Bowie purred in her lap, pausing in his reverie to look up at her with those big green eyes of his.
“It’s sleeting,” she explained to her cat. “Sleet, which is a mix of snow and rain. Garbage weather, in my opinion.” She wrinkled her nose and scratched his head.
He made a little mrrrp sound and she nodded. “I know. You’re right. At least we don’t have to go out in it.”
It was almost Christmas and that meant she’d been in self-isolation for approximately forty-five years.
No.
Both the calendar and Jane assured her it had only been eight months.
Eight fucking months without seeing anyone in person and only talking to her boyfriend on zoom.
And that hadn’t even been happening all that much lately because he was on call constantly due to the fact that a global pandemic was the perfect time for villainous organizations to start in on their bullshit twenty-four-seven. She’d done her fair share of remote hacking for the X-Men, for the Avengers, for Janey, and for all intents and purposes, no one seemed to care about the pandemic or allowing it to slow them down. Nothing had changed.
Except for her stupid chronic illness, the meds for which made her more susceptible to long term health issues and death due to Covid, so she had been getting her fit-bit steps up and down her hallway instead of going to the park. She’d invested a large percentage of her paycheck on ebooks, and had gotten really fucking good at making sourdough.
She’d also taught herself the ukelele, and baked along with a series of the Great British Baking Show.
And now it was almost Christmas and they weren’t any closer to lowering infection rates because of dumb asses, and she was about to pull her hair out.
Her phone buzzed and she picked it up, realizing it was a FaceTime from Remy only seconds before answering anyway.
She had her hair in a high bun on top of her head and she hadn’t had pants on in days.
Not that it mattered or anything.
“Hey!” she said, grinning widely. “What’s up, babe?”
“Not much, just driving in some truly awful weather... traffic’s at a standstill, and I wanted to see how you were?”
“Good,” she said with a nod. “I got doordash again this morning and I left a humungous tip for my dasher.”
He smiled. “How are you really?”
“Missing the touch of any fucking person, really, but the touch of a man would be amazeballs.”
He chuckled. “Well, I meant to surprise you, but...” He turned the phone around to show out the windshield. There was a line of cars in front of him, sure. But she recognized the grocery store where she got her deliveries from. Which meant he was...
“Are you like... nearby?” she asked, her voice squeaking a little.
He turned the phone back around and grinned. “I’m about ten minutes away if the traffic would start moving.”
“Are you... how are we... are you gonna stand outside and I’ll put my hand up to the window or...”
“I’ve been quarantining for two weeks,” he said proudly. “And I’m happy to report, that I have a clean bill of health and six weeks of vacation time left. I want to spend it with you.”
“Are you fucking serious?” she asked, jumping to her feet and dashing to the bedroom.
“I’m serious... are you running somewhere?”
“Yeah, I have to... uh... change clothes real quick. I’ll see you in a few?”
“Oh, yeah, definitely. Love you, Darcy.”’
“Love you, Remy!” she ended the session and turned around three times in place before reaching for her dresser.
Her hair couldn’t be helped. And neither could her pile of laundry. But she could at least put on some pants for her man.
The show lost Bruce Miller and he took a ton of writers with him to the Handmaid's Tale. It's not a coincidence Jason was being petty and tweeting pictures of his lonely dinner in Vancouver while his former co producer and writers were winning awards in LA.
Bruce Miller was the genius behind this show. You only have to take a look at THMT to confirm that. At least we have dystopian genius through that writing.
for BMiller
296 words
Rated T
I’ve been cursed, can you help me?
~~~~~~~~~~
“I have a---” He had to stop for yet another sneezing fit and Johnny was wracked with chills. Something he hadn’t felt in years. Never mind the sweating and overheating, he hadn’t been cold since he’d become the Human Torch.
“I have a cold,” he whispered, sniffing loudly. “I’ve been cursed, Darce. Can you help?”
He hated coming back here and begging her like this, but he didn’t know what else to do. She was the only witch he knew who could handle something like this. Just because he’d one-night-stood her didn’t change that fact.
She sighed and circled him, reaching out and feeling his forehead and coming away from that with a frown. “Yeah, I can help. You’ll have to snuggle after, though.” She winked.
“I would have last time if Id’ known you wanted it,” he countered before sneezing again.
“Don’t lie to me, Johnny,” she said. “I can always tell when your’e lying.”
“Fix me,” he begged. “And I’ll do whatever you want.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s so tired. How about I fix you and you tell me what it is you want? Because I cannot hope to figure that out myself.”
“Fine,” he replied, going to shake on it, but sneezing again, caught up in the shivers again. “Once I figure that out, you’ll be the first to know.”
“You already have,” she said. “I would just like to be in on it.”
“You’ve got it. Fix me.”
“Sit down,” she commanded, and moved over to a cabinet nearby to assemble what she needed. Johnny had no problem taking orders, and telling her what he wanted was going to be easy.
He wanted her. And he wanted her for himself.
But right now, he just wanted to stop fucking sneezing everywhere.
Isn't Miller responsible for that scene where they about to kill finn & Clarke is trying to change Lexa's mind & Lexa is like "this goddess might have a point. I'm listening" & then Clarke fucks up & calls them savages & Lexa is like "u know what bitch we are what we are. Lets get to killing this pos"? cause that scene is what legit convinced me they were aware of their own narrative & had plans to subvert it at some point. It really was all him.
“...they about to kill finn & Clarke is trying to change Lexa's mind & Lexa is like "this goddess might have a point. I'm listening" & then Clarke fucks up & calls them savages & Lexa is like "u know what bitch we are what we are. Lets get to killing this pos"?...”
Yes, you had to read that twice because that is the best summary of that scene I’ve ever heard. I deadass laughed out loud. I’m still laughing as I type this. But yes, he wrote Spacewalker. He also wrote one of my favorite CL episodes: Resurrection. The man really was the driving force behind all the good in season 2. I’m fully convince of it now and anyone can fight me on it.
variety(.)com/2017/tv/news/handmaids-tale-hulu-elisabeth-moss-margaret-atwood-bruce-miller-1202394128/ Bruce Miller was an executive producer during season 2 of the flop. In this interview he says he doesnt believe in torture porn tv & that u can have dark tv w/o it basically. This is our answer of why S2 wasnt trash. Jrot wasnt 100% in charge then & had to listen to others.
I'm honestly pretty excited about this show. Margaret Atwood is such a talented writer and this story is quite topical to the world right now. Reed Morano directed the first three episodes and she's one of my favorite female directors. It has an amazing cast and the trailers looks fucking STUNNING. The reviews are praising it too. It has all the best things going for it. I keep debating whether I want to watch every week or if I want to wait and binge it once it all airs.
Me @ Miller... write a tell all in ten years. I want to know all the creative drama on the flopdred. I know hes talking about his own show but I can't help but wonder if somewhere in the back of mind he isnt reminded of the flop nonsense. He said he doesnt believe in torture porn tv & dark shows work if there is hope somewhere AND also commented on how there is a difference btwn a racist show & a show that deals w/ racism. THT is how to do things right & t100 is the exact opposite...
I love him??? I’m so glad he’s out of that shitshow. His genius shouldn’t be second fiddle to a walking turd like Jasshole.
