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intergalactic-padawan · 4 years ago

Note

Season 2 Ezra with a S/O who is super forgetful? (I’m an Ezra simp so get ready for many asks)

Relics - Ezra Bridger x reader

Requested: yes!

Warnings: preprare for some strong feels if you catch the reference! It came to me in a dream and now you all have to deal with it. You're welcome.

A/N: It's no problem at all, please, fill my asks with as many ideas you want! Sorry this took so long as well, i wanted it to turn out really good but my teachers had other ideas. Hope you like it?

Pronouns of reader: she/her

*ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE! I make mistakes just like everybody else ��*

-"And you did all of that just for one meiloorun?" - You look back at Ezra, guiding him through the packed streets of the open market in a strange planet Hera had landed to refuel, and he gave you a smile. Your question was very serious, though: there was no way that was really the origin story of the 'Commander meiloorun' inside joke he and Zeb shared.

-"Funny enough, that's exactly what that trooper asked" - you snort at his reply and stop at the front of a busy stand of off-world fruits, grocery list in hand and bag of credits at your side.

-"welp, hopefully this time we can find some that are actually avaliable for buying"

Their selection was truly impressive. Not just the stand, but the market as a whole: jewelry, souvenirs, toys, books and foods all found themselves mixed and admired by people who had to yell louder than their neighbour to sell something today.

Ezra continued with his story, examining the apples as you'd instructed him, but you only paid half-attention this time: something had caught your eye, and you couldn't believe how lucky you were that no one had found it sooner.

A genuine DC-17 hand blaster was sitting beautifully two stalls to the right of you. For the looks of it, it was genuine, at least. The sign also advertised it as such, so it was truly a wonder no one with the minimum of firearms knowledge had grabbed it before.

Ezra said something that vaguely sounded like a question beside you, and you nodded, absent-minded. He then handed his shopping bag to you - probably to be able to bend over the table and get a few kiwis from the back - but you didn't turn to him.

-"I'm going over there, take a look at something real quick" - you announced, but didn't wait for an answer before navigating the sea of people to meet the woman selling the blaster.

Firearms weren't reallly the only thing she was selling, you noticed. There were holo-shields, vibro-blades, shoulder paudrons, darts and- was that a kama?

-"It's a nice arsenal you've got here" - you strap Ezra's bag to your shoulder and carefully take the folded fabric to analyze its flexible leather. It was lacking a utility belt to secure it, but seemed to be in very good conditions for something that old; you notice how the style didn't match with any of the ones you'd seen mandalorians wear, much less one of the native fighters from Rotas V. Which means it must have been worn by a clone trooper of the old republic back in the Clone War.

-"It's a keen eye you've got" - the lady retorts, setting down her datapad -"but that's not a skirt, you know that, right?"

She looks amused, almost like she's testing to see if you know the real value of the things offered here. You've got to hand it to her, everything seemed legit; wich only makes you question even more how did she get those things in the first place. She stares at you for a few seconds and briefly reaches for something from below the small counter, placing it on top of a pile of restraining bolts.

It's a dark grey and blue kama, the same size as the one you're holding, though it seems like it has seen better days. The pattern's more detailed in this one: diagonal lines that meet in the middle, forming an arrow-like shape framed by a black seam. The colour reminded you of a worn-out shade of blue similar to the one Captain Rex uses to paint the last pieces of his armour - and you wonder if it's just a sad coincidence or probably the last remainings of a fellow soldier from the 501st.

-"Straight from Coruscant, my great-uncle got a hold of it few days before the Empire became... well, the Empire" - her tone was something you'd been told to avoid using in public when speaking of the Empire. Perhaps it was that courage that had gotten your full attention in the end. Was she with the rebellion in some way as well?

-"Hasn't been worn ever since it was stripped from a dead clone's body" - she continues, checking you up and down - "and maybe it's a bit more your style".

-"Looks decent enough" - you comment and she nods her head in aknowldedgement - "but it does raise the question: how and why are you selling these things... here?"

-"Well, for starters, it's harder to get caught out here. Some of these aren’t exactly... legitimate purchases, as one would say.” - you raise an eyebrow and she chuckles - “this is a legitimate business, I swear. It’s just that my family’s been having difficulties and we're having to sell some relics.”

You can see she's telling the truth as she takes back the kama you'd first grabbed to the side, folding it again. You reach for a different credit pouch out of your pocket: your personal credits.

-"I see. Well, I do need a new blaster, and this one looks like the best i've ever seen in months. Despite the clogged barrel, of course."

-"shall we start negociating a price, then?" - she takes the datapad back and types a few numbers. Before you can say anything, however, you turn back to see Ezra rushing towards you looking desperate.

-"Oh, thank the Force, there you are!" - he brushes the long hair out of his forehead, not sparing a glance to the lady behind the counter -"you just walked off! I didn't know where you were!

Faced with a confused expression from the both of you, he scowls

-"I was at the bathroom! You didn't hear me telling you to wait for me?"

You look at him, suddenly tuning back to reality. All of those relics seemed to have filled you with a melancholic sadness you didn't know, but you managed to snap out of it the moment Ezra came back.

-"Can't believe you forgot me just because of this old junk" - he grumbles, a bit offended. You take his hand into your own.

-"I didn't forget you, Ezra, I swear. I was just distracted for a moment, that's all" - you reassure him, placing some credits on the tray where the lady collected them.

-“I'll be taking this, please” - you take the purse back off of your shoulders and hand it back to Ezra - “you can start taking this back to the ship. I think the list is over, I'll just be taking this and go."

-"wait, Hera didn't tell you to buy this, did she?"

-"It's a personal purchase, with my personal credits. I think I'm allowed that much, right?" - you give him the money bag again, and he shoves in his jacket.

-"Well, can you at least get me something as compensation for forgetting all about me back there?" - you scoff and let go of his hand to slap him on the shoulder

-"Just go along Bridger. I'll be there in a minute"

You turn back to the vendor, who's placing the pistol in a bag with the holster that came along in a slightly larger bag ithan necessary. You also notice the shape of the folded kama peaking though it.

-"Wait, wait! I didn't buy that, I don't have enough credits for that!"

-"Just... consider it a gift" - she smiles and winks - "this specific piece here doesn't really fit anyone's style, anyway. It's better off with you, trust me."

Before you can mutter any type of 'thanks', Ezra calls for you again, making sure you didn't forget your own head back there. You run off to him without looking back, ready to smack him Zeb-style before taking his hand again, reminding him gently he'd never have to worry about being abandoned by you.

#ezra bridger fic #ezra bridger x y/n #ezra bridger x reader #ezra bridger imagine #ezra bridger #sw rebels

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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Prompt - Meng Shi is NHS's mother, making him half brother to NMJ and JGY.

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3)

- Chapter 1 -

Meng Yao sat out on the balcony of the brothel, bored out of his mind, as he waited for the party in the fancy inn down the way to finish.

He knew it was an important one from the way his mother had nearly clawed another girl’s eyes out for the opportunity to go. It wouldn’t have been worth it otherwise: she was older, her looks a little faded, her body a little weaker than the others, and a party like that was not nearly as effective a means of making money as the steady work at the brothel.

But Meng Yao didn’t know why it was so important – only that his mother had looked especially excited as she’d gotten ready.

Maybe she thought she might find a patron there.

Wistful thinking, if she did – she hadn’t had a patron in over a year, and the last one hadn’t been worth much; they hadn’t even gotten a better room at the brothel out of it, much less being set up in a discreet apartment of their own the way Meng Shi had told him had happened in the past.

At least Meng Yao hadn’t been recruited to act as a server at the party. The bosses at the brothel and the inn asked for him to do odd tasks like that more and more since they knew they could get him to do it for free, and he had no choice, even though he hated seeing his mother smile and flutter her eyes at the men she serviced. This party, though, was too high-end, apparently, to risk having a child like him mess up – they’d gotten actual servers, paid ones, and never mind the cost.

Maybe there would be rich men there, generous ones. Maybe his mother would be able to get a good tip. Maybe the bosses would be well-paid enough to let her keep it. Maybe they could get some meat to eat…

“Hey, you! You – you up there! Can you help me?”

He looked down.

There was another boy there at the base of the balcony outside of Meng Shi's window, where Meng Yao liked to sit: a boy few years older than him, taller, in finely made clothing that would normally make Meng Yao itch all over in futile envy, but the other boy’s eyes were white around the edges in a way that was immediately, painfully familiar.

“Someone’s chasing you?” Meng Yao asked, and the boy’s eyes widened even further, surprised, but he nodded in confirmation. “There’s a trellis around the left side – can you climb up? I'll hide you.”

The boy found the trellis that Meng Yao used to get in and out of the second floor without anyone seeing – it creaked a little under the bigger boy’s weight, but he was just young and small enough that he managed to get up without too much of a problem, and Meng Yao pushed him through the balcony door just as a dark figure stepped out from the inn down the road, his motions a little too slow and deliberate to be anything but predatory.

The man was handsome enough, in a cruel sort of way. Meng Yao didn’t like the way he smiled as he started to survey the street with his eyes – looking for the boy Meng Yao had just hidden away, no doubt about it, and men who attended parties stocked with people like Meng Yao’s mother as party favors didn’t have good intentions when they looked at boys with a smile like that.

Meng Yao put on his stupidest and most vacant expression, leaning his head against the bars as if he’d never done anything more interesting in his life than daydream, and eventually the man walked by the brothel without paying him more than a cursory look.

As soon as he was sure the man was gone, Meng Yao turned and went back inside.

“Thanks,” the boy said. He was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest and still shaking; he didn’t even seem to have noticed that he was in the perfumed heart of a brothel lady’s personal chambers. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“He was looking for you in particular,” Meng Yao said, crouching down next to him and studying him with the practiced eye of a boy raised among whores. The boy was handsome, with straight features, good cheekbones, and a certain ruddiness that suggested health – not the sort of pretty boy that usually got sought out at such parties, but certainly more than pretty enough. Tall, too, to judge by the length of his legs, but the amount of baby fat on his face suggested Meng Yao had been right about him being not that much older than him. “Why? He was at a party full of prostitutes.”

There wasn’t any point in obfuscating.

The boy ducked his head down, cheeks flushing dark. “My father’s there,” he said, not really answering the question. “They kept toasting him over and over, until they’d gotten him really drunk, and then they set up him with one of the – with a lady. Normally he keeps an eye on me so there isn’t any trouble, but this time...”

Meng Yao frowned. “That man’s been after you before?” A shaky nod. “You’re sure? Has he ever tried –”

The boy flinched.

“And your father still took you to where he could find you?” Meng Yao shook his head: fathers really weren’t worth anything, were they? His own had abandoned him, abandoned his mother without even purchasing her freedom, and this boy’s didn’t seem especially good either, if he was out getting drunk and leaving his son where known harm could come to him.

“He didn’t have a choice,” the boy mumbled. “Either about going to the party, or about bringing me. Anyway it’s not even – I don’t think it’s about me. He doesn’t have any reputation for liking boys generally. But he hates my father, and I’m my father’s only son, his heir. Wen Ruohan only wants to ruin me to hurt my father.”

Having seen the avid, avaricious look on the man’s face as he’d walked down the street, searching, Meng Yao wasn’t so sure about that, but he thought it might not help to say so. “Well, you lost him.”

“Thanks,” the boy said. “I’m in your debt. But I’d better get going, before he starts knocking on doors and asking questions.”

“In this district? No one will answer.”

“They will if he offers them gold,” the boy said, rubbing his face. He looked tired, and scared.

If this Wen Ruohan was willing to go knocking at every brothel in town and offer them gold to search for the boy, it definitely wasn’t just about his father, but Meng Yao was a practical sort of person. “I can help hide you,” he decided. “Will you give me gold for it, too, later?”

The bosses wouldn’t share any of Wen Ruohan’s gold with him, but this boy – or rather, his father – might, if Meng Yao played his cards right. Of course, he might get nothing at all, but nothing was more than likely what he’d get on the other side, too, and if he did nothing then there’d be another ruined boy on the streets, probably disowned when his dishonor was discovered, with no way to live other than to sell himself to one of the brothels that catered to things like that.

He wasn’t yet quite bitter enough to want others to be torn down to make his own misery seem less.

Might as well try to help.

The boy nodded, eyes wide, and Meng Yao tugged him over to the closet where his mother kept her clothing. “He’s looking for a boy,” he explained when the boy didn’t seem to understand. “This brothel doesn’t keep boys – I’m not a worker here, my mother is – and so it would be strange for there to be a boy here, you understand? But not strange at all for there to be another whore. Not even a young one.”

He probably could have just hidden the boy in the closet and called it done, but Meng Yao took a certain pleasure in stripping down the fine sturdy fabrics the boy was wearing and replacing them with his mothers’ cheap silks – they’d been more expensive, once, but she’d had to sell those – and in painting the boy’s face and eyes until he looked like any of the other girls that worked the house.

More pretty than some, even. His looks were really quite striking, even covered in cheap makeup, but with a fan and a veil to guard his face, no one looked twice at him where he was sitting in the corner of the main room, not even when the man hunting him, Wen Ruohan, leisurely followed the bosses around as they tore through the brothel, opening closets and looking under beds, searching for a stowaway.

Meng Yao’s pettiness turned out to have been a good idea, and if the boy asked, he’d definitely done it on purpose.

(A few of the men tried to buy ‘her’, always out looking for new meat, but Meng Yao was an old hand at turning down or redirecting customers that wanted things, and the one that kept persisting, a mean old drunkard that they’d had problems with before, got scared away by the boy’s own vicious glare.)

“Thanks,” the boy said again once the man he'd called Wen Ruohan had left. “Again.”

“You’ll pay me later,” Meng Yao reminded him, and the boy nodded. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“My name is Nie Mingjue. What's your name?”

“Meng Yao. Come upstairs – I have a little place in the attic where I sleep, and if you squeeze you might just fit.”

Nie Mingjue did, albeit barely, and if Meng Yao shoved himself into the boy’s arms, insisting that there wasn’t any other alternative, he thought that the bit of warmth he got was the least he deserved for enduring the stresses of the evening. His suspicions that Nie Mingjue was a great hugger whose hands never wandered were borne out by truth, and they stayed warm and safe the entire night through.

The next morning, Meng Yao reluctantly gave Nie Mingjue back his clothing – he would’ve liked to have sold a few pieces if he thought he could get away with it, but Nie Mingjue was meticulous in dressing properly – and watched him get dressed, thumbing idly through one of the cultivation manuals his mother had bought him. She hadn’t come home the night before, which meant she’d had a customer at the party; hopefully that meant they would be eating this month, even if Nie Mingjue forgot about paying what he owed. Assuming she didn’t waste the money on even more stupid books…

“What’s that?” Nie Mingjue asked, nodding at it.

Meng Yao showed it to him. “It’s supposed to teach you the basics of cultivating.”

He didn’t think it did, though. Nothing happened no matter how many times he practiced the motions, and it wouldn’t be the first time something his mother had bought at too high a price with her hard-earned money turned out to be a fake.

“Cultivation?” Nie Mingjue asked, and took the manual. “This is wrong.”

Meng Yao sighed. Of course it was.

“This won’t teach you anything,” Nie Mingjue continued, flipping through the pages with a frown. “Some of this is actually backwards - it’s not just useless, it’s worse than useless.”

Meng Yao blinked. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m a cultivator, of course,” Nie Mingjue said as if it was nothing. “Do you really want to learn?”

“It’s my mother’s dream for me,” Meng Yao said, his hands curling into fists with excitement. Nie Mingjue could be lying, of course, but he’d figured out pretty quickly in their conversation the night before that Nie Mingjue was very bad even at dissembling, and he didn’t look like he was lying now. “If you get me a real manual, there’s no need to pay any gold.”

“I’ll do both,” Nie Mingjue said, very seriously. “I don’t have a beginner’s manual with me, but I’ll get one from home and bring it to you next time we come here. Will that work?”

Meng Yao nodded furiously. Even if he got nothing, he started with nothing, he reminded himself harshly, but he couldn’t quite stop himself from hoping. Just once, just this once…

“And as for the gold, I can get that right now,” Nie Mingjue said. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Meng Yao spent the next quarter shichen telling himself to forget about seeing Nie Mingjue ever again, that the other boy had already forgotten him, that it was all pointless and he should be thinking instead about how to convince his mother to save some of what she earned from the night’s work rather than spending it at once.

But Nie Mingjue did come back, running as fast as he could.

“Meng Yao! Meng Yao!” he shouted, waving, and Meng Yao looked down at him from the balcony just the way he had the night before. “We’re going to leave right away, so I have to go back, but I got you whatever I could grab! Catch!”

Meng Yao caught the little bag Nie Mingjue threw him, stunned, and watched as the other boy ran back the way he came, a pair of fiercely scowling men in dark robes catching him by the arms and starting to scold him even as they dragged him away.

The pouch in Meng Yao’s hands was very light, feeling almost as if there was nothing inside, and very small, barely two fingers in width.

He figured that meant that there wouldn’t be much in there – a child’s pocket-money – but when he opened it up, he unexpectedly could fit his whole hand inside.

“Qiankun pouch!” he gasped, realizing what it must be, and grabbed a handful of the coins inside to pull out. They weren’t all gold – mostly not, in fact, but all those copper pennies and pieces of silver were still more than Meng Shi had managed to save up in six months’ time, and the two or three little chunks of gold hidden underneath would be an excellent start to a fund meant to buy her freedom.

Meng Yao hid the money in four different spots right away, putting the bag itself in the safest spot of all, and went to show the bosses a portion of what he’d gotten, claiming he’d gotten an unexpected tip. They took the small scrap of silver, leaving him with only a few copper pennies, and they went and found one of the more obviously hidden stashes to confiscate as well, just as he’d expected. But after that, they thought he’d been emptied out, while the gold and the rest of the money were still safe.

“Yesterday was a good day,” he told his mother with a smile when she returned, but she didn’t smile back even though her clothing was still intact and he didn’t see any new bruises, meaning it had to have been a decent enough night. “Wasn’t it for you?”

“No,” she said, her voice dull and deeply disappointed. “Not really.”

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #nieyao #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #three gates #Anonymous #congrats anon!#you won the happen to hit my inspiration sweepstakes!

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kiruuuuu · 4 years ago

Text

Smoke/Mute in which ten cups of coffee change Mute’s life. (Rating T, slice of life/fluff/budding romance, ~5.8k words) - written for none other than @nutbrain for being a remarkable human being and an even better friend 💖 Please enjoy!

Mark eyes the shopfront before him with suspicion. His safe haven apparently gone, a flashier version has taken its place some time during the semester break, keeping nothing but the location and the proffered goods. Instead of the old-fashioned, thick-cushioned chairs and dim lighting, the new café shines with an open-floor concept, simple wooden furniture and an overall dark look with specks of gold to brighten it up. Leo Coffee, reads the sign next to a golden logo displaying a roaring lion. What big cats have to do with coffee isn’t obvious to Mark, but he overcomes his initial distaste and steps inside nonetheless.

As visible from outside, the place is deserted. The previous coffee shop was frequented by businesspeople and students alike, located halfway between the campus and Mark’s dorm – on rainy days, people often took public transport and bought their coffee elsewhere, but even on those occasions, it’s never been as empty as this.

Not that Mark is complaining. If the coffee is good, he’ll continue frequenting the new shop, and being able to work in peace would be an added bonus. He is quite fond of Julien and Timur, but even so, they’re not the… easiest to live with. To say the least. A quiet place would be very welcome.

He sets his books down on the table furthest away from the counter, slings his bag over the back of a chair and approaches the empty void where an employee should be standing. This is when he notices another curiosity: there’s no menu board. There isn’t even a menu card by the counter or anywhere, really, only a glass case with a handful of baked goods inside, most of which look like a child made them. So far, the only redeeming quality is the delicious dark smell of roasted coffee beans lingering in the air.

After another minute, still nobody has appeared, so Mark checks his phone for reviews. If the place has less than four stars – alright, three, he’s giving them the benefit of the doubt purely because of their convenient location and quietness –, then he’s out of here. He can’t even remember the last time he had to wait this long to -

“Are you going to order or what?”

Nearly dropping his phone in the process, Mark jumps at the sudden gruff voice and looks up to find himself face to face with a grizzled man. The black apron is all that betrays him as an employee as the unimpressed glare and casual attire do nothing in his favour. “Uh”, he replies eloquently and vows that he’ll never set foot in this place again if this is how he’s going to get treated.

The old man’s expression melts into friendliness. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone. Welcome to Café Leo – it’s your first time here, so have a loyalty card, lad.”

Mark accepts the piece of paper without thinking, still thrown off by the bloke’s sudden appearance (how does he move completely silent like that), and at least has the presence of mind to inspect it. Its contents are so absurd that he forgets to ask how the man opposite him knew he hadn’t been to the shop yet. “‘After 10 coffee purchases, you’re eligible for a free wish’”, he mumbles, reading the text printed white on black aloud. “‘This offer is not transferable.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that only you can redeem your reward, not anyone else. Would you like some coffee?”

He blinks at the bearded man, trying to ascertain whether he’s being serious, and is met with an almost bored stare. Weighing his options, the scales are only slightly tipped in favour of staying, but only because he knows Julien has a ‘visitor’ over today and there’s no other place he can study – the library is overrun by frantic procrastinators who left finishing their coursework assigned over the break to the absolute last minute, and Manu is coming back tomorrow. Apart from her and his roommates, there’s no one with whom he’s comfortable enough to invite himself over.

Especially not him. God knows why Mark even considered him for a brief second.

Looks like he’ll have to deal with this awkwardness if he wants to get any work done whatsoever. “Alright then. What do you sell?”

“Coffee”, comes the curt answer.

Mark rubs his eyes in exhaustion. He’s beginning to understand why there’s no other customers here. “Sure. Yes. A coffee, then.”

“That’ll be…” The employee trails off while frowning down at his wristwatch. “…um, about £7.92.”

“For one coffee?”

“It’s free refills, son.”

Oh, so maybe this is an American chain. That would explain quite a bit. Mark considers whether he’s staying long enough to get the most out of his money, but seeing as the bloke doesn’t seem the chattiest type and he’s unlikely to get interrupted, he decides it’s worth it. Still, there’s something he simply can’t let go. “… what do you mean, ‘about’ £7.92?”

“Are you paying cash or card?”

Alright then.

The next ultimatum: if the coffee turns out dogshite, he’s never coming back. He’d rather travel an increased distance to a normal coffee shop than to have to deal with this nonsense. Wordlessly, he sets down a £10 note and scoops the change into his wallet before watching the obviously American guy (and maybe the chain imports all their workers, who knows) pour a cup of the darkest coffee he’s ever seen. He unceremoniously sets it down in front of him and makes no indication of mentioning neither cream nor sugar. He’s lucky Mark prefers his energy supply as-is.

“Ta”, Mark mutters and scurries away, glad to escape that hard stare. To make sure he’s not being scammed, he takes a quick sip of the fragrant liquid and is surprised at how pleasant the taste is. Minimal bitterness, a gentle, almost floral note, and just strong enough to satisfy his craving.

Well, crap.

Looks like he’ll have to come back after all.

~*~

“Did you guys know the old coffee shop closed?”, Mark voices his thoughts into the middle of a medium-sized food war between Manu and Timur involving entirely too many packets of salt.

“The one on campus?”, Manu asks and accidentally elbows Julien in the ribs, causing him to actually look up from his phone for once.

“No, the one halfway to our dorm.”

“I was there last week”, Timur pipes up, making him furrow his brows. A week can’t be enough to refurnish the entire café, let alone switch owners completely. “Is it closed now?”

“There’s a different one instead. It was dead when I went, but the coffee’s good. The bloke serving me was weird.”

“Look at you, stringing multiple sentences together”, Julien chimes in, grinning. “Something novel must’ve happened for you to even bring it up. Was the dude hot?”

“Because that’s the only reason anyone would ever get excited about anything”, says Manu drily. “We can check it out if it’s good, even if the employees suck. Not like we have to socialise with them.”

Mark shrugs and regrets mentioning the café in the first place – it feels somehow personal, whether it’s to do with the odd experience overall or the fact that he ended up staying more than three hours. His productivity was through the roof, the calm atmosphere helped immensely and the thought of his loud friends – as much as he appreciates them – invading his newfound hideout isn’t one he particularly enjoys.

It turned out that the employee wasn’t so bad after all: as soon as Mark considered asking for more coffee, he appeared right by his side and filled his mug again, without bothering him at all. Still, Julien would complain about him and Timur might agree and Manu is likely to judge his impolite manner, and Mark wouldn’t be able to defend him. Even if he doesn’t mind the silent company.

For the moment, he needn’t bother with these thoughts as his friends are wholly occupied with arguing over some internet memes (and Mark remembers vividly how they all had to talk Julien down from nibbling at their laundry detergent pods), so nothing could be further from their minds than sitting down and actually studying for their degrees.

Not that they’re bad students, quite the opposite, they’re just not as… ambitious as Mark. Some have called him obsessed, yes, and he can’t quite refute it, but he prefers to call it ‘determined’. There have been few who are able to keep up with him, which is probably partly the reason why he’s made friends with people from completely different departments. He tends to be a loner in most classes, which suits him just fine.

Well. Most classes.

“I would give my left bollock for you.”

Mark certainly doesn’t appreciate the imagery. He hands over the photocopied sheet to the bloke nearly bouncing in delight before shuffling after his fellow students into the lecture hall. Closely followed, of course. “Make sure to change enough details”, he repeats the reminder, earning a scoff.

“I’ll make it illegible, babe, don’t worry.” James plops down next to him, stretching and taking up too much space. “You’re the only reason I’ll actually get credit for this course.”

Oh, Mark is very aware of this fact. He lets his seat neighbour prattle on as he takes out his materials, lines up his pens, and waits for the lecture to start. If he were pressed to explain how he ended up in this position, with a chatterbox glued to his side too lazy to do any of the coursework, he wouldn’t have a concise answer. Other than his inability to say no.

The problem is that James knows exactly who to befriend. Mark is naturally drawn to the overachievers in each class and carefully selects his group for projects, going by people who do put the time and work in to get a good grade – anything where students are meant to collaborate is 30% actual work and 70% politics. The right people tend to listen to him whenever he knows better, because they’re interested in improving and learning, they tend to go along with his division of tasks, because he distributes them fairly and suited to everyone’s skills, and they tend to work best independently, so they can get it done even without excessive communication.

And James? He follows the same strategy as Mark, except that he’s a leech. He latches onto the teacher’s pets, chooses the easiest tasks, always volunteers for presentations (meaning he’ll just have to regurgitate what his group produced), and bribes his groupmates so they don’t throw him out. Whether it’s snacks or drinks after class, whether it’s attention and compliments, or playing matchmaker: he knows how to make himself useful in all aspects other than his studies.

He’s a clown. He makes everyone laugh and worms his way into their hearts so they would feel bad about calling him out. Not having to do any work is his reward for asking questions everyone’s thinking but doesn’t dare ask for fear of looking stupid in front of the prof.

Obviously, James has latched onto him ever since they crossed paths in chem last semester, and Mark considered dropping the current class when he found out that he was in it as well. Even worse, James began asking him for homework, giving excuses like having had no time, not being able to write it down concisely, and so on – and though Mark initially refused, classmates approached him and gently nudged him towards sharing his results with James. Just to be nice. Just to help him. He’s such a good guy after all.

So Mark’s homework gets copied and passed along. And James’ fondness of him only grows.

During the long, meaningless rant interspersed with an impressive amount of curse words, he perks up at a quiet: “Wait, this one doesn’t make any sense.”

His pride won’t let him ignore it. “Which one?”

James points at one of Mark’s answers, a complicated equation. “Shouldn’t that be on top?”

“The denominator?”

An uncertain glance. He points again. “This.”

“You mean the bottom fraction? That’s the denominator, yes. And it is where it should be.”

James frowns, indubitably not content with the reply but possibly unsure how to voice his dissatisfaction.

“Trust me, it’s correct. Just copy it.”

“But I want to understand it.”

Fat chance. No way did he get any of the previous homework without having engaged with the subject matter at all, so it’s impossible for him to work it out, even if Mark explained it. Which he doesn’t want to. Because he figures it’d be like explaining string theory to a brick wall. He’s saved by the prof’s entry, knowing James at least has the decency to shut up during class, and hopes he can simply slip away afterwards.

It turns out, however, James is fully aware of his biggest weakness. “Do you have a bit of time after? You think you can explain it to me? Please?”

Yikes.

Not only is Mark burning to show him how wrong he is, he’s also entirely unable to refuse a plea for help. And there’s no doubt James knows this. He can’t keep getting away with it, he’s exploiting Mark enough as it is without offering much – if anything – in return, plus it’s obvious the endeavour is futile and doomed from the start. And this is disregarding the possibility of James suggesting more meetings in the future. So, like the reasonable adult he is, Mark replies: “Sure.”

And has never wanted to kick himself more.

If this bloke really is the only employee they have, it’s no wonder the place is dead yet again. They stare at each other, unblinking, and seem equally dismayed about each other’s presence. “Hi”, says Mark after a few seconds of tense silence.

The old man is wearing the same clothes as last time, apron and jeans – even his disinterested expression hasn’t changed. “I’m Sam”, he offers completely out of the blue, surprising Mark with how unexpected the introduction is. “I figured you shouldn’t have to keep calling me ‘this bloke’ in your head.”

“… Mark”, he responds hesitantly.

“Is that a threat?” Sam barks out a brief, mirthless laugh. “I know. You wrote it on your loyalty card.”

He most certainly did not, but only because the card is solid black with white text. “Look, I’m just here to buy coffee.”

“You brought a friend.” Sam indicates James who already sat down by a window and is absorbed in his phone for the time being – and for all his faults, Mark has to admit that at least his (limited) attention is always on the person he’s talking to; he’s never seen his fellow student even checking for messages during a conversation.

“Not really”, he says nonetheless and is reasonably sure they’re out of earshot. “We just have chem together.”

“You have chemistry, hm?”

He wonders if it’s possible to set someone on fire with a hard look alone. “Just sell me the bloody coffee.”

“For the both of you?” Sam turns around and studies the clock on the wall behind him, whispering to himself for a few seconds before announcing: “That’ll be roughly £15.84.”

“Fine.” He holds out a card, scowling when Sam makes no move to take it.

“No complaint?”

“Is it gonna be cheaper if I do? Besides, he’s paying. So I don’t care.”

“Oh. Then it’ll be £22.43.”

“Why is it -” As quickly as his annoyance spikes, it ebbs again. It’s obvious there’s no logic behind all this nonsense, yet he still tries: “If it’s cheaper for me, I’ll pay and get the money back from him.”

“That’s illegal. You’ve already told me he’s paying.”

“I’m not trying to buy liquor, why would it -” Deep breaths. He already told James about how good the coffee is, and if they go anywhere else, someone else might see them. He’s strongly incentivised to stay. “Fine. Here.”

Sam runs the card and, as last time, pours two very unimpressive mugs before, to Mark’s horror, reaching into the display case and pulling out two slices of cakes on their own respective plates. The chocolate one is drooping and threatening to fall over if anyone looked at it wrong, and the sponge cake seems suspiciously wet. There’s no telling how long they’ve been sitting there. “It’s on the house”, Sam says, almost begrudgingly, as if he was the inconvenienced one.

Mark considers asking for forks or napkins but decides that the shorter their interaction, the healthier his sanity. “Ta, mate. Do you need my loyalty card?”

“No need.”

Fair enough, though he’s not sure what the point of it is, then. He carries the coffees and cakes over in two trips and wonders how he’ll get rid of the sickly-looking bakeware without Sam noticing. When James eventually tries his piece and doesn’t keel over immediately though, Mark gives his own a try.

It’s the best chocolate cake he’s ever had. And he’s never been madder in his life.

~*~

At some point, it turns into stubbornness. There’s a few mannerisms, the odd hobby and some of his preferences which started out as either ironic, as guilty pleasures or as things he actively disliked, but the more he engaged, the more he developed the attitude of: you know what? This is mine and I don’t care what anyone says about it.

He’s starting to adopt Leo Coffee. The awkward vibe about it, the indecipherable employee, the delicious food and drinks – it holds its own charm in a way, and he’s stopped wondering about being the only patron. It’s perfect for studying or unwinding, and does wonders for his stressed soul. He’s been returning regularly now, about once a week, and even brought James with him a second time to argue about yet another homework he criticised. The atmosphere renders Mark calmer, more patient, and so he endured the other man’s presence for much longer than he would’ve thought possible. They stayed for almost three hours the first time, even longer the second.

Just to make sure he’s not being a nuisance, he tried to check the coffee shop’s opening hours and wasn’t even sure what he expected to find. They’re listed nowhere, of course, and Sam switched topics the instant he brought it up.

So now the only people he has to drag in here are his friends, who have somehow evaded his efforts so far – but not today. Timur and Julien promised to come even though Manu has to go to some recital or other, meaning she’s excused. For now.

Eyes idly following pedestrians outside, he’s resting his chin in his palm and waiting. Being the only punctual one has always meant boredom, so he’s lucky his mind is imaginative enough to keep him occupied in the meantime. His train of thought meanders through all the topics occupying his brain recently, how the new guy Julien is seeing is basically moving into their apartment, how Timur keeps hanging around the wrong crowd, how unfair it is that Manu aces all her courses with so little effort, how he happened to run into James during his break today and almost suggested spending it together -

His phone buzzes, interrupting his aimless daydreaming and prompting him to check the colourful screen.

I got ambushed, writes Julien and it’s unclear whether he’s being cryptic on purpose. Mark sends a question mark and has to wait a minute or two for the explanation: Sudden date night, looks like Netflix & chill boys ;) sry for ditching you but the shop isn’t gonna go anywhere right?

An eye roll later, Mark responds with a simple TMI.

I don’t think I’ll make it either, adds Timur, a friend wants to yarn bomb the stature by City Hall and they need me as lookout.

This one gets points for creativity at least. He sighs and reassures them with a quick sure, no problem before commending himself for not going home first to drop his bag off. Now he can just study instead. Woohoo.

Another brief vibration, this notification from a completely different group chat, one Mark apparently forgot to leave once the project was done: @Mark: are there carrots in carrot cake?

The number is translated to ‘GirthControl’, so there’s just one person this could be. He stares at his screen. Is that a trick question? Yes, he feels confident enough to affirm to James.

Ah okay. Thanks babe.

This is when it occurs to him: Wait, why did you only ask me?

Silence. Whatever quest James is currently on, it apparently required Mark’s input and Mark’s input only.

He can’t help but laugh at the absurdity and suddenly feels a lot less abandoned. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter whether his friends don’t rank him at the top of their priority list as long as he’s on it somewhere. And knowing that he’s left a lasting impression on James beyond being the lad who supplies him with homework is oddly reassuring.

When he approaches the counter, Sam once again materialising out of nowhere (at least that’s what it feels like – he’s always there when Mark needs him and never at any other time), he’s decided to not get weirded out by anything today. “A coffee”, he orders confidently and inspects the haphazardly thrown together bagels featured prominently in the infamous display case. “And a bagel.” He doesn’t bother specifying, Sam will choose for him anyway.

After peering at the digital alarm clock on the counter, Sam announces the approximate value of the aforementioned items and then squints at him. “Weren’t you going to meet with somebody?”

Mark half-shrugs. “Kinda. They’re busy though.”

“Mind if I join you?” He must notice Mark’s surprise because he adds: “It’s your ninth time here. Would be a shame if we didn’t get to talk before you’ve filled up your loyalty card, don’t you think?”

“Alright”, he agrees and waits until Sam has poured himself a mug as well before they sit down at Mark’s usual table – tucked away in a corner but close enough to the windows to be able to do people-watching if his eyes need a rest from staring at textbooks or screens all day long. It’s the first time he examines the man opposite him more closely: the distinguished features, greying beard, wild mane of hair. He looks too… important to be working in a coffee shop, like he was destined for greatness. Mark can’t picture him angry even if he exudes a bitter, cynical aura which he’s likely to hide behind sarcasm.

“How did you end up here?”, he wants to know, genuinely curious.

“Good question.” Sam takes a few sips of his excellent coffee as he ponders how to reply. “It’s a temporary thing, that’s for sure.” He leaves it at that. “What do you study?”

Mark eyes the disorganised heap of books keeping his bagel company and sighs. “At this point, I don’t even know anymore.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It is”, he emphasises. “I love studying.”

“Where’s the problem then?”

There is none, he wants to say yet his mouth refuses to comply. He stares into the dark liquid, running his thumb over even porcelain and then decides to sod it – he asked, right? And somehow, it’s always easier to unload on a complete stranger. “I feel like it’s all I’m doing.”

“You keep others at a distance on purpose.” He nods, even though it wasn’t a question. “So don’t be surprised if they do the same.”

“I’m not.” The warmth seeps into his palms as he wraps his hands around the mug, providing as much comfort as Sam’s gentle tone. “I just want it to be different.”

“Make an effort. It’s never to late to change. I’m sure your friends will appreciate it. Put some trust in them, they’re your friends for a reason.” He nods again, lost in thought. “Have you figured out what you’re going to wish for next time?”

He scoffs, amused. There isn’t a single thing he can imagine himself wanting from the old man before him, so he’s unlikely to wish for anything at all. “No. Not yet.”

“Well, think about it. I believe in you, son.” With that, Sam downs the last of his own coffee and gets up, ready to walk back behind the counter and only stops when Mark calls his name.

“Is there someone you care about?”

It’s the first time he sees Sam smile. “Yes. There were two, but I lost one – so I keep the other one twice as close without trying to be suffocating. It’s hard. But remember, Mark, it’s never too late to tell the people in your life how you really feel.” And then he’s gone, disappeared into the back, leaving behind a faint nostalgia tinted with hope.

There’s no challenge from which Mark has shied away in his life, and this one isn’t going to be his first.

~*~

The word fuck on his lips, Mark bursts into the café like a panicked chicken. He’s juggling two bags and his phone, his frantic typing only interrupted by the need to breathe now and then, and nearly drops it when he slams his book bag to the ground at the counter. “Sorry, one sec”, he addresses an unimpressed-looking Sam as he dials a number and curses once more when it’s not immediately picked up. “Can I get a coffee to go?”, he asks, out of breath, as the dial tone beeps in his ear.

“I don’t serve people who are on the phone”, Sam replies, as calm as ever.

Mark mentally increases the number of people who’d be dead if his looks could kill by one. “This is the worst thing to ever happen to me”, he says gravely and hangs up after thirty seconds have passed. “I’m gonna fail this class.”

“An event without precedence, I assume?”

“You have no bloody idea. But yes, a coffee please, I need to go back to the library and get an entire semester’s worth of material because I’m too fucking dumb to read a syllabus correctly. This has never happened to me, I have one day to write this assignment and I’m lacking so much -”

“Can you give me the time?”, Sam interrupts him nonchalantly and stares at the screen of Mark’s phone as he holds it up for him to read. “Thanks. Let’s say £2.63.”

“And I can’t study at home because Timur has his friends over, and Manu is in a panic herself, and I know the library is going to be overrun by people who treat the study rooms like their social media accounts by loudly oversharing all the time, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to do this. Maybe I’ll just accept fate and fail. No clue how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

“Your loyalty card.”

Distracted, Mark fishes it out of his wallet and puts it on the counter. “And the other people in chem aren’t answering or are no help at all, I don’t get it, I’ve done group projects with them and still they don’t have the courtesy to help me out in this. It was a genuine mistake, as stupid as it is, and I’m just -”

“You need to write it down.”

He’s briefly interrupted in his rant to frown at the black paper card. “Write what?”

“Your wish.”

“But you won’t be able to read it. I only have black or blue pens.”

“Doesn’t matter. Write it down.”

With an irritated sigh, Mark takes out a pen and thinks for a second, the majority of his attention elsewhere still. Eventually, he scribbles someone who cares, not that it’d be legible in any way, and hands it to Sam. “That’s it? I’m not sure this reward system is going to pay off in the long term, you know.”

Sam holds the card up to the light as if he was inspecting a bank note and nods, apparently satisfied. “You’re all set. Good luck.”

“Ta, I’m gonna need it.” Mark shoves all his belongings in various pockets, hoping he’ll remember where he put them, and grabs the to-go cup. And then, without so much as a goodbye, he storms back out, steeling himself for an all-nighter certain to mess up sleep schedule for days, if not weeks.

He ascribes it to his flustered state that he doesn’t look up as he exits the coffee shop, and promptly runs into someone, collides with what feels like a solid wall. His coffee gets squished and sloshes over, soaking the front of his clothes – fortunately, it’s not hot at all, more like lukewarm which is odd in and of itself. He swears again, yanking his phone out of his pocket before it gets wet also and it’s only due to another hand grabbing the device that it doesn’t plummet to the ground straightaway.

“Oh bollocks, I’m so sorry”, says the wall he ran into which turns out to be none other than James. Of all people. “Are you alright? Is it hot?”

“No, no, I’m fine”, Mark presses through clenched teeth, the stress slowly overwhelming him. “But now I have to go home and change before I can start on this stupid fucking -”

“Babe. Calm down. What’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath and ignores the quickly cooling wet patches on his clothes for the moment. “I still have to do the report. I didn’t realise we were meant to -”

“Oh, you haven’t done it? At all?”

“No! No, I didn’t, and everyone else is partnered up so I can’t just join someone else, so I’ll have to -”

“I’m not paired up.”

“Sure, once I’m done I’ll put your name on there, whatever, but that doesn’t -”

“Babe. Mark. Listen to me.” James waves in front of his face with a slight grin. “I did it. It’s almost done. I’ll put down that we did it together and you’re good.”

He stares at James, mouth open, for several unflattering seconds. “Wait – you… how?”

“I can show you, but it’s at my place. My roommate is around your height, he can lend you some clothes. Let’s go.”

And yet again, Mark finds himself unable to refuse. He drinks what’s left of his coffee in one go (and it really is tepid, he must’ve gotten really lucky), tosses the cup in the nearest bin and leaves Leo Coffee behind without a single glance back.

James’ flat looks exactly like Mark would’ve imagined it, only louder. Double bass and epic vocals are permeating every room, and all available horizontal surfaces are littered with stuff. The walls are plastered with posters, some funny, some pretty, some morbid, and it reeks of weed.

A small part of Mark feels right at home, oddly enough.

“Turn the fucking music down!”, James yells at the top of his lungs, throwing him an apologetic look, clearly uncomfortable with the state of it all and ignorant as to Mark’s growing amusement.

Somewhere, a door opens and the shrill guitars become clearer. “Whot?”, someone replies just as loudly.

“Exactly!”, is James’ deafening reply, and a few seconds later, the melodies decrease to a reasonable level. Another bloke joins them, tall and well-built with an unkempt beard and a band shirt as well as no socks.

“Who’s that? Is he allowed to be here?”, asks James’ roommate and regards Mark with suspicion.

“That was Sabaton, wasn’t it?”, Mark inquires back. “Primo Victoria?”

The dude’s entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, a connoisseur. He can stay, James, I like him already.”

And while the two of them exchange more words, Mark goes exploring. He ends up in what must be James’ room which is covered in paper, be it books or hand-written notes, and most of it seems related to chemistry in some way. Curious, Mark looks around until he finds a spiral-bound notepad titled with the name of the course they’re sharing this semester. Contrary to his expectations, it’s far from empty – not only does it contain copious lecture notes, it also features every assignment they’d been given since the start of the course.

Solved differently from Mark’s own answers.

Confused, he checks more closely and finds a recurring pattern: equations that are struck-through, calculations lacking several steps in between which wouldn’t be accepted by the prof this way, and very little text. It looks like the writings of someone who certainly understands the material but simply has a hard time putting his thoughts in order, putting his ideas into neat writing.

He’s been immersed for several minutes when James finally joins him, and when he does, Mark holds up his notes and greets him with a simple: “What the fuck?”

James doesn’t seem to realise where Mark’s problem lies and shrugs. “Yeah, I’m a hopeless case, I know.”

“No. No, you’re really not. This is – look here, if you just shift this around, you end up with the correct result. You’re like 95% of the way there, you just didn’t finish it.”

“Oh.” James blinks at him. “I guess. It’s kinda like that with the report. I was hoping you could help me write the conclusion, I’ve got the rest, but -”

“Sure. Yes.” Mark’s agreeableness seems to astonish his host. “That’ll take an hour, maybe two. And I won’t have to pull an all-nighter. James, you have no idea how much you saved me.”

And James, bless his soul, is blushing. “Well. No problem. I owe you anyway. Right?” He suddenly remembers he’s holding spare clothing and vaguely gestures in Mark’s direction. “You, uh, you can change in the bathroom. Don’t mind the cat, she just loves staring at naked people. Dom found out the hard way.”

Twenty minutes later, Mark is reading through James’ report with a ball of fur purring on his lap, faint metal playing in the background. There’s a lot of grammar and spelling to be fixed, as well as phrasing, but content-wise, it’s near flawless. He’s smiling to himself, enjoying the way James turns almost bashful whenever he compliments his work, and remembers Sam’s words from the second-to-last time he visited the café: it’s never too late.

He’s definitely treating James to dinner after he’s saved his arse like this.

The next time Mark passes by that familiar spot, the next time Mark develops a craving for caffeine and some peace and quiet, the next time he plans to go to Leo Coffee, all he finds is the same coffee shop which has been here for years already, the afternoon crowd populating the tables and several diligent employees taking care of the customers.

Somehow, Mark isn’t the least bit surprised.

#rainbow six siege #smoke #mute #smoke/mute #zero #fanfic #oneshot #I combined a few things I know you like and hopefully it's the same with the result #I want to remind you that there is no need to retaliate #but also that'd mean I've won this war

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etheralisi · 4 years ago

Text

ᴛᴇ ɪɴᴠᴏᴄᴏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪʀᴛ ɪs ɢᴏɴᴇ

Perhaps she has hit the unlucky jackpot with getting Tamara as her roommate. What kind of reality did she wake up in to have to come home to a summoning circle?

Ao3

--------

They were low on flour.

And it’s not as if they necessarily need it, per se. Not really, because hey, there’s a few snacks laying around, and their neighbor Marla’s built up a reputation from giving stuff out from bottomless pockets of sweets and chocolates that fits the picture book description of every five year old’s dreamscape to a t.

But Anthea’s hands are itching to do something, anything that isn’t homework, and as always, she’s drawn back into memories of large and steady palms pressing hers into dough, and the scent rising yeast in the oven — the furnace she’ll endearingly label as home. Even now, away on her studies, away from that little country kitchen, it’s that little piece of her past that’s trailing after her through the shopping aisle, Anthea mulling over the brands they have available.

“You’re going shopping?” Her roommate had shouted from the couch when Anthea’s foot was half out of the door, holding it in place as she turned exasperatedly towards the other girl. “ Can you get me anything? Like, I dunno, gummy worms or something. Maybe some crisps. Oh, oh! See if they have any of those-” She snapped her fingers, a disappointed pout forming as she made a vagueish gesture. “Ah, you know. Those things.”

“Sure, sure. Very helpful,” Anthea had said in drawl, fairly sure there are at least five possible contenders for what ‘those things’ may be from her past purchasing habits and, chances are, she’ll end up purchasing the wrong thing. So. You know. Helpful. “I’ll see what I can find, Tam. Pay me back later.”

She’s gotten Tamara a good few bargains, and if she were any less of a person, Anthea would charge her full price for them and pocket a little extra cash. Like a certain someone — not naming names, but Tamara — had done a few months back in her ploy to ‘get rich quick’ after taking inspiration from a few life hack videos guaranteeing her ways to save money, though not as borderline fraudulent as she put into practice.

So. Yes. What a wonderful roommate Anthea’s been blessed with. Truly an inspiration.

(And to think that once upon so long ago, Anthea had been a sidestep and a jump from a breakdown, worrying if she’d be considered the weird roommate. The one people grumble about to friends over the phone.)

After staring at the prices the flour is selling at — long enough she swears barcodes and prices are burned into her retinas, thin black lines and all — Anthea pulls out her phone, just long enough to send a text or two to Tamara. Just checking in, is all. Reminding Tamara of her half of the chores, and praying to every entity out there that she's not going to have to come back to their shared living space surrounded by firefighters because of a science project gone wrong.

(“Hey, I was just pulling apart my Magiorb to see how it ticked! I couldn’t have foreseen the fire. Or how couches aren’t fireproof. Uhh, what’s the cheapest fireproof furniture selling right now?”)

Needless to say, there’s a very low bar in the terms of her expectations for her return. Very low bar. ‘World’s best limbo dancer can’t even hope to cross’ kind.

Still. Somehow Tamara manages to bring a spade and tunnel right under this metaphorical bar until she reaches hell’s gates, because, well, Anthea’s pretty sure that everything you can find in a ‘ cultists starter kit to summoning demonic entities’ has been strewn across the room to the point that rather than baking, her hands are screaming for her to grab a fire extinguisher before house fire electric boogaloo can make a comeback.

Candles. So. Many. Candles. Over that little couch, over her bed. Why are they over her bed?

Multiple pressing questions bulldoze their way down the fast-pass lane to the forefront of her mind, so pressing they may as well be full on slaps to the face like this whole nonsensical scene displayed out in front of her. Anthea hardly registers dropping the shopping bag, slipping from numb fingers now completely useless for pinching her awake from this living nightmare.

‘Life hacks,' okay. Guess this extends to hacking away at their own lifespans too. It’s flashing before her eyes, disco party style, as they speak.

“Why did you draw a pentagram on the floor?” Anthea says with this tired sort of calm calm. Like the anger and frustration and fear are too big for her body and physically unable to manifest themselves into her tone. It’s just. Too much.

“Your text told me to satanize the kitchen before you returned, and the other rooms if I could. Don’t worry, I did the kitchen too,” Tamara says like it’s a perfectly normal request and every bit entirely in character of Anthea to say, and not in the least worrisome to the point that Anthea doesn’t so much as want to think about the state of the kitchen. She knows the text. She knows what she sent. And yeah, pulling out her phone, Anthea’s now doubly sure that her request wasn’t nearly as demonic as Tamara has taken it.

“I wrote sanitise, Tamara,” She corrects with not nearly enough stress on the name as she is feeling right now. Not even close. “Sanitise . And here you are with… with this pentagram…”

“Summoning circle.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Anthea wants to laugh, really laugh, but she’s afraid she won’t be able to stomach something so bitter. “And how is that any better?”

“I mean, it’s not the Satan on the line. I couldn’t get a hold of him.” And is it her, or does the slight pout of Tamara’s bottom lip make her look — dare she say it — disappointed. Demonic flames are no way to sanitise a home. Insta-cook it? Yes. But she just wants to bake. Not recreate hell’s kitchen.

Anthea pinches or nose and lets loose a long, drawn out sigh as she tries to recall what optimism sounds like again when her half full glass has been shattered against a wall repetitively.

“Well that’s clear. If you had, I’d be coming back to nothing but the circle. Thank the stars you didn’t manage to summon him.”

And by him, she means whatever alternative demon Tamara had turned to after her temporary setback. Anthea never really studied demons above the mandatory lessons where the overall takeaway was ‘ stay the heck away from demons unless you have a death wish for both you and your entire neighbourhood .’ And good old Mr Rivera had a knack for making even the most entertaining of things about as interesting as witnessing fifty coats of paint dry, the sound of his voice alone giving insomniacs the well needed rest they deserve, his droning on a magical cure-all. But she swears that the patterns ring some incredibly distant alarm bells amongst the fog of memories.

“Ehhh…” Tamara hand wanders to the back of her neck, sheepish. “I mean...”

Her stomach drops. Ten, twenty floors of an office building and into the plummeting void of ever present worry and why ever did she think leaving to buy flour would be a safe activity?

“What,” Anthea says, fire encased in a cage of ice for a tone, “Did you do?”

As if on queue — and perhaps so, because stage queues and flair have been attributed to their species for years — the answer makes itself known as the Dreambender himself, materialising into existence with a faint pop and waft of pine needles to mask the smoke.

What.

What the-

“Oh, y̤͈̣̭̝͎̹o͖̝̻̲̤̪͇u͖͉̥͙’̥͖̟̗͍̮͡r̼̩̣̻e̞͔̝̜̹ ͔̺̘͈̰͎b̞̦͍͔͡a͖͜c͇̘k̛̮̙?̹̼͓̖͖̳̝ ” He grins, too many teeth. Far too many teeth. “And you’ve brought my gummy worms! Thanks!”

#Transcendence au #Bread fic #I know it's been a while but.... hi?

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love-that-we-were-in · 3 years ago

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Okay so I promised @theforgottenfandoms months ago that I would make this post and I can openly admit that I forgot. But it’s here and I remembered and I really hope this is what you want from this post.

The first thing I want to cover is the difference between theatre pre-COVID and current times because it is one of the biggest differences I’ve noticed the last few times I’ve gone (which makes sense). To see shows right now you need:

A COVID passport or evidence of a negative lateral flow test from the last 48 hours. Or, if you’re under 18, you’ll be asked a basic questionnaire that covers whether you may have COVID symptoms

To wear a mask (this is requested when you get to the theatre unless you are exempt and there’s signage all around the theatre reminding you of this. A lot of shows have also tried to incorporate the mask mandate into their introductions e.g. Heathers)

With all of these things comes the normal bag checks, in which they tend to just look for anything that could be dangerous/used as a weapon. Some theatres like the Noel Coward (current home of Dear Evan Hansen on the west end) are more strict on bringing food purchased outside the theatre inside than others.

Some theatres have more than one merchandise stan set up now. There tends to be the main one where you can get all of the available merchandise, and a smaller one that only sells things like programmes magnets or badges. I assume this is to ensure there’s less crowding and limits exposure as much as possible. I’ve found that it does make life a lot easier, especially with having to get home afterwards. Unless it’s a show I’m very passionate about I tend to only buy a souvenir programme and not having to wait in an extremely long line just for one is great.

Now, onto the less serious stuff and more of just my experience.

I am very lucky to live near to London and be able to go to the theatre often. In the last few months I’ve seen a decent amount of shows. Some of these are ones I’ve pre-booked and planned ahead for and some of them I’ve managed to see using Rush Tickets (TodayTix is my favourite app in the entire world I swear. I have saved so much money thanks to it).

This past year I’ve managed to see:

Wicked

Frozen

Back to the Future

Cinderella

Dear Evan Hansen

Heathers (6 times)

I got my Wicked, Back to the Future and Dear Evan Hansen tickets as Rush Tickets so I only had a few hours between buying the tickets and seeing the show. It’s a little bit hectic trying to plan the journey there and back, as well as when to eat but it’s also very fun. Rush Tickets can be bought as either a single or a pair so I always have the choice of bringing someone with me if they’re available. It’s great.

This was my first time seeing Wicked in a very long time. I first saw it when I was around 9 years old and saw it 2 other times in about a year. I was lucky enough to see one of the more famous Elphaba’s - Willemijin Verkaik - for my first time seeing the show which was incredible. That was a last minute thing because my aunt had a spare ticket. It’s one of the things that started my love and passion for musicals and theatre in itself and I’m glad I made the choice to see it this year now that I’m older and can appreciate it for more than it just looking really cool. While it’s not my favourite show anymore, I am still incredibly impressed by the costuming, stagecraft, choreography. Really anything that goes into the performance because it is amazing. There’s a reason it has been running for as long as it has and I highly recommend it to anyone who ever gets the chance to see it.

You probably noticed the number of times I saw Heathers written there and that number is simply because I really love the show right now. I saw the 2021 Haymarket cast twice, once in summer and again on closing night. That meant I saw the Veronica understudy, Aimee Hodnett, debut in August, as well as seeing Teleri Hughes as Heather Macnamara. It was wonderful to see Aimee play that role for the first time and to experience the energy of that live. When I went again, the main cast was performing with no cut show which was, again, amazing. Being there to see a show close and the effect that had on not only the cast and crew, but the audience as well, has only been rivalled twice - opening night of Heathers at The Other Palace in November and the Bonnie & Clyde Concert at Theatre Royal Drury Lane a couple weeks ago.

My most recent Heathers visit was using tickets I won as part of their New Years’ giveaway. This was very cool. I brought my younger brother with me - he’d seen the show twice before and enjoyed it both times. At this point I’ve seen the show 6 times, with 5 difference variations across 3 different casts. Every single time I’ve seen the show I’ve enjoyed it more than I can put into words. It is very clear every single time I go that all of these actors care so much about the story they are telling and their characters. I could ramble about Heathers for an age but I’m going to stop there because that’s a post for another day.

Honestly, just going to the theatre is a magical experience. There’s something to it that can’t be matched by going anywhere else and there are moments that are even more magical than others. An opening night or a debut can change the energy of a cast and audience so much. I have so many shows that I want to see, some that are running and some that aren’t. I have seen some of my favourite performers live and I’ve found performers I’ve come to love because of seeing new shows.

I am very lucky to live where I do and to earn money I can spend on my passions and I just hope that everyone with a love for theatre gets to experience it because it is something so incredible and outstanding.

(I really hope this is somewhere in the ballpark of what you wanted this post to be. If it’s not, I am very sorry.)

#musicals #theatre #my asks #the forgotten fandoms

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miraculousgemscc · 4 years ago

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Not So Berry Extended

I was inspired to write out a few more generations for the Not So Berry Challenge! I’m currently playing it in my spare time as a Vampire Not so Berry (cause why not?) and i’m having a lot of fun playing it and watching others play through the challenge! If you’d like to see more of these or maybe another version of Not So Berry Extended but with more of the careers then please let me know!

NOTE: This hasn’t been play-tested! If whatever’s listed below is impossible to complete please let me know and i’ll make the needed changes!

Gen 11: Black

(Requires Snowy Escape, Get Famous, Parenthood)

Growing up, you always thought you had the perfect life: You had the dream house, the dream family. Until one day you found out that your mother/father/parent had a secret affair. This completely broke you and in order to cope with the news, you decided to become a rebel. I mean, don’t we all go through a rebellious phase in our lives? Your whole perspective on life went 360: you changed your sense of style, your personality, etc. all at once. At least you had the great outdoors giving you comfort during your “everlasting phase”! Your favorite season was Winter because you could ski/snowboard all day, everyday. And what about those dreams you had of becoming a famous skier/snowboarder? Well we can do that too!

Traits: Hot-Headed (give as a teenager), Active, Self-Assured

Aspiration: Extreme Sports Enthusiast

Career: Manuel Laborer, Ski/Snowboarding YouTuber (once you reach Level 10 of Ski/Snowboarding)

Rules:

Must enter “rebellious phase” either at the end of childhood or beginning of being a teenager (you don’t need PH for this, it’s just apart of storytelling) (this is when the black color of this gen. should occur)

Must get the Argumentative, Insensitive and Uncontrolled Emotions Character Value traits (PH)

Must max either the Skiing or Snowboarding skill (SE)

Must enter the Manuel Laborer job as a teenager and stay in that job

Once your able to create Snowboarding videos, you must make your money off of your videos only

Reach at least Rising Star of Celebrity level (GF)

B-Lister is preferred but since getting fame with Get Famous is hard as it is Rising Star is ok

Must move to Mt. Komorebi (SE)

Gen 12: Dark Academia

(requires Get to Work, Nifty Knitting) Your mother/father/parent was one of the most famous skier/snowboarders in Mt. Komorebi. She/He/They always encouraged you to spend your time outdoors and take in the fresh air. Yet, you preferred to spend your time indoors, curled up in bed with your tea and book in hand. You craved to enter the fictional worlds you’ve read in your books from a young age. When you entered high school, you found your love for the arts and decided that you’d become an artist. At least then you could bring the worlds you’ve read to life on a canvas! And why not have a little snack while we’re at it? You can just learn some new foods you can make through cooking books after all!

Traits: Bookworm, Creative, Art Lover

Aspiration: Painter Extraordinaire

Career: Stay-at-Home Painter, Painter career (⚠️Only if you get offered the job⚠️)

Rules:

Must complete the Painter Extraordinaire aspiration

Must max out Painting skill, Cooking or Gourmet Cooking skill and Photography skill (GTW)

Must make your money through your paintings only

if you get a call about joining the Painter career, you must accept

Must move into a “rundown” lot/apartment with only a kitchen, bathroom, and a bed (and maybe your books if you want but you can’t sell these for money)

your funds when you move out after moving into your house must be $60

(this will be enough for your painting and some extra money to spend elsewhere)

Must have a library in your house

Must have 3 kids (biological or adopted)

spouse must be employed as a Salaryperson and/or Business career (recommended if it’s game generated but you can give them either job yourself)

can only marry partner towards the end of adulthood

Must purchase Knitting Skill Book 1 from bookshelf (NK)

Gen 13: Pastel

(requires Nifty Knitting, Get To Work, Get Together) Your family was pretty stable for the most part. Sure, you may have had trouble paying the bills here and there but what mattered most is that your family was together. Even though you enjoyed your mother/father/parent’s love for Forrest Green, Rosy Brown and overall Earthy tones you felt like you needed a bit more color in your life. And by color, you mean bright and colorful. One day while going through your mother/father/parent’s library you discovered a book on knitting. Figuring your mother/father/parent spent all of their time cooking and painting anyways you decided to take the book and learn how to knit. Yet, knitting cute decor and beanies isn’t going to put food on the table and a roof over your head. Guess running your own business is going to have to wait. Oh yeah, you also have a weird obsession with the letter B...

Traits: Perfectionist, Cheerful, Childish

Aspiration: Lady/Lord of the Knits

Career: Barista (teen), Business (young adult), Business owner (adult)

Rules:

Must complete the Lady/Lord of the Knits aspiration

Must max out Knitting skill, reach required skills needed for jobs before quitting them (ex. If you need Level 3 of Charisma for the Business career but you’ve age up to an Adult, you must reach level 3 before quitting the job)

Must Donate to Charity at least once a week

Quit your career in Business and open your own business as an adult (GTW)

Must get 2/5 stars for your business

Must live in Windenburg and have your business in the Old Platz neighborhood (GT)

Must create a Knitting Club and meet your friends (GT) when you reach Level 3 of the Knitting skill

Can only have relationships with immediate family (siblings, parent(s), grandparent(s), aunts/uncles) until you create the club. Once you create the club you may make friends.

Must become good friends with club members and best friends with one of the members

Marry your partner from the Knitting Club

Must have their first and/or last name start with B (you can cheat the name if you want)

Gen 14: White (Requires Get Famous, Get Together, City Living) Living in Windenburg for most of your life, you always loved how the town was so inclusive to everything and everyone. You always found yourself vibing with the music and dancing whenever you had the chance. But you also had a passion for music, specifically rap. While browsing the internet one day you came across some videos about some kid with blue hair rapping with his friends and you immediately became obsessed. (yes, I just made a FNF reference) From that day on, you wanted to become a Triple Threat: a dancer, musician, and a producer! The world isn’t stopping anytime soon so you gotta act fast and get your dance on!

Traits: Dance Machine, Music Lover, Geek

Aspiration: Musical Genius

Career: Entertainer Rules:

Must max the Dancing skill, Media Production skill, and Guitar/Violin/Piano skill (your choosing) reach level 6 of Singing skill

Must complete the Entertainer career

Must be signed to a Record Label and release your music (GF)

Must marry someone named Keith and has the Proper trait (you may cheat the name only)

Have a boyfriend/girlfriend/partner in high school but break up with them before becoming a Young Adult

must be Hot and Cold with High School love (negative friendship, positive romance)

Have Dance Battles with your friends at least once a week

Have at least 2 Enemies (you can have more if you wish) (this doesn’t include your High School love)

Gen 15: Navy Blue

(Requires Discover University, Eco Lifestyle, Parenthood) Growing up you tend to lean towards a more sophisticated lifestyle thanks to your father. With having good role models around you and supportive parents, you were able to pursue your dreams of becoming a lawyer. Helping those in need was one of your biggest goals in life. The world right now isn’t perfect and you strive to change the world for the better. Having been the smartest kid throughout your school career, you were given the chance to jump straight into the Law career. Although you were grateful for the opportunity, you decided to continue your studies and learn as much as you could before going into Law.

Traits: Proper, Ambitious, Genius

Aspiration: Academic

Career: Law

Rules:

Must complete the Law career

Become a Private Attorney

Must max out Research and Debate, reach level 5 Logic skill, reach level 8 Charisma skill

Must complete the Whiz Kid aspiration and Academic aspiration

Must attend college for the Law career (you may disable aging while you go to college if you want)

Must get an A in school (child and teen)

Must have the Responsible and Mediator Character Value traits

Must make your neighborhood a Green neighborhood (EL)

Attend volunteer events at least once a week (PH)

Never get married, only have 1 child

(can have boyfriend/girlfriend/partner)

Must move to Britechester when you start the Law career (you can live in Britechester while attending college if you want)

Gen 16: Phoenix

(Requires Vampire) You grew up wanting more from the world besides all of the “change the world” stuff your mother/father/parent kept blabbering on about. Instead of changing the world, you wanted a change of scenery. While roaming the world trying to find your new normal you discovered the world of Forgotten Hollow. There, you met your soulmate and later the person who would eventually turn you into a vampire. As crazy as it sounds, the minute you became a Young Adult you up and left your home in Britechester and moved to Forgotten Hollow. This you thought was it! You were finally free to be yourself! Until the dreaded accident.....

Traits: Loves the Outdoors, Romantic, Erratic

Aspiration: Master Vampire

Career: none

Rules:

Must purposely burn in the sun and die

Must have no kids

Must complete Master Vampire aspiration except the, “Survive for an Additional 20 Days as a Vampire” section (you must Die by Sunlight before this reaches the full 20 Days)

Must max Vampire Lore skill and Pipe Organ skill, reach level 5 Gardening skill

Have your own garden in Forgotten Hollow and make your money through your garden only

Must unlock the Thin Skinned weakness from Vampire levels

Must immediately move out as a Young Adult to Forgotten Hollow

your partner must be a Vampire and turn you into a Vampire

And that’s it! I hope you find this as interesting as I did! :D

If your wanting more ways to spice up your gameplay, I have a save file that i’ve been working on the past couple of years! You can find it here.

#nsbe #not so berry #not so berry extended #thesims4 #the sims 4 #sims4challenges #sims4challenge #sims 4 challenge #sims 4 challenges #nsb #ts4 #misc.#miraculousgemscc

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hopevalley · 4 years ago

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Season 8, Episode 5: What the Heart Wants

I was going to try to follow my scene-by-scene format for the entire season, but I’ve been getting a lot of migraines recently, presumably from staring at the computer too long, so I don’t want to spend all morning working on typing up the play-by-play for this episode.

Also, for what it’s worth I think this episode lends itself to plot discussion better than some of the previous episodes...at least in some sense.

And as another head’s up, it’s back to being critical for me. ;P

Storylines:

School Ends/Graduation/Parent-Teacher Conferences

The Dress Shop/Rachel

Postal Service, Ned

Bill’s Uniform, Nathan’s Vacation

Carson and Faith

Henry

Elizabeth and Lucas

Clara’s Dilemma

School Ends/Graduation/Parent-Teacher Conferences

This plot felt a little scattered, but for once it wasn’t the kind of storyline they foisted too much drama upon. After years of every single function possible being besieged by bullshittery, it’s a relief to see one go off without a real hitch.

The beginning scene with Robert hugging Elizabeth was sweet. I enjoyed the Canfields immensely and am intrigued by Angela’s role in the story long-term (PLEASE let her befriend Allie!). Nathan...eh, I have thoughts—but I’ll talk about that a bit soon. The actual ceremony was cute and kind of fun with the kids singing.

Neat Thing I Noticed:

Continuity? Cat Montgomery is still listed as Emily’s mother. ♥♥♥ I don’t know why but this made me really happy???

Complaint Corner:

Parent-teacher conferences should have been in this show from a much earlier point, and so should graduation have been. If there was a point to this celebration (the first year in a while anyone was old enough to graduate) that would have been a nice touch, too. It just managed to feel sliiiightly out of place.

I’ll forgive the “everyone in town goes to the graduation” thing because this is 1918...something like this would be a whole-town affair IMO. Invite everyone and have a nice get-together/party, probably on a Sunday afternoon after church but Hope Valley does whatever it wants, so...eh.

The threat of merging Hope Valley with other schools doesn’t fit in this scenario and it feels like they ripped it directly out of Tales from Avonlea which was almost rage-inducing to me.

Look, school mergers happened a lot in the early 1900s, especially around the WWI mark, but it wouldn’t be hitting a rural western town just yet. They don’t have any way of getting these kids to other towns for schooling. Where would the next closest school be? It would have to be pretty large and modern to merge multiple schools together.

*Adjusts nerd glasses* This felt forced and completely unnecessary. If anything this guy could be telling Elizabeth that they’re working on building a modern school somewhat close by, and could even have her involved in some decision-making regarding layout. Then they could bring in a “merger” storyline next season without it feeling out of place.

It mostly just felt dramatic for the hell of it, and it was boring, as was this man’s threat that Elizabeth had no right to teach a blind student. As if they’d accept Angela at a better school? As if her parents could afford top tier education for her? PLEASE.

Now it’s time for Nathan. The man chose to go fishing instead of to the parent-teacher conference? It makes him look like a tool. This isn’t about him or about Elizabeth; it’s about Allie. I understand why he didn’t want to go, but he should have done it anyway. It would have taken five minutes of his time.

His flippant attitude annoyed me because it went completely against his character as we know it, but Elizabeth’s lecturing was irritating, too. For a moment I thought we had Lorigail back on the show...

I think Elizabeth was well within her rights to warn Nathan about the effect his work has on his ward, but that inquiry took like a week AT MOST. Heck, let’s be generous and say TWO WEEKS. Allie’s concentration suffered for two weeks. There was no need to say more than, “Hey she worries about you and her work suffered for a bit during that time frame, just so you’re aware.”

I think what annoyed me about the math program thing is that...Elizabeth being a teacher would probably be VERY WELL AWARE that MOST of the parents to her students aren’t good enough at schooling to assist their kids with their homework. I dunno, it just feels out of place for her to tell Nathan that she wants to put Allie in an accelerated “program” and that Allie might need his help with her homework. It’s even more out of place when he admits he used to bribe his sister to do his work for him. Like. It’s very possible he’s not that good at math and isn’t capable of helping. (But maybe that will be a plot down the road...?)

“Or a tutor...” BITCH WHERE IS HE GONNA FIND A TUTOR IN THIS TOWN?! It’s super annoying to see dialogue like this that feels completely out of touch with the reality these people would be living in...lol. But also if she needs a tutor to stay caught up in an advanced program, she probably...shouldn’t be in the advanced program.

I don’t know how to feel about this whole thing here: “Nathan, you are Allie’s world. You’re the only father she’s ever known, and as she grows up you will always be the measure of the quality she’ll look for in a man as she chooses who to marry.”

On one hand, it does fit the situation (he seems to think everything is behind him but Elizabeth’s words are kind of a caution that 1) his actions still have an effect on Allie, and 2) every day he’s teaching her by example). On the other hand, it seems almost wildly inappropriate to bring up? At the same time, it’s probably not wrong that Allie will measure other men (friends, acquaintances, potential future romantic interests) against Nathan’s example.

I dunno. The conversation felt disjointed.

I think what they were going for was Nathan just feeling too awkward and weird about being with Elizabeth to want to be there for the conference, but...he interacted with her quite normally after the inquiry and stuff (even after she’d broken things off with him), so...it feels out of place. Like maybe this should have taken place right after the breakup and not weeks later?

Anyone else have thoughts on this and why it doesn’t feel quite right?

The Dress Shop/Rachel

This plot wasn’t what I would call a waste of time (rather, it’s worth having it mentioned now), but part of it was completely pointless and stupid. The whole Rachel getting lost thing was tacked into the promos to stir up drama, but nothing happened and there was nothing worrisome even going on. YAWN.

Rosemary’s desire to do something meaningful and different with her life is super interesting. I’m very curious to see what they decide to do with her if Dottie does sell the dress shop.

Also, Rosemary finding the book under Rachel’s bed was pretty funny.

But yeah, I didn’t really find much in this plotline to care deeply about. I guess I am pretty interested in knowing who might be purchasing the dress shop and/or if this decision is to bring someone else onto the show (a female love interest for the man who doesn’t win Elizabeth’s heart in the end, or even to bring back an old character*) or to take the dress shop out of the equation entirely... It’s also just as possible that Rosemary/Lee or Clara/Jesse end up buying it themselves down the line... Thoughts?

*I can’t begin to imagine who would be the best fit for this in this case, though. Who would have the money to buy her out?

Postal Service, Ned

Ned is just honestly so cute and fun. I love him. He’s really been doing well this season and seeing him wander around town delivering mail door to door was kind of nice.

Also, he’s one SMOOTH operator! Look at him, talking about putting a bell on the door so that he and Florence won’t be caught off-guard if they’re in the middle of...something.

Oh my, Ned. What might customers be...interrupting? :3

Continuity? Not only was the ulcer from last season brought up, but the horrid cabbage juice was, too. :’) It was a nice touch. And these two had just enough screentime to be kind of fun/interesting without also taking up too much time.

Bill’s Uniform, Nathan’s Vacation

Nathan got his vacation and Bill is in charge...again. This happens an awful lot. I wonder if it’ll actually impact the next few episodes or if it’s just here for the hell of it.

I love Bill a lot and I want to brag up his character in this episode a bit. I’ve complained many times in the past about him being written like a Grumpy Old Man Yelling at Clouds but this episode was super respectful. He got his scene with his uniform. Nobody interrupted it. There weren’t even any words. I quite liked it.

But it also felt kind of...pointless? I don’t want to judge it too harshly yet. Like the dress shop plotline, this could actually be going somewhere in the next couple of episodes.

Plus, unrelated to the uniform, it was nice to see Bill acting fatherly toward Clara. While it sort of came out of nowhere for the wedding, I appreciate the attempt at continuity there. Plus, so far this season, I’ve felt like Bill’s almost been a father-figure to Clara, Fiona, and even Nathan, so I’m enjoying that a lot.

Carson and Faith

CONTINUITY? The show finally remembered that not only is Carson actually a surgeon, but that was his original passion. It’s not that they completely forgot (S5 had him performing surgery on his sister-in-law, after all), but giving Carson a PASSION makes him a way more interesting character to me.

And also, finally, this feels like a REAL high-stakes plotline for him and for Faith.

I really liked Faith’s take on things. I know, I know, I’ve been rooting at them to break up, but the reason is mostly because they’re just so BORING together. I’d rather watch Henry twirl around in a chair for an hour than suffer through date scenes with these two.

It’s not that I’m against a doctor wife/husband team. I’m not. I just think Faith was a much more interesting and cool character on the show before Carson showed up and usurped her place (and completely overshadowed her for literal seasons). This plotline for Carson might actually be interesting. Like, a fellowship? For modern surgery? IN BALTIMORE?!

I hope this is Faith’s way of saying she wants a break and/or a break would be good for them. I can’t picture her leaving Hope Valley without any trained medical staff, let alone long enough for a fellowship...

But if this goes through, what will they do with it? Would they really write Carson off the show? To be perfectly honest with y’all, I’d be fine with that. At least it’s the type of write-off that makes a lot of good sense (unlike some of the other ones we got). I guess this is just another “wait and see” plotline which is uhh...the theme of this episode, huh? Anyone have thoughts on this?

Henry

Henry barely had any screentime, but I do want to say he is #relateable. The man is back at work for ten seconds and already exhausted. SAME.

Also, I appreciate that he’s ready to be back in the oil business. At what cost? I know people were worried they were gonna kill him off, and I really doubted it, but now I’m starting to wonder where they’re going with this exactly. Yet another wait and see moment LOL!

Elizabeth and Lucas

Some damn fine scenes for Lucas and Elizabeth in this episode. Mostly the scenic ones. :P

I enjoyed the agreement to a date. The horseback riding stuff was pretty cute.

Complaint corner? I don’t know. I have petty complaints. Even though the celebration for the kids was a town-wide event, and therefore Lucas was invited, it still felt out of place to see it brought up. Maybe it should have been mentioned as a town celebration from the start?

Then Lucas’s comment about not wanting to make things awkward for Nathan (who is actually a parent and there) makes a liiiittle more sense. I do think it was good of him to not go, even though he wanted to spend more time with Elizabeth, but it gave off a weird vibe, like, “Look at how good and wholesome Lucas is!” Is that intentional? I’m not...sure...?

For what it’s worth I already felt like Lucas was an honorable person in this regard. He loaned Nathan money, after all. Maybe he should have told Elizabeth he views Nathan as a friend and doesn’t want to hurt his feelings unnecessarily and/or if he was there he’d want to hog her all to himself or something cheesy. Hm.

My other complaints are:

Elizabeth running to the saloon would be WAY faster than all this getting set up at her house...?? Who thought this made sense?

Elizabeth’s dress looked like a nightie she bought at Kohls.

Too many damn candles.

Characters Do What Plot Dictates Even Though Plot Makes No Sense. More at 11:00!!

I have no further comments on the dress. It needed sleeves or something so it looked more like a dress and not like a nightgown/piece of lingerie.

I think the candles might have been on purpose to parallel Jack...but I hated it lol. Fire hazard? HAVEN’T ENOUGH THINGS IN TOWN BURNED DOWN/EXPLODED?!

I didn’t hate the date scene! But I never feel like Elizabeth has any meaningful conversations with Lucas and it’s starting to drive me batty.

Could we get uhhh something of substance please? It has to be surface-level nonsense on purpose. Right? RIGHT?

(And no, discussing a book for ten seconds on-screen is not “intelligent conversation” okay...?)

It’s really a shame because I’m starting to actually warm up to Lucas a little bit in this season but it feels like the conversations are just...kind of stilted and she’s not really into dating him—just agreeing to it because he’s the only option.

And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but...he deserves better than that.

Don’t get me wrong, by the way. If it’s part of the story and it’s revealed as such down the road, I’ll be fine with it...but I always worry they’ll just skip important relationship milestones and/or important conversations and expect us all to just accept it.

Kiiiiiind of looking forward to the rainy date scene in the next episode, though. I’m Team Nathan mostly but I’m keeping an open mind and I think I might actually enjoy it. Hopefully they’ll get some good scenes together that don’t feel like this one did.

Clara's Dilemma

Clara’s fears about running the salon without Fiona...are legit. LOL.

Also, this little bit was funny (between Mike and Jesse and Bill):

Anyway, if Clara was that worried about it, she should have just...told Fiona no? I hope it comes up down the road. Poor Molly??

I genuinely don’t know how I feel about Clara and Jesse’s involvement in this episode. I guess it was okay. I liked Clara’s scenes with Bill. I thought the idea of Clara and Jesse buying into the cafe was a nice one. Jesse having “invested” their money and lost it all, though... They did a similar plot with other people in what...Season 5 was it? Or was that the start of S6? He didn’t even say what he invested it in? But he admits the money is all gone?

I think that’s what was missing from that scene. “I invested it in X, hoping to make us more money, but it didn’t work out and we lost everything.”

I’m not going to criticize Jesse’s characterization, only because sometimes character "growth” doesn’t happen for the better of anyone involved. My biggest worry here is that it’ll be solved by the end of next episode....but I hope that’s not it.

Like, I think they did better with Frank and Abigail if we’re going to talk about a man who didn’t know how to live like he was in a committed relationship. It made more sense with Frank, too, being older and single most of his life. His bouts of selfishness felt realistic.

Jesse feels like he’s somehow getting worse and worse as a person as the show goes on. I’m kind of at a point where I hope he and Clara divorce, because he’s so damn selfish it’s embarrassing. He’s off having a beer while his wife works multiple jobs? And then he has the audacity to act like they should save money when he just blew all their savings?

I’m sure it’ll work out fine but I hope Clara puts herself in charge of the finances at the very least.

As to investing failures, I liked how they did that with Henry and Abigail. That was the kind of tension and worry that felt natural to me—like she trusted him with her money after he’d proven himself untrustworthy ten million times throughout the years, and he failed and had to uhh admit that.

Jesse straight up betrayed Clara. Which, if it’s dealt with in a satisfying way...I think can be a good plotline. I just worry about it actually being dealt with properly. That’s a huge stumbling block in a relationship. And why is he continually getting worse as a person? There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it.

Gasp... it’s almost like it’s just plot because they feel like they have to give someone something every damn episode.

Which brings me to THE FINAL

COMPLAINT CORNER (The Big Boy™ Complaints)

The show has really struggled with finding its footing. I wish they’d take notes from better shows with ensemble casts (cough cough Road to Avonlea cough) without also ripping off their storylines (cough school merges cough).

My #1 complaint at this point in Season 8 is the SHEER AMOUNT OF THINGS GOING ON EVERY EPISODE.

I want continuity, so I want to see things happen naturally over a season, but my God do we not need to have mindless pointless crap in the episode. Rachel getting “lost” for ten seconds wasted literal MINUTES of screen time that would have been MUCH better allocated to basically anyone else in this episode.

And I don’t think it would bother me so much if it wasn’t also shoved into the promo like it was supposed to matter. It didn’t matter. Nobody cares. Why was it allowed to stay in the episode alongside stuff like Clara and Bill’s conversation?

Or Lucas and Carson’s?

I think they want to appease all the fans in every episode by giving them scenes of their favorites, but what did Henry sitting in his chair accomplish in this episode? Rachel getting lost? Jack not sleeping well/missing his mom? The school superintendent?

Did Bill trying on his uniform have to be in this episode? Did Jesse and Clara’s problems have to come fully to light right now?

When every episode is formatted like this, with 10 plotlines all interconnected slightly and going on at the same time, I feel like...nobody gets the spotlight they deserve when they deserve it.

I cANNOT believe I’m saying this, but this plotline for Carson, especially if it will end with him leaving the show for a while or permanently should get the focus it deserves. But it won’t if we get tiny snips of it here and there and then BOOM decision made because Reasons.

And again, I know I’ve said before that I want more continuity throughout the season, but... the best way to do that is to tighten up the plots. Have fewer of them per season and give more screentime to the ones you choose to pursue.

Anyway, I’m still enjoying the season, but I hope they keep some of this kind of stuff in mind for next season. They don’t need plotlines for everyone in every episode. They need the plotlines they choose to write to be worth their screentime.

Sorry this was sloppily written and all that. Hopefully it makes sense. Very curious to see y’alls thoughts. Feel free to make your own posts and @ me, or reblog this or comment!

#when calls the heart #long post #season 8 spoilers #season 8 shenanigans #analysis and meta discussion #character studies and information

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authorlaurawinter · 4 years ago

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Hey there! First time actually doing a public ask *whoop whoop*. So as you already know, I recently got a short story published by an online literary magazine. Obviously, this means I got it traditionallily published, but I know that people self publish their short fiction as well (including you). That made me curious about the self publishing process for short fiction, so I was hoping you could talk answer a few questions about it. How does publishing your short fiction differ from your novel-length work? What’s the difference in marketing? Do you bundle your stories in collections or just sell them on their own?

Yay! Love these things. Let's have a go at this - keep in mind, this is all my personal experience/strategy. It works differently for everyone and I've learned from others and pulled from many others. Also keep in mind that I publish exclusively through Amazon (thus, I take advantage of Kindle Unlimited). These price points and discussions are all about ebooks. Print pricing varies drastically and I won't go into the nitpicks of formatting and such for pricing, especially if we're talking about short stories (there is a minimum page number for Amazon to publish a paperback, so short stories are usually not included here unless in a collection).

1. The difference between self-publishing shorter fiction versus novels

Short answer: price and genre. Shorter works are reflected in the $0.99-2.99 range (lower price for romance, higher price for high fantasy). Full length novels range $3.99+ (though I stick to my guns with $4.99, explanation to follow)

Long answer: There is no difference in how the story is published. No matter the length, you still need a title, a cover, a blurb, and a place to purchase the story.

Price reflects length of the story. It's incredibly common in the self-publishing world that shorter stories are priced lower. I have three short stories that are listed at $0.99. Those range from 6K-15K words and are each standalones - they have no greater purpose outside the single story. I have also published a serial (10 stories that range from 15-30K each). Because those are part of a series and are very intricate, I price those at $2.99 each. Finally, my novel works are listed at $4.99, regardless of genre. The lowest word count is 70K and the highest is 120K (and each are relevant lengths for the genre they are involved in).

I value my work, which is why my novels sit at $4.99. Were I publishing a longer book, I would consider what other books in my genre are pricing for similar length.

(read the other two answers below)

2. How marketing is different between shorter and longer fiction

A challenging question to answer because it varies by genre. In short, the only difference in marketing for me is the audience I target. My shorter works are romance, and thus I target romance readers. My novel-length works are YA fantasy / magical realism, so I target that audience specifically. My serialized story is high fantasy and thus I focus on that audience.

The other important detail is that I am very clear what the length of each story is - through blurbs, marketing, and price. Price being the most critical. I have set the expectation with my readers that certain price points reflect the length of the story. They will not pay $4.99 for a story that takes them twenty minutes to read and then be pissed. Whether you choose to clarify the stories as episodes, shorts, or full-length via subheadings is up to you, it's critical to try your hardest to convey the length beforehand.

While I have many notes surrounding my work about the specific lengths of each book, and I clearly specify the length in some way on the purchase page, I sometimes receive reviews that someone expected a full-length novel and didn't get it. These people will always exist, but you have to let those negative reviews roll off your back if you've done everything in your power to specify. That is out of your control.

3. Bundling stories in collections

Ah, the age-old conversation about cannibalizing your sales.

Let me clarify. I publish all of my short stories and episodes as individual books. My romance shorts remain as standalones and will not be grouped in collections.

My episodic series, however, has three separate collections for the ten episodes. The decision to publish them as collections comes because the individual stories are too short to publish as paperbacks (and I have an audience that demands paperbacks *cough cough, my mother* (but also others)). Therefore, I publish paperback collections that come out much later than the stories are released.

Why? Cannibalizing your series.

If people are still purchasing and reading your individual books, let them continue! By releasing a collection, those individual books are essentially eliminated because people would rather buy the collection rather than spend money on three different books. The rule of thumb that many follow is to release a grouping of stories after you've seen a dramatic decrease in the downloads/purchases of the individual books. That can be after months or years. It all varies. Just understand that when you go for a collection after you've had the individual stories out, you're cutting into your profit.

Collections, not individual stories

There's also the option of collecting a few stories that are related to each other (by genre, topic, etc.). The idea is that if you publish it as a collection rather than individual stories, you can charge more for the 'book' of them. People think "oh, I get four stories for the price of one book", or something similar. It reduces the marketing, plus reduces any fees you might have for cover design and other self-publishing costs that you might be outsourcing. It's an incredible option if you have a few stories that are related but not entirely long enough to justify publishing as several different individual options.

I hope that helps! Keep in mind, this is my own take on the questions. There are other self-published authors who will do things differently. Take what works for you and mold it into something that fits the business model you're going for.

I'm a full time author. I do all of my own marketing, editing, design, and grunt work. I don't outsource anything, which means I have the time and skills to do all of this. I make the business decisions as a self-published author. I also come from a history of marketing experience, two advanced degrees, and a desire to learn and develop my skills. I say this, not to brag, but to say that it's a tough road to do all of this yourself. It's not all writing when you choose the self-publishing route.

It's rewarding - it's the best thing in the world, actually - but I choose to do all the things because I've learned to love all the things.

#writeblr #self publishing #writing advice #thanks for the ask!

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jafreitag · 4 years ago

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Grateful Dead Monthly: Gaelic Park – New York, NY 8/26/71

Fifty years ago today, on Thursday, August 26, 1971, the Grateful Dead played a concert at Gaelic Park in New York City.

Gaelic Park is located at West 240th Street and Broadway, five miles north and east of Yankee Stadium, in the Bronx. In 1926, the Gaelic Athletic Association purchased it to host the Gaelic Games. What are Gaelic Games? I’m a sliver Irish (just learned that a few years ago from a cousin who did some DNA stuff), but I didn’t know about such games until I asked the Google machine. Here you go, from the Wiki:

“Gaelic games (Irish: Cluichí Gaelacha) are sports played in Ireland under the auspices of the Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA). They include Gaelic football, hurling, Gaelic handball and rounders. Women’s versions of hurling and football are also played: camogie, organised by the Camogie Association of Ireland, and ladies’ Gaelic football, organised by the Ladies’ Gaelic Football Association. While women’s versions are not organised by the GAA (with the exception of handball, where men’s and women’s handball competitions are both organised by the GAA Handball organisation), they are closely associated with it.”

Some to unpack there. What’s Gaelic football? It’s basically rugby. (The rules are probably way different, but this is a music blog, so don’t judge.) And hurling? Rugby with a small ball and sticks that look like sporty pizza paddles. (Again, don’t judge.) Gaelic handball? Racquetball, except you use your hands and you’re outside, not in some bougie health club from the ’80s. Finally, rounders? It’s actually alot like baseball. Pretty cool.

Why were the Dead there? A 9/2/71 piece in the Village Voice by Carman Moore, now archived on the Grateful Dead Sources blog, said that Gotham promoter Howard Stein, a Bill Graham competitor who booked the Dead to play at the Cap Theater in Port Chester, NY and the Academy of Music in NYC, had turned “the drab little Riverdale soccer field … into a summer rock mini-festival.” (Check out the poster above.) Moore’s writing has an early-70s sizzle, and he refers to his colleague, now-legendary rock scribe Robert Christgau. Here’s an excerpt:

“Last week’s Grateful Dead concert up at Gaelic Park was a usual Dead session, meaning that the band-to-fan-to-band electro-chemical process for which rock music is famed was on like high mass at Easter. Although I think I know most of the time what they are doing musically (Christgau will like this notion); I don’t quite understand them electro-chemically. Like the New York Knicks of two seasons ago, they can do excellent things together though they are not a group of deathless superstars. Garcia gets his songs across, but he can’t sing, and Bob Weir’s voice rises to about average…maybe better when he gets to screaming and the music sweeps him along. I still find it difficult to recognize the Dead songs that aren’t “Truckin'” or “St. Stephen” one from the other. I am not one of their fans, but seem to be one of their admirers. Their music speaks in a special language to their live listeners, and that language has the vocabulary of everybody else, but a convoluted syntax all its own. The note sequences are not completely dependent upon musical factors but are also dictated by how involved the band feels and also upon what kind of heat the audience is giving off. I’m trying to get to some essences of this thing.

The drama of a Dead concert revolves around the fact that wherever the band plays they know that a certain number (several tons) of their partisans will be there and that their crowd knows the Dead potential to excite them, but they also know that the Dead may not get into gear until the crowd begins to apply some heat, and so forth. Both parties also know that the concert will be long enough and informal enough for anything to happen on either side of the footlights, and so audiences improvise (smoke, go to the hot dog stand, kiss and snuggle, cheer, dance, listen like star-struck fools) just like their musician friends on stage (who play light and funny for awhile, retire backstage awhile, stand around, or get lost in a piece and turn on the heavy jets). Like good lovers, the Grateful Dead know the secrets of good foreplay, taking your time, surprising the partner for awhile, and then just reacting for a spell.”

The timing of the show seems odd. The band was on the East Coast in July, but began August back in Cali – LA, SD, Berkeley – before a three-night run at Chicago’s historic Auditorium Theater. Then they trekked back to NYC. Our resident Deaditor ECM explains that aspect: “This show was supposed to be played the day before the Yale Bowl concert on July 30, but some issues with the equipment trucks and/or weather prevented it from happening from the scheduled date. There are a few stories on the web about people who didn’t get the message (no twitter back then!) and dropped some acid only to show up to an empty stadium. Haha!”

Moore said that the show reminded him of “a high school stadium I used to know – low stands, unfulfilled infield grass, mud holes here and there, beer sold at one end in some quantity.” He continued:

“The formal shape of the concert was a general crescendo, light at the beginning and heavy-groovy at the end – not a shooting-star, call-the-law finale, just a heightened physical-emotional climate…the goods delivered as promised…sort of like good preaching in a church known to be a happy place. I did not enjoy their country-westernish opening tunes; maybe they didn’t either, because the pieces were awfully short. But by the three-quarter mark they had involved themselves, the crowd, and me too.

First they got the rhythm engaged and finally, courtesy of Jerry Garcia’s lead and interplays with Lesh and Weir, they went into the soloing and jamming which are the real magic music territory of this band. Much is made of the Dead soloists, but it became clear to me by last Thursday that bassist Phil Lesh plus those two drummers create the atmosphere that makes the Dead thing possible. The drummers were exceptionally understated, but Lesh kept bopping and thrumming away, heavily at all times, until his patterns were consistently getting the other players off. In the middle of “St. Stephen” there was a special coming together: Lesh had found a nice ambiguous but compelling set of licks; Garcia eased into a solo; Weir strummed a cross-time lick over all of it; it built; it quieted; Garcia started to play strange classical kind of lines; the drums dropped out; the audience got quiet; nothing at all could be predicted for a minute or so; then Lesh began to grope his way out with two chords and rhythms which began to regularize; audience began to jump and then to clap; guitars began to straighten out; the band came home to the cheers of the fans. Good music-making. The listener goes home without a little tune to whistle, but he hears music. As if they were finishing off some personal solos based over the last riffs heard, the fans went out of Gaelic Park without a thousand encores and without a lot of fuss on the streets outside.

It’s all very interesting, surprising, and I guess mystifying as before. All I know is that the Dead, or their fans, or the combination of both lure you into planning to return when they’re all assembled and back in town again.”

Apparently, there was some grief about bootlegs at this show. The GD Sources blog has a post that archives a 10/6/71 piece by the excellently-handled Basho Katzenjammer (Basho, the 17th Century Japanese haiku master; Katzenjammer, the German word for hangover) that gripes about an army of 200# “muscle freaks” at the direction of tour manager Sam Cutler liberating a handful of tapes from 100# weakling Johnny Lee. It’s a truly fun read. An excerpt:

“The biggest piece of shit spewing from Cutler’s mouth is about the reasons the Dead have for being so pissed off: they don’t like the quality (remember Garcia’s line in “I Got No Chance of Losin”? He says, “I’m only in it for the gold.” Yeah, music has a way of being more honest than the artist intends it to be at times…) The “quality”? Anyone who has bought a bootleg recently will know and agree that the bootleg stereo album called “Grateful Dead” is one of the best underground products yet. The tape was taken from a concert the group did at Winterland, on the coast a few months back. Yeah, Garcia fucks up a bit on “Casey Jones,” and Pigpen’s ego may have been deflated a bit by his voice coming over poorly on “Good Loving” but that was a concert. You do a concert and you stand by your performance, good or bad. That’s show business.

This effete artistic bullshit doesn’t matter anyway … When you’re out to get all the money you can out of your gigs, like the Dead seem to be (like all the groups seem to be) you might be accused of being a bit piggish; when you use strong-arm shit to insure that you get every last penny that you deserve — by making Amerikan standards — you are a Pig. Jerry Garcia, is that you?

Nobody buys that anti-bootleg shit about the artistic integrity of the artist in saying what goes out. One, you stand by your performance; two, even if you don’t want to, Jerry, somewhat, and say “all your private property is fair game for your brothers (especially when they sell records of concerts that don’t compete with coming releases) and your brother (who’s gonna continue to dig you as we live off your comets we’re gonna keep ripping you off because it is possible. As simple as that.” If you and Cutler and Stein continue your shit, though, we’ll just have to sing the song the same old way, you guys being put in the position of being the same old reactionary establishment that we’re all ripping off. It’s all around. You break your back playing gigs for ten years and suddenly success is staring you in the face. Bread: lots and lots of bread. You turn your back on your poor, ripping ’em off roots and start to tighten up. You’re in the biggest rip-off industry around, but no one cares as long as they’re having fun.

Money. That’s the whole story, isn’t it? If these were other times, in another land under a different set of rules maybe you could justifiably complain about the people who want to give your recorded performances out free because you didn’t screen them and pick out the sections you didn’t like and do them over for the cat, ’cause no one charges for their music, and because the means of production belong to the people, and they can turn out all the good sounds they can, and you have a natural right to screen all releases. But we’re here. Now. You guys are making millions — or soon will be. Money is power, especially as the concept of money is crumbling nation-wide and power freaks like Stein are cornering the market on it. The channels that the green-power the Dead bring in travel aren’t the healthiest for the generations of revolution to come. Stein is one of these hopeful images of a freak with a chance to change things positively gone sour, who uses all his power to consolidate his power; who’ll go to any extremes to insure the natural expansion of that power. Fuck him. Fuck you.”

Speak, Basho! Quaint that the beef about bootlegs back then was sound quality, rather than copyright. Stuff got figured out at some point, I think. Like when Bobby shut down the LMA, lmao.

Ed featured part of this show in the 2016 edition of his epcot 31 Days of Dead project. Here are his listening notes, which are typically spot-on (and better than than the not-quite-on-the-bus commentary from Mr. Moore):

“Less than three weeks after Pigpen’s definitive performance of Hard To Handle at the Hollywood Palladium (8/6/71), the Grateful Dead play the final date of their summer tour in 1971 at Gaelic Park in the Bronx. It will be Pig’s last show until December and the last time the band will ever perform in their original quintet configuration of Jerry, Phil, Pig, Billy and Bobby. By September, Keith will be rehearsing with the band to assume a full-time role on the keys. Perhaps anticipating his absence, Pigpen leads the band through 6 of his songs including the rarely-played Empty Pages and the last Hard To Handle. It is also one of the last performances of Saint Stephen, until the band revived it in 1976 with a major facelift, never to be played the same way again. When you consider these historical milestones along with the departure of Mickey Hart and the closings of the legendary Fillmore East and West earlier in the year it makes you realize that this concert carried a little more weight than anyone could have ever foreseen at the time. It truly was the end of a chapter in the life of the Grateful Dead. As you listen to each song you can’t help but feel a certain degree of nostalgia.

For me, the hidden gem of the show is the outstanding version of Uncle Johns Band. Jerry’s first guitar solo is an absolute joy to hear. His notes sing with irresistible melody and happy sunshine which perfectly capture the nostalgia of those carefree early years. If you listen closely you can hear Pigpen playing the wood claves.”

Speaking of Pig, this show features the second and final performance of Empty Pages. The NYS Music blog, which has a nice write-up of this show, describes it as a McKernan original that “pairs his traditional crooning style with a slow blues jam that’s nicely peppered with fiery guitar licks from Garcia. It’s a true rarity and a shame that the band wouldn’t be able to further develop this one.”

youtube

I feel like this was a try-hard post. It might be tl;dr, idk. Here’s the true goodness…

Transport to the Charlie Miller remaster of the soundboard recording HERE.

More soon.

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#IFTTT #WordPress

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moody-bloosh · 5 years ago

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this is for @just-1margaret who won my giveaway last may! im so sorry it took me this long to get done but here is your la squadra wholesomeness on a day off at the beach ; )

The past few months have certainly been difficult to say the least. Being generally unappreciated at your insanely dangerous job, doing said difficult work with little pay, regardless, you supposed that it was good that the Consigliere finally realized that it might not be a good idea to alienate the branch of the Famiglia that literally kills people for money.

So it came to pass that on a certain fateful day, Risotto has you all gather together in the hideout. There’s a long tense silence as you all gather together. As always, Sorbet and Gelato are tangled on the couch together. Illuso pokes out of the mirror, a bored look in his eyes that quickly turns smug as soon as he catches you looking at him. Prosciutto looks disaffected as he lounges on the couch, smoking a cigar. Pesci tries to follow after his mentor’s calm demeanor but fails miserably, a sight to see considering he was sitting between Prosciutto and Formaggio who was lounging on the couch with an easy smile on his lips. Ghiaccio and Melone sit together, tapping on their computers, probably catching up on some last minute work, they whisper to each other about what they think is going on.

You sit beside them, chewing some gum, trying to look calm though your heart hammers in your chest. Why did Risotto call you all here, right now? Was there something wrong?

After a long moment, Risotto decides that you’ve all settled down and he brings out a manila folder. That simple action is enough to shatter the easy atmosphere.

“The Consigliere has sent something,” Risotto says grimly.

Everyone sits still with bated breath as Risotto opens the folder. He reads the contents of the letter inside of it for a long moment and then he pulls out what looks like a fan of tickets.

“They wish for us to rest,” he says with a strangely calm voice.

There’s another long moment of silence in the group that’s broken by Pesci.

“Do they mean for us to rest permanently or...?”

And then, it’s chaos.

“Are they serious?!”

“Who do they think we are?”

“What beach are we talking about?”

The question that spurs the rest of your squad into silence comes from Formaggio. There’s a lazy grin on his face as he looks over the indignant and shocked faces of the other members. There’s dead silence as your group turns to look at Risotto, who plops the sheaf of tickets to the group.

“Well…” Gelato hums, “about damn time I say.”

“What about the money?” Sorbet asks, “they gonna start paying us properly or are we still gonna get the scraps?”

For the first time in a long while, Risotto smiles, his dimples evident as he sets down the folder.

“How sure are we this isn’t a trap?” Ghiaccio hisses out, “they think they can just buy us out like this?”

“The Consigliere is a good man,” Prosciutto comments, his only word on the matter, “the only man with sense by the boss’s side, at least.”

“As promised then,” Risotto says, “we go on this trip, consider it … team building.”

That is your capo’s last words on the matter and thus, it allows your teammates to pass through the day with excited chattering, packing for the beach trip. As you settle down in your room to pack for the beach trip. You wonder if maybe this is a sign that things are starting to look up for your team.

All expenses have been shouldered by the Consigliere, who after his assignment from the boss has taken it upon himself to mend fences with your squad. It’s a rather surprising move on his part considering how the boss had openly neglected your squad. There’s still the undercurrent of distrust among some of the other members who still believe this trip to be a trap, at least until the Consigliere himself appears, greeting your group with a smile on his face.

The Consigliere is an old man, his hair in various shades of graying, his face lined with age. Beside him, a boy with pink hair and a strange sweater. He shakes your capo’s hands and after a little exchange of words, drives you up to the villa where your team will be staying at. He chatters pleasantly about his hopes for better relations with your gang, words that would ordinarily ring hollow for you but … for some reason bring you something akin to hope. It’s a feeling you haven’t felt in a while, but you’re glad for it.

On your group’s first outing to the beach, Risotto stays put, insisting for the rest of you to have fun. He dong a pair of black swimming trunks and a loose black polo that he keeps unbuttoned. he stays in the shade, reading some books and keeping his peculiar eyes hidden with a pair of shades. He’s the talk of the beach, you poke around, staying back with him for a while as you watch the other members of your gang play around the beach.

“I’ll be fine,” he assures you, “I’m not one to play in the water. You can have fun.”

He gives you a carefree smile as he nudges you along. Hesitantly, you do as he asks. Occassionally, Prosciutto will swap out with him so he can get himself some ice cream. He’s always stopped by women, asking for pictures of which he will politely decline. It’s not good for a hitman to have pictures taken after all. Sometimes, you do manage to catch him, comforting a lost child, directing them to the proper services.

Of all of you, Pesci has the most fun, he sits by the docks happily fishing with Beach Boy. You stop by for a minute, playing with the bait, watching him fish. He seems to have amassed a little ocean in his pail, along with some other fish in the cooler.

“You plan on fishing up the whole ocean, Pesci?” You tease good-naturedly.

“I’ll put them back,” he replies cheerfully, a boyish grin on his face as he continues fishing. “I just wanted to catch a few bigger ones, f-for dinner tonight, big bro said if I caught nice ones, he’d cut them up for dinner.”

You blink in surprise, “Prosciutto’s cooking dinner?”

“Yeah!”

You purse your lips as you watch the glittering waves, “he must be … in a really good mood, then.”

After you hang out with Pesci for a little while, you walk by the shore, noticing Ghiaccio who’s been building a sand castle. He grumbles as he builds and it’s only then that you notice a droopy part to the surprisingly well built sand sculpture. He notices you approach and as if to preemptively shut down any ideas you may have about knocking down his castle he growls at you.

“If you plan on ruining this castle any more than Illuso has, I swear to God, witnesses be damned, I’m going to kill you!”

You laugh at that, unable to help yourself. It was just … a little cute to see him, carefully poring over every little detail of his sand castle, his curls sticking everywhere.

“Chill,” you say, a little smirk on your face as the irony of your little joke is not lost on you, “I just wanted to ask if you need help.”

Taking a seat beside him and a safe distance away from his sand castle you are able to marvel at his work. You suppose that it would have been prettier had it not been destroyed on one side. But even so, it was gorgeous, it shocks you a little bit to see just how detailed Ghiaccio had managed to be. You couldn’t believe it was made of sand.

“You’re … weirdly good at stuff like this,” you praise.

Ghiaccio grumbles but you do see a light blush dusting his face, as always, he was terrible at receiving compliments. He never knew what to do when he got them. Even his ears started to turn a little bit red.

“I-if you want to help, just don’t get in my way,” he grumbles. “I don’t want you ruining anything.”

You pout as you continue to watch him build and then you stand up, “I’m kinda thirsty, want me to get you anything?”

Ghiaccio mulls it over for a moment, pausing as he rebuilds a turret, “soda sounds good.”

“Alright, I’ll get you one, anything else?” You pat the sand off yourself as you address him.

“No… Thanks, _____.”

You smile a little as you walk up to the nearby beachside store selling some cool treats. Yeah, today seemed like a really good day, you thought to yourself as you walked. On your way, you catch a glimpse of Formaggio and Melone trying to pick up some tourists. you cringe internally as you hear their attempts at flirting.

“Now, I’m not a photographer, sweetheart.” Formaggio croons, his voice smooth as butter and as sweet as honey. “But I can picture me and you together.”

“What’s your zodiac sign then?” Melone asks excitedly, getting too close in a tourist’s personal space, “come now, no need to be shy. I need to know! You have excellent hips, perfect for a mother to – hey! Why are you running?!”

Something akin to secondhand embarrassment blooms in the pit of your belly and you make your way to the store, trying to look as though you have no idea who Formaggio and Melone are. Thankfully, your gambit seems to work as you manage to get into the shop with not much difficulty and purchase the cold drinks. Though as you walk back to Ghiaccio, you wonder where Illuso might be. You hadn’t seen him all day after all.

Illuso spends the day in his mirror world, happily relaxing with no large crowds to be bothered about and no annoying teammates to pester him. It’s heaven, at least for him. And it’s the only place where Ghiaccio couldn’t try to kill him after he ruined his sandcastle. Illuso is smug as he relaxes. It was the perfect day to relax.

You have dinner on the beach as well, Prosciutto taking it upon himself to gut and grill the fish Pesci has caught. You find yourself enraptured as he prepares the food. Though upon seeing you gape at him, he quickly tasks you with preparing the food instead. You sit beside him, chopping up some veggies that he told you he was going to grill while Risotto returns after some time with Ghiaccio in tow, having managed to gather some firewood for a bonfire.

With your coaxing, and Risotto’s assurance that no blood would be shed, Illuso is quickly coaxed out of the mirror - finally able to join your group again for a pleasant dinner.

“You didn’t have to hide all day Lulu,” you teased, “I’d protect you.”

Illuso scoffed at that, flicking your forehead and grabbing some grilled fish. You smile warmly as you settle by your teammates. Sorbet and Gelato finally make their way back to your group - sure their hair is a little mussed up and you definitely notice some hickeys but you play dumb. With good food, refreshing drinks, and funny stories to exchange by the warm bonfire, you find yourself feeling something you haven’t felt in a long time since you’ve joined Passione.

Contentment. Completion...

Such cherishjed moments and days like these, you hoped they would continue.

#la squadra #fluff #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #vento aureo #golden wind

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buirbaby · 4 years ago

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The Wardens: Death Is A Cruel Mistress

Summary: Tabitha's time had run out on Earth, consumed by flames. When she wakes up in her new hell, she discovers that not only is it cold, but it's a hell of an entirely different meaning. She is in Westeros, with the knowledge to change the tides of future, but without the ability to speak it aloud. Tabitha must carve her path without fame, fortune, or noble titles in order to save characters from their deaths. All she has is a sword in her hand and the ability to warg.

Rating: M+ Mature themes, language, and violence

Masterlist | Next

The end of the work day was like any other. Tabitha was misting a few plants in the lowlight of the fading afternoon as evening encroached on her small storefront. Jingling jovially, the door tinkled open with just five minutes to spare on the clock before she'd lock it. Lifting her head, her fingers listed up toward her glasses to see who had entered. Originally, she had believed it to be a customer in search of a last minute plant or clippings she sometimes arranged into floral bouquets. However, rather than a customer, her stomach dropped to the floor at the cursed visage of a man in a finely pressed suit.

He wasn't there for a plant, she knew this. Just as she knew many others that had been harassing her and a few other remaining shops on Main Street. A new development wanted to take control of this block and turn it into an impressive condo complex on the rustic street that garnered attention from tourists and locals alike. Wiping her hands off on her apron, which was dusted with dirt and pearlite, Tabitha cleared her throat and approached. If he thought there'd be a mousy garden shop owner, he was sorely mistaken. Tabitha's family had own this storefront for generations and she wasn't about to hand it over, not when she'd fixed it up with her own blood, sweat, and tears. She was a successful business woman, the shop was in stellar condition and thriving despite the pause in society due to COVID.

"Can I help you?" she asked sharply, coming around the polished wooden counter to assert her place.

"Yes, is the owner or manager in?"

The fated question, one that made her blood boil each time the casual, yet scathing glance was set over her, as if a woman in her late twenties couldn't be said person. It happened yet again and Tabitha forced herself not to snort in indignation. "I am her," she replied evenly.

"Wonderful," the man drawled, withdrawing a manila folder from underneath his arm. "As you're likely aware, my company is purchasing property in the vicinity. There are a few stores, this one included, that are refusing to sell. I've come with an offer-" he opened the folder, images of the supposed development and work ushered beneath a contract and a hefty sum with quite a few zeroes.

"Then you would be aware that I, like the other few businesses, are still refusing to sell. Listen, this street prides itself on historical shops and architecture. I know that we're prime water view property, but I'm not selling, and I know for certain that my fellow business owners are just as adamant in our position. I don't need the money," Tabitha didn't touch the paper. He could have added more zeroes and she wouldn't have cared. This was principle, her family's lineage, and she wouldn't be a sell out.

"Please, these prices are negotiable. My company is really eager to develop here and keep to the charming architecture on the street. Won't you consider it? You could always reopen in a much larger shop down the road," the man suggested.

"It wouldn't be on Main Street," Tabitha pointed out. "Look, sir, I've got nothing against you, but I don't appreciate being badgered to sell. I will never sell. Your company should either take what they've got or look elsewhere. Now please, I'm just about to close."

"Nothing is going to change your mind, miss?"

"Nothing," Tabitha assured him, closing the folder and sliding it back over toward him.

Escorting the man to the door, he paused to glance at the fire alarm posted near the entrance. It was a bit old, but the pipes had been updated within the last decade. "Old system here," he commented.

"The shop is as humid as a rainforest, I'm not too worried," Tabitha shrugged, opening the door. Perhaps she should have thought about the oddness of the comment more, but she didn't. A lot of things in the shop were old, considering how long the building had been standing. She had put a lot of money into reinforcing the structure and replacing the old with new so that the beautiful piece of history could be continuously preserved. Shutting the door behind him, she locked the glass door and flipped the sign over to ‘closed’.

There were a few chores to finish up around the shop, to include changing out bug sticky tape and sweeping up dirt. After balancing the register, she locked up the cash, and shut the lights off. Through the back of the store, there was a locked door that led to a staircase, revealing a set of stairs that ascended into her apartment that was situated above the shop.

Her head ached, them pestering at least twice a week to sell her home and livelihood just to relocate. That wasn't it. Aside from the principle of it all, she would also have to find a house and a new store. Who knew if she'd be able to buy it outright or what she'd be getting. Then the stress of moving alongside of wondering if her typical clients would follow her elsewhere. No, it was too much and she wouldn't do it, even if she was the last one on the frontier against this condo company. Maybe if she had some family to help her she would've grudgingly considered it, but already she was spread thin between all her work.

A loud meow greeted her as she pushed open the door to her flat and she smiled, the tension of the day slipping away as a fluffy black cat stood on the arm of her couch and beckoned with his tail to be given attention. Letting out another shouting protest, Tabitha chuckled and brushed her palm over the feline's head, the long hair cat pressing into her hand as she raked down his spine. "I know, I know, I kept you up here all day. I'm sorry Balerion. Bad cat mommy," she hung her smock up and bent down to pick the fluffy monster up, the baby curling into her arms like a babe as he mewed in content. "But you know I'm going to make it up to you. Tomorrow we're going on another trip, aren't we? Hollis is gonna take care of the shop while we're gone."

The plan was to head up to Iceland for the hike and climbing trip that Tabitha had been saving for for years. Balerion was her partner on all escapades, a willing participant in hikes and her little buddy even in rockclimbing as he'd be situated in a special backpack where he'd be fully strapped in. Already the feline had been with her to the Amazon, Alaska and Denali, Scotland, the Azores, and Hawaii. He seemed to love the adventure, which was uncommon for cats, especially given the strenuous conditions they were sometimes subjected to. However, even if Tabitha was miserable, Balerion was always kept warm, dry, and safe. She had friends, but Balerion was her soul mate.

"Let's go through our packing list one more time, we don't want to forget anything," she said, reminding herself more than him as she brought him into the bedroom and plopped him down onto the bed. Balerion flopped down, hanging his meaty paws over the edge as she opened her suitcase and hiking pack to double check the supplies. "Now it'll be summer there, so lots of hours of sunlight, but still quite mild. Want to make certain we're warm enough at night. Shouldn't be as bad as Denali though."

After checking the list thrice more and comparing it to what she had laid out, Tabitha decided that the two of them were ready for the journey tomorrow. Dinner was simple to prevent much to clean before the two of them settled in for the evening, a book on her lap as she re-read through one of her favorite series: A Song of Ice and Fire . The place where she'd gotten Balerion's name from. She barely managed more than a chapter, too excited to board the plane at the crack of dawn to Iceland with her furry companion.

Tugging the blanket up, Balerion curled up by her side, Tabitha set her alarm on her phone and tried to get some shut eye. It was difficult at first, the anticipation clawing at her, but eventually she slipped away from reality. Cascading into a dreamless sleep, she was awoken by the worried yowl of her cat, which roused her. Eyes burning, Tabitha turned over in an attempt to grab her phone to check the time. It wasn't often that Balerion made such an awful noise. Usually when he wasn't feeling well and was going to vomit. However, as she turned on the night lamp, she noticed a thick haze permeating the room. Balerion was no longer beside her, but she could hear his crying, loud and insistent.

Smoke. It was smoke.

"Balerion?" The moment she opened her mouth, she drew in a copious amount of smoke and choked on it. Sputtering, she rolled off the bed and crawled, looking for her pet. "Bale, come here baby. Come here!"

She didn't hear the fire alarms going off. If there was any sort of fire, the alarms should have been ringing. Ducking underneath the bed, she found him cowering in the corner, reaching beneath to drag him out toward her. Fire escape. There wasn't time to think about what had caused the fire, nor where it had originated. Her mind was fully in survival mode. This was the second floor and the ceilings were quite high, her best hope would be utilizing the escape to get as close to the ground as she could before dropping down.

Tabitha made it to the window where the escape was, standing up enough to try and glimpse outside, but was horrified by what she found. There was a glass pane to look through, but a curtain of fire as the flames had consumed the exterior of the structure first. She had replaced a good portion of the interior, but the outside was still the same old shingles. Wherever the fire might have started, it had lanced up around the outside, beginning to eat in through the roof before billeting up through the flooring of her apartment. It was possible that the wet atmosphere of her shop cocooned the apartment temporarily, but in the meanwhile the rest of the older parts of the structure went alight.

Panic consumed her as Tabitha dropped back down to the ground and hoped that maybe the nearby fire department would get inside before either of them perished. Keep low to the ground, try not to breathe in the smoke.

Crawling away from the window and doorway, Tabitha slid next to her bookcase, glancing over at the picture frames and the years of her early twenties depicted in photos of her when she'd left the confines of her small town home to embark on a journey in the military. Those years, while she'd complained a lot about them, had helped put a backbone in her and set up a foundation for schooling and regiment. She still enjoyed rucking-or backpacking as the civilians called it, never quite trading in her boots in.

Her eyes fluttered, a soft hoarse cough parting her lips again as Balerion's yowling quieted and she felt exhausted. Perhaps she could hear the fire trucks in the distance, perhaps she couldn't. Tabitha's eyes shut to the sound of a formation marching and a cadence being called.

#game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #a song of ice and fire fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #reincarnation insert #freeform #added lore #the ability to change the future but with a twist #romance is not the main theme #BAMF female OC #buirbaby writes #The Wardens

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starfirette · 5 years ago

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fantasy | diana prince x reader

»a/n: 😈

»masterlist

» Diana Prince x Reader | sensitive Diana | fem x fem smut | lowkey angst | wordcount: 4,563

Your little London townhouse has a perfect view of the steelyards and its workers who slave away under a sunless sky. It’s your tradition to fall asleep to the sound of them packing up, then to wake up to the sounds of them beginning work again.

To say time passes slowly for you would be a grand understatement.

You tried many times to find happiness in the city, looking high and low in the most unseemly of places. No thing or person could make you happy these days. You sit at a desk most of your life, taking notes for a bitter old man who can’t ever say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. Secretary positions are all the rage these days since it’s the only real way women can make money without signing away their soul and what little freedom that have to an angry, rich man. To be a wife is to be silent and gentle, even if you’re hot tempered by nature. If you were to marry, you would surely have to give up the outlandish dreams you have. You crave independence, freedom, true love; what woman doesn’t yearn for these things? Some women have the unsuspecting loophole to win a man’s affections and hope he will let them at least pretend they have rights.

This option is not one you can choose so easily. You have never had eyes for a man. When you are alone, lounging on your bed or soaking in the tub, you envision yourself in the arms of a woman.

That’s your deepest, darkest ‘secret.’ You badly want to live in a world where your desires of romance don’t count as a real personality trait or as a sin.

You’ve never uttered this secret to anyone, ever. How could you? What friends do you have that are loyal enough to keep that to themselves?

Conversion therapy frightens you a good deal more than a heterosexual marriage. And that’s saying something.

There are plenty of times where you feel completely alone, stranded in silence, and forced to live in your cramped, London townhouse, where the wind whistles through the cracks of the walls and the floorboards creak anxiously. Even in your own home you feel trapped.

The only escape are your books, which you come upon rarely enough as it is. Your books aren’t the type of books women read. Your books are textbooks. Some you’ve purchased under fake names or titles, as if you were shopping for your husband or father. Some you’ve stolen. But all are cherished by you.

The largest wall of your home is lined with weak shelving where you could display your texts happily. Almost proudly.

Ah, to have independence—to be free to study at a university, to do such good with talents reserved solely for a man. And how could they be? What makes you different from a man? You love women, like they do! You breathe, like they do!

It’s the curls of your hair that keeps you from achieving your dreams. The breasts and the curve of your hips which you are coerced into keeping hidden, even on the hottest summer day.

In your ideal world you’d live with a wife, with a few cats and dogs, and you’d be a real doctor of history. A professional, dedicated to her work of uncovering the truths of the world.

In your ideal world...

It doesn’t do good to live in a fantasy land. As cruel as your reality can be, it is the only reality you have. It is in this reality that you must crawl out of bed at five in the morning and be at the office no later than twenty after six, with a plate of pastries and a mug of tea ready for Mr. Landings.

A dreary winter day you leave your London townhouse dressed in a new, fine suit of buttercream cashmere. It had taken the majority of your yearly savings to purchase, but you figured if you cannot be granted the right to bury your head in a woman’s thighs, you can at least dress the way you’d like to.

It’s always best to wake up extra early to be at the front of the bakery line. The freshest breakfast treats sell out first thing of the bakery’s opening, and considering you buy for Mr. Landings, Mr. Trevor, Mr. Carber, and the two respective secretaries, you have no choice but to be at the front of that damned line. This morning the cost of your number three spot was your rouge and lipstick. You feel absolutely plain, but your fine suit cancels out most of the insecurity.

You managed to get a good number of items. On your way out you found most of the line to be other secretaries, dressed in their own cashmere suits and nervously tapping their heels. No doubt they were praying the bakery didn’t sell out of breakfast goodies. You tip your hat down to avoid meeting their eyes. You’ve had your share of failed food runs, and it’s never fun.

You run across the street, only able to take sparing steps as your heels wrestle against loose gravel. You arrive to the office at the perfect time, with your fellow secretaries Etta Candy and Julia Deneiros still in the process of unlocking the doors.

“Sorry I’m late,” you murmured to your work friends.

“You have nothing to apologize for when you have the breakfast, my dear,” Julia assured you.

As Etta got the doors open, Julia ushered you in first. You hurried to set the treasure down on the main desk of the office. Once that was out of the way, you started tea in the side room, then proceeded to settle at your ‘desk.’ It was a small slate of red stained wood, though the legs sometimes wobbled and creaked. Your telephone on the left, accompanied by the contacts you kept for Mr. Landings, hardly rang as Etta usually took care of every business call.

Emptying your pockets took hardly a minute. You set your coin purse and silver pocket watch on the wood before shuffling through the loose pages that cluttered your workspace.

The tea kettle lets out a whistle. Julia tended to it herself, and you softly muttered a ‘Thank you’ but she’d already been gone.

Around a nibble of croissant, Etta wondered aloud whether Mr. Trevor would be coming in today.

You shrug without looking away. "Perhaps he's gotten himself a lucky lady,” you suggested. Julia poured you a steaming cup of tea.

You half expected Etta to scold you, but she instead made a small sound of agreement. “I suppose he could have found himself an exotic bride!” Etta laughed.

Julia giggled like a school girl, choking on her words: “We mustn’t gossip!”

Even though she said as such, she couldn’t help but to entertain the topic. The two ladies remarked that Mr. Trevor would settle with one woman the day the sky turned green.

And for a moment, you agreed with them, humming softly into your tea before you took a cautious sip.

For a brief moment the world was just right—and then Mr. Trevor quite literally waltzed inside with a beautiful woman.

Now, beautiful couldn’t properly describe this woman. What you notice first was her lips, round and quirked as though she was seeing an office like this for the first time in her life. Her eyes sparkled with a million untold stories.

Also, she appeared to be wearing the strangest of costumes. A coat of black fur strapped close to her waist, but every step she took revealed flashes of bare legs. You could have fainted.

Etta only saw the face of her boss, and she cheered. “You’re not dead!” She exclaimed. She doted over the wrinkles of Steve Trevor’s suit before hitting him over the chest with friendly familiarity. “I did think you were dead, you know.”

You frowned. “No, you didn’t,” you mumbled halfheartedly. You made to your feet, shuffling over to greet Mr. Trevor. “Hello,” you said, nodding your head.

The young woman met your eyes and she smiled, showcasing her perfect, pearly teeth.

“I’m Y/n L/n,” you say, forcing yourself not to stutter. Etta introduced herself next, holding a hand out to the woman for a handshake. While that would have been proper, you find it’s rather scary to shake hands with attractive people.

“We ladies are Mr. Trevor and Mr. Landings’s secretary.”

She cocked a thick brow. “What is a secretary?” She has a thick accent, one you can’t quite recognize, but it’s rather musical.

“Oh, well, we do everything. Go where tells me to go, do what he tells me to do.”

The woman looked flabbergasted. “Where I’m from that’s called slavery!”

You laughed before you could stop yourself. Both you and Etta became large fans of the woman, who introduced herself as Diana. No last name, but she seemed so confident with the partial title that you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

“Would you like a cup of tea? Shall I take your coat?” You offered. Can we run away and get married and adopt lots of babies?

“Oh, thank you,” Diana beamed. She went to shrug off her fur, and you quickly stopped her when you saw what she had been wearing under it. Etta lurched to tie the coat up tight, making Diana grunt as the air was pushed from her lungs.

You laugh nervously, eyeing Mr. Trevor, who looked annoyed rather than surprised.

“Fantastic,” Mr. Trevor snubbed. “Ladies, would we care for a trip to, uhm, get Diana new...well, new…”

“Clothes?” You suggested when Mr. Trevor became clearly uncomfortable.

“Yes, that, thank you.”

“Mr. Trevor I would be more than willing to, but I do have to wait for Mr. Landings—”

“Nonsense, Miss L/n, Julia can manage on her own. Let’s just be on our way.” You gathered your few things, shoving your coin purse and silver watch deep into your pocket. “Sorry, Julia, dear,” you say. She shakes her head. “It isn’t a bother. Try to enjoy your day out of the office.”

You smiled and waved her goodbye before joining Mr. Trevor and the ladies.

Mr. Trevor inquired where you and Etta frequent for clothes. You suggested Paya’s Apparel, but Etta suggested Madame Penny’s Dresser. You tried not to take notice when Mr. Trevor sized your outfit up to Etta’s. He dubbed Etta’s suit no doubt fancier and declared Madame Penny’s.

Diana didn’t move her feet to follow. “What is the difference?” She asked. She asked you. You were caught at a pause. “I would think Mr. Trevor finds Madame Penny’s

more suitable for a...for you.” You awkwardly shoved your hands into the pockets of your skirt. You’d splurged on this suit. Or so you thought.

“Steve! Steve, wait, let's go to Pa-Papaya’s?” Diana asked you.

“Just Paya’s,” you giggle.

“Steve,” Diana continued, “I think Paya’s will do just fine.”

Mr. Trevor sighed heavily, as if he had been expecting something like that to happen. “Fine. Lead the way.”

Diana held a hand out. You looked at it fearfully. “We are walking together, so should we hold hands?” She asked. She went to wrap her hand in yours. Steve scrambled for Diana’s arm, pushing it down to her side. “No, no, no, don’t hold hands. When I said people hold hands when they’re together, I meant together as in married.”

Diana’s mouth rounded out as she said, “Oh!” She sent you an apologetic smile, to which you promptly looked away from. Looking her in the eye made you nauseous, more than you’ve ever felt before.

Away you were whisked to Paya’s. It’s a good center, with plenty of fashionable dresses. Admittedly it isn’t nearly as expensive as Mr. Trevor probably would have preferred. But it’s fashionable, affordable, even for you. It’s a large shop with dim lights behind brassy lamps and lanterns.

Diana looked around, her eyebrows raised practically to hairline. She approached a mannequin clad with a silky pink corset. She touched the material and frowned. “Is this what passes for armor in your country?” She asked.

You couldn’t quite imagine what she meant by armor.

“No, no,” Etta explained, “that’s what keeps our tummies in.”

Diana sent a sharp glance to Etta. “Why must you keep them in?” She demanded.

Etta repressed a few other comments. She settled with, “Only a woman with no tummy would ask such a question.”

“Why don’t we look around?” You suggest as Diana’s eyes wander for more things to poke at. You figure she’s never visited a London shop before. Where could she be from that has such different traditions?

“How about this one?” Etta suggested as she found a brown suit with a thick fur wrap. “Stylish, professional, but still good to wear for a night on the town!” Etta seemed thrilled with her sales pitch. You weren’t impressed. If Diana was to wear something, she should wear something more flattering. Of course Diana could wear a sheet of dirty canvas and still look stunning.

Diana tucked her hand into yours, catching your attention immediately. You looked to her, finding that her eyes were already fixated on you. “What do you think of this one?” She asked. She didn’t seem sure of her own choice. Your legs felt numb as Diana’s fingers tickled the top of your hand.

You quickly pulled away from her. “I think something like this would be better,” you suggested, turning to the first suit you could find. It was black, with a long skirt and a frilly kind of blouse.

Diana still seemed uncertain. Mr. Trevor begged her to at least give it a shot. Diana sighed. “I suppose I can,” she declared. She began to remove her coat. You got a longer glimpse at what was underneath it.

Etta darted like lightning to stop her. Once again Diana was gasping with confusion as Etta tied her coat shut tightly. “Come with me, dear,” Etta said, blotting the sweat off her forehead with her handkerchief. “We’ll find you a dressing room.”

Diana was ushered off with Etta, leaving you to recollect your thoughts. You stopped Mr. Trevor from following.

“Might I have a word, sir?” You softly asked.

“Of course.” He continued to look quite ill.

“It’s just that I did see what she was wearing, sir,” you began. You’d seen such similar armor in your stolen books. “Is she…?”

Mr. Trevor suddenly gripped you by the shoulders. He looked absolutely relieved. “So you know about them?! And the magic island? I don’t think I can handle it on my own, Y/n.”

You blinked a few times. “Did you say magic island?” You finally asked. “No, I meant is she Greek?”

Mr. Trevor recoiled, falling into a fit of coughs. “Absolutely, yes,” he said. “I’ll be...I need some water.”

You wonder what in the hell happened to Mr. Trevor for him to lose his usual composure. He’s been known to always have a witty remark for something, but today he’s entirely off his usual tempo.

You searched for Etta. She is speaking with the oncall saleswoman, who was in the process of explaining the most boring details of Diana’s selected suit. “Etta, Mr. Trevor bid me go ask you if you could pick out a few more outfits for Miss Diana to try.”

“Of course!” Etta said. “Stay and wait with her, please?”

“Done,” you promise.

Etta and the saleswoman took off to find more dresses and blazers for Diana. You looked around before darting back to the dressing rooms. “Diana?” You called.

A door opened promptly. “Hello.”

“H-hi,” you stuttered out.

Facing her was incredibly difficult. Her eyes literally seemed to sparkle with pure joy. Among that, her hair falls over her shoulders in loose, brown curls. Her coat is off, strewn behind her over a chaise. You can see her arrangement of weapons on the floor. Her armor, red and gold, has yet to be removed.

“I wanted to-to speak with you. About you.”

Diana moved aside for you to come in. You felt a bit uncomfortable. It’s not really wrong for you to be here. Any other woman wouldn’t mind helping Diana dress, and afterall, richer women have handmaids specifically for dressing them and even to bathe them. Diana may be a stranger but she’s warm and kind; she’s different.

She didn’t seem to bashful about her variety of weaponry. You’re mostly in awe.

“I’ve never known any female warrior before,” you muttered as you gave the sword a final glance. The hilt had strong patterns carved over it, and the blade looked razor sharp. A stab with that sword would feel completely painless at first, while the blade sliced through you like a ribbon.

“I am an Amazon,” Diana explained.

“Pardon me?” You asked.

“Warriors put upon the world by the gods. We are...well, a bridge to a better world. The guardians of mankind and all that is good.”

Oh, well okay. You weren’t exactly sure how to respond to that, considering it’s a bit crazy.

“You don’t believe me,” Diana says. “I cannot say I don’t understand. We have lived in secret for most of history.” She shrugged in her plates of metal. “I feared the world was under a bigger threat than it ever has been. That is why I left my people to join Steve Trevor.”

You nod. “Alright, I guess. While I’m hesitant to believe all of your story, I trust Mr. Trevor’s judgement.”

Diana smiled at that. “That is all I need.”

She gestured to the loose garments of purple you’d chosen for her before. “I hate to trouble you more than I already have. But I cannot understand how this is supposed to work.” She referred to the corset which ties up underneath every layer. “Oh, well generally someone can do it for you, but there are some that tie up in the front. Should I choose one of those for you?”

“No, that’s alright. I have you to help me.” Diana started to remove the plates of armor, starting with her thigh pieces. She organized her things very sternly, as if she were keeping a strict inventory log in her mind. For all you know she is.

She wrapped her arms over her chest to keep some modesty, but even so, even as you chant to yourself not to look, you felt your mouth become bone dry. You grabbed the corset and waved for Diana to turn around. She molds the front of the corset to her chest, using one arm to keep it in place while she used her left hand to move her hair. Your fingers dragged over her skin. She is so golden, so soft. The smell of soap and seafoam lingers.

You could easily dip your head down and kiss her neck.

You force the thoughts from your head. Trembling, you lace up the corset, hardly able to maximize your strength as you pull as tight as you can. Your limbs feel like phantoms. They move on their own while you bite back tears.

When you finished, you blotted your tears away with the inside of your wrist. “I’ll be leaving, now,” you tell her. “Good luck.”

Fleeing the room while Diana calls after you was the only way to save yourself. The need for Diana built up strong in your belly, as did the cloud of heartache in your chest. Your breath became restricted by the pain. You brushed past Etta on the way out of the store, briefly explaining you needed to leave and to send your apologies to Mr. Trevor.

What worries you most isn’t Mr. Trevor and Diana’s alarmingly fictional stories, or even Diana’s weaponry she keeps strapped to her body; it was the fact you had let Diana get to you. She messed with your brain without even knowing it, and now you couldn’t help but think how horrible your life is.

You briskly walked home. You fumble with your keys at the door, scraping the sides of the lock with the blade. Throwing yourself inside is the only thing that relieves you. This little house by the steel mills is your palace of your true nature. While you shiver at night and hear things creak, you can at least be yourself.

Typically you would calm yourself with a nap or a bath, but your nerves are far too shot.

You journeyed straight to your bedroom and kicked off your heels. Settling over the squeaky mattress with your lip caught in your teeth, you struggle to steady your hands enough so you can unbutton the top of your coat.

You lay back and slide your hand down your belly, poking through the band of your skirt. And you imagine…

You imagine yourself in that dressing room, your hands sliding down Diana’s smooth back.

You pressed the smallest of kisses atop her bare shoulder. The little hairs on her neck rise, her breath caught. She turns on her heels to face you, practically forehead to forehead.

She drops the corset to the floor, kicking it away without a care in then world. Her hand finds yours, and she holds it one more time, tickling your skin with the lad of her thumb. With a gentle smile, Diana raises your hand to hold one soft breast.

You palm and squeeze at her, feeling completely in awe of her beauty. Diana dragged you down to kneel with her on the floor. In the fantasy you lay not in a dressing room, but on a soft quilt. Where you are doesn’t matter; it’s Diana. Diana pushes you to your back, undoing the clips in your hair and massaging your scalp of the pain your tight bun left behind. She drags her fingers through your hair, then down your chest. She bows her head down, mouth catching your hard left nipple. Your right breast is tended to with her hand, while your left earns the attention of hee teeth, tongue, and lips. She leaves tender bruises over your chest, purring her affections and compliments into you.

Soon she trails her mouth down. Her long, dark hair drags over your stomach. Diana places herself just between your thighs, resting her weight onto one of her elbows.

With two fingers she spreads you apart to see your dripping cunt clenching with suspense. Diana presses a kiss to your hipbones. With a finger dipping inside of you, she catches arousal and swirls it around your hole, preparing to widen you out. Two of her fingers creep inside of you, curling up and pressing the top of your cunt’s walls, making you lurch your hips up against her face.

With a muscled arm she pushes your hips down, a hand digging into you to keep you in place as her lips pucker over your aching clit.

The bead pulsed with excitement as Diana pressed a gentle kiss against it. Her tongue poked out to swirl a small circle over your clitoris. You whined, wiggling your hips desperately to feel more of Diana.

Her fingers pumped in and out, scissoring apart and always tickling that magic spot deep inside of you.

Her tongue swirled faster and wider, occasionally taking breaks to ease the muscle, but her attention on you never failed.

Her cherry red lips sucked on your clit. She sang a sweet song into your cunt, the vibrations making your thighs tremble.

She made you cum hard over her fingers, which she stuck within her mouth to clean them.

As you wind down, she places her own two fingers at her own entrance, already slick with arousal. She lubricates her own clit, rubbing the bead for a few moments while gasping your name like a prayer. She roughly grabbed at your legs, spreading them apart so she could position herself at your cunt. She lowered carefully onto you, her warm pussy sliding against yours.

She forced one of your legs over her shoulder as she started to wiggle her hips. She murmured your name, casting her head back and closing her eyes. The movement was rhythmic and precise, your clit rubbing against hers sweetly. Tears bubbled in your eyes, blurring the vision of Diana’s face as she fucked you into the floor, her hips bucking faster, skin and cum mixing and slapping loudly.

Lewd moans fell out of your mouth as you cried out to Diana, begging her for more, to which she obliged. She thrusted faster, kissing the side of your leg that now trembled violently over her shoulder.

You whimpered when she sang your name, a warm smile still quirked on her lips.

You wanted to sink into the fuzzy blanket and stay there forever, being fucked blissfully by Diana’s hot, soaking cunt.

The intense orgasm brought you to the brink of sobs as Diana pushed your hips hard into the floor. “Fuck, yes,” you shout. You beg for it harder and Diana listens, giving you everything you could ever want.

In your fantasy you would cum twice. You would reciprocate the pleasure, flipping Diana over and crawling between her thighs. Her hand would weave in your loose hair, pushing your face deeper into her hips. Your tongue would dip into her entrance, lapping up her cum like it was honey. You would send wide stripes up and down her before using one finger inside of her—then two, then the third, as gently as you could. Her hips would be grinding against your face, her cum dribbling down your chin. She would whimper like she never has before, moaning your name mercilessly, because it doesn’t matter who heard.

Your fantasy ends.

Your fingers are soaked with cum and you move off your bed to wash your hands. You use a warm, damp cloth to clean the mess between your thighs. A part of you feels satisfied, but only the primal part. The rest of you feels sad. Lonely. You crawl into bed, still dressed in your new red suit. You wonder if Diana thinks you to be totally insane, considering how you had run away so abruptly. You worry that she knows, somehow, your secret. You want to know what she would think. What would she say if you ran to her, now, and confessed you wanted nothing more than to kiss her and be held by her muscley, tanned arms.

Despite it being the dead middle of the day, you stay in your bed for hours. Your telephone rings a few times, but you don’t bother. It could easily be your office calling to fire you.

Something within you no longer cares. Let them.

Leave this place, maybe, and find that magic island which Mr. Trevor had spoken of. It would be a land of freedom; freedom to study what you want, to kiss who you want—to sleep in past eight in the morning and not worry about the secretariat duties of providing breakfast.

If Diana is an “Amazon” then you want to be one too. For besides her blatant beauty, there was something about Diana that was incredible. Her smile, her eyes—she glistened with confidence. She knows who she is.

You know who she is, too.

She’s the love of your life, but of a life you will never get to have.

#diana prince x reader #diana prince #wonder woman x reader #wonder woman #dc #dceu #dceu imagine #dceu x reader #diana prince imagine #wonder woman imagine #starfirette writes #i wish queue well

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fungusqueen · 5 years ago

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Here it is! The promised car-buying tips from my amateur and frugal experience! My general tips are to be prepared, do your homework, and don’t get caught off guard by not doing research and agreeing to things/paying for things you didn’t plan on.

Car salesmen are not your friends and they’re trying to lead you down the path that’s most profitable for them, which is never going to be the best situation for you. It’s their job to try to sell you on a bunch of stuff you don’t need, so be prepared for their tricks and understand the process so you’re not blindsided. Something specific to the coronavirus pandemic is that dealerships will be very desperate to sell (because no one is buying cars right now) and dealerships are willing to take a loss on a sale! BUT! If you go unprepared, it may also leave you vulnerable to dealerships attempting to do unethical shit BECAUSE they are so desperate to sell. They might try to make profits in places you may not suspect. A lot of aspects of buying a car (especially in financing car) sound good up front, but you might find out you’re getting screwed over.

I’m not going to discuss what makes a good car, or what you should buy etc. because I really don’t know and that’s your business! I’m mainly going to talk about the steps before and during the car-buying process (inside of a dealership and over the phone inquiring prices etc). I did my car search and car-buying alone (due to the global pandemic and my own desire to have minimal contact with others) and for my first time ever! So I’m only going to share my experience and offer resources.

I recommend this podcast episode from NPR’s Life Kit, “How to Buy a Car Without Being Taken for a Ride” as a simple starting point for car buying advice. It’s 23 min long. I know not everyone will listen to the podcast episode (and you don’t have to) so I summarized some of those episode tips below and elaborated on certain points.

1) Don’t appear too excited (at the dealership); they will try to build your excitement as high as possible. Playing on your emotions and creating a fantasy of a new life in a new car puts you in a position to make irrational decisions. When I was in the dealership, they actually asked me “Are you excited?” and I said “No.” I was also wearing a face mask, so with half my face covered, concealing my excitement was pretty easy! Their attempts may also appear as them trying to get you to talk shit about your old car to get you complaining, and further idealizing your future car. Overall, appearing too eager will not make them fight over you to get a sale. Make them beg!

2) Get pre-approved for a loan before going to a dealership. Know what kind of interest rate you can get and what kind of monthly payment you can afford. Your credit score will inform this; the better your score, the better your rate will be (so if you have time to improve your score, try to build it as high as possible). Your bank/credit union should have rates listed easily online. You don’t have to be a member of a credit union to get a loan with them, but there may be a discounts if you’re already a member. PLEASE KNOW that after applying for a loan, your bank/credit union will give you a time limit on how long you have to find a car/use the loan. My credit union gave me 20 days from the time I applied, but it can vary. You can also call to increase or decrease the loan if the car you initially wanted is no longer available or you choose a different one. When you apply for a loan, you have to supply the VIN (Vehicle Identification Number), but obviously car shopping can change so make sure you supply your bank/credit union with the new VIN number of the car you decide to go with. Your bank/credit union may not approve you for a car that is too old. This happened to me (I first applied for a 2013 car in my budget) and they let me know they typically dont approve loans for cars older than 2014, which was a blessing in disguise because I found a newer model of the same car for around the same price. I ended up changing the car VIN/loan amount 3 times overall from the time I first got pre-approved for my car loan. Just keep your bank/credit union updated. Also! It’s not necessary but it helps if they can send a written (emailed) confirmation of the loan amount with APR listed, as the dealership will need it later in the finance office.

3) Definitely TEST DRIVE a car you see online before considering purchasing it. It might feel different than you thought! I test drove an older model of the car I wanted before test driving a slightly newer model and I’m really glad I test drove the older one so I had something to compare it too. There was only a two year difference between the models but the upgrades made a difference in ways I wouldn’t have thought before sitting in the driver’s seat!

4) Beware the 7 year car loan. It’s probably not the right car for you if you need 84 months to pay off. Car loans are not like home loans; cars are always depreciating in value. Interest on car loans is also always front-loaded, so the money you put in your first few years will mostly go towards your interest, not the principal of your car loan, and you could be spending way more than you thought. If the car does not last you 7 years, you may owe more than the car ends up being worth if you want to or have to sell it. At this point, it might be a smarter decision to lease a car, if for whatever reason, you insist on getting a specific car.

4.5) To add to this last point, you’ve probably seen dealership ads on TV or in print that say “0% APR for 84 months!” This is kind of a scam (at least imo) because it’s very seductive in a way that can distract you from other ways you can save. These advertisements serve the purpose of getting people into showrooms. This is because interest rate is only ONE SMALL FACTOR into finding what’s right for your budget. An APR offer is minimal compared to your monthly payment...if the monthly payment is too high (overall car price too high), are you really saving $$? These offers might even be for a shorter payment term, (ex. 36 month instead of 60 month), your monthly payment could be too high for your budget because you didn’t have the flexibility outside of this offer! If your term payment is longer (ex. 84 months), while your car depreciates in value, you may end up owing more than it’s worth by time you pay it off. 7 years is a long time! As well, these offers are usually only for NEW cars (again, more expensive than necessary) and buying used might be a better option. As well, they are not transparent about the minimum credit score required to qualify for 0% APR, so you may not even qualify...even with great credit! The 0% offer is also usually offered along with other incentives, like a manufacturer rebate (thousand $ and above). You’ll often have to chose between one incentive or the other...you could be turning down a multi-thousand dollar rebate because that 0% is very seductive...but if you did the math, it might not be the best option for your budget. ALSO! If you’re going to buy new anyway, banks/credit unions offer better APR rates for new cars rather than used so compare. If you can get a super low APR from your credit union on a new car, why get stuck with a higher monthly payment on a too long/too short loan term you otherwise wouldn’t have chosen just to get that 0%?

5) To continue with the point above ^^ When you are with the salesman, start with price of the car and don’t talk about ANYTHING else until later. THIS IS WHERE THEY GET YOU! They will try to get you to talk about financing, how much money you want to put down etc. BEFORE promising you a juicy competitive price on the car. SO! APR rates shouldn’t even be discussed until you can agree to the price of the car! Sort of another way they GET YA! So distracting! Can prevent you from getting your lowest overall price possible!

6) IT IS SO FRICKEN IMPORTANT AND I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH, BECAUSE THIS HAS HELPED ME THE MOST OF ANY TIP I’VE HEARD FROM FRIENDS: ASK FOR OTD (Out the door) price. The prices you see listed online or on a sticker on the car window are not the prices you’ll end up paying. OTD price includes everything, tax, fees etc. A few dealerships nearby had the same car I wanted (only varying slightly in color, mileage etc. but exact same year and model) so I called a few and said “HI I saw your car online, could you give me the OTD (out the door) price?” Ask them to break it down for you, what’s the price of the car, what’s tax, document fee, dmv fee, etc. If the OTD price is very high above the car price plus tax, beware! You should not be paying thousands of dollars in additional mystery fees. If a handful of dealerships have basically the same car, see which one can give you the best price. If a dealership cannot be up-front about their OTD price, and break it down for you so you know how all the money is adding up, RUN AWAY! You can ask for this information over the phone, some fees are often not necessary and are negotiable.

With this coronavirus pandemic, you should not be paying this full OTD price on the car, ask for at least 10% off and see what they say. In my situation, I called, got the OTD price at two different dealerships, one dealership asked me what they could do to get my business and I said, “I might come in today if you can give me 10% off the OTD price.” (I was cackling behind my phone tbh! it seemed ridiculous to me but whatevs). The salesman I was speaking to calculated it, said he’d call me back after asking his manager. When he called me back, they offered me just under 10% off...which sounded pretty sweet to me because the car was already being sold below it’s Kelly Blue Book value and that was the dealership I eventually went with. So u never know if you don’t ask! I asked the same of another dealership and they basically said no. So call around! This guy, Kevin Hunter, on youtube, gave me this idea! His channel is full of car buying wisdom so I highly recommend!

He has a great recent video specifically about the car buying market in during this coronavirus pandemic. He has videos on topics like, honest car salesman techniques, are certified preowned vehicles worth it, fake fees you shouldn’t pay for, etc.

7) Something I experienced that Kevin Hunter ^ also explains, (in this video titled, CAR SALESMAN TRICKS YOU into buying a car! DEALERSHIP Rip off: The SET UP) is this weird 4 square setup they did to me...and they do to everyone at a dealership. It’s another distraction tactic, that they will use to distract you from getting a good price on the car. It will look like this:

So the salesman will bring this informal piece of paper out. It’s not a contract, it’s not official, but they’re going to use this paper to pull information from you THAT YOU SHOULD NEVER GIVE THEM! At the point they bring this out, you should only be talking about car sales price. So this piece of paper has spaces to write trade in value (if you’re bringing in your old car to trade in), down payment, monthly payment, and car price. Anything that is not the car sales price will be used against you to try and get you to pay more. They’re trying to create the best profit for the dealership.

When I was at the dealership, the salesman kept pushing me to say how much cash I wanted to put down, what kind of monthly payment I wanted (ie. how much money can I spend), (and in my situation, I didn’t have a trade-in car, so discussion about that wasn’t brought up). Practice refusing to answer these questions...I kept saying I did not want to discuss financing or cash down until we could agree to the price of the car. You can also say you prefer to discuss this with the finance manager. He tried to get me to sign this 4-Square paper with a higher price on it than I was given on the phone. Do not sign this, it’s weird. I brought out a paper with a much lower price and asked him to sign off on that price instead. Bring the focus back to the car price. Be prepared to walk out and TELL THEM you will leave if you don’t get the price you want!

which leads me to my next point...

8) DO NOT SAY YOU ARE PAYING CASH. Do not say how much cash you have, do not discuss HOW you are paying at any point with the salesman. After you can agree to a favorable price on the car, you’ll be handed to a finance manager in another room. The salesman is NOT the finance officer. You should not tell your salesman your financial details. If anything, you only have to give the salesman VERY BASIC details so they can run a credit check before handing you to the finance manager.

and below....here is a WHY YOU SHOULDN’T DISCUSS HOW YOU’RE PAYING WITH THE SALESMAN.

9) Dealers can make a lot of money off a car loan...if you finance through them. Make them believe in the possibility that you might finance through them. They might give you a lower price on the car because they might assume they can get ya with a high APR or long term payment...which will bring them money in the long term. Don’t tell them you’re financing through your bank/credit union before you settle on the car price! In some cases though, a dealership might be able to give you a better deal thank your bank. You can say, “Why don’t you run my credit and see what you can offer me” and then see if it’s better than what your bank/credit union can give you. They also might test you with a high APR, even if you qualify for a lower APR (just to see if you’ll take it), and might even use details of your credit report against you...

10) If you have a trade in, they will also try to make a profit from not giving you enough $$ for your old car. Get a price quote from Carmax and check the Kelly Blue Book value beforehand to see if they’re giving you a good price. If it’s not good enough, you might want to consider walking away from the dealership and just selling to Carmax. Because of online transparency and easy access to prices of cars, they will try to make money in other areas OTHER THAN the car price, and this is one of them.

11) After you’ve settled on the price of the car and they’ve run your credit, you’ll be moved from the salesman to the finance office...where you’ll be signing contracts and discussing other add-ons, (warranties, insurances, protections etc.) When you’re in the finance office, DONT BUY ANY ADD ONS THE DAY YOU BUY YOUR CAR. If you decide to, research a good price for what they offer you. You can call the dealership and ask to speak to the finance manager ahead of time and ask what additional items you may be offered. These might be paint protection, tire protection, extended warranties, gap insurance etc. When they offer these things to you, they are often overpriced. You can also get these later, or get these elsewhere for a better price. Research ahead of time to see what’s right for you and don’t try to figure it out unprepared because they will try to convince you.

That concludes my numbered dealership tips! I probably left some stuff out, so please continue to do your research.

This podcast episode from This American Life, 129 Cars, illustrates the importance of using timing and desperation on the part of salespeople to your advantage. This is a longer listen, over an hour long, but it follows salespeople during their work day as they try to meet their monthly quota in order to reach their sales bonus. Towards the end of the month can be an ideal buying time because dealerships may be willing to take a loss or make no commission from a sale because if they’re able to reach their quota, they will either...not be fired, or they may receive a sizeable bonus. Overall, TIMING can be key in getting a good deal. Dealerships also have yearly sales quotas, so if you can wait, you may be able to get a better deal on a car towards the end of the year.

As well, I recommend a Monday/weekday since dealerships are least busy during this time. AND! If you need to contact your bank, it might be impossible on the weekend. Because of coronavirus, operating hours for banks/credit unions have been shortened so if you need to finalize some financing details or ask your bank/credit union questions, make sure you’re able to do so when needed! I ran into this problem and was delayed because my credit union was closing early.

One last tip! You also will also need to insure this new car so call your car insurance carrier and let them know you’re car shopping and they can help you add the new car to your current policy, or change your current insurance. You car insurance might increase or decrease with the addition of a new car. And if you’re getting a car with a higher value, you might want to consider adding more coverage to your current coverage. The dealership might give you free temporary insurance so you can drive the car off the lot with coverage. When I called my insurance carrier to add this new car onto my policy, it didn’t take effect until midnight that night so the dealership gave me temporary insurance just in case something happened on the drive home. You legally do need insurance to drive it off the lot or if you’ve never been insured before. So if you’re currently on somebody else’s policy, get some quotes from different insurance carriers and try to get an idea of the future cost.

Those are all my tips! This took a lot longer than I thought, heh heh, but I seriously hope this helps someone because buying a car is a HUGE DEAL and there’s so much potential to get taken advantage of due to the lack of transparency!!! There’s a lot more I could have covered so I encourage you to take more time to do more research! And good luck if you plan on buying a car soon!

#tips #life advice #car advice #car buying advice #car shopping #advice #buying a car #life hack #amateur tips #car shopping advice #resources #adulting #budget

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