#and if they acknowledge anything before that it's a few british series

[weedle-testaburger]

I have a hot take that it sucks how a lot of people only value tv if it's trying to be like film

[disneyprincemuke]

is it killing you like it’s killing me?

alternatively: we haven’t spoken in almost a week (prev)

in which she and logan try to navigate the worst part about dating your literal coworker

(series masterlist)

logan sits in his seat, leaning forward to prop himself up on his elbow as he tries to type away on his phone in the least awkward way possible. he hears the heels clicking against the gravel first before he catches a whiff of a familiar floral scent.

he doesn't turn his head directly, just shifts his eyes to his side, watching his literal girlfriend walk right past him without even stopping by to greet him. he can almost make out the sound of her sweet voice amidst the noise around him, her shocking choice for a dark motif outfit contrasting against the pure white of the person next to her.

only then he realises that his girlfriend is quite literally walking around the paddocks with mercedes personnel. she engages in casual conversation with susie wolff every once in a while around the paddocks, but never has he seen her out and about with her. mick trails behind them, looking down at his phone as he matches their pace.

upon simply walking past the williams patio, mick looks up at the lack of the younger driver's acknowledgement of the guy in blue sitting very obviously in the white chair. mick cranes his neck back, shooting logan a questioning stare.

to which, logan only shrugs. mick is one of the few friends that she decided to tell; by that, he means that they got caught sneaking around the paddocks last year right by the haas racing home.

"still walked right past you?" a british accent makes logan tear his eyes off his girlfriend, meeting alex's brown eyes as he approaches the table. "how bad was the fight that you guys had?"

"pretty bad," logan mutters with a small smile, putting his phone down gently on the table. "did george tell you anything? did she tell them anything about the fight we had?"

alex frowns, shaking his head. logan came out and confessed that they, in fact, have been in a relationship for about two years. at first, alex was a bit appalled that logan was able to lie to him so fluently for the majority of the season.

after he processed his initial reaction, which only took about a minute or so, alex cheered and congratulated logan. as far as alex was concerned, it physically hurt to watch this young man be head over heels for someone he presumed to not be as interested in him as he is with her.

with his new-found knowledge of their involvement, alex went on a mission to pry george and lando - the people she's consistently stuck with all week - to try and figure out if she's said anything to them. or, has at least told them what's running through her mind.

alex did immediately run off. he was not glad to find out that his friends found out before him, but was very excited to share his new discovery.

he ran to the mercedes' racing home about an hour ago, squealing and giggling as he yanked george away from toto to talk. they were shortly joined by lando, spewing detailed accounts of the night he caught them in japan on a date.

then lando dropped his giggles, shaking his head at the assumption that their fight looked like it had gotten pretty bad. george then perks up, whispering very softly and incoherently about how bad it had seemed two nights ago during the opening ceremony rehearsal.

"they said she's been quite reserved since the first night," alex explains, lips pursed as he tries to remember everything that had nothing to do with the fact that he disappeared for a hot half hour because they derailed from the original topic of conversation.

alex found themselves talking about how they saw her crying in max's arm the other night, then concluding the conversation with what hair colour he should get next. "they said she's been with max a lot. hasn't even really talked to oscar, lando said."

logan scoffs, locking his jaw. he's not saying he's jealous of max verstappen, though it does seem to be that way to the naked eye.

okay so he's jealous of max verstappen. but in his defence, who wouldn't be? logan finds himself consistently at the back of the grid race after race, and there is his girlfriend sharing simple celebrations with the two-time world champion.

more often than not, on a race weekend, when she has to force a little distance from him to avoid partaking in the rumour mill, she's adopted by the older drivers to shower with information and a lot of love.

"yeah, she was walking with susie earlier," logan gestures at the long stretch ahead of them in the paddocks. "and she's wearing black."

"black?" alex repeats, raising an eyebrow. "like full black?" logan nods. "oh, you guys have got to talk soon. how long haven't you talked?"

"about a week."

"god," alex cries, rubbing his eyes. "okay, okay. we'll find a way to make you guys talk, okay?"

"how? she's been avoiding me all week. and i think this is something we need to come together on our own and figure out."

logan does have a big ego, but it all seems to fall apart when it comes to her. it's always been a topic for shits and giggles growing up though that seemed to change after they went on their first date.

almost immediately, everyone could tell how head over heels he was just for her.

"yeah, but neither of you is even trying?" alex points out, tilting his head and furrowing his eyebrows. "are you serious?"

"i can see how i worded that wrongly."

alex pushes his chair back, heading straight for the building behind them. "i will consult the madman. wait right here."

"whoa!" logan calls out, throwing his arms in the air. "you told your girlfriend that i have a girlfriend? dude, you were sworn to secrecy!"

"you're not as convincing as (y/n), from what i heard," alex purses his lips together, shaking his head. "and, lily knew before me, anyway. oscar's girlfriend whispered it in her ear when they went to the club last night when (y/n) refused to go out on the dance floor."

"fine. but come back with good news only."

"i'll try my best."

"it wasn't easy, i guess," toto shrugs, his office chair being manoeuvred around his small office by his feet planted against the floor. he stirs the coffee in his cup and looks at the girl curled into a ball in the chair on the other side of his table. "you need to put each other above the results of a weekend. you should not have let that get to you."

"but i guess it is kinda hard watching your girlfriend achieve the things you want to also be achieving," susie mutters, fingers pressed against her lips as she thinks.

for susie to know of her relationship with logan, you'd have to date back to over two years ago. susie had been fully vouching for her, trying to get her opportunities in a higher level to help her progress. so, of course, she had to excitedly tell susie about it.

if there was anyone who would be supportive, it's her. and susie didn't find a problem in their relationship, only claiming to tread carefully since they are always racing against one another.

susie is just more surprised that the difference in performance and the pressure of it all only just got to them now. racing alongside one another in f2 should have been the one that did it, but she guesses it's because they used to be a lot closer in the results back then.

"basically," toto sighs, blowing cold air into his cup of coffee. "put your relationship first if you want to make this last. and i know logan means a lot to you, so i am sure you will find a way around this."

"but why did it feel like it was my fault that he wasn't achieving the same things as me?" she sighs, throwing her head back into the wall with a soft thud. she looks at the ceiling of toto's office, knees to her chest as she hides away from the cameras and the prying questions of those who know of their relationship.

"you need to come together in the moments of hard times," toto mutters, shaking his head. "he's not doing well; you are doing well. find a middle ground."

"how am i supposed to do that, toto?" she yelps, melting into the seat, legs and arms spreading as she scratches the top of her head. "we literally just had the biggest fight of our relationship. two nights ago, i didn't even think there was no other way out of this but a breakup until max made me talk to susie."

the reason she's been following max instead of sebastian around all weekend is because she thought that he would be able to figure it out with her. alas, they were both stumped that night of the rehearsals, sipping on beer in a nearby bar.

she found herself hopeless, bracing herself to admit defeat to the pressures of dating someone within the sport. until max perked up after chugging half his glass of gin and tonic, eyes shimmering as the greatest idea he's had all night finally came to him.

"you know who i bet had to navigate a tricky situation?" max asked her, pointing a finger to her face knowingly. "susie and toto."

she hesitated, but max did make a compelling case. all he had to say was: "she used to race and he was an investor in the motorsport."

"i think," susie speaks, then pauses as she flutters her eyes to think for a moment, "that you're both great kids."

"thanks, that's exactly what my mum said," she answers flatly, unamused at the answer.

"so it might not be as difficult to resolve it," susie smiles. "i'm sure you can find a way."

"i'm here because i don't know a way," she repeats, throwing her arms around in the air. "you can't just say that to me and expect me to come up with a resolution instantly. i've avoided my boyfriend for almost a week because i thought there was only one solution!"

susie exchanges a smile with her husband, who is quietly giggling to himself at his table. then she looks at the young driver with a smile that emits less ridicule. "i can't do that for you. you have to figure it out with him; not us."

"are you saying i need to go and talk to him?" she frowns, folding her arms over her chest. "like i have to go up to him and talk to him? in person?"

"you can't do it over text message," toto frowns in confusion. he lifts his eyes to look at susie. "right?"

"she can," susie laughs, sitting on the armrest of his seat. she looks at the driver again. "but she shouldn't."

“handle this like an adult.”

“fine.”

logan was simply minding his own business in his driver's room when alex barged in (he's been doing that for the past week because he knows there's no possibility of a girl inside) and dragged him out.

he wasn't going to ask questions, he just followed alex blindly, dropping his head low in confusion.

right by the steps that lead into the william's racing home, their small group is huddled into a makeshift circle. they're leaned in with hushed whispers and excited giggles with lando even getting a bit loud with every couple of words he said.

she likes to call them the elite group that's somehow managed to find out about her and logan, though everyone argued with her that they didn't make much of an effort to really keep it under wraps.

"okay, so we came up with a plan," alex says, finally letting go of logan's sleeve.

max lifts his head, hands on his hips. "i wouldn't trust any plan you come up with."

"hey, i came up with that plan," lily.m scoffs, holding a hand against her chest. "excuse you."

"oh, then that's better," george agrees with a smile. "so what have you come up with?"

"really? you trust a plan that had alex's input on it?" lando cries, scratching his head. "you're gonna break them up! that's not the outcome we're trying to achieve, people! focus!"

"highly offended, actually," lily.m frowns. "like you can come up with a better plan."

alex waves his arms in the air in an attempt to hush the chatter that his friends are in. "no, listen! it's a good plan!"

"i also have a plan," mick speaks up, reaching his arm out into the middle of the circle to get their attention.

"i'd trust him more than whatever you two have come up with," max mutters, pointing at the couple accusingly.

logan actually appreciates the banter that's going on and it almost makes him forget the real reason they've all gathered here today. it's refreshing to be the one in the middle of older drivers' conversations.

this must be why his girlfriend has grown quite fond of them. but it's hard not to feel like an outsider.

"hey, we spent the better part of our alone time in my driver's room scheming!" alex defends himself, reaching out to push mick's arm away.

"hey, don't do that!" george laughs, smacking the back of alex's hand. "apologise!"

"guys," oscar finally speaks up. "i think we should address the problem at hand?"

"we will, but max says my plan would never work!" alex squeaks. "take that back!"

"i'm only speaking the truth!"

"but mate-"

"what are you guys doing?"

"hold on, (y/n), max is being- (y/n)!" alex screams just as everyone turns their head to find the smaller girl looking up at their group with a weird stare. she holds a pepsi tightly in her hands, pressing it against her chest as she takes an innocent sip.

logan feels his heart drop at the sight of his confused girlfriend standing there staring at them with wide eyes. but he also just feels an overwhelming surge of relief finally being this close to her again.

oscar is right: this is the longest they've gone without talking since they all met during karting. even his months-long trips back to florida never kept them apart from one another for this long. a couple days at best before they start falling back into old habits.

"we're having a," max trails, turning his head back to desperately search for somebody who can finish his sentence for him. "a..."

"we're discussing what to get for supper after the opening ceremony later," lily grins, elbowing oscar beside her to push him forward slightly.

oscar stumbles a step forward, clearing his throat as he meets his best friend's eyes. "yeah, we haven't found a place yet. we were just about to find you to ask you if you had any ideas!"

"and you're all going together?" she asks suspiciously, her eyes slowly scanning the participants of the circle. she momentarily meets logan's eyes before she settles for oscar's gaze again. "all of you?"

lando looks around, realising how weird their group has grown to be. he takes the initiative to answer her: "yeah. why not?"

she presses her lips together, moving her head to the side slightly to show him that she's not entirely buying the lie. "really?”

“yeah,” max nods excitedly. “we couldn’t find you so we discussed first.”

“but i’ve never seen you,” she points at oscar, then at logan, “and you hang out with george before.”

logan raises his eyebrows, taken aback by her sudden verbal acknowledgement of his presence. he shrugs, then turns his head to oscar for help.

“what, we can’t get to know each other over dinner?” george calls out with a scoff. “all this criticism — do you even know of a place we can go to to get some late-night food?”

“can it wait?” she asks sweetly with a small smile. “i kinda need to talk to logan alone.”

there’s a moment of silence.

“you’re making dinner plans without us, aren’t you,” mick jokes, furrowing his eyebrows at her. “why would you do that?”

she laughs, walking towards her boyfriend with a hand held out to his arm. “i just need to steal him for a little while — i promise we’ll head out to supper with you guys tonight.”

her hand lands on logan’s arm, wrapping itself around his arm. “we’ll catch you guys later?”

“okay,” max answers hesitantly. “don’t forget to think of where to eat.”

“max,” alex says through gritted teeth, hitting his shoulder.

“what?” max asks innocently, throwing his arms in the air as they start to pull away from the group.

she barely takes two steps away from them before she whispers to him, “can i talk to you for a bit?”

“yeah, of course,” logan nods, putting a hand on the small of her back. “your room?”

she nods with a small smile, then picks up her pace. she reaches back for his wrist, making him flinch at the first feel of her skin he’s gotten in the longest time. but he doesn't pull away, just lets the sliver of skin he can feel past the cuff of his fireproofs warm him up.

she rushes up the stairs leading up to the door of her racing home, head hung low as they navigate an all too familiar route. a route he hasn’t taken all week, but has been wanting to, and coward away from.

they’ve only got 15 minutes to figure this out in one sitting before it’s considered suspicious. they never stay in for too long to avoid suspicions within her team. just like a teenage couple would, they eventually keep the door open to prove that they're definitely not doing anything suspicious inside.

she greets her team principal with a small smile before she disappears into the stairs with logan still letting himself be dragged in by her. she makes a quick sharp turn into her room and closes the door behind her.

she faces the door, her heart racing in her chest and her hands start to sweat at the thought of confrontation over their intense fight. she came straight from toto's office and went to find logan, only to be told by james that he was dragged out by alex a few minutes prior.

she takes a deep breath and turns around and barely has the time to process just how much she's missed her boyfriend because she's being pulled into his arms in a tight hug.

"i'm sorry," logan mutters into her hair, his arms desperately clinging to her smaller frame.

she slowly lifts her arms, wrapping them around his torso to return the tight grip. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean what i said - i'm sorry."

"no, you're right. it's not my fault that i can't deliver for races. i shouldn't have taken it out on you," logan sighs, pulling away. "it's- oh, please don't cry."

"i'm sorry," she repeats, starting to heave heavily out of guilt. just the sheer thought that breaking up might have been the only way has been eating at her all day. "logan, i-"

"please don't cry," logan whispers, his lips pressing as a knot forms on his forehead. great. now they're both crying. his thumbs swipe over both her cheeks in an attempt to dry her tears but the new ones just keep undoing his efforts. "you can cry but don't make me cry. only one of us can cry at a time."

and then she couldn't hold it in anymore. she breaks into a louder cry. "i'm sorry i thought breaking up was the only way out of this. i'm sorry - i just didn't see how we could have moved past something as big as what we were fighting about. i love you, logan, but i didn't know what else i could do. i'm sorry."

suddenly it felt like someone had thrown a knife directly into his chest. the entire week, the thought that she might have considered breaking up with him came up many times. he was good at keeping those thoughts at bay, but hearing it directly from her lips just felt different.

it hurt differently when it came from the person you think is your soulmate.

"oh."

she stifled a sob when he straightened his back and dropped his hands from her cheeks. "i didn't know what to do. i'm sorry. i didn't know how long more we could go on walking on eggshells every race we would have. i hated hurting you like that every weekend. i hated seeing you force smiles, laughter and neverminds just to accommodate to me.

"i," she cuts herself off, forcing herself to swallow the sob that's bubbled up from the deepest part of her chest. she tries to blink her tears away, but it falls anyway. she turns away from him momentarily to wipe it away on the cuff of her fireproof. "i couldn't keep doing that to you."

"you," logan sighs, throwing his head back, palms covering his eyes. "you really think that i care about any of that? i contemplated; i told you, two years ago every single outcome our relationship could have on us! you knew this was bound to happen and now you're telling me you thought about ending it over this?"

"because i saw the way you would look at me every weekend! you didn't look at me the way you did in singapore when i was up on that podium when we were in bahrain at the start of the year. you can say you love me and that you're happy for me, but i can tell!"

"tell what?"

"i can tell that however much you loved me wasn't going to be enough for you to push away the growing feeling of-" she sighs, and tears her eyes away from him. she settles for the teddy bear sitting on her bean bag. she presses her lips together, jaw locking as she hates herself for what she's about to say. "of eventually hating me."

"why would you ever think that i could grow to hate you?" logan rubs his face roughly, then runs his hands through his hair. "i- god, i'm so in love with you! i was - i am - happy for you, but i could also see the pity in your eyes every weekend that i would finish behind you! you're sorry for me! i don't need that from you - everybody already always looks at me that way."

"because i know you on the track! i've raced against you my entire career - i know what you're capable of!"

"then why do you keep looking at me like i'm always just going to crash out every race?"

"i want to see you succeed! i hate seeing you like this! i hate having to go everywhere and watch and listen and look at people speaking about you like this! you're nothing like what they say!"

"i don't need your pity! i need you to be my girlfriend - i put you above what happens on a race weekend. if you succeed, then you succeed and then you can go and celebrate! but i never minimised any of your achievements just because my race went haywire. if i crash out and you've somehow managed to break a record, that's okay! it's doesn't fucking matter, because your achievements obviously mean the entire world more than that.

"stop trying to think of what i will feel when you succeed. i'm your boyfriend - i am always going to be happy for you. separate our results from our relationship. if you keep letting it get in the way, this will never work."

she straightens her back and snaps her head to him. "you want to break up with me?"

"no," logan sighs, shaking his head tiredly. he takes a step forward, her eyes dropping to his feet then lifting it to meet his eyes. "i don't want to break up with you, i'm just- i didn't speak to you very nicely before we left for vegas. i think i didn't word myself appropriately and i'm sorry."

"you were right about some points, honestly, it doesn't-"

"i didn't mean to blame you for the way i was feeling, and neither was it my intention to back you into a corner because i couldn't get a grip in an f1 car. it's not right."

"but, logan-"

"stop trying to take care of me and my feelings. i promise i always literally get over it when i see your team throwing you around when you make history."

"that's not fair," she says softly, leaning into his touch when he lifts his hand to cup her cheek. "you can feel feelings too. i don't want you to deprive yourself of that."

"i can be sad about it another day that doesn't interfere with you. it doesn't matter what i'm feeling retiring from a race when you never fail to deliver results."

"that doesn't solve my problem, logan. i don't want you to hate me."

"i'm never going to hate you," he laughs softly, throwing his arms around her for another embrace. "why would you ever think that?"

"because i've seen this happen to friends in the same field. one succeeds more than the other, and the latter can't cope. it almost always ends up falling apart."

"emphasis on 'friends'," logan smiles slightly, bending down to meet her at her height. "you're my girlfriend. we're always going to have to find ways around shit like this. we knew that when we started dating. right?"

"yeah? but it just doesn't sound like a solution i'll be okay with."

"i promise i'm trying to get better so i can redeem that one deal we made in bahrain at the start of the year."

"god, logan! you're disgusting!" her hand comes down to land a smack on his shoulder.

he bursts out laughing and leans down again to make their noses touch. "we're going to be okay."

"really?" she grins shyly, her hand resting above the back of his hand that's pressed up against her cheek. "you really think we'll be okay even if we're in f1 for the rest of our lives?"

"i know so. i know that because my mama didn't raise no quitter - i'm never leaving you."

"why'd you have to ruin it?"

"it was getting too sappy."

"maybe i preferred you guys when you were fighting," max scoffs, walking away from the seat he's just been evicted from. "you were able to act like two normal human beings."

"everything about this week is normal!" george cries, shaking his head. "she wore sunglasses indoors after making fun of me for it! how is that fair?"

"i literally told you i'm sitting next to logan," the younger driver states, glaring at max. "you went and sat next to him anyway. you did this to yourself."

"we're in america - it's called first come first serve."

"i literally don't think that's how it works," alex sighs, turning to look at max. "be better, max."

"trust me, i'm trying."

kidy/n

liked by logansargeant, blythe.yln and 73,482 others

kidy/n guys we’re still friends i promise i just can’t stand him when he makes me go fish with him because huh

view 13 comments…

comments on this post have been limited.

logansargeant no cuz why did u post this

logansargeant i thought you were joking

kidy/n learn to take me seriously every once in a while idk

oscarpiastri appropriate picture to end the us races imo

sebastianvettel ?

yukitsunoda0511 i’ll go fishing with u logan :/

lilyzneimer i’m going to have to disagree on this y/n

kidy/n please say jk right now i know you’re not defending this fish murderer

georgerussell63 hahahahahahahaha

kidy/n ?

williamsracing can we borrow these pics? asking for a friend

kidy/n merch with these photos?

williamsracing we’ll deliver it straight to your doorstep

logansargeant ???

@littlesatanicassholebitch @what-is-happening-helpp @myxticmoon @gentlyweeps-world @nerdfromanotherworld @n7ytiri @alliesreblogs

[procyonloser]

Adam wasn't certain when it happened, if it came from growing up in a devout family or not, or if something else sparked his imagination as a young boy, but from early on, he'd been obsessed with the idea of the biblical Adam. Of course other biblical figures stood out more, and most people viewed Adam and Eve as simply a cautionary tale, a Just So story - but not Adam.

He saw a wide world of untold stories, of suffering and hardship, of tests of faith, of love and loss, all in a world that had no other people to speak of. Adam was captivated by the concept, and maybe it was because of his namesake, but he felt a sort of kinship with the Adam figure. Responsibility and loneliness, but duty over all else, Adam sympathized with that.

He'd started drawing, just little doodles at first, that turned into comics. At first it just rehashed the story of Adam and Eve, but he started to embellish it, to bring more life to them, and eventually to imagine what their lives must have been like. It'd been a big hit at his private Christian highschool, but Adam didn't expect to make a living off of it. Still, he kept drawing into college, turning it into an episodic comic about the life of Adam.

He wasn't expecting a major Christian publisher to contact him when he was only 21.

Over the years, First Man grew in popularity, he'd even gained a good amount of followers from other religions and backgrounds. Adam of the comic was essentially an action hero, but with more heart - dealing with his flawed but devoted wife, the loss of his first two children, and surviving a world before the flood. It gave Adam the freedom to think up all sorts of demons and fallen angels for comic Adam to face. Comic Adam was tall, handsome, ripped, talented, perfect.

Adam stared into the cramped airplane mirror, scratching at the stubble on his chin. Adam was tall, sure, but he didn't think he was exactly handsome, more average in the face; he wasn't ripped, and didn't even think he had muscles under his stomach anymore, not after years of sitting at a desk drawing and doing nothing else.

He was far from perfect, and the stories were beginning to weigh on him. He'd just completed the most major arc in his entire comic, after over 7 years of writing, comic Adam had died an old man. While some thought that was the end of the series, Adam had a sequel planned, of Adam in heaven, an agent of God with the original angels.

But Adam needed a fucking break, he needed a vacation. It was tearing him up inside, he hadn't even believed in God in about 3 years, but fuck knows he hadn't told his publishers that. The longer he drew Adam, Adam began to feel less and less... Himself. It felt wrong, it wasn't just that he'd sacrificed his social life or chances at any relationships, it just felt more and more fake.

Adam dragged a hand down his face, before exiting the bathroom.

He dropped down into his aisle seat next to a mildly annoyed looking British women, that eyed him up and down. The bags under his eyes, his unkempt hair, the fact he was in sweatpants and flip-flops on a plane.

"You're flying into Ankara?" The woman asked after a long few minutes and Adam gave a grunt of acknowledgement.

"Then to Adiyaman." Adam said simply, knowing it would be quite the trek across Turkey.

"You may want to... at the very least, put on a proper pair of shoes." She said, and Adam rolled his eyes. It wasn't his first time here, though he'd never been outside of Istanbul before, but no one gave a shit what was on his feet. They were usually more astonished he was over 6'5 than anything.

"Eat a bag of dicks," Adam grumbled, before popping on his headphones, only briefly remembering the good Christian boy he'd been when he'd started his comic.

But it was at the heart of why he'd come here. To Turkey, to the Euphrates River in Adiyaman. Adam's fascination with biblical Adam, with Genesis, with Eden, never really went away, even as he grew more nihilistic and angry at the world. He'd dreamed about visiting here for years, because Adam, deep down, knew that this area was Eden. The whole of the area, from where the Euphrates began and ended in the ocean. The garden was only a piece of the much larger area of Eden, and he'd been waiting years to come here, to see it with his own eyes. To feel the history dripping out of every rock face and curve of the river.

This was where humanity began.

Adam handed his bags over to the clerk in the Ramada he was staying in, because of course they still had a Ramada in the middle of Turkey. Adiyaman so far was... It wasn't exactly small, but half of town seemed like it was in the process of being built, and the streets were lined with cars that looked old to Adam. But, it didn't matter, he wasn't there for that.

Adam sighed loudly, wanting to get up to his room to pass out in bed for maybe the next day. He'd pressed the elevator door close button, but at the last minute, pale fingers curled around the metal, and the doors slid back open, revealing a rather short man. He was wearing an interesting suit, and was at least a head shorter than Adam, but there was something about how he used the space around him that made Adam look him over cautiously.

"Going up?" The man said, with a half smile.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "... You American? Canadian?"

The man shrugged a shoulder, "something like that."

Adam had no idea what the fuck that meant. Why be cagey about that kind of question. It was a simple answer.

"What brings you back here, Adam?" The man askedv pleasantly enough, changing the subject.

"The Euphrates, the archaeology in general. It's a tax write off vacation for my work." Adam answered, not understanding why he was bothering to tell the guy all that.

It didn't sink in until after he got off on his floor, that the man knew his name.

And Adam had never been to Adiyaman before.

[3thirtyonethirtyone1]

Goddess

Enemies to Lovers- Jonathan Bailey x male reader

TW: swearing, horny thoughts (lmk if I missed one)

SUMMARY: Can a collab for a famous musical rebuild the bridge between Y/N and Jonathan?

——————————————————————————

A/N: Y/S/N= your stage name

H/C= hair colour

A/N: The song Y/N and Cynthia sing is Goddess by Laufey (it's soooo good)

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'Why was he at every premiere he was attending as well?'

'Why does he ignore him every time, like he didn't exist?'

'And why does he have to look so hot doing it?'

These are only a few of the many questions the british actor asked himself, the fate-who knows?- every time he saw him, Y/N L/N or Y/S/N, for fans or people he just met. God even his name is sexually appealing. Was there anything about this man that couldn't turn Jonathan on?

He tried to introduce himself, you know, like the friendly person he is and not with the intention of making out with him in the restroom. Absolutely not. He did that and when he saw the way his lips curled into that sincere smile, he didn't know what happened to him firstly, his heart melting or his dick beginning to harden.

However any miracle doesn't last for long. When he proposed for them to get to know each other (naked bodies) better, the musician simply refused, saying:

"I don't know what you thought of me, but I not fucking random actors at the MET just because they want a dick to suck." , as he fastly walked away from him.

From then on, Y/N's attitude towards Jonathan turned to 180°. If at the beginning, he could say the singer quite liked him, after the incident he acted like the actor didn't exist, only acknowledging his existence by throwing shade at him, in such a way he couldn't accuse him of anything. After all, the lyric "There's no accent you can sell me" could be addressed to anyone, right?

He stalked him tried to find some common aspects between the two of them, yet he found he had next to nothing in common with the artist. While Jonathan was brought up in England and has been supported throughout his career and regarding his sexuality by his family, Y/N was an all-American man, raised in the beautiful and conservative state of Texas, his parents never agreeing with both his sexual orientation and his musical career. Observing Y/N's background, Jonathan began to understand his reaction. He worked his ass off entire life, only to be seen just as a warm sex toy.

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Jonathan, however decided that he needed to drop the Y/N drama and focus on his career. He had to film two movies and a series at the same time and Y/N, no matter how often made his hearth skip a beat, shouldn't be his main concern.

This strategy turned out to be quite effective. His mind was a fortress who managed to keep out anything who revolved Y/N L/N. A thing about fortresses is that they happen to be broken into, sooner or later, after all even Troja was conquered by the Greeks.

The Trojan Horse is Jonathan's case was the song recording for Wicked 2. The tradition for the sequel of the famous music is that every cast should record two original songs. He suggested that Ariana Grande and him should record one, while Cynthia Erivo could either record one by herself. The actress who was supposed to create a song on her own asked the director, Jon M Chu , if she could bring an outsider. The director had asked her who this "outsider" was and when Cynthia had whispered in his ear:

"Y/S/N."

"You could do that?"

"Yeah. He owes me big time."

When Cynthia was asked who the surprise guest was, every time she'd say:

"Everything at the right time."

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Finally the day when they're supposed to record their original songs came. Jonathan dressed quite simply. It's not like he'd bump into anyone too important at the studio.

When he arrived there, right before opening the door of the recording room he heard a laugh. No, he heard the laugh. A laughter so crystal clear, so real, he couldn't confuse if 1000 people laughed before and after him.

"Hello everyone. I hope I'm not too late." , he said before landing his eyes on Y/N.

Great heavens! He was more handsome than the first time they met, if such a thing was possible. He was wearing round glasses that accentuated his masculine features. He grew his H/C hair a tad longer, resembling John Wick.

"You got 10 minutes early, actually." the director said. "You can warm up your voice if you haven't already".

"What is doing here? I thought it was Wicked: No Good, not Wicked: In the Hood." , Jonathan said as Cynthia and Ariana's eyes widened. He didn't know exactly why he said that. Out of all the people there, he knew his music was far from that; he couldn't decide if he liked his music so much because it was his work or if it was actually good. Patti LuPone said that he was "one of one" and that says everything you need to know.

"You've got some nerve for someone who's bottoming even when portrays straight men." , the singer snapped back at him.

'So that's the way to make him acknowledge me: by ripping him off. Interesting.' ,the british thought, then said:

"Says the former private escort."

"Says the guy-"

"Enough!" ,Jon said. "We all want to finish as quickly as possible. I'm sure you have other stuff going on besides this."

"I gotta go to record something for Lasso." ,Y/N chimed in.

"Lana's album?" , Ariana asked.

"Mhm" ,the singer responded.

"That's nice." , Jonathan said.

"Anyway, let's get to recording.", Y/N cut the conversation. "Let's see if I'm getting a second nomination to Oscar this year."

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The first duo to go was Jonathan and Ariana. Their song was good, don't get that wrong, but it seemed that Jonathan was out of the picture, both vocally and lyrically.

"He doesn't sing bad." ,Y/N stated.

"He's a semitone off key and we both know it" ,Cynthia countered him. "But for some reason you, out of all people, think he's singing correctly."

"I just feel so."

"You just feel so?!" , Cynthia questioned. "The most you said about my singing was a plain nice. And Jonny over there is not bad?! If you like him just say so."

"I don't like him..." ,Y/N said as Cynthia looked unfazed at him.

"Yes you are! That's the first sign of you thinking with your pants: you lying like a fourth grader. Lying me out of all people."

"Fine. I may like him, but no matter how good he looks, you know I won't date a homie hopper."

"He's changed. Trust me. He just got out of a pretty long relationship a few weeks ago." , Cynthia rebutted. "Whatever happened between you two then was an incident. You should give him a chance"

"Yeah, maybe I should." , answered Y/N before Ariana and Jonathan finished recording.

"How was it? You both enjoyed it?", Jonathan asked them, though looking only at Y/N.

"It was good. I liked it." ,the singer responded.

That second Jonathan thought he grew wings, however they were cut by Jon M Chu.

"Alright boys. Let's record the second song so that you two can look at each other like you were in a Hallmark movie in peace."

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'It was always like this... Could've predicted it'

"God, he is handsome, talented, humble, handsome, and an altruist. Did I mention handsome by any chance?"

From the beginning of the song until Cynthia's final part, everyone present there forgot to speak. They watched and listened intently to the performance displayed in front of them. A performance stemmed in talent, hard work and, most importantly, friendship.

"I know it's not the best song I could come up to in such short notice, so i used a song I wrote for my album. If you think it doesn't match the musical, I can change it or I can write on form scratch..." ,Y/N rambled.

'How can someone like him be so insecure about his work? He's won awards since he was 21 and he still belittles his own song.'

"Y/N, honey", Jon started "it's the best song I heard in my life, let alone the best song for a musical. The only thing that concerns me is how much I have to pay you." ,he chuckled in the end.

"Well" ,the musician said as he got out of the recording booth "If there's no need for me anymore, I have to go. Send the contract to my lawyer and if there's anything that I dislike, I'll let you know."

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They said their goodbyes and Y/N went to the spot he parked his car and just as he was about to start the engine, someone tapped on the window.

"Sorry I'm not into hookers. Try your luck with the next driver." ,Y/N said curtly.

"Can we talk?" , Jonathan wanted to know.

"Get in" ,Y/N told him as he opened the door of the passenger seat. "Where do you wanna go?"

"The airport, thank you."

The ride was smooth, from the perspective of traffic and the conversation between them, drifting from former projects to family. Just as they were about to drop Jonathan off, he said.

"Why do you dislike me so much, Y/N?"

"I don't dislike you." , Y/N answered.

"Really? Because you act like I'm not existing most of the time."

"I don't dislike you. I don't like the way you keep flirting every time with a different man and the way you stalked me, don't deny it because I know." ,Y/N stated. "Do you know what's funny? I like you, I really do, but the recklessly...horny way of yours is such a turn off I can't ignore."

"Wait!" ,Jonathan burst. "I know, I think with my pants, but if I change it, will you maybe...go on a date with me?"

"It's a pretty major change. What makes you think you'll make it?"

"You're the only motivation I need, darling."

"If that's the case" ,Y/N said as he scribbled something on your post it "Here you go. For motivation.No go before you'll lose your flight." Jonathan looked at the piece of paper and saw that it was Y/N's phone number, the one designated for friends and family.

"Thank you. I'll text you I promise."

"Wouldn't think otherwise."

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Jonathan to Ariana | Y/N to Cynthia

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The End

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Should I make a part 2?

[blurredcolour]

I Wish You Love | Part Two

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Lewis Nixon x Housemaid!Female Reader

A flurry of correspondence is exchanged between yourself and Lieutenant Nixon, unleashing an unexpected torrent of emotions inside of you.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Angst, Class Divide, Infidelity, Dishonesty, Language, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Reader's nationality is British and liberties have been taken in describing her background and family life for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. A good portion of this fic will be letter-based. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5051

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You were mending one of Miss Isobel’s blouses in the servant’s hall when Lieutenant Nixon’s reply arrived with the afternoon post. Mr. Atkinson, the butler, set it on at silver tray at your elbow and you nodded in acknowledgement.

“I’ll take it up when I dress her for dinner, thank you Mr. Atkinson.”

It was all you could do not to stare at it, struggling to maintain your focus on the task at hand lest you stick your finger with the needle and have to remove a blood stain from the white silk. The excitement was foolish, you knew. There was no need to feel such a thrill at his response other than the confirmation it brought of his continued survival. Yes, that must be it, you were simply glad to know he was alive and well enough to write back.

Finishing the last of your weak and bitter tea, grown cold while you worked, you stood to tend to Miss Isobel. Carrying the tray up the stairs, you ducked into the linen cupboard to slide the letter into the pocket of your dress, stashing the tray inside a pile of sheets before heading into her room. The envelope fairly burnt a hole in your skirt through the family’s dinner, and then later the staff’s, before you had a moment to yourself to tear into it while secreted away in your bedroom.

The giddy grin on your face should have registered as an early warning sign but your duties dictated that you immediately store the letter in a safe place before returning to see Miss Isobel undressed for bed. As you carefully brushed out her hair, you mulled over Lieutenant Nixon’s request for tactile objects. With the departure for Scotland not scheduled for another few days, perhaps there was something meaningful you could send him from Lydiard.

“You’re a tad distracted this evening.” Miss Isobel’s sharp voice cut through your thoughts, and you tensed, offering her an apologetic smile.

“Sorry Miss, lots to prepare for the trip that’s all. Is there anything else?”

She let out a dramatic sigh and shook her head. “Since you can’t save me from this wretched trek, no. That’ll be all.”

Excusing yourself with a curtsy you stepped out, closing the door behind you quietly before making your way downstairs to bed. The answer did not come to you until the next morning when you were out walking Dash, his usual route abbreviated by the necessity to pack and prepare, but your eyes fell upon one of the last remaining trees in bloom. Reaching up, you snapped off a sprig carefully, tucking it into your pocket before chasing after the dog as he decided to try moonlighting as a sheep herder. A large tuft of white fleece snagged on the hedge caught your eye once you had corralled the unruly Cavalier and you smiled brightly as you plucked it free.

Pressing the sprig of blossoms between two sheets of scrap paper, you tucked it into the middle of the copy of War and Peace you had borrowed from the Viscount’s library some months ago. Your progress had naturally been slow, given your limited amount of free time, but you were enjoying the story all the same. You had intended to write your reply to Lieutenant Nixon that evening but Miss Isobel, for all her complaints about being forced to journey to the ‘empty wastes of Scotland’ was as particular as ever about what she wanted to pack.

It was the same story the day after that, leaving you just enough time to throw together a bag for yourself. You would have to write him from the train, apparently, or perhaps Scotland itself.

Animals and children always seemed to feed off the energy around them and so, as you were desperately trying to rush Dash through one last walk before departure the next afternoon, the keyed-up dog decided to take a running leap into the lake in pursuit of a duck he’d seen limping along shore.

“Dash! Dash, come!” You cried after him sharply, but he chose not to listen as the water soaked into the layers of his coat, his legs slowing as the bird handily outswam him into deeper waters. “Dash!” Your tone took on a desperation before, seeing no alternative, you kicked off your shoes and waded in after him.

The lake wasn’t terribly cold, but it was by no means clean – inhabited as it was by all forms of waterfowl. You were lucky enough to know how to swim, though your heavy servant’s dress was by no means suited to the task. As the small dog’s head bobbed and disappeared under the water you kicked faster, quickly scooping him up into your arms and bringing him back to shore. Shaking in terror he burrowed into your elbow, and you went to kiss his head before wincing at the stink radiating from both of you. “You really outdid yourself this time, didn’t you Dash.”

There had been just enough time to bathe the dog and change your clothes, the reek of lake water still on you as you boarded the train. It ended up working in your favour, however, with the rest of the staff giving you a pair of seats to yourself and at last a chance to reply to Lieutenant Nixon.

Sealing it with your collected articles into the envelope, you wrote the return address of the estate of the Earl of Selkirk, the families first destination, on the back and allowed yourself a proper rest for the remainder of the train ride. Upon disembarking, your eyes scanned the station for a post box, and you nipped through the crowd to slide your letter through the slot before returning to your duties.

Scotland was another experience entirely, one where you were permitted to act solely as Miss Isobel’s lady’s maid rather than taking on housemaid duties, affording you more opportunities to read, write to your father and brother, and explore the countryside.

Certainly, you had jested to Lieutenant Nixon that it was a land of ‘mist and misery’ but in truth the landscape was awe-inspiring and filled with a rugged beauty. You had only ventured outside of Wiltshire once in your life, to accompany the family to London during the last summer season of 1939, so travel was still very much a novelty to you.

Miss Isobel managed to occupy herself, despite her earlier pessimism, with Lord Douglas-Hamilton’s son James who was convalescing after a rather terrible crash during flight training with the RAF. It was near the third week of July by the time you – no, Izzy – received a response from Lieutenant Nixon and this time you easily slipped away to your single bedroom to eagerly tear it open and read it straight away. The thrill of receiving it rivalled, if not outmatched, that you felt when mail arrived from your brother.

You could not help the fond grin that pulled at your lips at Lieutenant Nixon’s concern for your…the family’s… safety. It seemed the 101st Airborne no longer had need of the field hospital they had built in Lydiard Park and the British army was in the midst of renovating it to become a German prisoner of war hospital camp. All manner of fencing topped with barbed wire and watch towers were being installed to ensure the security of those within and without. There were naturally some misgivings, but the land had been requisitioned and therefore it was quite out of the Viscount’s hands.

Several soldiers were slated to be posted inside Lydiard house from October onwards as an added level of security, one that you had chosen to take heart in. All that aside, it wasn’t as though they were going to be keep healthy prisoners on the grounds – only the ill and injured, so that would give you all a fighting chance if it came to it. Nonetheless, you were very touched all the same by his concern.

It was hard to ignore, however, the flirtatious tone of his letter, a sharp pang of jealously striking you at descriptions of things he and Miss Isobel had undoubtedly gotten up to. You had, after all, fixed her hair for dinner afterwards. While Lieutenant Nixon bemoaned the near miss you were nothing but grateful. It would have been disastrous for Miss Isobel and him to come face-to-face now, what with letters sent in her name she had no knowledge of. Of course, that would eventually come to pass, but you were banking on more time to come up with a resolution to it all before then.

Feeling thoroughly batted about by the myriad of emotions summoned by this latest missive, you were somewhat relieved to tuck it away as the clock downstairs chimed. You hurried out to join the game keeper, Mr. O’Connell, on the walk he had invited you to join him on whilst he planned a stalking trip for the family tomorrow. You had yet to secure a piece of heather, as you had promised to do for Lieutenant Nixon, and with a letter awaiting a reply, you ought to get on it as soon as possible.

The move between the two estates was far more of an ordeal than it needed to be, with a great deal of the difficulty arising from Miss Isobel’s sulking at parting from James Douglas-Hamilton. Confident there would be someone to catch her wandering eye at the next locale, you did your best to coddle and encourage her, once again struggling to comprehend that you were the same age as the girl.

As the days of murdering small birds and large deer ticked by with no response from Lieutenant Nixon, you began to grow anxious. Did you perhaps slip up in your latest response? Put too much of your own character into it? Or maybe it was the touch of melancholy that had seeped into the ink at the end as you were signing off. You really ought to write in the sunshine, it tended to lend a happier tone to your letters.

Your mood was altogether too dependent on his correspondence. Correspondence that he was not even aware that he was having with you. The housemaid who stood in as a lady’s maid, pending the day when Miss Isobel would finally choose just one man to love for the rest of her life. Signing the name of your mistress whilst your words betrayed ever deepening feelings for an American Lieutenant who most likely had forgotten your name by now. At what point had this service you had begun doing for him become something of such meaning to you?

To your combined relief and frustration, it turned out that the entire village was experiencing a problem with the post, something that the Royal Mail assured the Viscount Falkland they were working on immediately, but it took several more weeks for his response to arrive, in an envelope from the Ritz, just as the family was being ushered into vehicles to drive to the station in mid-September.

You quickly slid it away in your pocket, thanking the footman who’d handed it to you, before loading Dash’s carrier into the footwell and jumping into the back of a car yourself. The train was cramped and hot, most likely overbooked judging by the crush of humanity at the end of the cars, and so you were forced to sit next to a stranger with Dash’s carrier perched on your knees.

You tore into the envelope savagely as though your actions might make up for the lost time while the post had been mishandled.

A future. A future that could never be yours. But one that sounded so sweet. Tears blurred your vision until you blinked them away, sighing softly as the train slowed and pulled onto a siding yet again. It felt like you had barely made any progress since leaving the station despite re-reading Lieutenant Nixon’s letter three times.

Your seatmate was slumped against the window, sleeping deeply, thankfully unaware of the tears that were rolling down your cheeks, fresh ones quickly replacing those which you furiously wiped away. This was not your story. Could never be your story, particularly not when it was all based upon a lie. How had he become so sweet and dear to you? Lieutenant Nixon was impossibly charming and witty, perhaps you really never stood a chance at remaining unattached. You should have never read his second letter.

The train cars jostled to a halt with a series of bangs, Dash shuffling restlessly in his carrier on your lap in response to being woken. “Sorry, boy.” You whispered quietly, sniffling a little as you tried to rein in your emotions.

However badly you had failed to keep your personal feelings separate on the matter, the man still certainly deserved a reply. With space so limited, you began by preparing the envelope, sliding your collected feathers inside, before taking a stab at the letter itself.

You pulled back your pen with a ruthless shake of your head, eyes once again growing damp. This letter was unusable. You had simply devolved into pouring your heart out onto the page. Gone were all traces of The Honourable Isobel St John. All that remained was a working-class girl from Swindon punching high above her weight. There was no way you could actually send it, but you had gotten off to a good start, so you could hopefully salvage portions of it. A savage yawn suddenly overtook you and you sighed, tucking the pages into the prepared envelope and setting it on top of Dash’s carrier.

Perhaps you would be better prepared to finish this Herculean task after a rest. As if to lend a helping hand, the train jerked back into motion, the forward progress along the track rocking you comfortingly in your seat as your eyelids began to droop heavily.

They did not open again until Miss Beauchamp squeezed your shoulder gently. “Wake up, we’ve arrived.” She hissed and you startled up in your seat, eyes searching frantically for the letter which you had carelessly left out in the open. “What the devil are you looking for?” She muttered impatiently, grabbing Dash’s carrier from your lap.

“There was a letter, I had a letter on top of the carrier…” You stuttered, still not quite awake but system also flooded with adrenaline.

“Oh yes, Miss Isobel’s letter. Mr. Stevens took it to post along with some letters the Viscount was working on, it’s all taken care of. Now come on before the train leaves.”

You stared at her, eyes wide with horror, rooted to the spot, until she physically grabbed you by the elbow. She hauled you through the car and off the train in time to see the ever-helpful valet sliding a stack of letters through the slot of the post box. Your blood pressure plummeted, knees beginning to buckle beneath you as black dots appeared in your vision. You were vaguely aware of Miss Beauchamp shouting your name in alarm as you staggered toward a nearby bench, barely maintaining your grip on consciousness through sheer force of will.

The rest of the staff jumped to all sorts of conclusions – you were overheated, overtired, overwrought. Perhaps you were coming down with something or had bad news regarding your brother. You were barely able to voice the words to assure them you were fine, and you could feel Miss Isobel’s scornful glare as all attention was directed on ushering you into one of the waiting cars to return you to Lydiard and up to your bed to rest.

The words in that letter had not been meant for consumption by anyone and now they were in the dutiful hands of the Royal Mail, making their way to Lieutenant Nixon. If only they could suddenly develop another postal delivery issue, but you had never been such a lucky person. Shock ran deep, immobilizing you in your bed, rendering you unable to eat, to cry, to see any solution to this mess you had made.

You should have never read his second letter.

--------------------------

Read Part Three

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24, @gretagerwigsmuse

[wayfinderships]

I have arrived at last to give you a brief attempt at a gush about Hea.thcl.iff--that fictional man is the love of my life, I swear--

I can't even really tell you what drew me to him? I had a few friends who had him on their crush list when the game first released, and I knew someone who liked him up until they saw his teaser trailer mention Ca.ther.ine ... then they dropped him immediately. I went into the game expecting to like Gr.egor or Meu.rsau.lt, but no ... Hea.thcl.iff completely took me by surprise--although I did read his source novel before the game dropped, and I had a moment where I thought, "I really hope this doesn't awaken anything in me," because I thought he'd be a platonic--as you can see from the state of my blog, that was absolutely not what happened. /lh

I know a lot of people perceive him as "dumb" and "violent," but if you read the story--yes, even the early chapters--that really isn't the case. In the first Ca.nto, he actually picks up on a scheme some enemies are hatching: to let the Sinners through and then immediately attack them when they come back around to the exit. And the one time in Ca.nto II where he seems like he's being a problem, he actually gets the enemy to break something valuable, allowing the Sinners to advance a bit easier. Also, in Ca.nto IV, the enemy actually acknowledges Hea.thcl.iff's words as being wise, to the point he makes a point of hoping to avoid choosing people for his little band based solely on their education--in the future, that is.

He's also such a sweetheart--in Ca.nto IV the Sinners took a heavy blow from an explosive, and even though Hea.thcl.iff was hurt, he was more worried about Don Qu.ixo.te ... he tells Da.nte to turn back the clock because "the blonde lass is dying"--not because he's hurt. He also expresses concern for Is.hma.el in that Ca.nto that I feel a lot of people overlook because of how often they're at each other's throats--and even in the more recent update he's been telling people to leave Don Qu.ixo.te be because ... she's just being herself and there's nothing they can do to change her.

I said above I read his book before the game released, and I do feel that was part of why I immediately liked him so much. He's been through so damn much--you've seen me talk about the racism he's dealt with in canon--and I want the best for him. And Sherry's the same way--I think it's amusing I created her before Limbus released, but she happens to also be from a British series ... it's as if she and Hea.thcl.iff were meant to be ... and if I hadn't fallen for Hea.thcl.iff, I wouldn't be friends with a good chunk of my current Li.mbus mutuals, either! He's just incredibly dear to me ... he's made my life so much better, and I just like to imagine a universe (or multiple) where Sherry does the same for him.

This is not brief, my goodness--you let me talk about this man and I won't shut up--

~ 🪻

Hiiii Sarah!! :D First off I just wanted to say I was smiling the whole time reading this-akgnskf I can just feel how much you love Hea.thcl.iff and it's so sweet <3 So fun how he took you by surprise and now he's the love of your life!!

He sounds like such a cool and amazing guy!🥺 Acjsnfksjfjd I want to be his friend maybe even sibling so hard now!!!

Also awwww! You two were certainly meant to be if you ask me! Anytime I see Heathcliff I immediately go "omg that's Sarah's beloved!!" I'm sure that you've made his life so much better, just as he's done for you! He loves you sooo much! And thank you for telling me about him! :>

[sleepless-in-southlands]

Little Light

Ao3

Summary: Luke's grievances with Mumbo's death games, Joe's definition of northerners, and Hermitcraft's climate. Content: Fluff, short & sweet; banter, friendship, any pronouns for joe hills, inspired by northern attitude, obligatory characters not CCs (except for luke, whose character Is a CC) Pairings: Luke Carder & Joe Hills, Lucky Jumbo (Mumbo Jumbo / Luke Carder) Notes: Happy 2 year anniversary lucky jumbo-ers! Part nine of Lucky Jumbo (part eight not yet posted; this fic works fine as a stand-alone in the LJ universe)

~

“I still don’t understand the appeal of this.”

“Were you ever into sports?”

“I’m a trading card game collector, Joe. I wasn’t into anything that had to do with physical exertion.”

“Then I wouldn’t imagine you’d be into this either.”

Luke laughed. He and Joe were seated in the grass, two chests set up next to them and holding their respective companions’ belongings. Across the way from them, Mumbo and Cleo were setting up a game of blow-up-the-end-crystal-with-eggs, the activity Luke had been calling into question. Luke had only half followed the series of events that had led to the challenge being declared- he and Mumbo had been doing their own thing when they ran into Joe and Cleo, also doing their own thing, and somehow that ended up with Luke and Joe casually playing bystander to what Luke felt was a type of war game.

“I think I’m still adjusting to living with so many adrenaline junkies.” Luke said, sighing in faux disapproval as he watched Mumbo pretend to pat the top of the highly sensitive purple bomb next to him, presumably as a way of taunting Cleo. “Adrenaline junkies who don’t even know what adrenaline is.”

“Doesn’t help that we’re not afraid of death!” Joe added cheerfully, her friendly way of reminding Luke that even if they (maybe) hailed from the same original world, she was still a hermit through-and-through.

“Don’t remind me.” Luke reassuringly placed a hand over his totem necklace, protecting him from that exact thing. “Not all of us get to forget self preservation.”

At that, Joe just grinned. Since discovering Joe knew what both dinosaurs and playing cards were, she and Luke had had a few conversations centered around Luke’s old world and what Joe knew of it. Those conversations had left Luke with two main take-aways: one, that Joe was no card game expert, and two, that Joe’s memory when it came to anywhere she’d been before (or after) Hermitcraft was- at best- hazy.

Which meant that where Luke was still unwilling to drop down more than a few blocks at a time after however long he had been on the server, Joe had shown up in Hermitcraft more or less completely ready to start respawning.

Unfair, in Luke’s (correct) opinion.

“So, Luke,” Joe said after a few minutes had passed, Mumbo and Cleo stalling out the main event in favour of practice egg throws and more attempts at intimidation, “where did you live, back in our old world? Since I’m guessing it wasn’t good ol’ Nashville, Tennessee.”

“You don’t remember what or where Australia is.”

“This is true.” Joe acknowledged. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t remember your locale! Unless it was Australia.”

Luke chuckled. “No, not Australia.” Luke assured her, taking a moment to think before he answered the actual question. His memory wasn’t poked through and torn up like Joe’s was, but that didn’t change the fact that it was rather… fuzzy.

With non-Inscryption related things, at least. Remembering the name of the country he once occupied took a minute of deep thought, but the coordinates that had led him to his doom were on the tip of his tongue without him even trying for them- not that latitudes and longitudes would tell someone who couldn’t remember all seven continents very much. “It was Canada. British Columbia- uh, Vancouver? Above the states.”

Joe accepted Luke’s jumble of locations- of varying levels of detail- with a thoughtful nod. “A northerner, then.”

“You remember cardinal directions, but not the continents?”

“What’s a bird got to do with directions?”

“I- we’ll come back to it.” Luke had learned, after an extremely complicated discussion about video games neither he nor Joe fully understood, that Joe recalling a certain term or concept didn’t always mean she really knew what it was or what it meant. “What do you think a ‘northerner’ is?”

“Someone… cold. Doesn’t see the sun much. Drinks from trees.”

Luke snorted. “That, uh, that sure is a definition there.”

Joe glanced at Luke, amused. “I take it I’ve missed the mark by a good deal?”

“More like… made some mental mistranslations.” Luke offered, also opting to turn towards Joe over continuing to watch the entertainment waste eggs. “‘Drinks from trees’ just sounds like a weird Canadians-and-maple-syrup joke, for one. And everything north of Tennessee was probably colder than you were, but that doesn’t mean we were all constantly cold. We had warm seasons too.”

“Nashville, Tennessee.” Joe corrected solemnly, as though Luke neglecting to name the city drastically changed the meaning of the sentence. “Is that why you don’t like Hermitcraft’s climate? Do you miss your northerner seasons?”

“Everyone had seasons, not just people in the north.” Luke was fairly certain that Joe was only pretending to not remember the basic idea of seasons, given her delivery of the question was akin to a comedian setting up a punchline, but he refused to let a chance to re-air one of his minecraft grievances go to waste. “And I don’t like the climate here because it’s unnatural. You have four types of weather, and three of them are just variations on each other.”

“Would you prefer we still have tornadoes?”

“Some days, Joe, I really don’t know.”

Joe laughed at Luke’s melodramatic tone. Of all the hermits, she had the best understanding of the things Luke missed about his life before Hermitcraft, but she still tended to stand with the rest of the server in their belief that Luke had some odd lifestyle preferences. “What about the sun, then? Did I at least get that right?”

“Well, given we weren’t really living in caves-”

Luke’s thought was interrupted by a sudden boom! With a jerk, he looked forward again, finding that the sound had come from one of the end crystals finally being blown up. A quick analysis of the scene found the crystal in question had been Cleo’s, with her side of the makeshift arena devoid of both it and Cleo; the undead hermit had reappeared in the bed they had put to the side for that exact reasoning, already sitting up and grumbling about Mumbo’s victory by the time Luke relocated her.

Mumbo’s end crystal was still bobbing on its stand, confirming that the match hadn’t ended in a double homicide. Luke moved his gaze from the beds on the side to his boyfriend, looking proudly victorious.

Luke couldn’t help but grin at Mumbo’s expression, how excited he looked to have (once again) won his self-invented death game. Luke knew that in a moment, Mumbo would collect himself, school his expression into one that managed to be both smug and humble, something more suitable for polite boasting. But first, there was the genuine reaction, with his bright eyes and shining moustache-smile, and Luke couldn’t look away.

“You were sayin’ something, Luke?” Joe prompted, only half-catching Luke’s attention. If Luke hadn’t been so distracted, he might’ve noticed the teasing edge to the question, Joe well-aware Luke had checked out from their conversation. “About the sun?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, northerners, very cold, never see the sun.” Luke responded without thinking, letting his brain piece together the first random segments from his former thoughts it picked up as he shoved himself to his feet. Mumbo had realized Luke was staring, his moustache-smile somehow growing even wider, and Luke was fairly certain he was required to go over and congratulate the danger-game athlete. “Listen, I have to, uh-”

Joe, who had also gotten onto her feet, waved Luke off before he could find a tactful way to phrase ‘kiss my boyfriend like it’s the only thing I know how to do.’ “I’ve got a consoling consolation speech to deliver to my fighter. You enjoy your sun, northerner.”

The fact that he was still very much being teased flew over Luke’s head with a mile of clearance, Luke offering a half-nod in acknowledgement as he hurried towards his light.

[charliethomascoxuniverse]

Boardwalk Empire’s’ mystery IRA man Charlie Cox

IRISH CENTRAL  By CAHIR O’DOHERTY (X)

...As the ongoing story of Nucky Thompson, the undisputed ruler of Atlantic City who was equal parts politician and gangster unfolds this season, we’re introduced to a brand new Irish character played by British newcomer Charlie Cox.

Cast as a young and possibly on-the-run former IRA man from Belfast (we’re not going to say if he is for certain, and neither is Cox because that would be considered spoilers) Cox’s new role is the biggest professional boost of his young career – and it may well be thanks to his pal and sometime mentor Robert De Niro (the pair starred together in the romantic fantasy Stardust a few years back).

But as an uppercrust Englishman in an Irish role, the first question is how did he learn the Belfast accent?

“I have friends from Ireland and I mimicked them a little bit to begin with for my first audition,” Cox, 28, tells the Irish Voice from his parents’ home in France (where’s he gone to recover from Boardwalk’s punishing production schedule) this week.

“I also watched The Commitments over a dozen times, and when I got the invite to audition in New York I discovered that the character came from Belfast, so then the pressure was really on.”

Cox did what any enterprising young actor desperate to find a completely different Irish accent in a pinch did -- he Googled the Internet. Eventually, via the iTunes music store, he found a link to a Christian evangelical website made in Belfast and he created his accent in the show based on what he heard.

“From that podcast I found a perfect Belfast accent and I now know more about Jesus than I ever thought I would,” laughs Cox, who in his personal life is a British public school boy with a Catholic background.

“Of course I also researched the kind of life he might have had and the strife he would have known in the Ireland of that period. Believe it or not I also read Angela’s Ashes -- which is a remarkable book -- and I realized how arriving in Atlantic City where literally anything was possible must have blown my character’s mind after the life he had led up to that point. I keep that inner tension and awareness burning all the way through the new season.”

Cox is under a blanket ban from the shows producers not to reveal too much about his character’s personal arc in season two because they don’t want the Internet to light up with spoilers spread by obsessive fans of the show.

“What I can tell you is that he is very concerned with what’s going on in his homeland and that there’s a reason he stays around Atlantic City, although he could conceivably return to Ireland at any time,” Cox offers.

Fans of the epic series may be surprised to know how close to filming time the scripts for Boardwalk Empire actually arrive. If you thought the entire season was written and in the can before the first cameras rolled you’d be quite wrong -- often actors learn their characters fate just a few weeks before they shoot the scene.

“That kind of schedule keeps you fresh as an actor, and it means that you don’t get complacent about what’s going to happen to the person you’re playing. But the whole of acting is the same. You’re just one step away from your next job or your last one and that awareness should stop you from becoming conceited or complacent,” says Cox.

Right now as the final edits of the second season are still being cut, Cox doesn’t know what will happen to the majority of the other characters in the show. With a production this big it’s impossible to keep tabs on everything that’s happening unless you’re the producers or the writers -- and they’re famous for keeping all that information to themselves.

Meanwhile for Cox, the opportunity to act alongside a legendary director like Martin Scorsese and actors like Steve Buscemi is both exhilarating and nerve wracking.

“All actors at some level want to be acknowledged for what they do and I’m no different,” says Cox. “It’s exciting to think that this may lead to other opportunities but I’m not going to get carried away by it.”

“People told me I’d be on easy street back in 2007 with Stardust and that didn’t happen. The fame and fortune thing is nice as far as it goes, but it used to be you got famous because you were talented and that’s not quite the case anymore,” he adds sensibly.

Cox shies away from any further plot scoops into his upcoming season, but he will happily admit that he researched the activities of the IRA unit founded by Michael Collins that was known as The Squad or the Twelve Apostles.

These men, hand picked by Collins himself, acted mainly as assassins and they targeted policemen, collaborators, civil servants, MI5 members and most famously the so-called Cairo Gang (a British intelligence group who had formerly served in the Middle East).

“I was fascinated to learn about the history of that period, and it really brought my character’s own background to life for me,” says Cox.

“Once you start delving into that you get a real sense of the period and the stakes in play. And I have to mention the costumes and sets. They’re so well done and so meticulously researched they do so much of the work for you.”

As a lifelong rugby fan with his own seats at Twickenham, both Cox and his father thought they might have taken the research into Ireland too far when they started cheering the Irish rugby team in its match against Australia recently.

“My dad was suddenly standing up and shouting, ‘Come on Ireland -- I mean England!’ at the television and we both started to laugh at the level of involvement. Maybe this character has taken over our lives.”

~*~

[renegadewangs]

Van Zieks - the Examination, part 12

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: (see Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.) - These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. -The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. - I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent. -It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Let's bring this thing home! It's time for the conclusion of the essay series!

Conclusion With a stupidly long essay series behind us, it's time to look at what we've learned! Let's go back to Part 1 and review what we needed from Van Zieks's character development for a fully rounded redemption arc, shall we?

1) Present an antagonistic (possibly immoral) force who personifies Ryunosuke’s biggest personal obstacle/weakness, in this case racial prejudice. 2) Humanizing traits begin to show. OPTIONAL: A backstory to justify any immorality he has. 3) Over time, Barok has his realization and sees the error of his ways. 4) Barok atones for his immorality, not simply through apology but by taking decisive steps. 5) The cast around him acknowledges his efforts and forgives him.

And looking at the main game (plus additional dialogue), we have...

1) Antagonistic force:

Etc. etc. I have many of these. We can all agree that as an antagonistic force, he does his job quite well. CEO of Racism and White Privilege in the flesh. It works, since we as the audience get very frustrated and want to see him defeated.

2) Humanization:

Giving him an old friend to be a defendant was a brilliant move, really. Albert's reflection on the friendship and the person Van Zieks used to be really helped flesh him out and make him appear more like a human being with, y'know, emotions and weaknesses. The little snippets of dialogue in his office really help too. Presenting evidence can also lead to fun tidbits. All in all, considering how gruff and distant Van Zieks is, they really did their very best to humanize him. The writers were given very little to work with but they exploited every opportunity to come their way.

OPTIONAL backstory:

Again, I don't think we needed a tragic backstory to have a well-rounded, redeemable character. Still, it ties in very expertly to the game's plot and the motivations of quite a few other characters. The story of Klint van Zieks and his death isn't necessarily Barok van Zieks's backstory, it's the center of an intricate web which also holds Kazuma, Stronghart, Gregson, Jigoku, (S)Holmes, Mikotoba, Sithe, Drebber- I could go on. A LOT. So because of how very integrated it is into the main narrative's recurring themes and characters, I'll give it props for being relevant and well thought out. The bigger question is: Does it justify his immorality? Not entirely. I think the game could have gotten more out of this if they'd involved the other two exchange students in this tale just a bit more. They could have given more attention to how Jigoku's aggressive behavior in the trial impacted Van Zieks, and explained whether he might've suspected Mikotoba of sabotaging (S)Holmes's investigation. If the narrative had done that, all three Japanese people to come to London would have been ‘the bad guy’ in Van Zieks's eyes and it would have given more credence to his racial generalization. They could have also given more attention to how the people around him reacted to Genshin being the Professor, because I'm sure Stronghart and Gregson stoked the fire in terms of xenophobia. As it stands, there isn't really enough there to justify hatred of an entire race as opposed to just one person.

3) Realization/Redemption

We see him already start to realize the error of his ways around the end of 1-5, which is technically only about halfway into the full narrative. Unfortunately, thanks to 2-2 being played afterwards (but chronologically set before 1-5), any progress made in 1-5 can become invalidated in the player's eyes. Growth works best when it's done linear. Don't get me wrong, flashbacking to earlier times when a character is still more morally tainted can work well, but it needs to be executed properly. Barok's behavior in 2-2 is downright insulting towards the audience itself and therefore, it causes emotional friction when relaying the narrative endgoal of redemption. It also makes it extra jarring when we hit 2-3, and suddenly Van Zieks is meant to be relying on the protagonist's desire to expose the truth. How on earth can we as the audience trust that Van Zieks believes in Ryu's abilities when we just came fresh out of a case where this man actively sabotages Ryu's efforts?

Still, the line of redemption continues from 2-3 into 2-4 well enough. He admits that he was wrong- that his hatred was illogical and that he needs to change. This is the very definition of redemption. I need to stress once more this is not to be confused with atonement, which comes next.

4) Atonement

Here it is. It's not enough to simply acknowledge mistakes; one needs to work hard to fix them. Since Van Zieks is the defendant for two whole episodes, equaling roughly 20% of the full narrative and 67% of the time following his first true realization (chronologically), there isn't much that he can actively do to atone. Because remember, not only do these actions need to fit the situation he's currently in, they need to fit his personality. These two limitations ensure the atonement mostly takes the form of dialogue. Of apologies.

One might want to point out that he never apologizes specifically for his racism, but there's a reason for that. If you pay close attention, you'll notice that there isn't a single character who ever uses a word like “racism”, “xenophobia” or even “racial prejudice” in this game. It's for the same reason you'll never see an Ace Attorney character utter words like “alcoholism”, “drug abuse” or “depression”. These things may be implied very strongly, to the point where you'll know for certain a character is suffering from it, but it's never given these exact labels. It has to do with the tone of the game. In Great Ace Attorney's dialogue, Barok van Zieks is only ever described as holding “a deep hatred for Japanese”, which is then the only thing he could apologize for. And he does, so long as you aren't looking for a literal phrasing of “I apologize for my deep hatred of your people”.

Regardless, he can't take more active, decisive action until he's freed from prison and two scenes with Van Zieks later, the game has ended. He still manages to take two actions, though! The first is to publicize the truth of the Professor, taking the blame of the mass murders off Genshin's shoulders (and losing his own privilege in the process). The second is to take Kazuma under his wing as his disciple. I'm not certain there's anything else the narrative could have had him do. What is decisively missing, however, is the following:

5) Acknowledgment

The above aren't good examples of cast acknowledgment that Van Zieks is taking part in a redemption arc, rather, they're the best I could find. Characters are acknowledging that he's changing- that he's being kinder to them and they can get along with him now, but they're not acknowledging that he caused hurt in the first place. This, in my opinion, is the Great Ace Attorney's biggest narrative flaw. I've talked before about how Ryu's reaction to Van Zieks's racism is 'indirect communication', a typically Japanese manner of dealing with negativity. I've also talked about how Ryu is not in a position to speak up, as he's a literal minority who is there to represent his country in an official capacity and can’t afford to make enemies. However, characters like Susato and Kazuma are far more outspoken in their opinions, as is Soseki. The only one who ever calls Van Zieks out on his racism is the British judge, and even that is done very meekly. When an old crusty white guy is the one who condemns white privilege in a cast full of minorities, you've got a problem. The Japanese cast's refusal to acknowledge that Van Zieks's words were harmful is like Team Avatar telling Zuko that sure, he can join since he's a good guy now, but never once acknowledging that he burned down villages or betrayed everyone's trust in Ba Sing Se. There's something very vital missing, see? If indeed the cast had called Van Zieks out more actively on his harmful ways and how necessary it was for him to change, he in turn could have taken more atonement steps in response.

So, for the conclusion: Does Barok van Zieks tick all the necessary boxes for a complete redemption arc? Yes. In a very technical sense, all the requirements are there. But does that mean it's a successful arc? Not necessarily. The game has a few slip-ups, a few things not executed as well as they could have been. For that reason, whether the audience is satisfied with the arc is entirely up to them. Taking into consideration that they had to cram a whole lot of story into just two games- the second game in particular, I can acknowledge they did their very best with the limitations that were there.

And there we have it! That’s all I could think to say on the matter. I hope everyone who read this till the very end enjoyed it, maybe even learned a thing or two. I’m always open to questions, input and constructive criticism!

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Call Forth Love- Chapter 4

So I planned for this chapter and the next to originally be one but as I started writing it, the words kept flowing and oops....now its really long. So I decided to split it. This means that I’m pretty much done with the next chapter so I’ll be able to get it out in a few days! Yay!

Also, Ivar is pretty manipulative in this chapter. Someone made a comment in the last chapter that I want to acknowledge. Going forward this is kind of a theme but I just want to put that warning statement- if this is triggering for you, please read with caution. There is nothing explicit or graphic but its still manipulation. 

Words:4000

Warnings: swearing, manipulation

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​

Series Masterlist

Sitting in the office at work, Kari sipped on her smoothie as she plugged in numbers for an inventory order. She had just finished teaching one of her morning classes and was now doing some paperwork for Lydia while on her "lunch break". 

 She jumped when her phone suddenly buzzed- a text alert. Surprised and curious as to who would be texting her at this time, she unlocked her phone to see the text from an unknown number. 

 Unknown: hey u busy 2nite?

 Kari: who is this?

 Unknown: u fav person

 Kari: OMG! Ed Sheeran?!

 She giggled quietly to herself, returning back to the laptop screen. Normally she ignored any calls or texts from unknown numbers, but it had been a good morning and she was feeling playful. When there was no return text, she shrugged the conversation off and returned to the order. Apparently, the unknown number did not get the reaction they were hoping for or realized they text the wrong person. Either way, she did not care. 

 A couple minutes later, her phone started to vibrate repeatedly. Looking down, she saw she was getting a call from the unknown number. She hesitated to answer, but by the third ring her curiosity got the better of her and she answered it. 

 "Hello?"

 "FUCKING ED SHEERAN? REALLY?"

 She sat there stunned. "Ivar?"

 "Of course, it's me. Who the fuck were you expecting?" He asked, angrily. 

 "How did you get my number?"

 He ignored her question, his voice suddenly sounding muffled. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be a second…. damn it. I know!"

 "Who is that?" 

 "My brother.” He scoffed, muttering something unintelligible under his breath, before speaking to her again. “I have to head back into a meeting now."

 "Oh, ok?"

 "You didn't answer my question."

 Her mind was still reeling from the fact that Ivar Lothbrok had her number and was calling her out of the blue. "What question?"

 He huffed, exasperation evident in his tone. "Are you busy tonight?"

 "Why?"

 "I want to take you out."

 "Ivar," she sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead, "I told you, I can't."

 "Yeah and I don't believe you, so…."

 "No. I'm sorry but the answer is still no."

 "Fine. I have to go." He snapped then abruptly ended the call.  

 Slowly, she pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. What just happened? Before she forgot, she added his number to her contacts since she had the distinct feeling this would not be the last time he contacted her. Once done, she set her phone down and dropped her head into her hands. 

 It had been two days since he drove her home and she said they could be friends. In those two days, this was the first contact they had. She had hoped he grew bored with her since she was not playing his game, that she refused to go out with him. Maybe he finally decided she was not worth his time and moved on? Which was for the best. She could never fit into his world, there was no space for her there. Nor did she want to. She was happy, content with her life. 

 It was better for her to not allow Ivar into her life. That's what she repeated to herself as she tried to focus on the inventory order. 

 *****

 "Just put the bags right there, thank you." Kari said, placing the grocery bags, one in each hand, onto the tiled floor. The kitchen in her townhouse was small, two people could barely move around in it without bumping into one another. Thankfully, she did not spend much time in the kitchen. Cooking had never been her forte. 

 "Do you need anything else? I don't mind staying to help." The dirty-blond haired man asked, setting the two bags he carried down onto the floor. He started to shuffle forward but seemed to think better of it and leaned against the half-wall separating the kitchen from the short hallway. 

 "Erik, it's fine. If anything, I owe you. You never let me pay for gas money."

 He shrugged, and tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "It's not a big deal. I needed to shop too."

 "Still, it's not fair to you." She turned around from placing the milk in the fridge to look at him. 

 "If I think of something you can do to repay me, I'll let you know. Deal?"

 "Perfect."

 "Do you still want a ride to work tomorrow?"

 She shut the door and jokingly waved a hand at him. "See! You're too nice."

 "I'd be ‘too nice’ if I also showed up with coffee for you."

 She laughed, moving some frozen fruit into the freezer. "You're too perfect to not have a girlfriend." 

 He rubbed the back of his neck, a flush growing on his cheeks and drawing out a boyish smile. "I don't know if I'd say that. I'll let you get to it. I'll meet you outside at nine?"

 "Thank you, Erik."

 "Of course." He popped his head around the wall to look into the living room. "See you, Alana!"

 "Bye, Erik!" The response came from the living room. 

 Kari continued to put her groceries away as she heard the front door click shut behind him. Somehow, she needed to figure out a way to pay him back. 

 Erik lived in the townhouse next door alone. When he learned that Kari did not own a car, he offered to give her rides whenever it worked out for both of their schedules. At first, she had been hesitant, still not having lived in the townhouse for long but eventually gave in because he always acted like such a gentleman. Every time he saw her, he made sure to greet her and ask about her day. He always held the door open for her and anybody else close by. A negative word never passed his lips, rather choosing to focus on the positive in life. A routine soon started to form and every two weeks they would meet up outside of their townhouses and go grocery shopping together. When she did not have to work early, he would occasionally give her rides to work since the bank he worked at was only a couple blocks away. That was the extent of their interactions though. She wondered about inviting him over for dinner as to thank him but she always chickened out in asking him. Perhaps that was what she needed to do after all.  

 Once all her groceries were put away, she headed into the living room, seeing her roommate and friend sitting on the couch with the TV on to the Great British Bake-off but looking down at her phone. 

 The brunette asked, dropping onto the second couch. "How was work?"

 "Good. You?" Alana looked up, her make-up flawless like usual on her delicate features. 

 "Nothing too exciting."

 "You know, if you'd waited two hours I could have taken you to the store."

 Kari nodded, fiddling with her diamond stud earring. "I know, but you're so busy with work and school. I know you like relaxing when you come home and Erik said he was free today."

 "Did he now?" Alana asked with a smug look.

 Kari tossed a throw pillow at her. "Don't start this again."

 The blonde caught the pillow, still grinning like the Cheshire cat. "You know he likes you. He's just too shy to ask you out."

 "He's a friend, it's been like seven months, I think if he was going to ask me out, he would have done it by now."

 "He. Is. Shy." Alana enunciated, as if talking to a child. She rolled her blue eyes, leaning back against the couch. "Shit, he only started to actually talk to me this summer."

 "Cause you are intimidating."

 Alana threw the pillow back at Kari. "Bitch, it's cause I radiate sexiness and he can't handle it."

 "That is most definitely it." 

 "Well the guy I hooked up with last weekend said I radiated sexiness."

 Kari wrinkled her nose, looking over at her roommate. "I don't want to hear that. It's bad enough when you bring them here."

 "You know, it wouldn't be the worst thing for you to actually go out with Erik. He's…. sweet." She quietly stated, eyes back on the TV. 

 "Yeah."

 "I'm fairly sure he'd treat you better than that fucker of ex."

 Kari picked invisible lint off her black leggings, apprehensive about where the topic was going. Her love life, and lack of it, was something Alana liked to remind her of frequently as of late. "Honestly, I'm even sure anymore he should count as an ex."

 "Well you were supposed to be exclusive, right? And then you find out he's been fucking other girls the whole time. That counts as a shitty ex."

 She winced at the reminder of her one attempt at dating. "I don't…. I don't think I'm ready."

 The blonde pointed a finger at her roommate without turning her eyes away from the TV. "Well don't wait around forever, you'll miss out."

 "Says the woman who hooks up with a different guy almost every other weekend."

 "And I'm not missing out!"

 Kari laughed. Feeling her phone vibrate, she pulled it out of her pocket and checked it to see a new text from Ivar. 

 Ivar: hell no, if we r gng 2 see the Northern Lights thn we're gng 2 Iceland or Norway.

 She smiled at the text, quickly typing in a reply. 

 Kari: fine, we'll add that to the list. Can I please put South Africa back on the list?

 She fiddled with her diamond stud earrings, looking back at their conversation throughout the day. Just looking at all the texts, she bit her lip to try and contain the smile. 

 Ivar had texted her in the late morning, asking her out again. To which she just texted back a one-word answer- "no". Apparently undeterred, he ignored her 'no', saying how he wanted to take her to this popular restaurant. Somehow the conversation spiraled into creating overly outrageous "dates" he would take her on, each one more fantastic than the last, with her encouraging and creating her own ideas. Their texting had lasted all day, and she found herself actually looking forward to his responses. Something she never would have expected, especially after how rudely he hung up on her the prior day. 

 So far her favorite "date" involved him renting out the entire Roman Colosseum in Rome and having a candlelight dinner in the middle of the arena. The most amusing one was when she suggested they go skydiving. He shut down that idea saying they would have to be strapped to instructors and the only man she should ever be strapped to was him. 

 Her phone vibrated in her hand, alerting her to his response. 

 Ivar: u r not swimming w/ sharks 

 She giggled, trying to imagine his facial expression. She actually had no desire to do half of the stuff she suggested but it was funny to get a rise out of him. 

 Kari: African safari?

 "What are you giggling at?" Alana questioned, giving her the side-eye. 

 The smile dropped from her face. "Nothing."

 "That doesn't sound like nothing."

 "Just a funny meme." She deflected, getting to her feet. There was no way she could tell Alana she had been texting Ivar all day. "I'm going to shower."

 As she headed upstairs to her room, her phone vibrated again. 

 Ivar: do u jus luv danger?

 Kari: I'm talking to you, aren't I? 

 She headed to her bathroom, turning the shower on and checking the temperature. In a spur of the moment decision, she tossed in a eucalyptus shower bomb. 

 Just before she jumped in, she looked at her phone one last time to find his response.  

 Ivar: touche, kitten, touche 😘

 *****

 The soothing soundtrack of nature played over the speakers in the yoga studio room. A few women were already in the studio with their yoga mats out, either stretching or quietly conversing as they waited. Depending on the day, the ten am morning class could be busy but typically it averaged about fifteen to twenty women.

 Kari bent over, touching her palms to the floor. Even though she would not be continuously doing the routine along with those in her class, she still liked to be limber and have her muscles warmed up. This was a beginner class, where she spent a good portion of the time either correcting people's forms or showing how to do a certain pose. A few of her coworkers complained about teaching beginner classes since when the participants walked through the door, you never really knew what level they were at. 

 Checking the clock hanging over the door, she saw she had five minutes before her class started. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the pull of her muscles. The door to the studio room opened but Kari continued to stretch, shifting to a downward facing dog pose, holding it. She could hear some people moving around but she focused on her breathing.  

 "Mmm, I could get used to seeing this."

 The familiar voice behind her, caused Kari to try and whip around in startled surprise, only to end up crashing onto her ass. 

 Above her stood Ivar with a devilish smile. "Hello, kitten." He softly said with smolder that instantly made her flush and a tendril of warmth curl in her belly. Standing there in his jeans and red shirt with his hair pulled back in a man bun, it was unfair how striking he looked. Even the braces over his legs did nothing to deter from his attractiveness. 

 She rose quickly to her feet, wiping her hands over her leggings and peeking at the others in the room. Most were curiously watching their interaction but remained where they were. 

 "What are you doing here?" She hissed, turning her gaze back up to meet his. "How did you find me?"

 He rolled his eyes. "You were wearing a Whole Wellness Yoga Studio shirt when I drove you home last week. Plus, hearing from Gyda that you work here…. You're not that hard to find."

 That made sense, even if she disliked the logic. "Ok, fine. Why are you here though?"

 "I want to take you out tonight."

 "Oh gods." She could not believe what she was hearing. The prior day they had spent most of the day texting and sure it was fun, but her answer had not changed. When he had not text her this morning, she assumed that was the last she had heard from him. Apparently, he decided to ask her out in person instead of over the phone like the past two times. "Ivar… No."

 "Why? You keep saying you can't but never why."

 "It's just…. look, I don't want to date."

 He took a step closer, face inches above hers. His voice dropped low, an underlying current of anger in his tone. Those piercing blue eyes challenged her. "You say that but I don't think that's the real reason. So, until you tell me the truth, your 'no' means fucking nothing. Friends tell each other things, right?"

 "You know, I don't think we should be friends anymore."

 He chuckled, still standing too close for a normal conversation. "Too late. I like you."

 "I'm still not going out with you." She placed her hands on her hips, trying to appear confident, hoping desperately he did not hear the wavering in her voice. 'This was for the best, it was best for both of them' she repeated in her mind. 

 "Fine. I'll wait for you to change your mind." He winked and stepped back. To her horror, she watched as he walked over to the side of the room where she kept her water bottle and light jacket. He grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it over before dropping down with his legs in a manspread, that stupid smirk still on his face. 

 She stomped over to him, whisper-shouting at him. "What are you doing?"

 "I'm waiting."

 "What?"

 "I'm not leaving until you agree to go on a date with me."

 "You can't...no…. Ivar." She whined. 

 "I walked all the way here to see you, even though my legs are quite painful today…. you wouldn't kick a cripple out when they just need to rest, would you?" He asked, eyes widened in mock innocence. One of his hands rubbed at his knee in exaggerated fashion as if to prove the discomfort he was in. 

 She groaned. "I hate you."

 "No, you don't." He gloated, then nodded towards the clock. "It's ten o'clock, it's time to start your class, I believe."

 Without another word, she moved to the front of the room. She refused to play this game. Her answer was 'no' and no matter what he said or did, her answer would not change. The whole time she could feel his rakish gaze on her, reminding her how tight her leggings and purple tank top were. She tried to focus on her class, smiling at the women she recognized and the ones that she assumed was new. "Let's begin. Everyone start in mountain pose. Take deep breaths, let's center ourselves."

 "Kari!" 

 She looked over at the older woman, Ingrid, who called out. The woman was easily one of Kari's favorites, doting upon those who worked at the yoga studio, and becoming the unofficial grandmother of them. Ingrid had been coming to the yoga studio for years but was forced to only take beginner level classes after a bad fall the prior year. She loudly complained about her doctor being an idiot and how she felt fine, but Lydia refused to let her attend any other class than beginner classes until otherwise said by her doctor. 

 "Yes?"

 Ingrid's hazel eyes twinkled with mischief from the front row where she stood. "You planning on introducing that handsome young man you've got over there?"

 "No, we are going to ignore his presence. He's going to be leaving soon." Kari flatly stated with a polite smile.

 "Hi! I'm Ivar!" He announced with a charming smile, his bright blue eyes alluring under the dim lights. Giving a little wave with his fingers, he continued, "I hope my presence doesn't bother all you lovely women, I just came to see my girlfriend and ask her on a date tonight."

 A chorus of "awwwws" filled the room. 

 Kari wanted nothing more than to bang her head against a wall. Or preferably, Ivar's head. She could not believe the audacity of him.

 "Where are you taking her?" One of the newer women asked in a flirty tone, pulling her shoulders back to emphasize her ample chest. 

 Ivar barely glanced at her, keeping his focus on Kari. "It's a surprise. I wanted to do something special."

 "Young man, if I were a few years younger, I would fight Kari here so you could take me on a date." Ingrid said with a laugh. 

 "I would be honored to take a lovely woman like you on a date." He sent a playful wink to Ingrid. 

 "Alright, let's get back to yoga." Kari tried to redirect the attention. Annoyed and upset did not even begin to describe how she felt. 

 "Well it was lovely to meet you, young man. Kari should have told us her boyfriend was so handsome. We might have convinced her to bring you in sooner for some eye candy." Ingrid teased. 

 "He's not my boyfriend." Kari retorted, shooting a glare at the smug raven-haired man. 

 "And that is why I'm trying to take her on a date." He placed a hand dramatically over his heart, eyes staring at her beseechingly. "Just for her to give me a chance."

 "Get her some tulips. Those are her favorite flowers." Karina called out from the back of the room. 

 "Can't go wrong with chocolate!"

 "Oh! Read her a sonnet and dance under the stars together!"

 "This is so romantic…. like something out of a movie." Someone loudly whispered, making a few others laugh. 

 Kari dropped her chin to her chest. Tears welled in her eyes. She knew those in the class meant well, that they were really just trying to help. But they were helping the wrong person. Why would Ivar not leave her alone? She told him 'no' multiple times, that should have been enough. Her tolerance for his behavior was waning rapidly and honesty she was not sure if she would fight back…. or surrender. 

 The chair scratched faintly on the floor followed by his footsteps landing audibly as he crossed the room to reach her. She refused to lift her head, her eyes squeezed shut. Not just to pretend she could not feel him standing so close to her, but to try and hide the single tear that rolled down her cheek. 

 "Kari." He whispered, the sound a caress of her name. 

 Still she did not move. 

 Gently, he tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. His thumb wiped away the evidence of her tear. It was those captivating eyes, the ones that could both scorch everything in view but also send flames of desire dancing across her skin, that met hers. To her surprise, there was a softness in his gaze, a vulnerability, that was reminiscent of the few times they were alone. As if with just her, for a brief moment, he let his guard down and she could glimpse the real Ivar. 

 "Go out with me." He murmured faintly, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Standing in front of her, his broad back to the class gave them a semblance of privacy. "Please."

 "Why can't you let this go?" She begged quietly, staring up at him. 

 "I told you, I'm persistent." He smiled, almost shyly. 

 In his words, it felt like there was such a depth to them she was unaware of. That he was confessing something to her in which she did not have the key to fully understand. 

 She sighed softly, closing her eyes for a moment before looking at him again. "Fine. I'll go…. But it's only as friends, ok? This isn't…. Romantic. Just…. Just friends."

 "Sure, just friends." He leaned forward and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to her cheek. "I'll pick you up at seven."

 She nodded, feeling torn apart inside. 

 After a lingering look that breathed a flame into her belly, he spun on his heel to face the women. "She said yes!"

 A few cheers and clapping reverberated in the small yoga studio room. 

 "I graciously thank you all for your sound advice and encouragement with helping me to woo the beautiful Kari. Wish me luck as I plan to thoroughly spoil her tonight." Ivar dramatically bowed, shooting a quick wink at Kari as she watched him. 

 She desperately tried to fight the small smile off her lips. No one could say that Ivar was not charming or charismatic when it suited him. 

 As he finally made his way to the door, he turned around just before pushing it open. "Wear something nice." He said, pointing a finger at Kari and then walked out like a dream where one cannot decide if it was a nightmare or not. 

 The brunette ran a hand down her face before shoving aside her emotions and plastering a customer smile on. "I'm so sorry about all of this. Let's get back to it. I promise it won't happen again, ladies."

 "Kari, dear, you have fun with that boy tonight." Ingrid spoke up, eyes darting to the now closed door and back to the yoga instructor. "And if you don't want him, let me know. I'd still jump on him in a heartbeat. That boy has the prettiest eyes, I swear."

 A few sounds of agreement echoed in the room. 

 Kari could not stop her smile from turning genuine at Ingrid. No matter the situation, the feisty, older woman always knew how to make her laugh. "I promise I'll let you know. Now, back to mountain pose please."

 Silently, she hoped tonight was not a mistake.

[thewritinggrindstone]

How to Format Your Finished Manuscript

as written by a perpetually flabbergasted editor

Congratulations, you’ve finished a manuscript! That monumental achievement alone deserves a reward. Please get yourself something delicious—don’t worry, I can wait.

Back? Awesome, because it’s time to talk about an important step of the prepublishing and/or pre-editing process, and that is how to format your manuscript.

When you’re writing your manuscript, it’s likely you have a unique setup. Fancy fonts, different text and document background colors, your preferred way of formatting the document—all elements work together to create a comfortable writing space where you can be your most creative.

As both a writer and editor, I have no problems with writers going wild with their documents’ technical aspects while they’re drafting—I do exactly the same thing when drafting. But when it comes time to share your project with other people—especially professionals in the publishing world—your snazzy setup is no longer going to be a benefit. I could share horror stories relating to document setup, from thousands of spaces used instead of the tab key to wacky file conversion issues.

Please don’t make your editor’s job any harder than it needs to be. Fancy formatting looks great, but it can be a nightmare to undo and wastes time that your editor could otherwise spend polishing the words themselves rather than what’s around them. It’s also significantly easier to work with a document that adheres to a standard format because it’s easier to catch mistakes that way—the editor isn’t distracted trying to wrangle extra spaces and text appearing in other languages.

Most publishing houses have what are called submission guidelines. Read them. Follow them. There’s little chance your manuscript is exempt from the rules, and believe me when I say authors who flaunt the guidelines don’t win the respect of the people who are working on their manuscripts.

If the publisher/editing service you’re submitting to doesn’t have obvious guidelines, first ask about them. They might have preferences. If not, as follows are some basic standard practices in North American publishing.

First off, if you can’t bear to give up your fancy writing setup, create a new copy of your document specifically for editing/submitting. Clearly label it as such. Make sure you implement any changes to this for-editing/submitting document, not just your fancy original.

Page and text setup:

Remove any document background images/page colors.

Change the entire document’s font to Times New Roman point 12. Make it black. Not dark gray, not dark brown—black.

Set the margins to one inch on all sides. This is Microsoft Word’s default document format, but not enough submitted manuscripts use it. Remember: layout for publishing comes after editing, not before. Editors are liable to completely change your document’s pretty formatting to industry standards anyway.

Set the document’s orientation to portrait, not landscape.

Center all section and chapter titles (e.g., Table of Contents, Chapter 1, Acknowledgements, About the Author, etc.).

Remove all double spaces from the file. Seriously. This is an incredibly easy step. Do not make your overworked, underpaid editor do this incredibly trivial and time-consuming task for you. Especially if you are using double spaces to indent or center content. If you, for some reason, are using the space bar to indent or center content, please stop what you are doing and follow these steps:

Use your word processor’s “center text” function. In programs like Word, this can be done by hitting Control + E. (Ctrl + L and Ctrl + R, respectively, align text left and right.) Do not justify your text unless the guidelines demand it.

Use the tab key to indent paragraphs.

But bear in mind that sometimes this can result in a “tab” character existing at the beginning of a paragraph. This is bad. Preferably, set the entire document to a 0.5-inch indent and delete all tab characters.

Seriously, though, you should be searching every document before you send it out or copy it to an online format for double spaces. Make this a good habit, and you’ll ensure you set yourself apart as a cut above the other writers out there.

Set the entire document’s line spacing to double.

Front matter, chapters, and back matter should be separated by page breaks, not by a series of blank lines.

If you really want to delight your editor or anyone else who needs to work on your manuscript, consider removing all leading and trailing spaces from the document (link embedded).

Style elements:

Run spell check. This sounds obvious, but trust me, I’ve received manuscripts riddled with obvious spelling errors. If you write with spell check off for one reason or another, turn it back on when you’re getting ready to send a document out. Make a full pass on the document, and pay attention to every instance of that red squiggle.

Make sure you’re spelling the names of your characters and places consistently. I’ve seen Matt become Mike in the next paragraph, and Donilo become Donillo. Editors’ trust in the author’s abilities to do anything with competence drop drastically when we find these kinds of careless errors.

Similarly, either use the American spellings or the British spellings. Be consistent.

Separate your scenes with fleuron breaks. Three centered asterisks (***) used without spaces is the most common method of creating a fleuron break and the one I recommend using, although sometimes three number signs/hashes (###) can be acceptable. Do not use fancy symbols or symbols created through special fonts. They will not carry through if your editor changes your entire document to Times New Roman.

Optional change: remove the indent from the first paragraph in a chapter or after a scene break.

Make a point of using punctuation consistently. If you’re going to use the oxford comma, use it every time. Use a single dash consistently. Punctuate dialogue properly.

Improperly punctuated dialogue is one of the most common errors editors fix. There are only a few basic rules, covered here (link embedded), so please make an effort to learn and use them.

Use paragraphs properly. New speaker = new paragraph. New subject = new paragraph.

Once again, if you really want to delight your editor, change all hyphens between number ranges to en dashes. 3-5 days will become 3–5 days.

Correctly title your document. The title isn’t somehow going to magically change from StupidProject.docx or afhuowjfoa;wijef.docx to TheHungerGames.docx between your submitting it and other people reading the title.

If possible, use the .docx file format.

I want to wrap this up by saying that yes, editors are here to catch the mistakes you’ve missed, and we invariably have obscure technical knowledge that most writers don’t know exists (in Greek, the question mark is represented by a semicolon), but it’s your job as the writer to put your best effort forward. Also bear in mind that not all editors get paid to handle formatting issues but are expected to resolve them anyway. Fixing these basic issues yourself or, better yet, not creating them at all will help both you and your editor(s) ensure the version of the book you put out is the best possible version.

[kerie-prince]

We're Worlds Apart (3)

Draco Malfoy x American No-Maj!reader

series m.list | general m.list | previous chp

warnings: cursing, angst(?), Draco being a meanie :(

summary: Draco Malfoy is a pureblood wizard. Magic runs through his veins and has been since his birth. You're a Wiccan No-Maj; a non-magical being with ordinary blood through your veins, but practices what you call magick. And this very practice upsets your neighbor.

a/n: not my best lmao kinda gets cheesy. anyways, Y/M/N = your mother’s name and Y/B/N = your brother’s name

(gif cred)

“Do I really have to get one?” Draco whined in the middle of the phone store, getting his very first cellular device.

“Yeah, man. It's 2008 and you still write letters. Plus, your bird took a shit on my car,” Blaine said matter-of-factly. He found it funny that Draco still used an owl post for communication; the only other person Blaine knew that still uses an owl is his 97 year old grandmother. And even she has a landline in her house. “It's just easier and quicker to use. Why wait a whole day for a letter when you can just text me and I’ll respond in two seconds?”

“I’ve never even used a wall phone, how do you expect me to use a bloody cell-phone, Blaine?” Draco was fidgeting in his seat as he waited for the store employee to finish, what was it called, a credit score? Muggles sure are weird.

She came back shortly with a small, black box that had a weird word on it. What the bloody hell is an iPhone? She explained how it turned on, all the applications it carried, and details about billing and more. Draco was still confused about the whole thing but Blaine said that he would help him understand it better.

“Well look at you, Dray. A modern wizard in America,” Blaine jokes. Draco played with the new device, working out all the kinks of it. He sent his very first text message to Blaine at that moment. Took him precisely 5 minutes to type out a very bland, simple ‘Hello. -Draco L. Malfoy’

It made Blaine laugh so hard that he held his stomach. “My god, we’re gonna have to work on your texting skills, man. First things first, you don't have to sign your name at the end of a text. I know it's you.” Blaine explained to Draco all the fundamentals of texting as they walked through the halls of Santa Marie.

Throughout the day, Draco shared his new number with his department. The more he shared his number, the faster he became at typing.

At the end of his shift, he went to a nearby restaurant where he usually picked up dinner —not one to know his way around the kitchen — and headed home.

It's been a good week for him; his mother had sent him a letter everyday, he finished setting up the guest room for Theo and Blaise, he has this new phone, and best of all, Y/N had not crossed his mind once.

Now he still hasn't accepted what she does in her free time, but also he realized that she’s not exactly harming him nor did she know what he was. He's usually busy with all the work he does, anyway. It was quite a sudden change of heart. But mostly, it was his mother that was able to talk to him and change his views.

My dearest son, had it been during the time before the war, I would have agreed with you. But you have to understand that things are different now. You're different now. Now I am not forcing you, but maybe you should just talk with her just once. If not, just ignore her. After all, she only lives next door.

When he read the letter, he could practically hear all of his friends telling him ‘She's right, you know.’ And deep down, he knew it too. So he went with her advice: ignore Y/N.

—

You’ve had a terrible week; your assistant manager forgot to count the inventory which meant she also forgot to make an order for inventory. A group of teens stole a bunch of little vials of oils you had put on display. And to top it all off, a man stood in front of your shop with signs that had biblical verses written on them, blocking the entrance way and essentially driving away any potential customers. You called security but they never came.

You were used to this happening, it's happened all your life. But that didn't mean that it didn't hurt. I'm not harming anyone, so why does this happen to me? Next week, your mother was flying in from Maine to look around the house to make sure nothing would ‘freak Stephanie out.’ 

Driving back home, you were just waiting to mix some bath salts in your tub, play music, and relax for the next couple of days. By sheer coincidence, as you pulled in you noticed your neighbor that you now knew as Draco pull into his driveway.

This week can't exactly get worse you thought as your legs carried you to his front door. With gentle knocks on the door, you waited patiently. Being rejected once more didn't bother you, but you at least wanted to hear him speak to you and try your chance to become better acquainted.

Draco opened his door, his tie was undone and he looked confusingly at you. “Can I help you?”

Panic overcame your senses and without thinking, you blurted out, “Do you hate me?” You noticed his shocked face as it was probably not something he expected to hear.

“Excuse me, what exactly are you talking about?” he asked in his entrancing British accent. It was too late to take it back, so you just kept going with it. “I’m sorry, but you moved in here four months ago and you seem to have made friends with everyone around here but for some reason, you won’t even say ‘hi’ to me. Did I offend you or something?” You sounded exhausted and sad. Not only at the week you just had, but how Draco wasn’t being so neighborly with you as he was with everyone else on the street. It bothered you so much to no end. And the most frustrating thing was that you didn’t understand why.

“Uh, I apologize that we haven’t been on speaking terms but I don’t think I have to talk to you now, do I?” Draco scoffed. Why is he being such a jerk? “I’m not saying that you have to talk to me, but it’d be nice if you could at least wave or something. But instead, you look at me funny and ignore me. It’s kinda rude.” 

“Merlin, you muggles are so temperamental.” Draco said under his breath. The word sounded funny to you.

“Muggles? Did you just call me a muggle?” The look on Draco’s face didn’t go unnoticed. He stared at you for a few moments, not saying anything. What does that mean? “Is that what you call Americans in the UK? Doesn’t really sound nice.”

Draco started laughing mockingly at you, his grip on his door tightening and knuckles turning white, “Look, I don’t understand what it is exactly you want from me but I will say this; the fact that you are so offended that I won’t acknowledge you is honestly quite fucking childish and if you couldn’t get the hint then I’ll say it plainly for you now. I don’t. Wish. To. Be. Friends. With. You. Got it?” and with that, he slammed the door in your face.

Groaning out, you yelled at him through his door, “Fuck you then! I don’t wanna be friends with some rude prick!” You ran to your door and slammed it pretty hard. The sudden noise frightened your cat and made her run from her tower into your room. What the fuck is his deal? 

You walked to your room, pissed off and tired. Looking up, you saw Draco in his room. You stared each other down before you walked up to your window to close your blinds, flipping him off before it fully closed. Afterwards, you took a regular shower and went to bed. Anger built up inside you, and for probably the first time, you hated another human being. And you had to live next to him for god knows how long.

-

“I mean, did you really have to say that to her?” Ian and Ashley had just listened to Draco explain what had happened the night before. Ian just sat in the chair eating his lunch as Ashley responded to him. “I know things might be different in England, but you should’ve given her a chance. She could be nice. I have a couple No-Maj friends on my block.”

“I’m on Ash with this. Is it really all because she’s Wiccan? Be honest, Dray,” Ian chipped in. At that point, Draco didn’t really know what to say. He thought he could look past it, but he couldn’t. “Maybe, yeah. I come from two families that had very strict traditions and views of muggles. I thought I dropped those views but seeing first hand what they do and-”

“And it makes you feel like a freak? Because you’re a real wizard that can do magic and they sit in some weirdly drawn circle and ‘do’ magic?” Ashley finished Draco’s sentence, making quotation marks with her hands. “I get it, I really do. I was offended too when I had to read about No-Maj’s doing this during school. And then to see movies where witches are viewed as ugly, green-skinned hags with warts on her face and wear rags for clothes. Kinda brings you down as a kid. But I got over it. You should, too.” Ashley held Draco’s hand for a bit before she grabbed her coffee mug and left for her appointments.

Ian sat quietly, watching as Draco was sinking in everything he was advised. “Look man, it’s not really my business to be telling you what you should or shouldn’t like, and who you should or shouldn’t like. And you know what, you’re not exactly in the wrong to get mad about what happened. After all, she just kinda picked a fight with you out of nowhere.” Draco had a face that looked as if he was saying ‘Right? I’m not crazy here’

“But,” of course there’s a ‘but’, “from what I hear around the street, Y/N’s really nice. Super weird for sure, but an overall nice person. I think you should think about it.” Ian nodded at Draco before joining Ashley out of the breakroom. Draco sat there, thinking about what his friends said and also thought back to his mother’s letters. I’m such a child. And I’m the one that called her childish. If he was honest, you were but it didn’t make him better.

He knew what he was going to do after work. It pained him to have to apologize to someone. Apologizing wasn’t something he was exactly used to doing. He’s only done it once to Harry and his friends nearly three years after the Battle. He didn’t even really know what to say to you. But he’ll figure it out. Right?

-

You stood shocked at your doorstep, hands holding onto the sweater as you looked before you. “Mom, you’re here early.”

“I had been given an extra week off of work so I thought I’d just come and see my oldest baby before your brother and Stephanie comes. Also gives me a head start to plan our dinner and get this house situated,” your mother walked past you with her two large luggage cases and dropped them on your living room floor. She looked around the house and eyed all the decorations and pictures on the walls.

To her, everything was nearly normal. You had family pictures posted and some pictures of you and your friends from college. In the living room, you had a tapestry hung up behind your couch that used to belong to your grandmother. “Y/N please, will you take down that blanket? Why don’t you put up a picture of some flowers, or maybe something abstract?”

“Because I don’t want a picture of flowers and that’s not a blanket. It was Grandma’s. I want it hung up there. Ma, you gotta understand that it’s my house now.” Your arms were crossed due to the cold. You had the day off and tried to spend it well as you did your cleansing spell in the morning, but it seems that it wasn’t very effective seeing as your mother came in and immediately started nitpicking everything.

“It was cute in your room when you were a kid. But you’re 26 now. How would your boyfriend feel if he walked in here and thought ‘oh, didn’t know I was dating a 16 year old.’” Her constant criticism was nearly pushing you to the edge. “Ma, I don’t really want to argue with you tonight so I’m just going to bed-” a doorbell rang throughout the house and you were thanking whoever was listening for giving you a reason to walk away from your mother. 

As soon as you opened the door, you were met with another face that you weren’t exactly excited to see. “Can I help you?” you repeated Draco’s words from last night back at him in a spiteful tone.

Through gritted teeth, he looked at you and said, “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for being an arse yesterday. I hope we can look past it and become well-acquainted neighbors.”

“Huh, you’re sorry? You don’t really sound it.”

“I know, I’m not really used to doing this,” Draco quipped. “But nonetheless, I would still like to apologize.”

“Yeah, whatever, I’m sorry too.” You were about to close the door until your mother came up and pushed the door completely open, “Honey, who’s at the door- oh! Hello, I’m Y/M/N. And you are?” She looked at Draco with the nicest smile that you had ever seen on her.

“Hello, My name’s Draco. Nice to meet you,” he awkwardly shook your mother’s hand. He didn’t smile, but he also didn’t have the usual scowl on his face when he would look at you. Guess he does have manners. “Y/N, is this a friend of yours?” your mother insinuated with a less than discreet wink. Without missing a beat, you replied, ��No. Ma, this is my new neighbor. I just met him. But it’s late, so nice meeting you Draco. See you around.” And you closed the door.

“That was rude, Y/N. You should have invited him in. He’s very cute,” your mother grabbed her bags and headed into the guest room. From a distance, you could hear your mother speak to herself, saying ‘At least this room looks normal’. “It’s kinda late. Besides, we have all the time in the world to talk.” 

You walked to your small closet and grabbed the special bath salts for stress relief and walked to your bathroom. Starting to strip, your mother barged in. “Ma! Privacy, please!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. I gave birth to you. Anyways, how long has it been since he moved in? Do you think he knows about your witchy stuff?” She asked as she stood by the door, checking her reflection as you continued to undress for your bath. “I don’t really hold a sign around my neck that says I’m a Wiccan, Mother,” you said with closed eyes. Your mother said, “I hope not. Night, baby,” and closed the door.

This is going to be a long three weeks.

-

The morning came and you woke up before your alarm and did your daily routine. The only difference was that your mother was going through your pantry looking for ingredients to make breakfast. “Morning, honey. Do you want some pancakes? I’ll make your favorites! It’s still blueberry, right?”

“No, that was Y/B/N. Mine are chocolate chip and peanut butter.” You said flatly as you grabbed your watering can. “Oh that’s right. But I already bought the blueberries.”

“That’s fine, they still taste good.” Your mother was satisfied with your response and started right away. You walked out to your front yard and watered your plants along the fence. The betony plants were beautiful, its sight was calming your nerves as you poured water over them. The sound of a door closing caused you to look up, watching Draco as he was standing in his yard with what seemed like a cigarette attached to his lips before he took it out and placed it onto an ashtray that was on his porch.

He walked over to the fence that separated your yards. The smell of the cigarette was in the air and it reminded you of your late father. “I meant it last night,” he mentioned his apology. You didn’t really know what to say so you just nodded and went back to watering your plants.

“But if I recall, you did start that fight,” he chuckled. You glared up at him for a few seconds before returning to your task. “Alright, I guess I’m sorry too.” Draco scoffed and just whispered ‘Whatever’ and walked away. “Wait,” you called for him before he walked back into his house and luckily, he stopped. “I’m sorry,” you said with sincerity. “Can we just start over?”

He stared at you, visibly contemplating your question then finally said, “Sure.” He walked into his house and you stood shocked in your yard. Your mother walked out and announced to you, “Honey! Breakfast is ready! Come on, I think your plants are watered enough.” With the snap of your screen door, you were released from your daze and walked inside. Maybe this week is turning around after all.

-

Draco sat in his room, not exactly sure what exactly happened. Was he really going to try and become friends with a muggle? He could imagine the look on his fathers face. Just because he had lost in the Battle, didn’t mean that he magically accepted muggles and muggle-borns. Narcissa didn’t like them much either but she also didn’t hate them as Lucius did.

This would shock not only his parents, but also his friends, Blaise and Theo. Merlin, the person that would probably have a field day about this would be Hermione Granger. He sat there, imagining Granger either laughing at him or cursing him after all the bullying he put her through. All those years of calling her a mudblood and he becomes friends with a muggle. A No-Maj. A Wiccan No-Maj. But then he thought about what Ian said at work. Y/N is really nice. Weird, but nice. And when he agreed to having a fresh start with you, he figured that it would give you a chance to prove him wrong about what you were like.

Or she could be exactly what I always thought muggles to be. Foolish.

—

next chp

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[alinaastarkov]

There's a dilemma that you Dany morons don't think about. If Dany is going to be seen as an heir she needs Dorne's support because they have gender equality. Without it Dany is behind Aegon, son of Rhaegar and Stannis, great-grandson of Aegon V. And after that there's even the chance of Robert's bastards being legitimized so she's behind Mya Stone, Bella, Gendry and Edric Storm. Dany has nothing without Dorne. But you idiots can't even acknowledge that she fucked up majorly with Quentyn Martell.

Right, you asked for a history lesson so you’re gonna get it.

George R. R. Martin has based ASoIaF on a lot of things, but it’s fair to say he has been most heavily influenced by British/ English history. The laws in Westeros are very similar to medieval England, the geography is similar, the Dance of the Dragons is literally The Anarchy (the war of succession between Empress Matilda and King Stephen), the main conflict is based on the Wars of the Roses, etc. 

Succession laws in Westeros are one of the things he took from English history, besides Dorne. The main part of this was something called male primogeniture, which he has copied into the series pretty much unchanged. Male primogeniture meant a female member of the dynasty (or, more specifically a dynast’s daughter, i.e. the daughter of the ruling monarch/ head of the family) only inherited if she had no living brothers and her brothers had no living children themselves. After that, older siblings come before younger siblings, etc. Dorne practices absolute primogeniture, where the eldest child of the dynast will inherit, no matter what gender, and they will always come before younger siblings/ anyone from extended branches of the family.

Having educated you on that fact, let’s educate you on your Stannis/ Baratheon claim which is honestly the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. No one has brought this up before cause it’s really that fucking stupid. Stannis has a claim because of Robert, but you, sir, decided to base this on Targaryen lineage, the ruling dynasty for 300 years, so let’s go. 

Obviously the daughter of the dynast (Aerys) comes before the great-grandson of the king from 50 years ago. Stannis is at least 3 generations removed from any claim to a Targaryen throne. Even in male primogeniture, the daughter of the dynast will always come before cousins/ uncles/ nephews/ any extended family. It’s why Matilda fought for her claim against her cousin, it’s why Mary I became Queen over Jane Grey and other male relatives, why Elizabeth became Queen over Philip II and Mary Queen of Scots and a bunch of male relatives, it’s why Mary II and Queen Anne both ruled, it’s why William of Orange only became King with the express permission of Anne herself who was the rightful heir. I could go on. I don’t know where this idea that Stannis has a better claim comes from cause it makes no sense. Female or not the child of the ruling monarch comes before extended family. Always. That extended family may contest it because they’re misogynists, but that doesn’t actually weaken the claim itself.

The same goes for Robert’s bastards but even more so as they are illegitimate, meaning they technically have no claim to anything at all until someone legitimises them. And by someone, I mean the monarch. Tommen will never do that and I don’t see any reason why any other claimants would either, unless it’s to put someone in charge of Storm’s End. To use another example, this is why Henry Fitzroy was never considered as a future king even as Henry VIII struggled endlessly for a son and both his daughters’ legitimacy was called into question. He was a bastard. End of story. They have less of a claim than Stannis, and Stannis has basically none. Besides, to make a claim to the throne that is weaker, you need a strong army. Robert’s bastards have none, Stannis is losing more of his every day, meanwhile Dany has the strongest army in the series. She has the strongest claim and the power to back it up.

Now, onto Aegon. Going off the law I’ve just explained, Aegon would come before Dany. There are a few problems in universe, however. For a start, Aegon is likely an imposter, and so would have no claim. See Lambert Simnel and Perkin Warbeck as good examples of this sort of thing. The second is that Aerys (likely) disinherited Rhaegar and his children, passing over him in favour of Viserys as his heir.

When Prince Rhaegar and his new wife chose to take up residence on Dragonstone instead of the Red Keep, rumors flew thick and fast across the Seven Kingdoms. Some claimed that the crown prince was planning to depose his father and seize the Iron Throne for himself, whilst others said that King Aerys meant to disinherit Rhaegar and name Viserys heir in his place. Nor did the birth of King Aerys's first grandchild, a girl named Rhaenys, born on Dragonstone in 280 AC, do aught to reconcile father and son. When Prince Rhaegar returned to the Red Keep to present his daughter to his own mother and father, Queen Rhaella embraced the babe warmly, but King Aerys refused to touch or hold the child and complained that she "smells Dornish." - TWOIAF

Had any whiff of proof come into their hands to show that Prince Rhaegar was conspiring against his father, King Aerys's loyalists would most certainly have used it to bring about the prince's downfall. Indeed, certain of the king's men had even gone so far as to suggest that Aerys should disinherit his "disloyal" son, and name his younger brother heir to the Iron Throne in his stead. Prince Viserys was but seven years of age, and his eventual ascension would certainly mean a regency, wherein they themselves would rule as regents. - TWOIAF

Birds flew and couriers raced to bear word of the victory at the Ruby Ford. When the news reached the Red Keep, it was said that Aerys cursed the Dornish, certain that Lewyn had betrayed Rhaegar. He sent his pregnant queen, Rhaella, and his younger son and new heir, Viserys, away to Dragonstone, but Princess Elia was forced to remain in King's Landing with Rhaegar's children as a hostage against Dorne. - TWOIAF

The last passage is especially damning. If it was simply that Rhaegar died, his children would be next in line to the throne over his brother, as I have explained. But Viserys is clearly stated as Aerys’ “new heir”, meaning he passed over Aegon and Rhaenys, deposing them to put Viserys as next in line. Before anyone says this can’t be done/ doesn’t count, it does. Henry VIII deposed both Mary and Elizabeth after removing their mothers and it was completely valid/ recognised. It’s why people called them both “bastards” throughout their lives. He also had to undo that decree before he died, meaning they were both able to rule after Edward. If Henry himself hadn’t undone it, they never would have ruled. So, Aegon’s status as disinherited will stand, even if he is really Rhaegar’s son. Aegon now has an army, meaning he can back up his weak claim, but so does Dany. And the army doesn’t mean his claim is better, either.

Dany doesn’t need Dorne for her claim, only for extra support when backing up her very valid claim to the throne. As I have just explained to you, Dany is currently the person with the best claim to the throne who is not currently sitting on it. Besides, she didn’t “fuck up” anything with Quentyn. She accepted him into her court graciously and did all she could to keep his support, foster a relationship with him and Doran/ Dorne by extension, shy of calling of her own engagement which would have meant the deaths of all her people. Everything Quentyn did after that was because he wrongly felt he was letting his father down and was his own mistake entirely. None of it is on her.

In summary, Dany has the best claim and the power to back it up, Aegon (might) have second best claim (though it’s highly unlikely, in fact pretty much impossible as he was disinherited) with slightly less power to back it up and Stannis has one of the worst claims without the power to back it up. Hope you enjoyed your history lesson! Read the books next time and you could avoid embarrassing moments like this 😬🤗

[brywrites]

Flight Risk IV

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part IV: In which airplane food is disappointing and the context of a case is heavy.

( Series Masterlist ) ( Previous  |  Next )

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Arthur stands waiting for her outside the jet stairs. “So you’re on speaking terms again?”

She freezes, hands still lifted in the middle of adjusting her cap. “What do you mean?”

Arthur gives half a shrug and begins climbing up into the plane. He’s not one to pry into the lives of other people, but she’s discovered he does make occasional exceptions to this rule. “Simply that you seem much happier to be around Dr. Reid today. Your scowl is gone.”

Her face flushes and she’s grateful he can’t see it as they file into the cockpit. “We talked, yes. I think we’ve reached an understanding.”

Arthur gives a noncommittal, mmmm, and gets to work adjusting Geff’s controls. She does the same, going through routine checks, only to be interrupted by a quiet, “Just be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Y/N blinks, then looks down quickly. She doesn’t ask him to elaborate; Captain Dobson isn’t one for sentimental attachments or expressions. The fact that he’s saying this at all speaks volumes. It makes her happy, to know he considers her someone close. The BAU is obviously close-knit, she’s heard them refer to themselves more than once as a “family.” But the two of them, bound by similar schedules and shared challenges, they’re something of that sort too. Perhaps that makes them distant cousins of the FBI.

The team boards the plane, they’re cleared for takeoff, and it’s all smooth flying and blue skies for a solid three hours. They’re both tired, and the thought of being able to go home and sleep in her own comfortable bed lifts her spirits – until the cockpit door slides open and Agent Rossi steps in.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he says. “We just got word of a case in Houston. Two previous victims and now there’s a kid missing.”

A kid. Oh, god. Rossi looks genuinely apologetic, but Arthur nods.

“We’ll change course immediately.” Rossi murmurs a thank you, then slides the door closed once more, muffling the voices of the other agents, already discussing the case behind them.

Y/N follows all orders, gets in touch with the air traffic controller, telling Indianapolis Center that they’ll be changing directions and heading for Houston. Other than exchanges with ATC and instructions to shift speeds and change controls, they fly in silence. It’s a heavy quiet, weighed both by an acknowledgement that somewhere, something horrible has happened, as well as the fact that they won’t be going home tonight.

It’s harder for Arthur, he has a boyfriend to go home to, people who need him. She has less attachments, but has no desire to spend more time in a small motel once again. Still, things could be worse. It’s important work.

“I think we’ve still got lunches prepared that I could heat up,” she offers. “What do you want – the chicken or the pasta?”

“Pasta,” he replies, without missing a beat.

“You always take the pasta.”

“I’m the captain. When your epaulets have four stripes, you can claim it first.”

“I don’t know why we even bother with the chicken,” she grumbles. “We both hate airplane meat.”

“You know the rules. We can’t have the same meal.”

Y/N carefully clambers to the sliding door. “I know. But honestly, how many planes have gone down as a result of the food?”

“There have been some close calls. Japan Air, 1975, omelets. Overseas National, 1982, tapioca. British Airways, 1984, hors d’oeuvres.” She rolls her eyes, but begrudgingly goes to fetch the saran-wrapped meals. Slipping out of the cockpit, she catches bits and pieces of conversation as the team begins to work. The previous victims were a little older, most in their early and mid-twenties. All women with blonde hair.

“But Caroline Chapman is only twelve,” Morgan adds. “Though she fits the physical type.” Twelve years old. Her stomach turns, and it has nothing to do with the plane. She swallows hard and grabs the meals from the warm tray, hurrying back to the cockpit before she can hear anything else.

Their world is so different from hers. Their work is so heavy. Sometimes, in the silence of the flight, she pretends she’s a commercial pilot, bringing passengers somewhere cheerful. Maybe part of the crew on one of those Make-A-Wish flights.

The pilots eat in silence, then Arthur, sensing she needs a distraction, begins one of their infamous verbal games.

“Fortunately,” begins Arthur, thinking it over, “I’m taking a vacation in Seattle.”

“Unfortunately,” she counters, “climate change has turned Seattle to a frozen wasteland.”

“Fortunately, I’m an Iditarod champion and getting around won’t be an issue.”

“Unfortunately, the number of confused squirrels on the snow is distracting the sled dogs.”

Back and forth they continue, trying to create the most complicated situation until one of them has no counterpoint, or says something so absolutely outlandish they must concede. Sometimes their games can carry on for almost an hour; depending on which one they’re playing. This one finally ends when Arthur claims he’s saved up enough vacation time, and she rebuttals that the BAU has called in an emergency and he has to come fly the plane.

“Ah,” says Arthur, “fortunately Seattle is a frozen wasteland and no planes can take off.”

Y/N admits defeat. They sit in silence, cloud rushing past them. Then she says, “They’re only twelve.”

“I heard,” he says, starting straight ahead at the sky. She shifts in her seat, searching for the words to explain how she’s feeling. Arthur adds, “You can’t think about it too much. That’s their job.”

That’s all he has to say. A few hours later, they touch down just outside of Houston, and the agents file off to SUVs. She and Arthur prepare Geff for his overnight stay at the little airport they’ve landed at, before going off to the hotel. It’s been a long day, and they end up staying at the same one as the team. After a nap, she takes a long hot shower, and they order takeout, exhausted from the long flight.

Dinner arrives at nearly 8 pm; Arthur takes his to his room, and she makes herself comfortable in the lobby. Wet hair thrown up in a bun, a sweatshirt and leggings. That’s the nice thing about traveling. Nobody knows her. She can be anyone in a new city, only to disappear a few days later and leave only faint traces of herself. The sun has nearly disappeared outside the lobby window, when half of the team comes in, looking entirely drained. They head off in different directions, and she’s pleasantly surprised when Reid goes not to his room, but to join her on the hotel lobby couch. Y/N tries not to look too excited.

“You look tired,” she remarks. Holds out the container of pad thai and chopsticks. “Have you eaten yet?”

He politely refuses. “I have, thanks. Besides, I don’t know how to use chopsticks.”

“What? We’re going to have to fix this.” Her joking smile shrinks to one of hesitancy when she asks, “How are you doing?”

Reid shrugs, runs his hand through his long hair. It seems the more stressed he is, the messier it gets, and something makes her want to sit him down and brush her fingers through it until he looks calm.

“We’ve got enough for a partial profile, but that’s it. We still don’t have – I mean, we still can’t find the girl.”

Arthur explicitly warned her not to get involved, not to think about it. And yet, she asks, “So… what does that mean?” She knows enough to realize it’s not good.

Reid purses his lips. “The first hour is the most important. When a stranger abducts a child, it doesn’t always mean they’ll be killed. But of the children who are, almost half die within the first hour. Nearly all of them are killed within the first twenty-four, and we just passed that mark. Hotch, JJ, and Rossi are still out looking, with the CARD team. In five hours, they’ll come back and I’ll go out with Morgan and Kate.”

Kate Callahan is the newest member of their team, a short woman with dark hair and no time for anyone’s crap. She likes the way they look out for each other, making sure they have a chance to rest. But twenty-four hours, it’s such a short timespan. Gone too soon already. What does that mean for Caroline Chapman?

“Are you okay?” Reid asks, tilting his head. His voice is gentle, making it easy to admit to him what she hates to admit to herself.

“This job – it’s different for us, you know? As pilots,” she says. “You’re trained for this. It’s what you know you’ll be doing, going off to fight evil and save lives. I never thought I’d be involved with that. I mean, I like this job, don’t get me wrong. But I love flying. And lately, every time I get a call from work, my heart breaks because I know the only reason I’m going up in the air is because something terrible has happened to someone, and I just don’t know how to reconcile that. Every time I get into that plane, every time we get Geff off the ground, we’re taking you all to danger, and I only get to do what I love because someone else has suffered a tragedy.”

It’s so complicated, to have her great love for the sky tangled up in this mess she feels when the phone rings. It’s fear and it’s anxiety and it’s sorrow – grief for people she will never even meet. And flying back can be just as difficult. A case closing may mean a happy ending, but it also might mean that a victim is dead, or that an unsub – she’s picked up their lingo – is dead. Either way, there has almost always been some sort of loss. Perhaps in the form of innocence or hope or comfort. She can see it when they board before heading home. This job takes things from them. Will a day come when they have nothing left?

“I know it might sound selfish, but it’s just hard for me to understand. And you,” she adds. “I’m always so happy to see you and talk to you, but that only happens when there’s a case. I feel like I shouldn’t feel that way, not when someone’s life is on the line.”

Does it make sense to him? She hopes it does, because otherwise it’s going to sound so self-centered. Of course his job is more emotionally taxing. Of course she’d rather be a pilot than a profiler. But it hurts her heart each time she hears there’s a case. She grieves for them too. And she worries for the team, her team, their team.

He must understand though, because he places one hand over hers, just long enough for her to understand it’s meant as a comforting gesture, and not purely accidental. Reid doesn’t touch many people, she never sees him shake hands with anyone he doesn’t know. Crossing that barrier is a big deal, and that’s what leaves her all the more surprised.

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “It’s okay to feel whatever you feel – about this job, or a case. You don’t have to disconnect from things or stop being affected by them. But you also don’t have to feel guilty about liking your work. You shouldn’t – you’re a great pilot, and a really good person.”

“Thanks, Doctor.”

Reid gives her half a smile, then looks nervously down at the floor. His pulls at his fingers. “You know, maybe we could meet sometime outside of work. That way we can actually talk for a normal amount of time, and we don’t have to worry about anything else.”

“That would be really, really nice.” At that, his smile widens, and she can feel her own mouth mirroring his expression. “Maybe after all this, when we’ve both had enough sleep, we could go get coffee or something? Go to a library?”

Reid’s grin makes his eyes seem less tired, and for a moment it’s so easy to forget the circumstances. “I’d like that.”

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

The Critique of Manners Part IV

~Or~

A Very Amused Review of Emma (1972)

One doesn’t really know where to begin with this one. I’ve watched a few of these 70’s/80’s period drama adaptations, but I’ve never written a review for one. I think the tricky thing is it doesn’t feel fair to judge them against more recent adaptations because the approach and quality are so very different to modern television making.

But people do. I’m sure it’s different for people who grew up watching these, who are just used to them and their objectively terrible, stagey quality and can look past that particular weakness on the sheer power of nostalgia.

So I’m going to try and find a middle-ground here where I ignore the stagey and obviously dated aspects and judge it primarily on its value as an adaptation – is it faithful to the book?

Let’s dive in.

Cast & Characterization

Normally I would start with Emma and Knightley but this time I’m gonna switch it up a bit and do them last because… well we’ll get there in a bit.

Let’s start instead with Mr. Woodhouse. I have to say, I kind of like this take. The 1996-7 and 2009 adaptations all kind of went for the same type of older man: a bit stout, or in Michael Gambon’s case… however you would describe Michael Gambon. With Donald Eccles, however, this version goes for a rather more frail looking Mr. Woodhouse; in fact to compare him to any recent Mr. Woodhouse, I suppose he comes closest to Bill Nighy (although the general characterization is of course very different.)  He’s a ridiculous but lovable soul who seems always, of course, worried about his own health and comfort, but in his own selfish way, concerned for his friends and family as well. My only complaint is that maybe they over-utilized him.

I thought the casting of a plump Mrs. Weston (Ellen Dryden) was an interesting choice, and definitely different from other versions. Her acting was actually really good too.

I wasn’t quite so pleased with the characterization of Mr. Weston, on the other hand. I have huge issues with this script vis-à-vis the men, but Mr. Weston and Knightley in particular. The problem with Mr. Weston is how he’s written as just verging on uncouth at some points. There are way too many rustic contractions here: “Ain’t I looking well too, Miss Emma?!’ “’Ark at that eh? The sly young rogue!” “Oh I think it looks tolerably gay and festive, don’t it?” and then just throwing himself back on the grass and chortling when Emma makes her fateful Box Hill faux pas? Like, what the hell? I’m not saying he shouldn’t use a few casual contractions (“How d’you do?” for example) but he seems almost like a positive country bumpkin and I don’t think it’s appropriate; he doesn’t talk like that in the book and I’m just all-around not here for it.

Constance Chapman, a well-respected character actress of the time was cast as Miss Bates, while Molly Sugden, of Are You Being Served? fame was WASTED in the bit-part of Mrs. Goddard. If you ask me, they should have swapped this casting, since I think Sugden, an outstanding comedienne, could have done so much more with the Miss Bates role than the usual wittery-old-lady style chattering Chapman delivered.

Mr. Elton was played by Timothy Peters (Right) and was, eh, adequate. They did slime him up a bit by having him over-eagerly offer to fix Emma’s bootlace, which she points out isn’t entirely appropriate for a man to do, especially the vicar and it’s pretty funny; but other than that, he has all the appearance of being a pleasant young man, as Mr. Elton should – becoming less pleasant as the story progresses.

One John Alkin (left) played Mr. Robert Martin, and he, too, was adequate. There’s not much of him and, since Mr. Martin wasn’t one of those characters this version decided to approach more three-dimensionally, there’s not much to say about him. 

Frank Churchill is… OMG IT’S PRINCE HARRY FROM BLACKADDER!

Ahem. Yes, Robert East (BETTER KNOWN AS PRINCE HARRY FROM BLACKADDER) plays a very agreeable (and smarmy, but not too smarmy) Frank. I think honestly this is as good as this part could get in the 70’s, although at 29 he was a little too old for the part.

John and Isabella, in an interesting (?) casting choice, were played by brother and sister duo, Yves and Belinda Tighe. I actually really liked Yves’s John Knightley (he’s actually one of the more handsome John’s, in a 70’s kind of way; for note-taking purposes I have nicknamed him “Not-Harrison-Ford”), but his sister as Isabella seemed kind of old and had just a really annoying voice. Also she doesn’t look at all like Doran Godwin, and Emma and Isabella are supposed to look somewhat alike.

The real casting stand out for me in this version is Fiona Walker as Mrs. Elton, although she too was a little old for her role, I’ve said before that there are no bad Mrs. Eltons (only bad accents) and she just absolutely nailed the insufferable chatter to a definitive standard (until the recent adaptations – 2009 onward).

I did however, get the feeling in this version that they kind of wrote in a through-line where Mrs. Elton is putting the moves on Mr. Knightley (to the point where they actually wrote out Mr. Elton from scenes he should be in) which was one of those unnecessary deviations which made me raise an eyebrow and also was just… weird.

Now my question is – why do all of the young women in this series kind of look like evil dolls?

Debbie Bowen, from a strictly book accuracy perspective is one of the most accurate Harriet Smiths I’ve seen – in fact we don’t get another this accurate (to my way of thinking) until Louise Dylan in 2009, who fits roughly the same model (fair and shapely). Its Bowen’s acting I don’t like, but I know that in the 70’s, this kind of simpering acting for this kind of character was just unavoidable. It was the style at the time, so I’m cutting her a break critically; but the performance just doesn’t cut it for me.

This Jane Fairfax (played by Ania Marson) is not my favorite interpretation of this character. At first I thought she was going to be alright, but in her first scene she bursts out and actually shouts in frustration at her chattering aunt (which she has some basis for, I’ll admit, since Miss Bates, in her muddle-headed way, could very well have unwittingly spilled the beans about Jane and Frank) but this is far more feeling than we should even have a hint of from Jane at this point. The whole reason Emma doesn’t like Jane (other than the fact that Emma is an attention whore and Jane steals her thunder by being so admired and accomplished) is because she’s timid and demure and reserved.

But the biggest problem I have with this Jane is that she can’t even fucking sing. I know they write it away as her having a sore throat (Which I think is a pull from a different part of the book?) but this was just egregiously bad to me. This is the only time in the series they show Jane singing so it’s never actually established that Jane really is more accomplished than Emma (although they don’t show Emma herself singing or even playing at all either.) Could the actresses just not sing well so they decided to write around it? You could have dubbed it; you had that technology in the 70’s!

OK. Now it’s time to talk about Doran Godwin. I’ve never seen her in anything else so I don’t know if it’s just that she can’t act, but I have no idea what she was going for with this portrayal of Emma, and this is something so consistent and unique to her that I, for once, can’t justify blaming it solely on the director because you can’t direct crazy-eyes. They just happen; and they happen A LOT in this series.

I’ve struggled to find the words to sufficiently describe my feeling about Doran Godwin’s facial expressions and her acting in this adaptation. In my ribbon rating notes I think I describe her as a “witchy automaton”? I stand by it. Every time she talks to someone her eyes go very wide and she sort of looks like she’s trying to hypnotize everyone in Highbury. The effect is just absolutely inhuman. I never thought I’d ever see anyone with more patently crazed Crazy-Eyes than Timothy “Crazy-Eyes” Dalton – but man, Doran “Hypno-Witch” Godwin just stole the prize. Perhaps she escaped from the set of a Doctor Who? telling of the story where Miss Woodhouse has been replaced by an android.

You have scenes such as this in episode 2 , where Harriet is trying to get Emma to acknowledge Mr. Elton calling after them as they walk past the vicarage, and Emma ignores her by mechanically continuing to talk, looking straight ahead with laser focus. Of course, Emma is intentionally ignoring Harriet because she wants Mr. Elton to follow them, but that wasn’t quite apparent to me until the end of her ramble – which I had assumed she was forced to complete due to some directive in her programming. I have more to say on her characterization, but we’ll get to that in a dedicated section of the review.

John Carson might actually be one of the better Knightley’s, but I’m sorry – at 45 he was just too old. This is something you can play around with in other characters (Mr. Weston and Miss Bates after all, have no stated ages in the book) but not only do we know how old Mr. Knightley is in the book, they state in the show that Emma is 21 (Doran Godwin was actually 28) and that Mr. Knightley is sixteen years older than her – 37 or 38 – and John Carson is CLEARLY no 38. This obviously-over-forty appearance does have an effect on how I view his banter with Emma, and it’s more avuncular than the older-brother feel that Mr. Knightley and Emma should have.

Whether by direction or actor’s choice, Carson’s Mr. Knightley speaks in a way that just doesn’t feel period to me. He has a very sort of 20th Century, stock British, hearty-good-fellow manner, that dates this adaptation pretty badly and feels old-fashioned (but not in a Regency/Georgian way) even in the 70’s.

Sets & Surroundings

Normally at this point in the review I would talk about the British manor houses and estates used and how they measure up to the book descriptions but the publicly funded BBC ran on a much tighter budget in the 70’s (apparent in the production values and number of obviously bad takes that they just decided to leave in, in everything they made) and as such they couldn’t afford to film in and rent out large estates quite as much, so this has the trademark 70’s/80’s BBC sound-stage quality of all of their other productions of the period. That said, this production actually has some of the better sets I’ve seen and that’s saying something, for being made in the 70’s. The walls didn’t actually shake when doors were closed, and it didn’t feel as stagey as some other Austen serials of the time. (This doesn’t improve the very “on-cue” acting in the series, but I have to give credit where it’s due.) I believe they may used a real manor house for the exterior of Hartfield (and not a landscape pastel) and maybe some of the interiors too? I can’t say for sure, and I would love to tell you what house and where it is but I can’t find any credits on it. I’ll just say that I think it’s very suitable and leave it at that.

Costumes

Much like today, the BBC almost exclusively used, re-used and rented costumes for their period productions. Almost every costume in this series was also used in the 70’s and 80’s BBC productions of Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, and Pride and Prejudice (P&P being the overwhelming common denominator – almost every one of Emma’s evening dresses and pelisses was seen, primarily on Caroline Bingley.) Some of the shawls have been picked out in BBC Austens as recently as 2008.

For being made in the 70’s the costumes in this production are really kind of nice. They don’t date themselves too badly. The ones that do feel 70’s retro, in fact, were mostly styles borrowed from period accurate fashions that just happened to coincide with contemporary 70’s tastes, and which aren’t often used in Regency costumes today because, well they don’t coincide with our modern tastes. For the most part, they look well-made (although some of them do have that stiff, dingy polyester look to them and there are definitely some plastic pearls here and there).

I’m quite pleased with the silhouettes which don’t suffer from Square Bust/Boob Droop syndrome the way the 1980 P&P does. All of the assets seem to be lifted and shifted in the right places.

Daywear

I like Emma’s blue day dress the best of all her day-wear looks. It’s a rich color and has pleated cups (Also on her white day dress) which is a style I really love.

Emma wears the gauzy… let’s be kind and say ivory instead of “Yellowish” ruff during the day A LOT (Emma Pic 2). It’s a popular look on Jane Fairfax too (Jane Pic 2) and I just… I don’t like it. Not that it’s not period appropriate (because it unfortunately is) it just makes them look like Dr. Seuss characters to me, especially worn with short sleeves which is something these dramas do a lot and I hate it. It just makes the person in question look very awkwardly disproportionate to me, especially because. if they had long sleeves to go with it (which would be more correct from a historical authenticity standpoint) it would even it out so much better. Compare Jane and Emma to see what I mean. The single layer ruffle (Emma Pic 1) is much more agreeable to me. (I wanna point out that Jane wears the same green dress without any partlet or undersleeves for strawberry picking at Donwell, which is blatant Eveningwear-For-Daywear™ and looked really out of place since everyone else was wearing day-appropriate attire).

Emma’s wider, cuffed, long sleeves and Mrs. Elton’s puffy segmented Renaissance sleeves are exactly what I mean about period accurate styles that suit the 70’s in a way that they just don’t jive today. Even Harriet gets some.

Mrs. Elton Orange ™ is another crayon color Crayola should consider I think.

Harriet gets stuck with a lot of brown outer wear but her day clothes are otherwise pretty nice. I especially like the ivory and blue number (Bottom right) and her white day dress with blue accents (Top right) which I think is the nicest thing she wears in this whole series. 

Evening Wear

Emma’s evening wear confines itself pretty exclusively to cool purples and blues except for her white ball gown. I find this interesting because other versions tend to dress Emma in warmer colors and pinks (As I’m very partial to purples and blues, I love all of them). I can’t say it’s inconsistent with Emma’s cold characterization in this version. Mrs. Weston’s evening gowns are uniformly amazing. I especially love her blue party dress, which is my favorite in the series.

Both of Harriet’s party dresses are characteristically pretty and girlish. The pink is a bit fussy for me but I love the blue one (which has a lot more detail but I couldn’t get a full length shot of it.)

I’m pleased that Jane is given a bit of a break from the Jane Fairfax Blue ™ trope with her evening wear. She has one light blue evening gown and gets a few green numbers, most notable being her mint ball gown. Her beige party dress is absolutely tragic though.

Mrs. Elton’s evening color seems to be chartreuse (Which I think was also the case in the ITV version? ITV fans back me up.) Her black overlay/spiky number is iconic of the Austen Bad Girl, but her ball gown is a bit disappointing in its simplicity to me.

I would love to have seen a full length shot of Isabella’s black and purple number because I have a suspicion THAT would have been my favorite but I just can’t make out enough detail on it.

Zig-zag patterns on the skirt are a huge theme in this version, which is so of the period. Mrs. Cole (shout out to another future Are You Being Served? familiar, Hilda Fenemore) looks straight out of a fashion plate in her dark green party dress, which has (drumroll please…) a padded hem! 

Outerwear

This version has SO MANY PELISSES AND REDINGOTES. Are they all nice? No. No they are not; I particularly hate Emma’s fugly salmon number that she wears for Strawberry picking/Box Hill. Mostly because she looks SO over-dressed compared to everyone else who’s wearing loose fitting light clothes (except Jane, who’s wearing an evening dress). Just looking at her makes me hot. I’m also NOT a huge fan of her pink winter cloak. The one trimmed with… faux ermine? One can only assume. It looks awfully tacky.

That russet pelisse tho! This is one of my all-time favorites. It’s SO. PRETTY and so detailed (See this number on Jane in P&P ’80). I think her gray fur-trimmed pelisse is pretty fabulous too, but I do not like the hat she wears with it. The brim is kind of a funky shape to me.

I know I’ve criticized brown before, but I do like it in moderation and this version is astonishingly brown-free for being made in the 70’s, so I really like her red/brown velvet spencer, especially with the cream dress and gloves, and her hat has some amazing decoration.

Jane and Mrs. Weston are the only other characters who get pelisses/redingotes. I’m not a fan of Mrs. Weston’s fuchsia number, and while I like Jane’s, it does put itself solidly in the Jane Fairfax Blue™ category.  

Harriet gets pretty much only one form of outer-wear, her brown school cloak (a different brown school cloak from the one in the ‘97 version, in case you were wondering) and while it’s pretty dull, it’s hardly unexpected. Here it is paired with her rather ugly blue bonnet, with yellow ribbon. The bonnet features heavily in this episode.

To be honest for the most part I totally forgot about the… 

because a lot of it is very standard. No dandy standouts here, but overall it’s pretty okay and I’m really pleased to say that there are no bib-cravats. That’s not usually so much a problem in Regency Era stuff (Since ruffles were going out at around this time), but you can really distinctly see that the ruffles (where ruffles there are – usually on older men which is good) are part of the shirt and distinctly separate from the cravat. Also there are LOTS of high collars and they’re not comically high to the point where they get wrinkled, like they were in Emma. (2020), so points for that also. These are the screencaps I gathered going back over it for posterity.

Mr. Knightley doesn’t really get a lot of cool outfits. His best is his purple velvet evening jacket which somehow manages to not look ostentatious (but is his only dress jacket), and his gold-topped Prussian boots (which you should just be able to see bottom right.) The worst though… I’m sorry, (looks up costumer’s name) Joan Ellacott – do you really expect me to feel the weight of Emma’s cock-ups when Mr. Knightley is rebuking her in such a cartoonishly proportioned top hat? It’s like being scolded by the Mad Hatter. All of the men’s hats are pretty flared in this series too, and I’m not totally sure but, I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that flared top hats are not right for this period?

I think Mr. Weston only has one day outfit (which, in keeping with his characterization is pretty farmer-chic) and one evening outfit. Frank’s dark green day-jacket is a pretty standard look on him and I don’t think we get a fresh look until his fabulous blue jacket/yellow waistcoat combo that he wears for Strawberry Picking/Box Hill. I believe his evening jacket is also dark green but it was tough to tell. Again I think he has only one set of evening-wear. I would expect Frank to have more, since he’s such a dandy.

Mr. John Knightley doesn’t have much to write home about in terms of evening kit, but DAYUM, his blue traveling coat is DOOOOOPE. 

Let’s Talk Script

This adaptation was directed by John Glenister and Dramatized by Denis Constanduros.

Now I’ve seen a lot of positive reviews for this on IMDB calling it the… let’s see here… “The best Emma I’ve ever seen” and “The most true to the novel”… *Takes off spectacles and sighs heavily* I’m afraid I have to disagree. Several people also really love Doran Godwin’s Emma (We’ve already gone over why I don’t, and I have also seen reviews that name her and her lack of charisma as the main sticking point preventing them from really enjoying it, so I’m not alone). I’ve also heard it described as “sensitively handled” “Intimate” and “The most faithful to the spirit of Austen” and so forth, and again maybe it’s that prejudice against the stagey production and… no there’s definitely some other reason I have a problem with this version.

Let me make this clear – I don’t totally hate it, and I’m not here to shame the people who really love this version. Once again – if this version gives you what you want from the story I think that’s great for you. I, myself, like it pretty well and I think it’s one of the better early BBC Austen serials. It’s certainly not boring; but I do want to go over some of the changes that were made and choices in the script.

Some of them aren’t really that egregious, but they’re annoying in that I think they didn’t need to be made and don’t really add anything. Characters being added to scenes where they didn’t need to be and written out of scenes where their presence was missed. Like writing Mr. Elton out of Box Hill (And really the whole second half of the series, to facilitate Mrs. Elton flirting with Knightley), and adding Miss Bates into the after-dinner scene, I think at the Randalls Christmas party? I’m sure this was done for expediency but you have six episodes. It’s not as though you’re strapped for time.

Particularly praised, as far as I’ve seen, is the scene at Christmas when Knightley and Emma make up after their argument over Harriet. It takes place in the nursery, which I suppose isn’t an unreasonable place for Emma to be fawning over her niece (in the dramatization she seems to have been feeding the baby, where in the book she is playing with her). The book doesn’t specify where the scene takes place, although I assumed it to be a downstairs room, and I’m not sure that it’s entirely appropriate for Emma and a man (even one connected to her family through marriage) to be alone in an upstairs room together with the door closed and no more chaperone than a baby. But in spite of this, perhaps inappropriate, level of privacy, the scene feels less intimate to me than the book, where in the course of the conversation, where Mr. Knightley takes the baby from Emma “in the manner of perfect amity” and holds her himself and it is very adorable and sweet. In the dramatization, Knightley sort of just stands next to Emma’s chair and leans down a bit. After this conversation in the book, John comes into the room to talk to George, while in the show Emma puts the baby in the cradle and they leave the room to go downstairs.

But there are more outstanding changes that just feel wrong to me. When confronting Emma about her meddling in Harriet’s response to Mr. Martin’s proposal, Constanduros changes “What is the foolish girl about?” to “What is the stupid girl about?” it’s not that big a change, but it makes Mr. Knightley sound unnecessarily mean.

I’ve already mentioned the, er, additions regarding Mr. Weston’s dialogue and Mrs. Elton, and Jane shouting at Miss Bates; but by far the biggest, worst additions were made with Emma. The worst, I think, is the handling of this scene in Episode 4 when Harriet is feeling heartsick following Mr. Elton’s marriage.

And for those of you who don’t wanna follow the link, here’s a transcription:

Emma: Now Harriet! Your allowing yourself to become so upset over Mr. Elton’s marriage is the strongest possible reproach you could make to me!

Harriet: Miss Woodhouse –

Emma: Yes it is! You could not more constantly remind me of the mistake I made, which is most hurtful!

Harriet: Oh Miss Woodhouse, it was not intended to be!

Emma: I have not said “think and talk less of Mr. Elton” for my sake, Harriet, because it is for yours I wish it. My being hurt is a very… secondary consideration, but please, please Harriet, do learn to exert a little more self-discipline in this matter.

Harriet: {Looks down} Yes, Miss Woodhouse.

Emma: We are all creatures of feeling; we all suffer disappointments, it is how we learn to suffer them that forms our character. If you continue in this way, Harriet, I shall think you wanting in true friendship for me!  

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse! You, who are the best friend I’ve ever had? Oh what a horrid, horrid wretch I’ve been!”

Emma: Oh now Harriet – (She’s gonna console her now, right?)

Harriet: Oh yes, I have, I have!

Emma: Harriet, control yourself! (ha ha bitch, u thought) Now, you will tie your bonnet, and you are coming with me to call on Mr. And Mrs. Elton at the Vicarage…

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse –

Emma: Yes you are! And I’m sure you will find it far less distressing than you think.

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse, must I?

Emma: Yes, Harriet; but you may borrow my lace ruff if you wish.

Harriet: Oh may I, Miss Woodhouse? Oh, thank you!

(Look how evil she looks! She looks like she’s planning on baking Harriet into a pie!)

While this scene is in the book and much of the dialogue is also from the book, it’s the lines that were added that stick out to me. Emma does tell Harriet that her allowing herself to become upset over the Eltons is a reproach on Emma more than anything else and reminds her miserably of the “Mistake [Emma] fell into” but from this point, the script takes a left turn from the firm but kind appeal to Harriet to move on for both her happiness and Emma’s own comfort, to a far more manipulative strain.

Even after Harriet apologizes, she goes from simply appealing to Harriet to let herself move on, to basically telling her that she’s a bad friend. She treats Harriet like she’s unreasonable for feeling this way, where in the book Emma is very understanding and feels that “she could not do too much for her; that Harriet had every right to all her ingenuity and patience…” and only after Harriet goes all afternoon with Emma soothing her and no improvement in her spirits does Emma take any kind of reproachful tack whatsoever.

    In this scene, Emma says that her own happiness is a secondary consideration (this is stressed much more in the book) but from the way she says it, it seems more like she just wants Harriet to shut up about it rather than actually meaning it. (This is a very prominent example of Emma’s not seeming to really like Harriet at all in this version, only tolerating her presence.)

AND THEN she does something which Emma in the book most certainly did NOT do and forces Harriet to come with her to visit the Eltons, as if to put her on the spot and test how good a little friend she will be. I can’t express how disgusted I am by the changes and interpretation here. This is the culmination of the general through-line of Emma’s manipulative characterization being taken to an extreme. She looms over Harriet sounding, by turns, like a school marm and a saccharine nanny. She’s like a (very) low budget version of Tilda Swinton as the White Witch in The Chronicles of Narnia. 

My question about all of these changes is simply: Why? They don’t improve the story or the characters. They’re not big, but a lot of them just strike me as weird and unnecessary, but I guess there’s no accounting for artistic license.  

Final Thoughts

So is it a faithful adaptation? I often find this a more complex question to answer for myself than one would think, since inflection and line delivery and even, at some points, intention behind what the characters say tends to be up to the interpretation of the person reading the book.

Is the dialogue faithful? Other than the many changes I’ve mentioned (and the numerous cuts and edits I didn’t – and besides no screenplay can be 100% faithful), for the most part yes.

Are the characters accurate to description / faithful in their portrayal – again this tends to be subjective and opinions vary. In my opinion, Emma is not. I’ve mentioned that Knightley is too old, and Emma not only seems more intentionally manipulative than I believe she’s meant to be, and also just does not seem 21. She acts and looks like a much older woman, especially when preaching at Harriet) but she’s also very gawky, and Emma is supposed to look very healthy and glowing.

So my book accuracy rating meets in the middle at a 4.5. It’s NOT the most faithful adaptation I’ve seen, nor is it the most fun or the most intimate, but it’s not totally a travesty either and there are good things in it, even with a robot witch playing the main lead.

Ribbon Rating: Tolerable (43 Ribbons )

Tone: 4

Casting: 5 (Witchy automaton Doran Goodwin plays opposite avuncular good-fellow John Carson. Fiona Walker stands out as Mrs. Elton.)

Acting: 5 (Doran Goodwin is by turns crazed and mechanical with some momentary touches of what might be actual emotion. Raymond Adamson way over-acts Mr. Weston as a hobbeldy-hoi, verging on uncouth.)

Scripting: 4

Pacing: 4

Cinematography: 4 (A bump up from the usual 1 or 2 for TV dramas of the time. Surprisingly less stagey than expected.)

Sets and Settings: 5

Costumes: 7 (Very clearly of the 70’s but drawing on perfectly accurate styles that jived well with contemporary taste)

Music: 1 (Plinky, poorly played piano music. Only used for intro and outro I think? Jane Fairfax can neither play nor sing.)

Book Accuracy: 5 (They changed a lot of small details. Lines are changed unnecessarily (Calling Harriet “Stupid” rather than “Foolish” – Why?) Mrs. Elton seems to have a thing for Knightley? People present when they shouldn’t be, others absent when they should be present, again without any apparent reason.)

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello Steph! First, thank you for everything you do for this fandom!! I don’t know what we would do without you!! ♥️ I am looking to start my first novel length Johnlock fic. I found your list, and was wondering if you had a specific one to recommend to start off with? I’m looking for something that won’t make me too sad (the world does that on its own), and of course, lots of Johnlock!! Any recommendations would be appreciated, thank you!! Sending love!! *hugs*

HI NONNY!

Hmm, this is tough, because Novel Length is anything over 50K words, but some people don’t want to read “novels that short”. So I get a lot of requests for Epic novels over 100K, so like WOOO HOO LOL.

Hmm. How about I give you a few recs varying lengths, based on your requirements, and you can decide how long you want to go, since I list all my word counts on my recs?

First off, for when you become obsessed with the lengthy fics like I am now LOL:

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K Pt 2 (May 2020)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. (May 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. Pt 2 (Aug 2020)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. Pt 3 [MFL’s] (Dec 2020)

Next, here’s something for each range between 50 and 100K+ <3

BUT BEFORE I BEGIN: honourable mention because it IS my fave fic ever, and it fits your criteria minus the length so SORRY but please check it out:

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

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Okay, now the main event, of more-fluff-than-angst:

NOVEL LENGTH NOT-SO-ANGSTY FICS FOR NEWBIES

Spare Change by Ermerness (E, 51,966 w., 14 Ch. || Rich Holmeses AU || First Kiss / Time, Holmes Family, Virgin Sherlock, Anal, First Meetings, Bossy Bottomlock) – The Holmes family is one of the richest and most powerful in England. Sherlock spends his time flying around the world on the family's private jet drinking a lot and shopping at expensive boutiques as a way of trying to alleviate his endless boredom. His mother decides it's time he settles down with someone powerful, wealthy and well connected. John Watson happens to be none of those things.

Guilty Secrets by Ellipsical (E, 55,086 w., 16 Ch. || Post-TRF, Drumsticks, First Kiss/Time, Love Confession, Self-Sexual-Discovery, Anal, Rimming, Orgasm Denial, Butt Plugs, Cooking, Furniture Sex, Bath Sex, Rimming, Double Penetration, Prostate Massage, Anal Beads, Dancing, Romance, Tantric Edging, Internalized Homophobia, Case as Foreplay, Anal Beads, Tickling, Dancing, Dry Coming, Romance) – John has a prostate exam and discovers something surprising about himself. Experimentation follows. Sherlock wants to help. They're in love. You know the drill.

Bridging the Ravine by SilentAuror (E, 58,887 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Couple For a Case, Bed-Sharing, First Times, Confessions, Awkwardness, Sex Trafficking, Massages, Wet T-Shirt Contest, Group Therapy, Past Loss of Child) – Sherlock and John go undercover at Ravine Valley, a therapy centre for same-sex male couples in an investigation into a possible human trafficking ring. As they pose as a couple and fake their way through the therapy sessions for the sake of the case, it quickly becomes difficult to avoid discussing their very real issues. Set roughly six nine months after series 4.

Perdition's Flames by i_ship_an_armada (E, 63,435 w., 21 Ch. || Treklock AU, Est. Rel, Genetic Engineering, Angst & Fluff, BAMF!John) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe

A Cure For Boredom by emmagrant01 (E, 81,665 w., 8 Ch. || Dirty Talk, Threesomes, Light Dom/Sub, Sex Club, Experiments, Anal, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rimming, Cheeking, Double Penetration, Mild Kink, Porn Watching, Voyeurism, Masturbation) – They’d never talked about sex in the year they’d known each other. Well, that wasn’t quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

Uphill by scullyseviltwin (E, 84,945 w., 18 Ch. || Olympics AU || Sherlock POV, Skier!Sherlock / Medic!John, Rivalry, 2014 Olympics, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is striving for gold in this, his fourth and final Olympics as a downhill Alpine racer.

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Horse and his Doctor by khorazir (T, 129,003 w., 13 Ch. || Horse / Vet AU || Magical Realism, Horses, Vet John, Horse Sherlock, Implied Alcoholism) – Invalided after a run in with a poacher in Siberia, veterinary surgeon John Watson finds it difficult to acclimatise to the mundanity of London life. Things change when a friend invites him along to a local animal shelter and he meets their latest acquisition, a trouble-making Frisian with the strangest eyes and even stranger quirks John has ever encountered in a horse.

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w., 19 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate's charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim?

Gimme Shelter by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 159,368 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || 70′s Surfer AU || Period Typical Homophobia, Hawaii, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Professional Surfers, Gay John / Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John was a Sailor, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining) – All John Watson wants is the feeling of a freshly waxed surfboard under his feet and the hot California sun baking down onto his back. To finally go pro in the newly formed world of professional surfing and leave the dark memories of his past behind him as he rips across the face of a towering blue barrel. To lounge beside the beach bonfire every evening with an ice cold beer tucked into the cool sand beside him and listen to Pink Floyd and the Doors while the saltwater dries in his sun bleached hair. That's all he wants, that is, until the hot young phenom taking Oahu and the Hawaiian shores by storm steps up next to him in the sand in the second round of the 1976 International Surf Competition. (PUBLISHED AS ‘The Sea Ain’t Mine Alone’)

Mise en Place by azriona (M, 161,004 w., 28 Ch. || Restaurant (Kitchen Nightmares) AU || Sherlock is Gordon Ramsay / Celebrity Sherlock, Restauranteur John, Harry Plays Prominent Role, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, Cranky Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn) – John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn't have much choice. There's only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes. Part 1 of Mise en Place

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Hope you enjoy those!!! <3 PLEASE read them all, though, and THEN READ ALL THE ONES ON THOSE LISTS. Because once you start long fics, you get REALLY INTO THEM. Hah hah <3