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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years ago

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when your love reaches me (iii)

summary: 1978 is decidedly not 2020. nor is your life ever the same when you meet a guitarist, curly haired, soft spoken, and true.

word count: 7.5k

warnings: angst, language, yearning for a man in his 70s (c’est la vie, i guess), over-describing a moment i’m very passionate about (sorry, not sorry! ten points to the person who can tell me what moment it is LOL)

a/n: wow—this gif? yeah, match made in heaven. thank you all so much for indulging me in this mini-series. i really am very proud of this silly little thing & i’m sad that it’s over because i enjoyed writing it so much. thank you to @im-an-adult-ish & @deacyblues for helping me work out the rough spots in this one. would love to hear everyone’s thoughts because i’m very ~emotional~ about this mini-series!! xoxo.

part i, part ii

in this final chapter: you must adjust because it’s not in your cards to be with him, is it?

you run your hands down your face, feel the ring on your finger catch along the end of your nose, and sigh. two months—two months without him. two months to adjust to world you once knew but happily left behind. two months to gather the pieces of the life which cruelly slipped through your fingers like water.

each day is the same. you rise early and take your coffee on the postage stamp terrace outside your flat. you watch the sun climb higher in the sky with each passing moment and let the warmth of your drink soothe the ache in your soul. you wash your breakfast dishes, mumble a good morning to rachel when she exits her bedroom to make her way to the shower, and dress for the day. you walk to campus if you have a class or take the underground to the museum if you have a shift. you come home, eat dinner, go to bed. repeat.

if rachel notices a change in you, she doesn’t say anything. in her mind, no time has passed between the morning where she asked you to come to the pub and the same evening you tumbled into the flat, drenched and sobbing.

but you—you’ve lost a year of your life. there’s no getting it back, and the only thing that proves it really truly happened is the ring on your middle finger, the necklace hanging by your heart, and the undeveloped rolls of film in your bedside table.

there are few words to describe the unbearable pain in your chest. anything and everything reminds you of brian: the whisper of the breeze in the autumn-heavy trees; the feeling of your warmest cardigan around your shoulders; the sound of someone laughing in the museum.

but there’s more:

the scent of cigarette smoke reminds you of roger. the sight of two friends ribbing one another in a grocery store reminds you of crystal. a colorful jacket makes you think of freddie, a whispered snide remark takes you back to john, and two girls giggling reminds you of giddy moments with anna.

around every corner you turn there’s a memory you cannot avoid, and it hurts—desperately, keenly, deeply.

so you push it all away and soldier on, quiet and downtrodden. it’s easier that way. maybe, if you forget, you can move on and make it through life without him.

six months after you’ve left brian behind, you’re approached by your boss at the museum with an opportunity you’d only ever dreamed of: the chance to create and prepare your own exhibit.

monica is firm when she offers you the south wing to reshape as your own. “blow this out of the water, [y/n], and there will be a job as assistant curator waiting for you after graduation. i want something fresh and exciting. think you can manage?”

you agree without hesitation.

for the first time in a long time, you can’t help but smile to yourself. this is your chance to put everything you’ve learned to good use, to put something tangible in your portfolio, to make a name for yourself.

you’re buzzing with excitement and have to practically hold rachel hostage as you spout your myriad of thoughts and ideas. she’s your sounding board, even if she doesn’t want to be, but she’s honest where it counts most, and you’re grateful for that.

she glances over the kitchen table, laden with open magazines, cutout photos, and history books. her brow puckers. “this is... really boring, [y/n],” she says with a cringe, looking up with her blue eyes and freckled face.

your shoulder droop. “that’s it? that’s all you have to say?”

she shrugs and reaches for a photo, inspecting it with a critical gaze. “i mean, ancient textiles might be interesting to you and maybe five other people, but it isn’t exactly blowing me out of the water.”

dropping to the seat across the table, you huff. “well, we’re a photography museum, rachel. it’s not like i can whip up a few outfits and put them on mannequins.”

“excuse me, but fashion design is just as artistic as curating a museum—if not more so.” she sighs and puts the photo of a thirteenth century chinese table linen on the table. “there must be something else you’re interested in? something that other people will like just as much?”

you don’t mean to, but you let your eyes trail to the camera sitting on on the tv stand. you’d left it there after your return, uncertain where to put it. sometimes you catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of your eye and then you remember the tubes of film in your bedroom, undeveloped and unseen.

rachel follows your gaze. “you know, you never told me where you got that.”

“it was a gift.”

“oh really? from who?”

you’re slow to answer. the truth sits on the tip of your tongue—the man i love, the man i was going to marry—but you bite it back. “my great-aunt. she left it to me... in her will.”

you aren’t sure what compels you to retrieve the six rolls of film from your bedroom, but you do. the tubes feel heavy in your palm and clang against the table as you put them down. rachel looks at them then back at you, waiting.

“she gave me these, too.”

“i didn’t know you had a great-aunt.”

“we weren’t close.”

“obviously you were close enough to get these things.” rachel lifts one of the tubes, turning it over in her palm. “wonder what the pictures are.”

“i’m not sure,” you lie. “maybe they could make an exhibit.”

“i think you’d have to develop them first then make that decision.” she rises from the table and shrugs on her coat. “i’ve got a date, so don’t wait up. and try not to let this consume you too much? you’ve been down and out lately. i think the work will do you good, but don’t let it take over, yeah?”

you nod and wish her well on her date. she leaves the flat in a flourish, leaves you to the tubes of film and the growing curiosity in your stomach.

you really should get them developed. if not for an exhibit, then for yourself. an entire year of your life is in those tubes, and you deserve to see the photos you’d taken to preserve that time.

it’s been six months. you’ve purposefully distanced yourself from anything and everything related to queen, be it a simple news story, a song on the radio, or any of roger or brian’s social media posts. it hurts to see them, to know that they’re so close yet so far away, that they have no idea what became of you all those years ago in japan.

still, it’s been six months. developing the film might be your first step toward a sense of closure. you don’t want to stay in your rut forever. though you’re comfortable with the idea that brian might be your great love and you’ll never find another, you know you can’t stay as you are, sullen and despondent. it’s like a break-up, really. you’re sad, heartbroken over the loss, but you know it’s time to step out of the hurt and into something different.

before you can stop yourself, you grab the rolls of film, your purse, and your jacket, and you head for the nearest photo shop.

a few hours later, you return with a heavy packet of freshly-printed photographs and a usb drive full of digital scans. there’s over two hundred photos to sort through, and you’ve yet to see one.

flipping on the light to your living room, you sit down beside the coffee table, a glass of wine at your side, the table cleared of any lingering books or empty teacups. before you open the packet of photos, you open your laptop and type your search into the search bar. if you’re going to quell your curiosity tonight, you might as well quell all of it, and you’re dying to know what happened after you left.

a simple internet search confirms what you already know: your presence within the group on the jazz tour did not alter any significant events. freddie still passed away, john still retired. a further search yields at least one previously nonexistent queen song written by brian may: “into thin air.” it was released in the album following jazz. you can’t bring yourself to listen to it, not yet. a deeper search unearths an interview brian gave a year or so after you left. the interview was published in a magazine editorial covering of each of queen’s band members and their lives when not on tour or recording. after freddie’s bit, there’s a photograph of brian at the top of a new page. he’s smiling, but he looks weary and he mentions you only once: “i was engaged for awhile, but that ended in an unfortunate circumstance, so to answer your question: no, i’m not looking for love. not right now, anyway.”

you close the laptop and lean back against the sofa. the ring on your finger feels heavy. your eyes fill with unshed tears, and you decide the photos can wait to be seen until tomorrow.

the packet of photos ends up sitting on the coffee table for two weeks before you invite your co-worker, shamik, over for wine and cheese and museum gossip. shamik is kind, a first-generation immigrant from india with personality to spare and an exuberance for all things american. he claims it’s his greatest curse that his parents brought him to britain as a baby instead of america, and it’s something he can never forgive them for. you’ve only interacted with shamik at work, but when you mention your exhibit project, he’s eager to offer his help. with no new ideas outside ancient textiles, you’re willing to take whatever advice or ideas he has.

sitting beside him on the couch, you spread your collection of papers and pictures on the table to explain your vision. he listens dutifully, nodding along, his eyes scanning the 3-d projection you’ve made of what the exhibit might look like once completed. when you’ve finished your spiel, he sets his wine glass down and nods to the packet of unopened photographs on the edge of the table.

“what’s that?”

you frown, shaking your head at the sudden turn in conversation. “sorry?”

he reaches for the manilla envelope. “oh, it’s hefty! what’s in here?”

you sigh and take the packet from his hands. it feels solid in your lap, like a brick. “photos from my great-aunt.”

he points to the sealed flap. “it’s unopened.”

“i haven’t gotten the chance to look through it yet.” setting the packet to the side, you raise your eyebrows. “well, what do you think? about the exhibit?”

“honestly? it’s dull. monica won’t be impressed.”

you throw yourself back against the couch with a groan. “what the hell,” you whisper. “i’ve got no ideas then.”

you know ancient textile photography would not be the most enticing exhibit, but it’s been an interest of yours for some time and would be easy enough to complete. shamik and rachel’s reactions do not bode well, you have to admit. having a job as an assistant curator right out of the gate would be beyond marvelous, and you desperately don’t want to screw it up with a boring first exhibit.

“let’s have a look at these pictures from your aunt!” before you can stop him, shamik reaches across your lap for the photo packet and rips open the top. “maybe that will spark some ideas?”

you lean forward, blush already rising to your cheeks as he pulls out the first picture. “oh no, shamik, i don’t know if—”

“holy shit!”

you shut your eyes, wincing.

“that’s fucking freddie mercury!” shamik grabs your shoulder, his fingers digging into your flesh. “did you know about this, [y/n]? that’s your aunt with freddie mercury!”

forcing your eyes open, you look at the photo trembling between his fingers. it’s a picture of you sitting beside freddie on the tour bus. (you think john took the photo in an effort to get you to stop taking photos of him when he was asleep while roger and crystal placed as many items on his head as they could before he fully awoke.) your head is against freddie’s shoulder, your eyes droopy with sleep. a lump rises in your throat, and all you can do is shake your head in feigned disbelief as shamik continues to shuffle through the photos.

“oh my god, your aunt was a groupie,” he cries, passing you another photo.

“i guess—” you clear your throat. “i guess she was.”

“you know”—shamik sets the pile of photos down and spreads them across the table, obscuring your vision of an ancient textiles display—“this would make a great exhibit.”

“shamik—” your voice is a warning, a sudden surge of anger rising in your chest, but he continues.

“no, really, [y/n]! there are so many photos here that tell such a cutesy little story. i mean, come on? freddie and this cat?” he lifts the photo in question. “it’s stuff people have never seen before from a totally different side of queen. it’s a fucking goldmine!”

“absolutely not,” you say. “i will not put my aunt’s personal affairs on display.”

“think of monica, [y/n]! think of the job!”

“no, shamik!” you stand from the table and drop your plates in the kitchen sink with a resolute clatter. “i barely knew my aunt, but i know enough to gather that her time with queen was private. she didn’t say anything about it until she died. that’s got to mean something, and i don’t want to air it all out for everyone to see and speculate and gossip about just for my own personal gain.”

you’re shouting, fists clenched at your sides, by the time you finish. shamik just stares at you, his face blank and unreadable. he glances down at a photo.

“she looks a lot like you,” he says, his voice even.

you huff and take the wine glasses from the table. “we’ve got strong family genes. now, please, i’d appreciate it if you just drop the whole queen thing. we can find some other idea.”

you gather the photos, shove them back in the folder, and toss the envelope in the nearest drawer you can find. the drawer slams shut, and you leave the photos there to gather dust.

you mull over shamik’s idea of an exhibit based on your photos for a month before you finally relent. monica’s riding your ass daily with questions about your progress. you need to get something down on paper for her to give to the contractors, so you begrudgingly type out a response to her most recent email:

monica,

i’ve landed on an exhibit topic at last. took me long enough, right?

i’ve recently come into possession of a series of photographs taken by my late great-aunt. turns out she was a groupie with the band queen in the ‘70s. my exhibit will be centered around those photos. i’m thinking the exhibit will be titled “queen: unfiltered.” do with that what you will. :)

monica, much to your dismay, loves the idea and sends you right to work on gathering and laying out your vision while she begins the necessary promotion.

it hurts at first—looking at all the photos you took, remembering the way you felt so unearthly happy during that year. you cry each time you sit down to sort out the best of the pictures. the ones which capture a moment of levity amongst the band or are particularly well-shot go in a pile on the left. the ones which didn’t develop well or are too intimate for you to ever consider putting on display go in a pile on the right. your bedroom floor is a mess of drafted captions written on slips of printer paper, photographs with notes scrawled along the back, and used tissues. more than anything, you wish you could step into the world behind those photographs. you want to be back there—with him, with them—until you grow old and gray. knowing you can’t, that you won’t ever see him again, tears you apart inside.

but it helps. the exhibit forces you to acknowledge the time you spent with brian, with queen. instead of leaving the photos in a drawer, they confront you everyday as you sit down to work, and everyday it gets a little bit easier to face your past. as the tears subside, you find yourself laughing whenever you find a new photo of roger’s antics. your heart doesn’t clench as much when you run across another photo of you and brian. you can smile now when you look at his face. he really was so handsome...

you go so far as to frame your favorite photograph of your time together and place it on your dresser. he’s got his arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin settled on the top of your head. you’re laughing, your hands folded on his arms, legs crossed as you tilt to the side. he’s making a face, his tongue stuck out at the camera, and every time you pass by the picture, you can’t help but chuckle.

you love him still. you’ll love him always.

with three weeks before the opening of the exhibit, the stress is starting to get the better of you. you’ve bitten your nails down to the quick, there’s heavy bags under your eyes from lack of sleep, and you can’t remember the last time you consumed something other than coffee. despite the stress, you feel lighter. working through the photos, laying them out in order, writing the captions, pouring over the faces of the ones you love so dearly—it’s all helped ease the burden in your heart. for the first time in a long time, you slip out of bed in the mornings with a newfound sense of energy and purpose.

life will go on. just as you did when you fell into the past, you will find a new future.

arms laden with exhibit proposals and mock-ups, you brush into your local coffee shop—pretty bird—intent on getting some real work done on choosing the final photographs before you send them off to be printed. you order your usual and take a seat by the front. the air which wafts through the open window at your side is warm with spring and rebirth, and you breathe deep, cracking open the lid of your laptop. you manage to pick a total of twelve of the seventy-six needed photographs before you’re interrupted.

“whatcha workin’ on?” matthew, barista extraordinaire and casual acquaintance, sits down on the bench across from you. he has his own cup of cold brew poised between his lips, and the piercing in his eyebrow wiggles as he moves his brow up and down.

“an exhibit for the museum,” you say, pausing to roll your tight shoulders. “it’s my first.”

“do tell!”

you explain, briefly, how to came to acquire your dead aunt’s photographs and the general theme of the showcase. he nods in approval then snaps as if he’s remembered something.

“hold on. stay right there. i’ll be right back.” he puts his coffee down, scoots off of the bench, and darts to the back of the coffee shop. you wait and listen to the sound of the birds twittering outside before he returns with a framed picture in hand. “i just learned about this,” he says, taking his seat again. “this building used to be a disco back in the 70s.” he hands you the frame and points to a collection of people in the middle of a disco bar. “that’s queen. they came here once and somebody had the smarts to take a picture.”

your hands shake around the photograph, eyes darting from one corner of the picture to another.

matthew keeps talking. “the place was called climax. can you believe that? the 70s were fuckin’ wild, mate.”

you nod, lips parted, and skim your fingers over the incredibly tall and recognizable form of brian in the center of the photo. you can see your shoulder, jammed between freddie and crystal, but the rest of your body is obscured. you lift your eyes from the frame and glance around the coffee shop, at the exposed metal beams and vaulted ceilings, at the disco ball still hanging in the center of the room.

makes sense now. why the building had felt so eerily familiar back then.

handing matthew the picture frame, you sit back in your chair. “wonder if my aunt ever came,” you say.

“maybe? sounds like she was in pretty tight. you know who you could ask?” you shake your head, uncertain of matthew’s question. “chris taylor. he was a roadie back then. he’s a regular here. comes in at least twice at week.”

you can’t stop the hand that flies to your mouth in surprise. you try to smother your gasp with a cough, but matthew still stares at you like you’ve sprouted another head.

“you okay?” he asks warily.

nodding, you take a sip of your drink. “yeah, yeah, sorry! wrong pipe.”

“so, do you want to meet him and ask about your aunt?”

everything in you screams to say no. it’s too dangerous. you will surely break the moment you see him. crystal became your lifeline apart from brian during that year. he was your brother, your partner in crime, the one who kept you grounded when things got too wild. just knowing that he’s frequented the same coffee shop as you for the last six months brings tears to your eyes. you could have run into him. hell, you might’ve already. still, you aren’t sure if you’d be able to make it through a proper meeting without spilling your guts and apologizing for the way you left.

“[y/n]?” matthew pulls you from your thoughts. “what do you think?”

you hesitate before shrugging. you speak before you can stop yourself, before the rational and reasonable part of you can take over. god, you need this. if it’s your only opportunity for true closure, you’ll take it. “if he’s up to it then... sure.”

matthew grins. “come in tomorrow. i’ll introduce you!”

that night you toss and turn. you’re plagued with anxiety. will crystal recognize you? if he does, what will he say? will he be angry? what if he tells brian and then—

your bedside alarm goes off just as you fall asleep. it’s a struggle to drag yourself out of bed, but you must. there’s closure somewhere around the corner, and if you just move your ass, you’ll find it. you have one class this morning then your meeting with crystal. you’re jittery by the time you leave class, but you chalk that up to drinking two cups of coffee before leaving your flat and one in class.

it’s drizzling as you make your way to the coffee shop. you hasten your steps, head bent against the rain and fingers curled around the strap of your bag. when you enter the shop, it’s nearly empty aside from a few lonesome students studying in far off corners. you can hear the faint thrill of music over the loudspeakers, but the blood that’s rushing to your ears blocks out most of the melody.

crystal’s already here, leaning against the counter, in conversation with matthew.

you stop in your tracks. he’s bald now, slightly pudgier with age, but he looks every bit as devilish as you remember.

you swallow past the fear in your throat and the anxiety in your veins and step forward. you voice wobbles when you speak. “matthew?” you direct your entrance to your friend because if you come right out and say crystal’s name, you will surely fall over in a puddle of emotion.

“there you are!” matthew jumps over the counter in one easy leap and lands to the floor beside you. he drapes his arm around your shoulders and motions to crystal. “[y/n], i’d like you to meet chris taylor. chris, this is [y/n], the girl i was telling you about.”

crystal’s staring at you through his blue-tinted glasses like he’s seen a ghost. his jaw has gone slack, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to formulate a sentence.

you shove your hand into the space between you. “nice to meet you, mr. taylor.”

looking between matthew and yourself, he gathers himself, clearing his throat, and shakes your hand. “you too.”

“should we sit?” you motion to the same table you occupied the day before. “i can buy you a coffee for your troubles.”

he shakes his head and lifts his cup. “already got mine.”

“all right, well...” you glance at matthew.

“do you want your regular?” he asks.

“yes, please.”

“comin’ right up.”

crystal follows you to the table and sits down, his movements slow. for a moment, you sit in silence and allow his eyes to roam your face. you can’t tell if he knows it’s you or if he thinks it’s just a coincidence. you want to reach out and take the hand he rubs across the bridge of his nose, but you fold your fingers in your lap.

“thank you for agreeing to talk with me,” you finally say.

“you aunt,” he starts.

“yes, my aunt.” you pull a photograph out of your bag. it’s one of the few you took with crystal all those years ago. he’s got you in a headlock, his opposite fist grinding into the top of your skull. you slide the picture across the table. “you knew her?”

crystal lifts the photo, inspects it, before putting it down. he sighs, shaking his head. “i loved that woman. broke my heart when she left.” his gaze lifts from the table. “you look like her, have her name too.”

you look away, out the window at the side. there’s bird fluttering in a puddle on the sidewalk, and you watch it for a moment before turning back to him. “i think my mother loved her a great deal. i didn’t get the chance to know her, though. we only just found these pictures recently.”

his eyes narrow. “i mean, you really look like her.”

you force a smile. “thank you. that’s kind of you.” shifting, you tap your finger on the table. “i know her leaving wasn’t exactly...” you struggle to find the proper word, but he jumps to assist.

“natural?”

“well, i was going to say easy, but—”

“she fuckin’ disappeared! excuse my language.” huffing, he drops back against his chair. “one minute she was there, the next minute she was gone. i swear, i’ve never seen anyone skip town that fast.”

“she didn’t say anything about leaving?”

“why would she? she was engaged! she had no reason to leave that i know of.”

“was she happy?”

“hell yes. her and brian—i’ve never seen two people more fit for one another. brian just about lost his mind trying to find her, but it was like she never existed. strangest thing.” he pauses to take a sip of his coffee, looking askance, before his eyes whiz back to yours. “oh my fucking god.”

you look up, fear sparking in your belly. “what?”

“[y/n]?”

you blink. your head feels dizzy with the way he’s looking at you, like he’s about to jump across the table and throttle you or hug you so tight your insides might squeeze out of your body.

“fuck,” he breathes. “it is you.”

“i don’t know know what you’re—”

“don’t play dumb with me!” he leans across the table and lowers his voice. “i was the one who got you that phony passport, remember? i always wondered why i couldn’t find your credentials. had to lie my way through it until i got the damn thing. you’re lucky everything was so lax in the 70s.” he shakes his head. “how’d you do it?”

there’s part of you that wants to deny, deny, deny.

but it’s crystal. you can’t lie to him any more than you already have.

“i had no choice in the matter,” you say plainly. “one minute i was here, the next minute i was there, and the next minute i was here again.”

his jaw works back and forth as he processes the information. “does brian know?”

“no—and i’d like to keep it that way.”

“i thought we might lose him after you left.”

you twist the ring on your finger. “if i’d had the choice, i would have stayed. i hope you know that.”

crystal nods. “yeah, i do.” he holds your gaze then motions to your bag. “so, this exhibit matthew told me about. you’re publishing all those photos you took?”

“yes. there are some pictures i’ve saved for myself, but my boss, monica, she got permission from the record label to go ahead with the others. it opens in three weeks.”

“i’ll be there if i can. i’d like to see those pictures.”

you smile, your first earnest smile of the day. “you feature many times.”

he ducks his head like an embarrassed schoolboy. “we were thick as thieves, weren’t we?”

“you and roger were thicker, but i’d like to think i had a part to play some of the time.”

he lifts his head and heaves a heavy sigh. “you know, when i said i loved you, i meant it. not in the way brian did. you were like a kid sister to me. i cared for you a great deal.”

before you can stop yourself, you slip your hand across the table to grasp his worn fingers. his shoulders shake on another sigh, and he lifts his opposite hand to wipe at his eyes beneath his glasses.

“oh, crystal. i’m so sorry,” you whisper. it hurts to see him cry, to know that you’re the cause behind his pain.

he waves your apology away, sniffing hard. “i’m just glad to know you’re okay. we thought you might’ve gotten picked up or—” he shakes his head and pats your hand over his, meeting your eyes. “you’re okay, though. that’s what matters.”

“will you really come to my exhibit?”

“anything for you, kid.” he thumbs the underside of your chin with a lopsided grin. “even after all this time, i’m putty in your hands.”

you grin and hand him a business card, which he tucks in the folds of his wallet. rising from his seat, he opens his arms and you practically trip into his hug. he holds you tight for the briefest of moments before pulling back. he pats your cheek.

“i’ll see you in three weeks, yeah? if i stay any longer i’ll end up a sobbin’ mess on the floor.”

you nod. “yeah. and, crystal?” he turns at the door. “don’t tell brian. please.”

he leaves without another word.

the day of the exhibit opening you are equal parts thrilled and a nervous wreck. everyone’s here—your family, rachel, shamik, even matthew. you haven’t seen crystal amidst the crowd mingling in the lobby, but you trust him to show. he’s always been reliable, and you doubt he’ll fail you now.

monica squeezes your shoulder as she passes you by in the staff hallway. “it looks wonderful, [y/n]. consider yourself hired,” she says and hands you a keycard. “i’m going to give you a piece of advice i got when i completed my first exhibit: go have a moment by yourself. look at your work, be proud of it. you deserve it.”

with trembling fingers and a racing heart, you make your way down the corridor to the south exhibit hall. due to a celebratory lunch with rachel the day before, you hadn’t gotten the chance to see the room in its final state. in retrospect, you’re thankful for the chance to see it for the first time alone. at least this way, if you cry, no one will have to know.

the door beeps as it unlocks, and you slip inside the room. you descend the handful of stairs which lead into the showroom floor and suck in a deep breath.

before entering the exhibit, there’s a wall to the side with a simple explanation written in a white font:

queen: unfiltered — this exhibit preserves and presents never-before-seen images of the popular band, queen, through the eyes of an unnamed woman who spent a year traveling the world on queen’s jazz album tour. her images are intimate yet distinctive and offer a personal glimpse into the lives of one of britain’s most well-known bands.

at the far end of the room hang four banners spanning floor to ceiling. the banners wave gently in the air blowing throughout the room, illuminated from lights on the ceiling and floor. each banner hosts an oversized photo of one of the band’s members in an image that best captures their personality. it took you hours to find the right photo for each man, but you stand by your choice for each one.

there’s john on the far left, head bent as he strums the bass across his knee. his lips are pursed in thought, a line of concentration on his brow.

there’s freddie next to him. he stands in a spanish alley way, cradling a stray cat in his arms. he looks serenely on at the camera, a rare moment of simplicity.

there’s brian sat in an overstuffed armchair, his gangly legs crossed, a book open on his lap. he has the corner of his thumb in his mouth, and if you squint you can see the edge of his tongue.

there’s roger on the far right. he’s smiling at the camera, his eyes bright with mischief and joy. there’s a party hat snug on the crown of his head, pulling the skin of his forehead taut.

on opposite sides of the room, two parallel rows of twelve photos hang in neat order. you decided to have every photograph in the exhibit printed in black-and-white and, in all, you painstakingly picked the forty-eight photos featured in their simple white frames. you walk along the wall, hands clasped at your waist, eyes running over the memories you hold so dear.

the afternoon crystal taught you ride a bike in barcelona: you’re sat on the handlebars after a hard fall, mouth open in a squeal of delight as crystal whips toward the camera.

roger and john tossing an apple back and forth in an ottawa grocery store: john’s smile is broad, the apple caught on film midair.

brian sitting on the floor of your hotel suite: there’s a tray of sushi at his feet, and he’s smiling at you, his hair wet from a shower.

freddie playing the piano in the airport in yugoslavia: he’d been so excited to see one, his shoes had slipped on the slick floor as he ran to it. he’d played dramatically, conducting those around him in a horrible rendition of “god save the queen.”

your eyes sting with tears as you glance about the room. you’re proud of your work. it looks good, professional and elegant, but more than that, you’re proud of yourself for the work you’ve done in mending your broken heart. though you will never live the life you’d once dreamed of, you will always have the memories—and that’s got to count for something.

when the double-doors open and monica ushers the first of the patrons in, you slip into the closest bathroom to wipe at the makeup smudged under your eyes. you’re happy, truly so, and you want to celebrate—celebrate both of your lives as they finally come together.

the room is crowded when you reenter, conversation and gentle laughter mingling in the air. you accept a tight hug from rachel when you see her and the congratulations of your parents. you can’t stop smiling, and you’re sure your face will hurt come morning, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?

your parents float away, hand in hand, and you find yourself alone in the center of the room, watching in awe as people you’ve never met look at your photos, at your memories, and nod in appreciation. your chest swells with an emotion you can’t place.

“i think this calls for a congratulations. you’ve outdone yourself, dove.”

you whirl on your heel, lip caught between your teeth in a poorly-concealed smile. “you came.”

crystal grins. the tie of his suit is rumbled and askew, and you reach out to straighten it. old habits die hard. “i said i would.”

“what do you think?”

“i think it’s fantastic. the lads would be proud.”

“maybe.” you shrug. “guess we’ll never know.”

“are you really so intent on staying hidden forever?”

you nod. “yes. it took everything in me to even talk to you. i don’t want to ruin their lives again by popping back up, especially because i’m not exactly old, am i?”

crystal laughs, shaking his head. “you must think you’re hot stuff if a simple hello could ruin a life.” his laughter fades into a simple smile. “now, i know you’re going to hate me and i’m willing to take that, but i did tell a certain someone about the exhibit.”

you can feel the blood drain from your face. “crystal, you didn’t.”

he winces. “i might’ve.”

you slap his arm and curl your fingers into his bicep. “you bastard!”

he holds up his hands in defense, decent enough to plaster a look of contrition on his face. “look, i didn’t tell him the context or what tipped me off. i just told him there was a new exhibit about queen and he was eager to come see. that’s all!”

you swallow hard, uncertain how to respond. “i—” your head twists back and forth in utter confusion. “i don’t know what to do.”

crystal’s face softens, and he nudges your shoulder. “go talk to him. he deserves that much, doesn’t he?”

you can’t argue with that.

giving crystal’s arm a grateful squeeze, your legs shake beneath you as you turn and see him—brian—across the room.

you don’t know how you didn’t see him before. even now, forty years later, he’s still unmistakeable: still tall, still gangly, but his hair has gone white and his strides are slower. the overwhelming urge to tear across the room and curl yourself around his back nearly overpowers you, but you shove it down and manage to cross the floor in slow, even steps. you keep your eyes glued to his back, your hands twitching at your sides. when you reach him and catch a faint whiff of his cologne, the same he wore all those years ago, you have to push back the tears that rise unbidden to your eyes.

you tap his shoulder. “dr. may?”

he circles around, as does his wife anita, her arm snug in his elbow.

brian blinks hard, his brow furrowed in confusion. for a moment, you let him stare at you as you stare right back. his eyes are the same. you’d thought they’d be different, but they aren’t. the realization stuns you silent.

anita glances between you both before smiling sweetly. “good evening, sweetheart,” she says, and her voice is so kind you can’t even summon the slightest bit of jealousy. “i’m afraid i didn’t catch your name.”

“oh, i’m sorry!” you laugh and find that smiling at anita isn’t hard. “my name’s [y/n] [y/l/n]. i created the exhibit. i thought i might come and introduce myself.”

“oh, how lovely!” anita claps her hands together. “what you’ve done is so beautiful, [y/n]. it’s nearly brought a tear to my eye.”

“that’s very kind of you, ma’am.”

“brian likes it too. don’t you, brian?”

he still can’t seem to formulate any sort of response. he’s frozen in place, and your heart lurches for him. to see the woman he’d once asked to marry him, the one so cruelly ripped away, while standing next to his wife... precisely why you never wanted to meddle in his current affairs.

finally, he seems to collect himself. he sucks in a deep breath and nods in agreement. “yes, i do. very much.”

“that means a lot,” you say, easing your smile back into place. “thank you.”

“i’ll leave you two to talk to for a moment. i see crystal hovering in the corner over there, and i’m sure you both have many questions for one another.” anita presses her hand on your arm as she passes. “lovely job, dear.”

she leaves, and you’re left alone with the greatest love of your life.

you wait for him to speak.

“you’re... alive?” it’s a question, not a statement.

“yes.”

“you’re the same age?”

“yes.”

“how did—” he shakes his head. “i don’t understand.”

“neither do i.”

his chin quivers slightly, and he looks away. “i thought you’d been taken or decided to—”

you dare to touch his arm. a spark jolts through your fingers at the slightest touch, but you hold firm. “nothing happened,” you explain. “other than nature righting her mistake.”

“i think—i think i need to sit down.”

“yes, of course. my office is down the hall. it’s quiet there.”

he nods and leans against your arm as you lead him down the hall. in the silence of your dimly lit office, he collapses to the loveseat beneath the window and drops his face to his hands. you hesitate in the doorway until he looks up. tears shimmer in his eyes, and you swallow hard, your smile wavering around the edges.

he stands then, crosses the floor, and cradles your face in his hands. “my god,” he breathes. “it really is you.”

with a laugh, you hold his wrists. “in the flesh.”

“how long’s it been?” his thumb works over your cheekbone and, though you know he should stop, you can’t bring yourself to step away from his touch.

“about seven months.”

he snorts. “try forty years.”

“you seem like you did well for yourself, though.”

he shrugs. “i suppose.”

“you’re happy?”

there’s a heavy pause before he says, “yes.”

“that’s all i want to hear.”

slipping out of his grasp, you put a modicum of space between you both. the air is thick with emotion, and your heart beats wildly against your chest. the love you thought you’d put to bed flares at the mere sight of him, even after all this time.

you drift your finger through the sand of your tabletop zen garden. “i told crystal not to tell you about me,” you admit.

“he didn’t—not in so many words.”

“i know. i’m glad he said something, though.” you pause, meet his gaze. “it’s so good to see you, bri.”

quiet falls over the room as he stares at you. you don’t squirm. you’re comfortable under his gaze, always have been.

“i hope you know i never stop looking,” he says. “even after anita, i kept trying to find you. just to know.”

“and i hope you know that i would do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant i got to be with you even for a time.”

your phone vibrates on the desk, skidding across your oversized calendar. you reach for the phone and flip it over before slipping it in the purse hung over your desk chair.

“i’ve got to go,” you admit, crossing to his side. “i’ve actually got a date.”

to your surprise, his eyes crinkle with amusement. “i’m happy to hear it.” he lifts a hand and smooths back the hair from the side of your face. he looks at you with all the love he did forty years ago, and you wish you could take a picture to remember forever.

but then you remember: you have dozens of photos at home, and it doesn’t seem too hard to let him go now. not after the work you’ve put into mending your heart. you can face this, face saying goodbye for good. you have to, for his sake and your own.

rising to your tiptoes, you place a hand on his shoulder and kiss the corner of his mouth—one last touch, for you both. you wind your arm around his neck and whisper in his ear, “i love you, brian may. i always will.”

he squeezes you hard against his body, sucking in a ragged breath. “i love you too, [y/n].”

dropping back to your heels, you huff a breath and smile wide. “well, i’d better go.”

“yes, you’d better. don’t keep the lad waiting.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, your hand lingering on his. “okay, well... goodbye, brian.”

he smiles, and it’s the loveliest sight you’ve ever seen. he brushes you cheek with the back of his hand, whispering, “see you later, love.”

dipping out the back of the museum, you walk down the street, purse slung over your shoulders. you think you’ll be able to sleep well for the first time in a long time tonight.

you hope he can, too.

~*~*~*

taglist: @bhmay @grigorlee @teenagepeterpan @just-my-sickly-pride @perriwiinkle @ubernoxa @anunknownnebula @coincidence-ithinknots-blog @captvinswaan @ineloqueent

#brian may #brian may x reader #brian may fic #brian may x you #queen #queen fic #queen x reader #j writes

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atamascolily · 4 years ago

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So I am revisiting formative books of my childhood (as one does), which means it's time to talk about THIS BOOK, Y'ALL.

Hardly anyone has ever heard of this series, but oh my goodness, did this book ever resonate with '90s me, to the point where my first novel, which I wrote when I was 15, was a hybrid Unicorn Chronicles-Pern-LotR fusion with characters based on me and people from my life, and a villain who is definitely not Jadis from the Chronicles of Narnia. Ahem. But I love it, the way I love all my novels, because you can see the *spark* of the idea there along with all of the influences/pastiches/story elements in a blender.

Let's just say in a lot of ways I have not changed.

Anyway, this book was published in 1994, and I read it somewhere around 1995, and then obsessively thereafter between 1996-98. Book two didn't come out until 1999, which I only found out about a few years after the fact, so for a long time, it was just me re-reading the same book over and over again.

This series follows the adventures of Cara, a young teenager who finds herself in a world known as Luster, where all the unicorns fled when they were hunted by humans - and the hunters haven't given up.

One reason this book has stayed with me for so long is because the opening chapters are so evocative--and harrowing. The first words out of Cara's mouth are "Gramma, is that man following us?"

Cara's grandmother, Ivy Morris, is afraid, and Cara picks up on her fear, and that makes everything worse, because this is clearly Seriously Business. The image of this strange unknown man stalking an elderly woman and a teenage girl is even scarier to me as an adult. Factor in the falling snow and Ivy's decision to take shelter in a church, and the atmosphere is so vivid as they hide behind the pews in hopes of avoiding their pursuer.

Ivy gives Cara her amulet--her most precious possession--which only frightens and confuses Cara further. We learn that the amulet has a lock of white hair that is supposed to be from a unicorn, and that Cara believed unicorns were real when she was small. The only other time she's ever had the amulet is when she was very ill and she had a vision of someone healing her.

The man is literally breaking down the church door to get after them. Ivy orders Cara to climb up to the rooftop while she tolls the bells and to jump after the twelfth ring while saying, "Luster, take me home". She also says to tell "the Old One" that "the Wanderer is weary". Cara is confused, but obeys, even though she's worried about her grandmother and the man calls her by name. Chapter two ends with her jumping from the tower in the snow--and if that isn't epic, I don't know what is.

Chapter three finds Cara in a pristine fantasy woodland in summer,and we get a bit more backstory: her parents, Ian and Martha Hunter, abandoned her when she was three, and she was taken in by her grandmother. She doesn't have any friends or strong connections with Earth, and she spent a lot of time escaping into fantasy. So even though she's worried about her grandmother, finding herself here is a dream come true.

Oh, also, she has red hair, because of course she does, lol.

Cara is attacked by a dwarf-like creature who steals her amulet, but she is rescued by the Dimblethum, a man-bear hybrid, who calls the unicorn Lightfoot as a healer-translator. I love how Cara's first view of Lightfoot is as this marvelous, completely well-put together being, and she doesn't even react when he jams his horn into her chest.

Lightfoot is surprised when he detects Cara has been healed by a unicorn before--Cara is thrilled because it means her experience when she was little wasn't a hallucination. Lightfoot also notes an old wound--emotional--that he can't heal,which Cara doesn't get. Also, we meet the Squijum, a monkey-squirrel hybrid that can speak in a kind of rambling dialect of its own.

The Dimblethum returns with the amulet, and Lightfoot gets to be Mr. Exposition, explaining there are five magic amulets that allow the wearer to cross freely between Luster and Earth. "The Old One" turns out to be the Unicorn Queen, so they decide to get the amulet to her.

"How did you come by this amulet, anyway?" "My grandmother gave it to me." "Who is your grandmother?" asked the unicorn curiously. "Her name is Ivy Morris." "That sounds familiar," he said after a moment. "I suppose I should have paid more attention in history."

Lightfoot, despite his majestic appearance, is actually the unicorn equivalent of a teenage delinquent, and I love it.

Cara pesters Lightfoot for more backstory, and we learn that unicorns used to live on Earth, but came to Luster along with the dwarves--known as delvers--and that pisses off actual natives like the Dimblethum.

"Is the Queen a unicorn or a human?" asked Cara.

Lightfoot snorted at the idea the Queen might be a human.

THIS IS ACTUALLY A REALLY GOOD QUESTION AND WILL BE RELEVANT LATER AND I... CANNOT BELIEVE THAT IS JUST OUT THERE ALREADY, HAHAHA, WELL PLAYED.

Also, they're gonna stop by Grimmwold's Caverns along the way to meet the keeper of the Unicorn Chronicles, who has EVEN MORE BACKSTORY than Lightfoot because that's literally his job.

Anyway, the party departs. Lightfoot's horn doubles as a water filter, they meet some rogue delvers who warn that their king is conspiring with a mysterious human who wants the amulet, the Squijum has a knack for finding things and playing catch, they are attacked by another party of delvers and the Dimblethum is taken captive.

Cara and Lightfoot debate about what to do, and we learn that most unicorns are kinda jerks. Even though the sensible route is to keep going, Cara refuses to abandon a friend.

"We're going to get him," she declared.

"That's a very immature decision," said Lightfoot.

The criticism stung like a slap. "Why do you say that?" she asked sharply.

"Because it is what I would choose," he replied, sounding amused. "And my uncle has assured me many times that I am very immature."

Did I mention I love him?? No?

Anyway, the Squijum leads them to Thomas the Tinker, who helps them rescue the Dimblethum with his magic cart and all-around fashion sense. (Don't get me wrong, I love him.) Thomas fixes the broken chain on the amulet and there is a philosophical digression about chains. They skirt the dragon Firethroat's territory to avoid pursuit, and arrive at Grimmwold's place without further incident.

Turns out Cara has seen Grimmwold before: her grandmother painted a portrait of him in her room. (Grimmwold has a portrait of young Ivy, so it's only fair.) Grimmwold's library/cave is delightful -- Cara's reaction is, literally, "I want to live here!"-- and so do I.

Grimmwold does provide the backstory as promised: humans found a dead unicorn's horn and used it for healing. A hunter decided to get one for his deathly ill daughter Beloved, and he leaves her in a clearing in the woods. She is found by a unicorn, who sticks his horn into her chest to heal her--only to have the tip broken off when her father attacks the unicorn and they kill each other. Beloved is healed but unable to die while the horn resides in her heart, and vows revenge against all unicorns, marshalling her many human descendants, the Hunters. The unicorns fled to Luster to avoid pursuit, but now the cycle is threatening to start all over again.

Cara realizes she knows her pursuer's identity, but the chapter ends before we find out who it is. Grimmwold shows them his scrying pool, which Beloved hacks to read "Surrender the amulet --Beloved," which is pretty badass of her, tbh.

The amulet cannot be destroyed because it is unbreakable, which makes Thomas raise his eyebrows. "Things that cannot be broken are generally a bad idea." YUP.

Grimmwold takes them out to a secret back entrance and Cara and Lightfoot are kidnapped by the dragon Firethroat. Turns out Cara's pursuer took Firethroat's heart and she is forced to obey him. Cara confronts her pursuer in the most emotionally messy family reunion ever: it's her father, Ian Hunter.

Ian claims that Ivy stole Cara from them and the reason he didn't come for her eas because he had to fulfill his mission to kill all the unicorns first. He also claims her mother is waiting for her. Cara can get everything she's ever wanted at the cost of sacrificing the unicorns.

(Also, her middle name is "Diana," wow, not subtle there, Ian...)

(Lightfoot is horrified, but hey, boy, you have family connections YOU'VE been hiding, so...)

Cara makes as if to give him the amulet, but tosses it to the Squijum instead while she snags Firethroat's heart from Ian. In the scuffle, she and Ian fall and Firethroat rescues them both at Cara's command. Not knowing what else to do, Cara has Firethroat return Ian to Earth.

Cara has an emotional breakdown, like you do, and Lightfoot does what he can to help. Firethroat gives Cara the gift of languages as a boon, so Cara can understand all the creatures of Luster without Lightfoot's help. And Thomas is very philosophical about chains because THEMES.

They make their way to Summerhaven--the unicorns have a rotating seasonal capital--and we learn that Lightfoot is the Queen's grandson, but for unspecificed reasons, he won't go to court, so Cara meets Arabella Skydancer on her own.

"I have a message for you. I have carried it from another world, through danger and heartbreak across this world to you. I am to tell you that the Wanderer is weary."

"Then it is time to bring her home," said the Queen. "Would you like to be the one to fetch her?"

"I would," whispered Cara. "Very much."

"Then so it shall be."

And so it was.

But that, of course, is another story altogether.

It is recorded, like all such stories, in the Unicorn Chronicles.

WHAT A BADASS WAY TO END. I'M JUST SAYING.

This held up surprisingly well overall. Older!me finds the Squijum annoying, and I sympathize with the Dimblethum more than I used to. Younger!me was really only into the unicorns, and I still find Lightfoot the most interesting character. (Firethroat is great, though!)

Those two opening chapters still get me hooked, and that's impressive. The plotting is solid, the exposition is carefully doled out as needed, the foreshadowing is excellent, and the family drama sets it head and shoulders above the usual generic fantasy. I think this would work well as a miniseries - probably too much for a movie, but maybe not.

#book reviews #unicorn chronicles #bruce coville #childhood influences

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celtictrinity · 4 years ago

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chapter 8

“Perhaps none of you have ever been bold enough to attempt what I am doing. The mortals worship us, they beg us for guidance. Why not rule them as they clearly need to be ruled?”

“There are too many of us and our petty squabbles could tear the world apart, you know that. That’s why the law was instituted, Crom Cruach. To protect the world from us.”

“Then it should be no problem if only I choose to rule the mortals. The rest of you can cower behind your rules and I will rule this world. No petty squabbles to be had.”

“That’s not the reason the law was made. You are beholden to it as we are.”

“But you cannot stop me without breaking your precious law, can you? Or would you destroy this world you are trying to protect simply to stop me…”

* * *

Cinda was all for setting out as soon as they could load the truck and be gone. She hadn’t known that her friend was working on a book and it hurt a little that Shara hadn’t told her. Even more than that, the subject of the book left Cinda feeling uneasy. More so with that picture of the twins, for who else could it be, published for all the world to see. But mostly she had to wonder, and it was an unwelcome thought, had Shara Rose only been her friend to gather information for this book? Because Cinda had been fairly certain her friend hadn’t known about her own parentage.

Sam and Ben, though still somewhat stunned to see themselves in the picture in the book, had counseled they wait until Sam could read through the whole book and they knew what it actually said rather than run off half cocked based on a picture. Especially since the boys were fairly certain they had never crossed paths with Shara Rose before in the past. Which meant she’d seen them some other way.

Cinda knew the boys were no strangers to visions. Sam especially, but even Ben had had them. More than she had. She mostly had dreams and usually not clairvoyant ones. Still she itched to be on the road and moving. She escaped out to wander the salvage yard, which was easier to bear with her thoughts than the strange house with two strangers in close quarters.

Bobby seemed nice enough and she was glad the twins had him. Missouri made her nervous, as powerful psychics often did. She had things in her past she would prefer remained in the past and powerful psychics, often as not, didn’t keep their mouths shut about sensitive issues. Cinda supposed it was an unfair thought, being as she was a powerful fire witch and the daughter of a god (though she certainly didn’t advertise that bit) and there had been many who had been uncomfortable around her because of how powerful she was. But it didn’t change that powerful psychics made her nervous and Missouri was clearly of the ilk.

She’d rather deal with the itching under her skin and be able to breathe the fresh air than stay stuffed in that house with people she didn’t know and a book she had to wonder about.

As she wandered the salvage yard in the dying light of the day she wondered if maybe her suspicions were unwarranted. Shara Rose had never felt like she was fishing for information, had never seemed to be taking notes of the things Cinda mentioned, had never pushed Cinda to talk about her father. As far as Cinda knew, Shara Rose didn’t know who her father was, only that he was a god and he’d been unkind to her.

At some point Cinda heard a car start up and leave and she wondered who had gone and why. She wasn’t ready to return though and continued to wander the huge salvage yard. There was a kind of stark, modernist beauty in the stacks of ruined cars, harder to see in the fading light now than when she and Ben had been out earlier, but there nonetheless.

Still, she was going to have to go in soon and assuage the ache that was building at being away from the twins. She hadn’t thought of the ties she had to the twins as being restricting, and she still didn’t. If she had met Bobby and Missouri on neutral territory, she thought she might have handled it better. But this was not her home or neutral territory, this was Bobby’s home ground. She was the interloper and she felt it with the itch of iron and the weight of the number of wards about the place.

Just as she was deciding to head back to the house, she heard footsteps coming towards her unerringly, felt Ben’s presence soothing part of the ache that was tugging her back towards the house. She stopped and stood still, waiting for him to find her.

Coming out of the stark shadows cast by the stacks of cars in the floodlights that lit up the salvage yard, Ben was like a welcome apparition approaching. There was concern in his green-gold eyes, washed out in the night dark. He approached her slowly and Cinda wondered what he saw in her own eyes that he approached her like a wild shy animal.

“I came to see how you were doing,” he said quietly once he was close enough. He came to a stop just within arm’s length and studied her face. “Missouri is going to stay the night in a motel in town. She had already called and made the reservation before she got here, knowing we were staying with Bobby. She says she’s sorry she chased you away.”

Cinda gave a soft sigh of relief that the psychic wasn’t staying the night and Ben reached for her. She went into his arms and held him tightly, face pressed against his chest for a long moment, letting his presence, his nearness, settle her nerves. Enfolded in his arms this way even the itch of iron was a faint thing she was barely aware of.

“I’m sorry I left so abruptly,” she said into his chest. “It was… too much suddenly. I just… needed to be outside and away.”

“I know,” Ben said softly, stroking her hair and holding her close. “It’s okay. Sam and I… we get it. If we’d known Missouri was coming, we’d have warned you, but we didn’t have a clue. In your place we’d have reacted the same way. Even Bobby gets it. You don’t have to apologize, it’s okay.”

Cinda held on to him for another long few moments, breathing in his scent, letting his presence soothe the jagged edges of uncertainty the book had opened up in her.

“Sam would have come out with me,” Ben continued, “but he thought it would be better to read through the book as soon as he could. He should finish it tomorrow, he reads fast, and we can make plans. If you want to go see your friend, we can head out that way once we talk. But Cinda… maybe she learned things in the time you’ve been with us. We have been fairly wrapped up in ourselves for months and understandably so. Or maybe it was a project she had been working on and wasn’t sure how to tell you. From what you told us, Shara Rose sounds like she really cares about you and wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. Sam looked through the rest of the illustrations and there’s none of you in there. So, we both think she maybe got visions when she was painting. She might not even know that real people were the inspiration of her paintings.”

Cinda sighed into Ben’s chest before turning he head, resting her ears against his chest but not releasing him just yet.

“I ken, it’s just a shock, it was.” Her accent had deepened, as it often did in the throes of strong emotion. “I can’t believe she would do something to harm anyone. But… she’s the only friend I’ve ever had, you ken? I’m far more used to not trusting people.”

“You trusted us,” Ben said softly.

Cinda smiled and looked up at him. “That was a wee bit different, leannan. We’ve soul ties, we knew each other in the moment we saw each other like we knew our own selves. There was nothing to distrust. I had been waiting for you all my life.”

Ben smiled back down at her, cupping her face, his smile turning wondering and awed. Eight months wasn’t long enough for the awe that they’d actually found each other to have worn off. He bent down to brush a soft kiss over her forehead, then another soft kiss to her lips that she pressed back into, going onto tiptoe. Hating the difference in their height even as she let the sweet shock of the kiss wash over her.

Ben finally pulled back. “We should head back in. You didn’t eat anything and you should. And Sam will be glad to see you smile rather than look distressed.”

Cinda sighed before pulling away, catching his hand and turning back towards Bobby’s house. “I dinna think Sam will find anything we’re looking for in that book he’s reading. And we came here with a purpose. I dinna want to derail that with my distress.”

Ben started walking, holding her hand firmly. “You haven’t derailed anything. Sam had already figured we might not find what we were looking for in Bobby’s library. Bobby has a lot of books, it’s true, but not many of them have to do with gods in truth and Sam has a wicked memory. Once he looked through the new books Bobby had gotten since the last time we were here, it was just a matter of finding the few books that dealt with gods and skimming through them. Sam’s read most everything Bobby owns. He can be scary sometimes, with how he can pull a passage from a certain obscure book straight from memory and recite it almost word for word.”

Cinda noticed that Ben sounded fond and proud again as he talked about his twin. It made her smile. Ben could easily have been jealous of his twin and she didn’t doubt that he had moments of it, but mostly the twins seemed to truly be proud of each other for their talents and triumphs. They rarely fought and when they did it caused almost as much distress as being separated. And there was never any resentment in either of them over it. Cinda didn’t think most siblings were so close and she wondered if their soul bond had something to do with it.

Then what Ben said finally registered and she came to a stop. Ben also stopped and glanced at her with an eyebrow lifted in question.

“Ben… if Sam can do that… we didne actually have to come here, did we?” Cinda asked the question, puzzled, with a small frown.

Ben gave her a warm smile and tugged her back into motion. “Only if he’s tagged the passage. Usually he keeps in mind what the general subject is and certain key passages unless he’s looking for something specific. He would have tagged which books were about gods but not truly committed any of the specific passages to memory before now. We didn’t know that we would need them. So yeah, he’d still have to read them again to know for sure what they said, it just makes it easier for him to find the books he needs instead of going through the whole of Bobby’s library.”

Cinda blinked in surprise, feeling a little awed herself. She hadn’t thought that Sam had that kind of memory going for him. To be fair, the library of books they had at their place was fairly small and far more easily looked through compared to the number of books Cinda had seen at Bobby’s place.

By the time they reached Bobby’s porch, Cinda finally shook her head with a bemused smile. “He’s something else, our Sam is.”

“Yeah, yeah he is,” Ben said softly before leading her into the house.

* * *

The gods used to spend a fair amount of time in the mortal world. Incarnated into a form of mortal flesh that could withstand their godly powers. The mortals were at times fascinating creatures to observe and interact with. Some gods found them more fascinating than others while some often saw them as a plague upon the world.

Whatever their personal views, there were often children of gods wandering about. Many became the heroes of which stories were written. They often had tragic ends. The children of the gods who chose to embark on heroic quests rarely lived as long as their brethren who lived quieter lives and only focused on enhancing the lives of the villages they lived within. Those who chose to live quietly lived much longer indeed, the blood of their godly parent often lengthening their lives three to four times that of the usual mortal.

When the gods chose to withdraw from the world to protect it and the mortals that lived in it, not all were as willing to give up their hold as others. Some had to be forced to leave, for they found their sway over the mortals a sweet thing they were unwilling to give up. The gods however weren’t disallowing worship, the mortals would do as they would. They simply felt that their physical presence in the world was too dangerous a thing for it. They could still speak to their chosen prophets, could still send visions and dreams. Could still incarnate as mortal if they so chose, to walk among them, but they would leave the greater share of their power behind until their mortal life ended and they ascended back to their godly forms.

Some gods argued that they couldn’t do their duties if they couldn’t take corporeal form in the world. But they found that the world turned whether they were there to personally usher in certain events or not, and that they could still enhance those changes in their non corporeal forms. It meant that the number of children born to the gods lessened exponentially but the mortals seemed to settle into that as well, coming up with their own explanations for why the gods no longer walked among them.

A few gods, incarnated into human form and knowing who they truly were, attempted to subvert the law. But a god in human form has limited power, even one that gains worshippers to strengthen them. Crom Cruach was the one who found that there was power to be gained if one could breach the underways and reach into the Otherworld. It was not an easy thing to do for a god, who though wearing human form was not truly of the world. But humans with power could do so much easier. The trick was finding humans with enough power to do what was needed.

Crom Cruach suspected that having a child with a human with power would give him a firmer foothold in the world than simply gathering humans with power, who often died when they breached the underways, unable to withstand channeling the power from the Otherworld to their lord and Master. But a child of his, born of a human with power… perhaps that would work.

He set about attempting to father children on women with power. Most were useless to him, not inheriting power from him or their mother and Crom Cruach despaired of ever having the perfect child. Until he fathered a daughter on a young witch. A powerful child she was and would have been the perfect tool if her mother had truly been a follower of his. She was not, however, and took the child away to hide her.

Crom Cruach also learned that by this time, the other gods had caught on to what he was trying to do and had chosen to send another god to do the same, to sire a child that would be powerful enough to stop him. He left off the search for his own daughter and instead sought out the incarnated deity and child meant to be a hindrance to him and his. It was a calculated risk, allowing the child of his to be reared by a woman who was not his follower and dared to defy him, but he didn’t think it would take much time to find and destroy the child born to stop him and then he could retrieve his own daughter and teach her the way of things.

The encounter did not go as planned, for though he killed the goddess’s incarnated form he had been too weakened by the fight to kill the children, for there were two, twin borns, a rarity among mortals. He was forced to hide away until he could regain his strength and power, leaving the two boys in the world. He cursed his fortune for days. His own child spirited away, the two meant to stand against him still alive and well. His plans would have to be placed on hold as he regained his strength, for it was harder now to find humans of power willing to work with him as knowledge that those who followed him often died in the end, hard deaths full of pain as they were burned from the inside out by the power that was too strong for them to control.

It took a long time for him to regain even some of his strength, though even he felt the wash of power that filled the world when the three god-born children found each other and pledged themselves to one another. Because of the pledge he also felt their deaths and cursed his misfortune. He would have to start again. But if he’d read the wash of power correctly the three were so bound to themselves and the world and their purpose that it would only be a matter of time until the powerful daughter he’d sired walked the world again.

He would just have to be more careful about the witch he sired her on this time.

* * *

By midafternoon of the next day, Sam had finished the book and they all gathered in Bobby’s living room. Cinda was leaning against Sam’s side this time, more at ease than the last time they’d all gathered there. She had figured out that Bobby wasn’t holding her father’s actions against her, for which she was eternally grateful. She wasn’t sure she didn’t hold her father’s actions against her. He was, after all, her blood. She’d feared all her life, despite the favor of two goddesses who seemed to love her despite her very human side, that one day she would become what he’d tried to make of her.

“There isn’t anything in the book, as it is, that will help us,” Sam started, rubbing Cinda’s shoulders, “though it’s an interesting read and I’m glad Missouri brought it to us. But I’m going to guess that the books Shara used for her research might possibly have something that will help us.”

“Shara Rose,” Cinda corrected quietly. “She never goes by Shara alone. She’s always, as long as I’ve known her, gone by Shara Rose.”

Sam nodded. “Shara Rose, then. What’s more… Cinda I think she was trying to get you to come and see her.”

Cinda blinked in surprise and gazed at him. “What makes you say that?”

Sam shrugged a shoulder. “For anyone who doesn’t know you, I doubt they’d pick up the same things. But there’s also power in the pages of the book. It’s subtle and I doubt completely unintentional. Being bound to you, Ben and I feel it more than anyone else would have, or even could have. It’s a subtle plea to come to her. Nothing that forces you to do so, mind. More like a request. And again, I doubt anyone other than me and Ben would feel the request in the power in the pages. If you held the book and started reading it, I bet it would be clearer to you, since it’s meant for you.”

Cinda looked astonished. She hadn’t ever given thought to putting magic in the pages of a book, although she’d heard of it being done. It was why some books had to be treated with care. Still she hadn’t thought Shara Rose would resort to doing such-

Cinda smacked herself in the forehead and looked chagrined. “I didne let her ken I got a new phone. She does nae have my number and I never did save hers. She’s no way to contact me.” She sounded as chagrined as she looked, gazing at the book on the table that Sam had already read through.

“She couldne have been working on this only since I’ve been with you. It takes longer than that to publish a book.” Although considering her irregular visits, maybe Shara Rose thought it was a chance she was willing to take. After all, the book did end up in her hands, so to speak.

Sam shrugged. “I have no idea how long it takes a book to go from editor to publisher, but I suspect she’s been working on this for a couple of years. It’s partially historical, partially personal and really well written. Your friend is very talented, not just with the art.”

Cinda reached out slowly and picked up the book, turning it to the page Missouri had directed them to yesterday. She gazed at the picture there, glanced up and studied the boys for a long moment before looking back to the picture. “I recognized her style immediately. I’ve been watching her paint for years now. But something… something in this one is different than her usual. Though she captured your essence well for someone who’s never seen you before.”

Sam nodded. “It’s only clear to you and us and Missouri that this picture is us because you know us and we know ourselves. I don’t think most people would realize it’s us.”

Bobby spoke up. “It’s not near as obvious to me,” he said. “I can kind of see it, a little, but not as clearly or as firmly as all of you seem to be able to.”

Cinda ran her fingers lightly over the picture as Sam said, “Because you can’t see or feel the power that flows around us. Even Ben and I don’t see it this clearly, only in brief moments. But we feel it and looking at that picture we can both feel the currents that surround us.”

“I can see it,” Cinda said softly. She lifted her head to look at Sam and Ben. “I can see the power around you both when I focus, just as in the picture here. I ken Shara Rose can as well. It’s part of why we teamed up the first time we met each over. Because she could see the power around things in the world.”

“What does that have to do with the book, though?” Bobby sounded impatient and Cinda broke off her gaze, looking down at the pages and focusing on the words. She could feel the power in the book, same as the boys could, but she hadn’t actually tried to read the book. She’d looked at the one picture and the dust jacket. As Sam started to talk, she flipped to the first page and started to read the words.

“Not much, really,” Sam said with a quirked smile. “It’s just an interesting something. No, the important thing is that however long Shara Rose has been working on this book, she did weave a powerful but subtle message to Cinda within the pages of it. Within the words themseleves so that even when it went to print the power would still be there. Most people will feel the power, like Missouri did, and it would draw them to the book, likely prompt their interest enough to buy it. But the point was- “

“I feel it now,” Cinda said, interrupting him. She looked up, her fingers on the page, eyes startled. “She must truly wish me to come to see her. I canna believe she’d have done this for any other reason. She wants me to come to see her and it’s important that I do so.”

Sam nodded. “I felt the edges of it, likely because we’re soul bound. It was clear to me that it was for you, though it was faint, like a whisper against the wind.”

Cinda huffed as she closed the book. “Is nae a whisper to me,” she said. “Is quite clear.” She looked troubled, though. Why would her friend go through such trouble just to get her to come to see her? She’d never done such in all the years they’d known each other. Maybe… maybe she knew she’d found something Cinda needed to know?

She looked up as she felt Sam’s hand on her arm, met his amber and green eyes. “Cinda… there’s nothing in this book about you or your father. She wasn’t… your friend just to pump you for information. In fact, … she tells about learning of her own parentage. I think she wanted you to know but didn’t know how to tell you. I don’t think you misjudged her at all and I think you’re right, we do need to go and see her.”

Cinda felt the sudden release of tension she hadn’t been aware she was holding and gave Sam a wobbly smile, thankful he understood.

Bobby gazed at the three of them and shook his head. “Just… keep me appraised. If you’re going to fight a god, I know there’s not much I can do to help but I’d like to know how you all are doing. I’d like you to stay on this side of the veil if that’s possible.” There was a fair amount of emotion in Bobby’s voice and as Cinda glanced at him she realized the grizzled older man looked at the twins as his own boys. He loved them as if they were his own and he was willing to do anything he could to help them.

“I’ll make sure they come back safe and sound, sir,” Cinda said softly but firmly.

Bobby looked at her, a measuring look before he said, “No sirs in my own house. Bobby is fine. And I wanna see you all back and in one piece, you hear me?”

Cinda swallowed and felt her eyes water unaccountably. She nodded before ducking her head, feeling Sam’s arm squeeze her in a sideways hug. She understood what the older man was saying without coming right out and saying it. He approved of her. Another knot of tension loosened and she took a shuddery breath.

She’d hoped for his approval but hadn’t realized how much it would mean to her. She was glad she had it. Now if she could just manage to keep her twins in one piece and get them through this. Shara Rose was just one more stop on the way to an inevitable meeting with her father she wasn’t looking forward to. But she wasn’t a scared child anymore. She’d grown into her power and she had the twins’ love and support. They were a team of three. She wasn’t alone anymore. They could do this.

She prayed they could do this.

#chapters #chapter 8 #my fic

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callioope · 5 years ago

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Good Things in 2019

@theputterer and @the-strongest-stars tagged me in the awesome annual end-of-year Good Things meme! I’ve done this in 2018 & 2017 and always think it’s a fun exercise of both reflection and looking forward.

Oh boy, though, my first thought was, what even happened in 2019? (Looking at a calendar helped! It reminded me of a few things I forgot)

It’s been a Rough Year, friends. Between OCD and basically travelling almost every weekend in the latter half of 2019, I am very much ready for a new year and hopefully a new slate.

But this is about the positives!

Personal

Played a lot of Dungeons and Dragons! I am now officially in two campaigns. This year, I endeavored to recruit more women to play, including the wonderful @allatariel. I play both my beloved cleric, Maritsa (who I’ve been playing her years now) and my new character, Noara, a ranger elf with a red panda familiar (yeah, my DM let me do that for funsies, so I could get an animal sidekick but also still try out the Horizon Walker subclass).

Speaking of red pandas, I accomplished my LIFE GOAL of meeting a red panda face-to-face. I got to feed Harriet at the Cincinnati Zoo for 30 minutes. She was adorable.

Completed all my dental work and had a clean bill of dental health two cleanings in a row!

Attended DC’s Around the World Embassy Day event, always fun

Attended Star Wars night at a local library, where I got to participate in a short demo/lesson on how to fence with a lightsaber!

Attended 50th Anniversary Celebration of Apollo 11 / landing on the moon (dude they projected the rocket on the Washington Monument and it looked so cool)

Returned to the NY Ren Faire and upgraded my ren faire garb

Celebrated at THREE friends’ weddings and got to catch up with old friends I hadn’t seen in awhile

Ate ice cream at the Ben & Jerry’s Factory in Vermont

Went to NYCC for the third year in a row. Got to wear 2 costumes this year: a 1920s flapper interpretation of an occamy and my Endor!Leia costume (repeat of 2017). Learned the True Pain of sewing. Created feather shawl for my occamy costume. Learned the True Pain of crafting.

Celebrated one year anniversary with hubbie down where we got married: visited the museum we got married in and actually got a chance to enjoy the exhibits, went to our favorite brunch place down there, got to check out Fleet Week and tour an aircraft carrier and uh... I think it was a missile cruiser?

Went up to PSU for a women’s hockey game for sister’s birthday (made embarrassing HAPPY BIRTHDAY sign for the cameras); also it was an absolutely wonderful fall drive on the way up there

Got to see The Rise of Skywalker in IMAX at the Smithsonian Air & Space Center with the awesome @allatariel! (thank goodness we had each other to get through that movie lol) also got to reuse my Endor!Leia costume. I did my own braids for the first time ever! (usually my talented sister does them) They looked like braids done by a n00b, but I didn’t care because they were passable and I did them myself and that was a Big Thing for Perfectionist Me (to not just... say screw it and undo it and just. give up. but to just let them be as is)

Worked hard at therapy and self care

Got a Sleep Number bed and holy shit let me tell you. i can actually sleep now.

OH! I almost forgot!!! Started playing Assassin’s Creed! I’ve only ever really played the LEGO Star Wars and Harry Potter video games so like. This was big for me.

Writing

Finally finished Learning Curve. TBH I was a bit shocked that this was in fact the only fic I published in 2019. What a travesty.

However! I have been writing

@allatariel & I sat down, overanalyzed You’ve Got Mail, and drafted up the outline for my in-universe AU, something I’ve been dreaming of starting for years. Have about 4300 words so far.

Just under the wire, I did manage to start my NatGeo AU, which I’ve been dreaming of since my honeymoon in Nov 2018

Started editing/revising my original young adult fantasy novel

Poked a little at my epic fantasy pirate travel novel idea

Books

I read exactly one book, Among the Red Stars, which I enjoyed. It’s about women fighter pilots in Russia in WW2. Inspired by real people.

Music

Saw Panic at the Disco! in concert. I went along with my sister. Not like a huge fan, but they put on a pretty fun show!

Saw Waitress on Broadway!! OH MY GOD. And Sara Bareilles was starring in it. Amazing. I freaking love her music (”How does she know / what a heart sounds like?” gahhh). She was so good, and the show was so good. I literally cried all the way through it just because I was so happy to be there, but also because of the content. Man.

Saw Sara Bareilles again, in concert, in Philly. I love her so much.

Television

Finished Critical Role Campaign 1! Oh man, what a ride. Gosh, I love that show. I really need to catch up in C2 now. I’ve started it but I’m only on episode 26 or 27.

I’m not sure whether I finished The Clone Wars in 2018 or 2019. I think it was early 2019. This show was amazing and this was the character development that Anakin Skywalker needed. I love Ahsoka Tano. I cannot wait for the last season.

Finished Rebels!!! AGAIN, what a ride!!! I still love Ahsoka Tano. I also love Hera Syndulla and Sabine Wren. Sabine’s Darksaber arc was fantastic.

The Mandalorian OMG BABY YODA!!! Yes, I have succumbed to the adorableness of Baby Yoda. Most adorable SW character forever. But also just an enjoyable story in general. This, this is how you craft a story. still NOT over the darksaber omg.

The Good Place is continuing to be good. Not as crazy about season 4, but I’m so glad they decided to limit the seasons.

Got my sister to watch Rebels!! And then even a few episodes of The Clone Wars!!! Mwahaha >)

Finally got around to watching The Great British Bake Off, what a sweet show!

OMG I ALMOST FORGOT Anne With an E!!! Gosh what a wonderful wholesome delightful show. No I haven’t watched S3 yet because I am Lawful Good to a fault and just patiently waiting for it to come on Netflix

Film

So, I woefully neglected to mention The Aeronauts in this post about my favorite movies in the 2010s and that was a Mistake. Because I really enjoyed this one

But otherwise probably check out that list. Because I don’t go to the movies that often, actually, and anything I really loved from 2019 is most definitely listed there.

Did I meet my 2019 Goals?

Writing: Fandom

Finish Learning Curve YES

...and How to Lose a Spy in 10 Days Uh, no, not so much

Begin and complete the in-canon universe You’ve Got Mail AU YES, it is begun but no it is not complete

Try to knock out a few other projects on my 30+ SW ideas Umm, I did start / poke at a few things in addition to the YGM and NatGeo AUs, but nothing really “knocked out”

Try my hand at creating more visual fan works (like moodboards/photosets, step 1, learn proper terminology) ahahahah, no.

Writing: Original

Query more agents for my completed original novel YIKES, No. But I wasn’t anticipating that I’d decide to heavily edit/revise my manuscript.

Actually get around to deciding which idea I want to work on next and work on it Yeah, sure, I decided. How nice of past!Liz to make this goal so reachable as “deciding” lol

Reading

Be more supportive in helping my friend run Book Club so that it can actually meet more regularly HA, oops. Book Club died, but kind of in favor of being able to start a second D&D campaign. At least that’s the trade off I’m looking at. I had some OCD-related glasses issues this year that inhibited reading a lot.

Try to read at least one book for myself outside of Book Club lol WELL the one book I read this year was not part of Book Club sooo

Goals for 2020

Writing

I’m not going to make this a completion goal, but instead...

...I’d like to just focus on creating a regular writing schedule/habit. Whatever the project, I just want to make sure I carve out significant time each week just to write. I don’t want to set a specific goal like “x hours a week” for now, but I want to make sure that I am writing each week.

To achieve that (because what are goals without maps):

If the words don’t immediately jump onto the page, then I’m going to try outlining or summarizing. I’m going to let go of overthinking how sentences are phrased, and just pretend I’m describing the story idea to a friend.

That blank page is staring at me and I’m just going to fill it with words no matter what I might think of them!

And I’m going to let everything else expand from there. And see how that works.

Edit my original manuscript

Query more agents re: original manuscript

Look into the idea of perhaps forming or joining a writer’s group for original writing oh gosh that is so scary

Other

Get back into reading

Develop a routine for working out

Eat healthier

Continue focusing on therapy goals

Get around to watching: Black Sails, Mad Max: Fury Road, Arrival

Get better at responding to things in general

Tagging: @allatariel, @magalis, @mythologicalmango, @skitzofreak, @threadsketchier, @brynnmclean, @ruby-red-inky-blue, @siachti and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it!

Happy New Year y’all!

#tag meme #the latest with liz #annual good things post #happy thoughts #for future reference #goals

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courtinginsanity · 6 years ago

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Warning: this is going to be long af. (Also, this was started weeks ago and then life happened, so apologies for the weird timing lol).

TL/DR: you’re all amazing and I love you.

Okay. So. First of all, I cannot express how grateful and humbled I am having been presented these awards in Granger Enchanted Survivors. I am so thankful to have such wonderful fandom friends and readers of my fics.

Let’s talk about ‘Necessary Evil’. It started as a random idea in 2013, and was originally published as ��The Green Vase’. I did not plan anything, just wrote what came to my head. Chapters ranged from 1-2k. I had no alpha. No beta. I think I reached chapter 10 before getting bored and resigning myself to a life of reading Fanfiction rather than writing it.

When I decided to return to the story and rewrite it, I was in a much better place in my life. I was able to admit I needed help. So I started DFW, and I enlisted the help of a beta. I started with a long list of people, and then found the one I worked with best, littlered1992. She was tough but always kind and the story would not have been completed if it wasn’t for her messages asking where the hell the next chapter was 😂

On the 7th of May, 2018, a new reader went through the available chapters and left essay-length comments on EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. That was @mhcalamas, who is now one of my most dear friends and fellow writer. This is our fic. It’s the one that brought us together. Her encouragement and amazing comments kept me motivated and fed my muse. I couldn’t have done it without her belief in me and my ability to finish something.

As I gained confidence and learned to love critique, I found @ravenclaw-sass. Another one of my most dear fandom friends. This girl has an eye for everything and taught me the important skill of internal monologue. If I had a question or concern about characterisation, I knew who to turn to. I am a better writer because of this amazing human being.

Entering the Facebook world of Dramione fandom, I quickly found myself surrounded by inspiration from other writers and readers. I joined fests—too many fests—and continued to practice my craft. Each piece I’ve written, each person I’ve worked with... they made me better, stronger, more confident. I wouldn’t be where I am without any of them. In fact, it was a post in Strictly Dramione that led me to write ‘Taking Flight’!

So, I have some people to thank. In no particular order...

@lovesbitca8 - you make writing look effortless. I know it definitely isn’t, but gosh you do it with such grace. I really admire you and your style, and have subconsciously tried to emulate it.

@senlinyuwrites - I don’t think I can really put into words how much I respect you. In my mind you’re the super-cool chick everyone wants to be friends with but are in total awe of. Like think leather, aviators, and a motorbike lol.

@ladykenz347 - my puffiest puff friend! I live for our conversations. Your never-failing enthusiasm for all things Dramione. Your descriptions slay me and I am so jealous of your raw talent.

@indreamsink - another cool-vibing chick. Another one who makes it look effortless. What I wouldn’t give to crawl into your brain and explore it for just an hour (that sounded way less creepy before I wrote it down lol)

@mykesprit - you never fail to make me smile, and for that I am grateful. Your sense of humour has inspired me to attempt to purposefully write something funny which may have been the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.

@ms-merlinblack - is it weird to tell you that you make me feel safe in this pocket of the universe? Like I feel like I can do anything if you’re involved. You and LadyKenz are now my parents.

@otterlyardent - we’ve only just started getting to know each other and I wish I lived closer so we could catch up for a drink and a hug! Your raw truth is inspiring to witness and I aim to be more like you.

@themourningmadam - we don’t talk much but you must know that I LIVE for conversations involving you. Your insight is always hilarious and perfect. And your writing... if I eat it, do you think I’ll absorb the genius?

@frumpologist and @frecklesandbroomsticks - I don’t know why but in my mind you two are the Puff Pair. And I adore each of you for very similar reasons. You’re so down to earth and relatable. You’re unfailingly supportive of all my ideas even when they’re bad. And you’re both amazing writers who I’m honoured to know!

@thelastlynx and @hysteracal - another Dynamic Duo! You guys constantly make me laugh and I hope that one day I can be half as intelligent as you both! Thank you for always being super honest and open with me, and teaching me that you don’t need to sell your soul to be a Fanfiction writer.

@disenchantedglow - You may be the embodiment of all things good in the world. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you utter a negative thing to say about anyone and you inspire me with the simple elegance with which you write!

@bionicallywriting - words cannot describe the joy I feel when you comment on my writing and tell me that it’s not complete and utter garbage lol. I highly value your opinion and am so grateful that you joined our little community!

@deweydecimateher - I wish I had your sense of humour. I’d never be sad or down or anything becasue I’d just be constantly laughing. Can you please move to Australia, or send a pocket version of yourself I can keep with me always?

@mrsren96 - I actually tear up thinking about how we became friends because clearly I am a giant sap. I still laugh when I remember how fangirly I got when I saw that ‘Mrs. Ren’ had commented on one of my fics and then I found out that it was you, someone I’d been talking to for a little while at that point. Inside my brain there’s a Buzz Lightyear going, “There seems to be no sign of intelligent life anywhere.” I could go on and on, but you know I love you, girl!

@rzzmg - when I wrote for you in the Dramione christmas fest I almost d i e d! I was so honoured and I loooooove your writing. I am a (mostly) silent fan but please know that I really admire and respect you!

@ravenslight - if I had a friend who was always ready to bail me out of jail, you would be that friend. I have taken for granted that you are always there waiting to beta for me but I really am grateful for all of your help! And (spoiler alert!) I’ll probably be sliding into your DMs again soon to beg for more assistance... and to continue my plan to steal you away from your fiance!

@party-lines - I am actually so proud to know you. The whole world collapses around your ears and you just keep on going like a freaking boss. And you’re a fellow Aussie which makes me even prouder! So much love and respect for you, girl!

@hginny25 - you have no idea the level of happiness I reached when you joined DFW! I love that this community brought us together and I’m excited to continue to get to know you!

@naarna - we’ve known each other for aaaages and I am so proud of how far you’ve come both in terms of writing and life in general. I feel privileged that I get to keep watching you go from strength to strength. You are an inspiration!

@kyonomiko - we don’t talk all that much but I really admire your creativity... and will admit I’m jealous of it lol. You bring such a grace to your writing and your interactions within the community I hope to one day emulate.

@perilous-circumstance - this one actually let me beta for her. ME. I’m still in awe because your story is just so unique and amazing and I genuinely love it so much! We make a good team (I think) and I hope we can work togeher forever!

@niffizzle - we’re basically bff’s now thanks to a mutual love of Panic! At the Disco and because you introduced me to Mariana’s Trench, for which I’ll forever be in your debt. You are a light in the community and I’m proud to count myself among the people who get to chat with you one on one!

@ruthy4vrsmoak-ed - some days I don’t know what I would have done without your never-wavering encouragement and support of not only my writing but of DFW, too! Thank you for being so lovely!

@felgia-starr - one of the DFW originals and a forward thinker! The group wouldn’t be where it is if it wasn’t for you and your support. Thank you for being my time zone buddy and someone I can rely on! Even though we don’t chat that often, I feel like if the world was falling you’d definitely help me and probably fix the entire situation in a sentence.

@mrbenzedrine89 - and all your crew for organising the awards! I can’t imagine that it was an easy feat, so kudos to all of you! Also, massive fan, hi *waves awkwardly*.

I feel like there’s a million people I haven’t thanked but should... I wish I could personally tag all of you but please know that I love you and I am so, so, so grateful for you! This community only works because you do, and I respect the shit out of each and every member of the Dramione fandom.

Much love and squishy kangaroo hugs...

CourtingInsanity xx

#granger enchanted survivors #awards #humbled #dramione #fanfiction #thankful

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ineffablegame · 6 years ago

Text

Also published on my Ao3.

Sack

On the day Sodom and Gomorrah are sacked, Aziraphale is doing his good deeds in the nearby village of Zoar. He has no notion of the imminent fire and brimstone – Above had been rather cagey since the hullabaloo with the flaming sword – until he spots Sandalphon and Michael at the local well, changing cups of water into wine and generally looking very pleased with themselves.

Aziraphale’s first instinct is to slink away, and that impulse catches him by surprise. These are his colleagues, his—his friends, surely. His fellow angels. He should be welcoming them to Zoar with a warm embrace, should offer them a tour around the grand menagerie that is God’s creation. He is something of an expert, after all.

Instead, Aziraphale hesitates. Just last night, he and Crowley shared date palm cocktails in a tavern in Gomorrah. He can still remember the zing of lemongrass on his tongue. If he gets caught up with Michael and Sandalphon, surely there will be questions, questions he will be obligated to answer honestly—

“Ho, there!” Michael’s sonorous voice is a rumble in the earth, cascading aftershocks of dread. “Aziraphale! How goes it, old friend?”

Inwardly cringing, Aziraphale plasters on a smile and walks across the village square, suddenly emptied of all passers-by. He presses his hands together, keenly aware of the creases of dirt in his palms, the dark crescents beneath his fingernails. “Michael. Sandalphon. So good to see you.”

The Prince of the Heavenly Host raises her cup. “Have a drink with us.”

“Oh,” says Aziraphale, who cannot remember the last time he turned down a cup of wine – though, admittedly, his drinking company has been decidedly less angelic than this. “I really can’t, I’ve got, ah, very important—”

He pauses as a clay cup appears in his hand, full to the brim with blood-dark wine. “Oh. How kind. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” Michael says with a broad grin. “Sandalphon and I are just getting ready to sort out Sodom and Gomorrah. Aren’t we, soldier?”

She turns to Sandalphon, who regards her with the blank, open-mouthed expression Aziraphale has secretly grown to detest in the archangel. In his experience, Sandalphon has always oscillated between supercilious condescension and creepy vacancy.

Also, he has the most irritating tendency to smack his lips when he eats.

“Indeed, yes,” Sandalphon says after several moments, smacking his lips. Aziraphale feels his smile grow brittle. “Herself has decreed that, as punishment for their sins, the cities are to perish in fire and brimstone.”

A cold, vast gulf opens behind Aziraphale’s ribs. “What?”

“Oh, yes,” says Michael gleefully. She tosses back the last gulp of her wine and vanishes the clay cup with a flick of her wrist. “A holy smiting of the greatest order. I tell you, I’ve been waiting for something like this. When the Almighty sent the flood, last time, I thought, why not let us have a little fun? It would be just like the Rebellion.” A wistful sigh. “At least we’ll have a role this time. Although I can’t say I expect the humans will be much sport.”

“I—I see,” Aziraphale says, voice small. He stares at the cup in his hand, takes a cautious sip. The taste of bile and bloodshed fills his mouth. “And… what, pray tell, is their great sin? Why are they being punished?”

Michael gives him a stern look. “That is not for us to question, Aziraphale.”

“The Almighty has decreed it,” Sandalphon adds. He takes a swig of wine and smacks his lips. “It must be done.”

“Yes—yes,” Aziraphale mumbles. “Of course. How silly of me.”

“If it’s the righteous humans you’re worried about,” Michael says, “fear not. There aren’t any. We looked.”

“You did?”

“Oh, yes,” Michael says, with the smile of one sharing an inside joke. “We were very thorough. Weren’t we, Sandalphon?”

Sandalphon looks as if he hasn’t registered the question for several seconds. Then he nods. “We supped with Abraham’s get. Lot.”

“Oh, yes,” says Michael. “Thank the Almighty for Lot. And his two virgin daughters.”

Aziraphale boggles at them. Surely they haven’t. “What?”

“All the men of Sodom came to the door, keen to know us.” Michael wrinkles her nose and shudders. “Disgusting humans. Lot offered them his daughters instead.”

“Very hospitable,” Sandalphon smacks.

“How kind,” Aziraphale says, the disgust for what he is hearing a distant echo beside the horror clamoring for dominance of his mind. Where is Crowley? He was in Gomorrah last night. Has he stayed there? Has he moved to Sodom? Or has he left the plains entirely? Please, let him have left. “Well, it sounds like… like you’ve got everything under control, I suppose.” He sets the cup down on the lip of the well with a trembling hand. A sense of obligation halts him – the sense that you should offer to do something you really, really don’t want to do. “Unless you need…?”

Michael’s eyes widen. She laughs. “What, you? Help us? No, we have it sorted. Besides, smiting cities isn’t exactly in your job description, is it? A Principality like you?”

“Some Principality,” Sandalphon deadpans.

Aziraphale bristles, stung, but the terror clawing at his insides bids him hold his tongue. “Yes. Right. Jolly good.” He turns, already hurrying out of the square. “Happy, er, smiting.”

“Peace be with you!” Michael calls back, laughing, and Aziraphale scarcely has the frame of mind to register the irony of those words before he is sprinting down the street, miracling himself invisible as his wings unfurl in a blue-white nimbus of haste.

The sun has set by the time he reaches Gomorrah, but all is bright across the plains. By some stroke of luck, Michael and Sandalphon have started their grim work with Sodom. The blaze of holy fire lights the night, turning the sky a putrid orange and streaking white across the sands. Aziraphale feels the flames warm his feathers as he lands on the outskirts of Gomorrah, tripping into a run as his wings vanish. He runs to the tavern, the hammering of his heart deafening him to the screams.

He finds Crowley at the table where he left him, as placid and solidly drunk as he was the night before. It’s as if time has stilled here, a shard preserved for Aziraphale to slip into his pocket and carry away. He races to the demon’s side, hands scrabbling at his shoulder. “Crowley! Get up, we have to go now!”

Crowley blinks blearily, sunglasses askew. “Wassit? Back for another round, angel?”

“Don’t be stupid!” Aziraphale shouts. “The city is doomed! We must leave!”

It is only then that Crowley seems to register the screams building around them. “Shit.” He wobbles to his feet and sways on the spot. “Thought things were getting loud. Lemme sober up.”

“No time!”

Aziraphale can feel the fires growing brighter, closer, the cacophony of screams surging as the stench of brimstone and scorched flesh swarms his senses. He drags Crowley into his arms, spreads his wings, and hurtles into the air like a comet. Crowley gives a strangled screech and throws his arms around Aziraphale’s neck. The city scythes apart beneath them as they rise into the sky.

Later, on a hillside overlooking the carnage of Sodom, they watch as Lot’s family flees. The tiny forms streak across the sand, shadows stretching like dark paths before them. At the last, Lot’s wife pauses, chest heaving. She turns.

“She shouldn’t have done that.” Crowley’s voice is flat, long since purged of the slur.

Aziraphale shrugs, shoulders stiff. He hasn’t exerted himself like that in decades. “She couldn’t have known the rules, surely.” He studies the pillar of salt that was once a woman. “It is a terrible pity.”

For a long moment, Crowley says nothing. Then, in words like the sparks off a struck flint, he snarls, “I wasn’t talking about her.” He stands, rounding on Aziraphale, hands balled into shaking fists at his sides. “A ‘terrible pity?’ Really, angel? Thousands of humans incinerated in the blink of an eye, and you think it’s a terrible pity?”

“I.” Aziraphale opens and closes his mouth. He’d expected grumbling, surly thanks disguised as griping. He didn’t think to expect this. “Crowley, I—”

“I thought the rainbow was meant to be a promise!” Crowley is pacing back and forth, all frantic, spring-coiled fury. “What’s the point of promising not to drown the world if you’re just going to burn it instead?”

“I—I don’t know,” Aziraphale flounders. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you care enough to ask? Doesn’t any of your lot care?”

Aziraphale climbs to his feet. “Now, listen here, Crowley. It’s not—it’s not that I don’t care. I just can’t ask. I can’t question the Almighty’s choices.”

“Why?”

“Because it isn’t done!”

The moment Aziraphale utters the words, he is aware of the lack of them – the emptiness, the impotence. He drops his gaze to the dirt. The taste of bile and bloodshed clings in his mouth.

“Crowley,” he begins.

Crowley raises a hand to silence him. “Don’t bother. You know what, angel? Sometimes I think I had the right of it when I Fell. I never have a choice, not really, but at least I can ask why.”

He’s gone before Aziraphale can respond, wings unfurled and carrying him past the light of the flames, into the gathering dark. Aziraphale watches him vanish. A small part of him wants to follow, wants to apologize for the Almighty’s decision, and—no. It would be wrong to apologize for God’s work because God never errs. Best not to question Her choices. The Rebellion was a very long time ago, but it is fresh in his memory still.

Aziraphale stands alone on the hillside, watching Sodom and Gomorrah burn down to ashes. Stock still between the two, a pillar of salt shivers under a stiff wind – then scatters, obliterated and cast into the sands.

#good omens #good omens ficlet #good omens word prompt #good omens fanfiction #long post

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brynwrites · 6 years ago

Text

What I learned while self-publishing.

@milkyteefs asked:

I'm unsure about the entire self-publishing world! Do you have a basic outline of the process? Some key highlights/headings of how you started and what connections you needed to make? Thanks again! <3

I went through the process of self-publishing Our Bloody Pearl this summer. Even with all the guides in the world it turned out to be a very grueling experience. I’ll be doing it again with Quasi Stellar soon, but I also hope to traditionally publish The Warlord Contracts trilogy.

First, let’s get this out of the way: Self published books are often very bad.

But they don’t have to be.

Self publishing requires you, the writer, to either wear the hat of everyone else at a publishing house, or be your own investor and pay for professionals to do the jobs you can’t. If you’re willing to put in that effort and money then you can come out with a more professional book than you might have had you published traditionally. If you’re not, then self publishing might not be the right road for you.

Now then, how do you self publish in a way that produces a professional book?

Fifteen Basic Steps to Self-Publishing:

1. Write and edit the book.

This is, understandably, the step that a lot of people get stuck at. Writing a novel is hard. Don’t worry about how or when you’ll publish it until it’s finished.

Just write it.

During this time you should also be marketing yourself as a writer. Learn more about that via my marketing tips tag.

2. Beta readers and critique partners.

Getting feedback from handpicked peers is essential for any book no matter which publishing route you choose. If these terms are new to you, learn more about beta readers here and critique partners here.

During your first book (or two) I recommend starting with critique partners and then moving to beta readers afterward, because critique partners will shred your novel down to the bare bones, which you usually really need the first few books you write. Critique partners will also generally pick at your grammar and typos though, which can be very useful at the end of the editing stage so that your manuscript looks cleaner to an editor (or agent, if you traditionally publish.)

3. Write your blurbs and summary.

While your story is in the hands of your final group of readers, you should already be working on blurbs and summaries. By the end of the publishing process you will need:

A back of the book blurb.

A one-two sentence logline style blurb.

A one page summary of the story.

Don’t put these off! They won’t get any easier if you wait. You can find tips on writing blurbs in this article.

4. Determine that you’re done making changes to the manuscript.

A writer who’s growing and learning will forever feel as though there’s something they can change in their manuscript, but at some point you have to decide that what’s done is done. You will always have another awesome book which will be even better than this one.

If you have trouble determining when this point should be, check out this explanation!

5. Make a publishing timetable.

Give yourself more time on your timetable than you think you need! Traditional publishing takes about two years for a reason. A lot of the steps below this point seem relatively simple compared to writing and editing a book, but they require you to learn new skills and spend a lot of time waiting for other people with busy schedules.

Five and a half: Start book two.

You might have already done this during the beta reading stage, but if not, start another book! Writers should never stop writing and editing (outside of planned vacations, emergencies, and mental health breaks, of course), so pick that pen back up and start pounding out another book.

6. Find a content editor.

If you ran a beta reading stage with 10-20 critical and knowledgeable beta readers in your target audience then congratulations, they served the purpose of a content editor already!

6. Find a copy editor.

A copy editor is the person who checks your grammar, sentence structure, flow, and word usage. I found my editor though the editorial freelance association directory. The main things to look for when choosing an editor:

Experience. This should include testimonies, information about any publishing companies they worked with, and the works they edited in the past. If you can’t easily access and double check these things, then keep looking.

Sample edits. Any editor worth your time will offer you a free sample edit. (For copy editing this is generally 750-1k words of your novel. I’m not sure about other types of editing.) Take advantage of this! Send the same sample to the top four or five editors who fit your price range and see who returns feedback that you jive with and feel comfortable paying.

What if I can’t afford a copy editor?

In general, you can probably get away without hiring a professional copy editor if you (a) find 3-4 solid critique partners who are willing to do a very detailed line edit and proofread of your final draft (do not take advantage of your fellow writers!! Offer them the same in return!!), (b) get free sample edits from a handful of freelance authors to see if they catch any major formatting issues you do regularly, and (c) learn what a style guide is and make at least a simple one for yourself while you do another round of proofreading.

Remember though, traditionally publishing exists specifically so that you, the writer, can get a professional edit without having to pay for it. If you want a professional book without putting in the investment, then querying an agent might be the better option for you.

7. Prepare to offer ARCs to reviewers and friends.

Getting reviews for your book is the most important marketing activity you can do. The sooner you contact reviewers about this, the more reviews you’ll have when the release date comes. Note that the large majority of book reviewers you contact will never respond. If you email 20 reviewers, expect to get one or two reviews out of it, most likely in 4-6 months. (Which is why you should email all your friends and past beta readers too.)

How do we maximize the number reviewers who will read our books?

You know those neat little lists of book blogs who will review indie books? Don’t use them. Anything that with nicely compiled and easy to get reviewer lists is going to be overcrowded with blogs who have two year wait-lists and 97% of them will never even email you back.

Instead, try searching for reviewers you already follow on twitter and tumblr. Look for semi-popular goodreads reviewers who put positive reviews on books similar to your own and check if they have a link to a blog, or an email for review inquiries. Find less well known booktubers that youtube links to off your favorite popular booktubers.

8. Format the book.

You can pay someone to format your novel, but its rather expensive for something that’s relatively easy to learn to do yourself using guides off the internet. Paperback and ebook formatting must be done separately, and your first time I would set aside a full Saturday to tackle each of them, just to be safe. If you have a program like scrivener, with a little tweaking you should be able to get a nice looking ebook with none of the hassle of learning html. There are many other options though. Do a little research to find the one which works for you!

(Note: If you’re printing a paperback you cannot get a paperback cover until you’ve formatted the book and know final page count for your print size!)

9. Hire a cover artist.

The book cover is the most important part of your book, so far as sales and success are concerned.

There’s a huge trend in self published books to skip this stage and work with photoshop or cavna instead. I would not recommend this. Cover artists for professional books do what they do full time. They know the market. They know what sells. So do some writers, but the truth is, many of the writers who think they can design covers, turn out the sorts of designs that are easily pegged as self-published books.

If you want a professional looking book that pops in the amazon charts, hire a professional.

There are a multitude of ways you can go about this. Some large cover art sites like damonza offer bundles which can get pricey, but let you back out with no charge if you don’t like their first drafts and include unlimited changes if you commit. There are also many freelancers who specialize in book covers, for a wide range of prices.

What if I don’t have the money to hire a cover artist?

If there is anything you don’t want to go cheep on, it’s your cover art. But let’s say you absolutely have to get a cover for cheap or free. There are people who do cover designs for $5 on Fiverr, and I think some of them actually turn out half decent covers for very specific genres, but its a gamble. A couple writeblrs do cover design as part of their day job and might be willing to do something cheep or for a trade. You could also learn how to design covers yourself, but if you want to compete with books whose designers went to school just to do what they now do full time, you’ll either have to put in a lot of time or be lucky enough to have a very good, easily executed idea for your particular novel, and hopefully not one with requires any stock photos unless you want to purchase rights to them.

Now, there are some exceptions. Some writers have a natural design brain, and some writers are in fact designers themselves. Sometimes you write a book where the perfect cover design is very simple and easy to produce yourself. But that won’t be most people, with most books.

So far I have seen exactly two of the hundreds of self publisher made covers I’ve seen have actually made me want to buy the story. I’m not trying to be mean. It’s just the truth.

10. Offer ARCs to more reviewers.

Now you have a nicely formatted book and everything! Who can resist that?

11. Do a cover reveal, and during the cover reveal, offer everyone there an ARC.

Cover reveals come in many different forms. Some writers just post the cover on their blog, some do livestreams on facebook, some do question and answer sessions leading up to the reveal, some even go all out and have other writers come talk about their books on their site for a full day prior to the cover reveal.

Do whatever works best for your schedule. The goal is to attract attention for the book, so make sure you link to anything you’ve already set up from #12, so people can easily find your book when you release it!

And, as always, give out ARCs.

12. Get your book and author profile set up on everything.

Prior to your book’s release you should have a goodreads author page, an amazon author page, and a bookbub author page, all with your book attached. You should also have a website and a mailing list (linked to via your ebook), prepared release announcements for every social media site you work off of, and be ready with attractive and easily noticeable links to the book’s sale page off your tumblr blog and website.

Keep in mind that some of these things will take a decent chunk of time to set up, and a few of them require a live human being to confirm you are who you say you are. Start them as early as possible!

13. Release the book!

Time to actually put the book out there for all to buy. You can do a similar hype release as you do with a cover reveal, if you so desire. Make sure you remember to post all your announcements and put up all your links.

Try not to check on the book’s sales until the following day! It does not help their growth or your mental health to constantly be haunting your sales charts. When you do check them, keep in mind that a book which sells two thousand copies in its entire life time has done well, all things considered.

The fantastic thing about self publishing is that you never have to stop selling your book. If you sell fifty copies your first month and then twenty the second and then five the third, you can always dive back into marketing, run a discount, apply for a bookbub ad, focus on marketing yourself as an author and gaining followers. You chose whether your book is done selling.

To offer pre-orders or not?

This is a toss up. In my experience, pre-orders aren’t a good idea for your debut self-published novel, even if you think you have a large audience who will buy them, because they take away from the sales you could have your release week, and the boost those sale give you on the amazon charts. If you do wish to offer pre-orders though, try going through ingramspark instead of amazon advantage, to save yourself tears and heartache.

To go amazon exclusive or not?

Many authors claim that you have to try both to know what’s right for any particular book. Do your own research and decide what you think is best for you.

Thirteen and a half: Start book three.

At this point you should already have finished at least the rough draft of second novel, so don’t forget to start your third book at some point!

14. Offer people read for review copies.

Especially if your debut novel is aimed toward broke teenagers and younger adults, there will be a lot of people who are interested in the book but aren’t motivated enough to actually buy it on faith alone. By offering free ebooks on a read for review basis, you...

Grow your reviews.

Create fans out of people who may have never read the book otherwise.

Have higher paperback sales, because readers who loved the ebook you gave them may decide to buy themselves a paperback.

15, unto infinity: Keep promoting your book into the sunset, while writing new books!

The time to stop promoting you book is whenever you feel you’ve had enough sales and reached enough readers. Until you reach a point where you’ve published so many books that you can’t handle marketing them all, you should still be trying to expand your readership!

And don’t forget to have a little bit of fun along the way. You worked hard for this. Celebrate it.

But what if I just want to get a book out there?

If your goal is not to publish a professional looking book with will expand your fanbase and set you on a path to full time authorship, but rather to have a piece of your writing available in a book format your friends and family can buy, then there’s no reason not to publish exactly how you wish to.

Are all these steps really necessarily?

I believe they are, at least for a debut novel. In fact, there are probably more steps which I missed entirely. But, if you can find multiple self-published authors who went through a less rigorous publishing process and still received hundreds or goodreads reviews, then by all mean, follow that process instead (and let me know about it!)

So which book did you self publish?

This one here! You can support me and my ability to keep giving writing advice by purchasing a copy today =D

#writeblr #writing resources #writers on writing #writers on tumblr #self publishing #authors on tumblr #writing tag: publishing

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paperclipninja · 5 years ago

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Younger post-ep ramble 6x08

When episodes of TV shows are touted as 'epic' or 'game changing' I tend to proceed with caution, because chances of it living up to the hype are generally pretty slim. When it comes to Younger though, I should know better than to doubt such claims and 'Debu-taunt' (another pun-tastic title btw) really has changed the game and delivered some of the most poignant and meaningful character interactions of the series. This week's episode got back to the core of what this show is about: the female friendships in all their complexity. We saw lovely moments that deepened Diana and Liza's romantic relationships too of course, but these ultimately amplified the supportive and supporting role the men play in the women's lives. I've gotta say, I found this week's ramble hard to write because where do you start with an episode you've been anticipating for so long? The beginning, let's start at the beginning...

The episode opens with Liza and Charles living out some kind of domestic morning fantasy (minus the grapefruit for me thanks) and seeing the townhouse kitchen area in the daylight was something new, it's so much bigger than I realised! The entire scene is so aesthetically pleasing, particularly the Charles-in-a-vest-and-shirt situation as well as coordination of tie and Liza's dress, but of course it serves the far greater purpose of letting us know that Liza has fully integrated into the lives of Nicole and Bianca, right down to helping with homework and offering to drop a forgotten report off at school. It has been quite a few seasons since we saw or heard from the Brooks children and I fully appreciate catching a glimpse of Charles in dad-mode on the phone to Bianca, it's easy to forget that these characters have these other dimensions to their lives (speaking of which, is there some kind of alert out for Caitlin at this point? The lack of texts or calls or mentions is curious...Caitlin, if you're reading this, we're not mad, just let us know you're ok). Charles' gratitude to Liza for going to the school naturally makes my sappy heart swell, the 'I don't deserve you' only made better by his tardiness not being enough to stop him going back for a second kiss goodbye.

Pesky climate change forces Liza to discover she does not have a coat at Charles', but fortunately for her there is an entire closet full of coats, which naturally she does not question and is definitely not some kind of set up for a run in with the ex. Except it is of course and even as a viewer I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me watching Pauline ask Liza if the unexpectedness of their run in is why she is wearing her coat (seriously, I'm overwhelmed with second hand embarrassment typing this). Also, what was Pauline doing there? Just hanging out at the school for reasons or was she lurking in case Charles turned up with the report so she could catch a peek of him in a three-piece? While this remains a mystery (though who could blame her lbh), Pauline's desire to 'bury the hatchet' with Liza was def suspicious, but a nice distraction from the cringe-worthy, 'Bianca mentioned that she had two mommies' comment Mrs. Clipper makes before it's decided that Liza should be added to the pick-up list as she will 'be around for the long haul'. I am so grateful to see Liza showing that she is committed to and wants the life she has chosen with Charles in this episode. Regardless of what happens down the track, it's nice to see this character backing her own choices and decisions for now.

Any seasoned television watcher's alarm bells no doubt went off when Pauline cited the divorce negotiations as 'more or less behind us' (and again when Charles mentioned that 'it seems the worst is over' at the coffee station) because we all know that in the land of TV this 100% means it's only a matter of time before they will not be.

Keeping in the theme of wonderful character interactions, I may never get used to Charles and Liza just hanging out in the office (particularly Charles hovering around as an editor instead of the boss, but I am here for it until the end of time) and his adoring gaze as Liza recalls the awkward horror of her interaction with Pauline is topped off with a shared Harry Potter appreciation moment and honestly, these two and their nerd love, I cannot. The way the conversation about Liza moving in unfolded was so natural and yes, the answer is ALWAYS YES Liza when Charles Brooks suggests starting each day waking up together (insert swoon here). It turns out Liza doesn't overthink it, cue guilt pie and Pinot Noir with Maggie.

These two are friendship goals times a thousand and Maggie's unwavering support upon hearing Liza talk about how she knows it's fast but it feels right epitomises the way these two only want one another's happiness (even if Maggie's expression as Liza goes to call Charles and tell him she will be moving in indicates she is going to very much miss her roommate). I loved hearing about and imagining them drinking wine and binging The Great British Bake Off and just how well they know and value one another, ugh, I could not gush more about all of it and this whole exchange felt like such a treat. I was envisioning Kelsey moving in once Liza moved out and I'm still holding out hope for this to happen when Liza does eventually make the move (remaining optimistic on this one even though I do pine for Liza/Maggie loft moments).

The sneak peek for this week showed us yet another golden interaction and that was, of course, Diana telling Charles about her engagement to Enzo. The main takeaways are a) Diana referring to herself as Charles' work wife and Charles's amused smile; b) Diana asking Charles for his blessing and him not really knowing why but giving it and; c) the longest hug in the world as Diana coaxes Charles into announcing her engagement to the office. I love that the interactions between these two always have a slightly awkward undertone but there is genuine care and warmth too. Diana telling Charles that he has always been able to read her like a book (lol) and the two sitting there with their hands together was just such a testament to their fabulously wacky relationship.

What better way to ensure that any DRAH-MAH unfolds in an overwhelmingly public forum than the morning meeting reveal that there is a Publishers Weekly Debutante Ball (for first time authors) thrown every year! Turns out this is the event of the season, despite it being the first time Liza has heard about it (to be fair she has probs been distracted by the faux millennial facade previous years so didn't clock that this was a legit thing). I am digging Kelsey heading up and holding her own in these meetings, she is definitely stepping up to her new role it seems and I am keen to see how it continues to develop. And those little looks across the conference room table between Charles and Liza, I see you.

Zane's gears still seem stuck on obnoxious since last ep, first throwing in Jake Devereux as a suggested author for the deb (a clear jab at Kelsey) and then putting his foot in it after hearing Diana's news by suggesting that DeLuca is 'better than Trout'. First of all, who in their right mind would say that out loud, let alone assume an established woman in her 40's (or any woman for that matter) is going to take a new husband's surname? Though Diana DeLuca is pretty great, I could definitely see her using it as an alias during future hi-jinx (preferably with Liza now that they can be actual proper friends, but I'm getting ahead of myself).

Right from the get go Her Majesty D. Trout is taking none of Zane's rubbish, asking him to use his words when he finally offers up PTB as a deb option and her zero tolerance for insolence continues when she corrects his question of who she's engaged to with, 'to whom'. At this stage of my love for this character, I'm really just wondering what sized portrait of Diana I should put in my shrine to her. This all comes out after Charles is prompted to announce Diana's big news (I'm kind of loving that Charles is a bit hopeless at remembering these sorts of details, last week when he'd failed to mention Bob and Julia would be on their table, then this week with the announcement...soon enough we'll be regaling ourselves with a collection of these, and we'll laugh and shake our heads as we mutter 'classic Chaz' under our breath) and it is of course Liza's reaction that is next level and so freaking OTT and I love it with every fibre of my being. Seriously, her yell-cheering and clapping is me in any excitement-inducing situation. My love for her love of Diana starts here and embarks on one hell of a ride from here onward during this ep.

While this episode certainly had a more serious tone than some others (I think this was definitely emphasised by the music choices too, there was a distinct lack of the usual pop/vocal and much more instrumental), Liza following Diana into her office semi-screeching, 'I'm so excited, why aren't you more excited?' met by Diana's 'Liza, please deactivate yourself', was hilarious. Diana asked Liza to be maid of honour in a way only Diana could and I tell you what, I damn delighted in that one hug a year. Everything about this scene was SO good, which of course meant that there was a dagger waiting right around the corner to plunge into our rib-cages and shatter our hearts into a million pieces (I wish I was being dramatic but where is the lie?)

That dagger's name is Pauline and it's during lunch that Liza discovers her real motivation for being all chummy and that is wanting Liza to help with her new book. Always a smart cookie, Liza agrees, in exchange for Pauline attending the Debutante Ball as Millennial's deb (I have to admit I did chuckle with the 'do you need to borrow a dress?' line). Despite dodgy af being Pauline's general modus operandi, I actually do think she was being sincere in her initial offer to move forward and let the whole 'you're-now-with-my-husband-and-my-kids-love-you-maybe-more-than-me-because-I-abandoned-them-for-a-year-at-a-pivotal-point-in-their-development' thing slide for the sake of maintaining some sort of relationship with her soon-to-be ex-husband and their children. If only she knew that the reason Liza understood her better than any of her current editors was because they were basically the same age and had similar life experiences...

...well THANK GOD for Mrs. Clipper, the true villain of the episode if you ask me, who quite frankly can't seem to get her paws on that copy of Liza's drivers license fast enough after Pauline tells her that men in her circle are always leaving their wives for assistants in their twenties. I might be off on an island on my own here, but you know what, I actually felt sorry for Pauline in this moment. In her mind Charles has also been deceived and by extension, her children, so I completely understand her initial reaction and feeling that she needs to tell Charles immediately and rescue him from this betrayal.

That all goes down at the Debutante Ball because it must of course, but first we catch Kelsey, Lauren and Zane reminiscing about their own proms at this prom for grown ups, with Lauren here for it and we unsurprisingly discover Zane was prom king (I heart Lauren's 'that tracks' comment). You always know whatever's about to go down is extra EXTRA when you see a couple of characters blissfully happy and unaware everything is about to implode, such as Charles and Liza celebrating their moving-in milestone, before Liza is whisked away backstage. When Charles is confronted by frantic Pauline and she discovers he knew about the lie too, I could imagine that up until that point she thought this would be something that would bond them in outrage, but it ended up being just another blow. While Pauline clearly has impulse issues and a pretty prominent vindictive streak, I do think it's one thing to wrap her head around her husband falling in love with a younger woman (though I do not understand on what planet Pauline thought she could piss off for a year on her own terms with zero communication and then just return to her life and there would be no upheaval) but the discovery that it was someone she could consider a peer would cut deeper.

As Pauline latched on to Liza's arm, it was like watching a live animal being led into the lion enclosure at dinner time. I'm breaking out in a stress sweat just thinking about this scene, even though you could see it coming it was utterly shocking to watch unfold. The announcer emphasising that theirs was the only partnership in which the mentor was younger ensured the dagger was perfectly lined up before Pauline once again applied some revisionist history to her abandonment of the family, making a point of coming across as the blameless victim whose husband was 'lost' to the assistant standing beside her. As Pauline keeps talking Charles is clearly wary and concerned about where this is going and Kelsey quickly clues in just as Pauline drops that Liza is in fact 42 years old and the entire room gasps and murmurs and revels in the audacious reveal.

Enter Diana and that dagger is twisted well and truly into my fragile heart as she immediately assumes that 'this woman is deranged' and jumps to the defence of Liza, despite Charles and Liza trying to stop her. The fact that Diana tells Charles that she will not let this woman 'slander us', that she sees them as one united team, and holds Liza in such high esteem that she would put her own fear of making a scene aside to protect Liza's integrity, only made Liza's confirmation that 'it's true' even more heart-shattering. Miriam Shor deserves every damn award created for her acting in this entire episode, but the last 10 minutes in particular are nothing short of phenomenal. When Diana realises that Charles and Kelsey knew and that she had just made a spectacle of herself in front of a room full of the most important people in publishing, her need to escape is understandable and a panic attack is not an unreasonable physical response to such a huge revelation in such a public forum (I mean I was basically having one watching it all tbh).

Enzo's relief upon hearing that it was a panic attack is palpable and the interaction between him and Diana in the hospital may well be my favourite between these two yet. We see Diana as we've never seen her in this series; vulnerable, emotional, no necklace and no makeup. Always one to deliver a stellar line, her response to Enzo's 'how are you?', 'I'm fine, I've just lost trust in humanity as a whole, but other than that I'm fine', was on point and Enzo's response that 'she looks good' when Diana shares Liza's true age was A+ (for line and delivery). It is Diana's embarrassment at being that 'village idiot' when everybody else knew (I really wanted to somehow jump into my screen in that moment and tell her that Lauren and Zane didn't know either, it's not just you!) that took my heart pieces and trampled on them some more. I think it's because she is always so composed and controlled, but seeing Diana holding onto Enzo and saying that she just wants him, demonstrates how much he steadies her and allows her to be herself.

Just outside the room, Charles and Liza face a step back as Pauline has phoned to say she wants to re-visit the custody agreement (which I really struggle to see the relevance of or how Liza saying she was younger is anywhere near as bad as up and leaving your two small children for a year but sure, I'll play along for the sake of drama), which means that they cannot move in together as planned, Liza's lie has now impacted the man she loves as well as Diana and Charles feels responsible for Pauline exposing Liza the way she did. Liza reassuring Charles that he was just protecting her and the way he pulled her in to comfort her made any remnants of my shattered heart swell. It was such a tender moment between them and there was something about the parallel of Enzo comforting Diana in the room at the same time, whether intentional or not, that really stressed the uncertainty and distress both women were experiencing.

Josh phoning Liza to give her a hard time about being an upper East side lady was actually a really nice way to see this friendship developing (I would definitely expect my friends to do that) because had the timing not been so atrocious, I assume it would've been an otherwise pleasant conversation in which he would be happy for her (that's what I'm going with anyway). Obviously this call was to show that Liza's lie has once again stonewalled her and stopped her being able to move forward in her life and that she feels she's messed up everything at work and for Charles with his kids. Since learning that there were a number of deleted scenes, including the one in which Diana got her engagement ring, I must say that I feel like the phone call could probably have been omitted in lieu of progressing Diana's story for this episode and the choice to include it definitely feels like an extremely contrived attempt to stoke the triangle.

The fallout from the age reveal will no doubt play out over the coming episodes, however Lauren and Zane are still trying to wrap their heads around it the next morning (and again Zane, why on EARTH do you think you would've been someone who should know this information? I think I can count on one hand the number of conversations I've seen Liza and Zane have. Actually, no I can't because it's so few I can't even remember one) but I will say that I paused on the article Lauren is reading and Jackie Dunn has given a statement in it and this show, I swear, it outdoes itself even when no-one might notice. I appreciated Kelsey's itchy scalp to emphasise the stress of the situation and Lauren addressing Liza as 'Ma'am' was pretty darn funny (though I am a bit surprised at Lauren's reaction. I thought she'd be more intrigued and want to know all the details of how she did it etc.) But it is the final 3 minutes of this week's episode that absolutely blew me away and left me quite literally crying on the train as I watched.

There have been moments that have made me tear up and certainly times when character interactions have held such meaning on this show that the feelings are many, but there really never has been a scene like the one between Diana and Liza at the end of this week's episode of Younger. Diana's minimal make up and jewellery emphasised the rawness and realness of the entire exchange. Diana saying that she wouldn't have hired Liza if she'd known and Liza being able to say, 'exactly', made the point of why she told the initial lie so simply. In that moment Diana can understand Liza's need to lie about her age, but it is Diana's search for why, beyond that initial deceit, did Liza fetch her coffee and lunch and her urine samples...and hold her hand on the red carpet and convince her to go after Enzo...that she needs to know if everything else was real or was it part of the ploy to uphold the lie. Seeing Diana with her heart on her sleeve, needing to know if her perception of their relationship was a farce, was one of the most powerful moments, if not THE most powerful moment of this series.

The resolution, that ‘honesty is the best policy’ and that Liza is no longer her maid of honour but her ‘old maid of honour’ could not have been more perfect. And in case I wasn’t already a blubbering mess, Diana’s emotional, ‘I just want to say...’ which Liza instinctively answered with, ‘I love you too’ did me in completely and honestly, the whole thing is so sublime, what an absolute gift. No words I write can do justice to the incredible performances of Miriam Shor and Sutton Foster so I really can only suggest you go and watch the final scene again for yourself.

This episode of Younger really was something else. After five and a half seasons, Liza is finally free from her lie, she can FINALLY live her life without wondering if or when or how it is going to catch up with her. It feels like a big sigh of relief. For me this episode also showed how much more compelling it is for the drama to sit in the space of these women navigating friendships and work dynamics and how much the focus on the triangle detracts from what this show is actually about. It's not that often you get to watch an episode of a show you love and think, 'that episode is going to go down as one of the best in the series', but 'Debu-taunt' will without a doubt hold it's place as one of the best.

#youngertv #younger tv #younger season 6 #ramble #review #6x08 #liza miller #diana trout #charles brooks #enzo deluca #love #friendship #team charles

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evotter · 6 years ago

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jan, march, sept + one of your choice, love. have a great day, u icon

thank u kyra i adore u

january: what was the first fic you posted this year?

the first fic i posted this year TECHNICALLY was the epilogue of a different path. the first standalone was chewbacca (aka my introduction to the jily world once again and i have such a soft spot for it)

march: do you listen to music whilst writing?

yes! pretty much always; if it’s not music, it’s a TV show.

september: share a comment or review which still warms your heart?

quite literally anything you’ve left on any of my fics BUT there are a few that i hold dear to my heart. i’ll post them under the cut cause they are LONG :’)

ancient: the first fic you ever posted online?

hahahaaaaaaa. it was my own version of rick riordan’s the son of neptune before the actual book was published. it was on ff.net, and the first chapter got 7 reviews, and i felt so good about myself after that lmfao. who knew i’d still be writing 8 years later?

ask me questions!

OKAY so i have 3 top favorites:

from a different path:

okay so i had seen this in someone else’s bookmarks the other day, thought it was an interesting concept—especially since i too love slytherin!percy and strongly subscribe to ofswordsandpens’ headcanons about it—but didn’t give it another thought until i was listening to a video about the cursed child and went: wait, there’s a percabeth hogwarts au that i saw somewhere. and immediately i hunted this down and i’m just in awe? i tore through it. belatedly, i realized that i made a mistake: i didn’t write down my thoughts as i was reading, which is definitely a disservice to you. however, here are a generalized list of things that i loved.

first of all, with hogwarts au’s, there are three main aspects that i look for: plot, characterization, and quality of writing. normally, fics of this size lack one or more of these key factors, but i was astonished to find that the plot is tremendously tight and intriguing (my lip bled from biting it so much because i’ve been stressed to the max), you write these characters with such distinct voices i can easily picture them saying everything—except, of course, now in a little british accent—and your writing flows so well, it feels almost like i’m reading an actual harry potter book, just with percy and co. you also do a masterful job of weaving together aspects of the pjo universe with the established canon of hp.

and there are so many specific things that i love. primarily, the way you write the relationships in this story; not just concerning percabeth (though i will get to that in a minute), but also with each of the interactions between all of the characters. i applaud you for how you handled luke/annabeth and rachel/percy, and the friendship among them all is just incredibly well done. i especially love how well you wrote connor and zoë and just, a lot of characters that i don’t often think about when i think of pjo. grover and percy’s friendship especially is heartbreaking, i just. he’s so protective because he loves his friends and holy fuck i also love how you wrote grover in this. but i just adored how you wrote annabeth/percy—the love between them, both platonic in its early stages and the romantic all throughout, was doubly apparent. i ached when they kissed each other’s cheeks, and i inwardly cheered when she kissed him in the locker room. there was just such a natural progression, to me, of their relationship. and man did i dig it. i’m excited (and maybe a little scared) to see where you take their relationship in the future.

boy, this is getting long. sorry. but some more just little quick things: loved the b99 reference, with both of their competitive natures playing out in a similar way to jake and amy’s. i kind of want to go back and see if i can find any other references that i missed because i was just too engaged in the story to catch them. also, zoë’s death killed me all over again, thanks for that. i like how you’re working the kronos plot in, and i can’t wait to see how the Final Battle plays out. what else? oh! professor hestia? beautiful. eventual maybe professor percy? outstanding. percy kissing the top of annabeth’s head? breathtaking. rachel being a quidditch commentator? earth shattering. (truly i cackled when i saw that.) mrs. o’leary being a cat? incredible. how you incorporated percy’s water powers? stunning.

ooh, this exchange was beautiful and had me cackling it was so in-character:

“None of us are dying.” Connor clarifies. “Not you, not me, not Annie, not the rest of us.”

“I might have to dispute that.” Annabeth says, from Percy’s other side. “Call me ‘Annie’ one more time, Stoll, and I’ll kill you myself.”

Connor only grins at her. “Sorry, love. No more ‘Annie’. Can I call you Beth?”

“No.”

“Anna?”

“No.”

okay, so i just finished chapter nine and i am blown away. sorry for how long this comment was, but a fic of this magnitude truly warrants it. i can’t wait to see what happens next.

i leave you with just two words: “holy shit.”

from a different path:

god, oh my god, am i the only dumb bitch who didn’t get what the prophecy was??

anyway, i stumbled on this fic last year, patiently waiting for its completion, and now that i’ve rediscovered it, i’m so glad i finished it all in one go! i couldn’t imagine the tension of waiting for the next chapter, especially since the tension is so well-crafted!! i hardly noticed the tonal shift even as the story got darker and darker as it led up to the war, and in that way i was reminded of how extremely similar it felt to reading the hp books for the first time! you nailed percy very well i might say, and the awkward-yet-caring relationship he has with his dad. i daresay you gave connor and zoe more characterization than rick riordan himself, and the percabeth you wrote is perfect to the nth degree. i appreciate that you didnt bother with all the love triangle and unrequited feelings nonsense as well.

but i have to say, even as i cried at sally and paul’s wedding, or at dionysus’ quiet mourning for castor, what really struck with me most was the way you handled silena. for that, i have no words. that was a job extremely well done. thank you so much for blessing us with this fic.

from chewbacca (a comment from u!):

A girl in a bright yellow hooded raincoat stumbles into the cafe on one of the slowest nights James has ever seen. Her coat is dripping all over the floor he’d just cleaned (but it’s fine) and when he leans over the counter he sees that her boots match the coat.

First of all!!! Thats the best opening line in the world and nobody can convince me otherwise. I want to become a publisher just so that if you ever write a book, I’d be able to publish it. ( like omg, what an honor??? )

She looks like sunshine, standing there with the amount of yellow in her wardrobe. Briefly, James wonders if that’s her favorite color. It’s got to be.

Im going to quote this whole fic but I really love these lines? Like, you have this distinct style of writiting that I aim to acheive and you’re literally such a rolemodel!!! These are my favorite kind of fics to read. Funny story but I was going through a ‘no thanks Jily’ mood ( a horror, i know !! ) but your fics are just,,,,exceptions? You could write about trash and I’d love it and ask for you to sign me up.

“Say it again, but convincingly this time.”

ooof this dialogue??? let me breathe

This is the longest he’s stood still since he started working. It’s actually a miracle.

and the funniest person award goes to YOU. also, the most talented and cutest but thats neither here nor there.

james taking care of fleamont, switching off the lights gives me just a nice and realistic vibe? its so simple but i love how you added it.

honestly at this point, ive been sucked again by the fanfic. it feels less like a fic and more like a masterpiece that belongs in a museum but anyway.

“James is supposed to be helping.

James is on his phone.”

ugh i love ur mind. im rereading and its so nice and lovely. even if its like 1am and im exhausted, this fic is sustaining me.

“Do it off the clock, would you?”

PEAK HUMOR

have i mentioned how much i love that scene with euphemia? she seems like such a lovely mom. i love ur euphemia the most. and ahh, both of them just rushing to the hospital ? another 100% good scene.

“Euphemia smiles too, but looks at Fleamont rather than at her son. “Yes,” she says. “It really does.””

fic? or shakspeare? HMMM

A girl in a bright yellow hooded raincoat stumbles into the cafe on one of the slowest nights James has ever seen // “Get fucked.”

the fic!! has made a circle!!! i love how it begins and ends along the same lines. I really want to know how??? are you so talented im in love.

i just really love this fic, okay? i love how james is just the kindest, lily is allowed to have feelings, its just so soft and warm. and it makes someone feel loved, want love anyway.

the dynamic between the characters are just so real and great and im astounded, in short.

your sirius is everything. so many fics potray him as a dick??? which is first of all #rude and also, not at all true. you made me love these characters even more so i sincerely hope you never stop writing.

you’re such a beautiful writer and the way you string words together is just poetic and gorgeous and all the other good adjectives you can think of. i read your spiderman x reader too and i was a goner for you. EVERYTHING YOU WRITE IS SO GOOD. i read it so long ago but i can vividly remember peter whipping the mask off and she just going wtf stop on the window ledge. what im trying to say is that you leave this lasting impression on people that make them remember random scenes and words / prose long after they’ve read it which is a remarkable feat, i believe.

and im so sorry im not on tumblr rn bc i cannot keep recing this fic but i have told my friends about your writing and they loved it too. you’ve got like a million fans. when i do get back from my hiatus, im going to keep recing your fics and people will cry because their universe will shift thanks to the newfound joy of your presence in their life.

lastly, im more of a dog person and that, more than anything, should tell you how much i love this fic. i love u. and basee on your writing, i want to hug you, be your best friend and make you cookies bc again

WOW

#thelaziestgeek #answers #friends!#<3

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hetbigbang · 6 years ago

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D-DAY IS HERE

IT'S DEADLINE DAY!!

Art and Fics Due - September 26th, 11:59 PM (Midnight) PST (here is a timezone converter.) ~ We can't wait to see what you all have created and can't wait to share it with everyone! IMPORTANT NOTE: I will be sending out emails to our artists who were willing to pinch hit art, as we have one outstanding art claim, and we may delay Debut Day if it is not picked up. (There may also be a slight delay because the mods are sick and in school, but we are doing our best not to let that happen!) POSTING: In case you need a hand with posting or last minute questions, check under the cut for a rundown on how to post your final works to the 2018 Collection.

POSTING REQUIREMENTS Where do we post our completed fics? We are using AO3 collections, with the deadline for submission as September 26th, and the reveal date of October 1st. You can post them up early!! Post them up now, if you want! You can also post your fics anywhere else you like, just don't post them anywhere before the Debut Date. Everyone who has signed up for this challenge should have an AO3 account, but if you don't, you can still sign up. You can ask a friend for an invite code, or you can request from A03 here or at

ao3_invitecodes. If you are unfamiliar with it, here is the FAQ of AO3. Do not publish your fic for everyone to see at AO3. Instead, submit it for our 2018 collection. Only the author of a work can add it to a collection, and then the mods approve it and we'll reveal it on the Debut Date. Once you've done that, we are also asking you to drop an email to thehetbigbang [at] gmail dot com when you submit your work to A03, with the following information: Email Subject Line: (Fic or Art Submission. YOUR NAME.)

AO3 Name/LJ Name: (both) Fandom: Pairing: Artwork or Fic: (artwork for "Title of Fic, by Author") or (Fic: "Title, rating, and word count. Big Bang or Little Bang.") Summary: (if applicable.)

Further Posting guidelines below. (The pics used are for the old 2012 submissions, but just mentally adjust for 2018.) 1. Sign up for A03. You can ask a friend for an invite code, or you can request from A03 here or at

ao3_invitecodes. 2. DO NOT POST YOUR FICS/ARTS SO THAT THE GENERAL PUBLIC CAN SEE THEM. Double check after posting to make sure it doesn't get posted to the general audience. If it does, delete the work and start over. Instead, you need to allow the mods to collect your fic/arts so that we can reveal everything together on October 1st. Go here, to the 2018 Het Big Bang Collection, and go the "Post to Collection" button in the top right corner. The collection is currently open, moderated and unrevealed.

This will bring you to the normal template where you submit your fic/artwork. In the first block, you fill out all the tags: fandom, warnings, ratings, characters, pairings, additional tags, etc. In the second block, you fill out the preface information, including title, summary, and author's notes. 2a. For Artist: your summary line should include your author's name and the title of their story (if you know it). 3. In the third block, for "Associations" make sure the line for "Post to Collections/Challenges" lists "Het_Big_Little_Bang_Challenge_2018."

3a. For Artists: the next line, "Gift this work to:" should be filled out as well. Artist, you know your Author's A03 name, which should have been provided to you through your emails. If for some reason it was not, please contact your authors and get this name from them. Fill in the "Gift this work to:" line with your author's name. That will link your artwork to them. After the submissions have gone live on the Debut Date, we would like you to go back and edit your submission to add in a link to the specific story you created your artwork for. But until the entire big bang goes public, the main way you'll attach your artwork to the piece will be by identifying the author through gifting. When you finally get the chance to link to the story, edit your submission and use the HTLM coding: <*a href="INSERT THE URL HERE">Title, by Author. (Remove the *) You can put this in your author's note or summary. 3b. For Authors: After the submissions have gone live on the Debut Date, we would need you to go back and edit your submission to add in a link to the specific artwork that was created for your story. You don't have to "Gift this work to:" to the artist, but it'd be neat if you wanted to do so. When you finally get the chance to link to the artwork, edit your submission and use the HTLM coding: <*a href="INSERT THE URL HERE">Title, by Artist. (Remove the *) You can put this in your author's note or summary. 4. Formatting and coding guidelines are important. 4a. For Artists: AO3 video embeds are working from Youtube, Vimeo, blip.tv, Dailymotion, Viddler, Metacafe, and 4shared. So if you have a video, you upload it to Youtube for example, and then embed into an AO3 post. For images like artwork and icons and banners and cover art, use the <*img src="INSERT YOUR URL HERE"> HTML coding (remove the *). You can first upload your images at Tinypic or imgbox or a similar image hosting website, and then make an A03 post with the HTML coding. (*NOTE: As of 2017, photobucket no longers allows you to post and link without paying big bucks, so avoid photobucket.) 5. Submit your fic/artwork. You need to make sure when you hit "Post" that you see this text at the top of the resulting page:

"This work is part of an ongoing challenge and will be revealed soon! You can find details here: Het Big/Little Bang Challenge 2018"

6. Now, your fic should NOT be displayed to the general audience. It might not even show up on your dash, but fear not. You can still edit, add new chapters, mess around with it to your heart's content. We, the mods, unfortunately do not have access to your story. We cannot tell if it is properly formatted or not. THIS IS FRUSTRATING, but there's nothing we can do about it. We can only see your name. All works are titled "Mystery Works" until we reveal the entire big bang. So, please make sure your own fic is properly formatted. If you need to edit your fic, login and go to your dashboard. Go to the "Edit Works" button in the top right corner. From there, you can edit your works.

A03 will require you to format a header with all regular information on it. Remember to properly tag your works, including appropriate warnings. Both HTML and Rich Text are supported, and you can edit/delete, have multiple chapters, etc... 1. The Rich Text Editor lets you add formatting, links and pictures to text without using HTML tags. It also has an option for pasting from Word which will preserve some of your Word formatting, although please note that this is buggy. The Rich Text Editor is only available for your work text. 2. The HTML editor allows you to change the look of your text with HTML tags. It can be used in any place you can submit text, although some fields permit only a small subsection of allowed tags. You can see a full list of the allowed HTML on the Archive FAQ, but the standard HTML tags is as follows: b, big, blockquote, br, caption, center, datetime, div, dl, dt, em, h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6, height, hr, href, i, img, ins, small, span, src, strike, strong, sub, sup, table, u, and more. Also, a few years ago,

anr was a saint and provided you with a post that explained "how to format a fic for posting in less than 30 seconds no matter the story length or amount of formatting" trick. The mods won't be overly picky about formatting. I'd prefer for all dividers and scene breaks to use <*hr> (remove the *) which creates a horizontal line that serves perfectly as a scene break. However, that's optional. You choose your own way to format. Other optional suggestions, just for uniformity sake's: How do I do Chapter Titles: Bold 'em. How do I timestamp and do locations: Italicize the dates and locations. How do I do subtitle stuff: Italicize it. There is only one major fail regarding format, and that has to do with paragraphs breaks. There must be a full line break between paragraphs. Example of doing it wrong:

Chapter One: The Invasion March 6, 2005 - The City of Atlantis Elizabeth ducked quickly behind a console and attempted to catch her breath. A flush of pink colored her cheeks and a thin sheen of sweat had appeared on her brow. If the situation weren't so dire, John would have been turned on. As it was, however, he couldn't give it much thought as he had to focus on the batch of Ancient zombies that were slowly staggering in through the Stargate. "At least they can't run," he offered lamely. Elizabeth spared him a glare. "Why can't they run?" "I don't know." John shrugged. "But they never seem to run. They always lurch. Maybe when they're brought back to life they don't get knees?"

Example of doing it right:

Chapter Two: Ancient Ex-Girlfriends Yes, They're Zombies Too Elizabeth peeked around the consol. "Oh, my god," she breathed. "Is that--" "Chaya?!" John squeaked. "Talk about creepy ex-girlfriends." Rodney scrunched his nose. "She doesn't look good in green." John cringed and crouched down lower. "Do you think she's their leader?" Elizabeth looked thoughtful. "Well, this may be better for us." She narrowed her eyes at John. "We can give them you in trade for a cease fire--" Something caught her attention behind John and she broke off. "No, wait. Look to the left! That's... oh, god, John. That's Teer!" John and Rodney stared in disbelief. "Damn you, Kirk!" Rodney groused, and hit John upside the head. "We're going to be killed by a legion of your dead ex-girlfriends!" "Okay, everybody calm down," John soothed. "Let's not overreact and go blaming--" "Hey, look, your ex-wife!" "What?!!"

Grammar and Spelling fail: If your fic doesn't look beta'ed, we will call you on it, which will create an AWKWARD situation for both of us. Having a beta is a REQUIREMENT. Grammar, spelling, proper paragraph structure, etc... these are all REQUIREMENTS. You need to give your beta ample opportunity to go over your fic for mistakes and edits, so remember to factor that into your deadline. Don't have a beta? Check out this post!

Can I post it to my journal a few days early to show my friends? No. The first time you show your fic for this big bang must be on Debut Day, on this comm. Mods will handle the revealing details. There will be more posts on that to come. Once the Big Bang collection goes live on Oct 1, feel free to post your stuff wherever. Also, please remember that extensions for final fic and art submissions will not be granted. Please make sure your stories and art are submitted no later than September 26th. If you absolutely cannot make it, contact a mod immediately - either via email at thehetbigbang [at] gmail.com, or on the Page-A-Mod post, or PM

red_b_rackham or

traycer_. Lastly, remember if you need some to cry, scream, flail, yell triumphantly, encourage, cheerlead, etc, don't hesitate to check out the support comm and throw up some posts for each other!

YOU'RE ALMOST THERE!!

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#IFTTT #Het Big Bang #hbb2015

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dfroza · 5 years ago

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Today’s reading in the ancient book of Psalms and Proverbs

for february 7 of 2020 with Psalm 7 and Proverbs 7, accompanied by Psalm 49 for the 49th day of Winter, and Psalm 38 for day 38 of the year

[Psalm 7]

A David Psalm

God! God! I am running to you for dear life;

the chase is wild.

If they catch me, I’m finished:

ripped to shreds by foes fierce as lions,

dragged into the forest and left

unlooked for, unremembered.

God, if I’ve done what they say—

betrayed my friends,

ripped off my enemies—

If my hands are really that dirty,

let them get me, walk all over me,

leave me flat on my face in the dirt.

Stand up, God; pit your holy fury

against my furious enemies.

Wake up, God. My accusers have packed

the courtroom; it’s judgment time.

Take your place on the bench, reach for your gavel,

throw out the false charges against me.

I’m ready, confident in your verdict:

“Innocent.”

Close the book on Evil, God,

but publish your mandate for us.

You get us ready for life:

you probe for our soft spots,

you knock off our rough edges.

And I’m feeling so fit, so safe:

made right, kept right.

God in solemn honor does things right,

but his nerves are sandpapered raw.

Nobody gets by with anything.

God is already in action—

Sword honed on his whetstone,

bow strung, arrow on the string,

Lethal weapons in hand,

each arrow a flaming missile.

Look at that guy!

He had sex with sin,

he’s pregnant with evil.

Oh, look! He’s having

the baby—a Lie-Baby!

See that man shoveling day after day,

digging, then concealing, his man-trap

down that lonely stretch of road?

Go back and look again—you’ll see him in it headfirst,

legs waving in the breeze.

That’s what happens:

mischief backfires;

violence boomerangs.

I’m thanking God, who makes things right.

I’m singing the fame of heaven-high God.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 7 (The Message)

and importance of having understanding, of knowing the eternal truth in Love and the significance of grace, whether rich or poor, is seen in the lines of Psalm 49:

For the worship leader. A song of the sons of Korah.

Listen up, everyone!

All you who reside in this world, give an ear!

Everyone—rich and poor,

young and old, wise and foolish, humble and mighty—

My mouth will overflow with wisdom;

the reflections of my heart will guide you to understand the nature of life.

I will tune my ear to the words of a proverb;

to the sounds of a harp, I will reveal my riddle.

Why should I be afraid when dark evils swirl about me,

when I am walking among the sin of evildoers—

Those who depend on their own fortunes,

who boast about their earthly riches?

One person can’t grant salvation to another

or make a payment to the True God for another.

Redeeming a life is costly;

no premium is enough, ever enough,

That one’s body might live on forever

and never fear the grave’s decay.

Everyone knows that even the wisest ones die,

perishing together with the foolish and the stupid.

For all die—beggars and kings, fools and wise men.

Their wealth remains behind for others.

Although they wish to dwell in fine houses forever,

their graves are their real resting places.

Their homes are for all future generations,

yet for a while they have named lands after themselves.

[No one, regardless of how rich or important, can live forever;

he is] just like the animals that perish and decay.

This is the destiny of those foolish souls who have faith only in themselves;

this will be the end of those happy to follow in their ways.

[pause]

The fate of fools is the grave, and just like sheep,

death will feast on them.

The righteous will rule over them at dawn,

their bodies, their outward forms, rotting in the grave

far away from their great mansions.

But God will reach into the grave and save my life from its power.

He will fetch me and take me into His eternal house.

[pause]

Do not be afraid of the rich and powerful

as their prestige and honor grow,

For they cannot take anything with them when they die.

Their fame and glory will not follow them into the grave.

During their lives, they seek every blessing and advantage

because others praise you when you’ve done well.

But they will soon join their ancestors, for all of time,

among the tombs of the faithless—a place of no light.

Anyone who is rich or important without understanding

is just like the animals that perish and decay.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 49 (The Voice)

the closing verse of the same in The Passion Translation:

So this is the way of mortal man—

honored for a moment, yet without eternal insight,

like a beast that will one day perish.

[Psalm 38]

A Groan before the Throne

A poetic lament to remember, by King David

O Lord, don’t punish me angrily for what I’ve done.

Don’t let my sin inflame your wrath against me.

For the arrows of your conviction have pierced me deeply.

Your blows have struck my soul and crushed me.

Now my body is sick.

My health is totally broken because of your anger,

and it’s all due to my sins!

I’m overwhelmed, swamped, and submerged

beneath the heavy burden of my guilt.

It clings to me and won’t let me go.

My rotting wounds are a witness against me.

They are severe and getting worse,

reminding me of my failure and folly.

I am completely broken because of what I’ve done.

Gloom is all around me.

My sins have bent me over to the ground.

My inner being is shriveled up;

my self-confidence crushed.

Sick with fever, I’m left exhausted.

Now I’m cold as a corpse and nothing is left inside me

but great groaning filled with anguish.

Lord, you know all my desires and deepest longings.

My tears are liquid words and you can read them all.

My heart beats wildly, my strength is sapped,

and the light of my eyes is going out.

My friends stay far away from me, avoiding me like the plague.

Even my family wants nothing to do with me.

Meanwhile my enemies are out to kill me,

plotting my ruin, speaking of my doom

as they spend every waking moment

planning how to finish me off.

I’m like a deaf man who no longer hears.

I can’t even speak up, and words fail me;

I have no argument to counter their threats.

Lord, the only thing I can do is wait and put my hope in you.

I wait for your help, my God.

So hear my cry and put an end to their strutting in pride,

who gloat when I stumble in pain.

I’m slipping away and on the verge of a breakdown,

with nothing but sorrow and sighing.

I confess all my sin to you; I can’t hold it in any longer.

My agonizing thoughts punish me for my wrongdoing;

I feel condemned as I consider all I’ve done.

My enemies are many.

They hate me and persecute me,

though I’ve done nothing against them to deserve it.

I show goodness to them and get repaid evil in return.

And they hate me even more when I stand for what is right.

So don’t forsake me now, Lord!

Don’t leave me in this condition.

God, hurry to help me, run to my rescue!

For you’re my Savior and my only hope!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 38 (The Passion Translation)

[Proverbs 7]

Stick close to my instruction, my son,

and follow all my advice.

If you do what I say you will live well.

Guard your life with my revelation-truth,

for my teaching is as precious as your eyesight.

Treasure my instructions, and cherish them within your heart.

Say to wisdom, “I love you,”

and to understanding, “You’re my sweetheart.”

“May the two of you protect me, and may we never be apart!”

For they will keep you from the adulteress,

with her smooth words meant to seduce your heart.

Looking out the window of my house one day

I noticed among the mindless crowd

a simple, naïve young man who was about to go astray.

There he was, walking down the street.

Then he turned the corner,

going on his way as he hurried on to the house of the harlot—

the woman he had planned to meet.

There he was in the twilight as darkness fell,

convinced no one was watching

as he entered the black shadows of hell.

That’s when their rendezvous began.

A woman of the night appeared,

dressed to kill the strength of any man.

She was decked out as a harlot, pursuing her amorous plan.

Her voice was seductive, rebellious, and boisterous

as she wandered far from what’s right.

Her type can be found soliciting on street corners

on just about any night.

She wrapped her arms around the senseless young man

and held him tight—

she enticed him with kisses that seemed so right.

Then, with insolence, she whispered in his ear,

“Come with me. It’ll be all right.

I’ve got everything we need for a feast.

I’ll cook you a wonderful dinner.

So here I am—I’m all yours!

You’re the very one I’ve looked for,

the one I knew I wanted from the moment I saw you.

That’s why I’ve come out here tonight,

so I could meet a man just like you.

I’ve spread my canopy bed with coverings,

lovely multicolored Egyptian linens spread

and ready for you to lie down on.

I’ve sprinkled the sheets with intoxicating perfume

made from myrrh, aloes, and sweet cinnamon.

Come, let’s get comfortable and take pleasure in each other

and make love all night!

There’s no one home, for my husband’s away on business.

He left home loaded with money to spend,

so don’t worry.

He won’t be back until another month ends.”

He was swayed by her sophistication,

enticed by her longing embrace.

She led him down the wayward path right into sin and disgrace.

Quickly he went astray, with no clue

where he was truly headed,

taken like a dumb ox alongside of the butcher.

She was like a venomous snake coiled to strike,

so she set her fangs into him!

He’s like a man about to be executed with an arrow

right through his heart—

like a bird that flies into the net,

unaware of what’s about to happen.

So listen to me, you young men.

You’d better take my words seriously!

Control your sexual urges and guard your hearts from lust.

Don’t let your passions get out of hand

and don’t lock your eyes onto a beautiful woman.

Why would you want to even get close

to temptation and seduction,

to have an affair with her?

She has pierced the souls of multitudes of men—

many mighty ones have fallen

and have been brought down by her.

If you’re looking for the road to hell,

just go looking for her house!

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 7 (The Passion Translation)

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fridge-reviews · 7 years ago

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Dead Space 3

Developer: Visceral Games Publisher: Electronic Arts Rrp: £7.99 (Origin) Released: 5th February Available on: Origin Played Using: An Xbox 360 Controller Approximate game length: 15 Hours It seems that Isaac Clarke just cannot catch a break, if its not necromorphs gunning for him its a government agency trying to kidnap him. That is until now, now a religious group called the Unitologists want him, or more specifically, want him dead. And that's just the tip of the iceberg that are Isaac Clarke's problems... Dead Space 3 is the third, and thus far final, major instalment in the Dead Space franchise. Once again you take control of Isaac Clarke, a man whose job title might be 'Engineer' but might as well at this point change it to 'Necromorph Exterminator'. This time the game kicks off on a lunar colony... actually, no it doesn't. The game actually starts you off not playing Isaac Clarke at all but a Marine (who’s name I don't remember) on a ice covered planet. This bit is short lived and is basically just a tutorial for the more basic controls as well as being a sort of premise setter.

youtube

Dead Space 3 has gone for a more... cinematic feel in this instalment, and I don't mean by limiting the frame rate, it has far more cutscenes than the previous games. Most of them are well executed and don't outstay their welcome, but at the start of the game it can start to feel a little insufferable. I quickly became annoyed when a cutscene ended and I literally was given control to walk through a short corridor (is in only a few steps) only to have control wrested from me again by yet another cutscene! Its pretty standard practice that with each new release of a game franchise that some new mechanics are brought in to keep things fresh, and Dead Space is no exception. Between the first Dead Space game and the second there were a few differences but nothing that felt out of place. Dead Space 3 however brings in a whole slew of new game mechanics, as well as something more... underhanded.

I'll start with the first mechanic that appears and was possibly the most jarring to me, the cover based shooting. That's right, yet another game with cover based shooting, which is stupid because the cover mechanic isn't used all that often and is pointless against pretty much all the necromorphs. What's more is that the crouch action is bound to the same button as the waypoint tool. It feels a bit.. tacked on, like it was more of a enforced boardroom decision than one the designers had planned. The stores that were in the previous games are gone with the Benches acting as a one stop shop for buying, selling, crafting, storing and upgrading your weapons and items. That's right Dead Space 3 has crafting elements, of course at the time when this game was originally released crafting within a game was still a somewhat novel concept. Many things can be crafted at a Bench, from weapons and their upgrades to items and ammo. This crafting takes up resources that you'll find throughout the game (or buy via micro-transaction, more on that later). What’s actually kind of impressive is that you can create custom weapons and save the blueprints of them. Its actually a fairly robust system, do you want to make a semi automatic rifle that sets enemies alight and has a underslung rocket launcher? Well you can, and if you decide you don't like the weapon anymore you can dismantle it and reuse the parts. This high level of customisability essentially fixes something that I would generally have an issue with in this game. You can only hold two weapons at a time. Of course, if you can create a weapon that’s basically two weapons in one that kind of negates the problem. Now among all this talk of crafting and upgrading the more veteran players out there may just be wondering about what is possibly one of the most important parts of the series, if not one of the most iconic, the suit. Not to worry your suit is also fully upgradable, just not at a bench. Suits are upgraded and changed at suit kiosks. Again, no sign of power nodes, instead you use materials found in the game (or purchased via micro-transactions) to make the wanted upgrades.

Another new mechanic is the Scavenger Bot, when you eventually find these you can send them off to find more crafting materials for you. It takes them a little while and there are certain area's that are rich in material. Not to worry though EA has a way to part you with more hard earned cash. You can buy a DLC to decrease the wait time, and another to increase their carrying capacity. It's almost as if EA are just trying to anger me. All weapons now operate from a single ammo type once again this removes some of the tension the Dead Space series had for me. Part of the fun was scrambling for the right ammo for your weapon when you've run out. It added to the fear of the whole thing. Now that I can just get any ammo clip that sense of danger has been defused.

Ooh! This is just egregious to me. So, while exploring the Bench system I see that I'm given the option to upgrade my weapons. Of course, I take a look and notice that my starting machine gun only has two available upgrade circuit slots. The rest are blocked off in silver (meaning they are completely unavailable), all bar one in a bronze colour. Being curious, I take a look at it and find that I can unlock this upgrade using material I find in the game. A pretty standard way to gate content and keep the game balanced, that all seems fair. I didn't have enough of the materials required but click anyway because 'why not?'. As expected I'm informed that I don't have the resources, however I do see a 'Downloadable content' option there. Still curious I go take a gander. This is where my ire started to rise. What do I see before me but an offer to purchase a micro-transaction which will give me not only the material I need to make the upgrade but also a bunch more materials plus a guaranteed super-charged weapon part and a 50% chance at a second bonus part... WHAT THE EVER LIVING FUCK EA?! YOU PUT MICRO-TRANSACTIONS IN A MAJOR RELEASE AAA TITLE! I bought this game years after it originally released and I'm angry, I can only imagine how people must have felt when they bought this game at the time of release. These micro-transactions can also be bought through 'Ration Seals' that can only be found using the scavenger bots. So I took the plunge and bought one of the 'packs' using the ration seals. As I suspected even buying just one made the game much much easier. The super-charged component that was mentioned was so powerful that once I attached it to my weapon I almost never had to change out again. I was so disgusted by this practice I quit the game and played something else for a whole just to calm down. Ok, now that I've calmed down lets get back to it... The new upgrade system has done away with the power nodes from the previous games. This time you have upgrade circuits that you can find within the levels, or craft for yourself once you have the resources. These upgrade circuits come in various shapes and sizes but they all relate to one of four stats for your weapon; Damage, reload speed, clip size and rate of fire. While this does make upgrading your weapon less straight forward than the previous games it also allows for greater variance in gameplay style. I, for one, tend to prioritize high damage and clip size but others might focus more on the rate of fire etc. Upgrade circuits aren't the only way to improve your weaponry, you can also craft attachments which can have a wide range of benefits to you (or your co-op partner).

Hang about. Co-op? In a survival horror game? Yep that's right Dead Space 3 has two player Co-op, so now you and a friend (who also has the game) can play together in this tense horror game... In case its not clear, I'm not impressed by this. To me having Co-op in a horror game removes much of the actual horror. On top of there being Co-op missions there are now optional side missions that can be completed, doing so doesn't effect the game in anyway beyond giving the player access to more upgrades and materials as well as expanding the story a little. The missions themselves tend to be quite short but challenging often ending with you being swarmed while in very enclosed quarters.

As is to be expected with a sequel within the Dead Space franchise there are even more new necromorphs to fight against. Actually in one case its not so much a new necromorph as a rehash of one. I don't know what the name of them is but in the first and second game it was a baby that fired darts at you and could climb the walls and ceiling. In Dead Space 3 the babies have been replaced by dogs. I can only assume that this replacement this was a tactical move on EA's or Visceral's part to make the game appeal more to the mass market, probably a good idea as those babies were pretty disconcerting to say the least. As you may have noticed everything I've written above is, well, its essentially just a list of mechanics with a few scattered complaints rather than discussing anything about the way the game plays. There is a reason for this which is very simple... I have nothing new to say. Seriously the gun play is damned near the same even with the modding mechanic. I may as well copy and paste what I said about it from my Dead Space 2 review.

Is this one to recommend? At the price that its at now its an easy recommendation to make, even with all the unscrupulousness of EA's micro-transactions its hard to argue that this game isn't worth a look at. I won't say its the best of the franchise, that title is held by Dead Space 2 for me. If this appeals to you perhaps try; Prey Resident Evil 4 The Evil Within

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ravensong67-blog · 6 years ago

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Biblical Paraphrase and Hummus: Conversation with Dror Burstein on “Muck”

DECEMBER 8, 2018

MUCK, THE LATEST novel by Israeli writer Dror Burstein to appear in English translation — in this case, a dexterous, canny one by the poet Gabriel Levin — is not easily described. Among the residents of its battered world are an elderly book critic known to thrash young writers bloody, talking dogs, child-peddlers, blind falafel prodigies, security guards watching over imperial plunder at the silent edge of empire, a secret police operative posing as an angel in cheap plastic wings, and an elegant classical pianist who was kidnapped in central Europe and brought against his will to his home country, where he rules as king from his childhood bedroom. Also, history’s largest bowl of hummus. That’s a lot to think about well before the fact that the book is a close rewriting of several key passages from the Hebrew Bible.

Actually, so much of the book is derived from biblical narrative that when I reached out to Burstein by email recently, he told me, “I think the genre of Muck is not exactly a novel, but what is called Rewritten Bible or Biblical Paraphrase.” The novel retells the story of the biblical prophet Jeremiah, against the backdrop of the political developments described in Jeremiah, Lamentations, and II Kings — which, if you know your Bible (or think about the word “jeremiad”), does not bode well for our protagonist, his king, or his city.

Jeremiah is in many ways a fitting choice. He is probably the most historically knowable character in the Jewish Bible, a strong contender for having written not only the book that bears his name, but also Deuteronomy, the Torah’s final installment, which describes itself as having been “found” in Jerusalem’s temple. Jeremiah’s an anguished character, who endures his civilization’s precipitous decline under a corrupt and ineffectual government. He tells his neighbors they’re arousing their god’s wrath, which goes unheeded, and he sees his city burned as a consequence. And like Burstein, he’s a scholar, trained in the interpretation of law, making his name as a poet.

I reached out to the author, who lives in Tel Aviv, by email. The below conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

IAN DREIBLATT: At its core, Muck is very much a retelling of the events leading up to the Babylonian exile, as they’re narrated in the Bible. Where did that idea come from?

DROR BURSTEIN: I wish I knew. All I can say is that I have been long interested in Jeremiah, as a person more than as a prophet. I think I was intrigued by him because I sensed his personality as one that actually existed, one I could have understood had he lived today. I cannot say the same for, say, Moses or Abraham. At some point I had an idea to import Jeremiah into the present and see what happens to him. Can he speak in the context of modern Hebrew? Will anyone listen? But also, what does he do for a living? Who are his parents? What does he eat? Bringing a prophet into the contemporary world is a nice idea, but answering all of these questions, and many more, is the stuff of the actual work of writing.

Despite its biblical narrative, Muck is shot through with concerns you’ve examined in your other books — family and lineage, astronomy and geology, the minds and rights of animals. These come up in Kin and Netanya — your two earlier novels in English — and I imagine in Pictures of Meat, which I can’t read until it gets translated. What are your most consistent interests?

I think I have a consistent interest in reality. Which consists more or less of matter and energy of all sorts: outer space, human and nonhuman creatures (viruses and bacteria included), vegetation (mushrooms included).

As for your first point, it’s true. I guess I keep painting the same picture, only the frame changes. I feel like a flame which catches a different candle every once and a while — some thick, some thin, some white, some red, et cetera. The drainage periods are of a flame that cannot find a candle to catch.

You’re hardly just repeating yourself — though in Muck you are, in a very direct sense, repeating aspects of a biblical narrative. Maybe it’s history that’s repeating itself?

To a certain extent, there are geopolitical similarities between Israel and ancient Judea. Nevertheless, for me, this is the least interesting part of writing, as it seems almost obvious. There’s no way around it if your hero is Jeremiah. Although the novel is local in many senses, it is also about every human culture with corruption, aggressiveness, greed, and fear, and every person who speaks against that, with almost no one caring to listen.

But nothing can repeat itself in the exact sense. Or perhaps only music can do it. Philip Glass’s fifth piano étude is an important piece of the soundtrack to Muck. This music, above all, repeats itself.

You’ve got me listening. Certainly it’s unhopeful music, fit for a dismal fate. But while Muck is in a sense a repetition, it’s not stylistically repetitive the way the étude is.

Repetitive prose has its charm. I used to like reading books like that, Thomas Bernhard especially. Today I’m not so sure about it. If I find myself writing in this manner, I stop.

It doesn’t take a prophet to foresee trouble for the Judea of your novel, a blundering and compromised state, too invested in its increasingly antiquated future to perceive the urgencies of its beleaguered present. I have the feeling you’re “contending with the past” here — is that a fair description?

I think of the relationship between our present world and the ancient one more in terms of a continuous metamorphosis. I mean, I don’t think most people learn from their ancient fore-parents, their history. I’m not sure there’s much “contending” with the past here. As far as our leaders are concerned, they are driven by certain basic urges and needs, which haven’t changed so much.

I really like your Jeremiah — he’s a sweet kid when we meet him, and he greets his fate admirably. To flesh out a vision of Jeremiah is to animate a person’s suffering, on some level. That seems difficult!

That’s life; suffering is part of the deal. The First Noble Truth. For Jeremiah, the “on some level” is a bit of an understatement. You touch something very interesting. If one doesn’t wish to write kitsch — or, to put it differently, if one strives toward reality — depictions of suffering are inevitable. Your question helps me understand why I feel somewhat alienated toward this book. I wish I could live and write in a place in which prophets are not needed. Another planet, I guess.

Speaking of suffering, the sudden death of Jeremiah’s younger sister is an important part of his backstory — even on a family level, his life is marked by tragedy. That’s not something mentioned in the biblical narrative; where did that come from?

I realized long ago that for me, there’s always some continuity between one book and the next. As I said, I keep painting the same picture. So, the sister is a continuation of a character from a novel I published four years before Muck. There’s always some unfinished business in a book, and I try to make up for what one book missed in the next one. Or perhaps I just need some fuel from my reserves to ignite a new drive.

The earlier book is Sun’s Sister, right? Are you done with the character now?

Yes, she’s died twice now. That’s more than enough.

Jeremiah’s family is complicated. One of my favorite scenes in the book is the short one in which his mother pulls out a secret idol she keeps of a female divinity and quietly venerates it. How do you see her faith?

Israelites have always worshiped many gods — otherwise, there wouldn’t be such a need for so many prophets. Jeremiah’s mother is just an ordinary woman in this respect. I don’t think her son would be outraged had he known about her small statuette. It’s almost like keeping a painting on your wall today and paying daily attention to it. The damage in Muck is done not by people who believe in other gods, but by people who believe too much in their own egos.

But wait: the biblical Jeremiah does decry Israelite devotion to “the Queen of Heaven,” and other apparently popular pagan divinities. He has kind of a hang-up about it!

You are perfectly right. I got carried away with my own rendering of Jeremiah. Of course, he would have gone berserk had he known of his mother’s outrageous idolatry. I understand now that she keeps her idol in a can mainly because of her son. That’s the risk in adopting an existing character. You tend to make them similar to yourself to some extent.

Another fascinating character is the literary critic Broch. He’s a sort of protean villain; his role shifts across the book, but he’s never good news. How do you understand his role in the story?

He doesn’t have a specific biblical analogue. You might say he represents the public, the world that won’t listen, but in a more active way. He doesn’t just refuse to listen, he actively tries to eliminate some voices. In a more practical sense, maybe he’s a manifestation of my own inner voice, trying to convince me to stay out of this absurd travail of prose writing.

As a poet, Jeremiah courts his favor somewhat. Your send-up of poetry scenedom is pretty spot-on. You certainly don’t seem too sanguine about the writing and publishing landscape you’re depicting.

There are some magnificent writers here, not to mention rest of the world. But generally speaking, literature as an industry needs rethinking. I don’t really want to get into this, but I can say that I don’t set foot in any of the big bookstores in Israel — spaces from which almost everything I adore about literature is absent. I have a fantasy of opening my own bookshop, in which every single book sold will be my own private and specific recommendation. I think it’s awful, selling books you detest or don’t care about. It’s really unethical. And this is the “natural” way of doing business in the book trade. I wouldn’t sell you a poisonous sandwich, would I?

I hope not! I once heard you say at the World Voices Festival, “We all know poetry is the only thing worth writing.”

Well, novels are necessary: you can’t express everything with poetry. Historical events, for example, are unfit for a haiku or even a whole book of haiku. But that’s a necessity, not an ideal form of writing.

Do we have a distorted view of you in the United States, because you’re primarily a poet, and what we’re reading here are the novels? Do you prefer writing one or the other?

I think that my best writing period was while teaching for a semester in Worcester, Massachusetts, in fall 2013. Removed from the outside reality of Israel, I’d thought I was going to finish Muck there. It turned out I didn’t even touch it. Instead, I took a lot of trips around New England, returning especially often to Walden Pond. It all ended up in a book of poetry that was published in the same year as the original Hebrew edition of Muck. I had to write the novel, but it didn’t give me much pleasure. I wanted to write those poems at Walden or Cape Cod. I’d rather have Thoreau as a friend than Jeremiah, and I’d prefer living in Concord to Jerusalem. But I guess I’m more useful here.

You’ve said that “the genre of Muck is not exactly a novel, but what is called Rewritten Bible or Biblical Paraphrase.” What’s the difference?

The concept of retelling a biblical narrative was borrowed from ancient books that do just that, like the Book of Jubilees from the second century BCE. What’s special about this genre is that it frees you from having to be the sole inventor of the whole plot. It gives you a clear frame in advance, then lets you find your own way. You know the ending, more or less, from the start, or at least you think you know where you’re headed. After writing a few novels in which I had to invent everything myself, rewriting another text came as quite a relief!

If there was some relief in not having to invent a whole plot, you surely paid for it with the high stakes created by your subject matter, right?

The stakes are always high in novel-writing. This was still slightly easier than building the whole thing from scratch.

Read anything great lately, besides 2,200-year-old biblical retellings?

Oh yes, a lot. I’ve just finished Roland Barthes’s The Preparation of the Novel, translated into English by Kate Briggs. A must-read for anyone in the profession of prose writing. I was amazed and delighted to see Barthes extensively discuss Japanese haiku as a preliminary to novel-writing. Another great book is The Forest Unseen by David George Haskell, a biological meditation focused on one square meter of forest floor in Tennessee. Meticulously observed and very beautifully written. I wish I had the time to translate it into Hebrew.

The English translation of Muck is wonderful — nimble and resonant, managing a kind of code-switching that I imagine is more present in the original. Do biblical Hebrew and modern Hebrew bump up against each other in the book?

Yes. Gabriel Levin did great work. Actually, he suggested translating it into English in the first place. In the original, there is a continuous mixture of biblical and modern Hebrew, sometimes in the same sentence. The biblical phrases are not marked, and I invented some pseudo-biblical verses here and there too. I tried using biblical quotations that I thought would be intelligible to a present-day reader. It couldn’t have been easy to reproduce this idea, two layers of language merging into one textual flow.

Could we talk for a second about … hummus? Hummus plays an important role in this book — not only because it sets the stage for one of the most jaw-dropping events in the story, but because characters are often seen eating it. Not to put too fine a point on things, hummus has a reputation for both connecting and dividing the cultures of the Middle East. In Muck, it seems almost to be a kind of counter-muck — an exalted, nourishing goop. I confess, I have no question.

You’ve got a fine short essay on the symbolism of chickpeas here. I’m serious. Hummus is my favorite dish and has been for almost 40 years now. I reckon I’ve consumed tons of it. The scene in the book that features a “World’s Largest Hummus Bowl” competition, which might sound absurd, was taken from an actual ad I saw at a (hummus) restaurant in Abu Gosh, near Jerusalem. I mean, such a competition actually took place, some years ago. There is an official Guinness record for this. What’s more, after Israel had set the world record, the Lebanese overshadowed the Israeli achievement, weighing in at a mere four tons, with their own 11.5-ton bowl. You can read this all here. I’m not making it up.

What’s the best hummus you’ve ever had? Desert island hummus?

There was a place in Jaffa owned by Mr. Mustafa Kalboni. Unfortunately, he passed away, and his son, Sultan, embraced a religious life and hasn’t continued the business. I can testify that he was capable, culinarily speaking.

Ian Dreiblatt is a poet, translator, and musician who lives in Brooklyn. His chapbook how to hide by showing in the age of being alone with the universe is recently out from above/ground press, and he is among the translators of Pavel Arsenev’s Reported Speech, out now from Cicada Press.

Source: https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/biblical-paraphrase-and-hummus-conversation-with-dror-burstein-on-muck/

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