#some of you are definitely here after having connected through Inklings Challenge stories

[allisonreader]

Some times I feel like when people start following me they should have to fill out a survey as to why they have. Not necessarily everyone, some people it’s extremely clear as to why they’re following me. I can probably safely assume the reason for many. (Because it’s clear that our circles have connected in one way or another.)

The ones that I would be interested in seeing answer the survey as to why they’re following me is mostly for the ones that I’m not sure are just bots or that I’ve gone to their blog and it leaves me wondering what I’m doing that actually connects to any of their interests.

I don’t actually know or have put any thought into what sort of questions I would put into the purposed survey (and I expect that most wouldn’t do it one way or another.) At least no other question than the most obvious one. "Why are you following me?" "What interests you about my humble little blog of yelling into the void?"

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

The Princess Bride: Genre and Themes

“Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles…”

Within the first few minutes of the film, The Princess Bride firmly places itself into a very specific genre.  The Grandfather uses the above phrase very early in the movie in an attempt to sell the Grandson on the book after his skeptical reaction to the title.  With these words, and with the film that follows, The Princess Bride does whatever it can to tell its audience that it is a fantasy story, a fairy-tale.  There’s giants and shrieking eels and Miracle Pills that raise the mostly-dead, and it all connects due to an all-powerful true love.

You couldn’t get more fairy-tale if you tried.

And yet, I’d be hard-pressed to describe this as just a fantasy movie.

The problem with The Princess Bride, if you could call it a problem at all, is simply that instead of seeming like only one genre, The Princess Bride is almost too many.  It’s got the wit and dry delivery of a fast-paced comedy, the swashbuckling nature of an adventure film, and the passion of a romance.  It’s got a little bit of everything, to the point where, as I mentioned in our first article, the marketers of the film really didn’t know what to do with it.

Typically, a movie is sold partially on its genre, or genres, since very few films can claim to only belong to one.  A winning combination of star power, director clout and genre brings in an audience, who, knowing these elements, has an inkling of what to expect.  To quote Lessons from the Screenplay’s video: ‘When Harry Met Sally — Breaking Genre Conventions’:

“Genre is a set of expectations the audience has when they walk into a particular kind of movie.”

The video goes on to quote Robert McKee’s book, Story: Style, Structure, Substance, and the Principles of Screenwriting:

“The genre sophistication of filmgoers presents the writer with the critical challenge: He must not only fulfill audience anticipation, or risk their confusion and disappointment, but he must lead their expectations to fresh, unexpected moments, or risk boring them”

“The challenge is to keep convention but avoid cliche.”

That’s a lot easier said than done.

And in a film like this, containing so many genres that it’s a little challenging to pin down the ‘main’ ones, it’s important to try to figure out which audience expectations were supposed to be met.  Only then can we figure out if the film did so successfully.

That’s the object of today’s article: starting with the easy ones.  Let’s take a look. (Spoilers below!)

So, The Princess Bride, by nature of being a fairy-tale, is a fantasy story.

When you boil it down, ‘fantasy’ as a genre is just one that contains magical or fantastical elements, and in that case, The Princess Bride definitely fits the bill.  

While not quite reaching the levels of fantasy-realism of Ladyhawke, it is distinctly less ‘fantastical’ than films like Labyrinth, existing somewhere in the middle: not realistic by any means, but closer to the realm of recognizable reality than other fantasy films of the day.  Still, with the inclusion of things like Miracle Max’s miracle pill, and Inigo Montoya’s dead father managing to guide his sword, The Princess Bride firmly cements itself into the realm of fantasy by containing events that are unbelievable in any other world.

This is the genre that’s the easiest to place The Princess Bride into, due to the very simple ‘sword and sorcery’ elements that are vital to the plot.  It’s one of the main selling points of the story, to both the Grandson in the framing device, and the audience.  As such, like I said, there has to be audience expectations within the story that have to be met: there’s probably going to be a brave hero who saves the princess, there will be magic, and an exciting climax, featuring fights against the odds, quests, and explorations of this world and its use of fantastical elements.  Other expectations, especially for ‘fairy tale’ style fantasies would be a pretty simple one: a happy ending.

So, does The Princess Bride deliver?

More on that in a minute.  See, The Princess Bride isn’t only a fantasy film: it’s an adventure story too.

Once Buttercup is kidnapped, the story kicks off into a swashbuckling direction, with sword fights, revenge, and journeys through the Fire Swamp.  Every step in the journey from that point on is one of action, from Westley defeating all three of Buttercup’s kidnappers at their own games to the final storm of Humperdinck’s castle.  It’s enough to keep the Grandson appeased, even though he does interject comments here or there about other things.  There are plenty of elements that are completely at home among the many other fantasy-adventure stories released at the time, such as Inigo Montoya’s revenge subplot, and the idea of the torture machine.

However, it’s hard to argue that The Princess Bride is a straight adventure film.  As exciting as the fencing-matches are, it’s very easy to point out very early on that the movie isn’t 100% taking itself seriously.

Because it’s not.

The light-hearted dialogue during Inigo’s sword fight with Westley, the matter-of-fact way that Humperdinck explains his plan to murder Buttercup, every interaction between Inigo, Fezzik, and Vizinni, and the entire sequence with Miracle Max all contain a very dry, sharp wit that remains present throughout the entire film.  The characters casually exchange quips during life-threatening situations, respond in very understated ways, or have generally comedic conversations and reactions surrounding the action set pieces.

As I mentioned at the end of the ‘story’ article, The Princess Bride is not really interested in taking itself seriously.

This is not to say that it’s not sincere.

The characters believe what they say.  There is an incredible earnestness to their dialogue and actions that prevents this from falling into the ‘spoof’ category, but by the same token, it doesn’t quite erase the fact that this film, while playing its own tropes straight, is having a little fun with them nonetheless.  

This brings us to another pretty obvious genre: comedy.

The Princess Bride has no shortage of hilarious lines and moments, from the banter over Inigo and Westley’s sword fight to the Grandson’s constant interruptions and complaints about the events in the story.  The moments of comedy are in fact some of the most quoted scenes in the film, and entire scenes seem to be built in setpieces to allow for some genuinely funny dialogue, such as the Miracle Max sequence.  For sure, there is a lot of The Princess Bride that’s very tongue in cheek, geared to be intentionally humorous.

But there’s more to being a comedy than being funny.

Comedy is a really broad umbrella, which can encompass a ton of different subgenres: comedy of ideas, black comedy, farce, parody, situational, etc.  Comedy is also one of the genres that can be easily mixed with others to create action-comedies, horror-comedies, or even fantasy-comedies, which, it would seem The Princess Bride is one of.

Here’s the thing: as funny as The Princess Bride is, it doesn’t really fit the comedy bill.

Typically, a really good way to tell a film’s genre is to analyze the characters, especially the main protagonist, and the story beats.  These elements best illustrate exactly what kind of story you have, and in the case of The Princess Bride, neither the story, nor the characters are those found in comedies.

Comedies typically rely on either absurd, exaggerated, or humorous characters, or an absurd, exaggerated, humorous plot.  Ghostbusters is a comedy because the main characters respond to a horrific plot in humorous ways.  It Happened One Night is a comedy because of the dynamic interaction between the extreme protagonists in an unusual situation.

The Princess Bride certainly has characters that wouldn’t be out of place in a comedy (Vizzini, Miracle Max and Valerie, the Albino, the Impressive Clergyman, etc.) but the main characters, Westley, Buttercup, Inigo, etc, are played straight, as is the story.

The plot of The Princess Bride, on paper, is exactly the sort of story you’d expect in Highlander, Willow, or any of the other countless fantasy films that sprouted up, all over the 1980s.  To quote Roger Ebert’s review of the film:

“‘The Princess Bride’ looks and feels like ‘Legend’ or any of those other quasi-heroic epic fantasies – and then it goes for the laughs.”

The Princess Bride is a comedy, for sure: or at least, it’s a very funny movie, but the witty wordplay, as memorable as it is, is not the main takeaway from the film, or at least, it’s not meant to be.  There aren’t really any audience expectations that are set up here, because in comedies, most audience expectations are actually punchlines, and The Princess Bride isn’t really concerned with those.  There’s no set of audience guesses about the next joke, because the story isn’t about the jokes.  The film is interested in making you laugh, but not to the point where they’re making that the main focus.

Instead, it’d seem like the main takeaway, or one of them at least, should be romance.

From the title onward, The Princess Bride seems like it’s gearing up to be a romance film along the lines of Ladyhawke.  ‘True Love’ is one of the phrases the Grandfather uses immediately to clue the Grandson and the audience in on what they’re about to see: the story proper opens up with a tender realization of this aforementioned true love, and the main characters are determined to do whatever it takes to reunite.  Sounds like a romance, right?

Again, not to burst anyone’s bubble who puts The Princess Bride in their top romance films of all time lists, but it doesn’t really fit that bill either.  At least, not in the way we’re used to.

Romance films are built around, pretty obviously, the romance.  Casablanca’s story revolves around the relationship between it’s leads and the barriers in the way.  Singin’ in the Rain has plenty of scenes about the leads’ interactions and falling in love, and Say Anything’s plot hinges on the main characters’ dealing with challenges in their relationship.

In other words, romance films are focused on relationships and the people in them.  Even Ladyhawke has plenty of time devoted to expanding on the main characters’ feelings towards each other and their history.

But The Princess Bride doesn’t.

Sure, it’s completely vital to the story that Westley and Buttercup are in True Love with each other, there’s no questioning that.  Without that, there’s no story, period.  But with that said, there’s not a whole lot of focus on the relationship itself.

We’re told that Buttercup and Westley are in love by both the story itself and the characters, and since they fall in love so early in the story, before the opening narration is even finished, we don’t really see the actual ‘falling in love’ portion that most romance films tend to focus on.  There’s no realization or choice, or decisions to make about the relationship, rather, the True Love of the story works less like an actual romance and more like a bonafide force of nature, drawing the two leads together and making their happiness possible.  The true goal of the story isn’t to fall in love, it’s to be together.

So, is there a set of audience expectations to be met here?

In romances, a happy ending is typically expected (unless it’s Casablanca, take a look at the study on that one from a few months ago, if you’re interested!), an ending that portrays the main leads together, realizing their love for one another.  If that’s the only criteria, then The Princess Bride would be golden, but, as I mentioned before, in most romance films, there’s other factors that contribute to the genre.

Like I said before, most romances tend to have a focus on the relationship’s development, and the character’s interactions with one another, again, something that The Princess Bride doesn’t really have.  Westley and Buttercup spend most of the film separated, and while Cary Elwes and Robin Wright have undeniable chemistry that makes the relationship believable, there is very little actual interaction to back it up.

The film isn’t terribly focused on the relationship, all that matters is that it does.

So, with that in mind, is The Princess Bride a romance film?

Well…yes and no.

The Princess Bride fulfills the audience expectations of a two genres the most: Fantasy/Adventure.  Thanks to the fantastical, magical elements of the story, and the focus on true love and bravery, it very neatly falls into the category of a fairy tale: but a self-aware one.

While a Mel Brooks-eque parody might use this opportunity to make jokes about the fantasy world and relatively generic plot, The Princess Bride lets it’s story play out, without feeling the need to prove to its audience that it’s ‘smarter’ than that.

This isn’t to say there aren’t moments of self awareness: the film does gently poke fun at it’s own story through the narrative device of the Grandfather and the Grandson’s banter over the story: the Grandson’s complaints about the romance elements, arguments about the ending, etc.  The film uses the framing device to stay one step ahead of the audience, showing them that yes, they know exactly what they’re doing.  But the humorous acknowledgement of the genre and type of story that they are telling does not change the actual story that is being told.

That seems to leave us with a pretty definitive answer, but before we wrap, let’s ask two final questions:

Question 1: What type of story is this?

Question 2: What type of hero/protagonist is this?

We’ve already answered, through the use of ‘audience expectations’ and fulfillment, what kind of story The Princess Bride is.  But we do need to answer the other question: what type of hero is this?

The Princess Bride shares it’s ‘hero’ spotlight between arguably three people: Westley, Buttercup, and Inigo.

Westley and Buttercup have more or less the same goals, and the same perspective in mind, at least, once they’re reunited.  Much like Navarre and Isabeau from Ladyhawke, their romance is established: their end goal is just to actually live their lives together.  On the other hand, Inigo’s goal is revenge, a motivation not out of place among other fantasy-adventure stories of the time.

To pursue both goals, all the characters endure various perils, (The Fire Swamp, torture, swordfights) as found in any fantasy-adventure story, to achieve their individual ends.  It is these goals, and the route taken to achieve them, that determines what kind of story this is.  In the case of Westley, the dashing hero at the center of it all: a fantasy-adventure-romance, a grand, epic tale from the perspective of a man who will do anything to be reunited with his true love.  For Buttercup, it is a fantasy-romance, the story of a woman trapped into awaiting rescue from a lover she thought to have died.  For Inigo: it is a fantasy-adventure, a swashbuckling story about vengeance and justice for a father ruthlessly taken from a son.  

And it’s all tied together by a kindly grandfather, knowingly reading the story to his impatient, reluctant grandson.

The result?

The Princess Bride is a perfectly charming fantasy adventure film, about a romance that happens to be funny.  It was all of this unique genre-blending that made this film such a nightmare to market, but in the end, created a cult classic that has continued to be fresh, entertaining, and inspiring over thirty years since its original opening, and will continue to be enjoyed by generations more, as long as we keep reading fairy-tales.

Don’t forget to leave a comment, like, or some other form of love if you enjoyed this analysis, and please, follow for more articles like this!  Thanks so much for reading, and I hope to see you in the next article.

[jarienn972]

A Simple Spell - Chapter Eight

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

I’m a tiny bit late getting this latest chapter of my @cssns story posted this evening but I'm going to try my best to get back on track with posting updates every other Monday as long as the real world doesn't get too crazy.

The last chapter had Emma reacting to learning she was related to the Mills sisters, angrily lashing out at Regina about keeping such a huge secret from her before getting drunk and having a heartfelt talk about it with Killian. As she settled in to sleep off too much rum, Killian was rendered unconscious by an invisible attacker. This chapter picks up the next morning and by the end of this installment, you'll have a good idea who the real villain of this tale is and an inkling of what Emma has gotten herself into.

As always, I want to thank the event organizers for all of their hard work.  Definitely looking forward to the completion of all of this year’s stories and for the newly announced 2020 event!  I also want to extend huge thank yous again to @lassluna for all of her help as a beta reader and to @cocohook38 for the incredible art work featured in the header.

Catch up from the beginning on AO3, FF.net or here on Tumblr:  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven

The morning sunlight filtering through the break room mini blinds was every bit as unpleasant as Emma had expected when it hit that perfect angle to land directly on her face. Her head throbbed from her over-indulgence in rum last night, but she had no one to blame but herself. Tossing the blanket unceremoniously over the back of the sofa, she pushed herself up to a sitting position just as a somewhat bewildered Graham strolled in to brew his morning coffee.

"Emma? What are you doing here?" he asked, face scrunched in confusion. "Did you sleep here?"

"Yeah," she replied groggily as she stretched and forced her feet to the floor. She stood up to find the room only spinning slightly but increasing her nausea. "Had a little familial disagreement so after a few drinks with a friend, I came here to sleep it off."

"Must have been one rough night…"

"You don't even want to know…" she insisted as she made her way into the locker room in search of a change of clothing. She'd learned a long time ago to always keep a clean shirt and a pair of jeans on hand for emergencies. This way, she knew she had something available to make herself feel a little more human and look at tad more presentable before she embarked on her quest to confront those who'd kept her mother's real identity a secret from her. "Are you making coffee?" she called out to Graham as she changed from yesterday's attire.

"Just starting it now."

"Think you can make it extra strong?"

"I think I can manage that," Graham replied as he fished two mugs out of the cabinet mounted above the break room sink. He placed the mugs on the counter, knowing better than to ask anything else about her night. He'd slept off his own drunken benders in some unusual places too, so before switching on the coffee pot, he removed the bottle of aspirin that they kept in the cabinet and placed it next to her mug. He knew she'd appreciate it.

Emma emerged a few minutes later sporting a clean, rust colored tee shirt and blue jeans, eagerly inhaling the enticing aroma of the fresh brew. Graham was no longer in the break room but she immediately smiled when she saw the aspirin bottle atop the counter. Coffee and a few pain relievers were just what she needed right now before she set off down the street to have a chat with a squirrely pawn shop owner.

**********

Fueled by caffeine and a reinvigorated desire to get some answers about her mother's mysterious past, Emma stormed her way across and then down half a block of Main Street with Gold's potion booked clutched tightly in her left hand. Since the aspirin hadn't yet had time to kick in, her head was still pounding which was leaving her in no mood to take any crap from the pawn shop's owner.

Gold had opened up the shop for business at exactly 8AM, mere minutes before Emma shoved open the entrance door and stomped her way to the counter where the proprietor stood. She dropped the book onto the display case in front of him, almost hoping that the glass would break. Unfazed by her action, Gold glanced down at the potion book resting on the countertop then back up at the deputy's irate face.

"Good morning, Deputy Swan," he greeted her with little emotion in his voice and showing a considerable lack of interest in the very item that he'd requested her to retrieve for him.

"I found your book," she informed him very matter-of-factly, patting it with her fingertips to ensure she had his attention. "Found the little surprise inside of it too…"

"Surprise? Whatever are you talking about, Ms. Swan?" She wasn't the least bit surprised that he'd feign ignorance of the photograph and letter and she wasn't buying it.

She flipped open the book's cover to reveal the photo of her mother as a child and the faded, handwritten letter from her grandfather. "I suppose you're going to deny that you knew these were inside the book?"

Gold shrugged nonchalantly as he carefully lifted the aging photograph to examine it. "I loaned this book to Cora a very long time ago. I certainly can't speak for what she might have stuck inside it's covers."

"But you knew…"

"Knew what, Dearie?" he rudely interrupted her statement.

"You knew that Cora and my mother were sisters," she stated, undaunted by his apparent disinterest. "Why is it that everyone in this town thinks that it's such a horrible thing for me to know who I'm actually related to around here?"

"I would suppose it is because they weren't certain how you might react to learning the truth about your mother."

"And I suppose that it should have been left up to me, not them!" she countered, raising her voice angrily. "I've had it with all of the secrets! I want those items that belonged to my mother as I kept my end of the deal and I want you to spill what you know about my history!"

"Do you think you can handle the truth about your lineage?"

"I'll let you know. Now, why don't you start telling me what the big secrets are?"

"Fine," he relented as he made his way over to the ornate cabinet where he'd stored the items belonging to Ava Nolan. "You fulfilled your end of our deal by returning my book so your mother's items now belong to you." He tugged open the cabinet door and removed the small box and books he'd shown Emma the previous day and then placed them atop the counter. "I will answer some of your questions as a courtesy to your mother as well, but not out here. How about we go have a seat in my office where it will be more private for you to interrogate me?"

"Lead the way…"

Gold held the heavy beaded curtain aside as he gestured for Emma to pass through the doorway to his office and storeroom that lay beyond the sales floor. The decor of this not-for-public-eyes area was even more eclectic and disturbing than the shop itself but since she wasn't here to debate his decorating choices, she withheld commentary. She was only here this morning to learn about her mother, not discuss interior decorating.

"Have a seat, Ms. Swan," he said, directing her to a fancy upholstered chair that was probably as old as the town itself. Emma sat down on the offered chair, but she didn't allow herself to get too comfortable. She wasn't planning this to be a long, social visit. "I don't have all of the answers you seek, but what would you like to know?" he asked as he took a seat to her right on a burgundy divan.

"I guess we'll start with the same one I've been asking since last night - why was my mother's identity and place in this town such a secret?"

"That was a choice made by your family, I'm afraid. As you know, Storybrooke is a town with an unusual pedigree that they sought to protect. How much of the history of this town do you know?"

"I know a little. I know it was founded by the Blanchard family after the Civil War, in the late 1800's."

"That is correct - your great-grandparents founded the town in 1872, selecting this remote area of Maine to create a safe haven for those who wished to practice the magical arts, both dark and light. They welcomed fellow witches and warlocks and opened a portal across the bay to connect to other magical realms. However, the magic that Storybrooke was founded upon came with a price. To secure the magic that supports the town's infrastructure, your great-grandparents formed a pact with a very powerful warlock from a distant realm. That warlock agreed to share his extensive powers with the town of Storybrooke in exchange for an agreement that he could return whenever he chose and demand a duel for the powers of any practitioner he chose. Should his chosen competitor lose, he would gain their powers, Should the opponent win, the warlock would consider the debt paid and leave forever."

"That seems like an awfully big price to pay just to have magic in this town, but I don't get what that has to do with my mother…"

"I'm getting to that," he assured her, frowning at the young woman's impatience. "The warlock has returned to Storybrooke twice since the town's inception and has won the challenge both times. Your mother was his unfortunate second victim."

"She lost her powers?" Emma asked, partially for clarification, although she'd understood Gold's explanation of the warlock's competition, so she already knew the answer.

"She did. Her challenge caused her to be tricked into making an ill-advised choice, but that's really all I know of it. After losing her magic, she attempted to stay here in town and live a normal life. She married widower Robert Nolan, had you, but then one day, something changed and she took you and disappeared."

"When I was growing up, she never once mentioned that she'd had powers of any kind," Emma stated as she attempted to process all of this new information. "I always thought that she'd run from something bad, maybe something abusive, but after meeting David and learning about our dad, that didn't make sense anymore and now it makes even less sense… What caused her to run away from her home and family?"

"I'm afraid that you'll need to ask those questions of your family. I can't tell you what pushed her away or why they kept her identity a secret from you, but now, if you don't mind, I should be getting back to work."

"I understand. One last question though," she began as she stood up. "Do you have any idea what ill-advised choice she had to make?"

"Afraid not, dearie. All I know is that the warlock came into town and weaseled his way into her life, leading her to that decision. She chose poorly."

"What the hell did she have to choose?" Emma repeated the question to herself while exhaling a deep sigh.

Gold shook his head and shrugged as he ushered her out of his office. "I don't remember much from that time, but from what I do recall of your mother, it likely involved a man."

"What?" she exclaimed as she crossed the threshold back into the main shop. "What do you mean by that?"

"Growing up, your mother had very bad luck with the men in her life. Your grandfather died when she was still rather young and she had a string of boyfriends but few serious relationships. Perhaps your brother or your cousins will remember more?"

"Well, this just keeps getting better and better…," she muttered under her breath as the old man disappeared behind the curtain without another word. Befuddled, she gathered up the few belongings her mother had left with Gold, collected the photograph of her mother and aunt along with her grandfather's letter and wandered out to the sidewalk completely lost in thought. She now had the knowledge that her mother had once possessed magical powers but lost them after being on the losing end of some sort of challenge from an evil warlock - a challenge that had involved some sort of choice - but what? By Gold's description, this challenge had taken place a few years before her mother had run away to Boston so it didn't seem as though the loss of her magic had been the catalyst that caused her to bolt. So, what had it been? What choice had the warlock forced her to make? Had it actually involved a man like Gold had suggested or was there more to it?

She was anxious to see what was inside the mysterious box Gold had held onto for all of these years and to learn more about the books that accompanied the box. First though, she had to take a break and feed her grumbling stomach. The coffee had been a good way to start the morning, but she needed to fuel her growling belly and Granny's was tantalizingly close… Three or four more cups of industrial strength coffee couldn't hurt either.

She took a step into the street, barely noticing the car parked curbside in front of the pawn shop and too distracted by her own thoughts to realize that there was another person in her path. She walked straight into that unseen pedestrian, the collision sending them both tumbling to the asphalt. Emma managed to hold on to her mother's box, but the books fell from her grasp.

"I'm so sorry…,' she began to apologize profusely to the man she'd collided with. "I wasn't looking where I was going…" She pushed herself to her knees and began to gather her belongings, almost afraid to look to see who she had so awkwardly run into. "Are you alright? I hope I didn't knock you over too hard…"

"It's alright, Emma…," the familiar voice said with a chuckle. "This isn't exactly how I planned to run into you, but I'm not going to complain." Recognizing the voice, she flushed with embarrassment. It may have only been Walsh, but she would rather he not see her this flustered.

"Walsh, I guess we literally ran into each other," she said with a shy, awkward grin. "I'm really sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going."

"No worries. I wasn't really paying attention either. I was just heading over to visit Mr. Gold and see if there were any updates on my incoming shipment. What about you? I thought you were off today but that intensity in your gaze says otherwise."

"Oh, I was just returning a book to Gold in exchange for this old stuff that used to belong to my mother. Now I'm heading over to Granny's to get some breakfast and take a look at this stuff. Wanna join me? I'll buy to make up for getting your suit all dirty…"

"I just might take you up on that offer," he said as he brushed some invisible dust off of his dark, coffee bean brown suit. Yeah, she had coffee cravings on her brain again… "Let me finish up my business here but I'll stop over when I'm all done."

"Sounds good," she replied with a hopeful smile. "I'll take my time. After last night, I'll probably need to go through a couple of pots of coffee…"

"Last night? What happened last night?"

"Let's just call it an interesting night that ended in a few too many drinks after having way too much unloaded on me too quickly…"

"Ah… I have heard that the full moon can lead to some overwhelming revelations around here…"

"Oh, just a few revelations… But I'd better let you get back to business. I'll save you a seat if you decide to take me up on the breakfast offer."

"Sounds great, Emma. I'll try to keep things short," he offered, not exactly promising that he'd make it but leaving her hopeful that she might gain some company for breakfast. She had so much to process and she hadn't even gotten to the relatives yet. Maybe it was best to have someone to share the discoveries with her instead of sitting in the diner alone?

Walsh held the smile on his face until as Emma continued (cautiously this time) across the quiet street towards her intended destination of Granny's diner. Once her back was fully to him and he was no longer in her purview, he straightened his sport coat and reset his composure. Projecting a decidedly more business-like demeanor, he entered the pawn shop to seek out its owner.

Alerted by the jingle of the bell attached to the door handle, Gold knew that someone had come into the store, but believing it to be the deputy returning with more inquiries, he responded before poking his head around the curtain.

"If you're back for more, there's not much else I can tell you," Gold said as he stepped around the room divider to see that the person awaiting him in the lobby wasn't Emma Swan, awkwardly finding the face of Walsh Gibbons instead.

"More about what?" a confused and curious Walsh asked as he noted Gold's reaction.

"Mr. Gibbons. My apologies. I thought Ms. Swan was returning with some additional questions about the items she just obtained from me." Gold did his best to conceal his embarrassment over his faux pas of making the statement before confirming his audience.

"Ah, yes, she mentioned that she'd traded for some old items of her mother's."

"A few small things," Gold said, not intending to go into further detail. "So, how can I help you today, Mr. Gibbons? As you're aware, the ship carrying the items you desire isn't due into port until Monday. The captain expects to be in the harbor around noon should fair winds prevail."

"Yes, I'm aware of that delay. I'm actually here for something else, specifically some assistance with a particular potion…," Walsh informed him as he reached into the right hand pocket of his sport coat, withdrawing a folded slip of paper that he slid across the glass countertop to Gold. "Think you can put that together for me?"

The pawn shop owner picked up the paper warily, slowly unfolding it to see what was being requested of him. "I believe I have all of the ingredients for this but whatever do you need it for?"

"That is my business," Walsh replied with haughty tone. "Your business is to make it for me, right?" Gold found himself reminded of his conversation earlier that week when he'd assured Emma that his dealings with Walsh were strictly business. Clearly word had reached Gibbons who was now throwing it back at him. "How long will it take?" Walsh asked to snap Gold back to the present.

"If I have everything required, I can have it to you in about an hour. Let me take a quick gander at my storeroom."

"Please do. I'll wait."

Gold vanished behind the heavy fabric divider while Walsh waited impatiently to learn if the potion could be completed in a timely manner. The shopkeeper was out of sight for less than two minutes when he returned with his response. "I do have all of the necessary ingredients. The potion will be ready for you in an hour."

"Perfect. I guess I'll go take Emma up on her breakfast offer while I wait," Walsh grinned. "See you in an hour."

Gold stood silently behind the counter as Walsh exited his shop. He'd made many potions for Gibbons over the years they'd been doing business together, but this latest request had him puzzled. It was unusual, even for Gibbons, but business was business.

**********

Elsewhere in Storybrooke, (at least he hoped he was still in Storybrooke) Killian Jones had awakened in near total darkness. His last recollection was of walking a very tipsy Emma to the Sheriff's station then returning to the Jolly Roger - but how long ago had that been? There was no way to know if it was day or night or whether minutes or hours had passed. He vaguely recalled a choking sensation that he might have dismissed as a dream were it not for the lingering ache in his neck.

He knew he was no longer aboard his ship as there was nothing familiar to any of his senses - no gentle rocking and swaying on the bobbing waves nor any scent of marine air or teakwood. No, wherever he was, it was dank and dark. There was no light filtering in through any crack in the stone or cement walls of this chamber and there was a musty, earthy odor to his surroundings.

Where the hell was he?

Using the nearest wall both for support and to gain his bearings, Killian pushed himself upright, immediately realizing that he was missing something - his hook. He knew he'd been wearing it when he'd left Emma but now its familiar weight wasn't there. He still wore the brace that secured it yet the prosthetic implement itself had been removed.

A renewed vulnerability washed over him as he inched his way along the wall in the inky blackness yet he was determined to take stock of this prison. His hand felt for any recess or crack that might signify a possible exit as he made his way to the chamber's first corner. He continued moving to his right along the second wall discovering that it was little more than an arm-span distance between the corners. Whatever this awful hole was, it was narrow.

The third wall proved to be only slightly longer than the second which provided him a rough estimate of the room's dimensions - approximately six or seven feet wide and perhaps nine or ten feet wide. It would be about the size of a small storage room or closet - or even an actual prison cell.

But at least there was some hope. As he reached the next bend, his hand came in contact with wood. A door frame. A doorway. At least if the room had a way in, there was a chance he could find a way out, although that might prove a tad more difficult without his hook. His hand surveyed the frame and door in search of a key hole or some type of locking mechanism but he found neither. Whatever purpose this chamber served, it was secured from outside which left him with the chilling realization that it just might be a prison cell and he was its unfortunate occupant.

Questions flooded his brain as his psyche tried to make sense of his situation. Where the hell was he and how the bloody hell did he get here? He didn't remember leaving the Jolly Roger, at least not willingly. He'd sensed no one else on deck with him and a skirmish would certainly have drawn the attention of his crew.

Someone had brought him here and locked him away in this miserable, lonely pit, but who? He'd barely been in this port for a week but had he unexpectedly crossed someone unwittingly? There was so much he needed to know…

"Hello?" he shouted in the direction of the sealed door, unsure if anyone would even be listening. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

Hearing nothing except the echo of his own voice and the pounding of his heart, Killian slumped against the nearest wall. He knew he needed to think this through and to conserve his energy. There was no indication of any water or provisions left here for him so either his captor planned to bring him sustenance or he was intended to slowly starve to death - the latter being an option he wasn't prepared to consider.

[quiveringbunny]

You Can’t Afford Him (Olicity fanfic, rated M) - Chapter 1

Here is chapter 1 of my latest Olicity story. I hope you enjoy it. The first chapter is fluffy fun. Later the story will be M. 

Read on Ao3

YOU CAN’T AFFORD HIM 

Chapter 1

After the team returned from depositing Slade Wilson in his dismal cell beneath the graceful palm trees of Lian Yu, the atmosphere in the Lair was tense for weeks.

John Diggle was no dummy. Something had happened between Oliver and Felicity around the time they ended the Siege of the Mad Australian and his Mirakuru soldiers. He wasn’t sure what it was, but John figured it had something to do with how Felicity was kidnapped by Slade in order to inject him with the cure. The whole thing had come from out of nowhere, from his perspective, but Oliver didn’t seem surprised. Now, the third, and most stoic, member of Team Arrow wondered what had transpired to set those events in motion, resulting in a very awkward vibe between his partners.

Lyla, his own love, shook her head and clucked “UST” when he confided in her about the situation. So, Diggle stayed away from the Lair a little more often now. He hoped that by giving the two of them some time together, they might work through whatever rough patch they were having and maybe, just maybe, Oliver Queen would pull his damn head out of his ass and ask the girl out. And he certainly didn’t want to walk in on them resolving anything.

That wouldn’t be today. He found them sitting at a table, playing cards strewn haphazardly in front of them. Oliver was scrubbing his face in frustration and Felicity sat opposite him, arms folded across her chest. She looked pissed.

“Hey Guys, what’s going on here?” John tried to sound as light and breezy as he could with his baritone.

“Nothing,” was Oliver’s immediate response, but his colleague was having none of that.

“Oliver asked me to teach him how to count cards. I think he thought it would be easy.”

“People count cards all the time,” Oliver piped up.

“Not really, Oliver. It’s frowned upon and it does take a bit of talent.”

John, finding himself inexplicably drawn in, leaned against a nearby bench.  “And why do you want to learn how to count cards?”  

Oliver turned to face his other partner while Felicity shuffled multiple decks like a dealer.  “There is someone I need to look into in Macau. An associate of Slade’s who owns a casino there. We still don’t know if Slade shared his Mirakuru formula outside of Starling. But this person would know. His casino is a front for an arms operation.”

“So, Oliver has to infiltrate a gambling operation and he thinks being able to have an advantage is necessary,” she added.

Diggle fixed his eyes on his beleaguered colleague. “Why don’t you just let Felicity do it? She’s the most experienced gambler.”

“Thank you!” She sounded both grateful and exasperated. Apparently this was not an unfamiliar suggestion. Unfortunately, it only elicited a grumpy sigh from Oliver “Heart Eyes” Queen.

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Why do we keep having this conversation, Oliver? I’ve gone in the field for missions before. Even to a casino.”

“Yes, you did. And when you got made, you were nearly beaten by the guys in the back room. I only got there just in time...”

Felicity rolled her eyes and prepared to rebut.

“I might regret suggesting this,” Diggle interjected, “but why don’t you both go? Oliver, you can look into things while Felicity establishes credibility at the gaming tables?”

Felicity mouthed “thank you” to John and then turned to Oliver with a raised brow. The Arrow huffed back and crossed his arms, obviously not happy with the suggestion.

#######

Felicity enjoyed gambling. When she was a child she liked to play bingo with her maternal grandmother and got a taste for triumph. She enjoyed her casino adventures while living in Las Vegas, making extra money to cover the household bills, before an overzealous pit boss at Harrah’s stopped underestimating the lucky young woman with the glasses. The thrill carried on into adulthood. In some way, her day job and her night job still scratched her itch for numeric probability problems. Truth be told, if she was a risk-averse person, she would never have signed on to Team Arrow for the long term.

Even though the prospect of going undercover in a Macau casino was thrilling to Felicity, she still found her nerves surging during the dreadful flights from Starling to Macau International Airport. Thank god for Benzos. She noticed Oliver watching her like a hawk, undoubtedly concerned she might croak before they arrived, but he had no idea it was his intense gaze that made her anxious in the first place, not the prospect of play-acting in a nest of bad men.

#######

When they were just two hours away from their final destination, Oliver quietly rasped into her ear. It was definitely sobering. He was sitting rightthere. Yes, he was in the seat next to her. But those seats on commercial aircraft were just too damn close.

“Felicity, do we have anything else on Myles Crofton? Anything we might be able to use to find out if he was in touch with Slade? Or leverage him, maybe?”

“You asked me that last night, Oliver. No. That is why we are on this hellish trip right now. I really have to get into his office. I need to check every aspect of his digital life on the scene to find out definitively. And if it works out that he’s got a fridge full of Killer Soldier Juice, you get to smash it all up.”

“And him.”

“Whatever works for you.”

“Do we need to nail down our cover story, Felicity?”

She couldn’t help but loll her head to the side in disbelief, like she did so many times when he was being ridiculous.

“Oh, you mean the cover story where you are a globetrotting playboy from Miami and I am your nerdy personal assistant who happens to be amazingly lucky at the tables? That one?”

Queen’s features morphed to discontent. “Felicity.”

“It’s okay,” she sighed. “Everything will be fine. Except I changed my name again for this mission. It’s Pandora Fleece.”

“What?!” Oliver schooled his voice after his outburst. “Why is your name Pandora Fleece? It was Ginger something before.”

Felicity grumbled. “Exactly. You could never remember it. You will remember Pandora Fleece.”

“I don’t know if I can call you Pandora with a straight face.”

“Call me Panda, then. It’s shorter and more familiar. I am your right hand, after all.”

“Okay, Panda.” Oliver couldn’t help but remember the panda flats Felicity used to wear. They were charming and quirky. Suddenly, he was warming to the name and a smile was pulling at his lips. Then his mind snapped back at her voice again.

“You are still Archer Middleton. It sounds like money.”

“Archer?”

“I get to have fun sometimes.”

“Sounds like a trust fund douche I went to school with.”

“You were the douche you went to school with,” she smirked. “At least according to TMZ.”

Oliver grimaced at her. “Can it be something else?”

“What, like James Bond?”

At that, Oliver couldn’t help but grin a little. He looked at her expectantly.

“No, you can’t be James Bond.”

Defeat crossed his face and Felicity watched it with some amusement.

“No matter how good you look in a tux,” she added with a faint twinkle in her eye before sitting back in her seat.

Oliver registered the compliment and puffed his chest out, ever so slightly. He knew she liked it when he wore a tux.

Ever since the team had come back from Lian Yu, the sync between him and his Girl Wednesday had felt off.  He was worried their relationship would never go back to the way it was before that night in the foyer of Queen Mansion – the night when he admitted that he loved her. He said the words out loud for Slade’s benefit, but they had been true. Then he got scared and took the “out” Felicity had given him on the beach and they hadn’t spoken of it again. Oliver still loved her, but he couldn’t help recalling how she looked with Slade Wilson’s sword pressed to her throat. She was taken because of his feelings for her and Oliver never wanted that to happen again. Keeping her at a distance personally would assure that.

Still, he really enjoyed it when they were in sync, working together and making things happen as a team. He felt the inklings of that connection returning now. Maybe.

#######

Macau was going to be a challenge. As soon as they landed, Felicity discovered that the airline had misdirected their bags, which shouldn’t have been surprising, given the chaos of the airport and their connections. The airline assured her they would find the luggage and forward it to the Metropol Casino and Resort as soon as possible. But Felicity didn’t know how long that actually meant in Macau time.

The check in at the hotel was similarly difficult. They were waiting in line for the front desk several minutes. Felicity couldn’t help but notice how the women around her were dressed. Even in one of her better day dresses, she felt a bit grubby and desperately hoped her suitcase would arrive soon. When they finally got their turn at the desk, they were informed that the two-bedroom suite Felicity had booked was not yet available. There were vociferous apologies for the wait. Oliver suggested they go to the adjacent underground mall to shop in case their bags were not returned in time for their evening at the casino.

#######

It felt good to walk after being cooped up on a plane for most of a day. The two of them trekked the length of the mall before Oliver steered a hesitant Felicity into one of the high-end dress shops.

It was a fairly large boutique with clothing at one end and accessories, primarily shoes, at the other. Still, the offerings were sparse.

“Why is it the expensive places have the fewest clothes on display?” Felicity remarked, making him huff a laugh. It was then that he noticed a striking red gown. Felicity followed his eyes to it. Then she looked at him and he quirked an eyebrow.

“No,” she whispered as he picked up the dress. “That is not an assistant’s dress. It looks too fancy.”

“Just try it.”

As if by magic, an attentive shop attendant appeared to facilitate the process.

“May I help you?” The attendant was clever enough to direct his question to Felicity. If the woman wasn’t keen on purchasing, it was unlikely to happen. But sometimes the husband or boyfriend or lover or “uncle” could be influential, so the lanky man with dark eyes waited.

“Yes. Could you help Ms...Fleece, please?” Oliver asked.  “The red.” He directed with his gaze.

“Excellent.”  The man smiled widely. “My name is Claude and I am pleased to be able to assist you today.”

Then Claude did a strange thing. He snapped his fingers. Suddenly, a younger man appeared with a black Lucite tray. Perched on it were two glasses of pink sparkling wine and several luscious strawberries.

Felicity was suddenly afraid she would blow their cover before the op had even begun. The alcohol looked very appealing right now, so she took a glass and nodded to Oliver. He did the same and offered his billionaire smile with a quiet toast.

“This way, Ms. Fleece,” Claude bowed before turning. Felicity urged Oliver to take her handbag with a deadly look, then she followed the man toward the stylishly appointed fitting rooms. She looked over her shoulder just once to see Oliver snagging a berry off the tray and biting into it with gusto while clutching the purse to his chest. Claude waved Felicity towards an open cubicle.

“I will be right back with your gown.”

“But don’t you need to know my size?” Felicity volunteered.

“Trust me, Ms. Fleece. I have been doing this for a long time. I already know.”

Claude nodded respectfully and disappeared for three minutes before returning with the dress in exactly the right size. At least in most of the places that mattered. It looked a bit long in the fitting room.

Meanwhile, out on the floor of the shop, Oliver needed to wait. There were places to sit down, comfortable velvet armchairs, but he had been sitting for what felt like days and that seemed like the last thing his body wanted to do. So, he wandered around and looked over the accessories. They made him think of his sister Thea and what a clotheshorse she always was.

Thoughts of his sister left him when Oliver watched Claude lead Felicity out of the fitting room and toward a pedestal in front of a bank of angled mirrors. The sight of her in the dress stole all of his words and much of his sanity. Felicity was beautiful, for sure, whether she was dressed practically for her day job or covered in grime for their night work. But in this dress, she was possibly the loveliest woman he had ever seen. It wasn’t the fabric that floated around her legs or the cut that showcased her feminine curves making her so striking. In truth, it was a fairly conservative dress in terms of its high neckline and long sleeves. It was the way that the dress was obviously affecting her. She looked attractive, sexy, confident - all the things that drew Oliver to her since he met her, all at once.

Oliver watched Claude help her step up onto a pedestal, a momentary flash of leg peeking through the slit that went up above her knee. He also couldn’t help but fixate on her back. The dress was open and revealed the most attractive shoulder blades he had ever seen. Who obsessed over shoulder blades? He was obviously in trouble. When she turned to him with a quizzical look, he hesitated to speak until...

“You need shoes,” he volunteered. In a flash, he moved to the opposite end of the store to get his head screwed on right and find the perfect heels for the dress he had already decided she was getting whether she liked it or not.

*******

Felicity watched Oliver scurry away with confusion. The dress was amazing, yet he hadn’t said a word about it. Truthfully, she really didn’t need his input. She knew the gown was fantastic as soon as she stepped into it. It made her feel incredible, even if the hem was dragging. Felicity enjoyed swishing the fabric back and forth. It was just a tad mature for her, but she liked that about it. It made her feel womanly in the best way.

A few moments later, her partner in justice reappeared beside her wearing an inscrutable look. He couldn’t take his eyes off her in the mirror. But before Felicity could ask him what was on his mind, Oliver produced a pair of sparkling gold sandals. The heels looked high, but not impossible. Felicity grinned and nodded.

What Oliver did next almost sent her toppling off her perch. He put his hand through the break in the dress, the slit, and found her bare foot. Then he moved to push the fabric away so he could place the shoe down. Without a word, he encouraged her to grasp his shoulder while he helped her slip her foot into the sandal. She never once left her place on the pedestal.

It was an overwhelming sequence of events for Felicity - Oliver being so unexpectedly familiar and thoughtful, so physically intimate in a way. With great effort she continued to breathe until the “shoe event” was over and she could stand to admire what the newfound height was adding to the overall look of the dress. But it was a little hard to focus with Oliver standing just behind her, according to the mirror, staring at her like...she always belonged up there.

Claude broke the tension by piping up, “It appears just a minor alteration to make it perfect, Ms. Fleece.”

Oh yes, there was someone else in the room. Felicity made moves to climb down from her perch and Oliver rushed to assist her. Then he directed his attention to their salesman while she reached for her chirping purse that Oliver left sitting on a nearby table.

“You can have it ready for this evening and sent up to our suite?” Oliver replied with a question that was actually a definitive statement.

Claude, accustomed to such requests from high-value clients, responded in the affirmative while Felicity grimaced at her phone screen.

Oliver shifted his attention to his Girl Wednesday. “What?”

“I was going to fight you about buying this dress, but this text says we won’t have our bags until tomorrow morning.”

“Dammit.”

“We’ll need to find you a suit.”

Claude ushered Felicity back to the changing area where an energetic older Asian woman named Margot, who couldn’t have been more that four and a half feet tall, appeared to measure for quick alterations. Margot disappeared while Felicity changed back into her regular clothes, but then appeared outside the changing room door as she was leaving.

“Miss, you will take these.” The lady was wearing a mysterious smile and carefully presented Felicity with a pair of red satin panties.

Felicity couldn’t help blushing and she may have actually sputtered, “I don’t know...” She bit her bottom lip and reached out for the undergarment.

“No charge” Margot continued, her eyes twinkling. “You have a red dress, Miss. Also, there is a long tradition in Macau. The color red is good luck in our culture. But it is considered very fortuitous to wear the red panties when you are gambling. For gentlemen, it is good luck to carry in the pocket.”

“Seriously? Men here have ladies’ panties in their pockets?”

“As I said, Miss. It is a tradition. And here in our shop we think they must be given as a gift in order to have the most luck. You cannot purchase good fortune, after all.”

At that, Felicity shook her head. She recalled how superstitious gamblers were in Vegas. It was nothing to scoff at. Often much was riding on the most inconsequential-seeming details in a game.

“May I have two pairs?”

Margot laughed and nodded. “They will be sent up with your gown, Miss.”

When Felicity emerged from the changing area, she discovered that Oliver had found her a serviceable clutch to match the shoes. He was full of surprises today. She thanked him for his effort and offered an inscrutable smile as she thought about Margot’s offering. It was a naughty secret and she liked that.

Felicity would have offered extended commentary about how proud Thea would be regarding Oliver’s shopping chops, but she got distracted sorting out the particulars of making her purchase with bitcoin. When they planned to come to Macau, she researched currency and learned that many places accepted it and it was a good way to stay under the radar financially and maintain their pseudonyms. Once the transaction was successful, they thanked Claude and headed out to sort out Oliver’s clothing.

############

After a bit of internet searching, Felicity steered Oliver across a covered courtyard toward the Dolce and Gabbana boutique.

“Do I really need to buy? I’m sure there is somewhere here I can rent a tux...Panda?”

Oliver thought he might get points for using Felicity’s alias. Unfortunately, his statement just caused her to stop moving outside the shop entrance, which immediately got his attention. Okay, he might have sounded just a bit whiney.

“Have you seen you, Archer?” She stared into him with consternation and seemed a bit frustrated.

The Arrow’s response was a quirked eyebrow and a huff.

“Sorry, Mister Salmon Ladder, I-like-to-clobber-things-with-a-sledgehammer-for-funsies. While turning yourself into a weapon is probably a satisfying effort, and I’m not complaining about watching you do it, no Sir-ee, the sad fact is that you do not have an off-the-rack body. You need something designed for an athletic build, like a really athletic build, otherwise you will look ridiculous. I just hope they carry something in size Extra Massive.”

At that, Oliver couldn’t stifle a wide grin. “Extra Massive?”

“Shut up,” she huffed.

Oliver opened the glass door for her and gave her a serious look. “You better go ahead. I’m not sure I’ll be able to fit through.”

With an exasperated chuckle, because Oliver rarely joked and she actually appreciated the effort, she murmured loud enough for him to hear, “I could also have been referring to your head, Archer.”

###########

There were was one other patron in the exquisitely-styled boutique, a beautiful woman in her late 30’s, dressed expensively and lounging in one of the white wingback chairs placed in the center of the store.

Felicity passed the front counter, nodding to the slim, European sales manager. He was young, but had the slicked black hair and pencil mustache of a silent film star. He also had an impossible to identify accent.

“Madame, I will be with you in just a moment.”  He smiled, professionally, gathering some inventory papers for a filing box.

“Of course,” Felicity responded, well, Pandora Fleece did. She needed to practice her character. “You accept bitcoin,” she added with a raised eyebrow. It was a statement.

“Absolutely, Madame,” he responded. He then directed his attention to the lady in the chair. “Do you need anything, Miss Chen?”

“No, thank you,” the woman sighed in a vaguely British accent. “He was detained in a meeting, but he will be down in ten minutes. I’m just going to enjoy some peace and read the news.”

“Of course, Miss Chen.”

Meanwhile, Felicity took charge of the “suit situation.” There was no question about that. It could have been a newfound confidence gained in her own recent purchase experience, a lack of fear borne of jet-lag, or the three glasses of champagne she consumed in lieu of lunch.

Oliver decided it was best to give “Pandora” carte blanche to shop on his behalf. She’d worked up a head of steam and he knew better than to challenge her. In truth, he was tired and hoping sincerely that there might be an opportunity to rest in the suite before the evening’s excitement.

Felicity headed straight for the tuxedo rack and began examining every sample. Her fingers slipped along the fabrics and she hoisted one up for a better view.

Soon, the salesman joined her. Oliver watched from a few paces away, curious to see their interaction. He never really liked shopping for himself. Since he returned from his years away from Starling, he let Thea pick out most of his clothes. He didn’t even go to stores. Clothing just turned up on his bed every few weeks. He tried it on and if it fit and he liked it, he put it in his closet. If he hated it, he made sure Thea returned it after giving her a good headshake.

“We need something for Archer for the casino tonight,” she offered after the sales associate Javier introduced himself. “I understand you have some cuts that might suit his build. He works out. A lot.”

The man directed his attention to Oliver, who blanched uncomfortably. At first, Javier eyed the Arrow as if he was the entire dessert case at the Cheesecake Factory, but he soon schooled his features. He knew his job and the perfect tuxedo for this customer’s exceptional physique.

“Please follow me, Sir. We’ll get you outfitted and then,” Javier said as he turned back to Felicity, “we will show you the look. I think you will be very satisfied, Mrs...”

“Miss Fleece. Pandora Fleece,” she rushed, her cheeks pinking with embarrassment. The man was definitely not her husband. Nope.

Oliver deployed a poker face.

“Miss Fleece.” Javier bowed slightly and signaled for Oliver to follow him to the changing area of the store.

Once the men were out of sight, Felicity felt her energy waning a bit and was delighted to sit in one of the upholstered chairs D&G so conveniently provided for her comfort. She idly studied her phone, checking up on various searches. But, she also prided herself on situational awareness, so she noted the other lady in the shop. This seemed like a good place to try out her persona and the woman looked unthreatening. Plus, her shoes.

“Your shoes are gorgeous,” Felicity announced, gesturing to the woman’s pumps. Because they were beautiful Manolos.

The dark-eyed woman looked up at the blonde woman and smiled genuinely. “Thank you. I know they are plain, but I like the classics.”

“Timeless design,” Felicity offered. This earned her an even more enthusiastic grin.

“Exactly.”

Felicity was feeling a bit more confident now that she had broken the ice. “I’m Pandora. Panda, for short.”

“Charming. I’ve never met someone by that name before.” She spoke in a very refined accent and conveyed an exotic beauty.  “Celeste.”  The lady moved to a chair closer to Felicity and leaned in.

“Very nice to meet you, Celeste.”

“I couldn’t help hearing you mention bitcoin...”

“Panda,” she reminded her. “Yes, I am fascinated by cryptocurrencies and I’m really enjoying how much flexibility it’s giving me, particularly doing business here in Asia.”

“Panda. My, that’s fun to say. My boyfriend is considered an expert in digital currencies.”

“Yes?”

“To be honest, I have a hard time feigning interest. I’m a Creative. Interior design. All he talks about is KlickEx-this or bitcoin-that these days. Of course, whenever I complain, he just mentions that...”

“It pays for the shopping, sweetheart.” A man’s voice filled the space.

Felicity and Celeste turned their attention to a very tanned man in a crisp white shirt, blue blazer and black jeans. Felicity was confident every piece of his wardrobe, including his socks, cost more than her paycheck at Queen Consolidated. His teeth were perfect. Felicity noted that his hair swooped in a graceful way across his forehead. Everything about him was perfect, even the way he removed his sunglasses, which he had likely worn for a ten-yard cruise across the courtyard.

“Darling,” Celeste got up and met her significant other as he approached. He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Celeste, love, I have to be in a meeting with the investors in five minutes. I hope you haven’t bought out the store.”

“No, the last time I tried to buy a shirt without your input you became peevish, which is completely ridiculous considering I am the one who gets paid to choose fabrics every day. Still, I have learned my lesson.”

“Good.” The man and Celeste exchanged playful smiles with each other.

“Darling, this is Panda. She’s apparently a tech wizard. She knows about your bitcoin. We must invite her and her boyfriend to join us for dinner.”

Felicity felt alarm strike. It’s true, she was, but Panda, assistant to a jet-setting douchebag, wasn’t. Or at least, she wasn’t supposed to be five minutes ago.

“Well, I don’t know about being a wizard,” Felicity offered, standing to meet Celeste’s preternaturally successful boyfriend. “I went to MIT, not Hogwarts,” she added.

“Isn’t she fantastic?” Celeste burbled. “Panda, this is my...Myles. Myles Crofton.”

Myles. Crofton. Possible bad guy, Myles Crofton. What were the chances? Oh, no more ridiculous than, say, crossing paths with the Count himself when you were out sleuthing dosed flu vaccines. Those kinds of chances.

The Smoak women were not known for having any sort of theatrical talents. Sure, there was a lot of drama, but none had ever hit the boards in earnest. Felicity’s mother, Donna, had dreamed of being a dancer at one time, but never an actress. And Felicity’s history in drama began and ended with an-ill conceived grade school performance of “Kids Rent” during which Felicity became so violently ill from performance anxiety that she was advised to never take the stage again. But now, faced with an audience of two, she was forced to pull the most effective poker face of her life.

“Hello, Panda,” the man reached out and shook her hand. An arms dealer and casino owner dressed like a cast member from Crazy Rich Asians shook her hand. Wow, her life was weird.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Myles.”

“Your first visit to Macau?”

“Yes, actually.” Felicity felt a pang of worry hit her. Was she already standing out as an interloper? Would their covers be believed?

“Panda is here to get a tuxedo for her young man.”

“Yes. Our luggage seems to have been misplaced. I think it’s in Kathmandu.”

“How terrible.” The woman couldn’t help chuckling at Felicity’s joke. “But when tragedy strikes...”

“The tough go shopping,” Felicity finished with a giggle. “Unfortunately, my Archer is a bit high maintenance in the clothing department, so here we are.”

“Well, in my experience, when you look like that, you can be as impossible as you want,” the woman responded. “Not that I was ogling your man,” she added quickly. Still, Myles quirked an eyebrow.

“Do I have some competition, Celeste?”

“You never know, darling. It’s best not to become complacent. No offense, Panda.”

“None taken.” Felicity smiled, carefully, not wanting to escalate any tension between them. Humor was always the best solution. “Looking is free.”

As if on cue, Oliver emerged from the dressing room looking every bit the prized bachelor from the Mystery Date game. Only more dangerous. And much, much hotter.

Felicity’s heart leapt into her mouth and she felt like the ground was moving under her feet as she made eye contact with him. Oliver’s eyes grew bigger in response her curious expression. Then things got even weirder when Felicity turned to the couple.

“I don’t think you can afford him,” she added with a hilarious wink.

Why did she do that? Was she being territorial all of a sudden? Maybe she was. The last thing she needed was for Oliver to “pull a Rochev” (that’s what she called Oliver’s random hotel hookups with strange women, although to be fair, she was not aware there had been any since the woman that inspired the saying). No, she was NOT being jealous. She was only thinking about the mission. And Celeste wasn’t serious and her boyfriend was actually the mission.

There was a moment of silence when Felicity had no idea what might transpire next. She managed a smirk. And then, miracle of miracles, the woman smirked back and her eyes twinkled. Myles laughed, ever so slightly, still not sure if he had anything to worry about.

“I’m sure you are right,” Celeste replied, resolving the tension completely with an easy smile.

Felicity rushed toward Oliver and began touching him. His lapels. His arms. His tie. The studs on his shirt. Oliver had absolutely no clue what had gotten into her, but it was apparent there was something. He knew he should remain quiet and play along, but Felicity basically feeling him up felt like sensory overload.

“Is this acceptable?” he asked her with more than a little trepidation.

“Quite,” Felicity replied, her voice several octaves lower than usual. It was more like a deep groan.

A moment later, Felicity’s hand snaked around his neck and she raised herself up on the balls of her feet to kiss him.

What the hell was going on? It was like the entire world shifted while he was in the Dolce & Gabbana changing room. Oliver wasn’t complaining, of course, because Felicity’s lips were on his and that was something he had told himself he would never get to experience. But now as the desire flickered through his body, he felt himself wanting more of her. He lightly touched her shoulders with curious fingers. Then, just when he moved to envelop her, he was gratefully reminded that his arms were wearing strange clothes and they were in a boutique in a casino in Macau.

Oliver forced himself to gently end the kiss and pulled his face away, but not the rest of his body. After all, they had an audience. He swore internally. They were going to talk about this as soon as they were in the privacy of their hotel suite. Equal parts of anxiety and excitement threatened to take over at the prospect of being near Felicity Smoak and a bed while talking about kissing. Later.  

“Maybe I should get two,” Oliver quipped as he stared into her darkened eyes with a knowing look. Then he watched her recover not only physically, but emotionally, from what just happened. Felicity then pressed forward and rubbed her nose against his.

“Go with it,” she whispered first. “Whatever you want, baby,” she stated more loudly for onlookers. “Just make sure you get the suspenders. You know how much I like them.”

Oliver wondered for a moment then stepped back and tipped his head toward the other people in the room.

“Did you make new friends, Pandabear?”

Felicity smiled (okay, it was a grimace because…Pandabear?!), nodded and turned. Oliver placed his arm on her shoulder and brandished his best Ollie Queen trust fund smile, as they addressed the other couple.

“Celeste, Myles, this is my Archer.”

############

To be continued...

[dent-de-leon]

To be fair, Adam has only just now been revealed. How do we know he wasn't already on his way to Shiro while Keith was rescuing him? Considering he was a pilot, maybe he actually flew into space, trying to find any leads on Shiro. How do we know that he wasn't using his rank/connections to look for Shiro in ways that Keith couldn't? How do we know that he doesn't regret what he said to Shiro after what went down? S7 isn't out yet, and Adam is an open book of possiblities. Just sayin.

My point is that we see nothing–and regardless of what “Adam knows,” the writers are wholly responsible for that. They could have chosen to let him know, to have him be included. They could have chosen to have him be there for Shiro when he crashed, but he wasn’t. Keith was. They could’ve put him in Pidge’s flashback where she’s challenging Iverson in season 1. When she refuses to believe it’s pilot error and demands to know what happened to the crew, they could have put in a cameo of Adam agreeing with her if not outright fighting the garrison himself. Or we could’ve heard some vague mention of him getting kicked out of the garrison around the same time Keith was–do to his reaction to the Kerberos failure–but we don’t get anything at all on him. 

Adam used to have a serious relationship with Shiro, they were considering maybe one day getting married. So don’t you think it’s a little strange we see Pidge mourning her family and doing everything she can to find them, but the only one really fighting on Shiro’s behalf is Keith? If Adam and Shrio were ever going to reconcile their relationship in the future, or we were supposed to wholeheartedly believe Adam still loved Shiro, then why wasn’t he there for him at all? Why was he tossed to the wayside? I think it’s pretty clear there’s nothing more between them. Adam likely mourned him, but it’s been two years. He’s probably written it off as pilot error, something beyond Shiro’s capabilties–since he clearly doubted him. He must have just grieved and moved on. 

They could have shown Adam make a cameo in Pidge’s second flashback too–the one at the Kerberos launch. It wouldn’t have been too much to draw another background character in those two still shots alongside Shiro, just to show that Adam had the decency to be there for Shiro at the mission launch, to at least say goodbye. But again, they chose not to include him, and we get Keith being there for Shiro instead. Like he always is. 

And Adam could have definitely been this shadow of a background character, someone we didn’t know the backstory of, but just knew as a person who cared for Shiro, someone waiting for him back on Earth. I would have been open to warming up to Adam more if that was the case I think, if we saw signs of him changing his mind and still trying to find a way to save Shiro, but...he didn’t. And they could’ve kept him kinda shrouded in that bit of mystery until his proper introduction and the reveal of being Shiro’s boyfriend. That could’ve totally worked, but they very deliberately didn’t go that route. Still, Adam’s scene was written for season 2, they’ve had this relationship in the workings a long time and could have brought him up at other opportunities, but they didn’t.  

These are all very deliberate means of excluding Adam from Shiro’s story, and as far as we know, he just went along with the pilot error excuse like everyone else. We’ve seen him do nothing to help Shiro in their time apart, and we have no reason to think he’d believe Shiro ever had a chance at all. We know, because Adam says so himself–that he thinks Shiro isn’t going to make it, and that if Shiro chooses to go, he won’t be there waiting for him. He’s a direct foil to how Keith continually chased after Shiro and adamantly refused to accept his death, vowed to save him as many times as it takes and stay by his side no matter what. Adam didn’t have the resolve for that. 

What I’m saying is that Adam is very much a relic of the past here. The story makes no effort to include him in Shiro’s present or imply he has any relevance in the future. We never see flashbacks or implications of him being there for Shiro, fighting in his corner the way Keith did. We never see Shiro ask any of the paladins about what happened to Adam. We never see Shiro himself contemplate Adam–even when moments where he’s dying like in season 3. He never even mentions Adam. Never says what he’s going to do when he gets back to Earth or implies he has anyone there waiting for him. 

The one time Shiro does think of Adam, it’s not of his own volition, it’s a subconscious memory that feels more like a nightmare. It’s not any of his happy times with Adam, it’s just one scene, and it’s the heartbreaking end of their relationship. Everything he’s been through with Adam, and on the verge of death, that one instant is what sticks out to Shiro about him. That punch in the gut is what he remembers. His flashbacks are also all mainly focused on Keith–Adam’s part is background compared to the rest. And when Adam says he won’t be there waiting for Shiro when he gets back, the next scene immediately cuts to Keith waiting for Shiro to wake up. 

Again, visually and narratively, I think we’ve just been given lots of inklings here and there that Adam and Shiro’s relationship is truly over and that connection has simply dissipated. The show runners also certainly talk about Adam as a background character, and in all of 6 seasons, he’s been given only a few lines. I just don’t have very high expectations for him, and I don’t think he had any sort of active role in trying to help Shiro after Kerberos. Given our narrative so far, I have every reason to believe Adam just mourned him and moved on. It’s a relationship that ended on a bad note, and I can’t see anything else in store for it except maybe some proper closure. But nothing more. I can’t see Adam being much of a presence in Shiro’s life as things stand, and that’s honestly for the best. 

[markgottliebliteraryagent]

Graphic Novel Creators Kenny Porter & Zach Wilcox

Kenny Porter is a professional writer living in West Michigan. He's most known for content development, writing comics, copy, blogs, and fiction. He graduated from Grand Valley State University with a BA in Writing. The writing program at GVSU allowed him to create his own curriculum, which he used to focus on fiction, writing for the web, genre studies, and manuscript development. He started his career in writing during high school and has since gone on to publish short stories, write articles for online magazines, and has won the first Top Cow Talent Hunt for Writing.

Zach Wilcox is a cartoonist based in Philadelphia. He holds an MFA in Sequential Art from the Savannah College of Art and Design and a BS in Digital media from Drexel University. The goal of his work is to encourage young readers to get excited about art as a narrative tool and inspire future creators. When he isn't working on comics he enjoys time with his dog Finn and his three nephews.

Porter and Wilcox are the co-creators of the forthcoming graphic novel from Scholastic/Graphix, The Fearless Rider, in which a young girl and her pet ferret run away from home on their tricked-out bicycle on the first day of school to find her best friend who moved away and recapture her life before everything went wrong—pitched as a slice-of-life story with tone and setting of a Miyazaki film.

What do you enjoy about the comic book arts medium and what do you feel the graphic novel form of storytelling affords authors and creators?

KP: Comics have always been a part of my life and what I love most about them is that there are no limits to the kinds of visual stories you can tell. The great thing about original graphic novels is it allows you to break away from the single issue format of monthly comics to develop a pace that’s unique to the story. That’s something that Zach Wilcox and I are enjoying a lot with The Fearless Rider.

ZW: Graphic novels afford the reader a sense of control that you don’t get anywhere else. Being able to dwell on a panel or moment, or absorb a whole page at once, is such a unique and intimate experience. When you’re making something like that it’s sort of fun to imagine how the reader is going to interact with the work.

“I wanted to bring that same love of anime, manga, and live-action shows to Kara’s character.”

Have any anime/manga or comic book creators influenced The Fearless Rider, your forthcoming graphic novel? For instance, Hayao Miyazaki and Osamu Tezuka seem to come to mind.

KP: Miyazaki is definitely a huge influence on the tone of The Fearless Rider. I initially pitched it to Zach that way, as if it were a lost Miyazaki film about a girl who sets out to find her missing best friend. There’s also some influence of my love of Super Sentai and tokusatsu shows with the fake magical girl character Shinpi Rider that the main character adores. I grew up in a generation where Toonami was broadcasting these amazing shows from Japan that we had never heard of before, and I wanted to bring that same love of anime, manga, and live-action shows to Kara’s character.

ZW: Absolutely. I’m always finding new inspiration from other artists and people like Miyazaki really ignited my love for visual storytelling when I was young. The expressive nature of his work is something I’ll always be chasing.

“He lets the comic breathe and trusts the reader to immerse themselves in the story.”

The art of The Fearless Rider seems to be a mixture of manga influences, such as the gekiga or "dramatic" style of storytelling, often seen in the work of Tezuka. Your graphic novel also has many western influences, with inklings of ligne claire, the Belgium style of bold line comic illustration, often seen in Hergé's The Adventures of Tintin. How did you arrive at this style of art? Is it simply in vogue right now in comics, or has comic book illustration and storytelling been further globalized?

KP: From the start I wanted The Fearless Rider to have this kind of feel. I read a lot of manga and Franco-Belgian comics, so I’m always using those as an influence in terms of pacing and style. Also, Zach’s artwork completely fit the tone I was going for. I didn’t even consider anyone else for the project and called him right away with the idea.

ZW: The way Kenny addresses pacing and dialogue is something I really love. He lets the comic breathe and trusts the reader to immerse themselves in the story. I don’t know exactly how the style for the comic came about but I’m sure a lot of it has to do with his narrative structure and the world we’re building. Also, I love older comics like Tintin and Little Nemo!

Why a young girl's pet ferret as a character in The Fearless Rider...why not something more common, such as a cat or dog? Is there something more interesting or special there?

KP: I think it honestly has to do with my love of the movie The Beastmaster as a kid. He had a pair of ferrets named Kodo and Podo. I watched a lot of genre movies in elementary school and middle school, so I always thought that ferrets would make great adventure companions.

ZW: I always wanted a ferret when I was younger but that was a no-go from my parents, because apparently they have a bit of a smell. They are just so cute, who could care! I think it also fits Kara as she isn’t the type to have a basic pet. She’s unique in a lot of ways.

“...I’m still learning the ins and outs of the publishing world. It’s been a really exciting journey so far!”

How did you find your current literary agency and go on to get published with Graphix/Scholastic? What was the submissions process like?

KP: I found my current literary agency, Trident Media Group, after doing a Kickstarter for my original graphic novel Barnstormers!, which I created with artist Renny Castellani. I was contacted by you, Mark Gottlieb, during the Kickstarter and started developing a new project for the book market. From there, it was putting together the pitch with Zach and sending it out into the world. Graphix/Scholastic contacted us about the initial pitch and we fine-tuned the project from there.

ZW: I sort of let Kenny take the lead on this. The Fearless Rider will be my first published book, so I’m still learning the ins and outs of the publishing world. It’s been a really exciting journey so far!

Writing a graphic novel is so different from writing a miniseries or ongoing monthly title.

What do you feel the comic book publishing experience has been like with a larger independent book publisher like Scholastic, versus a direct-to-market comic book publisher such as IDW? Is the direct market holding comic books back?

KP: I’d say the pace is what’s mostly different. Writing a graphic novel is so different from writing a miniseries or ongoing monthly title. I enjoy both the traditional comic book publishing side and the larger independent book publishing side. Each has their own challenges and format that let me experiment with comic book storytelling.

ZW: I’m excited to work on a project I'm so passionate about for a long period of time. The struggle of smaller projects is tough because you spend so much time looking for work that you may not get as much done. I can’t wait to really sink my teeth into something more substantial.

“...I always let whoever I’m working with have their input in the storytelling process. It’s collaboration at every stage of the game.”

It is hard enough writing a story. Does also illustrating a story present its own set of challenges, or do you find that it is liberating in some way?

KP: Writing visually is a whole different skill set, so I always try to think like an artist (as best as I can) and I always let whoever I’m working with have their input in the storytelling process. It’s collaboration at every stage of the game. I’m just lucky to be working with someone as talented as Zach.

ZW: Kenny has been a blast to work with. He has a clear vision here and helping him to craft it is easier because of that. It’s always hard to bring a world to life but the back and forth of working with a writer takes a huge weight off my shoulders.

You get to be any comic book/manga/anime/video game character from whichever world of your choosing. Who do you choose to be and why?

KP: I would almost always choose to be a Green Lantern. Having that power ring and being able to fly through space and create insane constructs would just be too much fun. I recently wrote a Guy Gardner story for DC Comics and it was a dream come true to be able to play in that pocket of the DC Universe.

ZW: I’d say Link from The Legend of Zelda. The design of those game worlds are so immersive and surreal. Plus that outfit is tops!

“If you do great work and put yourself into your stories then people will resonate with that and will want to share them as well.”

Might you be able to share any advice with those still hoping to get their graphic novels published?

KP: I would say find a collaborator that you really gel with creatively, put your heart and soul into the book, and worry about making a great comic before worrying about publishing. If you do great work and put yourself into your stories then people will resonate with that and will want to share them as well.

ZW: Just create. As much as you can, as often as you can. Keep putting your creative energy out there and don’t be afraid to make connections. Rejection is a huge part of life so don’t let that stop you! Also, try to keep your stories small at first. Short sixteen page chunks are a great way to work and create a varied portfolio.

What can we expect next from the world of The Fearless Rider?

KP: I definitely have ideas for follow-ups and spin-off stories, even if they don’t directly connect with the main thread. The road is always wide open for more adventures.

ZW: I really want a one-shot of the Shinpi Rider character from the book. A fictional super sentai warrior with over the top action and drama! A guy can dream, can’t he?

[allisonreader]

I don’t know what this is, where it came from, what its purpose is. It’s supposed to be a time loop piece to put up for the Chesterton challenge for the prompt repetition; which it definitely fits, but why all the sewing? I’m writing it, but I couldn’t tell you. It became derailed from the first word and thinking of the phrase “a stitch in time”. So here we go, my sewing heavy time loop musing? Story? I’m not sure what to call it.

All I know is that (as @melliabee and @lover-of-the-starkindler know) it came after sharing fic recs and having read a fic dealing with time loops. So vaguely and indirectly those two mentioned inspired this in an extremely roundabout way as I still don’t know what this is.

But anyways, this is my piece for the Chesterton Challenge for the prompt repetition. (As repetitive as this note is getting, the writing piece below will be more.) @inklings-challenge

Time loops and sewing 🧵🧵🧵

Stitch, stitch, stitch. 🪡_ _ _

The needle goes into the fabric and is pulled out again and again. 🪡_ _ _

Into the fabric and pulled out. 🪡_ _ _

The same motions over and over.

The pull getting shorter each time a new stitch is made. Until a new piece of thread is started and the process starts a new, with the stitches continuing.

All working to create something; whether it be practical, decorative or somewhere in between. Connecting past and future.

There’s a reason that the phrase a stitch in time is brandied around.

Sewing and time have more in common than you might think. Both deal with fabric/material that can wrinkle, snag, tear, rip, ripple, gets stuck, fold up on itself, and can be seen to be linear.

But let’s talk about the snags, the hang ups, getting stuck sewing in the same place.

If you’re using the sewing machine sometimes it’s not always immediately obvious that you’ve caught up on something; until there’s a whole pile of thread under your fabric, getting thread jammed up through the needle plate, tangling everything up and potentially needing scissors and removal of the needle plate to fix the problem.

Not so for hand sewing.

By hand, built up thread is most likely intentional unless you weren’t paying attention and were stitching in the same place, but being an easier catch as soon as your attention returns. None of the thread the same place as it builds up.

Time loops are much the same. There are some that you enter and everything seems fine at first, but once you realize that something is wrong, then you realize how big of a mess that you’re in. That your situation might require scissors and the removal of the needle plate.

Other times you don’t catch what’s happening right away, but the build up is less. Your attention is drawn to what’s happening sooner. The solution is not always as large.

And other times again you know exactly what’s happening. You want it to happen. You want it to happen again and again. You are purposefully repeating your stitch over and over, creating your build up purposefully before moving on.

Slight differences between each time. Each cycle never truly being the same, though it feels like it. The uneven stitches are being laid, but just because each stitch is uneven, it doesn’t mean that something isn’t being created that’s beautiful or has hidden strength.

Teaching you a lesson if nothing else. Sewing and time loops will both teach you just as many lessons as the other. Both feel like they go on for forever but both do eventually come to an end, leaving you shocked that the project or loop is finally finished.

For sewing you simply pick up another project and go again, though I’ve never met a person who wants to figure their way out of a time loop again. Not unless they’re the one to start the loop in the first place.

🪡_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The fabric folds and creases.

The needle goes in and out, in and out. Pull. Watch the stitches being laid. One stitch, two stitch, around and around.

A satin stitch here, some backstitching here, maybe some chain stitching for added interest. Still the needle goes in and out, just like time goes on and on, even if it repeats itself.

Time loops are like thread in a tangle, knotting up on itself and being a pain to loosen its loops out of the knots.

Be careful, the fabric of space time can rip and tear. Stitch it up carefully, you don’t want it to fray.

When fabric frays it will keep fraying depending on exactly what type of material you’re using. Some fabrics won’t fray. A knit generally doesn’t fray, but it can unravel. Woven material is what frays, some more than others. It depends on the fibres used and how it was woven together.

The right needle helps go through the material properly.

It’s all about using the right tool when needed. Sometimes you need something more specific than the generic works for most thing tool. A ballpoint/stretch/jersey needle works best on knits and stretch. The needle will push beside the fibres instead of through them like a sharp needle will.

Sometimes you have to test to find out what that right tool is. The right tool will make the job easier and help you finish the job quicker. There’s less of a struggle that way. But it will still take time to do things right.

🪡_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The needle goes in, the needle goes out, a stitch has been formed. The process repeats. Needle into the fabric, needle out of the fabric.

With a needle and thread the stitches can gather the fabric. Tight folds making there be a greater volume of material in a smaller place.

A time loop of its own kind. A repeating process to get a similar result. Though never quite the same from one to the next.

A stitch here, a stitch here; to gather as you go or to gather all at once. Both ways having their own difficulties. Both having their benefits.

Gathering can even be done by machine.

Two rows of stitches side by side, pulling the threads of both. But beware if one thread breaks, you can come close to losing it all. The strands of time can be just as fickle if you’re not careful. Pull the wrong one too hard and you could end up stuck permanently or with the wrong spot to stop or simply starts it all again.

The needle goes in, the needle goes out, the stitch is formed, push the fabric close. Knot the end of your thread and begin again.

🪡_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Stitch, stitch, stitch. A stitch in time and all that, you know dear?

The needle goes into the fabric and out.

In and out, sometimes in different movements, but there’s always going into the material and the needle being pulled through until it’s out.

Repetitive, soothing, traditional. A constant that changes, but is always needed in some form.

Time is much the same. Repetitive, following patterns, a constant that changes. Day in, day out. The same activities day to day, week to week.

A time loop in constant motion. Drudgery unless it’s made to be more.

Haven’t you guessed it by now? Different but the same. New but old. Stitching all along, talking about time?

Well, maybe you need a few more rounds yet. I’ll still be here stitching, waiting, changing the same, because time has similarities to sewing.

I won’t be the one to unravel the mysteries of the greater universe, that’s for a higher power than me. I’m just a person who sews, watching and passing the time as I move my needle through the material.