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contemplativepancakes · 4 years

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enough to drive a man mad

~7k geraskier fake dating, because that is what this fandom needs. read on ao3 here!

Jaskier smells anxious. He reeked of apprehension all of yesterday, not to mention the fact that he hasn’t been able to sit still or stop tapping his foot on the wooden floorboards this morning.

It’s grating on Geralt’s last nerve.

“What, Jaskier?” he finally growls.

Jaskier jumps, almost falling out of his chair from where he sits tapping his quill idly in his notebook.

“What?”

“What has you so worked up?”

Jaskier looks Geralt in the eyes before glancing away again. He clears his throat. “Nothing.”

Geralt grunts.

“Oh, don’t sound so unconvinced,” Jaskier complains.

Geralt rolls his eyes, turning his back to Jaskier to finish settling all of his things into his pack. He wraps the glass jars carefully and tucks them between Jaskier’s shirts, so they don’t break. “If nothing is wrong, you’re ready to go then, right?”

Jaskier grumbles, but he tucks his notebook away and gets to his feet.

They make it about three hours before Jaskier finally broaches the subject.

“So, Geralt,” he starts. “Dear friend of mine.”

Geralt doesn’t even bother to look back at him. Nothing good can come with this as a conversation starter.

“Have I ever told you about my parents?”

“No.”

Jaskier sighs. “I suppose not. Well, they’ve written to me. They want me to visit.”

Geralt thinks back to the letter an innkeeper had handed to Jaskier a few weeks ago, the one that made him eerily quiet the rest of the night and that he had clammed up about when Geralt questioned him. Jaskier was perky and practically completely back to normal the next morning, so Geralt had almost forgotten about it. Apparently, Jaskier had not done the same.

“Hmm.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Dreadfully inconvenient for you. What will you do without your loyal companion?”

Geralt frowns. He hadn’t even thought about that, just registered the smell of unhappiness coming off of Jaskier at the thought of his parents. Jaskier is rather helpful, though. He’s never afraid to step in the middle of pay negotiations, inevitably getting Geralt more coin, and he’s certain Jaskier has stopped them from getting kicked out of at least three towns after Geralt had stumbled back to the inn covered in viscera.

“Do you want to visit them?”

Jaskier trips over his feet, and Geralt dutifully looks away, pretending not to have noticed. “Not particularly. But I have to.”

Geralt won’t pretend to understand how a typical human family works, so he just accepts Jaskier’s words at face value. He’s never felt obliged to return to Kaer Morhen every winter; it’s something he looks forward to—to seeing his patchwork family. But Jaskier deliberately never speaks of his family, and gets twitchy every time anyone brings them up, so Geralt had accepted it as one of Jaskier’s many quirks and moved on.

“Hmm. Well, I can travel with you there, at least. I’m sure there will be contracts in the area somewhere.”

Jaskier flushes red. “I was...I was actually hoping you would come with me.”

“What? I’m sure that’s not what your parents had in mind when they wanted you to visit. They wouldn’t want to meet me .”

“Well, they said it’s unbecoming for someone of my age to be a bachelor. And, so I. I, um.” Jaskier scratches the back of his neck. “I told them I wasn’t. And I maybe sort of perhaps insinuated we were together.”

Geralt can feel a stress headache brewing.

Marilla looks down at the letter in shock.

Dear Mother,

I fear I am not quite as much of a bachelor as you suppose. Have you heard any of my songs? I have gone and fallen head first into my muse. Typical, foolish me, but I’ve never been happier. We’ll visit soon.

Julian

She doesn’t like to think about Julian’s songs, about how he couldn’t even keep the name she had given him. She thrusts the letter to her husband. “He’s coming to visit,” she says in disbelief. “When’s the last time we saw him?”

Ethbert considers this as he reads the letter. “At least five years.”

“And I can’t believe he hasn’t spoken of this ‘muse’ any sooner. I’m not sure I believe him.”

Ethbert gave Marilla a placating smile. “He’s probably just ashamed he hasn’t found himself a wife yet. We’ll find out when he comes, doubtless with an excuse about where his beloved is.”

Marilla sniffs. “You’re right.”

Nell looks down at the scene in the kitchen with wide eyes from her spot crouched down between the banisters at the top of the stairs. Her brother? With a wife? She could scarcely imagine it. She thinks back to the last time Julian was here, the way he had boasted to her about his conquests for hours, away from the prying ears of their parents.

Well, surely if he had someone, he’d have talked about her in his songs. She resolves to get her hands on some of his music. She’ll solve this mystery before Julian even gets here.

“The first thing to know is that they’re awful,” Jaskier says, ticking down one of his fingers as he walks along beside Roach, seemingly uncaring of the dust that’s drifting up from her hooves and onto his doublet. “Well, except for my sister. Be nice to my sister, please, Geralt.”

“I’m nice to everyone.”

Jaskier stifles a laugh. “Mm. Be extra nice to her, then.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You need to loosen up, too. They’re never going to think we’re together when you look all...constipated like that.”

Geralt huffs.

“You’re lucky opposites attract,” Jaskier says, before dragging a hand down his face. “This is never going to work, is it?”

Nell squints at the lyrics spread out before her. This doesn’t sound very romantic to her at all. Maybe a breakup song? She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss , Nell hums. She can’t help but notice there’s three different people the song is talking about, though. Odd. She shakes her head and moves onto the next song.

This one is just a ditty, so Nell turns the page to see a song about the witcher Jaskier travels with. And then another, and another. Is he all Julian writes about? She expected to see love songs, not this nonsense. She goes through more of his catalogue, briefly regretting spending her allowance on the songbook, but she supposes it supports her brother, after all.

She’ll just have to see what she can wheedle out of him while he’s here.

Finally, after flipping through no less than four more songs about the witcher, she lands on one titled “The Eternal Flame.”

Interesting.

Around your house, now white from frost

Sparkles ice on pond and marsh

Your longing eyes grieve what is lost

But naught can change this parting harsh

Spring will return, on the road the rain will fall

Hearts will be warmed by the heat of the sun

It must be thus, for fire still smolders in us all

An eternal fire, hope for each one

There, Nell can read some romance in. She rubs the ends of her hair together in thought. This one song certainly isn’t enough proof that Julian has actually found a wife. More like he’s still pining over some old flame. It doesn’t seem like he’s written very many good love songs at all.

Nell rolls her eyes, thinking back to all the raunchy songs in his catalogue. Typical.

There’s the squeak of the door opening downstairs, and Nell hastily slams the book shut and hides it under her mattress. She doesn’t want Julian seeing and getting a bigger head, after all.

She straightens her dress and runs down the steps, eager to see if Julian’s by himself, which is her guess. She comes to a skidding halt when she sees who is with him.

Oh.

She supposes he does write love songs, after all.

Geralt shifts uncomfortably from the scrutiny Jaskier’s family is giving him. He wraps an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder, hoping he doesn’t look as awkward as he feels. He looks over to Jaskier for help, and Jaskier shrugs off his arm and takes Geralt by the hand, leading him forward to meet them.

“Mother, Father, this is Geralt. Nell, this is a very large, scary witcher who will eat you up if you don’t behave.”

Geralt frowns. He thought Jaskier told him to be extra nice to his sister?

Nell laughs, a delightful, tinkling thing that reminds him of Jaskier’s. “He’s going to like me better than you by the time he leaves.”

Geralt looks back to Jaskier, only to see him sticking his tongue out at her. Right. Their relationship is definitely more antagonistic than Jaskier had prepared him for, so Geralt is glad he had Lambert to prepare him for these things.

He’s not sure his interactions with Lambert would be appropriate to apply to Jaskier’s sister, though, so Geralt will let Jaskier handle the ribbing.

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt finally says. “Jaskier’s told me a lot about you.”

Which, of course, is a lie, but Geralt knows that’s the polite thing to say.

“He’s never even mentioned me, has he?”

When Geralt waffles, Nell sniffs dramatically and casts Jaskier a betrayed look.

Jaskier shoots that look right back to Geralt, and Geralt is so impossibly out of his depth right now. “Hmm.”

“Now look what you’ve done, you’ve made him regret agreeing to meet you in the first place!” Jaskier cries.

“That’s quite enough, Julian,” Jaskier’s mother cuts in, and—Julian?

He shoots Jaskier a puzzled look. Obviously, there was a little more he should have told Geralt before they came here.

“Well, I’m afraid we are absolutely knackered; we’ve been riding all day. I’m going to head upstairs…”

Geralt shoots him a look.

“I mean, we are going to head out to the stables and make sure that Geralt’s very polite mare is taken care of.”

“We have someone—”

“No, no, Geralt is very picky about who cares for his horse.”

With that, Jaskier drags Geralt out of the house and to the barn. “I thought the goal was for them to like me?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier snorts. “Gods, no. The goal is to have them believe that we’re in a relationship, and they would never believe I would choose anyone they actually liked .”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Geralt. It’ll be fine. Just stop acting like you’re terrified of me every time I touch you. Maybe we should practice.”

Jaskier gets a gleam in his eye as he darts a glance back to the house, and then his very warm mouth is on Geralt’s. Geralt’s surprised for a second before he relaxes and kisses Jaskier back. He’ll show Jaskier he’s not terrified of him. Geralt would scoff if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied.

Geralt brings one hand up to rest on Jaskier’s jaw and one to wind through his soft hair. Geralt strokes his thumb over Jaskier’s cheekbone, and Jaskier melts against him, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and tugging him closer.

“What was that for?” Geralt says, trying to keep his breathing even after they pull away.

Jaskier peers around him and looks back up at the house. “Well, they were watching through the window. Figured we’d give them a show. Alas.”

Jaskier turns and heads to the stables. Geralt trails behind him, surreptitiously bringing a hand up to his medallion to make sure it’s not vibrating.

He is in way over his head.

Nell stares at them with wide eyes from her bedroom window. She had...not exactly doubted them when Julian showed up with his witcher in tow, but she hadn’t exactly believed them, either. Who could let Julian trail around after them for years and not get sick of him?

If she hadn’t witnessed them kissing with her own two eyes, she never would have believed it. She pulls the book out from under the mattress and looks at the songs again, this time with a more critical eye. She can’t believe she didn’t see it before. Especially “Her Sweet Kiss.” She’d never admit it to Julian, but she’s glad he won over whoever this her is. He looks happy, in a way that he never did while he was here.

Her mother calls for her, so Nell sighs and puts away the book. She runs down the stairs. “Yes?”

“I need help with supper.”

Nell sets the table, noting they’re using the fancy silverware, which is a surprise, because her mother has never taken a particular interest of what Julian thinks of her before this, so this is an interesting time to start. She’s sure their meal is going to be a very uncomfortable affair. Well, not for her, unless it starts to become painful to hold her laughter in.

She can’t wait.

She’s just finishing arranging the cutlery when her mother turns back to her. “Can you believe Julian? I knew witchers were for hire, but I didn’t think their services extended to...this.”

Nell barely holds back a snort.

Jaskier looks over to Geralt and suppresses a sigh. He had just planted a hand on Geralt’s thigh, and he’s sure his parents think that he just stabbed Geralt, from his reaction. He scoots his chair closer over to Geralt and drapes an arm over his shoulders. “Relax,” he whispers into Geralt’s ear.

Geralt does, marginally, but Jaskier can still see the doubt on his parent’s faces.

Jaskier’s father clears his throat. “So, Geralt, um. I suppose we know what you do, but, um. Um.”

“Honestly, haven’t you heard any of my songs? They are all the very true accounts of what Geralt gets up to,” Jaskier butts in.

Geralt takes a gulp of wine from his goblet to avoid commenting.

Jaskier notices, and elbows him in the ribs. “Geralt loves my songs, right?”

Jaskier’s parents are staring right at him, and it’s more than a little unnerving. “Right. They’re...very romantic.”

Jaskier’s grip around Geralt’s shoulders tightens. “Thank you, darling.”

Geralt is sure Vesemir once told him witchers can’t blush, but his face feels hot all of a sudden, and everyone is looking at him expectantly.

Geralt takes another drink.

Jaskier shakes his head. “Geralt’s been so nervous about meeting all of you. The poor dear is overwhelmed.”

Geralt shoots him a glare, before softening the look into something more akin to convincing Jaskier’s parents that they’re very happily together. Jaskier hastily bolts down the rest of his dinner before he drags Geralt up the stairs and to his room.

He shuts the door behind them, leaning against and tugging at his hair. “There’s no way they’re buying this,” he moans.

“I thought I was being rather convincing.”

The corner of Geralt’s lips twitch, so Jaskier hits him with a pillow. “You did not, you brute! Geralt if you’re doing this on purpose—”

“Hey, hey,” Geralt soothes. “I’m not. It’s just. Acting is not exactly on my list of talents.”

Jaskier crosses his arms and huffs. Geralt tugs him over to the bed and makes him sit down, plopping beside him. “What can I do?”

Jaskier throws his arm over his eyes and lays back, rather over dramatically, if you ask Geralt. “Nothi—Well, actually.”

Geralt does not like the sound of that. He was offering more to be nice than anything.

“We have to have sex.”

Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “What?”

Jaskier scoffs. “This is no time to act the blushing virgin, Geralt,” he says, before his hands are on Geralt’s clothes, tugging them and unbuttoning.

Geralt jerks back, but Jaskier is already done. “There. Nice and dishevelled.”

Geralt gapes at him for a moment, giving Jaskier the opportunity to muss his hair. Geralt growls.

“I know, I know. That took you hours to accomplish.”

Geralt catches his wrist. “Just, hold on a second. What are we doing?”

“We have to consummate my childhood bed, Geralt,” Jaskier says, completely seriously. “Or at least make my parents think we did.”

Jaskier starts moving his hips on the bed, making the headboard brush up against the wall with every gyration. “Mmm, fuck, Geralt, right there!” he cries.

“ Jaskier!” Geralt hisses, but Jaskier pays him no mind.

“You feel so good, darling!” He throws Geralt a wink, and Geralt tries not to combust.

Jaskier undoes three of the buttons of his doublet, revealing a thicket of chest hair. Geralt casts his eyes to the ceiling. Gods help him. “You know, you don’t have to be so stoic all the time, dear heart. You can let me hear you,” Jaskier says, pointedly prodding at Geralt.

Geralt shakes his head furiously. This is not what he agreed to.

Jaskier gives Geralt a put on sigh before clearing his throat quietly. “Oh, Jaskier,” he says in a deep voice.

“That doesn’t even sound like me,” Geralt whispers furiously.

Jaskier just arches an eyebrow, and Geralt knows that’s a challenge. He swings his leg over Jaskier, straddling him and trying to ignore both of their pounding hearts. It’s the heat of carrying out their plan, Geralt is sure, and not at all Jaskier’s proximity.

Geralt rocks the bed back and forth, making the headboard slam against the wall now.

Gearlt gives a half hearted moan, and Jaskier gives him a glare. “You’re making me sound like a terrible lover who’s left you horribly unfulfilled!” he hisses.

Geralt rolls his eyes and gives a more enthusiastic moan this time. Geralt begrudgingly keeps this up for a few more minutes before he grunts and clambers off of Jaskier. “A little quick to the finish line?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt shoots him a rude hand gesture.

Jaskier gasps in mock offense. “Why don’t you go get me a wash rag?” he suggests.

Geralt glares at him; this is taking the charade much too far, if you ask Geralt, but he follows Jaskier’s direction to the bathroom—where Jaskier’s mother is standing. Geralt suddenly becomes conscious of what a mess he must look like right now, thanks to Jaskier. “Hello again,” Marilla says.

Geralt grunts and nods to her, before remembering he should probably say something, anything. “Hi.”

Geralt grabs a washcloth and flees.

When he gets back to Jaskier, Jaskier is sitting on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, scribbling away in his notebook, the inkwell balancing precariously on the mattress. He still has his buttons undone, and Geralt curses himself for even noticing.

“Did you run into anyone?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt’s disgruntled expression must be answer enough, because Jaskier rubs his hands together in delight. “Excellent.”

Marilla scurries back to her room, completely scandalized. She can’t believe they would...defile her home like this. It’s bad enough that Julian couldn’t choose anyone they suggested for himself, and now he brings home a witcher ? He’s trying to make her gray even faster.

She shuts the bedroom door behind her and looks to Ethbert. Her expression must linger on her face, because he asks her, “What?”

“They—” She makes a floppy hand gesture.

“Are you sure? What would a witcher want with Julian? There’s something not right about this.”

Marilla fans herself. “I know. They’re not even wed. It’s impropriety, is what it is.”

Ethbert squints doubtfully.

Geralt is not a morning person. When Jaskier first discovered this, he was puzzled. Geralt is the only person who dictates his schedule, so no one would yell at him if he chose to sleep until midday.

The more Jaskier thinks about it, though, the more it makes sense. Of course Geralt would wake up at the asscrack of dawn; he probably thinks of it as a punishment or some other such self loathing nonsense.

It’s certainly more of a punishment for Jaskier, because he’s the one that has to put up with Geralt’s bearish attitude every morning.

Geralt blinks awake and squints at the rising sun like it’s personally offended him, and Jaskier closes his eyes, not wanting to be caught staring.

“Morning,” Geralt grates out.

Jaskier’s lips twist into a wry smile. “Good morning.”

“I know you weren’t asleep,” Geralt says, sounding annoyed. “You could have woken me up.”

“Mm. And deal with a grumpy witcher first thing in the morning? I don’t think so.”

Geralt scoffs. “I’m not grumpy.”

“Right.”

Geralt swings his legs out of the bed and begins getting dressed. Jaskier stretches into the warmth Geralt left behind, tugging the blankets up over him.

What? He never said he was a morning person, either. “Where are you going?”

“Into town.”

“For what? Do you need things for potions? I’ll go with you.”

“No, no, I’m just going to see if there’s any contracts; you stay here.”

Jaskier gives a sly grin. “Does my family make you nervous?”

“ No .”

“Hmm,” Jaskier says.

“Shut up.”

“Well, don’t go gallivanting off without telling me where. You know I worry.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “No need.”

Jaskier adopts a high pitched voice. “Why, thank you, Jaskier, my dearest friend. I’m so touched to know someone is looking out for me.”

“It’s pretty sad if you have to imagine someone to be your friend.”

Jaskier splutters as Geralt walks out of the room, a smile tugging at his lips.

Jaskier sighs as the door shuts behind him, wanting to bundle himself back in the blankets and Geralt’s scent, but he resists the urge and stumbles out of bed to pull on his clothes.

He makes it down the stairs and to the kitchen, picking up a bowl of eggs and whisking them, the need to be helpful overriding his desire to collapse in a chair and go back to sleep.

“Good morning, Julian,” his mother says stiffly. “Where’s your beau?”

Jaskier lets himself smile at the image of Geralt’s reaction to being heard of himself referred to as Jaskier’s beau .

“He’s out looking for a contract. He’ll be back for lunch, I’m sure.”

He gives his mother a bright grin. He thinks he should have made Geralt suck a hickey on his neck, but, to be honest, he’s not sure if he could have beared that. Geralt had already been so unbearably close to Jaskier when he straddled him. Jaskier’s not sure what had possessed Geralt to do that, all the while expecting Jaskier to keep his hands to himself.

He’s not sure Geralt’s looked in a mirror anytime in the past fifty years because of the whole monster-staring-back-at-him thing (complete horse shit, in Jaskier’s humble opinion, not that Geralt cares to listen to it), but Jaskier is forced to look at him every day, and he suffers.

He suffers every time he trails behind Geralt atop Roach, watching the subtle shift of his back muscles as he rides, and he’s devastated when Geralt deems Roach too tired to carry him and leads her in his tight leather pants. If Geralt hadn’t been wearing just such a thing when Jaskier met him, Jaskier would be convinced Geralt does it just to personally spite Jaskier.

To doom him to look but not touch for the rest of his life. As such, he had never expected Geralt to actually agree to this whole charade. But, he did, and now here they are. Here they are, with Jaskier knowing exactly what Geralt tastes like (less onion than one would expect), but still having to not just kiss the blank looks Geralt likes to give him right off his face.

It’s enough to drive a man mad.

Geralt looks at the pitiful notice board and sighs. He tugs down the one prospect to examine it more closely. Something is stealing a farmer’s sheep. There’s a few possibilities for what it could be, ranging from minor nuisances to things that he shouldn’t even mention to Jaskier because he’ll nag at Geralt until he lets him tag along, and those are always the kind of jobs that Jaskier should be nowhere near.

Geralt’s not sure how someone with the survival instinct of a fly larva is still alive, especially when he insists on following Geralt around, but Geralt’s not going to let Jaskier get hurt on his watch.

Geralt pockets the notice and goes to talk to the farmer who set the contract, but he has very little useful information to tell Geralt. All he offers is that the sheep have been disappearing without a trace. Geralt walks the edges of the property and a bit into the woods, doing a cursory inspection for the carcasses, but he doesn’t find them, either.

Hmm.

Geralt turns and heads back to Jaskier.

Geralt’s acting out of sorts when he returns from town, so Jaskier tugs him aside. “What’s wrong?”

Geralt just grunts and shakes his head.

Jaskier sighs. Typical. “Weren’t there any contracts?”

“There were, just—I don’t know what it is. But I’m sure it will be fine.”

Geralt even tries to give him a bracing smile, and even though it looks more like a grimace, Jaskier knows it’s not good if Geralt has stooped to trying to comfort him.

Jaskier hums at him and leads him to the table where his family are waiting on them for lunch. Jaskier keeps a hand on Geralt’s knee, because he’s allowed to, at the moment.

He delights in watching Geralt make awkward conversation with Nell, but it seems like they’re quickly warming up to each other. Jaskier’s mouth goes dry at the thought of them teaming up on him. They would truly be a menace.

Jaskier’s mood is quickly soured when they finish eating and Geralt insists on heading back out.

“Shouldn’t you wait until the morning? You know, be well rested?”

Geralt shrugs. “It’s been taking the animals at night. Better chance of finding it if I go now.”

“Geralt, we’re not exactly short on coin right now. Why even go?”

“If I don’t take care of this, who will?” Geralt huffs. “This farmer’s livelihood is at risk.”

Jaskier grins. “Geralt, you unbearable softie. You make me look callous.”

Jaskier darts a glance over to his family, who are pretending not to watch them. He takes that as license to tug Geralt in for a chaste kiss. Geralt stiffens against him, and Jaskier is just about ready to pull away, before Geralt starts kissing him back. He makes it decidedly less chaste, and Jaskier puts a hand on his chest. He lets himself savor it for one, two, three seconds before he takes a step back.

“Geralt, there are children present!” he says in a scandalized tone, grinning at Nell.

She glares, and he shoots her a wink.

Geralt clears his throat, and Jaskier jerks his attention back to him. “Right. Well, if I’m not going to talk you out of it, be safe.”

“I always am.”

Ethbert watches as Julian paces back and forth as he waits for the witcher to return. “Sit down,” he says gruffly.

Julian looks at the clock, then out the window, completely ignoring him. Ethbert snorts. Good to know nothing’s changed, then.

“Surely it can’t take this long to murder one measly little thing,” Julian mutters.

“He’s fine,” Ethbert says. “It’d take a lot to overpower a witcher, right?”

Jaskier sits down in a huff, and Ethbert starts to wonder if maybe their relationship is less of a farce than he thought. It’s certainly an odd one, and he’s still clueless as to what they could possibly have in common, but Julian is painting a convincing picture right now, especially as he tugs his cloak off the hook and settles it around his shoulders.

“Where are you going?”

“To find him!”

Ethbert jerks out of his seat with a splutter. “You can’t be serious. You think you’re going to be able to handle whatever a witcher couldn’t?”

Julian pauses. “Well, no. He’s probably lying in a ditch somewhere, slowly bleeding to death. Oh gods, what if he’s out there bleeding to death?”

Julian becomes even more frantic and rushes out the door and to the stables.

Ethbert resigns himself to a long night.

Jaskier clambers onto one of the smaller mares. He doesn’t have the patience to go through the whole process of putting all the tack on, so he clings to the horse’s neck and prays he doesn’t fall off. He digs into her with his knees, and away they go.

Jaskier has no idea which way Geralt went, but there’s some fairly fresh hoof tracks in the wet dirt of the road, so he follows them and hopes they’re Roach’s. Eventually, they go off the road, and Jaskier is left to squint at trampled grass. He wonders if Geralt would be proud of his tracking abilities, and he smiles thinking about the inevitable jab. Jaskier would respond with something about how Geralt was no better than a dog sniffing the air, and all would be well.

But first, he has to find him. Jaskier slows the horse to a walk as the trail becomes fainter, squinting as he looks at the ground. He comes to an outcrop of rocks with an opening just big enough to go inside, and he dismounts his horse cautiously. He certainly doesn’t want to deal with whatever calls this place its home.

Jaskier notices blood, and his heart kicks up a notch. It’s a rust red color, so it’s not very recent. Jaskier follows the splatters, and as he goes, they get brighter and brighter, until Jaskier’s heart threatens to burst out of his chest with the panicked tap dance it’s doing.

It certainly doesn’t help matters when he finds Roach wandering through the woods by herself. “Where’s Geralt?” he asks, and she snorts at him helpfully.

Jaskier casts a look at the blood glistening under the leaves underfoot and knows Geralt has to be close. Roach gives an agitated whinny before she turns and trots off, and Jaskier rushes after her.

In the end, Geralt’s not all that far away. Jaskier sees his hair before he sees anything else, and then he’s sprinting over to him with little thought for anything else. Jaskier drops to his knees beside Geralt. He looks paler than normal, even though Jaskier hadn’t known that was possible

There’s so much blood, and he’s not moving. Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Geralt? Geralt?” he asks, his voice getting louder and more panicked. “Geralt?”

Jaskier resists the urge to shake him and jostle whatever injuries he has, but there’s bile rising in his throat, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do—

His eyes latch on to the infinitesimal rise of Geralt’s chest, and the pressure on his own suddenly lifts. He shuts his eyes for a moment. Geralt isn’t dead, and he can work with that.

Jaskier takes a closer look at Geralt and finds there’s a chunk missing from his side. It’s still bleeding freely, and Jaskier tries to resist the urge to be sick. He works Geralt free of his armor with shaky hands, so he can take a closer look.

Geralt moans and starts to stir, and Jaskier plants his hands on Geralt’s chest. “Just stay still; you’re going to be fine.”

“Jask?” Geralt slurs.

“Yes, yes, it’s me, and you know I’m far too stubborn to let you die.”

“My pack—”

Jaskier could slap himself for not thinking of that. “Right. Um, your potions.”

He whistles for Roach, and she approaches skittishly. Jaskier glances back down at Geralt, and his eyes are slipping shut. Jaskier tightens his grip on Geralt’s shoulder. “Geralt! You have to stay awake. Do you hear me?”

Geralt murmurs something Jaskier doesn’t quite catch, but his eyes open wider. Geralt’s pupils are so dilated, there’s barely a ring of yellow left around the outsides. Jaskier clambers up to look through Roach’s saddlebags, and his heart clenches when Geralt’s hand comes up to clutch at him as he moves away. “I’m not going anywhere,” he soothes.

He rustles through the saddlebag. “Fuck, Geralt, do you really need so many tiny bottles?”

Geralt gives him a weak chuckle before he hisses in pain.

“Which one do you need?” Jaskier asks, hoping Geralt is coherent enough that he’s not about to poison himself.

Jaskier pulls the pouch out of the saddle bag to show him the options. Geralt points to a few, and Jaskier eyes them doubtfully. He uncorks them anyway, sitting back down and settling Geralt’s head into his lap, helping him get the elixirs down, even when Geralt tries to bat his hands away.

“Save your energy for something useful, would you?” Jaskier tuts.

Jaskier prods at the wound in Geralt’s side, jerking his hand back when Geralt winces. “I forgot just how delicate you were, my apologies.”

Geralt barely manages a huff at that, and Jaskier furrows his brows in worry. He pulls Geralt’s shirt away from the wound, biting his lip as it pulls skin away. The wound looks a sickly green underneath all the blood, and Jaskier gasps a little. This is much worse than he thought.

“Geralt, it’s—Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes have slipped shut, and Jaskier scrabbles at him, trying to make him wake up again, but he stays stubbornly still. The only thing giving Jaskier even a tiny glimmer of peace is that his chest is still rising and falling.

Tears are threatening to burst to Jaskier’s eyes, but he pushes them down and takes a deep breath. Somehow, he manages to heave Geralt across Roach. Roach snorts, disgruntled, and Jaskier runs a hand over her flank, trying to soothe her.

He looks around, but he has no idea where the mare he rode out here went. Oops. Hopefully it will wander back to his parent’s estate, but if not, well, will they even miss it?

Jaskier gathers Roach’s reins in his hand and leads her back towards town at a steady trot.

When Geralt comes to, he’s sweltering. He seems to be in a tomb of blankets, and the fire is roaring in the corner of the room. The room? He’s not quite sure how he got here; he would have expected to be lying on the cold ground instead of a soft and yielding bed. There’s even less lumps than he’s accustomed to.

He groans when he tries to move, and there’s a rustling from beside him. Geralt looks over to see Jaskier jerking from his chair to fuss over him. Jaskier’s eyes are red when he finally looks up.

“You promised me you were going to be safe, you terror,” Jaskier sniffs.

Geralt doesn’t have his wits about him enough yet to be dealing with crying bards. “Hmm.”

“Geralt, you—What was it?”

“A cockatrice. It got me with its tail; spit a little poison at me just for fun.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you in the ass.”

This makes Geralt look even grumpier, if possible. Jaskier’s glad; he much prefers that to the slack expression Geralt had had while he was sleeping, and Jaskier was terrified he wouldn’t wake up.

Jaskier looks back at him, and Geralt can’t help himself when he reaches out to swipe away Jaskier’s tears with his thumb. “I’m fine,” he murmurs.

Geralt tosses the covers off himself so he can see his wound. It’s wrapped rather nicely, and when Geralt pokes at it, it feels like there’s some kind of poultice under the bandages. He raises his eyebrows at Jaskier, waiting for an explanation.

“A healer.”

Geralt’s surprised Jaskier found someone who would treat him; most people aren’t too keen on helping witchers.

“I yelled at him until he helped you,” Jaskier admits.

Geralt huffs a laugh. “I’m sure he was terrified.”

Jaskier finally cracks a grin. “Hey, you’re not the only scary one around here.”

Jaskier’s eyes drop to his hand, the one that was just on his face, and fuck, what was Geralt even thinking, but Jaskier reaches out and puts his hand over Geralt’s.

“I was worried,” he says softly. And then, sharper, “Don’t you dare say hmm .”

“Hmm.”

Geralt laughs, and there’s a warmth that settles in his chest when Jaskier does the same.

“You’re incorrigible,” Jaskier finally says.

There’s a lengthy silence, and when Geralt looks up, Jaskier is staring back at him.

“You got the trophy, right?”

“Geralt, my ears must be deceiving me. You cannot possibly be worried about that right now.”

“How else am I going to get paid? Last time I checked, you liked to eat. It needs done before something else drags the carcass away.”

Jaskier sighs and huffs and does everything short of stomping his feet before he gathers his cloak from the back of his chair. He glares at Geralt before he slams the door shut behind him.

Geralt rubs a shaky hand down his face.

He’s an idiot.

Jaskier grumbles to himself as he makes his way back out into the chilly night. His advances are obviously unwelcome, if this is the kind of punishment Geralt is doling out to him. Well, that’s fine. Jaskier will just let him bleed out next time.

Okay, he won’t, but that doesn’t mean he won’t consider it for a few seconds.

Stupid emotionally repressed witchers. He can’t say he wasn’t hoping something would happen with Geralt while they were here, but he should have known better.

Jaskier trudges all the way back to near where he found Geralt, pointedly not looking at the blood stain on the grass. He’s fine , he reminds himself. Jaskier pokes around for a little bit until he remembers the cave he had seen earlier and some vague knowledge that cockatrices prefer them.

He’s half expecting another to show up as he plucks some feathers and cuts off the head, for good measure. He almost gags as his knife goes roughly through the bone and sinew, but he manages to keep his supper. He looks around for any last creatures that are just waiting to murder him, but none appear.

He sighs and makes the trek back.

When he arrives, Geralt is sitting at the table, talking to his family, and Jaskier wonders for a moment if he should be concerned about a doppler. Nell is eating up every word Geralt says, and Jaskier hopes she has pried some good stories out of him that Jaskier can repurpose as songs later.

For now, he swings the cockatrice head up onto the table, and silence falls. “There you go, love,” he says cheerfully.

Geralt is looking back at him with a peculiar expression, and he rises from his chair stiffly. Jaskier rushes over to him to help, and Geralt reluctantly drapes an arm over his shoulder. Geralt leads him to the bathroom, and Jaskier makes sure to say loudly enough for the rest of his family to hear, “Well, if you needed help holding it you only had to ask.”

Geralt huffs in exasperation and shuts the door behind him. Jaskier raises his eyebrows in question. “Did you actually need help, or…” Jaskier trails off, and then Geralt’s lips are on his, warm and hungry, and anymore of Jaskier’s thoughts fly out of his brain.

His arms automatically come up to wrap around Geralt’s waist, until he registers that this is Geralt , and he puts a hand on his chest. “Um. Do you need your head checked out, as well? I thought it was your side, but I can go get the healer again.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier’s not convinced Geralt hasn’t sustained a lasting brain injury, but then Geralt is saying, “I should have done this a long time ago,” and kissing him again.

What is Jaskier to do but kiss him back? It’d be terribly impolite not to, after all. When Geralt finally pulls away, Jaskier asks breathlessly, “What was that for?”

Geralt shrugs, considering. “You looked kind of hot carrying that cockatrice head. The trachea hanging down really got me going.”

Jaskier stares at him in disbelief for a beat before they both dissolve into laughter.

“You’re an idiot,” Jaskier says. “You’re my idiot.”

Ethbert looks across the table, where what his son is doing can only be called terrorizing his witcher, and harrumphs to himself. This is not exactly who he pictured Julian ending up with, to say the least.

He wonders the etiquette for having a son in law older than he is. He supposes he’s going to have to find out.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #fanfiction #contemplative writing

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writeforfandoms · 3 years

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Merry Go Round of Life 2

Find my masterlist

Part two of the Howl’s Moving Castle AU! There will still be a blend of movie and book in this chapter. Still no Din, but we do meet a couple others! (I’m very curious to see your guesses about the as-of-yet unnamed certain scarecrow.)

This will eventually be a Din Djarin x f!reader.

Warnings: Nothing much. A little unspecified swearing.

Chapter two: In which we meet a fire demon

You stood there for a moment, stunned into silence. What had just happened? Curse? What curse?

Shaking your head, you moved from behind the counter to go lock the door, only you couldn’t seem to walk as quickly. Indeed, you were almost… hobbling? Concerned now, you looked down at yourself. Was the ground closer or was it just you?

And then you froze at the sight of your hands. Your hands were thick-knuckled, knobbly, wrinkly, with prominent veins. You blinked down at your own skin, confused for a moment, and then you rushed (as well as you could) towards the floor-length mirror you had set up for customers.

A little old lady stood in the mirror, in your blue dress, with white hair. She looked about ninety - a little hunched, knobbly all over, with wrinkles everywhere. You blinked, and the reflection blinked.

“Is that me?” you murmured out loud, and then jolted. Your voice didn’t sound right - a little more scratchy, something. It sounded off. You touched your fingers to the mirror and stared. The reflection was wearing your dress, so unless the mirror had been enchanted…

But no. She’d specifically said that you were under a curse.

“That’s really me, isn’t it?” you asked yourself. As the realization faded a bit, you felt oddly calm. Almost detached. With a low groan and a series of creaks and cracks, you hobbled over to the door to flip the sign to closed and lock the door.

Well. This was… something.

You creaked and cracked and groaned your way up the stairs to your apartment. There were no wizards or witches in Kalevala, you knew this. So there would be no one to help you here. Which meant there was no point staying, honestly. Wizards were notoriously unreliable, from what you’d heard. You had no guarantee one would come even if you sent a letter begging them.

So, clearly, the best choice was your next one: go find one. Surely if you found a wizard (or witch, you weren’t going to picky) one would help you, right? And of course there was still the mysterious wizard of the moving castle around, not far from Kalevala at all. Surely you could convince him to help.

So you wrote a letter to Omera (in shaky handwriting that you had trouble reconciling as yours). As promised, you couldn’t write anything about the curse, and ended up wasting a few pieces of paper because of that. Finally, you gave up on that and simply wrote that you were taking a few weeks to travel for inspiration.

Inspiration. Sure. Omera was going to read that and get half the town in an uproar. But it was the best you could do on such short notice.

That done, you gathered up some food and your favorite cloak. You locked your apartment, and sealed a spare key in with the letter to Omera, which you left on the shop counter. Omera had a key to the shop - she’d let herself in once someone realized you were gone.

(Someone would realize, right? Right. Of course.)

With a faint wistfulness, you patted the shop door, and set off to find a wizard. Fortunately, though you’d aged quite a bit, you still seemed hale - your legs worked fine (after a few more cracks), and though you were slower than usual, you were able to get around just fine.

The walk out of town to the hills was… something. It was odd. You’d left the town exactly once before, to visit your other sister Cara in the capitol once. But even then, you’d had transportation, and Omera beside you. Leaving on your own with nothing but your pack? It was frightening, and new, but somehow liberating. There was no expectation here. No inherited dress shop to run. No expectant clients to appease. No gossip to listen in on, or ignore.

It was quiet.

Once out of town proper, you started climbing the hills. There were dirt roads up here for the farmers that lived out this way, and for now you just continued along those. You took a couple breaks, sitting on the side of the road to take a drink or eat a nibble, always turning to look back at Kalevala.

“It doesn’t look so far away,” you muttered to yourself. “I could probably throw a stone into the nearest chimney!”

Heaving yourself upright again, you started on again, until you spotted what looked like a stick. A walking stick, maybe. You could use one of those.

Hobbling over, you grabbed the stick and managed to wrestle it free from the hedge along the road. Only it wasn’t a walking stick. It was some kind of scarecrow. You hefted it upright (with perhaps a muttered swear or two) and then squinted up at the scarecrow.

“Why is your head a turnip?” you asked, rhetorically. “Ah, well. Not a walking stick after all. Too bad, my friend. May you find a better field to stand in.”

You continued on your way, grumbling a bit to yourself. It was getting late - the sun had not yet set, but it was low in the sky. Your daylight was limited, and you had no idea where you would bed down for the night.

You stopped for supper on a low rock, sitting and stretching out your legs with a low groan. You could still see the town quite clearly.

“All this walking and I’ve barely left home,” you grumbled. “This wizard had better be able to help me.”

You gnawed on your food, stuck somewhere between melancholy, anger, and resignation. But you were far too stubborn to turn back now. After all, what did you have left to lose? Certainly not your good looks. You chortled at yourself for that.

You had just gotten to your feet again when you spotted a likely-looking stick. Hobbling carefully over to it in the dimming light, you pulled a nice walking stick out of the hedge. It was a bit tall for you, but smooth and sturdy.

“Now this is a fine find!” you muttered. “This will be a great help.”

And with that you marched on. You were panting as you reached the top of the hill and you paused to look around. The land out here really was beautiful - rolling hills dotted with farms. Although you could see something moving towards you. Something big. Something big and grey and oddly bulbous, not very like a castle at all, actually.

The wizard’s castle ground to a stop not far from you. It was odd, round where it shouldn’t be, not as tall as you expected, and an odd color. It was almost metallic, although surely it wasn’t actually made of metal. That would be preposterous.

“Well, I wanted the wizard,” you told your stick. “I suppose I should go knock.” You started towards the castle, searching for a way in. There wasn’t one immediately apparent. It wasn’t until you hobbled around to the back that you found a door, and eagerly started towards it.

The castle started moving.

“Will you slow down?” you gasped at the castle, hobbling as fast as you could. You managed to tap on the door with your stick, stumbling a bit and falling behind momentarily. With one desperate hop, you managed to grab the doorknob. Another hop and a skip got one foot on the doorframe, and you pushed the door open. Two more skipping steps got you in the castle, and the door slammed shut after you.

Your first impression of the inside of the castle was… not favorable. While it wasn’t a total mess, it was cluttered. The large table in the center of the main room had objects strewn across it. More things lay on the floor, largely shoved into corners out of the way. (You didn’t quite dare to look too closely at these items.) A large fireplace dominated one wall, with a cushy armchair in front of it. Troubles momentarily forgotten, you made straight for the chair, sinking into it with a grateful groan. These old bones hurt more than you thought possible, but the warmth of the fire was slowly helping.

“What a curious fire,” you mused to your walking stick. “Why, it’s almost got a face. Curious indeed what these wizards can do.”

“No wizard did this,” the fire snapped back at you.

You blinked. The fire blinked back. There was a riot of bright red flames atop the face, and the face itself was vaguely feminine, all in yellow and orange with a touch of blue at the eyes.

“The fire speaks?” you asked, sitting up straighter.

“Yes, the fire speaks,” the fire spoke. “The fire also has a name. You can call me Peli.” The fire puffed up a bit.

“Peli,” you repeated dutifully. You were still not convinced you were somehow hallucinating this.

“So what brings you out here? Not many are willing to wander out so far away from the town, or so close to Tattooine.” Peli leaned forward a bit.

“I’m seeking a wizard,” you told Peli. You noticed the logs in the grate were almost burned up, and leaned over to heft a new log into the fire.

“Oh that’s nice,” Peli hummed, settling in on the new log. “Why do you need a wizard? Oh, wait.” The fire looked you up and down, very obviously. “Aha! You’re under a curse, too!”

“I am,” you agreed. “What do you mean, too?”

“I am also under a curse,” Peli told you, lowering her voice. “But I can help you, if you help me.”

“You can break my curse?” you asked, caught between eagerness and suspicion.

“‘Course I can!” Peli boasted. “I wasn’t always stuck to this grate, you know. I’m a very powerful fire demon.”

“So I see.” You yawned. You couldn’t help it. You’d been traveling all day, the fire was warm and felt good on your old bones, the chair was comfortable enough.

“Hey. Hey! Will you help me or not?” Peli hissed.

“Alright,” you agreed, half-asleep. “I’ll help you, if you promise you’ll help me.”

You missed whatever Peli’s response was. Your head tipped back against the chair and you were out like a light.

#merry go round of life #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #howl's moving castle au

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mediaevalmusereads · 3 years

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Matrix. By Lauren Groff. New York: Riverhead Books, 2021.

Rating: 3/5 stars

Genre: historical fiction

Part of a Series? No

Summary: Cast out of the royal court by Eleanor of Aquitaine, deemed too coarse and rough-hewn for marriage or courtly life, seventeen-year-old Marie de France is sent to England to be the new prioress of an impoverished abbey, its nuns on the brink of starvation and beset by disease. At first taken aback by the severity of her new life, Marie finds focus and love in collective life with her singular and mercurial sisters. In this crucible, Marie steadily supplants her desire for family, for her homeland, for the passions of her youth with something new to her: devotion to her sisters, and a conviction in her own divine visions. Marie, born the last in a long line of women warriors and crusaders, is determined to chart a bold new course for the women she now leads and protects. But in a world that is shifting and corroding in frightening ways, one that can never reconcile itself with her existence, will the sheer force of Marie's vision be bulwark enough? Equally alive to the sacred and the profane, Matrix gathers currents of violence, sensuality, and religious ecstasy in a mesmerizing portrait of consuming passion, aberrant faith, and a woman that history moves both through and around. Lauren Groff's new novel, her first since Fates and Furies, is a defiant and timely exploration of the raw power of female creativity in a corrupted world.

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: blood, violence, gore, childbirth, threats of rape

Overview: As a medievalist, I’m admittedly a little picky when it comes to my historical fiction set in the Middle Ages, but because this book was about Marie de France, I decided to give it a go. While I do think that Groff is a talented writer, I ultimately felt let down by Matrix; when I think about Marie de France, I think of her lais and the magic she weaves into them (not literal magic, mind you, but things like the power of women, courtly love, lush atmosphere, etc). This book, by contrast, contained very few of the themes that make Marie’s work so memorable, to the point where the less you know about the real Marie de France, the better. Instead of exploring the mind of the woman who wrote such wonderful, magical tales, we get the story of a nun who brings an impoverished abbey to prosperity. It’s a fine story, don’t get me wrong - it’s just not one I’d associate with Marie de France. Honestly, I think Groff would have had more success writing about her own original character, taking inspiration from mystics like Julian of Norwich or Margery Kempe. Thus, this book only gets 3 stars from me.

Writing: Groff’s prose is beautifully crafted with evocative imagery that is also easy to read. Everything flows well and moves at a quick pace, so readers won’t feel bogged down by details such as the day-to-day work at the abbey or some such. This book also uses present tense to narrate the story, and while I’m not usually a fan of the present tense, I think Groff made it work. The narrative feels energetic and grounded, and I think it combined well with the technique of using run-on sentences from time to time to convey the feeling of being caught up in the moment or lost in thought.

Plot: The plot of this book mainly follows Marie de France as she is yanked from her life at the French court and placed in charged of a poor English abbey. We follow Marie as she rises through the ranks and brings the abbey to prosperity, all while wrangling unruly nuns and doing her best to convince Eleanor of Aquitaine to come for a visit.

I think I would have enjoyed this plot more if the protagonist were someone other than Marie de France. As I said in my intro, the story isn’t an exploration of the inner workings of the mind of a (female) medieval poet; rather, it’s a story about a woman obsessed with her own power and reputation within the Church. The lais themselves get only about 3 pages of mention, and it felt like none of the themes that we associate with Marie’s real-life lais made it into this novel. While I did appreciate the little nods to history here and there (for example, the description of one of the nuns sticking a paintbrush in her mouth and getting lapis lazuli in her teeth), there wasn’t enough in this book to made the story feel fresh or new. Perhaps Groff was working with the theory that Marie de France was Marie, Abbess of Shaftesbury, but even so, the lack of attention to the lais and how they’d complicate our expectations or assumptions about the life of a medieval nun was baffling to me. Personally, I think Groff would have had more success if the book was “about” Marie, Abbess of Shaftesbury, or about an original character, inspired by female mystics such as Julian of Norwich or Margery Kempe.

I also wasn’t enthusiastic about the way Groff chooses to present her “feminist utopia” of an abbey staffed with only women. Despite the desire for Marie to protect her nuns from male violence and power, not much work is put into describing the abbey as a haven. Instead, Marie imposes her own will onto others and replicates the power hierarchies that she is (supposedly) so desperate to escape. I think I would have liked this book better if the author could have looked for the ways in which abbey life could have been a solace to the women. For example, maybe the daily routine provides comfort for those struggling with the chaos of the outside world. Maybe the queer nuns finally find a place that feels safe for them to express their affection for other women. Anything that complicated our modern assumptions about medieval Christianity would have been welcome; instead, I felt like I got a lot of “barbaric Middle Ages.”

I guess I’m being harsh in that Marie explicitly says that she thinks women are only safeguarded by their reputations. Thus, all of her actions are in service to cultivating a particular image of herself and the abbey (imposing, impregnable, protected by magic, etc). I think this could have been more satisfying for me if A.) again, we weren’t reading a story about “Marie de France,” or B.) the novel was very self-conscious about the fact that Marie was manipulating the perspectives of others.

Characters: Marie, our main protagonist, is confusing and difficult to like. Originally, she’s too cool for school; she arrives at the abbey more than a little skeptical of Christianity, and she judges the other nuns around her rather harshly (even though some deserve it, but still - there was this “not like other girls” vibe that I didn’t like). The novel tells us that she was a child crusader, which seems odd for one not invested in Christianity, and then never really does anything with that except use it to instill fear in people who are uncomfortable with her “imposing” demeanor. After a few years, Marie becomes devout to the point where she’s having divine visions, like e medieval mystic. The switch felt fairly abrupt, and Marie’s ruthless pursuit of power and prosperity was admittedly a little tired at times. The only things I liked about her were her queerness and obsession with Eleanor of Aquitaine. Queerness is fairly commonplace, which is refreshing; even though Marie struggles with the idea of whether it is a sin or not to have carnal desires for other women, I did appreciate that wlw relationships were everywhere within the abbey, not just between Marie and a single other nun. Marie’s obsession with Eleanor was also interesting in that it bordered on erotic obsession and made manifest the pains unreciprocated love, mirroring courtly love in real medieval literature. I liked how Marie strove to please Eleanor in everything that she did, and loving the Queen from a distance put an interesting spin on courtly love between two women.

Eleanor, for her part, was intriguing because she was something of a mystery. We mainly saw her though Marie’s eyes, which meant that she was held up as a paragon - of beauty, of intelligence, of courage, etc. When we do finally see Eleanor in the flesh (so to speak), she doesn’t quite live up to Marie’s hype, and I liked the conflict between reality and the lover’s image of the beloved.

Most other characters blurred together for me. There are many nuns at the abbey, and most of them have quirks or jobs that make them unique. In that respect, I liked how Groff made each nun feel like an individual, and that they all came together to form a community. What I didn’t really like, however, was how they always seemed to be in conflict. Aside from a couple characters, it didn’t seem like any of the women had any close relationships; rather, I felt like the women were frequently in conflict or at least consistently incompatible in some way or another. If Groff really wanted to paint the abbey as some kind of haven or utopia, I think having more of the nuns find emotional intimacy with one another would have gone a long way. Even if some of the women didn’t get along, I would have liked to see more positive relationships rather than negative or impersonal ones.

TL;DR: Matrix is ultimately a compelling novel about running an abbey, but a poor imagining of real-life poet Marie de France. While there is much to admire about Groff’s prose and the book would have been a fine work of historical fiction if written about, say, the Abbess of Shaftesbury, the narrative is unfulfilling for those who are familiar with the lais of Marie de France, primarily because none of the core themes from the medieval poems play major roles in Groff’s novel.

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promethes · 4 years

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dumping the horrendous unconventional short story I wrote for my midterm under the cut to get it off my mind bc I do not like it.

ENTRY 1

I think I will make my life’s motif a bird. It shouldn’t be too hard. They’re everywhere and pop out at the most opportune moments. I’ll find a way to tie them in.

ENTRY 2

Stood in line for way too long at the cafe. Can you believe the girl in front of me didn’t even look up to plan her order until she was physically at the front of the line? I knew what I wanted to order before I even stepped foot into the place. They need to change that. I’m on the lookout for some kind of online suggestion box to submit to since they decided to forgo an in-house one for some God forsaken reason. There’s not a lick of common sense in anyone these days. Saw a robin on my way out and flicked it a sesame seed from my bagel.

ENTRY 3

Would you listen to this garbage? They’re planning on tearing down my favorite bowling alley. “Didn’t pass inspection” my ass. It’s an important cultural landmark of our city and I’m marching down to the mayor to set him straight. I can’t stage important life moments around the cardinal themed bowling alley if there is no bowling alley to have a cardinal theme!

ENTRY 4

Mom’s in the hospital. Driving over now, she said it has something to do with her cholesterol. It either spiked or dropped real low, but I can’t be sure. Either way, she’s in the hospital. I don’t know why she chose the one that’s so far away though. The vending machines in the other one have way better stock.

ENTRY 5

Forgot to say. I didn’t run over any birds on the way there.

ENTRY 6

I don’t think I’m spiraling yet but I’m close to it. Mom’s fine, she’s just staying overnight in case anything acts up again. I, on the other hand, am NOT. Car won’t start and I’ve been sitting here in the parking lot for almost four hours now. Embarrassed beyond belief. A weird old man with a huge shiny truck offered to help and he’s been good on his word lending me his car to jump-start mine, but his bumper stickers make me nervous. His truck has custom lettering too. I’m a big guy, so not too worried, but a little concerned.

Anyway, it didn’t work and I’m calling a tow truck now. I tried to thank the guy and offered to buy him coffee, but he just said “No way, Jose” which was weird. He smacked the top of my car before he left and said I need to “dress this little lady up.” Maybe I’ll get a sparrow bumper sticker online. Everything’s online these days.

ENTRY 7

Starting to rethink the bird motif thing. Not much goes on in my life anyway, and there’s only so much material I can get out of waking up early to chirping. Maybe I should aim lower. I could choose a color instead. Red would be a cop-out, it’s too obvious. Blood! I need something that’s at least a little challenging. We’ll see. I’ll sleep on it.

ENTRY 8

GREAT NEWS! Sister got a BIRD. A real-life living breathing chirping flying bird. It’s a sign and I’m not going to ignore it. My life’s motif is a bird and it’s not going to be one of those unbearably hidden motifs from English class required readings either.

(Although I did like some of them. That spoon in Middlesex…… I want my bird to be his spoon. To take up space in an almost eerie way. I’ll find a way to make it work.)

ENTRY 9

Laying the groundwork. These things don’t come easy, so I’m sowing the seeds (birds do that, right?) Told everyone at work that my great great great grandfather’s name was Starling. Drilled up a lot of curious questions and I even got to know some of the people I always just miss talking to. They were all VERY interested. Tomorrow I’ll bring in a picture of an actual starling. I don’t think Andrew quite knows that it’s a kind of bird.

ENTRY 10

Don’t remember the name my sister chose and I couldn’t remember if I tried even if I squeezed my eyes shut before blinking really fast like I usually do because this bird (Polly I’m going to call it Polly because an annoying bird deserves an annoying name) is so incessantly annoyingly unbearably loud. I can’t believe this thing is my sign.

My sign is chirping me into the basement and into a frenzy. At least I have my old sleeping bag handy until I can figure out how to shut it up. Why must my motif be so unbearably annoying?

ENTRY 11

Update on the car: starter wires snapped. Haven’t seen any birds around lately (except for a crow but I hate crows and I won’t be counting them) so I was hopeful and asked the mechanic if there’s any chance a bird could’ve pecked at the wires until they got so worn down that they snapped in the hospital parking lot.

He looked at me like I was crazy. I know that was what the look meant because he said, “Are you f****ing crazy man? The wires are deep in your car under the hood.” (I’m censoring the language. I don’t want language taking away from my story. If this is to be read in a future child’s English class to teach a lesson about motifs, I can’t be including foul language.)

I’m not f***ing crazy but I am extremely ticked off. Does he not realize how little birds come out in the cold weather? I need whatever I can get.

I’ll just tell people a bird got stuck under the hood of my car. I’ll change this entry later. Mechanic man doesn’t deserve a spot in a child’s English class; he didn’t even have the decency to watch his language for them.

ENTRY 12

People at work are finally starting to catch on! Got called “bird guy” by Kathleen (Catherine? Kristy? Whatever.) when she saw my shirt. I knew it’d be a good move when I saw it on sale at Walmart. I’m thinking of making the cover of my book Hawaiian print, but I’ll tell my future publisher I’m not married to the idea. Can’t be too picky on my first book! I’ll leave that for the second.

ENTRY 13

I will enjoy my day today I will enjoy my day today I will enjoy my day. Sister needs to get control of Polly. I’ve moved down my whole mattress now. I will enjoy my day I will enjoy my day I will enjoy

ENTRY 14

Can’t believe I overlooked eagles and hawks. Of course sparrows and starlings weren’t doing the trick! Classic oversight, focusing too much on the mundane. I won’t be making that mistake. I blame it all on that incessant chirping. Mom says it’s not too bad but I’m fairly certain that cholesterol has gotten to her ears. She must be going deaf. She’s lucky she’s ill or else I’d be very extremely sore at her for making that face at me. I know it’s a bad face because it’s the same face that f***ing mechanic made and I don’t think he’s ever made a good face in his life so if my mom made that same face then I really don’t like that. She gets a pass for the cholesterol.

ENTRY 15

I feel amazing. Bought an eagle bumper sticker at a roadside gas station and after a few strategic snips, it’ll be ready to go on the car. I’m dressing this little lady up! The red, white, and blue has got to go first though. Decided a while ago not to let colors mess with my motif, and I’m not going to slip up on that again! Snip snip.

I’m considering this a debt paid. Dressed the little lady up. Two birds, one stone! I’m making that my new catchphrase.

ENTRY 16

Should I make this a love story? I’m thinking about making it a romance. Doves are right there, really just waiting for me to weave them in. On the other hand, I don’t think that’d work to create much of a conducive learning environment for the kids. I think I’ll stick to a Mark Twain type story instead.

Reread the beginning and don’t think it’s working. I’ll be cutting all that out. I spoke too much about mom’s cholesterol. Too many side characters and not enough focus. Where was I going with this again?

ENTRY 17

Writer’s block. It’s ok, I still had that major breakthrough with the hawk/eagle thought. Put in my two weeks to dedicate all my time. I’ve found a bird-watching site that I hope will bring me more peace than f***ing Polly.

ENTRY 18

These birds are really working to stay in my New York Times best-selling children’s novel. Knew this would be a challenge, but they really do never stop conversing. If only they could read, I’d write them a best-selling manual on the best ways to speak inwards rather than outwards. Chirp chirp chirp needs to turn into ______ ________ ________.

ENTRY 19

Sister’s going to be f***ing pissed but it was the only thing to do.

ENTRY 20

Honestly, it was just a bird! If it was really part of our family, you’d think that I’d know its name by now.

ENTRY 21

I said that Polly’s in a better place now, but set her off with the “Polly”. Maybe this was a mistake. She said I “begged” her to get the bird but she shouldn’t say that when she’s the one reacting like this.

ENTRY 22

Books should come with suggestion boxes. No more birds. Story’s six feet under just like Gladys. See, I can finally remember it now that I can hear myself think.

#eugh #og #emptying notes #essays

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medeafive · 3 years

Note

I'm curious about Cruise!

Oh, thanks very much for asking about that! That’s actually a covid fic. In the early days, there was this one cruise ship where covid broke out and they weren’t allowed to land in Japan, I think (I think it was called Diamond Cruise). So, the fic is essentially a fake-dating mission where Natasha accompanies Bucky on the cruise because of some Hydra thing only he can recognize. And then covid breaks out and Natasha catches it (Bucky is immune because he’s a super soldier), so he has to nurse her while she’s sick and even after she gets better, they’re still stuck all day in their cabin and they get veeeery close. I wrote a solid beginning (which I’ll post below a read more) and then skipped all the fake dating to jump to the end and it’s basically abandoned now, though I hope to catch motivation again some day.

"Hell no. You can't make her do that."

Her doesn't even twitch, feet on the table, chin propped up on her palm, elbow propped up on her hip. She waits, lurking, and at some point she's going to come out swinging, whichever way. And she won't miss.

Fury rolls his eyes, except he doesn't. It's a skill Bucky admires. "Make her what, Barton?"

He used to find her kind of unremarkable- she's only human, after all, and a small one at that. Now he doesn't understand how she could ever not make the hair at the back of his neck stand. She exudes danger. It's on another frequency just out of earshot but it's deafening once you get attuned.

"Make her play cuddly with- no offense but maybe you should get out for this. With the guy who tried to murder her multiple times."

He doesn't get out and nobody seems to care. Nobody pays him any mind at all. Her still hasn't moved an inch. Like the mafia boss while everyone around argues and fights. He's seen some movies, it's just all a wash to him.

"I'm not making anyone do anything," Fury returns. "It's a fucking cruise. That's just the obvious cover. And I'm not letting a fairly new agent run a weeks long undercover operation without experienced backup."

"And how exactly do you imagine that going?" Barton asks. "Is she supposed to sleep in a small, windowless room? With him?"

"I'm sure we could work something out," her suggests surprisingly, not taking her chin out of her palm. "Build some trust."

She's not looking at him but he knows she's watching him. They're on the same frequency. The one for murderers and psychopaths. He doesn't get the feeling she's talking about her trust in him, like it's not her issue, which is eerie.

"Are you serious?" Barton questions in disbelief. He gets the feeling he wants to give her an easy out most of all, so she doesn't have to be the one who says no. "Come on, Nat. That's a swimming prison. Nowhere to run."

"I'm just saying," she adds casually, as if she hasn't already made her decision. "Who goes on a cruise with his sister? Separate cabins? It just doesn't make sense."

"You could go separately," Steve suggests carefully. "Without connected covers."

Maybe it was when she went off the comms that one time, off the grid, and Steve said she would be fine and Barton said she was exactly where she wanted to be- and then she later walked out of the bunker, with the thing they'd been looking for the entire fucking time, crooked smile. Maybe that flicked the switch, maybe that's since when he can't see her as anything else than what she is, which is all sharp edges, all teeth, all danger. Maybe that's when it was.

"He has no experience," she points out, as if she needs to argue. "Fury is right, he needs supervision. And I can do the talking part."

Not his strong suit. "And you can sell that," Barton remarks dubiously, not specifying that.

"Sure," she replies, shrugging non-committedly. "And if he can't, I will."

He starts doubting he's actually here, with how they're all talking around him. "And I'm not making you," Fury remarks.

She grins, letting the sharp and blank shine through. "Have you ever?"

"That's settled, then," Fury finishes. He wonders if anyone ever asked him. "We'll work out the details. Ship leaves next week and then you're on your own."

They all get up and so he does, too, following Steve towards the elevator, but the hair on his neck signals to him she's there, right behind him, even if inaudible. He turns and she rolls to a stop, smoothly. "Scared?"

He shrugs. As if he would tell her. Throw her that kind of meat. "Well," she remarks, rocking up on her feet. "Better get used to it."

She's all up in his space all of a sudden, pressing his head down to her lips, and he just goes with it. There's nothing else on the other frequency than before, not that he expected it to be. It's weirdly silent around. At least he didn't startle.

"Mhm," she makes, pulling back. "Try again."

He leans down, thinking about the sharpness, nothing but the sharpness, like he's making out with a Kalashnikov, weirdly apt metaphor. But she's not that blunt an instrument, of course, more like a scalpel. A dagger. Anything that can cut someone's heart out.

She's grinning when he pulls back, sharp teeth. "Okay. I can work with that."

Barton looks half worried and half amused. He just gets on the elevator with Steve who looks at him weird, of course. Closes his eyes as soon as the doors glide together. Man. A fucking cruise. Just because he's the only one who's ever seen the stupid key they're after. And the book. Now he has to play a fucking tourist.

"Sure you can handle it?" Steve asks, sounding awfully worried, now that they're alone.

"It's just a cruise, Steve," he replies. "It's just a fucking cruise."

They figure out a thing for his arm, they do his hair and they write him a comprehensive cover. He gets to pick what business school he went to, not nameless but not too famous, gets to pick his family background, his pet peeves. They try a few different things and end up sticking to glasses. He shaves.

He gets a briefing about her cover, too, and immediately, one of the photos slips out of the folder. She's on the cover of a magazine, supposed to look soft but he only sees the sharp edges. There's a handwritten note from her, in nice cursive, that he doesn't have to learn it by heart, that it's actually more convincing if he doesn't know everything. He reads the whole night.

She's… he's actually not quite sure. Something between a model and an actress and the kind of person a rich guy would call if he needed some arm candy. She's on Instagram, too, with a remarkable amount of followers and posts going back over three years. Nice to have such a machine at your back. She probably has fucking sponsoring deals. He read about that kind of thing.

They quiz him about his cover until he can recite the whole thing forward and backward and sideways. They quiz him about hers, too, but when he mixes it all up, the woman smiles and says that it's maybe even better this way. Better explain superficiality than try to fake it away.

He has to learn about his supposed job, too, daytrading and the commodity markets and fintec and junk bonds and all that kind of shit. That's probably what he's going to fuck up first. They teach him stupid managerial speak and quiz him about the political views he's supposed to have. When he's not talking about work, he needs to know everything about his fancy hobbies, tennis and mountain climbing and sailing. God, he hates himself.

When they travel to Okinawa, where they will board, he's so full of it, expert information and biographical details and mannerisms, he's never going to get all of that straight. Someone's life pressed into a week. How is he supposed to remember all of that, not mix it up? He'd have to be a totally different person.

"You know, I'm not particularly picky about who I make out with," she remarks. "If that helps. Not a big deal."

Of course. She'll just get it done. She's just worried he'll be difficult about it. "I'm not worried about that."

"Yes, you are," she replies seamlessly. "But I really don't care. You know, I even made out with Steve once."

That immediately sears itself into his brain, whether he wants it to or not. "Yeah. Okay."

"Different thing," she adds, starting to go through her handbag. "Sleeping arrangements. We could try shifts but that's probably not going to work. Are you claustrophobic?"

He shakes his head. He's scared of many things, though. Probably couldn't name them all if he tried. "Okay," she says. "Then it's probably easiest if one of us locks themselves in the bathroom overnight and we switch every day."

Great. Sleeping in the bathtub. "It locks from the inside, though."

"Yeah, but I'll definitely wake up from that," she replies. "You too. I considered the balcony, too, but that looks super weird if one of us sleeps outside."

Oh, no. Not at all. He wonders how long she thought about that until she felt safe with it. With him. "Okay. Bathroom."

"I'm sure it's fancy so we'll be fine," she says. "It looked fancy in the pictures."

There are so many people. All getting on one ship. And she's talking the whole fucking time while he's just trying to find out where they're supposed to go, getting mad at him when he doesn't listen or reply or whatever shit, and at once he snaps at her. She pouts, sort of duckface if that's still a thing, turning and starting to complain to random people around them, which is fine by him as long as she leaves him alone-

It scares him to realize he's really angry, he didn't want to, certainly not to the point of losing control, snapping- yet he snapped perfectly in character. Without even trying. A few people around look at him sympathetically. It's weird but it feels sorta… good?

"Oh honey," she interrupts his calm. "Don't we have priority boarding? It's so humid out here. I'm sweating like a pig, I really need a shower. Do we have the suite with the bathtub? I'm dying out here, really. We should go for the pool first. No, shower, the shower with the…"

He stops listening after that, rolling his eyes before he even thinks about it. Wow. But he spots a sign soon after, different line, hopefully priority, the sign's golden-

She's talking with an elderly lady about the horrific heat. He takes a deep breath and just drags her that way, through the crowd, not letting go of her wrist because then he'll definitely lose her. He hears her giggle as she wiggles through the crowd. "Oh my. Oh my. You are certainly very hands-on today."

He has no fucking patience for that. Or Benedict has no fucking patience for that. Or both. "Could you just, for a second, shut up?"

She opens her mouth, gasping for a brief moment, but out only comes an angry hum. Sure, her lips are moving but he can tune the words out perfectly. The golden sign comes within reach and it's indeed their category, thank God. Now he just has to find the end of the queue. Benedict has studied in England, he would never cut in line.

They finally come to a stop, at the end of the quickly moving line. She pushes her gigantic glasses up her nose, huffing. "They better not lose our baggage. Once, on a flight, they lost my suitcase even though it had a new exclusive shawl by Hermes in it! Can you imagine? I was phoning after them for weeks and I never got anywhere, they just lost it. Never showed up again. I bet one of those shady flight attendants stole it. She was staring at me so jealously, you know, even though I barely had any makeup on, just a touch of rouge and-"

"They won't lose our baggage," he interrupts.

She stops and smiles, behind her enormous glasses, should be hard to make out but it's not, gets on her toes and quickly presses her lips to his, but he catches her head and keeps her there and- until someone clears their throat behind them, right, right, the queue, must move. He apologizes backwards, without really looking. She's smiling, moving forward, mood changed so quickly.

He doesn't really get why they would go on a cruise together when they already get so annoyed with each other. Why he would take her. He's pretty sure he's taking her, though no one told him that explicitly. The usher is staring at him expectantly, she's staring at him expectantly, and he fumbles for the tickets while she complains that he never keeps his things in order.

The usher's smile widens when he sees the price category on the ticket. "Oh, welcome on board, Mr. Darkwell, Miss Bigard. Let me escort you to your suite."

#buckynat #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #winter soldier #black widow #my writing #sorry I can't do breaks somehow

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

My Favourite (Gigi x Nicky) - Mina

A/N: Im sorry it’s been so many queues! The next fic I write is gonna be reallly long and good and yes so I did this in the meantime. Definitely not my best work but I hope you enjoy it anyway :>

Gigi and Nicky have silently competed over the title of Arcelia’s favourite aunt for months now, until they coincidentally have to babysit her at the same time.

Gigi Goode was a reasonable woman. She was reasonable enough through her childhood that her parents declared that she was a gifted child, even though all she did was study and be a good kid in general. She was reasonable enough in high school that she managed to enter the most prestigious University in the country, and secured the valedictorian title since she went into her first class. And of course, Gigi was nothing sort of an unreasonable woman so she made connections everywhere - work, organizations, charity, so on. What mattered was that she made connections to smooth her life. A reasonable woman needed a best friend, someone to call when she felt down or felt giddy, and for her, the best friend came in the form of Jackie Cox. Tall, had an IQ of 148, liked to read psychological books for fun, and most importantly, she had dimples. The Persian was perfect as a best friend, Gigi adored that woman, aspired to be like her, even. She was successful, beautiful, and had a good sense of humor even though people around them didn’t find it funny.

The brunette had found a reasonable job with a more than reasonable pay, finally could afford the apartment she had aspired to live in since she was a mere high school freshman, and because she was a very reasonable woman, Gigi had planned to hit the club and maybe make out with a guy or girl – she wasn’t picky – because tonight was Friday night and she had made it through a very tough day at work. Some asshole didn’t turn in their report on time and left Gigi reeling because everything had to be delayed. That was fine. It had passed and everything was fine so she was allowed to treat herself to a nice make-out session.

At least until Jackie had called her and asked for her help. “We really can’t miss tonight’s banquet,” she said hurriedly, and Gigi had heard a child crying faintly in the background. “We can’t bring Arcelia because the invitation says no children allowed – “

“And why is that, by the way?” The brunette asked, putting down the tight red dress she was going to wear realising that she wouldn’t be having a make-out session tonight. “Isn’t it your own company?”

Jackie sighed into the phone, Gigi could practically hear the frown on her face. “I know. It’s – it’s ridiculous but Jan’s brother was supposed to go with her but he’s suddenly down with the flu and She refused to go alone. You know how it is.” she sounded so agitated that the brunette couldn’t help but felt pity for her.

“Is Arcie crying?”

“Yeah,” The Persian woman sounded so tired, and Gigi thanked God profusely that she didn’t have a child yet. “She kind of senses that we’re going to go somewhere? She’s definitely handful.”

The brunette hummed, finally settled on a pretty black sweater after rummaging her closet. “You love her anyway.” She chuckled, fumbling through her purse to find her set of keys.

“Of course. I wouldn’t trade her even for the quietest kid. She – “ Jackie hesitated, “She said she wants a sibling, you know?”

“A sibling?” She had to swallow down her laugh, Jackie could hardly keep track of her wife, let alone two children.

“Yep,” the older woman simpered, “we aren’t ready, not so soon after adopting. We’re still adjusting to the life of parenthood, you know.”

“I know.”

Gigi was in the elevator when Jackie asked timidly, “You’re coming, right?” She could hear the worry in her voice, the sound of Arcelia squealing echoing through the microphone.

“Yeah, of course,” she replied, “Be there in 10.”

“Thanks, Gigi.”

She was behind the wheel less than five minutes later. She truly didn’t mind that he had to babysit Arcie on a Friday night when she was supposed to be hitting on people at the club, Gigi adored that kid. It was starting to get repetitive, anyway, ordering a drink, chatting up the bartender, buying a drink for the most attractive person in the room, dancing, kissing, groping, and then the sweaty and sticky situation she would end up into by the end of the night. Perhaps it wouldn’t be repetitive if she had someone to take care of, someone who cared about her just as much as Gigi cared about them. But so far, she hadn’t found one. The people she went to dates with rarely got a ticket into the second date, because she would find them too boring, too daring, too pessimistic, too enthusiastic, and she was a reasonable woman who needed a reasonable partner, so she shrugged them off her shoulders and went home without looking back. Maybe baby sitting her friends kids gave her a sense of commitment, or maybe she just liked watching Arcelia smile.

She was reasonable. Very reasonable, in fact, that she grinned when Jackie opened her door with a distressed demeanor 10 minutes later. “Hey Jack. Where’s the baby?”

“Inside..” She answered, chewing on her. Gigi arched her eyebrow. “Hey, I’m going to apologize to you. You’ll forgive me, right?”

The younger woman tilted her head. “Are you not going to the banquet?”

If it was true, it was truly not a big deal for Gigi. Sure, she hadn’t gone to the club because of this but after thinking about it, she would rather soak in the bath up rather than going to a sweaty and sticky place. She had bought a book last week, too, so maybe he could catch up on her reading. Probably not.

Jackie sighed. “We’re still going. But,”

“Spill it. It’s okay.”

The other grimaced, and Gigi started to feel something stirring in her stomach. Definitely not something good. “Jan didn’t know I already called you to babysit,” she started, “so she texted Nicky to come over and she’s already inside with Arcie.”

Oh. Oh.

Gigi didn’t know what to do with the information.

Nicolette Doll, Jan’s best friend and by extension Jackie’s friend, a tall, thin French woman with golden blonde hair and a stupid accent. Gigi didn’t like her, and Nicky certainly didn’t like Gigi much either. They’d met many times, might’ve even been friends a couple years ago perhaps, and she couldn’t pinpoint when exactly they began to despise each other but the animosity was certainly there. Nicky was a bitch, controlling, ambitious and strikingly similar to herself, which the brunette hated her for. The only time they willingly interacted was when Arcie was involved, silently competing over the esteemed title of ‘Arcelia’s favourite aunt’.

Gigi was the favorite aunt because she bought her favourite chocolate milk last week, obviously. Nicky tried her best, she supposed, she wore daisy perfume and did funny voices for the characters in picture books, made macarons for fun, but of course the brunette was much more likeable or else she wouldn’t have been in the running for so long, and what Gigi wouldn’t give to knock her gigantic ego down a few pegs.

She snorted. She wasn’t going to let Nicky snatch up her hard-earned position. Gigi was Arcelia’s favorite aunt and God help her if she ever lost to Nicky fucking Doll. “Cool.” She replied, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I’m still going to babysit her.”

Jackie frowned, eyes clearly expressing her hesitation towards the idea. Gigi couldn’t blame her, really, because the last time they babysat together Arcie had cried so much that Jan had refused to talk to either of them for a week. But that was then, this was now and the brunette was sure that they could handle each other just fine.

“Don’t stress too much about it, Jack,” she grinned reassuringly. “Where’s my favourite niece?”

“She’s your only niece.” The Persian woman replied dryly, opening the door behind her and allowing Gigi to step through.

Their apartment was warm, a more modern place combined with little family touches that made it feel homey and safe. Normally Gigi would’ve thrown herself over the couch, maybe opened the fridge to check that the couple was still capable of buying food, but when she glanced at the love seat where Nicky sat covering her eyes delicately with her fingers and counting down from ten in that stupid French accent, Gigi didn’t even attempt to conceal her scowl.

“Hey Gigi, it’s been so long!” Jan beamed from the kitchen, a tiny dark haired child hugging her leg as she struggled to tie up her dress one handed “Someone’s been very excited to see you.”

“Hi honey,” Gigi beamed, grabbing Arcelia’s attention as she came running over to her instantly with a squeal. “and here’s my favorite niece in the world! How are you doing, sweetie? I haven’t seen you in a week and look at how much you’ve grown.”

The child giggled, gently tugging on the brunette’s hand. “Aunty Gigi, play with me! Dolly’s counting to ten while we hide my new teddy!”

Arcelia pointed to a tuft of brown fur sticking out from between some cushions, the tag of what Gigi knew to be a very expensive toy shop poking out as well. Shit, Nicky was pulling out the big guns. Fine, two could play it that game.

“She’s going to grow up spoiled,” Jan complained at the gesture, even though her wife was practically dragging her out the door. “You always buy her things. Why don’t you just have your own children?”

“It’s no fun,” Nicky spoke for the first time, eyes still covered by well manicured fingers. “My own kid requires me actually taking care of them. With Arcie, you two do the taking care and I can do the spoiling.”

The blonde huffed. “Whatever,” then, she kneeled down to speak to her daughter who was still hugging Gigi. “Hey baby, Mommy and Mom are going out now, okay? Be good with your aunts.”

Arcelia grinned, sticking out her tongue playfully.

Jackie bent down to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Bedtime’s at 9, kiddo. ‘Ahbak. Don’t throw a tantrum when your aunties tell you to go to sleep.”

“I won’t” The child nodded determinedly, hands on her hips. Gigi laughed painfully, she knew from years of babysitting experience that was most definitely a lie.

“Be careful, okay?” Jackie looked back towards the two woman, lip again pulled nervously between her teeth. “Call me if anything goes wrong. And remember that she’s not allowed chocolate after seven. I’ll be re-“

“We’ll be fine Jackie, go to the fancy banquet or whatever.” Gigi rolled her eyes, shooing her out of the door and pulling Arcelia close to her side. “It’s not like we would ever fight in front of her” she scoffed, shooting Nicky a piercing glance.

“Merdé, of course not. You Americans worry so much.” The French woman remarked. She peaked through the gaps between her fingers with narrowed eyes “Arcie, I hope you hid Jeromeo well because I’m getting hungry!” She growled, stomping her feet against the hardwood. Of course Nicky had somehow made the kid name her bear fucking Jeromeo.

Arcelia shrilled, sprinting to go hide behind the kitchen countertop. “You’ll never find him!” she yelled triumphantly, dark brown hair peaking just slightly overtop the marble. “Not over my dead body!”

“We’ll see about that, petite fille. If I don’t find him, I’ll have to eat you instead!” Nicky grinned, jumping up off of the couch and almost comically pausing when she saw Gigi standing awkwardly to the side, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. “Oh yeah, hi Gigi.” The French woman smirked, eyes bright and taunting while tiny strands of hair fell out of her loose ponytail to frame her face.

Right now, it was white blond, cut short to brisk the tops of her shoulders. Gigi could picture herself running her fingers among the strands, hands grazing her scalp and tugging softly. She scoffed to herself, no way in hell was she going to be running her fingers through Nicky’s hair anytime soon. Why would she even want to.

The other looked up, grin tensing into an offended frown. “Are you making fun of me?” She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.

Gigi faulted, flinching at the angry tone. “Wh – how? I didn’t even insult you.”

The blonde didn’t stutter, tilting her head. “You scoffed. You think I didn’t hear you?”

Gigi scoffed again, just to prove that she could. She looked over at Arcelia, who had forgotten about whatever chasing game her and Nicky were going to play in favour whispering something to Jeromeo, petting his soft head carefully.

She studied the stuffed animals detailed embroidery, tan fur resembling the French woman’s own hair. “You bought her that?” Gigi asked nonchalantly, mind running through ideas of how she could top it. A toy boat, maybe? Some nice clothes?

“Yeah,” Nicky answered, looking caught off guard. “She actually declared me as the aunt of the week moments before you arrived.”

Gigi scowled, watching as Arcie swung the teddy around fondly in her arms. “Oh please. I’ll have the title by next week tops.”

“You really think I would let you do that?”The shorter woman asked sagely, raising a challenging brow. “I am her favorite aunt ever, so no matter wh-“

“I am her favorite aunt ever times a thousand, you fuck – “

“Fuck!” Arcelia giggled against her wrist, looking up at the two older women with a grin. Gigi gaped, staring down at her with horror and frantically waving her hands in front of the Persian child to will her to stop. Arcie only said it louder, smiling innocently while chanting the curse word around the living room like a nursery rhyme.

Nicky cackled, clapping her hands at Gigi’s misfortune. “Have fun explaining that, Miss Goode.”

She was fucked.

***

“Do you want coffee?” Nicky asked, pursing her lips and gesturing to the kettle sitting on top of the marble counter. Gigi looked up from the couch, smoothing down the layers of blankets and pillows while Arcelia fiddled happily on the living room rug.

The brunette glanced up, blinking, “Can you make me a hot chocolate?”

The older woman snorted. “I was generous enough by offering you a cup of coffee.” Still, she reached for the mason jar full of cocoa powder and carefully sifted it into a mug.

Gigi shrugged, pulling her gaze away from Nicky’s hands (dainty, elegant hands) back to the television. “It’s for Arcie, though.”

The Blonde tilted her head, narrowing her eyes, “You don’t want some?”

“No,” The shorter woman scrunched up her nose, “I need something stronger than hot chocolate.”

“What, like a drink?”

She hummed. “Yeah, can’t drink it with the little one present, though.” Arcelia looked up with a bright smile, cheeks puffing out like a squirrel. Gigi pulled her close, ruffling her dark hair.

Nicky sat down on the sofa after, setting the mug down carefully on the table and taking a sip of her own coffee. “What movie is this?” She asked as the intro music played, running her eyes critically at the screen.

“Frozen. You know, Elsa, Anna, all the magic shit.”

“Shit!” Arcelia giggled quietly, to enamoured with the movie to really pay attention. Gigi groaned, bringing a hand to her head in frustration.

The blonde laughed, throwing her head back, “Jan’s gonna be fuming if she finds out all the words you’ve taught her.”

“Yeah,” she replied with a sigh, picking at the edge of the couch cushions, “At least I’m your favourite Aunt, right Arcie?”

Nicky clicked her tongue, “No way. I’m her favorite aunt, I won this week fair and square.”

“Fine,” The brunette sighed in defeat, rolling her eyes, “But we’ll see about next week. She obviously is gonna pick me.”

Nicky smirked, “You think so? I’d like to see you try.”

The blonde focused her attention back to the movie, not giving Gigi a second glance. The younger woman tried to do the same, but every few minutes she couldn’t help but gaze conspicuously in Nicky’s direction, eyes roaming the others features appreciatively. Gigi told herself it was because the French woman happened to have white blond hair, a very distracting color in the dimly lit room. Yes. Gigi was sure. Nicky Doll’s only attractive body part was her white blond hair. Soft, golden, white blonde hair.

Why was she thinking about Nicky Dolls attractive body anyway? Gigi shook her head, she was just tired because she had had a long day and needed something to relax and Nicky was right there, eyes narrowing in disdain because some character in Frozen did something stupid, lips pursed and bitten a diluted red.

“Why,” The blonde started exasperatedly, startling Gigi out of her thoughts, “does Elsa have to isolate herself in a fucking room?”

“Language,” The shorter woman chastised, glancing down at Arcelia who was slumped over her lap, eyes sleepy and unseeing. “She didn’t want to hurt her sister.”

“Oh s'il te plait, she already has gloves,” Nicky pointed out with a frown, leaning back against the sofa.

“It’s still dangerous.”

The blonde puckered her lips again, ready to complain but clearly thought better, instead running a hand through the child’s hair gently and leaning down to face her, “Hey, sweetheart, do you want a hot chocolate?”

Arcelia shook her head tiredly, eyes unmoving from the screen, so Gigi sighed and tried to enjoy the movie for her sake, even though she had seen in hundred of times before.

At least until Nicky complained again.

“Anna is the stupidest character I’ve seen, and I’ve seen plenty of stupid characters.”

“She’s not stupid!”

The blonde snorted into her coffee. “Falling in love with a man she met on the same day? Stupid, if you ask me.”

Gigi shrugged. “We don’t know about that, really. Don’t you believe love at first sight?”

“I don’t,” Nicky answered curtly. “Love at first sight means you only look at the person’s appearance, right? It means you fall for a person because of their looks, and not their personality.”

“So are you saying,” The brunette laughed a little, “that you’re willing to date anybody as long as they have a great personality?”

Nicky groaned, looking back at the movie. “I’m still shallow enough to prefer good looking woman, Gigi. And I don’t just fuck anybody. I’m not like you.”

She laughed again, leaning her head back against the sofa. “I actually wanted to get laid tonight.” Gigi reminisced, remembering the leather jacket she had left at home. She would’ve looked ravishing in that.

“I don’t need to know that, you dummy.”

Gigi didn’t answer, instead looking down to check on Arcelia, who was already sleeping. It was rather an odd position to fall asleep in, head resting on Gigi’s thigh while her legs tangled in between Nicky’s.

“She’s sleeping,” murmured the French woman quietly.

“No shit.”

“Should we take her to her bed?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “She’ll get cranky if she’s in that position too long.”

Nicky scooped the child up into her arms easily, hand brushing slightly against Gigi’s side. The blonde nodded, signalling to the younger to wait while she put the kid to bed. Gigi didn’t have to be told twice, her mind was reeling. She didn’t understand how she was feeling, heart racing although she couldn’t pin point why. Maybe it had all started when Nicky had touched her thigh, but she’d never felt so romanised by it…ever. Repulsed, sure. But this was an entirely new reaction and it bothered her, so so much.

Nicky wasn’t ugly. She was really attractive and even if the brunette didn’t like her, she had to acknowledge that. Nicky was so attractive, she looked like a model straight out of a fashion magazine that Gigi might’ve fawned over when she was younger and fuck did that make her head spin. Her lips were pretty as well. They looked soft. Gigi wondered if they felt as soft as they looked.

She was fucked. Especially when she realized just how much she wanted to kiss the older woman and melt into her embrace. She was extremely fucked, especially when said woman was in the other room and was coming back to sit next to her to continue watching the movie. With nothing separating them now.

“So,” Nicky announced once the child was taken care of, sitting elegantly back down on the lounge, “You believe in love at first sight, then?”

“Not really. But countless people fell in love at the first sight, so who am I to squash the theory?” Gigi shrugged, eyes burning holes into the television scream to avoid Nicky’s piercing gaze.

The blonde clicked her tongue. “There’s no theory,” she mused, “it’s just statements after statements and people can lie, you know.”

Gigi hummed, “But will we ever know?”

“No.” She shrugged. “I didn’t believe in love until recently, actually.”

Her heart stung at the hint behind those words, shoulders slumping in disappointKent although she didn’t really know why, “Did you finally find a girlfriend? Gee, took you a while.”

Nicky chuckled, picking at her cuticles with a sigh. “No, still single as ever.”

“Oh,” Gigi immediately relaxed, “Well, that makes two of us I guess.”

She knew she had stepped into personal territory, but Nicky didn’t seem to mind. “I want to find someone but I’ve been so busy with work, you know? And dating apps don’t really work for anyone, so..”

“Why are you telling me this? Ew.” Gigi stuck out her tongue, scrunching her nose up in disgust.

“Why?” The French woman raised an eyebrow, “You jealous?”

The brunette scoffed, but it didn’t sound as convincing as it should’ve. “No. Why would I be?”

“I don’t know,” the other replied, “maybe because you have a crush on me?”

Oh god.

Shit shit shit. “I don’t.”

“Gigi,”

The brunette didn’t move.

“Cherì,”

Gigi hesitantly looked up, the French nickname sounding warm in her ears. It felt weird, and yet familiar at the same time. Her breathing hitched when Nicky held her shoulders, expression unreadable and satire.

“You do, don’t you?”

Gigi still didn’t move, still staring at the taller woman in disbelief. She herself had only come to realize that fact just now, but how could Nicky –

Oh. It made sense now. “What am I thinking right now?” She asked breathily, eyes wide in terror.

Nicky looked dumbfounded, emotionless facade faultering. “What?”

“Answer me. What am I thinking right now?” There was no better explanation as to why Nicky was able to guess his feelings right away, plus that stupid French accent certainly added to the witchy aesthetic. Nicky was a fucking mind reader. Gigi was sure of it.

“How am I supposed to know?”

“I don’t know, by reading my mind?” She reiterated, waving her hands to encourage her to continue.

“Why the fuck would I be able to read minds?”

“You tell me!”

“No,” Nicky snapped, “I don’t read minds. You’re just an open book.”

“But,” Gigi narrowed her eyes, “You were able to deduce this five minutes after I realised it?”

The French woman’s jaw dropped wide open, eyes once again widening. “You mean to tell me you realized that you like me five minutes ago?”

“Yeah.”

“And before that?”

“I hated your guts.”

“I hated your guts too, by the way.”

Gigi smirked, lifting her chin, “Past tense”

The blonde rolled her eyes, “Can I kiss you?” She sounded depraved, fingers twitching on top of Gigi’s shoulders.

“What?! Why?!” The brunette jolted, recoiling backward.

The other woman sighed deeply, looking like she was contemplating her choice. Maybe she would’ve taken back the words but it was rather late for that. “That means I like you, you dumbass. And I know you like me back, you’ve been hinting at it for months and I was waiting for you to finally crack.

Gigi stared at Nicky in disbelief, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t give you any hints. What are you talking about?”

“You asked me to put sun screen on your back even though it was the middle of winter?”

“That’s a completely valid ask, you perv!”

“Okay, what about all the times you’ve laughed at my jokes.”

“Maybe I hated you but if you’re funny I’m still going to laugh.”

“When you winked at me during brunch”

“Crystal punched me seconds before that.”

“When you go to the vegetable section with me at the grocery store.”

“Because Arcie likes vegetables?”

Nicky groaned, face red in embarrassment. “I’m so humiliated right now, damn it.”

The brunette laughed, hesitantly wrapping her arms around Nicky’s waist. “No, don’t be. I still like you back, remember?”

The taller woman looked up and stared at Gigi with an open mouth, as though waiting for her to take it back. “Wait, you meant it?”

“Of course,” Gigi snorted. “Enemies to lovers, or whatever.”

They were silent for a moment, just basking in each other’s presence. Gigi’s eyes traced every line of Nicky’s face, wondering what would it feel like if she touched it.

“Can I kiss you?” The blonde asked quietly, rolling her eyes while Gigi giggled at the words.

It was a very sweet kiss.

And because Gigi was a very reasonable woman, she kissed Nicky back

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #nicky doll #gigi x nicky #jankie #lesbian au #fluff #enemies to lovers #mina #concrit welcome #submission #s12

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legomydoggos · 4 years

Text

August 2020 camping

Another camping trip, another wall of text for my thoughts because the last one was really nice feeling to write out.

I really do have the best dogs. They make all of my outdoor adventures more enjoyable. <3 <3

Headed up Friday and added 2 hours to the drive so we could make a scenic stop+hike+ice cream. I’m normally not one for midday hikes in the summer, but we were north enough and having storms in the area so there was a cool breeze and it was overcast. One portion of the trail was rated difficult but Rogue took it with ease and I made sure he had frequent creek stops and he submerged at one point which helped refresh him.

On the way back, we stopped for a breather and Jyn and I engaged in our longest personal play session to date! Usually she starts biting too hard at my hands so we have to stop, but there was some loose dirt that had been added to the trail recently and I encouraged her to zoomie on it instead of biting and she took the direction well and we had a blast! The rest of the time both were on leash as the trail was too busy to allow for off-leash time.

Which was totally fine because they got to be off-leash the entire time at the campsite! Jennie’s friends booked the site through HipCamp.com, which seems to be an Airbnb of camping. People can rent out space on their properties so that where we were: in someone’s 32 acre section of woods and it was lovely. They provided us with tents, tables, chairs, ice, firewood, a double seater outhouse, and allowed dogs to be off leash under voice control. Their land backed right up to a state forest. Due to time and weather we didn’t get to explore as much of it as I would have liked to, but I would definitely love to visit again!

Rogue notes

Our friends brought their two rescue Boston Terriers and the first few minutes were a bit of confusion from my two pups with all the snorting that sounded like snarling, but they got it figured out quickly and all four enjoyed playing together every day. Rogue was energetic like he hasn’t been in months thanks to the cool weather.

He’s a camping pro by now. It’s his third camping trip with us. He dug a shallow bed in the dirt, plopped down by the fire, and got up when he wanted to solicit pets and food from us. He was also good about getting up when he needed to potty and going an appropriate distance away into the woods to take care of business. He did try to sneak onto the air mattress a couple times and screamed when I pushed him off. Very dramatic... The second night was cold, over 20 degrees colder than we have gotten used to in the summertime, so I layered a blanket and towel on him and he wore a light coat. That seemed to keep him comfortable. One evening he heard gunshots in the distance so I put him into the car to relax in a safe space, which he appreciated. He was still picky about his food and ate maybe one full meal per day, usually only because I mixed our food into it. (He’s been picky during the hot weather this year so hopefully he’ll go back to his no nonsense eating habits once it cools down again.) It was nice to have his CBD oil on hand for thunderstorms and any hiking aches.

Jyn notes

Jyn on the other hand absolutely gorged herself on the free fed kibble left out for the Bostons. In one day I believe she ate about 3 times the amount she normally would get. Her belly was distended, she was gassy, and oh so pleased with herself. She only needed a few reminders to stay close to the campsite, already an improvement from last time. She learned to lay closer to the fire if she wanted to warm up. She did not resource guard me or the car! But she did nearly get into a scuffle with one of the Bostons over a bully stick. My management mistake, so it didn’t happen again. Her new thing was alarm barking when the camp host showed up to check on us. He was an older gentleman, very nice and gentle demeanor. Rogue ran up to him like a beloved long lost friend. Jyn arooed like a Beagle but wasn’t aggressive at all, just suspicious. She would approach and then dart back to me but never looked like she was going to escalate more than a bark. The second time the host came by Jyn was in the car eating so I let her have her fit in there and let her out when she was calm. I will keep an eye on this behavior but since it wasn’t aggressive at all, I don’t think I really mind being alerted by her. I think it was appropriate given the situation: we were in “our spot” and a stranger approached suddenly. Jyn enjoyed sleeping in our sleeping bags. She did wake up and throw up on the outside of my bag (I shoved her out so fast the moment I woke up and heard her) the second night, probably due to all of the overeating she had done, and while I was half asleep looking for something to clean it with, she ate it all back up which was maddening in the moment and pretty funny looking back on it later. Overall, her recall was about 98% for the entire trip.

Another interesting behavioral moment I witnessed was Jyn and one of the Bostons investigating toads and their owner came over and scolded the Boston who was attempting a murder by that point. In reaction to the scolding, Jyn threw out every appeasement behavior in the book, groveling on the ground in front of the person even though the scolding wasn’t being directed at her. I haven’t ever seen her do that before, since I never have corrected her like that, so it was interesting to see. I ended up calling her over to me and boosting her confidence with some pats and verbal praise. She bounced back immediately.

On the way home, we stopped to meet @goblin-dogs‘ Kunina and Astrid. They are all sweethearts 12/10 highly recommend. The dogs got on swimmingly, as if they had known each other always. We had a nice hike, enjoyed brunch, and went to a dog park. Cannot wait to do it again, hopefully sometime soon!

Both Rogue and Jyn were fantastic in the car. It’s been a while since we’ve all road-tripped together. The last time would have been when we picked up Jyn to bring her home. I have been slow on car crate training with Jyn so she did end up in the lap of whoever wasn’t currently driving, which I know isn’t ideal safety-wise, but we will get there. By the end, I did get her to settle in her bed in the back. I love my Ryobi fan, Rogue really seems to cool off quicker with it and have a more pleasant trip overall. The battery life is great, too.

That's all for now, kudos to you if you read all that!

#legomydoggos text #dogblr #please don't eat this post again Tumblr *shakes fist at the sky*

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faejilly · 4 years

Text

Dear Yuletide Writer:

Hello my lovely! Thank you so much for enjoying one (or more, I suppose) of my tiny or new fandoms as much as I do. 💖

General Likes:

Found Family

Competence Porn

Partners-in-Crime (or crime-solving)

Case or Heist-fic

Domestic/Curtain-fic that focuses on how well they work/live together, that they’re friends as well as relatives/partners/lovers/etc. (Basically these people should LIKE each other as well as love each other, whether that’s familial or romantic.)

Hurt/Comfort

Character studies

The Best Revenge Is Living Well

I generally prefer my sex and violence levels to be canon-appropriate: terrible injury in a Ready-or-Not or Atomic Blonde fic would obviously make sense. But while there’s plenty of murder in Astreiant, we don’t (in general) linger in the graphic violence. Conversely, while there’s no explicit sex in Astreiant or the Raksura books, clearly they *have* sex, so that’d be fine in a fic. It’d be weird to write about sex at the Summit for 7kpp though, except maybe for Woodly?

Best judgement is fine, I’m okay with E rated fic, (except for Enola Holmes, no sex or romance please) but would prefer no hard kinks, since it’s hard to articulate preferences for those in a letter to a stranger without going even longer than usual.

DNWs:

mundane/modern AUs

a/b/o or mpreg

MCD

ANY Sexual violence, implied, threatened, historically referenced, or on screen.

Fandom Specifics:

Enola Holmes (movie)

I adore almost all versions of Sherlock Holmes, (the Tomato was A Delight, and the Mouse Is A Classic), and this one is no exception! I loved the way that Enola didn’t actually have much character development because she knew who she was right from the beginning and what she needed, she just had to actually go for it, but the people around her needed the push.

HOWEVER. While I love they Dysfunctional Family Holmes (and would adore it as a backdrop in whatever way you see fit) my prompts are actually for Edith, because her two scenes shone in an already bright and clever movie. Whether it’s remembering her past with bb!Enola, or how they become closer friends now after the movie or them watching Sherlock manage to acknowledge in his side-ways glancing sort of way that maybe Edith & Enola were right about him and he’s thinking about how he looks at things more now?

Tea and gossip? Letters & codes? Carefully not discussing whatever Eudoria is up to? SPARRING?!?

I am not picky.

Ready or Not

I just really adore Grace, they do such a good job with her dawning realization of what she's gotten into turning into her ability to outlast them all. Anything focusing on that would be great. (Orphan Grace determined to build her own family? At what point preparing for the wedding did she start to wonder if maybe something was off? Because once it gets going, she isn’t in denial about it for very long, so at some level... could she tell there was something more wrong here than the usual family dysfunction?)

Something with Mr. Le Bail's opinion on Grace herself (and/or the Le Domas' fall in contrast to her survival) would be awesome, but not required (thus why he's not in the character request).

I would also ADORE an aftermath fic, what it's like to be the sole survivor, the only heir, what she does with the morning (and lifetime) after. (Does Mr. Le Bail keep an eye on her? Does he try to offer her a deal? Does she ever stop looking for him out of the corner of her eye, or does she let him go along with the rest of them?) Show me how this lady made it.

Atomic Blonde

I don’t really have any more for prompts than that line in my sign-up. I love Lorraine/Delphine, and I like how deeply & purposefully unreliable Lorraine’s version of things is, and I would love an author that played with that and gave them More Adventures in whatever way they wanted.

Astreiant

The thing I’ve always loved about these books is the fact that Astreiant the city is as much a character as any of the people, so I’d love anything that focuses on that feeling of home they’ve found, even here in such a complicated place. (They’re complicated people, after all.) While I adore Istre, and would be fine with a fic about how he and Eslingen learn to be friends because of the overlap of their connections to Rathe, I would also be here for something that’s just Philip/Nico and the way they settle into each other, the ways they balance their jobs and each other, just anything about their lives together.

(This is really the fandom I’d most love curtain-fic for, just because the books themselves by necessity don’t linger in their relationship as much as the current politics/case. Not that I’d be against another case! I am always happy for more of those, too. *laughs*)

Raksura

I love how the Raksura are never once, even for a moment, human. They’re a lovely and amazing different species! I enjoy that! Definitely please lean into that.

But my absolute favorite thing is when Moon is exasperated by stupid Raksura politics or etiquette and another Raksura is exasperated by his refusal to “behave” and they’re both right and equally they will never agree on this. I enjoy it every damn time.

Whether that thing is him flinging himself into battle (and surviving, barely, because he’s good at that but it’s seldom pretty) or something about the different Consorts in Indigo Cloud and how terribly (wonderfully!) dissimilar they are when you stick them in a room together, or Jade awkwardly adoring Moon while also wanting to smack him upside the head, or Stone feeling every single damn one of his years every time Moon Does A Thing, or Chime starting to understand why Stone is Like That because he is now also very tired?

All good.

I feel like Moon is odd in that you could either do the Raksuran version of curtain-fic about manners at tea & playing with babies OR half-feral battles-to-the-death but there’s a not a lot that fits in-between and that is absolutely part of what I like about him. But also he’s totally got a great life now by the end of the books and that is giving the Fell the biggest FU and I like that too.

7KPP

I really adore the relationships amongst and between the NPCs in this game, as much as the ones the PC can build herself along the way. Beyond my favorites Penelope & Cordelia & Avalie, I just really like to dive into the entire setting: I would be especially interested in something “inside” one particular faction and showing how they do (or do not) get along, whichever one might jump out as interesting.

How awful is it in a room with all the Revaire delegates at the same time?

What do the Isle natives do when the delegates aren’t watching?

How does Ana prevent gratuitous stabbing when that’s also how she wants to deal with things?

Corval Politics? Enduring Blain? Jaslen making everything worse? (Zarad carefully laughing at only the right moments or the absolute most wrong ones?)

How on earth do Avalie & Lyon survive each other and their diametrically opposed viewpoints on politics and the Summit? (Is General Falon as eternally exhausted as I would be dealing with the both of them all the time?) WTF do the other delegates do trying to get along with Avalie and Lyon stealing the spotlight?

How did Emmet & Yvette meet? Are the other Arland delegates as obnoxious as that one guy at dinner, or do they have some quiet lovely souls hiding behind all those manners?

PIRATE SHENANIGANS? (Poor Cordelia avoiding the pirate shenanigans?)

What do the other Wellin delegates think of their royal siblings? What does Lisle really think of their Grand Duke? (How much of his protective behavior is shielding Penelope from their own people vs the Summit? Or is guarding his Princess one of Woodly’s lines, and thus he can help with that? WHO KNOWS? I would like to.)

tl;dr: I can ramble a lot! I like knowing why people like each other and are good at things! Happy endings are great & greatly appreciated! That’s really the most important parts.

Anon messaging is on, if you want to ask me weird questions about tiny fandoms! I LOVE YULETIDE! (I hope you enjoy yourself too.)

#yuletide #author letter #jilly rambles

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pixiegrl · 4 years

Note

“pipe the fuck down, asshole.” for muke, if you feel like writing more from the tangled au I think this would really fit them,,,,,,

Maggie! I love Tangled AU! I hope you like this, it’s technically part 1 since it’s before the lantern scene. (shout out to @pushkinalexander for reading this over)

And I cross-posted it on ao3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/25866775)

“Michael,” Luke says, tugging on Michael’s sleeve again. “What’s that?”

Michael steadfastly ignores Luke. Even since they left the tower, Luke’s been tugging on Michael’s sleeve with question after question about everything they’ve seen. Michael has looped from finding it cute and endearing to annoying. Luke can’t possibly be dumb enough to not what most things are. He had books in his tower, he could read, and he had a window. Michael has seen the drawings and paintings Luke made. He has to know what most things are.

“Michael,” Luke whines, tugging harder. Michael stares straight ahead, pretending he can’t hear Luke. He’s not letting Luke win this one.

A wet tongue licks his cheek. Michael shrieks and jumps, trying to shove Petunia off of his shoulder. She misses his hand, jumping neatly onto Luke’s shoulder again as he giggles. How can a lizard look so smug? Michael glares at Petunia. She burrows back into Luke’s hair.

“Michael, what are those?” Luke points at some flowers by a nearby river. Michael breathes heavily out of his nose. Michael doesn’t know every single flower there is and he’s not sure why Luke keeps asking him as though he does.

“I don’t know. Pink ones?”

Luke darts over to them, leaning down to get close to them.

“Hang on, you don’t know if they’re safe or not!”

Luke rolls his eyes. Michael can’t believe the amount of attitude Luke has for someone who’s lived in a tower their whole life with only a lizard to keep him company. If it wasn’t for the crown that he knows Luke has, Michael would have left Luke by now and let him walk himself and his long hair to the lanterns. As it is, Michael has almost tripped over Luke’s hair enough times now that he’s getting sick of it. Maybe if Luke goes to sleep tonight he can just cut it off and be done with it.

Luke has already snapped a few of the flowers off their stems, humming lightly as he tries to weave the flowers together into something like a crown. He continues to hum as he leans over and drops the crown onto Michael’s head. Michael frowns, moving to bat the flowers away. He’s got a mysterious rugged persona to maintain and that does not include the flowers Luke is determined to stick in his hair.

Luke shrieks loudly, jumping onto Michael’s back. Michael grunts under the motion, sagging a little under Luke’s weight. For such a delicate looking guy, he’s heavy when he wants to be.

“Michael it’s going to hurt us!”

“What? What is going to hurt us?”

“That!” Luke yells, pointing at something on the ground with the frying pan he’s been using as a weapon. Michael looks down. A small brown rabbit is sitting up on its hind legs, sniffing at the air. Michael thinks he feels his eye twitch.

“Luke, it’s a rabbit. It’s not going to hurt us.”

“But what if it has razor sharp teeth? What if it’s looking for a meal?”

“Princess, it’s a rabbit. They eat grass and other shit. Look how little it is! It couldn’t even bite your ankles if it wanted to. It’s harmless.”

Luke peaks around Michael’s shoulder. The rabbit twitches its nose at them. Luke makes a tiny squeak sound, lowering the pan.

“Do you think it’ll let me touch it?”

“You just said it might have razor sharp teeth and now you want to pet it?”

“It’s cute! Besides, you said it was little.”

Michael huffs. “Well then be careful, it probably smells fear,” Michael rolls his eyes, making to drop Luke to the ground.

Luke approaches the rabbit cautiously, sticking his hand out in front of him. The rabbit sniffs him and leans his head forward, allowing Luke to pet it. Luke giggles. Michael finds it very cute and then promptly decides that he will not find it cute. Luke is annoying and whiny and it doesn’t matter that he’s glowing in this light, smiling widely as he pets the rabbit, dimple in his cheek. Just because Luke is cute and Michael has thought about kissing him doesn’t make him any less of a pain in Michael’s ass.

“Michael, look,” Luke giggles. He’s holding the rabbit now, cuddling it to his cheek. The rabbit doesn’t seem to mind being cuddled either, sniffing at Luke’s cheek. Petunia is looking at it disdainfully, as if it’s going to take her place as Luke’s favorite creature. It’s painfully cute and it makes Michael’s heart ache thinking about how this is the first time Luke has ever left his tower (prison) and that this is the first time he’s actually experienced the world. He looks happy and content, cooing at the rabbit and petting its head.

“Luke, we can’t keep him.”

Luke pouts, “Why not?”

“It’s a wild creature. You can’t keep a wild creature locked up if it doesn’t want to be. He’ll be happier roaming free.”

Luke frowns, looking down at the rabbit sadly. His glow seems to dim slightly. Michael realizes what he’s just said. It’s a little too painfully close to Luke’s situation to feel right mentioning out loud.

“Hey, it’ll be fine. He’s probably got a whole rabbit family to get back to and rabbit adventures to go on. Besides, we already have an animal mascot and your hair to deal with, we don’t need another bother,” Michael says, patting Luke awkwardly on the shoulder. Luke looks up at Michael, blues eyes wide and head cocked to the side. Luke’s doing that thing where it’s like he’s staring into Michael’s soul and Michael does not like that.

“Come on, we gotta go. We still have to find somewhere to eat or stay or whatever before it gets dark. Can’t leave you at the mercy of wild animals out here, Princess.”

Luke lets the rabbit go, after giving it one last pet on the head. It hops off into the bushes and Luke watches it go a little sadly before turning to Michael, nose scrunched up.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Call me Princess.”

“It’s a nickname. People use them as terms of endearment, or something like that,” Michael says. He’s never had anyone to call a nickname before, but he’s seen people use them all the time. Especially at the orphanage, where it seemed like everyone else was friends with each other except for him.

“I don’t like it.”

“What, having a nickname?”

“No. Princess. When you say it it sounds mean. I don’t like it when you sound mean.”

Michael rolls his eyes. God, Luke may be pretty but he’s really annoying when he wants to be. Michael knows it’s because Luke hasn’t had any human contact outside of his mother, but still. He’s picky as fuck and very opinionated about things. Since they started, Luke’s made it known that he doesn’t like shoes and refuses to wear them because he likes the feeling of the grass on his bare feet. He hasn’t stopped smiling at everything they’ve encountered, even when it’s something as silly as a “neat looking rock.” He hasn’t been deterred by Michael’s mood at all. It shouldn’t be so endearing.

Michael glances at Luke. He’s focused on the ground, worrying his lip between his teeth like he’s nervous about something. Oh. He’s worried that Micheal is upset at him because he said something about the nickname. Which makes sense from what little he knows about his mother.

“I mean, I don’t have to call you a nickname if you don’t want me to. I can just call you Luke. It is your name and I can respect that.”

“I don’t mind the nickname, but I don’t like that one,” Luke says slowly, as if he’s thinking about how to phrase it. He scrunches his nose up, glancing at Michael.

Michael tries to give him a reassuring smile. “Well, I’ll have to think of something else, won’t I Lu.”

Luke beams. He links arms with Michael, tugging him along slightly. He starts babbling about everything that he wants to do once they get to the lanterns and town. The sunlight streaming through the trees hits Luke, lighting him up and making him glow. He looks happy and content, Petunia peeking out from his hair, the only burst of contrasting color against the purple of his shirt. It’s the first time Michael has seen him at peace since they left the tower. Michael knows Luke means to go back to his tower after all of this is over, but it doesn’t sit right with him to send him back after showing him the world down here. Everything about the way Luke holds himself, from the constant need to touch Michael and the constant stream of conversation, makes him wonder if Luke is worried this will all stop existing if he slows down for a moment.

Maybe he can give Luke something to remember this by. Something solid and tangible to remind him that this is real, that everything they’re doing is his gift to Luke. He spots a little clump of purple flowers off the side of the trail and he stops abruptly, pulling Luke to a stop with him. Luke cocks his head to the side as Michael pulls away, bending down to tug a few of the flowers free from the ground. He knows he can’t make a crown like Luke did earlier, but he can at least give these to him.

He tries not to look Luke in the eyes as he tucks a few of the flowers behind his ears. The purple stands out brightly against the blonde of his hair. Up close, Luke’s eyes are a bright, clear blue and full of wonder and excitement.

“There you go. A little color to brighten you up, Sunshine,” Michael says, face going warm and pink as soon as he realizes what he’s said. The nickname had slipped out, unplanned for. It fits Luke though, as he beams wildly at Michael, sunny and bright. Michael has to glance away, embarrassed slightly.

“Sunshine? Oh, that’s adorable, I love it so much. This is the best birthday present ever, even better than the time Mother gave me a guitar and that lesson book. And you gave me flowers? I’ve never had anyone give me flowers before unless you count the one time Petunia snuck out of the tower and brought me a few that we saw growing but those weren’t as colorful as these. Does this mean we’re friends now? Friends give each other gifts right? Here, I want to give you this!” Luke babbles excitedly, pulling off the sunburst ring he’s wearing, the only piece of jewelry he has, and grabbing Michael’s hand, pushing the ring onto his middle finger. Michael feels his face heat up even more. Luke’s glances up at Michael, grinning.

“I’ve never had friends before. Unless you count Petunia, but a lizard can’t talk to you when you have a question about what color to use in your painting. And Mother doesn’t count because I hardly see her and she’s my mother. But I’m glad you’re my friend, Michael. You’re a great friend taking me to see the lanterns and doing all this,” Luke glances at Michael, frowning slightly, “Michael, are you okay? Your face is really red, do you need to sit down?”

“Oh, pipe the fuck down, asshole,” Michael mumbles, batting Luke’s hands away as he starts to touch his face. Luke looks somewhere between scandalized and amused at Michael. Michael gives him a small smile to let him know he’s joking. Luke beams widely, pulling one of the flowers behind his ear and sticking it into Michael’s hair. He grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers as they continue on their walk. It’s nice, Michael decides. Getting to have a friend like Luke.

#asks #5 seconds of summer #michael clifford #luke hemmings #muke #5sos #maggie i hope you like this #it's more tangled au folks and it's just as sappy #my writing #calumsclifford

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andrea-lyn · 5 years

Note

If there's still room on your birthday prompts list, I would love a continuation of your fake investigation marriage, or something more with Michael, Alex, and Hope from the unexpected pregnancy fic?

There is ALWAYS room, and thank you for giving me an excuse to write more about the little seahorse.

“Mr. Guerin, we need you to come down to the school. There’s been an incident.”

That’s the voicemail on Alex’s phone. He has to excuse himself from the lecture that he’s teaching at the community college to go to Roswell Elementary, dreading whatever trouble that Hope’s managed to find herself in. She’s typically such a good child, but every once in a while, her genius intellect gets her in trouble for asking the wrong questions or trying to learn something new ahead of the class.

His precious six-year-old seahorse genius.

“Michael,” Alex says when he gets Michael’s voicemail again. “When you get this, meet me at the school,” he says, parking his car. He disconnects his phone from the Bluetooth so he can hurry inside, hoping that whatever happened isn’t serious.

(And he’s really hoping that Hope isn’t using her alien powers in public, because he’s not ready for the mindwipes that Isobel will have to perform if that’s the case)

“The principal left a message and she said there’s been an…”

Alex trails off.

He hangs up his phone, now understanding completely why it is that Michael’s not picking up. The principal stands, giving a relieved sigh when she sees him. “Mr. Guerin, thank you for coming,” she says, and beckons him into the office. On the bench outside it sits his darling husband and his precious daughter, both hanging their heads like the guilty parties that they are.

“Really?” he hisses at Michael. He turns to give Hope a more reassuring smile, bending in front of her without squatting so his knees won’t ache. “Hey sweetheart, do you want to tell me what happened before we go in there?”

Hope glances up at Michael, pushing back her dark curls from her face. “Should I?”

“He’s gonna find out, Daddy’s good at that,” Michael says wryly.

Hope still looks uncertain and a touch wary. It’s like they have their own little Fight Club, and given that Michael has a cut on his lip, Alex is starting to worry that maybe he’s not that far off from the truth. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, baby,” Alex assures, tucking a stray curly hair behind her ear.

He’ll find out anyway. That’s why they’re here, aren’t they?

“He got in a big fight with Annie’s Mom.”

Alex gives Michael a confused look, but Michael shrugs, wearing his ‘it’s not my fault’ expression (which historically means that he’s at fault somehow). The one relief here is that he’s pretty sure that Hope isn’t the one in the fight, which means there’s a chance for his daughter yet. “What kind of fight?”

“Mr. Guerin,” the principal beckons. “Inside, please. And bring your husband.”

Alex nods, leaning down to press a kiss to Hope’s head. “Be good and stay here, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she agrees, kicking her legs out.

Michael looks resigned and Alex gives him a nudge into the room, trying not to get angry with him in front of the principal, but he’s fairly sure that the sharp look he’s giving him is plenty explanatory as to how upset Alex is about this situation. He settles in one of the parents’ chairs beside Michael, but as the seconds go by, he’s beginning to get a sneaking suspicion that something’s off, here.

“What did my husband do?” Alex asks calmly, noticing that there isn’t anyone else in the room. He has a bad feeling that he’s not going to like the explanation, and not because he thinks Michael did something wrong.

“Michael was picking up Hope today when he got in an altercation with another mother.”

Michael’s sitting perfectly calm as she speaks, hands in his lap. Alex recognizes it for what it is – he’s trying to keep his anger subdued and that means he can’t say anything because he risks a complete blow-up if he does.

“Did Michael instigate it?”

The principal pauses. “No, but unfortunately the complaint came from Mrs. Sloane.”

Victoria Sloane, who went to school with them. She’s young enough, and her precious little Annie is one of Hope’s best friends, which is why they tolerate her, even though Victoria had been one of the girls who’d been so quick back in the day to join in on teasing Alex for being gay, and Michael for being homeless.

Alex refrains from spitting out profanities, but he already knows Hope is getting a gold star tonight and Michael is getting something else.

“And what did Victoria have to complain about?”

“Hope calls Michael ‘Mommy’.”

“And?” Michael finally pipes up, snapping, like his patience has finally had enough. “What, is my kid not allowed to call me what she wants?”

The principal hesitates, but that’s enough for Alex.

“Why is it wrong that our daughter calls Michael that?” he asks, his voice icy. Instantly, he knows that no one in the Guerin household is in trouble. The only person that Alex is truly upset with right now is pretty little popular Vicky. “It’s our personal business and people have nicknames all the time. Hope has decided that she wants to call Michael ‘Mommy’ and that I’m Daddy.” Alex tips his head to the side. “Isn’t that even closer to the heteronormative bullshit you people like to sling at us?”

“Alex,” Michael murmurs, not a warning to stop, but a reminder.

“Sorry,” Alex says, insincerely, “I’ll deal with this with Victoria,” he guarantees. “Are we in trouble?”

“Ms. Sloane was the one who smacked Mr. Guerin in the face with her handbag, but…”

Alex lets out a derisive laugh. “We’re sitting in your office because my daughter loves her mother, and my husband got assaulted.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Let’s go, Michael.”

“Mr. Guerin, I…”

Alex is already on his feet. “We’re not suing,” he says, because he knows this is probably the real concern. “We just want to put this behind us.” It’s a complete lie, but he wants to get out of there before he gets a split lip from defending his family from this bullshit. The principal nods, meekly, and lets them go.

He makes a mental note to start looking into other schools so they don’t have to deal with this anymore.

Outside, Alex holds Michael by the arm and tenderly slides his thumb over Michael’s split lip. “What happened?” he asks quietly, looking at Hope as she bounces off towards Michael’s truck. They can’t dawdle long, but he wants to take a moment to make sure Michael’s genuinely fine.

“Picky Vicky being a bitch,” Michael says with a shrug. “She heard Hope calling me Mommy, got all persnickety about it, made a few disparaging comments to her clique. I asked her what the fuck her problem was and she whirled on me, caught me in the lip with the bag. I was mid-rant and bleeding down my chin when they pulled us apart and called you.”

“But you’re fine?”

“My dashing husband came to our rescue and defended us,” Michael says, flipping his keys around his finger. “I’m more than fine. Hope’s fine, she doesn’t even know anything’s really wrong,” he promises. “We’re all fine.”

Alex will be too, as soon as he does some research.

The next morning, Alex insists on dropping off Hope at school, kissing Michael’s shoulder and insisting he stay in bed.

“Are you sure?” Michael asks warily. “Isn’t this letting her win?”

Alex shakes his head very calmly. “Stay in bed, dear.” It’s the tone that brooks no argument, because he already knows what’s going to happen. Michael gives him a sleepy smile as he waves him off, definitely aware of what’s going to happen. Alex takes the truck and parks to send Hope off at the drop-off, joining the crowd of parents seeing their kids off for another day of school.

“Hi Annie!” Hope says breathlessly. “Bye Daddy!”

“Bye sweetheart,” Alex says, waving as she runs off.

He’s so relieved to see his baby girl so happy and ready to run off and enjoy herself, as if nothing from yesterday has made her think twice about her friendship with Annie. It’s sweet and hopeful and trusting, and Alex wants to fight to make sure she never loses that love of the world and that belief in people.

“Victoria,” Alex says calmly, once Annie and Hope have sprinted off. Alex watches as his daughter’s honey curls fall out of the braid he’d put them in, but he smiles for the way she squeals with delight as they hit her cheeks when she runs.

They’re out of earshot.

It’s perfect.

“Alex,” Victoria responds, but she doesn’t sound half as confident as she should. She crosses her arms over her chest, her crappy fake purse on display (Gucci, his ass, it’s one of the worst knockoffs he’s seen). “How are…”

“Let’s not,” he cuts her off. “Michael will be back to drop Hope off as of tomorrow,” he says. “And if I find out that you complained about my daughter calling Michael ‘Mommy’, then I might suddenly have a thing or two to say at your book club, and the PTA meetings. Do you think they’d be interested in hearing about your exploits in Cozumel?” He’d done his digging online, finding the illicit pictures that she’d clearly wanted to stay hidden. “Or maybe your husband would be interested to know about Andrew.”

Victoria blanches, opening her mouth. “That’s…that’s my personal business.”

Alex smiles calmly, smelling the blood in the water and ready for the pounce. “You’re right. It is,” he agrees. “Just like it’s our family’s personal business what our daughter likes to call Michael. You don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, and I won’t have to either. Do we understand each other?”

Victoria says nothing, but she nods mutely.

“Good. I’m glad we came to an agreement.” He twirls the keys around his finger, holding them in his palm. “I’m sure we’ll see one another around,” he adds, so much forced cheer in his voice that he knows how threatening it sounds. From the way she gapes at him, she knows it too.

Alex returns home with a smug sense of victory and donuts.

Michael’s interested in the first, even though it’s not long before he pounces on the donuts. “Did she cry?” Michael asks.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Alex replies, playing the innocent bystander who has no idea what Michael could be talking about.

Michael smirks as he licks sugar off one of the powdered donuts from his fingers, not taking his eyes off Alex as he finishes it in three disgusting bites, before leaning in to give Alex a powdery kiss. “That’s the vengeful sassy bitch I fell in love with,” he whispers, and leaves a powdered lip-mark on Alex’s cheek before he gets up to start his day.

Tomorrow, Michael will drop off Hope and Victoria won’t say a word. She won’t even dream of it, and that’s just how Alex likes it. He has to protect his family, after all, even if it’s as small a thing as Hope wanting to call Michael Mommy, because that’s what she wants.

It’s theirs, and he’ll fight to preserve every moment of it, no matter the cost.

#malex #mpreg #michael/alex #hope the seahorse #domestic fluff #roswell new mexico #bday prompts #pronetohyperbole

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wondersbeyondcompare · 4 years

Text

Some stuff

About Kodi and Majid’s parents that I was thinking about while making lunch the other day! Really, this is just a poor attempt on expanding on the bois in general, but oh well! Thought it would be easier to put these thoughts in a separate post instead of adding to their profiles since this wasn’t directly relevant to them (・・;)ゞ I guess?? dshgfjhdsf Honestly, I think this is more for me just so I can get some stuff straightened out. I’m pretty bad w/ consistency after all...

Majid’s Parents

EDIT (06/13/2021): Drew up some new headshots for Majid and Kodi’s parents! Hopefully they look a bit better than before!

Past me writing Majid’s bio: Yeah, keep the part about his parents vague;;; Idek what to do about that

Me on Monday rolling up some embutido for lunch: Hey, y’know what-

- Mother: Lara (won’t reveal her last name; when asked for it by Majid’s father, she jokingly suggested she take his last name instead) - Father: Kadir Ansari - Compared to Kodi’s parents, these 2 have much more info behind them b/c I have to explain both of their disappearances, so (・_・;) get comfy - Kadir---> Simple businessman in the Land of the Hot Sands; Made and sold jewelry for a living; Had a fairly small shop dedicated to his craft - Lara---> Runaway criminal from a land up north (if you ask me to clarify which country it is, I will cry;;; what does the Twst world even look like in the 1st place??)

Didn’t kill anyone, but rather a string of robberies and prison escapes up her sleeve; had a large family that she had to provide for, unfortunately this landed her in a lot of trouble

- Lara snuck into Kadir’s place late at night by climbing in through his window

She was immediately asked to leave

Kadir eventually relented since she had nowhere to go/he already had a long day at work and didn’t want to argue

- Once Lara explained her situation to Kadir in the morning, she was asked to leave again.

After breakfast ofc

Use the shower if you want to, but don’t use up all the hot water

And he would give her some money and other basic necessities to use on the way, but (￣ヘ￣) that was it

She really needed to go, tho; Kadir didn’t want to charged w/ harboring a criminal

- Lara begged to stay w/ Kadir, telling him in tears that she would do anything for him so long as he gave her a place to stay for the time being

Well... it wouldn’t hurt to have some extra help in his shop... and it would be heartless to kick a crying woman back on the streets, especially in broad daylight...

Fine. She can stay. But only for a little while, okay?

- When it comes to personality, Kadir is often seen as a serious man. He can become surprisingly raucous and joking w/ his friends and frequent customers, but otherwise, he was all business.

Has a fairly straightforward way of speaking; like Majid, he might come off as a little rude sometimes

His resting face makes him seem unapproachable at first, but he’s a pretty reliable guy

- Compared to Kadir, Lara has a more easygoing demeanor; fairly sly as well

Develops a habit of teasing Kadir once she warms up to him, either through her words or by constantly sticking close to him (this is probably where Majid got some of his clinginess from ngl); she wanted to see what exactly was behind that ever so serious facade

Kadir tries to brush her off most of the time, saying it’s not appropriate, especially in front of the customers; slowly becomes fond of it as time goes on

Tends to beat around the bush when she speaks; she won’t lie, but she won’t give you all the truth either

Oh! Yeah, and she’s pretty good at sleight of hand tricks too! :D These tricks seem to be a little more than just mere illusions at times, tho...

- Both of them are unbelievably stubborn (ah, yes, this trait comes from both sides of the family)

- They tend to butt heads a lot at the beginning; enemies to lovers 30k

- Speaking of tropes, these 2 probably become involved in a fake marriage thing so Kadir’s reputation doesn’t suffer when people see him bringing a strange woman into his house every night after work (*exchanging rings* “This doesn’t mean anything, okay? I just can’t have any more rumors.” “>:3c Okay, Habibi~” “... And don’t ever call me that in public, or I’ll pretend to not know you.”)

- It’s also a bit difficult for Lara to work at the shop at first

Kadir can be really picky when it comes to quality, and he certainly won’t lighten up on any of his wokers, regardless if they’re newbies or not

That and Lara can be heavy handed at times; knocking over display cases as she gestures to them and accidentally breaking parts of jewelry

I would love to say that she eventually gets the hand of everything, but :/ she really doesn’t; she’s entertaining to watch, though lol

- Once Kadir and Lara actually start falling for each other, they try to flirt in subtle ways, trying to get a reaction out of the other; or, at least, they think it’s subtle; oh gosh, their poor, poor coworkers ( ; ω ; )

- Lara might have had to wear some form of head covering/head scarf while working or out in public in general; her blonde hair and pale complexion makes her stick out like a sore thumb in a crowd, and she can’t risk getting recognized and taken back to jail again

- Majid... was an accident.

His parents were excited for his arrival nevertheless; Kadir would’ve bought a bunch of stuff beforehand like the worried father he was; Lara is happily spoiled w/ the amount of food she gets to eat during pregnancy (girl loves her food)

Once Majid was born, you bet he was coddled over; was often called Lara’s “little treasure”; Kadir was tempted to make Majid kind of like a mascot for his business, but decided that wasn’t professional (he really wanted to tho;;; thinks about it everytime he sees his son’s cute pudgy face)

- Lara was eventually caught and arrested; sent back to her home country for trial a few years after Majid had been born

Kadir leaves Majid w/ a trusted friend of his in order to attend Lara’s trial

He... doesn’t come back

The friend couldn’t afford to take care of Majid on his own, so he drops him off at an orphanage, promising to come back for the child once he had enough money to support them both

This man in particular works hard to set up his own appraisal/curio shop in the future and ohoho >:3c things are really coming together now

- Majid spent some time in the orphanage before escaping; he didn’t like how strictly everything was run

escaped enough times that the staff members soon gave up on him and let him roam free

surprisingly, no one (w/ a few exceptions) remembers baby Majid nor his parents; the Ansari jewelry shop was closed down and set up for lease the day Kadir disappeared; what happened in Lara’s trial was essentially a mystery, but perhaps the consequences of it could explain these odd events...

Kodi’s Parents

A bit shorter b/c these 2 literally had one (1) summer to themselves before creating the child, so there’s no slow burn here

- Mother: Colette Sepiama (Maiden name: Roussel; took father’s last name in remembrance of him)

- Father: Dimitri Sepiama

- Co+Di= Codi (but, like, with a “K”)

- 1st meeting was a bit odd

- Colette was having a beach vacation, chilling as she collected seashells along the shore

And then some naked guy approached her, asking for help while sobbing his heart out

Didn’t want to find out what kind of “help” he needed, so she tried to power walk away, but he ended up tripping while following after her

Stared at the sad scene of a butt naked man crying into the wet sand for a couple of moments before wrapping him into a towel and paying a visit to the nearest souvenir store

He eventually calmed down enough to explain himself once he got the Hawaiian touristy shirt and khakis on (oh, gosh, now I’m getting Crowley flashbacks (;;;*_*) make it stop-)

- Dimitri was part of a little “experiment” a friend of his was conducting, testing out various potions on him at any opportunity

Yea, they were a pretty messed up friend; at the very least, they made sure none of their potions would kill him outright

One of the potions gave him human legs (since he was a cuttlefish merman beforehand)

The trouble was: How does he turn back?

- They were the kind of couple who shares one braincell, spending the entire summer working together trying to figure out a solution to his predicament

Also, Colette lowkey thought Dimitri was lying about the whole cuttlefish merman thing, but since she thought he was kinda cute, she agreed to help him out

- I mentioned this before in Kodi’s profile, but I guess I’ll mention it again; Kodi’s pre-contract self was basically a male version of his mom

Basically, she was the type to always keep her emotions in check (well, it’s not as if she had a choice; she was awful at trying to show her emotions)

The type of person whose angry face and happy face were exactly the same

But she was kind enough and didn’t discriminate, even if the person she was dealing w/ claimed to be a mermaid from the deep sea

- In contrast to Colette, Dimitri is more like Kodi’s post-contract self

He cries;;; a lot

He’s just in a new and frightening situation, okay?? (╥﹏╥) And his human body was significantly shorter than his merman body, so everything is gigantic to the now smol boi; he often follows behind Colette because, even tho she’s taller than him, he finds her reassuring

Colette finds his personality cute; she likes being relied upon

- ahsghj I can imagine these 2 going on library dates, flipping through books and maybe falling asleep at some point as the setting sun casts an amber glow over them through the dusty windows, and it’s honestly the cutest thing

- Also, neither of them have magical abilities, but Colette’s grandmother did; it basically skipped a generation

This is why Kodi’s magic is weaker than others’, but he works hard to improve himself

- At the end of the summer, Dimitri is turned back

Turns out the potion only lasts for a certain amount of time :/ wow

They probably had some sort of tearful parting at the beach, w/ this time Colette breaking into tears instead of Dimitri

- Couple weeks after the vacation :D Colette finds out she’s pregnant

Realizes her relatives probably wouldn’t believe her if she told them the truth, so she fabricated a story about a simple meeting w/ a cute guy on vacation she hooked up with

I mean, she wasn’t technically lying about that

Bonus! Berenice’s Parents

A perfectly normal, perfectly boring family

- Cassidy is on the left and Argos is on the right!

- Since Berenice was based off the spirits in the whirlpool as well as the river Styx itself/herself, I searched up the parents of the goddess aaanndd

- Kind of?? Based them off Tethys and Oceanus??? Tho they are both of fairy descent; Cassidy is half and so is Argos, so maybe (´･_･`) that would work out? In terms of making a child of their own??? I didn’t want to go against the set fairy lore in stuff like Pixie Hollow, so-

- I always covered the tops of Berenice’s ears to avoid raising any suspicion of her true background, but, yea, they are slightly pointed as well. Much smaller than her parents, maybe abnormally so, but they are there (side note: if you saw me accidentally draw berenice w/ human ears (*⁰▿⁰*) no you didnt)

- They lived with Berenice in an area just outside of the Valley of Thorns called the Land of Lotuses, so there was a large fairy population here too.

- As such, Berenice never thought to question if the life she was living was considered “normal” in the eyes of outsiders. So you’ll often hear her describe her past life as boring and ordinary, both to make a person lose interest and just b/c she truly thought she lived such a life.

- I described Berenice as being an only child, but I never go into detail on what happened with her family after she died 🧐 Did she perhaps unknowingly gain another sibling? Or two? Or three???

- lol wait I just remembered I described them as getting up there in age. Maybe in human standards they were, but they were still considered like??? Middle aged??? When it came to fairies???

- They had no prominent influence in the Valley of Thorns nor in the Land of Lotuses, but they were both considered a respectable people involved in an overseas trade business when living in their old coastal town.

- Both settled down in the Land of Lotuses to raise Berenice and also to hide away from a scandal that ended up bankrupting their company but shshhhh

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wordsnstuff · 6 years

Text

20 Mistakes To Avoid In Science Fiction

This is also available on wordsnstuffblog.com!

– This is a continuation of a series that began with 20 Mistakes To Avoid In Young Adult Fiction/Romance. I included a couple exterior sources throughout the article that covers certain points in more detail for those who would like further advice. I hope this is helpful. Happy writing!

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Referencing Current Culture Inappropriately

Not all references to pop culture are misplaced in sci fi. For instance, in Ready Player One, it’s integral to the plot. However, it’s random references to political things or important people that do not have anything to do with the movement of the plot or are misplaced within the context of the universe. This can bring your reader out of the story and confuse them in terms of world building and basic information about the history of your constructed universe.

Not Understanding Space & How It Differs From Earth

Do your research about space if you’re writing about space, and learn about how different planets work, the rules of physics, the laws of gravity, the conditions in other parts of the galaxy, etc. This information is available to you in may places and in many formats that are broken down simply for you to understand, especially for writers. You just have to look for it. I actually have a resource master post called “Resources For Writing Science Fiction” that would be really, really useful for this.

Putting No Thought Into Aliens

Aliens shouldn’t just be modified versions of humans. Coloring a human purple doesn’t make them interesting. Think about the environmental factors on the alien’s home planet and how those conditions would affect their biological makeup and physical/mental features. Take the time to do this, because readers appreciate it when it’s done well.

Technobabble

This is just a word for technological-sounding gibberish that writers put into their book to make it sound legitimate. However, what a lot of them do not realize is that science fiction readers are often interested in science, and therefore know that it’s 3 sentences full of nothing. This is okay in some circumstances, but it can never hurt to do 10 minutes of googling to maybe learn a bit about what you’re about to feed to the reader before writing it. Technobabble is really useful for writing the first draft (where you’re just telling yourself the story to have something to develop), but it shouldn’t live past that point.

Conlangs (Unless You’re A Linguist)

Do not take on constructed languages if you aren’t ready for years and years of study and practice with linguistics, because your conlang will flop. J.R.R. Tolkien, who is famous for not only his series Lord of The Rings and his novel The Hobbit, but also the invented languages within them. He had a long career in linguistics and was well-versed in it, and that is why they’re such a sticking point of his works. It took years of study and practice to create the conlangs in those books. Conlangs are no game.

Prologues

Most authors do not like prologues for a plethora of reasons, but with science fiction there’s really not a good justification for having one. Start where the action is and input the important highlights from the past as they become important to the reader’s understanding of the present.

Info-Dumping

Long paragraphs or pages upon pages describing the setting or the way the character is feeling and so-on has no place in any book, let alone science fiction which is already packed to the brim with detail no matter what. Sprinkle detail in as it becomes relevant instead of getting it all out in one spot and then expecting the reader to see the significance in every one.

Over-Explanation

It’s good practice to avoid over-description of things that don’t matter. The general rule of thumb is show, don’t tell, but also, don’t bore the reader with 3 sentences describing each button on a control panel that the main character walks past once and never appears again.

Overly-Complicated Names

This is simply a pet-peeve of a lot of people, and it doesn’t really add anything to your story. It’s cliche and kind of laughable when a writer names their character “Celeste Apollo Saturn” or something like that. Sure, it makes you feel original, but it doesn’t add to the reader’s experience much. It’s okay to have unique, space-themed names, just don’t overdo it.

Not Exploring

Overthink your world. Overthink your characters. Overthink the details. Explore all the possibilities. The better you know your world and everything in it, the more vivid your storytelling will be, even if 80% of the details you’ve explored are left out. You should be an expert in your story, because that will make you tell it better.

Regurgitating Popular Sci-Fi

Please don’t rewrite Star Trek, Star Wars, The Avengers, etc. and just change the names. There’s a difference between taking a trope or a popular type of science fiction story and putting your own twist or speculation on it, and handing your reader a book version of an existing story.

Not Thinking Critically About Fictional Elements

"Apply logic in places where it wasn’t intended to exist. If assured that the Queen of the Fairies has a necklace made of broken promises, ask yourself what it looks like. If there is magic, where does it come from? Why isn’t everyone using it? What rules will you have to give it to allow some tension in your story? How does society operate? Where does the food come from? You need to know how your world works."

- Terry Pratchett

Underestimating The Audience

Your audience can deduce things, and doesn’t need every implication explained to them. You don’t need to beat the symbolism and implications into their brain by constantly alluding to it or reiterating it in a million different ways. Subtext is important, and it should be left as subtext, otherwise there’s no need for thinking about the story and your reader will forget it (or worse, be irritated by it).

Leaving Plot Holes Because You Think Nobody Will Notice

Don’t do this. Just don’t. There’s always going to be someone who notices even the most minute details that are not explained when they should be, and then shares with a friend, and then it becomes a thing. If the thought “eh, I don’t have to include this detail because nobody will notice that this whole scene is ridiculous without it” crosses your mind, kill it. However, there’s a difference between a plot hole and a detail that was cut due to irrelevance, and that’s explained in the next point.

Forgetting To Actually Deliver Information

You, after months or even years of planning, may forget to include important details for the reader’s understanding due to the fact that overtime they seem so obvious to you. Be careful about this, and make sure that every scene you write is set up with the information the reader needs to know in order to understand what’s going on. This is easy to do as long as you have someone on the outside who can tell you where things get confusing and where the holes are.

Putting World Building Before Storytelling

You’re telling a story, and it’s important that you have an actual story to tell before you develop the world around it. Not every detail you plan out will be relevant to the story and won’t make it to the final draft, and that’s okay. Put the story first, and don’t sacrifice the reader’s focus to add detail that doesn’t enhance the story, because it will take away from it instead.

Poor Choice Of Writing Style

point of view, tense, person You should be very careful about the stylistic decisions you make about the way in which you will deliver your story to the reader, because this is often what makes sci-fi convoluted and boring. The three main details you need to decide on carefully are which point of view you tell the story from, so which character you’re choosing to focus on, the tense (past, present, or future), and person(first, second, or third). Most stories are told in third person surrounding the main character in past tense. Future tense and second person are pretty rare, but can be pulled off by authors who are willing to take on the challenge (though I don’t recommend it if you’re not willing to do a lot of problem solving and workshopping in following drafts).

Ignoring The Speculative Aspect

When your story deals with something like, say, time travel, you need to not only imagine the implications for your characters’ present, but their future along with everyone else’s. You also have to recognize that small changes may have a butterfly effect, but the universe has a way of straightening history out, and not all of them will have eternal lasting effects on the future. You’re speculating, and speculating doesn’t stop at how your characters’ situations change at the immediate moment, but also in the long run, as well as what implications come with each new detail you change between your world and ours.

Not Planning

This genre is not for the writers who identify as pantsers rather than planners. This genre is very, very difficult to approach as even a very organized author, and its readers are typically very observant and nit-picky. That isn’t a bad thing. It’s a great thing, as long as you’re prepared for what you’re in for.

Historical Absolutes

Mark Vorenkamp actually explained this really well in this article, so I recommend heading over there because he articulates it way better than I ever could.

You’re Not A Scientist (And That’s Okay)

Accept that you’re not a world-famous scientist and that you don’t have all the answers or all the research to back up the speculation and estimation that comes with science fiction. That’s okay, and as long as you do your best to know what you’re talking about and do as much research as possible to add substance to detail, you’re fine. This is fiction, after all. Not a dissertation.

This article is really, really detailed and extensive, and it’s a good continuation of what I’ve covered in this article. I recommend giving it a read if you’re about to sink your teeth into the editing or second-draft onward of your story, because it further examines things like the use of passive voice in sci-fi, and other, more advanced details of writing for this genre specifically.

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corelliaxdreaming · 4 years

Text

Dear Yuletide Author

First of all, thank you for writing something for me! Regardless of whether or not you take into account anything in this letter, I’m bound to love whatever you come up with. (Also, apologies for taking so ridiculously long to get said letter sorted…)

General likes: I’m not super picky it comes to fic: I’ll enjoy anything from the most tooth-rotting fluff to the most soul-rending angst, any rating at all. My number one always is hurt/comfort, especially of the emotional variety. If someone is crying and someone is cuddling them (literally or figuratively), I’m a very happy reader. Being an anxiety sufferer myself, I also have a soft spot for seeing characters dealing with mental illness stuff, anxiety and depression particularly, especially if their partner/partners are there being super supportive and helping them through it, even if they don’t always quite understand or get it right. Any kind of porn with feelings also never goes amiss. Over this last year, I’ve come to find my place as an aromantic asexual woman in a queerplatonic relationship, so any aromantic spectrum and/or asexual spectrum characters and/or characters in qpps make me luminously happy.

DNWs: Pretty much anything goes; I have no real triggers or squicks to speak of. I’d prefer not to see any noncon/cheating/violence/etc between the actual main pairings/relationships, but if you want to include those things elsewhere, that’s fine.

For any of my requests, feel free to use whichever characters you want – you don’t have to include them all – and to bring in any characters that weren’t nominated. It you happen to land in more than one of the Star Wars subfandoms I requested, crossovers are welcome. (Write me Cal/Wyl, and I’m yours forever.)

As for the fandoms specifically…

Horrorstör - Grady Hendrix Requested characters - Ruth Anne DeSoto, Basil Washington, Amy Porter

I’m not usually one for horror, but this one came up as recommened on Audible, and for some reason, I clicked. For our purposes, I would prefer not to see any romantic/sexual relationships between the requested characters. I strongly headcanon Ruth Ann as aromantic since we’re told she’s not in a relationship, never has been, and that she considers her coworkers her family. I’d also prefer if you kept any violence less explicit. I know it was in the book, and you’re welcome to reference things that happened in canon, but othereise, please, gore is not my favorite thing. *is still trying to get over the bone fingers bit*

For a simple jumping-off place, what happens after the end of the book? Do Amy and Basil find the others? Maybe Ruth Anne really is still alive? Do they rescue her and then she has to figure out how to move on and deal with having disfigured herself? For something simpler/lighter, what is daily life at the new store like? Or what was it like at Orsk before all this?

(I know I’m not really allowed to ask for crossovers, especially for fandoms that weren’t nominated, so feel free to completely ignore this bit, but there are two that stick out in my head. First, I think it was the general workplace comedy aspect that really reminded me of Superstore, to the point that I was picturing Horrorstor Amy as Superstore Amy consistantly. A crossover or character swap in either direction would be great - the Orsk emplyees at Cloud Nine? the Cloud Nine ones dealing witht his crap? Second is SCP 3008, the seemingly-infinite Ikea with the attacking mannequins/workers. Does the weird maze of halls in Orsk somehow connect to this place? Is one of those fortified camps where our remaining Horrorstor characters find their missing friends?)

Star Wars Legends: X-wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole Requested characters - Wedge Antilles, Tycho Celchu, Ton Phanan, Corran Horn

While I do ship very hard, I also love canon strong friendship a lot. I’d love anything about Wedge. He’s a good boy who works hard and has a lot of feelings he’s not so good at dealing with. Tycho is one of my favorite characters, and I especially love digging into his Lusankya trauma and healing and that whole process. I also always wonder what things might have been like if Tycho somehow ended up as a Wraith - I mean, he’s certainly got the baggage for it. Ton hurts me and needs hugs, and anything that deals with like his mental state and his depression wouldn’t go amiss. Corran Horny is here for shipping purposes. :P

Wedge/Tycho - *yelling* My #1 OTP! 10/10 will adore anything where they’re together. Something set during that first six months after Tycho’s defection where Wedge was afraid to get close to him and wouldn’t even call him by his first name? Yep. Any type of Lusankya-related angst? Yep. Trial-related angst? Yep. Tycho comforting Wedge when the burdens of command are too much? Yep. Wedge comforting Tycho when the burdens of command are too much? Yep. Literally anything? Yeeeep. (I also wrote myself into really loving anxious!Tycho at one point, so if you automatically want my undying love. XD)

Wedge & Ton - Some of my favorite stuff in this series is the way Wedge mentors and really cares for his pilots, particularly the stuff with Myn in Solo Command. Did he ever realize how much Ton was struggling and reach out to him in the same way? If he didn’t but had, would things have ended differently? Does he regret that? Similarly with Tycho and Ton (or all three of them) - one person with a buttload of trauma doing his best to help another?

Corran/Tycho - Started as a crackship based on some comments by the Rogue Podron hosts then grew feelings. Anything you’d like to explore here is great. Closeted bi Corran slowly realizing his feelings for Tycho aren’t just distrust suspicion? Tycho comforting Corran after his return from Lusankya? Comforting each other while trapped aboard the Lusankya for quarantine in Isard’s Revenge? Feelings about being separated during I, Jedi? I also love playing with the idea that they somehow both end up in Lusankya at the same time.

Star Wars: Alphabet Squadron Series - Alexander Freed Requested characters - Wyl Lark, Sonogari

Wyl is absolutely my favorite character from Alphabet. This sweet, gentle boy who is tired of the greater galaxy and war and just wants to go Home and how he loves everyone he meets and has to keep a wall up between himself and the galaxy in order to not break. Basically I love how feels-y and angst-friendly he is. I’ll love anything you write me about him. (I also headcanon him as demisexual.)

Wyl/Sonogari - I loved the tiny bits we got of these two. Sure, canon says they decided they wouldn’t work, but sometimes canon is wrong, yes? They’re two very good boys with lots of similaries, and I think they work great together. Tell about an AU where they were together? Maybe one where Sonogari survived the Oridol Cluster and went on to join Alphabet as well? Or if you want to kinda break my heart, tell me about them in actual canon? Meeting and Wyl slowly falling for Sonogari as he teaches him how to fly. What exactly happened during that fleet battle at Serapin, then Sonogari letting Wyl down with so much grace and heart?

Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order Requested character - Cal Kestis

For this fandom, you can include other characters, but I’d prefer to see the focus on Cal and to not see him involved in a het ship.

You might have noticed a pattern by now in my love of sad, traumatized space boys. Cal was like a gift to me in that regard. Also headcanoning him as asexual was an important part of figuring myself out. Basically, again, I’ll love anything addressing this boy’s feelings. How does he deal with all the pressure on himself? The days when the trauma is just so much? How does he move on when he’s lost his entire life not once but twice? Also love me that good, good psychometry-related angst.

Star Wars: Squadrons Requested characters: Varko Grey, Emory, Wedge Antilles

Sign-ups were due before this game was released, and unfortunately I still have yet to finish it, but I still have an interest in these three. A starwars.com databank entry mentioned Varko’s husband, Emory, and how much Emory worries about him and is glad to see him surviving in his position. So more ready-made pilot angst for me. Of course, I’m also always happy to see anything with Wedge. What does he think of Vanguard Squadron? What do they think about him?

(I know I’m not technically allowed to ask for characters who weren’t nominated, but with the circumstances of this fandom, I’m going to throw one in just in case. I’d really like to see anything about Keo, especially involving how they interact where their gender, their journey of discovery. It’s been confirmed that they are canonically nonbinary and use they/them pronouns.)

#dear yuletide author #yuletide

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