his neck to cup his face. Her thumb traces the back edge of jaw and his eyes slam shut instinctively, the feel of her fingers against him overwhelming his senses entirely. He’s so very weak where she’s concerned.

“I wish I were like you,” she whispers. “I wish I could just… do things on a whim. I wish I were spontaneous. But I’m not.”

She goes to let go of his face and knows immediately that that’s not the only thing she’s letting go of. His reaction is more instinct than anything else, one of his hands lets go of her waist to hold her fingers against his cheek.

“Not yet,” he requests. “Just… dance with me another song. Just a little longer.”

Pretending this is more, that it’s going anywhere, is utterly foolhardy at this point. He knows full well that she wants it to as much as he does, but he also knows she’s not going to allow that to happen. Still… he can’t help wanting to make the moment last, wanting to savor the illusion that this is more than just a moment, more than just a dance.

Because, God, it could be so much more.

Her hand relaxes under his and he feels like he can breathe again.

“One more song,” she agrees. He lets go of her fingers and they settle back against his neck as his hand falls to her waist. If he’s holding her closer than he should, he tries not to think about the fact that it’s probably the only time he ever will and he doesn’t give a damn that anyone else is there to see it.

It’s addictive, pretending that this thing between them is more than it really is. But, he’s pretty sure he’s not the only one living the lie at the moment, when she dips her head so that it’s nearly resting on his shoulder and her fingers feather through the hair at the nape of his neck. A sigh of utter contentment rushes across the skin of his neck and he shudders at the rightness of it all.

He could get used to this so very easily. He could start to need it, if he wasn’t careful.

Will has never been in love, not really, but he can’t help but wonder if this is what it feels like.

That thought slices through him with something close to fear, because he can’t allow that. He can’t fall in love with anyone, but definitely not with Amelia… Amelia who is moving to Central City, Amelia who’s going back to her boyfriend with the big important job, Amelia who might as well run off leaving a glass slipper behind when the night ends. He has to force some kind of normalcy into this moment, for the sake of his own self preservation, if nothing else.

“Did you see the guy by the bar?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“Hm?” Amelia asks, tilting her head up to look at him. Her eyes are all glazed and dreamy and his resolve falters for a second. But only for a second.

“The assassin,” he says, with a little head tilt. “He keeps adjusting his belt buckle because he’s got a poisoned dart in it. He was hired to go after the guy near that potted plant in the corner. He’s an inventor whose work was stolen by a secret government agency and they’re looking to take him out before he goes public about the theft.”

“Oh,” Amelia says, her eyes going wide and a smile gracing her lips as she takes in the scene with excited eyes, picking up easily on his little game. “That would be interesting, but you’re wrong.”

“Am I?” Will asks in blatant amusement. “What is it you see, then?”

“Well, he’s Bratva, of course,” Amelia muses, cocking her head to the side as she watches the man at the bar.

“Is he?” Will asks. He can’t possibly hope to contain the grin on his face as she plays along. And, God, she does it so well. “How do you figure that?”

“He’s very Russian,” Amelia confides. “And he keeps scratching at his arm. Don’t they have tattoos? It’s fresh. He’s new to the family.”

“The brotherhood,” Will corrects as he beams at her. “And the tattoos usually go on their chests, but maybe he’s got too much scar tissue for that so they had to put it elsewhere.”

“Sure,” Amelia agrees. “That’s how he got in. He proved himself after being kidnapped by the Irish mob. He didn’t talk even after they tortured him for days.”

“So, why’s he after the guy in the corner?” Will asks. He feels like he could live off of the sight of her delighted face alone.

“That’s the Arrow,” Amelia tells him with tremendous certainty. Will barks out a laugh in reply. “The mobster figured out his secret identity and now he’s resolved to take him out when he’s unawares, make a name for himself in the Bratva and move up the ranks that way. Of course, it helps that he’s secretly having an affair with the Arrow’s lover. So, he has extra motivation to get him out of the way.”

“Isn’t he a bit… portly to be the Arrow?” Will asks, glancing at the guy who he’s pretty sure is actually the new district attorney. He’s probably in his mid-sixties, balding and looks like he never met a donut he didn’t like. He could not look less like Will’s dad if he tried and he’s sort of wondering how Amelia’s going to rationalize the discrepancy away.

“Well it wouldn’t be a very good disguise if he was an absurdly buff guy in his 40s, would it?” Amelia scoffs. “Really, Will. Secret identities only work if you can’t figure them out.”

His heart utterly flips in his chest at her words. He really had thought he couldn’t be entranced by her more.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes out without even thinking about it. “You’re just… I wish I could kiss you right now.”

All traces of playfulness are gone when she looks back at him with those wide blue eyes that feel like they can make him melt under the strength of their gaze.

“Part of me wishes you could, too,” she admits quietly. “But we can’t, Will. I won’t.”

“I know,” he agrees softly as he forces himself to let her go. The song’s changing and if he doesn’t walk away from her now, he’s not sure he ever will. “I know. But if things don’t work out… if you ever change your mind or want to try being spontaneous and irrational….”

“I know where to find you,” she agrees, stepping back. “I wish I could say that would happen. I wish…”

“Me too,” Will says, cutting her off. Because the specifics don’t matter. He wishes it all the same.

“Maybe in our next lives,” she offers with a thin smile. “Maybe that’ll be our second chance.”

“Maybe,” he agrees. “Or maybe that’s what this was.”

“Yeah…” she says, her face falling. “I’m gonna go. I think… I think I have to leave.”

“If that’s what you need,” he replies.

“It is,” she confirms. “But I… I hope you…”

“Don’t,” Will cuts her off, pausing to clear his throat. It’s a cover for how brutally her words are hitting him, but it’s not a very good one. “Don’t say goodbye. Don’t wish me well and tell me you hope I find someone and have a happy life. I can’t take that. Not from you.”

“Okay,” she says dimly. “Then I’ll just say ‘until next time, Will Queen.’”

“Until next time,” he echoes.

For a second, he thinks she’s going to kiss him on the cheek, but in the end she just turns and walks away, arms wrapped around her middle like she’s trying to keep something in, like she’s physically holding herself together. He watches her go. To the table. To grab her purse. To make a hasty excuse to his grandmother. To the door to leave.

All without looking back at him. It hurts so much more than it should, leaves him hollowed and heartsick. He wants… he wants to run after her, wants to grab her wrist and pull her in, kiss her beneath the streetlight with so much feeling that it makes her knees give out and her resolve crumble. He wants it so much that his fingers ache for the feel of her skin and his body seems cold without the heat of her pressed against him. But what she wants matters more and he’ll respect her choice even if it’s quietly killing him.

That doesn’t mean it’s not the only thing he can think about, though, and he’s so caught up in his own longing that he misses the person joining him at his side.

“So,” a familiar voice says. “I’m thinking I ran into you with the wrong date.” Will jolts, glancing down to find his Aunt Thea has wheeled up to his side. The look on her face is more curious and more insightful than he’s ready for. “Why, exactly, aren’t you going after that girl?”

“She doesn’t want me to,” Will advises, feeling the truth of those words keenly.

“That was not the look of a woman who wanted to be let go,” Thea informs him. She says it slowly, like she’s talking to a small child who might not quite understand what she’s saying.

Normally, Will adores his Aunt Thea. She’s fun and sassy. Their senses of humor line up more often than not. But right now… right now nothing seems very funny.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Thea, I just need a minute,” he apologizes. He slips his fists into his pant pockets and looks back to the door Amelia disappeared through. Could he still catch her? Is she in a cab yet? If he hurried, would there be a chance?

“Will…” Thea ventures. He can practically hear her attention honing in on him more and his eyes slam shut as his brow furrows because he can’t handle this right now. “What ha-”

“Thea.”

Will’s never been quite so glad to hear his dad’s voice before.

“Hey, Ollie,” she replies.

“Roy was looking for you,” he informs her. “He was chatting with the executive director for Starling City Children’s Care and they had some ideas about how the Queen Foundation could partner with them on a new project.”

“Where?” Thea asks immediately, snapping to attention. The Foundation is her baby, her legacy. It has been for the last decade. Privately, Will thinks it’s her drive to keep making a difference that keeps her going these days, and SCCC is one of her very favorite organizations to work with.

His father’s words are probably true, but Will knows the reason he came over when he did was to give him an escape route. And, if he hadn’t known that before, he would have the moment his dad looks at him with a sad, sympathetic smile.

Honestly, Will’s so grateful to his dad right now that it’s kind of astounding. But he still can’t force more than the thinnest smile possible in return as his father leads Thea across the room.

Any attempt at pretenses falls away as they leave and Will finds himself heading toward an empty space at the bar without even thinking about it.

“Whisky neat, please,” he calls out to the bartender.

“Make that two,” his stepmother says, hopping up onto the stool next to him without so much as a ‘hello.’

Half of him wants to ask her to please leave him alone, but the rest of him knows that nothing helps a bruised heart quite like a mom and Felicity’s the closest thing he has left. So, in the end, he says nothing. At least, not until after he has his drink in hand and takes a healthy swig. His stepmom follows suit, coughing violently and her eyes watering up as she tries to copy him. Red wine aside, she’s never been much of a drinker.

“Can she get a glass of water too, please?” Will asks the bartender.

“Thanks,” Felicity says, putting her glass down.

“No problem,” Will tells her as she takes the water from the bartender and sips some. “So… are you here because you had a sudden, newfound desire for whisky, or…?”

“I’m here because your thirteen-year-old brother is a surprising choice for a wingman,” Felicity tells him. Her gaze is as sharp as her words and he finds himself wincing under the piercing nature of both. “You’re lucky he’s taller than your date. I think she missed most of that dance, but your brother’s pretty pissed off on her behalf.”

“Where is he?” Will asks, skimming the room. Upsetting his brother was not part of his plan… or wouldn’t have been, had he actually had one.

“Other side of the dance floor,” his stepmom tells him, nodding toward the far side of the room. “Lillie’s trying to teach him the chicken dance.”

Well that’s an image. Sure enough, his date is laughing and trying to encourage Nate to dance the most ridiculous moves in history along with her. Nate looks equal parts embarrassed and flattered by her continued attention. But Will also can’t kid himself that Nate’s gonna be happy with him. He won’t understand what happened. He can’t yet. He’s too young for that.

“It really wasn’t my intention,” Will tells his stepmother, as if that makes everything better. It doesn’t. He knows it. Intended or not, any fallout from this falls squarely on his shoulders.

“I know,” she agrees. “It just surprised me. That’s all… Not as much as finding out you’re in love with someone did, though.”

Will’s hand grips his glass so hard his fingers slip and he stares down at the amber liquid for a moment before looking back to Felicity. “You think I’m in love with her because we flirted and danced together?”

“No, Will,” she counters. She looks at him like she sees right through him, like she has him all figured out. Maybe she does. “I think you’re in love with her because you let her walk away even though it looked like she was taking a piece of you with her.” She stops a moment, but Will says nothing because it’s not like she’s wrong. “The last time a man looked at me like that, I married him.”

He breathes out, a slow, steady rush of air through thinned lips, because the thoughts that statement gives him… He lets that slip away, doesn’t even think about it as he downs the rest of his glass, and he doesn’t look back at Felicity.

“You okay?” she asks softly.

“No,” he admits with painful candor. “I’m not.”

There’s really not much she can say to make him feel better, but the way she rubs his back helps a little. It reminds him of the time he was nine and caught pneumonia while his mom was on a business trip. Felicity had just taken over QI, but she still took the whole week off of work to feed him canned soup and let him sleep curled up on her lap.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she says, kissing his shoulder. “I wish I could fix things for you.”’

He hefts a huge sigh and wraps an arm around her. “Me, too,” he agrees. “It’ll be okay, though. I’ll be okay. I have you guys. That’s all I need.”

“If I’d known, I never would have pushed so hard with Lillie,” Felicity tells him. “I sort of thought it meant something that you’d brought her, even if Thea kind of forced your hand there.”

“She’s… Lillie’s nice,” Will says. “I like spending time with her.”

“But she’s not Amelia,” his stepmom notes.

“No,” he agrees distantly. “She’s not Amelia.”

“Does she know that?” Felicity asks.

“She should,” he replies, a little thrown by the question. “I’ve made it very clear that I’m not looking for more than casual.”

“Well… I mean, that’s a lie,” Felicity scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. She isn’t buying that for a moment. “Clearly. But I’m just saying, you bring a girl to a black tie event and introduce her to your whole family, she might start to get other ideas. It’s probably a good plan to make sure you’re still on the same page. Or, you know, now that you’re well aware you’re lying to yourself about not wanting a meaningful relationship, maybe it’s a good idea to give it a real shot and see where this thing with her goes.”

Her words surprise him and he finds himself looking back toward where Lillie has moved on to showing Nate how to do the Macarena. She’s sweet. She’s beautiful and sexy and smart. He has fun with her. But there’s nothing about their relationship that makes him long for more.

“I think it’s already gone everywhere it’s going,” he says. If he sounds a little sad about that, it’s because he is. It would be so much easier if he were just in love with Lillie. “That’s okay, though. Anything more right now would just feel…”

“Wrong?” Felicity asks. “Like a replacement for Amelia?”

“Something like that,” Will agrees. His chemistry with Amelia has been utterly off the charts from the very beginning. Will knows without a doubt that that kind of thing is rare and it can’t be forced. There’s no ‘replacing’ that and it would be unfair to Lillie to try.

“Okay,” his stepmother agrees easily. “But keep in mind Amelia isn’t the only woman in the world. You never know when the right woman is gonna walk into your life.”

‘She already did,’ sits on the tip of his tongue, but he just smiles back at her instead. The look on his face must telegraph his thoughts because the sympathy practically pours off of her as she slips off her barstool and kisses his cheek.

“You’re a good man, kiddo,” she tells him and he finds himself leaning into her touch.

“Well, you’re a good mom, Felicity,” he counters.

She pulls back in surprise. That’s not a thing he’s ever said to her before - not like that - and he’s clearly startled her.

“Will… sweetie, you had a mom,” she says. Her voice is cautious, guarded, but he’s got no questions in his mind about this and he’s at peace with what he meant. “Just because she’s gone doesn’t change that.”

“I know,” Will smiles. “I’m a lucky guy. I had two amazing moms. I didn’t tell one of them that frequently enough when I had the chance. I’m not gonna make that mistake again.”

Felicity hugs him so hard it feels like she’s crushing his lungs, but he welcomes it. He has always been incredibly aware of how lucky he is to have her in his life, to have all of his family. And losing his mom pulled that into sharp relief.

A few barstools away, Lillie eases onto a seat and smiles at him with a happy, breathless little grin. She’s been dancing for a while and it shows, her cheeks flushed and her skin a little dewy. Nate’s next to her, sipping on a coke, alternating between staring somewhat adoringly at Lillie and giving Will annoyed looks.

So… yeah, that’s gonna be a fun conversation later.

“Hey,” Will says. Felicity backs away slightly as he speaks, turning to follow his line of sight. “Looked like you two were having fun out there.”

“We were,” Lillie tells him brightly. “Did you have a good time dancing with your sister?”

“I… did,” he agrees slowly, having momentarily forgotten he’d even danced with Ellie. His gaze shifts over to Nate. “Thanks for filling in for me, Bud.”

Nate works his jaw back and forth tensely. There’s clearly something he wants to say, but his mother clears her throat and instead Nate grits out a tight, “Happy to. Lillie’s wonderful.”

The last part is said like a pointed reminder and Will gets the message loud and clear.

“She is,” he agrees. “Dance with me a bit more, Lil?”

“I think I have a few more trips around the dance floor left in me,” she says, slipping off the barstool and heading his way. Felicity steps away to make room for her and Will takes his date’s hand in his and leads her back out to the dance floor, pulling her into his arms and falling in step with the tune effortlessly.

It is painfully lacking something after having danced with Amelia, after having her cling to him as he relished the feel of her body pressed against his. But, it’s still a woman in his arms. There’s something comforting about that, the familiarity of it and he suddenly feels so very weak.

She’s nothing like Amelia, not in personality or physically, but when he closes his eyes and just holds onto her it feels like an echo of before. He tries to refocus on her, to pay attention to the moment, but his mind lingers in the recent past and he can’t help it.

They dance another half a dozen songs before leaving and when he takes Lillie home he tries so very hard to make it like it was a week ago, a month ago, even a few hours ago. He’s usually so good at this, at savoring the experience of being with any woman, but tonight he’s off his game and he knows it. He still slips the strap of her dress off slowly, still unhurriedly runs his lips along the slope of her shoulder. But instead of relishing the feel of her soft skin beneath his tongue, he thinks back to Amelia’s strapless dress and the smattering of freckles along her collarbone. Lillie can’t read his thoughts, of course, and she whimpers in a lovely way when he shuts his eyes against the imaginary image and pulls her back against him more tightly.

Sex with Lillie should help. He’d told himself it would, that the familiarity of it would click everything into place, that it would be an escape, but it doesn’t work out like that.

He tries, though.

She’s a beautiful picture. That much is undeniable. Her hair loose and one breast fully exposed, the dress half off as he kisses her neck and slips his hand between her thighs, the pair of them standing in front of a mirror in his bedroom. It’s gorgeous. She’s gorgeous. And he tries so very hard for that to mean something, or at least not to realize how much more it could mean.

The first time she comes, it’s around his fingers, knees shaking and body leaning back against him as she cries out his name. He hates that he wishes her voice were just a little lower, just a little rougher, that he wishes she were taller with darker hair, with bigger breasts and smaller hips. But, god help him, he does. He decides maybe he’s just not trying hard enough, that what he needs is to focus more or maybe to lose himself in her. After all, what he really wants isn’t an option, so he needs this, needs something to work, because the alternative is entirely too depressing to consider.

Eventually, he fucks her from behind while she’s on her hands and knees. He watches her breasts bouncing in the mirror with every thrust, her necklace swaying steadily between them. It’s erotic as hell and it should be intensely satisfying - it definitely seems to be for her - but for him it feels like a puzzle missing a piece. Her pleasure is still enjoyable to watch. The way she crests again and loses all sense of rhythm as her warm embrace clenches around him.

It’s only after she comes that second time that he really lets himself go. He is weak. He is so weak in this moment and when he closes his eyes and presses his face into the back of her neck, it’s a simple thing for his fantasies to take flight.

For one hot, blinding moment, it is absolutely not Lillie beneath him - not in his mind anyhow - and just the notion of that, just the hint of a fantasy of it, absolutely overwhelms him.

“Oh God,” he says. “Oh fuck.” It comes out more as a whimper than anything else. One of her hands laces its fingers with his against the edge of the mattress. His other hand grips her hip tightly as he pistons in and out of her with a fast-surging need.

It doesn’t take long for him to come, not with the images playing out in his head, not with the illusion that it’s Amelia beneath him instead. And, it’s easily the most powerful orgasm of his life thus far. His vision whites out and he damned near collapses atop Lillie. It feels like he comes for a solid minute, emptying himself into the condom with enough force that he’s both amazed and insanely grateful that the little sheath of plastic holds out.

It still takes a moment for him to gather himself together enough to pull back from Lillie. Partly because his body is so very spent and partly because looking at her will ruin his illusions and that means facing some rather harsh truths.

“You okay?” he asks when he finally slips out of her and leans back on his heels. “Sorry if I crushed you.”

“Maybe a little,” she admits, sitting up and turning to face him. “But that’s fine.”

She deserves so much better than this, he thinks.

He’s a little startled when his next thought is that so does he.

“This was great,” Lillie says, slipping off the bed and grabbing her dress. “But I think we need to call it.”

“Yeah,” Will agrees, resting his weight on his palms behind him. “You work tomorrow, right?”

“I do,” she says hesitantly, casting him a sideways glance as she pulls the dress over her head and makes a grab for her underwear. The look on her face is strange, though, and it takes him a moment for it to click what she’s really saying. “But that’s not what I meant.”

Oh.

Oh...

“You’re ending things,” he realizes aloud.

“I am,” she agrees, pausing to look at him. There are traces of regret and affection all over her face, which leaves him wondering why exactly she’s doing this. The confusion must show because she shakes her head a little and walks over to him, cupping his face. “Will, you are a wonderful guy and if you tell me anything about tonight was about me, I’ll stick around and we can see where this goes, but I think we both know it wasn’t.”

He swallows hard and says nothing, which is an answer unto itself.

“The problem is,” she starts, “if we keep doing this, I’m gonna fall in love with you. I can see it happening so easily. But I don’t think you can love me back. That’s okay. That wasn’t what this was ever supposed to be. But I’d rather cut ties now than go down that road when I know it’s leading nowhere.”

He nods, her hands still pressed against his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he tells her earnestly. “You’re right and you deserve better than what I can give you.”

“I know,” she smiles, kissing his forehead one last time before stepping back. “And I’ll find it. I’d say you will too, but I’m pretty sure you already have, even if you two aren’t on the same page yet.”

There’s no point in playing coy and he doesn’t try. They both know she’s talking about Amelia and he won’t do her the disservice of pretending she’s wrong.

“I don’t think we’ll get on the same page,” he replies. “She’s moving. She’s with someone else. It’s not… we’re not anything. We’ve never been anything.”

Lillie is maybe the worst person to talk to about this, but Will can’t help himself. But, she affirms herself as a wonderful person, someone he really wishes he could scrounge up deeper feelings for, when she winces sympathetically and says, “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pulling a pillow over his lap. He feels a little too exposed all of a sudden.

“Maybe it won’t be her then,” Lillie admits. “But it’s not gonna be me either. There are a lot of women out there, Will. And you’re a charming, handsome, wonderful man. I have no doubt that you’ll find someone to connect with that makes your head spin and lights up your whole life. But since that’s not me… I’m gonna head out.”

“Take care of yourself, Lillie,” he tells her.

“I will,” she smiles. “You, too. I’ll see you around, Will.”

With that, she turns and walks away, shoes in her hand and door clicking shut behind her as she goes. Will flops back against the bed and draws an arm across his face. There’s a sinking feeling in his gut and an ache of sorrow living in his chest, but it has nothing at all to do with the woman who just walked out of his life and everything to do with the one who’s refused to be a part of it.

He manages to make himself get up so he can clean off, busies himself with taking a quick shower and changing his sheets. But once he’s done, he just sits, just feels… empty. And he knows full well that he can’t fix it.

But that doesn’t mean there aren’t ways to fill the cracks.

He grabs his phone and pops off a few quick texts. He thanks Nate for being a stand-up guy and suggests they hang out next weekend. He apologizes to Jules for sort of going off the handle about her boyfriend and says if they want help apartment hunting, he knows a guy who can help. He reminds Ellie he loves her and swears he’ll be at her volleyball game this week. He wants to call Bethy, to hear her sweet, happy little voice, but it’s late and she’d be asleep by now. So, instead he sends a message to Felicity.

“You were right.”

He hesitates before sending it, but hits the button in spite of knowing it’s a questionable choice of words and he’ll probably regret it later.

“As much as I’m always a fan of hearing that, especially from one of my boys, I might need a little clarity on what I was right about this time,” comes back a moment later.

He swallows hard and stares at the phone in his hand. A lot of him doesn’t want to talk about it, but he’d been the one to bring it up, he’d been the one to start this, and a part of him needs to have this conversation.

“Amelia. How i feel abt her. How it felt when she walked away again.”

There’s no pause before he hits send this time because if he waits he probably won’t send it at all. Instead he just watches the screen of his phone, waiting for the reply that he knows is going to come.

“I know,” she says. “You okay? Did you want me to come over? Did you need your dad? Or maybe Jules?”

What he needs is Amelia. He needs to rewind his night - or maybe the last five years - to do it all again.

“No,” he counters, which sort of answers all of her questions at once. “It’s okay. Thank dad for distracting aunt thea for me, plz. I’ll call him tomorrow. Just… i don’t know what to do, felicity. Tell me what to do?”

God he feels like a kid again asking her that, like a little boy looking for guidance, but he’s lost right now and he doesn’t know which direction to go.

She types and deletes her response a few times and what eventually comes through surprises him.

“Let yourself love her, Will.”

He blinks at the phone and tries to figure out how to respond to that, but she’s not done and her next text comes through just a moment later.

“Not for her sake, for yours. Let yourself feel it, even when it sucks. Let it hurt. Let it be real. Love isn’t always easy, honey, and it doesn’t always last. But you can’t wish it away and pretending you don’t feel this way about her doesn’t do yourself any favors. It’s okay to feel it. It’s okay to mourn it. But don’t bury it.”

It’s a weighty piece of advice and Will reads it more than once before replying with “yeah.”

“If you need anything, call us,” Felicity replies. “Even if it’s just for me to bring over a good bottle of red, okay? No whisky though. I don’t know how you can drink that. Do you enjoy breathing fire? Did you not like having an esophagus?”

She’s trying to make him laugh and it works. He finds himself grinning and shaking his head at the phone.

“Ha ha,” he says. “UR hilarious.”

“I’m aware,” she replies. “Dinner tomorrow?”

“Is dad cooking or do i need to bring fire suppression gear?” he asks.

“Now who’s hilarious? Your dad’s cooking, clearly. I don’t need to remodel the kitchen.”

“I’ll be there,” he tells her. “Mind if i bring bethy?”

“Of course not. Is she still vetoing all orange colored foods?”

“Nah, now it’s red.”

“Ah, the joys of a pre-schooler… You’ll be okay, Will,” she says. “I know it might not seem that way right now, but you’ll be okay.”

And he will. He knows that.

He just also knows he could be so much better.

Thank you for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse, so go send some love to @so-caffeinated!

#olicity #ameliam #william queen #amelia prescott #ellie queen #nathaniel queen #felicity smoak #pieces of always #forever is composed of nows #ficon #arrow #fanfiction #my fics #my fics: cowritten #so-caffeinated #dust2dust34

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seafoam-blue · 7 years ago

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Receding Shores by OrcaWolfy

Story link.

Title (3.5/5)

I really, really like this title. The moment I saw your title on the form, I was so excited to read the story. It sounds sophisticated and elegant, yet mystifying and captivating. I have a thing for titles that have an allure of sophistication without revealing anything and I find that your title is exactly that. I think it has potential for a lot of different plots. I would definitely give the story a try if I were to browse around and find it by accident. However, even though it’s a good title to me, as of now, I feel like it has yet to relate to the plot of your story (other than the fact that the setting is mainly at a beach hence the word “shores”). I’m sure if the story was completed and if I knew exactly what the plot was going to be about, I could go more in depth about it. Since there are only five chapters published, I can’t say much about the relevance of the title to the story. A thought that the story will be giving some slices of angst in between romance came to my mind when I first looked at your title, although I’m still uncertain whether or not I was completely right since your story is still on-going and the tags only hint it to be a romance and friendship story that is fluffy and smutty. I believe that you have everything planned and organized, therefore I hope to see how you will develop the plot and relate it to the title.

Anyway, I also would like to mention that I LOVE your chapter titles. They are simple yet lovely and invoking to me. The titles are perfectly tied and connected to your chapters so I just had to give an extra point for that even though they aren’t really a ‘title’.

Description & Foreword (7/15)

First and foremost, this section will mainly be focused on the description as there isn’t much more than pictures of your characters and credits in the foreword. To be quite honest, the description is not something that would grip my interest. The reason for that is because, to me, the description is too plain and it didn’t spark my curiosity like how a description should when I first read it. I have to be honest that the one thing I like from your description is the simplicity of it. You phrased the whole sentence with the proper length and wording. Its short and blunt content reveals the main idea of the story without spoiling anything; that’s what I think you did a good job of. However, like I said earlier, the description is not entirely captivating. The impression that it first gave me failed to grip my interest or spark my curiosity to read your story. First impressions are really important. Your title gave me a good first impression but your description didn’t. Also, the description says, “Together, no competitions, just friends. Maybe lovers even.” From here we can assume that the story is going to be about the friendship and eventual romance between the members of BLACKPINK and 2NE1. I can see the relation between the description and your tags. However, even when the story seems to be about friendship and romance, I feel like the latter is more emphasized. There are already five chapters published but I barely see that friendship you meant in both your tags and description. I wish we could see more of the friendship stuff before jumping into the romance part. This might also have to do with the fact that your story is still in its early stages, so I hope there’s an improvement as the story progresses.

Then there’s the foreword where there isn’t anything else but pictures and some credits. I don’t mind them but I don’t think it is sufficient to not include something else in the foreword, like maybe, an excerpt from your story that can lure the readers in more. A description is supposed to attract readers, and the foreword is supposed to support the description. Both descriptions and forewords are there to capture people’s interest to read the story. When your foreword only consists of what you have right now, it doesn’t really reach its purpose of supporting your description. Please use the advantage of forewords to support your descriptions. Either an excerpt or a short preview. Even a simple quote that is relevant to the plot would be great.

Overall appearance (3/5)

I think the overall appearance of your story is nice. The font and size are just right, and the poster and background are really pretty. However, I have to admit that the poster and background lack some spark to them. They don’t really set off the mood and tone of the story well. From what I’ve gathered, the story is quite light and romantic with some depiction of drama in the plot. Unfortunately the poster and background do not portray that dramatic and liveliness ambience of your story. The colors are too gloomy for a story like yours. I did say that your title gave me an angsty vibe but after reading your story I don't think angst is part of your genre, yet both the poster and background appear angsty, which is why I find that they don’t fit your story at all. You did mention in the form that your story is slight angst but the colors of the poster are still a bit too dark even for a slight angst fic. Besides that, I’m also annoyed that the poster fails to portray your character personalities. Maybe because it’s hard to make a poster of eight characters and it’s easier to use pictures from official pictorials for a poster like this. However, I feel like it’d be a lot nicer if the character personalities are properly conveyed in the poster. In your story, the BLACKPINK members are mostly cheery and childlike while the 2NE1 members are mostly mature and sophisticated. I wish these traits could be seen in the poster because that’s what posters are for. In fact, the character layout portrays your characters and story better than the poster does (kudos to the designer). I know that you didn’t make your own poster so it’s really not your fault. If you’re willing to request for a new graphic, I suggest one that is mixed with a whole lot more light romance/drama qualities. The poster and background are nice to look at and very aesthetically pleasing but they don’t do your story justice so I’m really sorry if I’m being too critical right now.

I would also like to talk about the way you organized your foreword. I’m sorry but the way you put the pictures and credits look a bit chaotic. It’s not a problem if you view the story on computer but it looks crowded when you view the story via phone. I can see your effort in making your foreword look pretty, and it is, but try to make it look neat. Also, try to separate the character layout from the credits, maybe make a bigger spacing in between or just insert a horizontal line. Whatever that can make your foreword look cleaner and more legible.

Plot / Flow (10/20)

I think because the story only has five chapters right now, so obviously there isn’t much development to the plot yet. It’s nice that each of the chapter has something going on so that readers can actually have something to look forward to when they read your story. However, despite that factor, I have to say that from the beginning until the latest chapter, the plot idea has been extremely simple and isn’t quite engaging. I said this before but the story is quite light, and I meant that in a way that there isn’t anything exciting about the whole plot so far but at the same time nothing boring about it either. Maybe the reason why I find the story quite on the plain side is because the story itself is not the most realistic. I have a hard time understanding the characters and plotline. The situation in the story is very odd. Realistically, popular idols who are nationally known like BLACKPINK and 2NE1 have packed schedules and rarely have time to do other things regardless of whether they are promoting or not. If as described in the story, all the characters should be way too busy to have so much free time to go vacationing in Busan, and it also won’t be easy for them to go somewhere without the media not knowing about it. I’m not saying it’s entirely impossible for idols to go on a vacation freely but it’s highly unlikely. Plus, where are the managers? It doesn’t make sense that their managers are not with them even if they are on a break. It also makes no sense when none of the managers contacted the girls. This is one of the reasons why I prefer AUs because when it is the opposite, it’s hard to write realistic and believable situations unless you have worked in the industry or have done a lot of research to actually have knowledge about it.

Besides that, the flow of the story is pretty choppy. It's good that your story is starting to have a conflict because all stories require some kind of conflict, no matter whether it is a major conflict or a minor one. Conflict is arguably the most important element in making a story because without it your story will have no movement and no narrative drive. I can see that you know the importance of a conflict so you managed to create one that I believe happened in chapter 4. The conflict is fine but the problem I have with it is how unnatural and awkward it is included in the story. The conflict seems to be randomly thrown just for the sake of having one rather than part of an ulterior plan. It’s hard to grasp how quickly it went from Dara and CL to Dara and Jennie. The transition is just not natural. It is too abrupt and quite hard for me to digest what’s really going on. My main problem with it all is how it doesn’t flow well together. It lacks coherence. In my opinion, the plot is already enjoyable and satisfactory, but the structure and organization need some improvement. What you can do is elaborate and develop your plot in a cleaner and more orderly way before starting the conflict so that everything can actually flow well together. Consequently the overall flow and plot of your story will be better.

Writing style (11/15)

Your writing style is not complicated. It’s easy enough for readers to understand what is happening in your story. You keep your diction and syntax pretty simple and straight to the point. I love the simplicity and delicate tone of your writing because it suits well with the story. However, I just wish that you could be more descriptive in your writing. Different authors have different kinds of writing styles and I’m not asking you to change yours because it’s already fine and it has its good points, but I do hope that you can try to describe more about the things in your story. More often, your descriptions seem more factual and clear-cut, focusing more on the actions rather than the characters’ thoughts, settings, etc which sometimes can be hard for readers to connect to the story. I just think that it would be much more interesting if there were more details about the plot, settings and characters.

Anyway, I wouldn’t say I struggled reading your story but I certainly had a few difficulties. The reason for that is because I really hate the inclusion of romanized Korean words. I know that the story is revolving around Korean idols and of course we picture them to be speaking in Korean, but I find that if the story is written in English, it is best to keep all phrases and expressions in English (this does not include honorifics so -hyung, -unnie, -sunbaenim, etc are fine). Maybe it’s a pet peeve of mine but it makes the story feel awkward to read because you’re just randomly interjecting a Korean word into an English sentence and it just doesn’t fit there. Try saying something in English out loud and then add an “aigoo!” or "nae~" to the end or beginning of it; it seems so...weird. I also think that these romanized Korean words in an English story make everything look childish.

Other than that, this only happened in one chapter which is the first one but I still need point it out anyway because it’s a flaw that every author should avoid doing. Please do not change POVs like the way you did in chapter 1. When you want to write a story, one of the most important things to consider is the type of POV you’re going to use. I think you know that there are three types of POVs; first person, second person, and third person (omniscient & limited). These POVs are what going to narrate your story. Covering different POVs in a single story is always a poor decision. You must always stick to one POV. In chapter 1, you switched from third person (Jennie) to first person (Minzy), and I’m sorry but that’s just wrong. That’s not how narration works in a story. If you have so many characters that need to be covered, then it’s best to just stay in 3rd person like you have mostly done in the other chapters. This change of POV only happened in the first chapter so I hope you can quickly fix it and not repeat it in your future chapters.

Character development (8/20)

Before I go more in depth on this section I would like to applaud you for having the ability to write a story with eight characters. Characters play very important and essential roles in a story. When the story develops, the characters need to develop and grow as well. It’s really hard to develop so many characters at the same time especially when all your characters seem to be the major and central characters in your story. It takes a lot of work and effort to establish a good character development with more than one important characters, and in your case you’re working to establish character development with eight important characters. That’s really amazing. Not a lot of people can do that, even I do not dare to try it because it’s a big challenge in writing. I really admire your skill and courage to do so because it shows that you like writing and want to grow as a writer.

Alright. Now let’s talk about the characters. I have to be honest that the characterization is pretty weak. Your characters are not well-developed and that’s probably because you have only written five chapters, so the development of both BLACKPINK and 2NE1 are not yet well-constructed. Personally, I really have no emotional connection to any of the characters whatsoever. I cannot relate, connect to, or understand them. What you lack in your characterization is depth. There are obvious traits of your characters that I can spot like how I said earlier that BLACKPINK are mostly cheery and childlike while 2NE1 are mostly mature and sophisticated. Unfortunately, that’s just it. There aren’t any sides or layers to the characters besides what I just mentioned. These girls are all very important characters to your story since the plot itself revolves around them, but there isn’t much to the them as characters which makes them all two-dimensional. You don’t delve enough into their characteristics. They are also not all that realistic, like their reactions to things in their lives and their thought processes are not reasonable. Here is one example:

- Jennie and Dara. I can’t for the life of me understand how could they possibly sleep with each other. It’s true that Jennie’s relationship with Jisoo is still vague (although they do like each other), but Dara is obviously in an established relationship with CL. Also, despite the fact that Jennie and Jisoo’s relationship is still vague, they seem to share the understanding that if they are ever going to start a relationship, it’s definitely going to be with each other. Infidelity can happen but here’s the thing: before the smut happened, there was no indication that there was an attraction between Jennie and Dara. There was also no solid interaction between the two but suddenly they were both in their own private lodge having sex. It’s not realistic and it’s really an odd and abrupt characterization. I know that there’s an implication that Jennie and Dara were under the influence of alcohol but they didn’t seem to be intoxicated when they were doing it, thus it’s hard to think of what happened and their respective responses to it as believable.

There are other instances where your characters need more depth. This mostly has to do with the fact they are not fully developed yet so everything feels awkward to read, but it also has to do with how choppy your flow is. I’d suggest slowing the pace down a bit so you have time to develop your characters.

Language / Grammar (11/15)

Honestly I’m not going to dwell on grammar. I am no grammar Nazi. I wish I was at least an active reader for tenses and spelling but I’m not. I write instinctively, more so in reading, so truthfully I can’t really be as much as a grammar critic as I would like to be. I’m not sure if English is your first language, but you mentioned in the form that you’re fluent in English. I don’t see a problem with your grammar. Your tenses are consistent and there aren’t really any major grammatical errors that are worth mentioning.

The only thing I’d love to see more in this section is the use of imagery. I mentioned before that your diction and syntax are simple and straight to the point. Nothing wrong with that. Your vocabulary is also easy to understand. The language that you used suits your overall story really well. I do appreciate the simplicity of it. However, I also mentioned that it’d be great if you could write more details in your story, and the use of imagery can be really helpful in adding depth to your plot, settings and characters.

Personal enjoyment (3/5)

As a reader, I kind of enjoyed this story. I don’t know how many times I’ve said it but I loved the simplicity of the story. I thought it was nice and satisfying which makes it pleasant to read. I thought it was a decent read. Your plot and character development need a lot more work, but then again, the story is still on-going and there are so many possibilities that could happen in the future chapters. I’m pretty sure you have everything planned. I tried my best to focus on the things that you wanted me to. If you take into consideration of the things that I pointed out and suggested, your story could seriously be good. Judging by the comments, I can see that a lot of people love reading your story and honestly, that’s what really matters. This is quite a long review and I apologize. I tend to ramble sometimes and it’s something that I can’t help but doing when I’m reviewing or commenting. If you got any questions, feel free to ask. Thank you so much for requesting from me and sorry again for being so terribly slow.

Total score (56.5/100)

reviewed on 8/8/2017

#asianfanfics #aff #reviews #seafoam-blue

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