#i spent too long on the middle 1 to redo it <3

[sakorb]

final evolution (?)

[froggiefairy]

Now that I’ve finished my first draft, I’d like to share some things that held me back

For context: I’m not writing a novel, I’m drafting a graphic novel before I draw it. So I’m not focused at all on prose, im focusing on content of the story. I’m not sure if this advice would work for actual novels, but if it works for you then I’m glad LOL

1) Thinking about characters too much

I know this sounds counterproductive, but I spent WAY too much time doing character sheets, thinking of every little scenario, and working out all the details of my characters. And then I’d jump into writing and find out that no, my main character (named Leinne) needs to be someone else for this story to work, and so I’d redo it all. After an embarrassingly long amount of time, I was like “fuck it” and just wrote some basic bulletpoints on what she’s like, and then started writing. That’s when it worked. She’s basically a blank canvas, and she can be what the story needs in that moment. She’s so different than I thought she’d be, but oh my god I love her so much more now, and oddly enough she feels way more fleshed out and real. Yes, she’s super different in the first few chapters than she is by the middle of the story, so I’ll have to go back and fix some stuff, but that’s so much better than not being able to write at all (and it’s just my first draft, I have to go back and fix stuff anyway).

Tldr- figure out your characters while writing your zero draft/first draft, and then clean them up after.

2) Worldbuilding, exposition, and wanting to put it all in there

So many fantasy comics start with a whole exposition world dump of lore. And I don’t know about you guys, but I find reading those so boring. They never fit into the story, and half the time I’m like “why couldnt you just put these pieces of information throughout the story”. But when I went to write, I found myself starting chapter one with lore and exposition because I worked so hard on the lore and I want the reader to know it! I completely get it, but I wrote chapter one a million times and I could never make that lore dump work. You have to let go of all the lore, some things are better left up to interpretation.

Tldr- Scatter your lore naturally throughout the story, and it’s better to show instead of tell in most scenarios. If you find yourself unable to do that, maybe the lore isn’t really important to the story after all.

3) Doubting the reader

The reader is smart. Don’t spell it all out for them. I had a hard time with this, I wanted to make sure the reader REALLY knew what was going on. I worked so hard on lore, on foreshadowing, on everything! What if the reader doesn’t pick up on it, I just HAVE to make the characters point it out in dialogue! But … how fun is that? Create more mystery by not explaining everything! That’ll get them thinking hard about the story, making theories, rereading! That’s so much more fun than spelling it all out! The reader will figure out more than you expect if the story is written well, I promise.

Tldr- Omit those boring, useless pieces of dialogue that explain every little thing. Omit more than you’d like. It’s much more fun to let the reader figure things out.

4) No stakes! No action!

If a chapter was dragging, or I didn’t know what to do next, I realized soon it was because nothing was actually happening. The problem was usually that Leinne isn’t active enough, or the stakes weren’t high enough. This is especially important in graphic novels, which are supposed to be fast paced. If you’re stuck, think about if your protagonist is actually doing things or if things are being handed to them. Think about if the stakes are high enough, and if they aren’t, throw some batshit crazy stuff in there and see how that works. The more wild, the better. Take your story to heights and places you never thought it would go!

Tldr- Throw shit at the wall and see what sticks.

5) I want my story to be an epic!

I HATED hearing this advice ever since I was a teenager and writing stories- but none of those epic long stories worked out … because they were all way too long. When I started my graphic novel, She Moves The Sea, I intended it to be a good size, and I wrote my zero draft to have like 30 chapters (which was very short to me at the time, as I have only ever wanted to write four volume long epics before). But as I did my actual real first draft, I shortened it a crazy amount, it has only 23 now. Oh my god it’s so much better writing a shorter story, teenage me would never believe I’d be saying that LOL. I know this advice is hard to hear, but it’s so true, especially for the first story you ever write. If you’re super dedicated to that long epic, put it on the back burner and work on something much shorter first. Trust me on this one.

Tldr- Please don’t try to write an epic. Just don’t.

6) Forgetting what the story is really about

Id end up getting so caught up in logic, id forget the themes and the vibe of the story completely. I don’t know if this happens to anyone else, but it was a HUGE struggle for me. I’m writing a high fantasy- I want it to feel floaty and super fantastical, I want the magic to feel like watercolors and smell like saltwater. But I’d write a chapter and focus way too much on logic instead of what I wanted the story to really be. Again, it sounds counterproductive, but throw logic out the window sometimes (at least for a high fantasy). What I did is on a sticky note I wrote the thing I had the hardest time remembering, and then I wrote what I want the world to feel like. I stuck it on my desk where I write and I looked at it whenever I got stuck. Yes, logic is important, but sometimes the rules need to be broken to make a story interesting and fantastical.

Tldr- Have a solid idea about the themes and feel of the story, write it down and refer to it often. And if you’re writing a high fantasy- sometimes you have to throw logic out the window to strengthen your themes.

If you made it this far- thank you for reading my thought dump! Happy writing! :D

[meltwonu]

| 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔦 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 |     [CHAPTER 4]

pairing; fratboy!wonwoo x reader

this chapter’s notes; fratboy!wonwoo, fingering, littlest bit of dirty talk, praise!kink, soft soft soft FLUFF hours, a bit of a filler chapter before the last chapter!! 😭 I can’t believe it’s almost ‘over’... This chapter has the least amount of smut yall will ever see with fratboy!wonwoo so don’t get used to it ☠️ LMAO 🤣🤣 also... it’s been a garbage week(boring work drama) for me so I’ll answer inbox msgs and stuff on sunday, I need to get away from the internet(and people) for a day dkfjhskh 😭💕 Ya’ll thank you for so much love and support with Caffeine and Until I Met You! It means so much to me and I appreciate every like, reblog and comment I get on it 🥺💕 No I will never be ending my fratboy!wonwoo au so don’t worry about that hehe 💕 For now, enjoy this soft ch 4 and I will see yall on Sunday! I love you, have a great weekend! 💕

[mood for this chapter: more than enough - alina baraz]

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - x

“So…”

Wonwoo sighs - re-shelving another Edgar Allen Poe book. “So, what?”

Mingyu tilts his sunglasses down, eyebrows raised at the older male that continues to do his job instead of give him the time of day. “What’s going on with you, hyung? You’ve been… weird.”

“Okay, define weird.”

The younger male pouts as he takes his sunglasses off, pocketing them as he leans up against the bookshelf that Wonwoo is currently still shelving.

It only takes one utterance of your name for Wonwoo to stop in his tracks - fingertips on the spine of another book as he turns to Mingyu. “What about her? Did she say something to you?”

“No, but do you like her? I mean, ‘like’ like her.”

“Is it not… obvious? That I do? Did we not all collectively have that conversation about me giving her a set of keys to our house?”

Mingyu grimaces slightly as he mentally goes through all the times he’d even seen the two of you together and he’s only able to conjure up a few select memories - none of which were anything necessarily romantic. “Well… I wouldn’t say ‘obvious’, I guess. The two of you aren’t exactly the ‘kiss and hold hands in public’ kind of... people. More like the, ‘sneak off to fuck in a public restroom’ kind... Which, uh, isn’t really... romantic.”

This time, Wonwoo crosses his arms and leans up against the opposite bookshelf as he sighs.

It’d been a few days since he’d seen you and you’d been swamped in so much class work that you didn’t even have the time to come by the library or the frat house. And even while Wonwoo stood in between the bookshelves having a conversation with Mingyu, you were finishing an art project with Minghao that was due by the end of the day.

“I know. I told her it’d be kind of a slow crawl for me.” He plucks another book from the cart, staring at the glossy text as he simmers in his thoughts. “Mingyu, am I awkward?”

“Erm, well, I wouldn’t say that necessarily.”

Mingyu steps forward, patting Wonwoo on the shoulder as he smiles.

“You like her and you’re trying even if you’re not used to it. You gotta start somewhere, hyung. Even if you’re a fish out of water. But that’s okay, you can ask me for help if you want!”

“When are you gonna put a ring on Wonwoo-hyung?”

You snort at Minghao’s question - reaching for a clean paintbrush as he stands across from you in the large, empty studio. “First of all, can you not say it like that? I’m not gonna marry him, okay.”

The male rolls his eyes as he steps closer to you; his own hands and clothes covered in a colorful array of paints. “So you’re saying you never imagined hyung in a suit, hair slicked back and his buff arms carrying you off into your honeymoon?”

“W--wh--n--no! No, I haven’t!” You avoid his piercing stare as you focus on your end of the large canvas instead.

No, but I dreamt about it once.

“‘Hao, would you hurry! We’re supposed to be collaborating on this and it looks… like it’s 5 different art styles.”

“Don’t change the subject on me. And anyway, I like what you’re doing to hyung. Breaking him out of his shell, y’know? He’s just shy, that’s all. Needs a little work in the bold department.”

You bite down the urge to laugh because to you, Wonwoo was everything but shy when it came to the bedroom. Although, Minghao was right with everything else. “Yeah, I know. We went for breakfast together after I, um, stayed over a few nights ago and he kinda just sat there zoned out, picking at his waffles. He’s really cute when he wakes up in the morning though. Pouty and whiny.”

Grinning at Minghao, he pretends to gag in response before taking a seat next to you.

“Disgusting. Tell me more.”

Wonwoo makes an effort to check in with you throughout the day before he heads back to his room - asking you if you’d had your meals and if you’d finished your project on time.

You’d answered sporadically as you and Minghao raced to finish.

‘I’ll eat late probably… rly gotta finish or else my ass is failing lol’

‘Just don’t forget, okay? It’s not good for you to skip.’

Wonwoo lays down in his bed; yawning as he sets his phone onto the nightstand next to himself.

His eyelids feel heavy and he’s quick to give in to the tiredness that takes over him once he gets comfortable.

When Wonwoo finally decides to shift during his nap, he finds it difficult and extra warm.

“Mmh…”

His bleary eyes adjust to the, now,  slightly darkened room as he makes out your figure tucked underneath his arm. He calls your name softly - waking you up from the nap that you’d apparently joined him in.

“Mmh… Wonwoo…” You snuggle in deeper, voice still laced with sleep. “You didn’t even budge when I came in…”

He chuckles softly as he readjusts to spoon you from behind instead; his strong arm wrapped around your waist to keep your body flush against his own.

“I’m surprised you came by, sweetheart. I would’ve just stayed awake had I known you were coming over.” His voice is groggy and laced with sleep as you sigh softly in return as you blink away the sleepiness.

“How was your day at the library? Miss me yet?” Wonwoo smiles into your shoulder before he tilts his head up to kiss the shell of your ear.

“Always, sweetheart. Although, Mingyu decided to keep me busy today.”

“Oh? Anything fun?”

He plays with the hem of your shirt, “Well… Fun isn’t the word I’d use to describe what that was. Nosy was more like it.”

This time you can’t help but snort in response. “You too? I think some people were being ‘lil moles today.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it. Did you end up just coming back here with Minghao from the studio?”

“Wasn’t planning on it, to be honest but… S’been a rough day.” Placing your hand over his arm, you squeeze slightly as you pull his arm around you tighter. “Our professor came by while we were working in the studio and said our project wasn’t up to par with what Minghao and I usually submit for projects. She didn’t fail us on the spot but she said we need to redo it for less credit or take the failing grade.”

Wonwoo nuzzles your neck; peppering small kisses on your clothed shoulder. “I take it the two of you are going to redo it?”

“Mm… We spent so long coming up with a concept and now we’re both stressed about coming up with something new. I walked over here with ‘Hao and he locked himself up in his room as soon as we got here. Figured I’d come hang out with you and found you napping… With your glasses on, no less.”

The two of you share a laugh; Wonwoo’s embrace making you feel more at ease.

“Can I help you de-stress a little, sweetheart?”

You stare at the opposite wall, nodding gently as Wonwoo’s hand leaves the hem of your shirt in favour of the waistband of your shorts.

“Just want you to feel good,” he whispers. “You deserve it. You’ve been working so hard, baby.”

He teases you softly; fingertips ghosting across your skin as you shiver. “Ah, Wonwoo…”

“You worked extra hard today too, didn’t you? I’m so proud of you for what you accomplished today.”

Your body heats up at his praise and you can’t deny that his deep, soft voice sends thrums of arousal pouring over your body just as he dips his hand into your lounge shorts. He touches you over your panties - fingertips ghosting against your mound as you moan his name shakily in return.

“I know your new idea is going to be great, baby. I believe in you.”

Soft whines threaten to spill as Wonwoo strokes you over your panties - slowly working you up as you find yourself trying to grind against his hand. “Y-yeah… ‘m p-pretty sure ‘Hao’s already working on it…”

Your voice is barely above a whisper as Wonwoo continues to stroke you gently; making no efforts to rush or add pressure to his feather-light touches.

A disappointed noise falls from your lips when he starts to pull his hand out of your shorts but it quickly turns into a content sigh when he starts teasing your chest instead.

“Mm, so soft…” Muttering against your shoulder, his eyes stare off into the dark room as he massages your body. “And all mine~”

You hum in response, “We should go on a date sometime…”

“You want to? We can go this weekend. After you’ve redone some of your project. I’ll take you somewhere nice for a job well done.”

You giggle softly; images of a wedding day’s Wonwoo dancing in your mind after the conversation you’d had with Minghao earlier. “I’d like that. We should do something for the whole day.”

“Whatever you’d like, baby.”

Wonwoo’s hand flits down your body again - snaking into your shorts and, this time, into your panties as you whine. “Do you wanna cum or go back to sleep, hmm?” 

You ponder it for a second as the drowsiness equates the urge to cum on his fingers. 

“Both? I wanna cum and then sleep a little more... If that’s okay?” 

Wonwoo hums in agreement as his fingertips drag through your folds - collecting the wetness on them before he teases your soaked hole. “Only a little teasing gets you this wet, hmm? So cute.” 

“Ah, f-feels good when you go slow t-too...” 

He stores that away in his head for later; chuckling against your shoulder as he slowly starts to dip his middle finger into your cunt. 

You feel warm and content when he starts a slow pace - thumb on your clit rubbing soft, slow circles while he pumps his finger into you. 

“O-oh, Wonwoo...” 

“You’re always good for me, baby. Always such a good girl.” 

“Ah, Wonwoo...”

“You can cum whenever you want. You deserve it.” 

He adds his index finger - thrusting both fingers into you as you mewl and arch away from his warm chest. Your toes curl and your thighs clamp and trap his hand between your legs as you start to grind down onto his nimble fingers.

“...W--Wonwoo...” 

“That’s right, baby. Call my name, let me hear your pretty voice when your cumming for me.” 

You turn your head - cries muffled into his pillow because despite his slower than usual pace, you find yourself already on the brink of cumming with his fingers knuckle deep inside of you and his thumb on your clit. 

“Mmh... Ah... Feels s-so warm... and g-good...” You mutter, eyes blinking drowsily. “Gonna c-cum...” 

He doesn’t say anything in return as he focuses on you and your pleasure; fingers scissoring and curling right into your g-spot as you clamp down onto them in a vice grip. 

Wonwoo knows when you’re about to cum when he feels your hand coming down on his forearm, holding onto him for dear life when your orgasm still hits you just as hard. 

“Ngh, Wo---Wonwoo!” 

Your walls flutter around his fingers and make it harder for him to thrust them in and out with how tight you get. 

“That’s my good girl. Cum for me, baby~” 

His deep voice makes you whine - nails digging into his arm and body trembling as the pleasure steadily washes over you. 

“Ah, bet your face is so pretty right now too~” 

“Mmh, s-stop...” Your cheeks burn in slight embarrassment from his constant praise but you can’t deny the way it goes straight to your core and only prolongs your orgasm. 

“Don’t be so shy, baby. It’s only you and me here.” 

Wonwoo leans away slightly to kiss the crown of your head - still working you through your orgasm as you sigh contentedly in his arms. 

Various thoughts run through his head in the moment, but the one that sits at the forefront of his mind is definitely how to make sure he kept treating you right. 

Starting with your date that he would spend time meticulously planning.

‘Ah, I should ask Mingyu for some advice.’ 

[vicsdeangelis]

hey i have some questions about the må concert as i hope to be attending one as well in the next few months

how long did you wait in line before the doors opened? what did you do while waiting in line? and what kind of spot did you end up with?

i got there around 5 hours before the doors opened. it was my first concert, and that was also something i was kinda nervous about. if i could redo it, i would have tried to get there even earlier, maybe by 1 or 2 hours

i ended up not doing anything because i didn't really think about that, what i would be doing while i waited. the girls in front of me had cards. if you're going with a group, something like that, a game that's easy to carry, would be good. if you're going alone, maybe a book, or stock up on podcasts you want to listen to. something i also didn't do but would recommend is taking a portable charger with you

another thing, be mindful of the sun. not just with sunscreen, but some people took beach towels with them to make some sort of tent by tying them to the railings*

*google is telling me that's the word, but idk. i'm talking about these things

i had to buy a pride flag some street vendors were selling to do that. i don't regret it because it did protect me from the sun, but i wish i hadn't spent the money 😭

take some food with you. i went with protein bars, and it worked for me. they're small and easy to carry. other people decided to buy actual food from nearby places to eat in line on top of having their snacks, but that's something you gotta decide based on how hungry you usually get. two bars was enough for me for the 5 hours in line + 2 hours waiting inside + an almost 2 hour concert

WATER. take the biggest fucking bottle of water you can get your hands on. mine was 1l and i had to ration it a little, because i tend to get thirsty more often than i get hungry. one of the girls in front of me had a 2l bottle. depending on where it is, they'll probably sell water inside, but trust me, it's gonna be expensive. i'm used to a regular 500ml bottle of water costing around $3, but at the venue they were selling for $10

regarding the food and water thing, look up if the venue allows it. if they don't, they might make you throw it away (i say might and not will because the venue i went to didn't allow food or drinks to be brought from outside, but the woman who checked my bag didn't say anything about my bottle 🤷‍♀️)

my spot was closer to the stage because of the ticket i bought, it was in the closest section. there were around like, 5 to 8 people directly in front of me? but if you're not directly at the front, there's always gonna be some things you won't see if you're not tall. the amount of neck bending i had to do to see them....

which, by the way, tall people shouldn't have rights at concerts. when i rule the world our suffering will end 😭

i wasn't in a bad spot by any means, my problem was literally me being a little short sksnsksjsk

also, i was at one of the sides (and i choose it thinking purely of vic skaksksk), but i would try to get a spot closer to the middle. the middle is where the vic and thomas action usually happens, and if ethan is on a platform you'll probably get a better look at him too

[deja-you]

ten ways to say (i love you)

t. jefferson x reader

summary: Thomas has never liked the conventional way of saying ‘I love you.’

word count: 6.1k

warnings: a little bit of angst, high school, karen

masterlist

1.

There is no better way to start off senior year than arriving late to your first class.

In Y/n’s defense, she had left her house early. For once in her life she was actually going to be early to school. She was so proud of herself, and was so certain that she had extra time, Y/n allowed herself to stop at a drive thru and pick up a drink as a reward. Everything was going according to plan. 

That is, until the Karen in the car in front of her decided she wasn’t pleased with her order and made the barista redo it. To make sure she didn’t mess up Karen’s order a second time, the barista was extra careful. And extra slow. Y/n groaned as she watched the time tick by minute by minute. Just her luck.

Y/n watched the barista hand the drink to the Karen and breathed a sigh of relief. Yet, Karen’s car didn’t move. She had her drink, but Karen continued to talk with the barista. Y/n cursed under her breath and banged her head on the steering wheel. She must have been more aggressive than she was expecting, because she accidentally honked her horn. 

She jumped back in shock at the loud noise. Karen poked her head out of her window and immediately began lecturing Y/n on how rude she was being. At least, that’s what Y/n assumed she was saying, she really couldn’t hear the Karen with her windows rolled up. Y/n bit her lip, gave the Karen a little wave, and mouthed an apology.

Eventually Karen had finished her rant and left the drive thru. Y/n got her drink, no longer a reward, more like a consolation now, and sped to school. There weren’t any other students in the parking lot by the time Y/n arrived, remind her of just how late she was. Y/n shoved all her materials in her backpack, locked her car, and quickly walked into the building. 

Of course, Y/n’s first class just had to be with Mr. Rousseau. Any other teacher would just let her tardiness slide. She opened the door to Mr. Rousseau’s classroom, and any conversation that was being had stopped. More than a dozen pairs of eyes turned their attention to her, and Y/n wanted to melt right there and then.

“Miss L/n, nice of you to join us.” Mr. Rousseau addressed her. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning against his desk as he sized her up. “If you’re done being a distraction to my class, I’d appreciate it if you would take a seat.”

Y/n swallowed roughly, and nodded. Rousseau went back to lecturing the class on how his class would be run, and Y/n did her best to find a seat as quietly as she could. She instinctively made her way over to where her best friends, Abigail and Thomas were sitting. 

Thomas moved his backpack off the desk next to him, and mouthed, “I saved you a seat.”

She gave him a grateful smile and mouthed back a ‘thanks.’ 

Abigail leaned forward and whispered, “Mr. Rousseau wasn’t very amused with you being late, huh?”

“I swear he hates me,” Y/n insisted. 

Thomas rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t hate you, hon’.”

“Thomas is right,” Abigail said. “Mr. Rousseau doesn’t hate you especially. Everyone knows he just hates women.”

2.

Late night study session was code for hanging out at John Adams’s house and messing around.

Abigail was dating John, so Y/n was friends with him and his friends by association. Abigail, Dolly, and Y/n were actually trying to study. John and James were discussing the football team’s chances of winning their next game. Martha and George had snuck off to get freaky somewhere. 

“Okay, Dolly.” Abigail held up a flash card. “What can you tell me about the defenestration of Prague?”

“Um, people were thrown out of windows for fun?” Dolly replied lazily. 

“No. Well, I guess you’re not completely wrong...”

Y/n threw her body against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. If she had to stay here any longer, Y/n would throw herself out a window. Not that she didn’t want to hangout with her friends. After a long day of school, she wasn’t exactly thrilled to spend more time with the people she spent the whole day with. If it wasn’t for her fragile social status, Y/n would have already been home in her bed right now.

“Sorry m’late, had to drop my sister off at a gymnastics class. Or fencing. Or Italian. Honestly, I can’t remember.” Thomas walked into the living room where everyone was hanging out.

“Ah, yes. I had almost forgot that the Jeffersons are all overachievers,” Y/n said with and eye roll. 

He wore an easy grin as he made his way over to Y/n, leaning against the couch and staring down at her. “What can I say? We’re just built different.”

Y/n scoffed but refused to dignify him with any further response. Instead, she closed her eyes again, pretending she was back at home under warm covers. 

“I brought you food.” 

This caught Y/n’s attention. She slowly opened one eye to see if he was telling the truth. Thomas held up a bag of fast food he must’ve picked up on his way over. Y/n couldn’t help but smile as she sat upright.

“For me?” She asked.

“Of course, hon’.” He handed her the bag. “I know you didn’t have time for lunch today, and I know you likely wouldn’t have gotten around to eating anything yet.”

Y/n happily pulled out an order of large fries out of the bag. “Have I ever told you how amazing you are, Thomas?”

“Not often enough.”

“Well. You are amazing. So amazing.”

Y/n finished her fries and was looking through the rest of the bag to see what else he had gotten her when John called out to her. 

“Hey, Y/n,” John said, “what are your thoughts on my cousin?”

“You mean Sam Adams?” Y/n asked. 

“Yep. The very one.”

She shrugged. “He’s cute. Why?”

“He thinks you’re cute. Wanted me to ask if you’re single,” John said nonchalantly. 

Abigail took time away from quizzing Dolly to get invested in the conversation. “She’s very single. Right, Y/n? You and Sam would be so cute together!”

Y/n could feel her cheeks begin to heat up, and she suddenly found the hardwood floors very interesting. “I don’t know... he really thinks I’m cute?”

“S’what he said,” John replied. “Can I give him your number?”

She weighed her options before giving a shrug. “Yeah, why not?”

“Y/n and Sam? I totally ship it,” Dolly said.

“Right?” Abigail grinned. “They’re going to be such an attractive couple.”

“Okay, can we stop talking about this now? I’m here to study,” Y/n insisted, pulling out a textbook.

“I’d rather not fail tomorrow’s test,” Thomas agreed.

Everyone begrudgingly went back to their previous activities, and Thomas took that moment to sit next to Y/n on the couch. She was flipping through the pages of her textbook before she came to a stop. Y/n passed the textbook to Thomas and pointed to the painting on the page.

“Look, this one’s my favorite,” she said.

“Wanderer above the Sea of Fog,” Thomas read. “You’re a fan of Caspar David Friedrich, then?”

Y/n shrugged. “I’m just a fan of the Romantic movement in general. Everything was just so creative, and beautiful, and emotional. There’s just so much feeling in this painting. It’s overwhelming.”

Thomas frowned looking back at the painting, and then back to Y/n. “It certainly is romantic.”

She gave the painting one last look before she began flipping through the pages of the textbook again. Thomas watched her curiously as she read over the vocabulary words for that week. Finally, he decided to say what was on his mind. 

“So, you and Sam Adams, huh?” He nudged her gently with his shoulder.

Y/n bit her lip and focused on a peculiar tchotchke the Mrs. Adams had decorated the living room with. “I guess. I used to have a crush on him in middle school, remember?”

“That’s right. Abbie and I spent most of science class teasin’ you about that. No wonder you’re so bad at physics now.”

She frowned and playfully bumped her shoulder with his. “I’m not bad at physics.”

“Really?” Thomas considered her with eyebrows raised. “Remember that botched science experiment that nearly killed Mr. Newton?”

“Can we not talk about that? He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

He hid an amused look. “Whatever you say, honey.”

3.

You’re tired. The sheets are too hot. It’s been a long day, your body is exhausted. The air in your bedroom is too cold. Your mind is tired, too. The sheets are too hot. If you just close your eyes and stop thinking you’ll be asleep in minutes. The air in your bedroom is too cold. Not thinking isn’t exactly easy. The sheets are too hot. Go then if you must, but remember, no matter how -- damn you, Sophocles, and your terribly beautiful words. 

Thomas threw his covers off his body and sat up in bed. He wasn’t going to get much sleep no matter how hard he tried. Thomas rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, if there had been any sleep to begin with. 

There was no doubt that he was tired mentally and physically. Emotionally? His heart was eternally restless. He crossed his room to sit at his desk, fully accepting that sleep wasn’t a viable option anymore. 

The blue light from his computer was a harsh contrast to the darkness of his room, but his eyes adjusted quickly. Thomas didn’t even know what he was doing on his computer in the middle of the night.

His fingers knew. They opened up an application and began scrolling. No, no, no, yes. Perfect. No, no, no, no, no, yes. This is her. And this went on for an hour or so, Thomas lost track of time. He’d be tired tomorrow, but he wasn’t going to get any sleep until he was finished. 

When he actually was finished, he smiled contentedly to himself. A wave of calm washed over him, and before he knew it, Thomas was back in his bed falling asleep. 

He looked terrible the next morning. Well, as terrible as a Jefferson could look. He had still had the sense to dress nicely, collared shirt, sweater, ironed pants, polished dressed shoes. Thomas was still sharp as ever in all his classes, but anyone who really knew him could tell he was a mess. 

“You okay, Thomas?” Y/n asked at lunch in Mr. Locke’s classroom (Mr. Locke was kind enough to let a group of moody teenagers eat lunch in his class, the lunchroom just wasn’t cool enough for them).

“Hm? Yeah. I’m great.”

Y/n cocked her head to the side. “You sure? You seem tired.”

“Don’t worry about me. Actually, I have something for you.” Thomas fished his phone out of his pocket.

“You have something for me?”

“Yeah, I’m sending it now. Check your phone.”

She raised an eyebrow, but Y/n opened up her phone to check the text Thomas had sent her. 

“Sophocles and Serotonin.” Y/n read aloud. “What is this?”

“I made you a playlist of songs I thought you might like.”

“Seriously?” A smile played on her lips; Thomas couldn’t help but reflect it. “When did you have the time for this?”

He shrugged. “I have more free time than you’d think.”

“With all your APs, varsity sport, and extracurriculars? I highly doubt that.” Y/n looked up at him, a teasing lilt transparent in her tone. “I appreciate the playlist even more, knowing you took time out of your rigorous schedule to create it. Thanks, Thomas.”

She leaned forward on the desk she was seated on to press a kiss to his cheek. Thomas froze like a deer in headlights, and if Y/n noticed, she didn’t say anything. He put himself back together before she could notice he was momentarily put-off, and leaned back against another desk in an attempt to look cool.

“S’what do you have planned for after school?” He asked in his best nonchalant voice. 

“Well, Sam and I are going to go see a movie.”

“That’s still a thing, then?”

Y/n shot him a look that had him raising his hands up in surrender. “Yes, it’s still a thing. I really like him, okay? He’s a good guy.”

“But is he good enough for you?” Thomas crossed his arms, his eyes not leaving her’s. It wasn’t that Thomas didn’t like Sam. Sam was great. It was just a fact that no guy would ever be good enough for his best friend. 

“He is.” She said with an eye roll. “Why do you care anyway?”

“Hon’, I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Oh trust me, I know.”

4.

Summer had felt like an eternity ago, when in reality, it had been less than two months ago. The yellow leaves and the updated fall Starbucks menu were enough to convince anyone that it had always been October. 

It had taken a lot of convincing and a little bit of bribery to convince Thomas to attend the Homecoming football game, but with the assistance from Abigail, Y/n had eventually gotten Thomas to cave. She wanted him there, but more importantly, she wanted him to give her a ride there. 

Of course she could have taken her own car, but Y/n would rather not waste her own gas when she could use Thomas’s instead. It’s not like it mattered to him, his parents paid for his car, insurance, and gas anyway. Plus, his Mercedes Benz had a seat warming function that Y/n couldn’t get enough of. 

She spent most of the ride over to the stadium raving over his seat warmers, and Thomas spent most of the ride making fun of how excited she was about seat warmers. Eventually, they parked outside of the stadium, and Thomas paid for their entrance fee into the stadium.

“It’s co--” before Y/n could finish her sentence, remarking on the obvious cold weather, Thomas had handed her a sweatshirt. She looked down at the maroon sweatshirt, then back at Thomas, her mouth slightly open. “You brought an extra sweatshirt for me? I didn’t even ask.”

“You didn’t have to ask,” he shrugged. She put on the sweatshirt and stared at him with wide eyes. Thomas glanced at, bit the inside of his lip, and shook his head. “Now, don’t go thinking I care about you or somethin’ like that, hon’. Couldn’t have you taking the sweatshirt I’m wearing, then I’d be cold.”

She looked at him with a smug smile on her face that made him regret bringing her the sweatshirt in the first place. “Yeah? Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all.” He was doing his best to act annoyed by all her questioning, but he couldn’t help but find it endearing. When he came up with another argument, he added on, “besides, ma would be upset with if she knew I let you freeze. It seems like she loves you more than she loves me sometimes.”

“That’s because she does,” Y/n pointed it out like it was obvious. “Can you blame her? I’m funny and adorable. You’re just a grumpy old man I have to drag to football games.”

“That’s it. Give the sweatshirt back. I hope you freeze.” Thomas was giving her the dirtiest look he could muster. Y/n had the audacity to throw her head back and laugh.

She reached into her purse, and after some digging around, she pulled out a five dollar bill from her wallet. Y/n thrusted the money into Thomas’s hand and pushed him in the direction of the concession stand. “Here. Go get us some popcorn, maybe you won’t be so irritable once you get some food in you. I’m going to go find some seats.”

Thomas grumbled something about “not being irritable” but nonetheless ventured off toward the concessions. Y/n climbed the steps up the stadium and immediately found Abigail sitting in the student section, all decked out in school colors and face paint. Abigail greeted Y/n with a warm hung, then holding her at an arms length, she took note of what her best friend was wearing.

“Is that Thomas’s sweatshirt?” Abigail asked.

Y/n looked down at the the University of Virginia sweatshirt she had wrapped around herself. “Hm? Oh yeah, it is.”

Abigail pursed her lips and mulled over this new information. “What’s going on between you and Thomas?”

“What d’ya mean? We’re friends.” Y/n pursed her lips. 

“And Thomas knows that?” Abigail observed Y/n. “Do you know that?”

Y/n narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Yes, of course I know that. I’m dating Sam now, okay? Thomas and I have always just been friends, and that’s all we’ll ever be.”

Abigail held her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. If you say so, I’ll believe you. I just don’t want any feelings to get hurt between the two of you.”

“There are no feelings between the two of us,” Y/n said, but she wouldn’t stop thinking about Abigail’s words for the rest of the night.

5.

All week, Thomas had dreamt about the mint chocolate chip ice cream that was waiting for him in the freezer. 

It was his favorite flavor, and there was just enough left in the carton for one last bowl. He had promised himself he wouldn’t eat the last of it until he had really deserved it. After spending a productive hour studying for the test he had tomorrow, Thomas decided he had finally earned that delectable bowl of artificially colored green ice cream. 

He made his way to the kitchen, humming an upbeat tune and sliding across the hardwood floor in his socks. Thomas had made it all the way to the freezer when there was a knock at the front door. 

Thomas paused. He was so close to getting his ice cream. Maybe it was just a delivery? He debated answering the bowl or ignoring and continuing to dish himself ice cream. Thomas was leaning toward his bowl of ice cream when there was a knock at the door again. With a scowl on his face, he abandoned the fridge and any hope for happiness he had left and made his way to the front door.

“Y/n?” He said in surprise when he opened the door.

“Hi, Thomas. I didn’t know who else to come to. Abigail’s out with John right now. Dolly and Martha aren’t good in situations like this,” she was speaking quickly, sniffling between sentences, and trying not to let any more tears fall down her cheeks. “I just--”

He interrupted Y/n by pulling her into his house and his arms. Y/n melted into his touch, her hands gripping his shirt as she hugged him back. 

“What happened?” Thomas asked softly, rubbing circles into her back with his thumbs.

“Sam and I broke up.”

Thomas sighed softly and rested his chin on her head. He bit his lip, weighed his options, and came to a reluctant conclusion. Thomas pulled away just enough that he could look Y/n in her bloodshot eyes.

“I think this is the part where we break out the ice cream, huh?”

She offered him a miserable smile. “Ice cream couldn’t hurt.”

He led her to his kitchen and began digging through the kitchen while she hopped onto the counter to sit. Thomas hid a frown from Y/n while in the process of pulling out the nearly empty carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream. 

“So you want to tell me what happened?” Thomas asked, pulling out a bowl from one of the cabinets.

“It wasn’t a bad breakup.” Despite her words, Y/n still wiped at her tears with the sleeves of her shirt. “We mutually agreed it was best for both of us.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “He’s just not... he’s not the one.”

Thomas felt something twist and turn in his stomach, but he knew it wouldn’t be right to be happy when his friend was so miserable. He did his best to hide the smile that wanted to form in the corners of his mouth. “M’sorry about that, honey.”

“I know it was the right decision,” she said, staring up at the ceiling in an attempt not to let any more tears stream down her face. “Doesn’t mean it hurts any less, though.”

“It’s normal to be upset after a break up,” Thomas shrugged.  

“You’re not going to have any ice cream?” Y/n asked quietly as he handed her a singular bowl.

“Not in the mood for it,” he lied. 

6.

“You get enough sleep last night, hon’?”

Y/n was in mid-yawn when he asked her the question. She held a hand over her mouth and nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“You look terrible.”

She scowled at him. “Wow. Just what a girl wants to hear. Anyone ever tell you you’re a charmer, Thomas Jefferson?”

“You’d be surprised.” He gave her a teasing smile. “So who’s the cause for your sleepless nights?”

“Napoleon Bonaparte.” She held up her textbook for him to see. “Why’d I ever let you convince me to take an AP class with you?”

“Because you like spending time with me?”

“Nah, that’s not it.”

“Ouch.” Thomas held a hand over his heart. “You really stayed up late studying for the quiz?”

“Some people have to study, okay? Not everyone’s as gifted as Thomas flippin’ Jefferson.”

“Flippin’?” He stifled a laugh.

“We’re at school. Gotta keep it PG, right?” She shrugged. “So yeah, I stay up and study sometimes. High schoolers aren’t supposed to get a good amount of sleep. S’not a big deal.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes I worry about you.”

She tilted her head to the side and gave him a small smile. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Believe me, if I could just shut it off, I would. I’ll make you a Quizlet next time so you can get more sleep.”

Y/n was about to say something in response when her phone began ringing in her pocket. “I should get this.”

She went out into the hallway to answer the call, and Thomas turned back to his lunch, not even bothering to hide his smile. 

“Thomas.”

He jumped at the sound of a voice and turned to see Abigail sitting at the desk across from him. Had she been listening to them the whole time? Thomas had completely forgotten she was there; a fact he would be certain not to share with her.

“Yes, Abbie?”

“Do you have a crush on Y/n?” 

Thomas blinked a few times, certain that he hadn’t heard Abigail right. “Excuse me?”

Abigail rolled her eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You heard me right, Jefferson. Do you have a crush on Y/n?”

“Y/n? Where’d you get that idea?” Thomas made a face like he was disgusted by the very thought of it.

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re always following her around and doing whatever it takes to make her happy. Not to mention you always call her “hon’,” seems pretty affectionate to me.” Abigail had a talent for laying out the facts.

“We’ve been friends since I can remember, of course I care about her. So what if I have a nickname for her? Doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s not like you have a nickname for anyone else.”

“I call you ‘Abbie’. I have a nickname for everyone.”

“We both know that’s a load of B.S. Are you really telling me you don’t like Y/n?”

“I don’t like Y/n.” And it wasn’t exactly a lie, because the feelings he had for Y/n had progressed far beyond liking. 

7.

“There’s nothing people appreciate more than a hand-made gift, right?” Y/n said, pulling out a ball of azure colored yarn.

Thomas crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against a wall. “Sure, ‘cept maybe a nice Rolex or a new car.”

She scowled at him. “I don’t know what it is about me that makes you think I can afford a Rolex or a new car. I’m an unemployed high school student. My only income comes from birthday cards from my grandparents.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I’m sure Abigail will love the scarf you make for her.”

“Yeah, how hard could it be?” Y/n muttered, staring at the mess of strings in her lap.

Thomas’s eyes widened a little. “You telling me you’ve never crocheted before?”

“How hard could it be?” She pulled up a beginners guide on YouTube, and five minutes later, Y/n had a knotted pile of yarn in her hands. She huffed in frustration and began to aggressively pull at the yarn.

“Let me help.”

“You know how to knit?” Y/n raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

Thomas rolled his eyes, sitting next to her and taking the “scarf” out of her hands. “This is crocheting. You don’t even have knitting needles.”

“Apologies. You know how to crochet?” 

“Lucy went through a stage where she was really into crocheting,” he shrugged. Thomas had quickly untangled Y/n’s “progress” and began to expertly thread together loops of yarn. He held up his work to her once a pattern had begun to form. “See? Perks of growing up with sisters.”

“I hate that you’re good at everything.” 

He snorted and gently began to move the work into Y/n’s hand for her to finish the rest. “’M’not good at everything. Just most things.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Y/n was now laser focused on the project in front of her, determined to get it right this time. Thomas would advise her, but for the most part he let her work on it by herself. She was a fast learner.

“You’re never going to get it like that, hon--” Thomas caught himself, remembering the conversation he had had with Abigail earlier. “Y/n. You’re never going to get it like that, Y/n.”

She looked up at him with furrowed brows. “What?”

He swallowed roughly and shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just... You’re going to want to pull the yarn tighter or it’s all going to unravel later.”

“Oh. Thanks, Thomas.”

8.

It was 2 a.m., and Y/n had already came to terms with the fact that she wasn’t going to get more than five hours of sleep. She wasn’t exactly trying very hard to sleep. She had tried to refresh her Instagram feed maybe a dozen times now, but it wasn’t like anyone was posting in the middle of the night. Instagram was doing a poor job keeping her mind distracted. 

Lightly biting her bottom lip, she threw her body back onto her bed with a loud sigh. She wrinkled her nose and caved, navigating to the facetime app on her phone. Hesitating one last time, Y/n tapped his contact with her thumb. Her phone began to hum while she waited for him to pick up.

“Hey, Thomas. I know it’s late,” she said when he finally answered the phone. Y/n frowned when she saw him rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, no. Couldn’t sleep anyway,” replied his groggy voice.

“You’re lying. Hey, don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep.”

“I was already up.”

“No, you weren’t. Don’t let me bother you.”

Thomas stopped rubbing his eyes and looked at Y/n firmly through the camera. “Maybe I was asleep, but I’m up now, yeah? Don’t worry about waking me up. I’d rather talk to you any way.”

Y/n pursed her lips, giving him a doubtful look. Thomas was too polite to ever tell someone if they were bothering him. She couldn’t tell if he really wanted to talk to her, or if he was just too courteous to tell her otherwise. 

He noticed the look she gave him and rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like you don’t believe me. Would’ve stopped bein’ friends with you years ago if I didn’t find all your annoying habits endearing. Promise.” Thomas shot her a smug smile that made her wish she hadn’t called. 

“So kind of you,” she said sarcastically. 

“I try.” His grin widened, if that was even possible. “So what’d you want to talk to me about?”

Y/n chewed on her bottom lip and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t?” Thomas narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer to the camera. After he had examined her carefully, he leaned back and crossed his arms. “Yeah you do. What is it?”

She shifted, uncomfortable by how easy it was for him to see right through her. Once more that night, she caved. “I can’t stop thinking about how you called me ‘Y/n’ earlier today?”

He tensed up but the action was barely noticeable. “What about it? It’s your name.”

“Sure,” she nodded, “but you never call me ‘Y/n.” It’s always ‘hon’’ or ‘honey.’ Always. Did something happen? Are you mad at me?”

Thomas raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “No, ‘course not. Everything’s fine.” He paused. “That really upset you? Me calling you ‘Y/n’?”

“It’s just not normal.”

“It’s not normal for people to call you by your name?”

“It is, but you are supposed to call me ‘honey.’ Okay?”

He laughed through his nose and couldn’t stop an amused smile from spreading on his lips. “Okay, honey.”

9.

“I’m finally going to get to see your mural, then?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “It’s not my mural, Y/n. It’s the senior mural. It’s not like I’m painting it.”

“Yeah, but it was your idea.” She gave him a playful nudge. “I don’t know why you haven’t told me what it is yet. I’m sure if the great Thomas Jefferson designed it, it’ll be the best Senior mural ever seen at Charlottesville High School.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, hon’. I’d hate to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’re Thomas Jefferson.”

They turned the corner to see their fellow senior, Henrietta Johnston, working on the mural. The previously beige wall was now covered in black, gray, and light blue paint. In the middle of the painting was a figure made up of colorful hand prints standing above the blue-gray sea.

Y/n stared at the mural with an open mouth. She looked from Henrietta to Thomas, then back to the wall in front of her.

“It was my idea to make the figure all colorful with handprints,” Thomas said. “Thought it would be nice to let our class to literally leave a mark on this school.”

Henrietta smiled at the mural and set down her paintbrush. “It was a good idea. The splash of color is just what it needed. What do you think, Y/n? Do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it. It’s... it’s perfect.” She turned to Thomas with wide eyes. “Wanderer above the Sea of Fog. This is my favorite painting.”

“I noticed -- don’t give me that look. It’s not like I care that much. You just never shut up about that painting. It’s annoying, really,” Thomas muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at the ground.

She smiled and turned her attention back to the mural. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I love this. I can’t believe you remembered.”

“Of course. It’s worth it, seeing how much you like it.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You’re the kind of person I could fall in love with, you know that?” She didn’t take her eyes off the painting, and Thomas was glad. 

Maybe if she had looked at him, she would have seen his breath catch in his throat and his eyes widen just a little bit. If he was the kind of person she could fall in love with, then why didn’t she? Thomas was flustered. If Y/n had noticed his lack of response, she didn’t say anything. 

10.

Charlottesville High School was filled with rich kids. The Charlottesville High School debate team had a minimal amount of members. These factors resulted in Thomas and Y/n having their own hotel rooms when they attended a debate function in Washington D.C.

After a long day of debating, Thomas and Y/n walked side by side down the narrow corridor to their respective rooms. Every now and then, they spared looks at each other when they thought the other wouldn’t notice.

Thomas cleared his throat. “So that guy in the green shirt asked me for your number.”

She glanced up at him. “He did? Did you give it to him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Thought he was out of your league. Told him you snored like an ogre and I gave him Maria’s number instead,” he said with a shrug.

She gasped and shoved his shoulder. “Are you kidding me? I don’t snore like an ogre! He was cute and interested in me.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

Y/n scowled. “For your information, I’m adorable. I’m funny and enjoyable to be around. Even if I ‘snore like an ogre’ I’m also extremely attractive, so it makes up for it.”

“You don’t need to sell me on reasons why you’re dateable, honey,” he chuckled softly.

“Oh yeah?”

At the same time, Y/n and Thomas turned to face each other. Their teasing banter stopped when they realized they were only inches apart, he could hear every inhale and exhale. His eyes flicked to her lips. It was only for a second, but she hadn’t missed it. 

Thomas took a step back and cleared his throat. “It’s late, we should go to bed. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she echoed. They both hurriedly stepped into their own rooms. 

Had he almost kissed her? Did that really just happen? Y/n leaned against her hotel room door. Maybe she had just imagined it. She shook her head and grabbed a sweatshirt and a pair of shorts out of her suitcase. Maybe Y/n could stop thinking about it after a good nights rest. She changed and was about to brush her teeth when she felt some kind of nagging feeling inside.

It was naïve to think she was going to get any sleep tonight if she didn’t confront Thomas about it. Y/n set down her toothbrush and made her way out into the fluorescent lit hallway. She had made it all the way to his door when she paused.

Is this really what she wanted to do? If Y/n brought up their almost-kiss, would they be able to go back to friends? Did she even want to go back to friends? Y/n bit her lip and glanced back at her own room door. She should just go to bed, it wasn’t worth putting their friendship in jeopardy. But then again, Y/n would always wonder what could have happened if she didn’t confront him.

She raised her fist to knock on Thomas’s door, but before she could knock, the door swung open. Thomas and Y/n once more stood face to face. She had a wide eyed expression that mirrored Thomas’s.

There was an accelerated heartbeat. A flutter. Thomas’s arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer to him. Y/n’s hand found its place on the back of his neck and guided his lips to her’s. His eyes were half open, sneaking glances at her to assure himself he wasn’t dreaming. Her overwhelming scent and the feeling of his hands threaded through her hair was all too real. 

Thomas pulled her into his room, kicking the door closed behind them. Placing both hands on his broad chest, she pushed him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. 

Thoughts were racing in Y/n’s mind. She tried to put reason to the way he gripped her waist tightly -- there would be bruises there the next day. She tried to put reason to the way his pupils dilated as she went in for another kiss. Y/n came up empty handed.

There was no way Y/n felt the same way, Thomas told himself. There was no way she loved him the way he loved her. For as long as he could remember, he had been in love with Y/n L/n. And for as long as he could remember, she had only seen him as her best friend.

Thomas missed the warmth of her lips when she pulled away, but he couldn’t help but admire the way her lips were swollen and her hair was a mess. Her bright eyes, and the way light highlighted the softness of her skin. Thomas took that moment to memorize every line and curve of her face, branding the memory into his head. 

She leaned in to kiss him again, but he pushed her away this time, sitting up. “Stop. We... we can’t do this. This can’t just be a one time thing.”

“Why not?” Her voice was quiet and delicate.

He felt his heart twist inside his chest and he clenched his jaw. “Because I love you.”

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 1-3: 命运的拐点 Destiny’s Turning Point Translation [3rd Beta Test]

*Light and Night Master-list is under WIP *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Game is slated for release this summer! (Estimated to be 8/8/21) *Beta Test’s main story tag will be #Dreams of Light and Night

Police: Name?

Cindy: My name's Cindy. My earrings are gone! I've spent an entire week on them. Please, you must help me find them!

The girl who was desperate to the brink of tears was none other than Cindy, the oldest contestant amongst us all.

Half an hour ago, Cindy had suggested reporting this to the police seeing as how many of the designers had their accessories go missing. Now, she was the first one to undergo questioning by the police.

Police: Earrings, you say? Alright, I've noted it down. Has anyone else lost anything?

Designer A: Me. I lost an Emerald hairpin.

Designer B: My pearl necklace is gone too.

MC: I'm (Y/n), my brooch has also gone missing.

Police: I've gotten the gist of the situation here. All of your items were found lost after less than half an hour after having been left here.

Police: My colleague went to check the surveillance tapes. There was no one suspicious who entered and left the room during that time frame.

Cindy: How can that be...

Police: But there are blind spots where the surveillance cameras cannot reach. Plus, things don't simply disappear for no reason at all.

Police: So, I'm asking everyone to think carefully about it again. Did any of you see anyone who was acting suspicious?

MC: A suspicious looking person…

The image of the figure dressed in black and wearing a mask flashed into my mind along with his skull pendant and flickering silver chains.

MC: I saw someone that I didn't recognize walk out of the room, but I thought that he was a model…

MC: But now that I think about it, no model would come here.

Police: What did this person look like?

MC: He’s very tall and looks to be around 185cm. He wasn’t wearing a staff uniform. 

Police: Can you give me a detailed description of his appearance and how he was dressed?

I nodded, trying my hardest to remember what I’d seen in that split-second.

MC: I couldn’t make out his features since he wore a black mask, but I remember his clothes…!

MC: He wore a black leather jacket paired with light grey jeans and a pair of studded boots.

MC: He had a long silver necklace with a skull pendant hanging from it along with a few silver chains hanging from his waist.

MC: His countenance is hard to describe. He appears to give off a very mysterious vibe, but honestly, the design of the pants he wore needs to be optimized...

I continued prattling on, unaware of how the policeman who’d been recording my descriptions down stopped short.

Police: Optimized?

Suddenly realizing what I'd just said, my face flushed in embarrassment.

MC: Sorry, but that's pretty much all I saw…

Police: Alright. We'll look further into the matter with this information.

Police: However, considering the large number of people here, the vastness of the venue and the small number of missing items, it’ll be quite difficult to find them.

Police: You'd best be prepared.

Everyone lapsed into collective silence after the police left. The solemness of the atmosphere in here was tangible, like a heavy cloud that hung over all of our heads.

Cindy had already succumbed to despair. She silently squatted down; head buried into the crook of her arm.

★Night Choice: Settle your own problems (Didn't select)

☆Light Choice: Comfort Her

I walked up to her, gently patting her back.

MC: Don't worry, I'm sure the police will be able to help us all find our missing accessories.

Cindy: You guys are all young and talented… you'll have other ways to spring back if you fail here, so of course you wouldn't be too worried about it… but such a thing doesn't exist for me…

Her soft voice was distorted by her sniffling, so much that I could barely distinguish what she was trying to say between sobs.

I'd overheard the others talking about her before. Cindy was originally a white-collar worker who'd eventually resigned and got a loan to study design overseas. It was a do-or-die situation for her, in a way.

I didn't know what I should say to comfort her, for everything I say right now would only pale in comparison to what she was going through. All I could do was to gently pat her back.

Cindy: Why did this have to happen now…? It took me such painstaking efforts to get this far…

All the doom and gloom that she exuded was contagious, and I soon felt my heart drop along with her worsening mood.

???: What are you crying about?

No one actually expected Wu Yue, of all people, to be saying something this harsh. She strode out of the crowd under everyone's surprised gazes, walking in front of Cindy and pulling her back upright. Her expression was a tad savage.

Wu Yue: If you don't want to let all your previous effort go to waste, then you'd jolly well shut your trap and redo it. Do you really think it was all so easy for everyone to get this far!

Wu Yue: Those who whinge and always feel sorry for themselves but do nothing to fix it will never succeed.

This was the first time I've ever heard her speak off-stage.

I couldn't help but to be surprised at the look of dead seriousness on her face.

MC: There's still another 3 days before the competition, so let's hurry and start re-doing what we've lost.

Gao Cheng: I... I can help everyone fetch the materials they need. You can also ask me for help if any of you need an extra hand...

Designer A: I've already long since wanted to change my hairpin design! I'm sure the new one this time will turn out a hundred times better! You guys better watch out!

More contestants started inputting, and the gloomy atmosphere soon dissipated. Cindy had also stopped crying, vigorously rubbing at her eyes.

Cindy: You guys are right. I cannot give up here…

Despite all of us not knowing what results awaited us 3 days later, and despite all of us being fellow competitors, we were all teammates now, working hard with the same goal in mind.

After getting our moods in check, everyone returned to their own working space, making the best out of the remaining time left to continue with their respective creations.

❖☆———————————★❖

The hands on the clock had already moved past the 8 PM mark by the time if gotten up for a good stretch.

MC: The gown's pretty much good to go, and I've also finished drawing out the new brooch design. Everything's turning out pretty well~

Gao Cheng: Your design's inspired by the starry skies, right? It's really pretty…

Gao Cheng's faze lingered on the draft of my design for a while before he seemingly snapped out of it. He raised his head, frantically waving his hands in front of him with a flustered look on his face.

Gao Cheng: S-Sorry, it wasn't my intention to peek at your design. I just happened to get attracted to it when I walked past…

MC: Don't worry about it, you came at a great time. Could you tell me what you think about it?

Gao Cheng: Is the brooch meant to represent the brightest star in the sky?

MC: Yup, it represents the north star.

Gao Cheng: But Polaris isn't actually all that bright. It shines at 2nd magnitude, so you can use a darker gemstone to represent it.

It was as if he were an entirely different person when it came to the topic of stars. He gushed enthusiastically about it with unrivalled passion and seriousness.

Gao Cheng: Ah, I just like astronomy, so I know about it a little more than others. Please don't get mad at me... 

MC: Why would I be mad? I'm actually extremely thankful for your input!

I'd previously searched up pictures of the starry sky up on the internet to use as reference pictures, but what Gao Cheng said reminded me once again that even though the pictures captured by a camera's lens turn out beautiful, it still isn't as real as the real thing.

Nothing beats seeing it with your own eyes and ascertaining it for yourself after all.

MC: Maybe I should go up to the rooftop and check the stars out.

❖☆———————————★❖

The cold air of the night greets me as I push open the doors to the rooftop. The vast night sky was spread out before my eyes, the many little red dots beneath it denoting lights of the thousands of households below.

I held onto the railing with both hands raising my head to inhale deeply.

It was then that my phone rang to life as messages from An'an came pouring in one line after another.

An'an (SMS): I've gotten my hands on the guest list!

An'an (SMS): You won't believe how elaborate this guest line-up is! Osborn's actually coming, you know!? His club's going to be collaborating with the Warson Group!

MC: ...Osborn?

An'an (SMS): Please tell me you still remember him. I've shown you a picture of him before! He's my favourite R1 racer who has won 4 consecutive championships!

I hadn't yet had the chance to truly think back on it when I suddenly heard a faint noise. It was the familiar sound of metallic chains clinking against each other.

There had been no one here when I came up to the rooftop.

My heart leapt to my throat as I unwittingly headed towards the direction of the sound.

There was someone hidden within the shadows, standing silently in one of the corners where the moonlight never reached.

Seemingly having noticed my gaze, the person moved forwards, stepping out of the shadows.

❖☆———————————★❖

I finally managed to vaguely make out his appearance. He was tall and intimidating even from a distance away. He wore a black jacket across his shoulders, the moonlight glinting off the skull necklace that rested upon his chest.

MC: That's the guy I saw back in the corridor!

I hadn't yet recovered from the initial surprise of seeing him here when I suddenly noticed that he was holding a red earring between his fingers.

Cindy's Earrings! So, he really WAS the thief!

The clouds blocked off the moonlight, darkening the skies as my heart raced, pounding loudly in my ears. Did I interrupt him in the middle of something? Am I going to be "silenced"?

All hesitation flew out the window the moment my thoughts stopped there. I immediately turned and made a dash for the exit.

However, just as I was about to pull the door open and make my escape, a well-defined hand pressed against the door, blocking off my escape.

??: And just where are you running off to now?

❖☆————— ⊹ Dreams of Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-1) | Next Part: (Chapter 1-5)

[checkurwindow]

ten ways

Book: Open Heart

Warning: So sweet your dentist would be concerned Rating: General Pairing: Bryce x F!MC Word count: 6500+ Author’s note: I finally wrote something that isn’t angst and oh god is it long. I spent so much time on this so please please consider reblogging and let me know what you thought of it, and maybe check out my masterlist while you’re at it.

1.

There was truly no better way to start off senior year than arriving late to her first class. 

In her defense, she had left the house early. For once in her life, she was actually going to be early to school. She was so proud of herself, and was so certain that she had extra time that she allowed herself to stop at a drive-thru and get a drink as a reward to herself. Everything was going according to plan. 

That is, until the lady in the car in front of her decided she wasn’t pleased with her order and made the barista redo it; and to make sure he didn’t mess up her order a second time, the barista was extra careful. And extra slow. 

She groaned as she watched the time tick pass minute by minute. Just her luck. 

She watched the barista hand the drink to the lady in front and breathed a sigh of relief. Yet, the car didn’t move, not a single inch. The drink was already in her hand, but the lady just had to continue to talk with the barista. 

She cursed under her breath and banged her head on the steering wheel in frustration. She must’ve been more aggressive than she was expecting, because her horn went off, and loudly at that.

She jumped back in shock at the noise. The lady poked her head out of her car window and immediately began lecturing her on how rude she was being. At least, that’s what she assumed she was saying, she really couldn’t hear her with her windows rolled up. She bit her lip, gave a little wave, and mouthed an apology.

Eventually, the lady finished her rant and left the drive-thru. She got her drink, no longer a reward and more of a consolation, and sped to school.

There weren’t any other students in the parking lot by the time she got there, only a reminder of just how late she was. Shoving all her things back inside her backpack, she locked the door and hurried into the building.

Of course, her first class just had to be with Mr. Anderson. Any other teacher would have just let her tardiness slide, but not him, never him. She opened the door to his classroom, and any conversation that had been going on stopped. 

More than a dozen pairs of eyes turned their attention to her, and she wanted to melt into the floor right then and there. 

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Mr. Anderson addressed her. He narrowed his eyes at the nervous student, leaning against his desk as he sized her up, “if you’re done being a distraction to my class, I’d appreciate it if you would take a seat.

She swallowed roughly and nodded. He went back to lecturing the class on how his classes would be conducted, and she did her best to find a seat as quietly as she could. Instinctively, she made her way over to where her friends were sitting.

Bryce moved his backpack off the desk next to him and quietly whispered, “I saved you a seat.” 

She gave him a grateful smile and mouthed back a ‘thanks’.

Sienna leaned forward, “Anderson really wasn’t amused with you, huh?”

“I swear he hates me,” she insisted.

Bryce rolled his eyes, “he doesn’t hate you, Boo.”

“Bryce is right,” she said, “everyone knows he just hates women,” she stressed the last part with exaggerated disgust.

2. 

Late-night study sessions had evolved to become code for hanging out at Danny’s house and messing around. 

Sienna was dating Danny, so naturally, she had become friends with him and his friends by association. Sienna, Aurora, and her were actually trying to study. Danny and Elijah were discussing the school football team’s chances of winning their next game, and Jackie and Bryce were in the kitchen getting snacks and undoubtedly bickering about something completely irrelevant. 

“Okay, Sienna,” Aurora held up a flashcard, “what can you tell me about the defenestration of Prague?” 

“Uh, people were thrown out of windows for fun?” She replied, barely having read that chapter of the textbook.

“No- well, actually, I suppose you’re technically not completely wrong.”

She let her body fall back against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. If she had to stay there any longer, she would’ve thrown herself out the window. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hang out with her friends, it was just that after a long day of school, she wasn’t exactly thrilled to spend more time with the people she had already spent most of the day with. 

“Sorry I’m late, I just spent the better part of the last hour trying to explain to a group of freshmen that I won’t be dating or teaching “my ways” to any one of them,” he shuddered dramatically as he walked into the living room where everyone was.

“Ah yes, I almost forgot I was friends with the Bryce Lahela,” she said overdramatically.

He rolled his eyes but decided to amuse her nonetheless, “what can I say, I’m just clearly superior.”

She scoffed but refused to dignify him with any further response. Instead, she closed her eyes and pretended she was back at home under her warm, soft covers. 

“I brought you food.”

That caught her attention. Cautiously opening an eye to see if he was telling the truth, she was met with the sight of him holding up a bag of fast food that he must have picked up on his way over. She couldn’t help the growing smile on her face as she sat upright. 

“For me?” She asked.

“Of course, Munchkin” he handed the bag over to her, “you skipped lunch to finish up the science project you were behind on and I’m certain you haven’t gotten around to eating anything yet,” he said confidently.

She happily pulled an order of large fries out of the bag, “have I ever told you how amazing you are, Bryce?”

He smiled, “not often enough.”

“Well, you are. So amazing.”

She had just finished the fries and was looking through the back to see what else he had gotten her when Danny called out to her.

“What are your thoughts on Rafael?” He asked.

“Aveiro?”

“Yep.”

She tilted her head, “he’s okay, pretty cute. Why?”

“He told me he likes you, even wanted me to ask if you were single?” Danny said nonchalantly.

Sienna immediately got invested and joined in on the conversation, “she is very single, and I for one think they would be a great couple!”

She could feel her cheeks begin to heat up, and suddenly she found the hardwood floors very interesting, “I don’t know…he actually likes me?”

“That’s what he told me,” Danny replied, “can I give him your number?”

She weighed her options before giving a careless shrug, “Yeah, why not?” 

“You and Rafael? I knew this day would come,” Aurora commented.

“Okay, we’ve talked about this long enough. We need to study,” she insisted, pulling out her textbook.

“I’d rather not fail this test,” Bryce agreed.

Everyone begrudgingly went back to their previous activities, and Bryce took that opportunity to fill up the space next to her on the couch. She flipped through pages of her textbook before coming to a stop. She passed the textbook to Bryce and pointed to a large picture on the page.

“This one’s my favourite,” she said. 

“Wanderer above the Sea of Fog,” he read,  “you’re a fan of Caspar David Friedrich?”

She shrugged, “I guess I’m just a fan of the Romantic moment in general. Everything was so creative and beautiful. I just think it’s crazy how this painting holds so much emotion.”

Bryce frowned, looked at the painting, then back at her, “it certainly is romantic.”

She gave the painting one last look before she began flipping through the pages of the textbook again. Bryce watched her curiously as she read over the vocabulary words for that week. After a while, he decided to say what was on his mind. 

“So,” he broke the silence, “you and Rafael, huh?”

“Yeah,” suddenly, the furry carpet on the floor looked beyond interesting, “I used to have a crush on him in middle school, remember?”

His mouth broke out into a smile, “Sienna and I used to tease you about it all the time! No wonder you’re so bad at chemistry,” he joked. 

“I happen to be pretty extraordinary at chemistry, thank you very much.”

“Hm, I think that botched experiment that nearly killed Mrs. Durnam tells a very different story,” he said, and she playfully punched his arm. 

“She’s still alive, isn’t he? Plus, you were the one who didn’t make me double-check!”

He had an amused look on his face, “keep telling that to yourself, babe.”

3.

He was tired, the sheets were too hot. It had been a long day, his body was exhausted. The air in his bedroom was too cold, his mind was tired, too. If he would just close his eyes and stop thinking, he’d be asleep in mere minutes. Now the sheets were hot again, so he kicked them off. Then the air was too cold, so he pulled the sheets over him again. Not thinking ironically proved to be harder than perceived. Go then if you must, but remember, no matter how fooli- damn it, Sophocles, damn your terribly beautiful words.

Bryce threw the covers onto the other side of the bed and sat up. He wasn’t going to get much sleep that night no matter how hard he tried, anyway, no need to lie to himself. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, if there even had been any sleep in the first place.

There was no doubt that he was tired both mentally and physically. But emotionally? His heart was eternally restless when it came that. He crossed his room and sat down at the expensive wooden desk, fully accepting that getting any rest that night was no longer a viable option.

The bright light from his computer was a harsh contrast to the darkness of the room, but his eyes adjusted soon enough. Bryce didn’t even know what he was doing on his computer in the middle of the night. 

But his subconscious knew. His fingers opened up the application and started scrolling. No, no, yes. God, no. yes, definitely, perfect. And that went on for an hour or so, though Bryce wasn’t exactly keeping track of time. He’d be near-dead at sunrise, but he wasn’t going to get any sleep until he finished. 

When he actually did finish, he smiled contentedly to himself. A wave of calmness washed over him, and before he knew it, he was face down and lost in his dreams asleep.

He looked terrible the next morning. Well, as terrible as Bryce Lahela could look. He still dressed as great as always, even styling his hair with a little more volume than usual. He was still sharp as ever in class, but anyone who really knew him could tell that he was a total mess. 

“Hey, you okay?” She asked during lunch in Mr. Jericho’s classroom (He had been kind enough to let a bunch of teenagers spend lunch in his class; the cafeteria just wasn't cool enough for them).

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine.”

She cocked her head to one side, “no you aren’t, spill.”

“Don’t worry about me. I actually have a little something for you,” Bryce fished his phone out of his pocket.

“You have something for me?”

“Sending it now. Aaaand…...check your phone!”

She raised an eyebrow and cautiously unlocked her phone to look at the text he had sent to her.

“Sophocles and Serotonin,” she read off her phone, “ what is this?” 

“I made you a playlist of songs that I thought you’d like.”

“Seriously?” A smile emerged on her lips, and Bryce couldn’t help himself but to reflect it, “When did you even have the time for this?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, “I happened to have free time last night.”

“With Mr. Anderson's early deadlines? I smell a steaming hot pile of bullshit, Lahela,” She looked up at him, a teasing lilt prominent in her tone, “I appreciate the playlist even more now that I know you took the time out of your night to make it. Thank you, Bryce.”

She leaned forward on the desk she was seated on and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He froze like a deer in headlights, and if she noticed, she definitely didn’t say anything. He compiled himself back together before she could notice that his usual smirk wasn’t as smug as it usually was, and leaned back against the desk behind him in an attempt to look cool. 

“So, what’re you doing after school?” He asked in his best casual voice. 

“Rafael and I are going to see a movie.”

“That’s actually still a thing?”

She shot him a look that made him raise his hands up in surrender, “Yes, it’s still a thing. He’s a good guy, I really like him.” 

“But is he good enough for you?” He crossed his arms, eyes not leaving hers. It wasn’t that Bryce didn’t like Rafael. Rafael was great, but no guy would ever be good enough for his best friend. 

“He is,” She said with an eye roll, “why do you care anyway?”

“Just looking out for you, Sweetheart.”

“I can take care of myself perfectly fine, Scout.”

His eyebrows shot up his forehead, an impressed look across his face, “trust me, I know.”

4. 

Summer felt like an eternity ago, when in reality, it had been less than two months ago The yellow-orange leaves and updated Starbucks menu was enough to convince anyone that it was already October. 

It took a lot of sweet-talking and a tiny bit of bribery to convince Bryce to attend the Homecoming football game, but with Sienna’s assistance, she eventually got him to cave. She wanted him there, but more importantly, she wanted him to give her a ride there. 

Of course, she could have taken her own car, but she would much rather not waste her own gas when she could take advantage of his instead. It wasn’t like it mattered to him, his parents paid for his car, insurance, and gas anyway. Plus, the seat warming function in his cushy Mercedes Benz was a huge incentive.

She spent most of the ride over to the stadium raving over the seat warmers, and he spent most of the ride making fun of how obsessed she was with said seat warmer. Eventually, they parked outside and paid for the entrance fees. 

“It’s kinda co-” before she could even finish her sentence remarking the cold weather, Bryce handed her a comfy looking (and feeling) sweatshirt. She looked down at the maroon sweatshirt, then back at him, her mouth slightly ajar, “You brought an extra sweatshirt for me? I didn’t even ask.”

“You didn’t need to,” he shrugged. 

She put on the sweatshirt and stared at him with wide eyes. Bryce glanced at her, bit the inside of his lip, then shook his head, “Don’t go thinking I care about you or anything now, Lovey. I couldn’t have you taking the sweatshirt I’m wearing, then I’d freeze up. 

She looked up at him with a smug grin on her face that made him regret bringing her the sweatshirt in the first place, “Yeah? Is that really all it was?”

“Yes, that’s all, Sunshine,” he did his best to act all annoyed by her questioning, but instead found it endearing in the end. 

It took him a moment, but eventually, he came up with a half-decent excuse, “besides, you know my grandma would kill me if she knew I let you freeze. I swear, sometimes it seems like she loves you more than she loves me.”

“That’s because she does,” she pointed it out like it was the only possibility, “can you blame her? I’m funny and adorable. You’re just a grumpy old man that I had to drag to this game.”

“That’s it. Take the sweatshirt off, I hope you freeze,” he said with the dirtiest look he could muster and she had the audacity to throw her head back and laugh.

She reached into her bag, and after digging around, she pulled a five-dollar bill out of her wallet. Thrusting the money into Bryce’s hand and pushing him in the direction of the concession stand, “here, go get some popcorn for us. Maybe then you won’t be so irritable once you get some food in you, I’ll find us some good seats.’

Bryce grumbled something about “you’re irritable” but nonetheless ventured off towards the concession stand. 

She climbed the steps up the stadium and immediately found Sienna and Danny sitting in the student section, all decked out in their school colours and face paint. Sienna greeted her with a warm hug. 

Pulling back, Sienna took note of what she was wearing, “is that Bryce’s?”

She looked down at the Stanford sweatshirt she had wrapped around herself, “Oh yes, it’s pretty comfortable, actually.”

Sienna pursed her lips and mulled over the new information, “What’s going on between the two of you?”

“What do you mean? We’re friends,” she shrugged.

“And Bryce knows that?” She paused, “Do you know that?”

She narrowed her eyes at Sienna, “Yes, of course I know that. I’m dating Rafael now, okay? Bryce and I have always just been friends, and that's all we’ll ever be.” Sienna nodded her head, “Okay, okay. If you say so, I believe you. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt, I care about both of you.”

“There aren’t any feelings between Bryce and I, don’t worry,” she said, but those words didn’t leave her mind for the rest of the night.

5. 

Bryce had spent a significant amount of the week dreaming about the coffee and cookie dough ice cream that was waiting for him in the freezer.

It was his favourite flavour, and there was just enough left in the carton for one last bowl of that sweet sweet goodness of a food. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t eat the last of it until he really deserved to. After spending his afternoon being productive and studying for the test he had tomorrow, he decided that he finally earned that delectable bowl of unhealthy but utterly delicious caramel-colored ice cream. 

He made his way down to the kitchen, humming an upbeat tune and sliding across the smooth marble floor in his most comfortable pair of socks. Bryce had made it all the way to the freezer, barely moments away from the compartment holding his currently most prized possession when a hasty knock at the front door stopped him in his tracks.

He paused. He was oh so close to getting to his ice cream; maybe it was just a delivery? He debated answering the door or ignoring it and getting the ice cream first. He was starting to lean towards just going for his bowl of ice cream when there was a knock at the door again. With a scowl on his face, he abandoned the freezer and any hope for happiness he had left and made his way to the front door.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” He said in surprise when he saw who was standing at her doorstep.

“I didn’t know who else to go to. Sienna’s out with Danny, and Aurora and Jackie aren’t good in situations like this,” she spoke quietly and sniffled in between sentences, trying not to let any more tears fall down her cheek, “sorry, I just-”

He interrupted her by pulling her into the darkening sky and into his house and arms. She melted into his touch and gripped his shirt tightly as she hugged him back. 

“What happened?” he asked softly, rubbing circles into her back with his thumbs.

“Rafael and I broke up.”

Bryce sighed softly and rested his chin on her head. He bit his lip and weighed the options in front of him, before he came to a reluctant conclusion. He pulled away just enough so that he could look her in her teary bloodshot eyes.

“I think this is the part where we break out the ice cream.”

She offered him a slightly trembling smile, “ice cream couldn’t hurt.”

He led her to the kitchen and began digging through the freezer while she hopped onto the counter beside him. He hid a frown from her while in the process of pulling the nearly empty carton of coffee and cookie dough ice cream out of the freezer.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” Bryce asked, retrieving a bowl from one of the cabinets.

“It wasn’t even a bad break up,” Despite her words, she still wiped at her tears using the sleeves of her shirt, “we mutually agreed that it was best for both of us.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded, “he’s just...not the one, I guess.”

Bryce felt something twist and turn in his stomach, and he knew it wasn’t right to be happy when his friend was so miserable, but he was anyway. He did his best to hide the smile that wanted to form at the corners of his mouth, “I’m sorry, Cupcake.”

She laughed, “Cupcake?”

He rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face remained, “I’m trying something new, okay? Running out of nicknames.”

She couldn’t help but match his infectious smile, “you’re not gonna have any ice cream?” she asked as he passed her the bowl.

“Nah, not in the mood for it,” he lied.

6. 

“Did you get enough sleep last night, Hon?” She was already in mid-yawn when he had asked the question.

She held a hand over her mouth and nodded, “yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“You look terrible.”

She scowled at him, “wow, just what a girl wants to hear. Anyone ever tell you you’re one hell of a charmer, Lahela?”

“You’d be surprised, actually,” he gave her a teasing smile, “so who’s the cause for your sleepless night?”

“Napoleon Bonaparte.” She made an emphasis on the textbook in her hands, “Why’d I ever let you convince me to take an AP class with you?”

“Because you so desperately enjoy spending time with me?”

“Nah, that’s not it.”

“Ouch,” Bryce held a hand over his heart, “you really stayed up late studying for the quiz?”

“Some people have to study, okay? Not everyone is as gifted as Bryce flippin’ Lahela.”

“Flippin’? Really?” He stifled a laugh.

“We’re at school, gotta keep it PG,” she shrugged, “so yeah, I stay up and study sometimes. High schoolers aren’t supposed to get a normal amount of sleep, it’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes I worry about you.”

She tilted her head to the side and gave him a small smile, “you don’t need to worry about me, Bry.” 

“Believe me, if I could just shut it off, I would. Look, I’ll make you a stack of flashcards next time so you can get more sleep.”

She was about to say something in response when her phone rang in her pocket, “I should get this.”

She went out into the hallway to answer the call, and Bryce turned back to his lunch, not even bothering to hide his growing smile. 

“Bryce.”

He jumped at the sound of a voice and turned to see Sienna sitting at the desk across from him. Had she been listening to them the whole time? He had completely forgotten she was there; a fact he certainly wasn’t about to share with her. 

“Yes, Sienna?”

“Do you have a crush on her?”

Bryce blinked a few times, certain that he hadn’t heard Sienna right, “Excuse me?

Sienna rolled her eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “You heard me right. I’m not blind, Bryce. I see the way you look at her when you think no one is focusing. Do you have a crush on her?”

“That’s ridiculous, where’d you even get the idea from?”” He made a face like he was disgusted by the very thought of it. 

“Oh, I dunno, you just do whatever it takes to make her happy. Not to mention that you have a different pet name for her every time I see you two, seems pretty affectionate to me, Bryce.” She did always have a talent for laying out the facts.

“We’ve been friends since before I could remember, of course I care about her. And so what if I have a nickname for her? It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s not like you have a nickname for anyone else.”

“I call you...Si...all the time,” he paused to rethink what he just said, “I have a nickname for everyone.” 

“We both know that’s a load of B.S, are you really telling me that you don’t like her?”

“I don’t like her,” and it wasn’t an exact lie, because the feelings he had for her had progressed far beyond liking. 

7. 

“There’s nothing people appreciate more than a hand-made gift, right?” She said and pulled out a ball of azure coloured yarn.

Bryce crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against a wall, “Sure, except maybe a nice Rolex or a new car.”

She gave him a look, “I don’t know what it is about me that makes you think I can afford a Rolex or a new car. I’m an unemployed high school student, my only income comes in the form of birthday cards from my grandparents.”

“Well, I’m sure Sienna will love the scarf you make for her.”

“Yeah, how hard could it be?” She muttered and stared blankly at the mess of strings in her lap.

His eyes widened a little, “Wait, you’re telling me you’ve never crocheted before?”

“I'll get the hang of it soon enough,” she pulled up a beginners guide on YouTube, and five minutes later, she had a knotted pile of yarn in her hands. She huffed in frustration and began to aggressively pull at the yarn.

“Let me help you.”

“You? Know how to knit?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. 

Bryce rolled his eyes, sitting next to her and taking the “scarf” out of her hands, “This is crocheting. You don’t even use knitting needles”

“Apologies. And how do you even know how to crochet?” 

“I may or may not have taken lessons a couple summers back to impress Alisson Rivers?” He admitted, quickly untangling her “progress” and began to expertly thread the loops of yarn together. He held up his work to her once a pattern had begun to form, “being incredibly sexy has its perks,” he jokingly winked at her. 

“I hate that you’re good at everything.”

He snorted and gently began to move the work into her hands for her to finish the rest, “Not everything, maybe just most things.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,”  She waved him off, now laser-focused on the project in front of her and determined to get it right that time. Bryce gave her tips and advice every once in a while, but for the most part, he let her work on it by herself. She was a fast learner. 

“Sweethea-” Bryce cut himself off, remembering the conversation he had with Sienna earlier. He cleared his throat, “you’re never gonna get it like that.”

She looked up at him with furrowed brows, “What?” He swallowed roughly and shook his head, “It’s nothing. Just...you’re going to wanna pull the yarn a little tighter or it’s all going to unravel before you’re even finished.”

“Oh,” She gave him a thankful smile, “thanks, Bryce.”

8.

It was almost 2 in the morning, and she knew that getting any more than four of sleep was out of the equation at that point. She wasn’t exactly trying very hard to sleep. She had tried to refresh her Instagram feed maybe two dozen times now, but it wasn’t as if anyone was going to post in the middle of the night. And even so, Instagram was doing a fairly poor job at keeping her mind distracted. 

Sighing out in frustration, she threw her body back onto her bed with a loud sigh. She wrinkled her nose and finally caved in to her temptations, navigating to the facetime app on her phone. Hesitating one last time, she tapped his contact with her thumb. The phone began to hum as she waited for him to pick up. 

“Hey, Bry. I know it’s late,” she said when he finally answered the phone. She frowned when he realised he was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, “sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No, no. I couldn’t sleep anyway,” replied his groggy and raspy voice. 

“I know you’re lying, Bryce. Don’t worry about it, go back to sleep”

“I was already up.”

“No, you weren’t. It’s really fine, don’t let me bother you.

He stopped rubbing his eyes and looked at her firmly through the camera, “Maybe I was asleep, but I’m up now, aren’t I? Don’t worry about waking me up. Besides, I’d much rather be talking to you.’

She pursed her lips, giving him a doubtful look. He was too polite to ever tell her if she was bothering him. She couldn’t tell if he genuinely wanted to talk to her, or if he was too courteous to tell her otherwise.

He noticed the look she gave him, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe me. I would’ve stopped being friends with you years ago if I didn’t find all your annoying habits endearing as hell. I promise,” he shot her a smug smile that almost made her wish she hadn’t called him up. 

“How kind of you,” she said sarcastically.

“I try,” his grin widened, if that were even possible, “so what did you want to talk to me about?” 

She chewed on her bottom lip and shrugged, “I dunno.”

“You don’t?” Bryce narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to the camera. After he had examined her carefully, he leaned back and crossed his arms, “Yeah you do. What is it?”

She shifted uncomfortably by how easy it was for him to see right through her. Once more that night, she caved, “Earlier, when you told me to tighten the yarn. You stopped yourself from calling me ‘sweetheart’.”

He tensed, but she didn’t notice, “I mean, what’s so unusual about that? That's a perfectly normal thing for someone to do.”

“I know,” she nodded, “but you always call me some cheesy pet name. Always. So, did something happen? Are you mad at me?”

He raised an eyebrow and shook his head, “No, of course not. Everything’s fine,” he paused, “that really upset you?”

“It’s just that you’ve always had a nickname for me, I guess I got used to it.”

He laughed through his nose and couldn’t stop the amused smile from spreading across his lips, “Okay, Boo.”

9. 

“Am I finally going to get to see your mural?”

Bryce rolled his eyes, “It isn’t my mural, Love. It’s the senior mural, it’s not like I’m painting it.”

“Yeah, but it was your idea,” she gave him a playful nudge, “I don’t know why you haven’t told me what it is yet. I’m sure if the amazing Bryce Lahela designed it, it’ll be the best senior mural this school has ever seen. 

“Don’t get your hopes up, Babe. I’d hate to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me,” she said matter-of-factly, “you’re Bryce Lahela.”

They turned the corner to see their fellow senior, Kyra Santana, working on the mural. The previously beige wall was now covered in black, gray, and light blue paint. In the middle of the painting was a figure made up of colourful handprints standing above the blue-gray ocean in front of them. 

She stared at the mural with an open mouth. She glanced from Kyra, to Bryce, then back to the artwork in front of her.

“It was my idea to make the figure all colourful with the handprints,” Bryce said, “I thought it would be nice to let our class literally leave a mark on this school.”

Kyra smiled at the mural and set her paintbrush down, “I was a great idea, the splash of colour is just what it needed,” she turned to her, “what do you think?”

“Like it? No, I...I love it, it’s perfect,” she turned to Bryce with wide eyes, “Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, this is my favourite painting.”

“I noticed--don’t give me that look. It’s not like I care that much, you just never shut up about this painting. It’s annoying, really,” he muttered, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at his shoes.

She smiled and turned her attention back to the mural, “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I love this. I can’t believe you remembered.”

“Of course. It’s worth it, seeing how much you like it.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You’re the kind of person I could fall in love with, you know that?” She didn’t take her eyes off the wall that the mural proudly sat on, and Bryce was glad.

Maybe if she had looked at him, she would have seen his breath catch in his throat and his eyes widen just a little bit. If he was the kind of person she could fall in love with, then why didn’t she? Bryce was flustered, and if she had noticed his lack of response, she didn’t mention it.

10.

Their high school was filled with rich kids. Their high school also had a debate team with a minimal number of members. These factors resulted in Bryce and her having their own separate hotel rooms when they attended a debate function in Washington D.C.

After a long day of debating and watching other teams debate, she and Bryce walked side by side down the narrow corridor to their respective rooms. Every now and then, they sneaked looks at each other when they thought the other wouldn’t notice.

Bryce cleared his throat, “So that guy in the blue shirt asked me for your number.”

She glanced up at him, “He did? Did you give it to him?”

“No.”

“What? Why not?”

“Thought he was out of your league. I told him you snored like an ogre and gave him Jackie’s number instead,” he said with a careless shrug.

She gasped and shoved his shoulder, “Are you kidding me? You know I don’t snore, he was cute and interested in me!”

“Can’t imagine why.”

She scowled, “For your information, I’m adorable. I’m funny, enjoyable to be around, and have a high tolerance for assholes who shut down opportunities for their friends. And I’m extremely attractive, which is an added plus.”

“You don’t need to sell me on reasons why you’re dateable,” he chuckled softly.

“Oh yeah?”

At that very moment, they turned to face each other. Their teasing banter stopped when they realised that they were only inches apart, able to hear every inhale and exhale of the other. His gaze flickered down to her lips, and it was only for a second, but she hadn’t missed a single bit of it. 

Bryce took a step back and cleared his throat, standing rather uncomfortably, “It’s late, we should go to bed. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she echoed before they both hurriedly turned around and stepped into their own rooms.

Had he almost kissed her? Did that really just happen? Her mind wandered as she leaned against her hotel room door. 

Maybe she had just imagined it. She shook the thought out of her head and grabbed a sweatshirt along with a pair of shorts out of her suitcase. Maybe she would stop thinking about it after a good night's rest. She changed, brushed her teeth, and was about to turn the lights off when she felt that nagging feeling bubble up in the pits of her stomach once more.

It was naive to think her mind would stop racing that night if she didn’t confront Bryce about it. She set the covers that were in her hands down and made her way out into the fluorescent-lit hallway. She had made it all the way to his door when she stopped herself. 

Was that really what she wanted to do? If she brought up their almost-kiss, would they ever be able to go back to being friends? Did she even want them to go back to being just friends? She bit her lip and glanced back at her own room door. She should’ve just gone to bed, it wasn’t worth putting their entire friendship on the line. But then again, she would always wonder what could have happened if she never followed her gut.

She raised her fist to knock on his door, but before she could make contact, the door swung open. They once more stood face to face, their wide-eyed expressions mirroring each other. For a moment in time, all that stood between them were the accelerated heartbeat and the flutters they felt for one another. 

Bryce’s arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer to him. Her hand had found its place on the back of his neck and guided his lips to hers. His eyes were half-open, sneaking glances at her to assure himself that he wasn’t dreaming. Her overwhelming scent and the feeling of his hands threaded through her hair were all too real.

He pulled her into his room, kicking the closed door behind him. Placing both hands on his broad chest, she pushed him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.

Thoughts were racing in her mind. She tried to put reason to the way he gripped her waist so tightly that there were sure to be bruises there the very next day. She tried to put reason to the way his pupils dilated as she went in for another kiss; she came up empty-handed. 

There was no way she felt the same, Bryce told himself. There was no way that she loved him the way he loved her. For as long as he could remember, he had been in love with her, and for as long as he could remember, she had only seen him as her friend.

He missed the warmth of her lips when she pulled away, but he couldn’t help but admire the way her lips were slightly swollen and her hair was a mess. Her eyes were mesmerising, and the way the light highlighted the softness of her skin made him fall even more. He took that moment to memorise every line and curve of her face, forever branding that memory into his head. 

She leaned in to kiss him again, but he pushed her away this time and sat up, “Stop. we...we can’t do this.  This can’t just be a one-time thing.”

“What?”

He felt his heart twist inside his chest and he clenched his jaw, “Because I love you.”

Her lips curled up in a smile, “I love you too.”

[normal-thoughts-official]

you talk a lot about magnus and camille dynamic and how they started and all that great meta content that you know i love but here's a question that idk if you ever got: how long do you think they were together? bc i can't think of a specific timeline and personally i love the one you talked abt at some point how she was pretty much right after asmododo or something like that, so he went from one type of abuse into another... but how long was he there? was camille with him for 20 years? 80? 130? any theories?

ugh that's a complicated one because i don't really have an answer for that and i think about it often as well

altho i think you got confused about her being right after asmodeus, i definitely don't think she was. i mentioned it my post about the timeline to say that magnus COULDN'T have been born close to the 1800s because that would make it asmodeus and camille way too close and that can't be the case because it would imply camille is basically the only person he dated before alec doajsdoaj and we know that's not true cuz there's also other ppl like george and etc. it was more a point in favor of "early to mid 1600s" for his birth date

anyway! let's go through this. i mentioned in another post that i think he got together with camille right after george, and that i think george died around the middle of the US civil war, which lasted from 1861 to 1865. so let's say they got together around 1863. now, we have a few pieces of information:

magnus mentioned that he hadn't been with anyone for "almost a century" when talking to alec. i know i think magnus is time blind but he can't be TOO off here. that was in 2016 so that would make their breakup date be a little after 1916 if magnus remembers correctly

literally the only thing about the timeline in that time period that i can remember is that one picture there was in his file of magnus surrounded by girls at a party, which looked to be in the 20s to me. since camille was an abusive asshole probably sabotaging his every chance to meet people, that couldn't have been when they were together. so i'd say 1920 is like, the limit for when they could have broken up. it's up to you whether or not you think magnus would be jumping into his party animal role immediately after the breakup or if it would take some time for him to heal; personally i think both make sense (i think she made a huge number on him so it would make sense for him to take a while to get back to that kind of thing; on the other hand, a lot of people turn straight to being party animals after breaking up abusive relationships, especially because for so long abusers have kept them from doing anything fun. so both work imo) so it's up to you

conclusion: they broke up in 1920 at the latest, so the max you could go for is 80 years, if you go with a timeline where camille was right after george (george can't be after camille because magnus has had no relationships after camille, but there could have been a bigger gap between george and camille than i personally hc). it could still be less tho, because we literally have NO information whatsoever on what happened between 1861 and 1920. even if you go with "they broke up and magnus immediately went full party animal" (which is perfectly valid), it's also entirely possible that this happened in say, 1901 and that pic just happened to be from the 20s, years later. but i also don't think it could have been a lot earlier than 1901 because magnus said almost a century, implying less than a century between the year they broke up and 2016. and while i do think that any immortal would lose track of time after a while and mingle years and decades together, nevermind adhd time blind icon magnus bane, if they had broken up in, say, 1880, magnus would remember that over a century has passed, if anything because so much has changed since then. so i think for him to say that the breakup should have happened in the 20th century at least

so that's the analysis from what we've seen in the show. personal opinion! i think 80 years makes sense, but is a bit much. it makes sense because there does seem to be a pretty obvious gap in magnus' file from the 1860s to the 1920s and then it goes back to having many pictures of him, and that "disappearance" makes sense in the context of him being in an abusive relationship (which limits your interactions and going outs by a lot). it does seem to be a bit much because magnus is at max 400, so, if they had been together 80 years, that would have been 20% of magnus' life spent with camille. or 1/5. added with all the time with asmodeus, it seems to be... a bit much dioadsoaijd and like look i'm not judging, i know abusive relationships can last many years and decades even for mortals, nevermind immortals, but i just don't like the idea of it lasting this long personally, especially because i think it makes him getting with alec seem actually a bit soon considering how long the abusive relationship lasted, and that's ignoring asmodeus' abuse on top of it

so personally, i like it morenif its around 40-50 years. i think it makes sense. it would mean the breakup was sometime around the 1910s, and while, okay, there is a gap in his file that seems to only end in the 20s, we must not forget an important fact: shadowhunters are stupid. so i actually think it makes sense that like, magnus emerges from his abusive relationship and is still getting back on his feet, and shadowhunters just don't care. like who is that guy? oh some warlock, no one's heard of him since like the 1860s lol. whatever happened to him? who cares. anyway, we love racism

and then around a decade later it turns out that magnus is healing enough to be a pain in their ass; say, that is when he becomes HWoB, or simply that they are reminded of how powerful magnus actually is once he is back in activity, and so they go back to like, investigating him and updating his file. so the file gap could be explained in that case. it also actually makes more sense that it would take shadowhunters a while to pay attention to him again, and since magnus was healing from an abusive relationship, the time it would take for him to draw their attention might well be around a decade

and with 40-50 years of an abusive relationship that would mean magnus has spent 10-12% of his life with camille; which is a LOT of time (for comparison: my first abusive relationship lasted a little over a year and i was 16 at the time; that makes it have lasted around 6% of my life at the time, and it did a HUGE number on me, taking me almost 3 years to have a relationship again), but not quite as much as a full 20%. not just that, but him taking "almost a century" (it would actually make it be a little over a century in this timeline, but again, magnus is immortal and time blind, so give him a break) to get with anyone again makes sense. that would be around double the time he's spent with her before he heals enough to be with someone else. that tracks, because abuse fucks you up fast and unfuckening yourself up takes longer. magnus isn't even fully unfucked up (which is okay, he doesn't have to be), but for him to be ready to take such huge steps as he is taking with alec, i think around double the time he's spent with her spent on healing makes sense

(again, i'm mostly going off my own experiences here; my abusive relationship lasted almost a year and a half, my next relationship was almost three years after the breakup. so almost perfectly double the time before i was ready to have another relationship. and again, i know recovery isn't the same for everyone and a lot of factors go into this, but i just think a timeline where he's been with her for 80 years and then gets with alec less than 100 afterwards is a bit too fast)

i still think 40 years is kind of a very long time to be in an abusive relationship and like holy shit i cant even imagine, but also i mean, mortals have abusive relationships that last that long and to an immortal itd feel like less time, and it does seem to be what best fits the timeline, so

and yeah i think those are my thoughts dadsajdsa

LAST MINUTE EDIT BEFORE THIS IS PUBLISHED CUZ IM NOT REDOING THE WHOLE THING: i got an anon today saying that magnus said something about not having seen camille in 130 years (link) which i didnt/dont really remember but i trust that theyre right and im wrong because i dont remember a lot of shit from this show. 130 years before 2016 would be 1886, meaning that if they broke up at that time and got together right after george's death as i personally hc, that's a 20-year relationship. that sounds like it fits the timeline as much as any other to me, and like i said in that ask, i think it makes sense that magnus would play it down to alec by saying "almost a century" instead of how long it's really been cuz it's a bit too vulnerable, and plus, we know one of the ways he protects himself is by not letting people pinpoint exactly some important dates from his past, particularly his birthday and etc

and okay i know that 20 years together, then 130 years recovering is a huge difference, but also i think with twenty years together as opposed to my comparatively short abusive relationship the scars of abuse would deepen a lot and quicker, so maybe it makes sense that it would take a longer time to feel confident enough to get to dating again. plus, like i said, there's no real math to be had in that process, everyone is different, has their own history and recovery process and etc so it's not like there is a deadline. so actually scratch everything i said above im going with this timeline. the one thing that doesn't track with that is the gap in his file but also like i said shadowhunters are stupid, so. yeah 20 years together is probably closer to it

in the end its kind of a relief cuz i was like "holy shit 40 years is so LONG" so... yeah udndidn

[ya-like-space]

Oranges, A Warm Summer’s Breeze, and Home

Souji didn’t want to leave. In the short year he was there, Inaba had become his home. The only place he’d ever felt like he truly belonged. As he watched his friends and family grow farther and farther away from the train window, tears slowly started to run down his cheeks. He’s leaving behind the best thing that’s ever happened to him. When the platform was no more than a speck in the distance, Souji sat back in his seat. Closing his eyes, he drifts off to sleep.

 He wakes up hours later to a station announcement. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he grabs his bag from the overhead. Stepping off the train, a rush of emotion hits him. It hadn’t been long since he’d been in Tokyo, but it felt like forever. It all felt wrong. A sense of unfamiliarity flowed throughout him as he walked through the busy streets. Compared to Inaba, everything was so much bigger. 

 Dreading walking into his parent’s apartment again, Souji stood outside the door, counting. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, ...10.  Upon reaching 10, he flung open the door. Duffel bag in hand, he raced quickly and quietly to his bedroom. His parents weren’t home, and wouldn’t be for another two days. Couldn’t even make it home to greet their own son. Setting his bag down, he flopped onto his bed. He didn’t want to unpack, knowing if he did, the reality of the situation would set in. Instead, he settled for glaring at all the boxes already in his room. They had arrived days prior. 

 He can still remember how hard it was for him to pack. A part of him wanted to leave everything there, exactly how it was, so when he came back it would all be the same. But the rational part of him had won out, and he called Yosuke over to help him. Though it probably hadn’t been necessary, Souji had wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. They had gotten all of the things he was taking with him packed in only an hour. Leaving them the rest of the day to spend with each other. Not wanting to be in his empty room anymore, Yosuke had suggested they take a walk to the Samegawa. Or at least, that’s what Souji thought was going to happen.

 Yosuke had confessed to him. Down by the riverbank, in the same place they had their fight. He had broken down when they got there, spilling his heart to Souji. Yosuke kissed him that day, arms looped around Souji’s back, hands in his hair. They walked home together hand in hand, tear tracks still visible on Yosuke’s cheeks.

 Souji already misses Inaba, and he’s barely been in Tokyo an hour. It wasn’t fair that he had to leave. That he had to go back to an empty apartment, to parents who were never home, to parents who used him, and a new school of people who don’t know what he’s been through. 

 That night, Souji dreamt of a warm embrace and a rushing river.

 Even though he really didn’t want to, Souji began unpacking his stuff. He started with the duffel bag, which was mostly empty. Other than a few changes of clothes, and his toiletries. 

 But when he opened the first box, instead of the muted black of the old t-shirt that Souji had thought would be on top, there was a rumpled lump of orange fabric on top, which was revealed to be a very familiar hoodie when he pulled it out of the box by one sleeve. It was one of Yosuke’s hoodies, the one he’d been wearing when he’d helped Souji pack up his room, in fact. Tears begin streaming down his face. Souji lifts the hoodie out of the box, burying his face in it. It smells like oranges, a warm summer's breeze, and home. He stays like this for a while, before attempting to compose himself. Flipping over the hoodie, he sees something that was previously hidden. A little pink sticky note, stuck to the underside of the cloth. 

  I’ll miss u partner <3

 That breaks him. Souji crumples into a ball on the floor, unable to stop sobbing. A good 10 minutes go by before he can even think again. When he finally manages to collect himself, he gets an idea. His parents arrive tomorrow, so he’ll have to leave early in the morning. He buys a one way ticket to Inaba, and repacks all of his things. This has to work. Before he goes to bed, he sends a text to Dojima, telling him about the plan. Dojima immediately agrees, telling Souji he’ll pick him up from the station tomorrow.

 Souji gets up the next morning, and writes a note to his parents. Placing it on the dining room table, it feels like a weight has been lifted from him. He walks back to the train station. On the ride back to Inaba, Souji wonders if he did the right thing. But then he looks down at the hoodie he slipped on that morning, before leaving. All doubts leave his mind at the first sight of orange. He rests his head against the window as the gentle rumbling of the train lulls him into a peaceful sleep.

 When he wakes, the conductor is announcing Yasoinaba Station is only minutes away. Souji grabs his duffel bag and moves to the other side of the train. It’s almost like coming here the first time, with the empty compartment and empty station. He meets Dojima outside, getting into the passenger seat of the car.

 “Hi.”

 Dojima turns his head to look at him. Ruffling Souji’s hair he smiles, “Hey there kiddo. It’s good to see you.”

 Souji smiles back at him.

 “It’s only been a day,” he pauses, his expression softening slightly, “but I missed you too, Uncle.”

 The drive back to the house is silent. But it’s the good kind of silence. The kind that calms you, and steadies your nerves. Souji’s half expecting to be bombarded by Nanako when they get inside, but instead, the house is dark. 

 “Nanako went to play at a friend’s house today. She should be home soon.”

 “Oh. Okay.”

 Souji had been excited to see his cousin, but he was fine with waiting. It would give him and his Uncle time to sort some things out.

 “Now. Souji. Are you sure you want to do this? Because if you are, 

I’m willing to do whatever needs to be done.”

 Dojima wasn’t an idiot. He had seen the signs of abuse in his nephew when he had first arrived in Inaba,  and as much as he would like to believe his sister wouldn’t do something like that, he knew it was true. And when Souji had sent him a message asking about  this, well, he couldn’t deny it anymore. He cared about Souji, and wanted him to be safe.

 “Yes. I’m sure. I don’t want to be a part of that family anymore, I don’t want to be treated like a doll, like I’m just there for their entertainment. I want to be here, with my real family.”

 “That’s all I needed to know. Now let’s get this paperwork filled out.”

 “Alright.”

 Nanako arrived home hours after they had finished filing everything out. Her face had lit up upon seeing Souji.

 “Big Bro!”

 She jumped into him, squeezing her arms around his middle.

“What are you doing here?”

 He smiles down at her.

 “I decided I’m not going back to the city.”

 “Yay!”

 The three of them spent that night redoing Souji’s room, and eating take-away. Souji had decided he was gonna surprise Yosuke tomorrow. His shift at Junes ended at 3, so all he had to do was show up after it was over.

 When Souji woke the next morning, Dojima was arguing with someone on the phone. Souji’s parents, most likely. He listened for a while, barely able to make out any of the words. They sounded angry, and he was glad that he didn’t have to deal with them. Dojima hung up the phone, finally noticing Souji.

 “Hm? Oh, good morning Souji.”

 “Are my parents angry?”

 Dojima nodded, motioning for Souji to sit.

 “They seem to think they own you, and that they reserve the right to control your every move.”

 His expression darkened.

 “Souji. You should’ve said something sooner.”

 “I know. But I was afraid too.”

 “Well, as long as you’re safe now.”

 Souji smiled softly, “Yeah. I am.”

 After speaking with his Uncle for a bit longer, and getting the last of the adoption papers filled, he headed to the Samegawa to kill time. It was a little hard getting there, since he nearly ran into Yukiko on the way. Souji wasn’t quite ready to tell the rest of the team he was in Inaba again, in case something went wrong. The only exception being Yosuke. He really wanted to see Yosuke again, but he had to wait. Souji spent the next few hours down by the riverbank, listening to the rushing water.

 Before he knew it, it was almost 3, and Souji made his way to Junes. His plan was to wait near the back entrance, where Yosuke parks his bike. That way, if someone he knew was in Junes, they wouldn’t see him.

  One minute. 30 seconds. 15 seconds. Now!  Yosuke walked through the door, right on time. At first, he didn’t notice Souji was there. But then he saw him standing, right next to his bike. Yosuke barreled into him, laughing happily.

 “Souji! What are you doing here?”

But then Souji said the best thing Yosuke had heard all day.

 "I'm not going," suddenly Souji had him pushed up against a wall, and was kissing him. It wasn't a gentle kiss either, it was hard and demanding and so full of need that Yosuke started to feel a little dizzy.

 "W-what?" he managed to stutter, utterly bewildered by the turn of events.

 "Tell me you love me," Souji requested.

 Now Yosuke definitely wasn’t expecting that, his face flushing a deep red. Souji was looking at him, but the look in his eyes was something Yosuke had never seen before. Something like panic, or desperation. For some reason Souji had come all the way back to Inaba, and the least Yosuke could do was grant this small request.

 "I love you, Souji.”

 Souji practically squeezed him to death in a hug, burying his face in the side of Yosuke's neck with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

 "Say it again," he repeated, voice muffled by Yosuke's shirt. Yosuke grinned, feeling warmth flow throughout him.

 "I love you," he sighed, wrapping his arms around Souji in return.

  There’s that smell again. Souji breathed in deeply. Oranges, a warm summer's breeze, and home.

Home.

He’s finally home.

@souyoweek2020​ Day 6 | scent

One more day! I've had the idea for this fic in my head, ever since I finished the game for the first time. I always thought there should've been an ending where Souji got to stay in Inaba. This ended up being a tad bit heavier then i wanted, but it kind’ve took on a life of its own while I was writing it. 

[grisdidthis]

hood building post #1ost-c0unt

After redoing the whole thing from scratch FOUR WHOLE TIMES because of being unable to settle on a terrain I was happy with, here we see Platform 42 in its final form. The place has come a long way since V1! (And by “come a long way” I mean, of course, “I am a masochist who loves giving herself more work”, but shhhh. It’s okay. It’s alright.)

To recap: P42 started as a hood this tiny, with seven households and no community lots, target population 201 sims. 

Backstory for it is that the world went up in zombies, and the only place where the undead won’t eat your brain is this city in the middle of the sea that’s run by evil scientists. A bunch of other people live there too, but most of them have been exposed to so much fuckery that by now, there’s not a normal person to be found among them. The story I have on standby at @platform42ts2​ (which is undergoing the slowest and most piecemeal of revamps while yours truly learns how to do Photoshop) follows the quest of a bunch of residents, new and old, who are trying to kick out the mad science gang and turn the place into a more wholesome environment. 

The current hood layout and household distribution, depicted below, reflect the aftermath of those shenanigans, because I’m not waiting the five thousand years it will take to finish and publish the whole story in order to start playing this hood properly. (I’ll just wait the two thousand years it will take me to decorate 15 buildings and edit everyone’s relationships and stats. Nyeh.) 

text to go with those numbers (AND to serve as an index for the “look at this decrepit pile of junk I spent a whole week artfully arranging!” posts that will pop up as I work my way through decorating all of these.)

Apartment Lot: Ardeidae Labs - Apt. #1 - Beaker (Circe & Loki) - Apt. #2 - Curious (Lazlo, Vidcund, Pascal, Jenny, Nervous Subject) Apt. #3 - Beaker/Loste (Kristen & Erin), Apt. #4 - McMillan/Muldeck (Dana & David) 

Community Lot: The Open Library - Owned by Caitlin Cartaine.

Community Lot: The Common Market - Owned by Izza Madhavi

Community Lot: Govender Gardens - Owned by Joko Govender

Community Lot: Administration Office

Household: Sala/Starbrook (Rita & Juniper)

Household: Madhavi/Hamadani (Izza, Fatima, Hafeez, Tariq)

Household: Heron/Maple (Philemon, Mace, Beatrice, the Drude)

Household: Grunt/Smith (Tank, Ripp, Buck, Jill)

Household: Von Laar/Madhavi (Lars & Nadeem) 

Household: Govender/Marais (Joko, Maraliese, Imka, Igmar, Alphonse)

Apartment Lot: Community Housing Center - Dumping ground for all those townies who will inevitably start growing on me to the point where I can’t help myself and promote them to playables.

Apartment Lot: The Old Fish Factory - Apt. #1 - Nagarajan (Nasim & Arjun) Apt. #2 - Nagarajan/Kahale (Alona, Sanjay, Kali, Lani) Apt. #3 - Nagarajan/Loner (Devika & Ajay)

Household: Madhavi/Salman (Abdul & Zeena)

Household: Cartaine/Yi (Moina, Caitlin, Eilis, Jiaying, Suyin, Subject 4) 

LOT USED FOR RANDOM STORY SETS 

So the number of households more than doubled, and the number of playable sims went from twenty to close to fifty (if you include the Strange Isle folks, who weren’t named in the list above because they live in a sub-hood.) HEY AT LEAST ALL THE PEOPLE I SET OUT TO MAKE ARE FINISHED AND PACKAGED. (And I’m long overdue on taking and posting some mugshots of the ones I haven’t shared yet BUT OH WELL.) I’ve resigned myself to the fact that this hood will take an ice age to be what I want it to be, so. Fifteen interior decoration hellscapes left to tackle!

(I say, as if making houses I will never be able to afford IRL isn’t the part of this game I live for.)

[worldoflis]

Close Binaries Chapter 11. Kidnap / Eggnog

A/N Here are 1800 words (!) in which I continue to have no clue how the American educational system works, nor what an average Performing Arts curriculum entails. That is why this is an AU, but hey, at least we get some Blaine-on-Kurt time again? Also, not one, but TWO canon references - I’m on a roll, people! Apart from the fact that I’m not even halfway through the advent and Christmas has passed, that is. Also also, I’m trying to keep these pieces readable as stand-alone one-shots, but there might be some references to previous chapters in here that are difficult to place. Just... roll with it?

1. athlete / snowman  //  2. bury / cinnamon  //  3. camera / candle  //  4. deputy / paper  //  5. exclude / ribbon  //  6. feed / festival  //  7. gradual / star  //   8. house / gift  //  9. incident / latke  //  10. joke / light

It’s late when Kurt gets home that night. His class’ Performance midterm is tomorrow, and they’d booked the theater to run through the whole play one more time. And then another time. And another. He’s never been more grateful to his perfectionism for insisting his props were of the highest quality, even if they were meant for one performance only, because otherwise he’d have spent the whole night either fixing them or replacing them.

Redoing the one turkey had been more than enough, thank you.

But as he sets his bag down on the couch and makes for the kitchen to make himself some warm milk, he hears arguing voices coming from Rachel’s room.

“-even worse than the last one. We’re doing it again!”

“Rachel-”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through! How hard I’ve worked! I DESERVE to be at NYADA, and I won’t let ANYONE take my spot away from me! Especially not-”

“What the hell is going on here?”

Kurt’s not entirely sure what he expected to see when he burst into the room, but it was not this.

There’s a camera set up, pointing at a blank piece of wall that seems to be serving as a backdrop for whatever was happening. Rachel herself is not currently in front of the camera, but standing near her desk where her laptop is showing a recording of her singing. She’s looking terrible - her hair a mess, her cheeks flushed with anger - but it’s nothing compared to the poor guy sitting behind the laptop who, now that Kurt’s taking a better look-    

“Blaine?”

He knows Rachel had a classmate coming over tonight to work on some assignment. It was a do-over of sorts that she needed to both pass the course, and get to retake the course - Kurt is a little fuzzy about the details, but she’d been ranting about it all Monday evening. He does know that the classmate in question is her self-appointed archenemy Cronut Critter: a fellow NYADA freshman who is so devoid on talent he must have bought his way into NYADA (unlikely), is a terrible diva who is impossible to work with (takes one to know one), and who has made it his mission in life to upstage Rachel whenever possible (understandable).

He also knows Blaine - at least as far as you can know someone who you’ve sold two cupcakes to, and with whom you’ve exchanged an e-mail or two about the recipe. But Blaine is polite, and funny, and sweet, and also terribly cute, with a round little butt and warm, brown eyes that were full of life and sparkle the few times Kurt has seen them, and it almost breaks his heart now to just see tiredness and exasperation.

Cronut Critter is Blaine. Blaine is Cronut Critter, and Kurt is grappling with the truth of that. However, he has bigger fish to fry.

“Rachel, what are you doing? It’s past midnight, don’t you have a midterm tomorrow?”

“Who cares about midterms? My future at NYADA is at stake! All because someone,” and she glares at Blaine, who seems to shrink just a little, “doesn’t know how to properly use video processing software.”

Blaine’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Nobody knows how to use video processing software after midnight,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you just continue tomorrow evening?”

“Tomo- that’s- I can’t- it’s- No!” Rachel stutters through her sentences, too angry -or too tired?- to finish any of them. “The deadline is Thursday, which means we have to send it in Tuesday at the latest!”

"If the deadline is Thursday, you can send it in Thursday,” Kurt counters dryly, continuing before she has a chance to protest. “Besides, it’s after midnight, so technically it is Wednesday already. Most importantly though, I have had the longest rehearsal of my life, and I need to sleep - and I’m not gonna listen to you sing progressively worse through the night.”

“We’ll use headphones,” Rachel says stubbornly, crossing her arms. “Blaine is not going anywhere until my video is perfect.”

“Rachel. You can’t kidnap someone over a college assignment.”

“I can if my future is at stake!” Rachel yells back. “It’s his fault that we have to redo it in the first place, so now it is his responsibility to fix it!”

None of what she’s saying is making any sense, but Kurt wasn’t lying when he said he desperately wanted to sleep. Which means he’s going to have to take drastic measures.

“Ok,” he says, straightening his spine and lifting his chin as he marches forward. “You-” and he points at Rachel, “are shutting down the camera, closing the laptop, and going to bed.”

“But I-”

“You are going. to bed. ,” Kurt repeats, glaring at Rachel until she averts her eyes. “There’s not going to be any more singing, video editing, or anything other than sleeping going on in this room tonight. Not even with headphones,” he adds sternly, before Rachel can even open her mouth to suggest it. “I will hear it, and if I do, I will not help you with the editing tomorrow evening, is that understood?”

It takes another few seconds of glaring before Rachel nods meekly, and Kurt turns his attention to Blaine, who until now has not said a word and seems to have been trying to be as invisible as possible.

“And you,” Kurt tells him, voice now softer, compassionate, “are coming with me. I think we both could use a drink.”

It is in absolute silence that Blaine clambers up and follows Kurt out of the room, and Kurt can almost feel the relief emanating from him as they leave Rachel to herself.

“I’m sorry about Rachel,” he says, rummaging around in the cupboards for an extra mug, adding more milk to the pot already on the stove. “She can be a handful sometimes. But after she choked on her first audition, for the longest time it looked like she wouldn’t get to have a second chance. So now she’s terrified of anything that could take it away again. I don’t know what happened with your assignment but-”

Kurt has turned around to find Blaine standing in the exact same spot he left him, right in front of Rachel’s door. He’s just staring at Kurt, wide-eyed and exhausted, arms hanging limply by his side.

“What?”

“H-how are you here?”

Kurt looks at him.

“I... live here?”

“With Rachel?”

“Yes, with Rachel.”

“Oh.”

He’s still not moving, and Kurt’s starting to think maybe the poor guy has gone into shock. That would be a first, even for Rachel, but then again, she had been acting completely crazy, and God only knows how long Blaine had been stuck in that room with her, recording and re-recording songs.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m...” Blaine hesitates, looking back over his shoulder and back at Kurt, like he still can’t believe he made it out. “I think you may have just saved my life?”

Kurt bursts out laughing, and as he walks forward to hand Blaine his mug, he sees the corners of Blaine’s mouth curl up in a smile as well.

“Come on, sit with me.”

He leads the way to the couch, snuggling into the corner as he watches Blaine follow after him, looking suspiciously at the mug in his hands.

“What is this?”

“Warm milk,” Kurt says, and after seeing Blaine’s confused look, he adds defensively: “It’s delicious!”

“I’m not protesting,” Blaine reassures him. “Just... not what I was expecting when you said we could use a drink.”

“So, what, you wanted eggnog or something?” Kurt teases, and Blaine laughs, a wonderful, heartfelt laugh, and something skips in Kurt’s stomach.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to go to bed?” Blaine asks, hesitating before he sits down in the couch, but Kurt shrugs.

“Not like I’m gonna fall immediately after that,” he says, nodding towards Rachel’s door. “So I can just as well. Unless... you want to go home?”

“Nonono! No, no, I mean, sure, yeah, I should be heading home soon, but as you said, I can, you know, use a little time to, well, unwind. And, you know, it’s cold outside so, warming up beforehand is probably a good idea. Yeah.”

It’s cute almost, how Blaine is stuttering his way through his sentences, obviously trying to be cool about sharing a cup of warm milk with a near-stranger in the middle of the night. It’s a stark contrast with the suave, polished Blaine that had e-mailed him before, and again completely different from the stories he’s heard from Rachel about this highly ambitious, overachieving classmate of hers. It reminds him of himself as a freshman just a year ago, trying desperately to find his spot at NYADA, balancing his ambition and his need to make friends.

It wasn’t easy.

“Are you sure she’s not gonna come out?” Blaine asks, glancing at Rachel’s door with a hint of fear on his face, and Kurt smiles, following Blaine’s line of sight.

“Pretty sure,” he says. “She can get crazy, but she usually knows when she crosses the line. She just needs someone to call her out on it. And she knows I keep my promises, if she keeps hers, so I know I can trust her to not be eavesdropping at her doOr if shE waNTS MY HELP EDITING TOMORROW!”

He’s raised his voice progressively over the last sentence, so he’s actually shouting at Rachel’s door by the end of it, and they both hear a stumble and a hard bang.

“I’m okay!” Rachel shouts from behind the door. “Just a nightmare! I’m okay!”

Kurt smiles, shaking his head over the predictability of Rachel’s antics, and turns his attention back to Blaine.

“So, tell me. Why exactly does Rachel think she’s gonna lose her spot at NYADA over this assignment?”

12. Language / Chimney

[dramallamadingdang]

Replies

Apropos of nothing: I’ve got a root veggie stew stewing away in a slow cooker with lots of bay leaves and sage and thyme and stuff. My house smells SO GOOD! :D

Anyway, replies for @kathleen---sadist---saint, @penig, @ellupelluellu, @simblrkersil, @holleyberry, @siofrasims, @pensblr, @dreadpirate, @simaddicted-sue, and @lokisimmer...

kathleen---sadist---saint reblogged your post “very ignorant”

That was a sick burn whether it was meant to be one or not 😂

It actually wasn't meant to be a burn, no. It genuinely amuses me that people seem to think that calling someone "ignorant" is some kind of insult. Because every single person is completely ignorant about a LOT of things. There are probably many things that a so-called "brilliant" person is ignorant of that a so-called "stupid" person knows a lot about. Basically, those who claim they AREN'T ignorant are lying.

Of course, there's also willful ignorance -- Consciously refusing to learn, know, or consider something, usually because of fear that knowing will upset one's biases -- which is another thing. I find willful ignorance abhorrent and try to avoid indulging in it, but I still wouldn't be insulted if someone accused me of being willfully ignorant about something...because they could be right. Only human, and all that. Such an accusation would make me think about what biases I might be holding on to that I might want to consider ridding myself of, though, and that’s always a good thing.

penig replied to your photoset “Norbert & Susan Hawksley, Autumn, Part 1/3 The beekeeping Hawksleys,...”

That face has a lot of potential. Different hair would diminish the bowling ball effect.

It’s not so much “bowling ball” as the fact that the middle of his face, around his eyes, his cheekbones, and the bridge of his nose, is kind of caved in, at the moment. *laugh* The parents’ faces are so dissimilar that it’s hard for the game to mash ‘em together in such a small space. It’ll work itself out as he grows, though. Such things pretty much always do; I’ve never been able to understand why people freak out over “ugly” toddlers. *shrug* 

I don’t usually bother too much with toddlers’ appearance, though, because with the normal age lengths they’re only toddlers for four days, so it’s not worth fussing, in my mind. I COULD here, because with the age-modding the toddler stage is twelve days, but...meh. *laugh* They keep the hair they get. Sometimes I’ll change it when they’re a child...but sometimes they have the same style their whole life. *laugh* That’s how much I can’t be bothered. :)

ellupelluellu replied to your photoset “Norbert & Susan Hawksley, Autumn, Part 1/3 The beekeeping Hawksleys,...”

wich log walls you use? Your own or available at somewhere?

They’re my own. Here. I wanted more and different stone trims than Maxis made, to match some Maxis stone walls, plus I wanted the logs in my wood colors, to coordinate with all the doors/windows I’ve done, so....yeah. :)

simblrkersil replied to your post “*is now thinking about just ditching all the clothing defaults I spent...”

Skell's repository project works well with most texture-only defaults!

siofrasims replied to your post “*is now thinking about just ditching all the clothing defaults I spent...”

You can sometimes still use texture defaults with Skell's stuff!

Yeah, I figured that. So now I need to look for...or make...some texture defaults that I like. I don’t really enjoy retexturing clothing because the mapping usually annoys the piss out of me and I don’t know how to re-map stuff, but if I can’t find anything I like....

holleyberry replied to your post “*is now thinking about just ditching all the clothing defaults I spent...”

I like some of the Maxis clothes too. If I finally decide to redo my downloads folder I think I would Default all the BG stuff, and also use Skell's repository.

pensblr replied to your post “*is now thinking about just ditching all the clothing defaults I spent...”

Do it. Do it. Skell's repo project really is a life saver for those of us who like a tidy BodyShop/CAS and some variety for all ages.

dreadpirate replied to your post “*is now thinking about just ditching all the clothing defaults I spent...”

DO IT

*laugh* Yeah, I went ahead and downloaded the bits I want. Which isn’t ALL of the repository project because there are some things in it that I have no use for. But stuff that’s useful.... Now it’s time to figure out what I can use and what I can’t, given the defaults I have. I’ll probably end up with a mish-mash of some defaults and some not defaulted in order to use the repository stuff. I mean, that’s sort of what I already have, actually. I didn’t default any of the H&M stuff, so I have the H&M stuff from the repository project...

And hey, at least Holley also likes Maxis clothes. I’m not alone! :D ...although I suppose I have to say that it’s not that I “like” the clothes so much as I just don’t care enough about clothes that they bother me that much. IRL I couldn’t care less about fashion and will tend to wear stuff that would be at home in the 60s/70s (I <3 bell-bottoms and hippie styles in general), so my “meh” attitude about clothes in-game is probably a “bleed-through” that way. *laugh*

penig replied to your photoset “Hattie Galloway, Autumn, Part 2/2 Hattie, having been trapped at home...”

We used to go on picnics in the rain when we lived in Alaska, because if you let the weather spoil your plans you'd never do anything.

Yeah, ya gotta do what you gotta do. But that doesn’t mean that you have to go swimming when the water is freezing! Then again, it probably doesn’t get truly freezing in this neighborhood because it has no winter. It goes Spring/Summer/Autumn/Spring2. But at the end of autumn, it’s still probably enough to give one hypothermia!

simaddicted-sue replied to your photo “Komei & Karen Tellerman, Autumn, Part 2/3 Karen chose an excellent...”

Congrats on a girl!

RIGHT???! I was so happy. Because prior to her birth, out of 22 births, only four had been girls, so the neighborhood was less than 40% female overall. I mean, I have a statistically-high percentage of male/male couples -- half of the 6 married couples in the neighborhood, in fact, are male/male, currently -- and I’m perfectly OK with that...but you do need SOME females. *laugh*

simblrkersil replied to your photo “Komei & Karen Tellerman, Autumn, Part 2/3 Karen chose an excellent...”

to be fair to her, it's hard to follow the long-time sims tradition of birthing in the smallest bathroom of a house if your only bathroom is an outhouse XD

This is true! I’m pretty sure the outhouses that are out there are cloned from the community-lot bathroom stall, so Sims have to exit it to do anything. It’d be hilarious if they could give birth in the outhouse. Well, *I* think it’d be hilarious, anyway, but I’m one of those people who finds odd things hilarious, so...

ellupelluellu replied to your photo “Gordon Bassett in the wilderness that is his back yard. :) I spent...”

Just make couple adults looking like they are lost and searching something they never will find, and you have better SimRembrandt than the original.

HAH! Yeah, you’re right. *laugh*

lokisimmer replied to your post “ellupelluellu replied to your photoset “Chick-chick-CHICKIES! :D” ...”

Hey do you remember the name of a mod on sims 2 which had this small plate on the mailbox so sims can out their bills on it as I lost it and don't remember the name

Yeah, it’s a “cover” that goes over the mailbox that includes a little shelf with a slot to put the mail on. Windkeeper made it. I recolored it here, and that download includes the mesh. I think Pescado further modded it somehow, I think so that ONLY mail can go on the slot and not anything else? But I could be remembering wrong. In any case, I just have Windkeeper’s original version and am happy with it.

[shadowsong26fic]

The Handler AU

As requested by @tigerkat24.

(I do also have fulltext for one scene in here, which will be posted and linked here in the near future, probably tomorrow, after I clean it up some.)

Right. So. A couple of notes before I get started:

1) This AU prominently features Lavinia, and also super self-indulgent. Gonna say that straight-out. This is me and my OC and a bunch of tropes I adore. It is not the most self-indulgent piece I’ve ever put together, but it’s probably up there. I say this because, while I am pretty much past the point as a fan/content creator/whatever where I’m ashamed of my self-indulgent BS, I understand that it might not be everyone’s cup of tea, especially when it’s as obvious as this piece is. And I like people to know at least in general terms what they’re getting into when they open a piece of mine. So, you know, bear that in mind as you move forward.

2) Because of the way I work/develop AUs/OCs/etc., there are certain personality traits/satellite characters/plot points that are common to all/most of Lavinia’s storylines (...yeah, it’s a Thing I do, with OCs yeah but also with OC-free AUs and AUs of AUs and ‘hey what if I changed this plot point here, or put OC B in this situation instead of that one, or stuck Canon D in...look, y’all have seen my Distaff variants, you know the kind of thing I’m talking about; I don’t always stop at a single layer of canon-divergence, but then there has to be a thread connecting everything, or it becomes a totally different story/character, right? ...I’m not sure I’m explaining this very well. ...anyway, back on topic). As a result, despite being an AU of a completely different AU, this outline is therefore somewhat spoilery for a future Precipice arc. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ve hinted at where I’m going with her in the fic proper and/or bonus content, or at least I’ve tried to, (plus, I know I’ve mentioned some things here on tumblr about particular narrative/character tropes I like), so it’s probably not too surprising? Or, at least, I hope it’s not. If it is, I need to get better at foreshadowing… Anyway, it is still technically a spoiler. To the point where I considered sitting on this (and a couple related AUs) at least until a particular event from Arc Seven that makes said future storyline about as clear as it can be until it actually happens. But…I decided ehhhhhh, why not (plus this was requested). But, you know, if that is something you want to avoid, might be best not to read this outline until after Arc…nine, I think? Just as a head’s up.

3) This is essentially a Kallus-centric Rebels fic (though, as mentioned above, also prominently featuring one of my OCs). And, other than that one bit in the Valdemar AU I wrote a month or so ago, this is the first time I’ve actually written Rebels content. (…granted, I’ve plotted more things--the closely-related Pellaeon AU features Rebels stuff pretty heavily, as does the middle arc of the Valdemar AU, which started as ‘Anakin would do really well as a Herald actually’ and has now turned into a massive three-part kudzu plot of a niche crossover and I should really redo that outline properly at some point, plus a few other things…) Anyway, the point is, I’m not necessarily super familiar with the conventions/etc. of this part of the fandom, and I apologize for any off-voice bits.

Okay! Now that I have warned for spoilers, inexperience, and self-indulgent BS…welcome to the Handler AU.

Oh, one more thing I want to mention—because this is, as stated above, super self-indulgent, Kanan is still alive because I said so. He got pretty crisped in that explosion and therefore missed the final battle, but didn’t actually die.

(Imperial records may have listed him as dead for a while, because No One Could Have Survived That, but he did survive.)

(How? IDK, maybe Ezra actually was able to do something from the between-place in this version.)

(Point is, we still have Kanan.)

(Ezra and Thrawn are still on a road trip with a bunch of space whales, though.)

ANYWAY. On to the good stuff.

It all kicks off like two months after Yavin.

Some timeline notes:

Because timelining anything in Star Wars is A Project, I am making some executive decisions here.

We’re approximately a year after the Rebels series finale.

(Meaning Jacen is like 3-4 months old, depending on exactly how pregnant Hera was at the time.)

This is also about how long Zeb and Kallus have been explicitly dating.

(There was SO MUCH PINING going on for a while there.)

(But it took that long for either of them to actually do anything about it.)

(Kallus figured out pretty early on that he was interested, but didn’t really think he deserved this/had earned it yet/that Zeb could possibly be interested in him, and therefore decided to bury his feelings Like A Goddamn Professional Okay.)

(Zeb took a while longer to clue in, and then couldn’t figure out if this was just him or what--see above re: burying things; worked a little bit too well--plus he has his own issues to work through.)

(And then there were some frantic Confessions and so-glad-we’re-alive sex and…)

(Yeah, this is a thing now.)

(Exactly zero people who have spent any time with these two dorks at all are surprised.)

(As is so often the case, the last people to clue in that this was A Mutual Thing are the two idiots involved.)

(There may or may not have been a pool or three going.)

(Hera won at least one of them.)

So. Kallus has made himself useful wherever he can since openly defecting, really, but generally works analyzing intelligence reports and training field agents for potential undercover missions. Even if his specific information is getting more and more out of date (few, if any, of the codes, etc. that he knows are still valid at this point), some things aren’t going to change that quickly, and his background is useful here.

Anyway. He gets called in--

“We’ve been approached by a would-be double agent deep in Imperial territory; received three transmissions in the past few weeks. So far, everything we’ve been sent checks out/has been useful, but.”

“But you’re wondering if this agent is an ISB plant.”

“Exactly. She calls herself Vector.”

“She?”

“Yeah. The scrambler she’s using is doing its job, which means we can’t actually use a voice print to ID her, but vocal pattern analysis got us that much. And that she’s likely Coruscanti, Human, and under thirty. That’s about all we know.”

He goes over the data and the recordings from the first three contacts and nothing jumps out as a red flag/any of the tricks he’s familiar with.

On the first call, there’s some dancing around; as if Vector’s trying to make sure of who she’s talking to. What he’d expect from either a plant or a genuine defector, really. Not particularly helpful.

The other two are fairly brief/straightforward, and start the same way each time--This is Vector. I have a data file for you. Do as you like with it. Also not particularly enlightening, given the question he’s been asked to answer.

The data itself, though, is--interesting. Not easy to access, for the most part, and not necessarily all from the same source. Parts of it are the kind of thing ISB would use as bait, but just as much of it is not. Some of it provides useful context for intel the Alliance has received from other sources (some covert, some not), which is not the kind of thing an ISB plant would send.

So, he goes back to his superiors and tentatively reports Vector as probably genuine. He wants to be on hand for her next transmission, though, to be sure.

(He wonders, idly, who they had evaluate his initial transmissions like this, or if using an established codename and protocol was enough…)

(He’s Concerned it might be the second.)

(There are some worrying gaps in Rebel Intelligence’s security that he can only do so much to patch.)

Of course, there’s a slight problem with that. Vector’s transmissions haven’t exactly been regular--the second one came four days after the first, and then it was nearly two weeks to the third.

And when they do come, they’re very brief, so if Kallus is, say, busy with a training exercise on the opposite side of the base…

(Or otherwise occupied in a supply closet.)

(He does have, y’know, a life when off-duty.)

(...which is something that still sends him into weird brainspirals of “how did this happen” and “i don’t deserve this” and “when is it going to blow up in my face” on occasion, but that is a separate problem. One that he buries. Like A Goddamn Professional.)

(no that’s not a habit of his why do you ask.)

IN ANY CASE, this means that it ends up being her sixth message, close to three weeks after Kallus is initially brought in, before he’s able to listen in live.

(Transmissions four and five, after he reviews them, don’t really change his analysis, but still.)

Transmission six comes in while Kallus happens to be in the tiny corner of the current base that Intelligence has claimed.

It starts like the others did--This is Vector. I have a data file for you. Do as you like with it.

Once the file transfer initiates, he responds.

“Vector, this is Fulcrum.”

(Okay, technically, he probably should be using a different handle now, since it’s really supposed to be for field agents only and he isn’t one anymore. And there are similar shared code names for Intelligence agents primarily on base duty, or he assumes there are, but even after over a year of not using it, it’s still the first one that comes to mind. Reflexive, almost. And now it’s going to stick.)

There’s a beat of silence from the other end, and Kallus is briefly concerned that he misjudged the situation, that she’d going to panic and cut the transmission.

But, “I can’t leave the link open long,” she says.

(Part of him thinks she sounds...almost relieved? Like she’s been waiting to be challenged like this, and the longer things went on without a test, the more nervous she got.)

(He can understand that worry. That sense of just waiting for the other shoe to drop.)

(And, yes, other Rebel Intelligence agents probably could have tested her like this, and if he hadn’t been around as a resource they almost certainly would have, but given that he knows exactly what to look for, the Powers That Be had decided to leave it in his hands.)

“Of course,” he says, and asks her a few questions, rapid-fire.

(He’s less interested in the specific details of her answers--and he’s not really asking her questions about her identity--then how she approaches answering him. Not necessarily something he can explain, which is part of why he didn’t coach any of the other officers and get this taken care of on transmission four or five, but just trying to get a sense of her.)

(One thing he does is privately revise the estimate of her age--he thinks she’s younger than the previous guess, probably twenty or so. Sabine’s age, maybe, at the oldest. Which makes her even less likely to be a plant in his opinion; ISB wouldn’t put this much effort into setting up an agent that inexperienced, not on a mission this sensitive, even if she was inconceivably talented and precocious. As an in-person infiltrator, yes, absolutely; but for this many layers of intrigue...no, they’d want someone Experienced.)

She ends the transmission somewhat abruptly, after about five minutes, but he was more or less expecting that and anyway he has what he needs.

“Well?”

“She’s genuine,” he says. “I’m as sure as I can be of that.”

“Good to hear.” A pause. “...you’ve run undercover agents before, correct?”

Kallus shuts down the knee-jerk paranoid response as fast and hard as he can.

(There are almost certainly people in the Alliance who still don’t trust me but none of them are in this room. I know that. Calm down.)

“Yes, once or twice,” he says, cautiously. “For short-term assignments.”

“Congratulations. You just volunteered to be Vector’s handler.”

(Hence the name of the AU. AKA the one where Kallus adopts a baby spy who JUST HAPPENS to be Palpatine’s daughter.)

(...yeah, he didn’t really see that one coming.)

(...at some point, I should probably go through and outline Lavinia’s politics and her reasons for defecting in detail, but in the interests of focusing on Kallus’s end of things, which is much more interesting, a (hopefully) brief digression on the subject:)

(Lavinia was created and trained to be a spy/manipulator, to perform the kind of tasks and access the kind of information that Palpatine could as the avuncular Chancellor but cannot as Emperor, now that he’s thrown that mask away.)

(...apart from very specific, carefully staged moments, like with Ezra.)

(So, part of manipulating people means understanding them, which means Lavinia does a lot of research to put her targets into context, and in so doing comes across a wide variety of cultures/forms of government, at least in an academic context.)

(And that means that, once she starts thinking beyond “how can I survive until tomorrow” and starts thinking about broader impact/more long-range plans, it doesn’t take her very long to realize that her father’s government is...well, let’s call it deeply flawed.)

(What she does when she comes to that conclusion varies, depending on other circumstances--but she doesn’t necessarily defect right away. Mostly for practical reasons; in Masks!Verse, which this AU is a variant of, she has no Rebel contacts that she’s absolutely sure of.)

(Meaning, in this case, both “absolutely sure is an actual Rebel and not just sympathetic to their aims/politics” and “absolutely sure would be willing to work with me despite my parentage.”)

(And if she approaches anyone she isn’t sure of, it’ll get her or her contact or both of them killed. Defecting from a distance, while she can better protect her identity, has a much bigger risk of interception, which, again, would get her and/or her contacts and possibly a lot of other people killed. Or worse.)

(Basically, she doesn’t think defection is a viable option for her--there are some other reasons for this, but those play a distant second to these concerns.)

(But then Alderaan happens.)

(And these concerns carry a lot less weight.)

(It takes her a couple months to figure out how to make contact with Rebel Intelligence, let alone how to do it safely, but she starts working on it at that point.)

(...I think that’s the salient points here. Like I said, I have a fair bit more about Lavinia’s politics/etc. and the ways/extent to which she’s willing to defy her father in various AUs, but that’s enough for this one, I think.)

So, Kallus can’t really argue with the assignment (even if part of him kind of wants to? Not because he thinks he can’t do it, but because he’s concerned that being another deep-cover informant’s handler is going to dig up a lot of stuff he’d really, really rather keep buried.)

(Look, he feels like he’s finally found his equilibrium. He’s even, somehow, approaching happy with his life for the first time in what feels like forever which, guilt-induced brainspirals aside, he doesn’t want to give up.)

(Besides, handling Vector wouldn’t be his only responsibility, and if he does start losing that equilibrium, he’s not sure how much his other work will be affected.)

(On the other hand...)

(On the other hand, there are very few people who have done what he did and survived long enough to make it back to Rebel lines.)

(Oh, there are other deep-cover informants, sure; but the majority of them are plants inserted by Rebel Intelligence.)

(And while, even leaving aside the technicalities involved with Senator Mothma and others among the leadership who had previously served in the Imperial Senate, there are plenty of defectors--up to and including General Madine and some other persons of very high rank--for the most part, once they make that decision, defectors grab what they can and run.)

(The ones that don’t usually don’t survive as long as he did.)

(Or, alternatively, they don’t identify themselves to the Alliance or even necessarily work directly with them; they perform internal sabotage rather than espionage.)

(Those embedded defectors tend to last longer, but not by much.)

(Which means that he’s probably the only person--certainly the only available person--who has been where Vector is. Who better to help her?)

(As for his own issues...well, he is a Professional, dammit. He can damn well compartmentalize. He’s very good at that.)

(...yeah, this is kind of a running theme for him. Sometimes it’s a good thing, sometimes it’s...very much not.)

(It remains to be seen how much it’ll help or hurt when dealing with Vector.)

So, he accepts the assignment, and goes back to his quarters to tell Zeb and collect a few things--given the irregularity of Vector’s transmissions, until he can talk to her again and set up a better protocol, he’s going to basically have to camp out in Intelligence.

(Which he’s not looking forward to, but it is what it is.)

Zeb is already there when he gets back--their current shifts don’t entirely line up, which is fine; they have at least a few hours overlap most days which is better than some pairs can say.

After several minutes saying hello...

“Did I miss anything interesting?” Kallus asks.

“That Skywalker kid came by a bit ago,” Zeb tells him. “Looking for Kanan.”

Kallus blinks, halfway through fixing caf for the two of them. “...aren’t he and Hera off investigating a potential supply line?”

(Which is, of course, far below Hera’s current paygrade, but she volunteers for that kind of mission on occasion. An excuse to spend private time with her family, while still technically being useful and not taking actual time off.)

“Yep,” Zeb says. “Apparently, this is the third or fourth time something like that has happened. They keep missing each other.”

"Well, I’m sure they’ll link up sooner or later,” he says. “Especially if Skywalker’s actively looking for Kanan.”

(He hasn’t actually met Luke yet at this point, but he’s heard the rumors. He has no real doubt of this fact.)

“Yeah, probably,” Zeb says. “I think Kanan’s been trying to track him down, too. He’ll be sorry he missed him.”

(...yeah, we’re going with Anakin-and-Grievous levels of contrived coincidence to keep those two from actually meeting for a while.)

(Partly because it’s easier than figuring out all the timeline/plot implications that might have (and I’m lazy, and that is the focus of another story), but mostly because I think it’s funny.)

Kallus nods. “...did he and Hera take Jacen with them, or...?”

(He hadn’t seen any evidence the baby had been left with them, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.)

But Zeb shakes his head. “Nah, Sabine has him this time. Why? Something going on?”

“I have an assignment,” Kallus tells him.

“Huh. Extraction?”

(Logical assumption--the bulk of the fieldwork he does now, all-hands-on-deck situations like Lothal aside, is extractions. Occasionally helping sell an insertion, but generally the reverse.)

“No, not this time,” he says. “The agent who reached out, the one I told you about--I’ve been assigned as her handler.”

(He has long since gotten permission to discuss at least surface generalities of his work with Zeb, and they both know where the line is.)

Zeb’s ears flick a little, and Kallus can practically see him weighing the same pros and cons that he himself did earlier--and probably several others he hadn’t thought of.

“So, I guess that means you’re camping out in intelligence for a while?”

“Unfortunately,” he says. “Of course, there is a difference between being on-call and being on duty. And my schedule technically won’t change.”

Zeb perks up at that and grins before kissing him. “Well, I’m sure I an find an excuse to be in the area. Sometimes. Just in case. You know.”

“Mm.”

Fortunately, call number seven comes less than a week later.

This is Vector. I have a data file for you. Do as you like with it.

“Vector, this is Fulcrum.”

A brief pause. “Yes.”

“I’ve been assigned as your handler.”

(He figures the best way to deal with someone who’s probably twitchy and paranoid and otherwise on high alert is to be as scrupulously honest as he can. That doesn’t mean telling her everything, of course, but it does mean being straightforward, difficult as it is, and not outright lying.)

(If he can. So far, he can.)

Another pause. “I understand.”

(She’s hard to read on this one, whether or not she finds it suspicious. She might even be relieved again, that she’ll have a set contact point, rather than a whoever’s-available sort of situation.)

“There are some protocols I’d like to establish, for further contacts.”

“I can’t call at a set time,” she says immediately. “Or at set intervals.”

"I understand,” he said. “But I’m going to give you a more specific frequency to call.”

“Yes,” she says, and that definitely has a faint note of relief.

“Can you, if nothing else, send an all-clear transmission every two weeks?” he asks. “It doesn’t need to be at a set time, but so we can gauge--” whether or not you’re alive and uncompromised “--how concerned we need to be after a long silence.”

She pauses. “...I think so. Yes. I can do that.”

(Definitely young, he thinks, maybe even younger than Ezra--would be.)

“That’s all for now,” he says. There are others he wants to establish, of course, but those are the most important and her file transfer is nearly complete. 

“I’ll be in touch,” she says; hesitates a second; “Vector out.”

(...well, she’s signing off officially now, rather than just abruptly terminating the connection. Progress. I think.)

He goes back to his quarters, and life settles into a new routine.

He keeps up his old duties--analyzing reports, training potential undercover agents, etc.--and also keeps track of Vector and her reports.

That last one proves...well, his early optimism wasn’t entirely misplaced?

Vector is very, very good at what she does. Her files are varied in their content, and sometimes not as useful as she might’ve hoped, due to timing or other resource concerns, but the quality of the work she does never comes into question.

But part of being a double agent’s handler is assessing how they’re holding up under the incredible stress of the position. And she is frustratingly vague when it comes to anything approaching anything personal about herself.

In addition, there are two additional protocols he wants to set up early on--first is a way for him to reach her.

“Just because I have access doesn’t mean I have influence,” she says. “I can’t seed disinformation for you. Not without getting caught.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

(Though, of course, he had considered the possibility--as well-positioned as Vector seems to be, how could he not?--but while he doesn’t completely rule out the idea, he files it away under “only as a last resort.” Better to leave her in place as long as possible.)

“But if there’s something specific we want you to keep an eye out for--or if we need to warn you about something...”

“Right,” she says. “That’s fine, then.”

The second, though...the second is where they run into real problems.

“I also want to establish an emergency signal. If you need extraction, or if you end up captured by Rebel agents.”

(He still wonders, sometimes, if staying behind when Ezra came to extract him was the right decision. It had seemed so at the time, but...)

(He’ll probably never know. And fretting about it doesn’t do any good.)

(knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to stop.)

“No,” she says.

“Vector--”

And she hangs up on him.

Exactly why she’s so reticent to establish something like that, he isn’t sure--he has some theories, but...

It’s frustrating, to be sure. Makes it harder for him to do his job.

(And it makes him worried about her--if she’s working without any kind of exit strategy, that likely means she doesn’t think such a thing will be possible. Which, on the one hand, shows her dedication to the cause, but on the other hand...on the other hand, if she thinks getting caught is inevitable, she might get sloppy with her own security and that might well turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy.)

(The other alternative, that she doesn’t trust him, or the Alliance, with her safety if things do go wrong, is...well, probably more distressing, in all honesty.)

(Though not, perhaps, altogether surprising.)

He decides to seek Kanan’s advice on the problem.

(Kanan, after all, knows best what to do with unruly teenagers.)

(...well, so does Hera, but Hera’s advice would probably be less applicable/harder to apply to his specific situation. Also, she has better things to do than help him do his job.)

(Which is the other frustrating thing, that he can’t handle this by himself.)

Kanan’s advice is pretty straightforward--be patient, and don’t push her too hard. You can’t help her if she won’t let you.

(This is part of why I wanted him still around, incidentally.)

(Because there is something utterly hilarious about Kallus going to Kanan for parenting advice.)

(And that’s exactly what he’s doing.)

(Even if he hasn’t quite figured that out yet.)

So, taking this in mind, he backs off. A little bit. Decides to start from square one, and build a rapport, and go from there to get some of the other basics that he wants established.

Standard interrogation technique, technically. Not one favored by ISB, obviously, or really encouraged, but even they knew it had its uses.

Vector is still cagey about personal details, but she does start to soften a little as several weeks go by.

He brings up the idea of an emergency code phrase again, after about two months of this kind of sporadic contact.

This time, she says she’ll think about it.

Things hold in this pattern for about a year, and then Vector makes a call, as usual.

Or, it starts like a normal call, anyway.

“You probably won’t hear from me for a while,” she says, as the file transfer is wrapping up and they’re about to sign off.

“Are you in trouble?”

“No,” she says. “Nothing like that. And nothing related to the work we’ve been doing. But things are going to be...difficult. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to get an all-clear message out for a while.”

He doesn’t like this at all. “How long?”

“A month,” she says. “Probably. Maybe a little more, maybe a little less. I’ll contact you as soon as I can safely.”

It is one of the longer months of his life.

But, as promised, the dedicated comm he has for her lights up eventually.

This is Vector. I have a data file for you.

“Vector, this is Fulcrum,” he says. “Good to hear from you again. Everything all right?”

“Yes,” she says. And she seems fine, and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

When he tells Zeb about it later, though, is where it gets...interesting.

“Glad to hear your kid’s okay,” he says.

“My--she’s not my child, Zeb,” Kallus says.

“Really.”

“....”

“Look, you talk about her the same way Kanan talks about Sabine, when she’s off blowing things up on Mandalore.”

“I...wait, really?”

“Yep,” Zeb says, and grins at him. “I mean, it’s not a problem. S’kind of what we do in this family, isn’t it? Take in strays. ‘Bout time you got in on it, really.”

Kallus just stares at him. “I...what.”

Zeb waves a hand in front of his face. “Alex. Babe. You all right in there?”

He shakes himself. “Yes, of course. Sorry."

“Ehh, don’t worry about it. I mean, it’d probably have been nice for the two of us to talk about kids in general before we started adopting our own strays, but--”

Really, sometimes Kallus thinks that Zeb likes the expression he makes when utterly poleaxed like that.

(He does. He thinks it’s adorable.)

(Also, Zeb figures this is a conversation they maybe should have, because they’re clearly both in this for the long haul and he saw this opening and...look, no one ever said Zeb was good at broaching delicate topics gently.)

“...do you?” Kallus asks, when he recovers. “Want children, someday?”

“I mean...yeah,” Zeb says. “If you do. I mean.”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” he confesses.

(Because long-range planning is hard; because they’re at war, because he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, because he doesn’t deserve any of this and planning for a future he doesn’t deserve is just--a little much for him sometimes.)

“But...yes,” Kallus says. “I think so, yes. I would like to raise children with you. Someday.”

Zeb’s response to that is positive and enthusiastic and leads to things they will definitely not be discussing with their hypothetical children ever.

It’s a month or two after that that Kallus finds out who Vector is.

(…well, for a given value of ‘finds out,’ anyway.)

He and Zeb are babysitting--Sabine is back on Mandalore; Hera is on duty; Kanan was supposed to be finally meeting Luke but there was an issue at the spaceport and he’s stranded for the next few hours.

(Like I said. Anakin-and-Grievous levels of contrived coincidence.)

Zeb has just put the kid to bed, and Kallus is watching the news.

“You’re still watching that?” he asks, nudging Kallus to make room for him on the couch and drawing him to lean on his shoulder.

“I’ve told you before, dear, knowing what the Empire is saying, no matter how different that is from what they’re doing, has its uses.”

“Especially if you know how their propaganda is constructed, I know,” Zeb says, and nuzzles his ear. “Just thought you were almost done.”

Kallus smiles faintly and leans into the caress. “I am, I promise. I’ll shut it off in a minute. I just want to--”

He pauses. Rewinds the feed. Pauses it--pre-recorded coverage of some public event the Emperor’s kid had been at, with the newscaster commenting on the progress of whatever “public works” project it was supposed to kick off.

“…what is it? Something she said?”

(...something to do with whatever this “project” is covering up?)

“Hush,” he says, fiddling with a few buttons and calling up a printed transcript and skims through it before sinking back against Zeb, letting out a breath.

“Babe?”

“I think I know who Vector is,” he says.

Zeb stares at him for a minute, then stares at the paused footage--frozen on the Princess’s face, icy and composed.

“…her?” 

“Her,” he confirms.

“Why…?”

“Little things,” he says. “The way she talks, some unique turns of phrase. And she fits the profile--young, Human, Coruscanti, close to someone powerful but essentially a civilian herself…and…when Vector disappeared on me last month, that coincided with a period where the Princess was more visible than usual.”

“Karabast,” he mutters. “When you put it like that…”

“It’s all conjecture,” Kallus points out. “I can’t prove any it. Not without digging deeper--which, if I’m right, risks compromising her cover--or asking her straight-out.”

(Which, of course, would also be a bad idea. It would probably seriously damage the trust he’s spent the past year and more building, and it might not even get him an honest answer anyway.)

“Right,” Zeb says. “…any chance someone else could put this together?”

Kallus makes a face. “Unlikely,” he says, though he doesn’t sound totally sure. “The recordings of our conversations are kept as hard copies only, for security. Not uploaded onto any networked drives. And a very small set of people have access to those copies. I doubt anyone could put it together without that access. Still…”

(Someone dedicated enough, who managed to access one of those recordings, or intercept a transmission along the way, or compromise the lines of communication from the other side…)

“Kriff,” he says. “Anything you can do about it?”

“Not really,” he says. “Other than brief Draven and keep doing what I’ve been doing.”

“Yeah,” he says, and studies the picture again; glances over at the morose look on Kallus’s face; feels his ears twitching. “Huh. Never would’ve figured the Emperor’s kriffing daughter to defect.”

Kallus jumps a little, drawn out of his thoughts, then rolls his eyes and gives Zeb a fond, exasperated smile (which was really the point, honestly; to needle him into a better mood), and rather dryly points out, “There was a time you would’ve said the same about me.”

“True,” Zeb says, and grins at him. “Guess it just goes to show, people surprise you all the time.”

“Indeed,” Kallus says, then reaches over to shut off the feed and changes the subject.

Six weeks after that, Vector goes quiet again. This time without warning.

When her two-week check-in goes by with nothing, he’s immediately concerned. She’s never missed a check-in before, not without warning. He decides to give her a day, and then ping her himself.

(He generally avoids doing that--only when he absolutely needs to speak with her about something time-sensitive that can’t wait for her to reach out.)

There’s no response to his message, either.

He reports the missed check-in, of course. Tries again the next day. And a third.

Still nothing.

(He knows a rescue won’t be authorized--technically, they don’t actually know for sure who or even where Vector is, and if his theory is correct, they cannot make a run on Coruscant for one agent, especially not one as visible as Princess Lavinia.)

(He keeps telling himself that. Over and over again. As he tries a fourth and fifth time to reach her.)

“Zeb,” he says, after a third full week has gone by since the last time he heard from her. “I need you to talk me out of doing something stupid.”

“Uh, sure, babe. What’s going on?”

He explains the situation as briefly as he can. “And I am this close to staging a half-assed unauthorized raid on Coruscant to extract her.”

“...nah, if we’re doing an unauthorized raid on Coruscant, it should be a full-assed thing.”

That...that wasn’t really the answer Kallus was looking for.

(In hindsight, he thinks, as he tries to redraw building plans from memory and plan this stupid, stupid venture, he probably should have gone to Hera if he really wanted someone to talk him down. Or possibly Kanan. ...no, Hera.)

(...it could be worse, though.)

(he could’ve tried asking Sabine.)

Fortunately, before they can actually run off and get themselves killed--

(or court-martialed)

(or in trouble with Hera)

--Kallus’ dedicated comm chimes.

“All clear,” he breathes. “That’s the all-clear. She’s...she’s alive.”

It’s nearly another week before he hears anything else, but finally a real call comes.

This is Vector. I have a data file for you. Do as you like with it.

“Vector, this is Fulcrum. Are you all right?”

(she doesn’t sound all right; it’s hard to tell through her scrambler, but she seems strained.)

“Everything’s fine,” she says. “I apologize for the delay, but things are settled now. My cover is intact.”

Which is good to know, but not what he asked.

“And what about you?” he says.

She doesn’t answer right away.

“Vector?”

“I’m here,” she says. “And everything is under control. You don’t need to worry about me. Nothing that--it wasn’t anything to do with this, I was caught on the fringes of something unrelated. It won’t interfere with my work going forward.”

Which still isn’t an answer.

(He’s pretty sure the non-answer is his answer, though. Damn it.)

(He knows the risks. Better than most. And he knows she knows them, too. It doesn’t make it any easier to hear, especially knowing that there is kriff-all he can do to help her.)

Into the silence, she says, “I’m your asset, Fulcrum. Not your friend.”

“......”

“I’m just--” She sighs. “I’m your asset. Not your friend. It’s...we should both remember that. It’s probably better, in the long run.”

And part of him is hurt; part of him is annoyed that he is being lectured on professionalism by a damned child; part of him is worried again--he did finally talk her into an emergency code phrase, in case of capture or other disaster, but here she goes again, hinting that she doesn’t have an exit strategy.

(Not like I did, either, he reminds himself. Can’t plan that far ahead. Not when you’re doing this kind of work. And even when Ezra came for me--)

(He buries it. Because he is a goddamn professional, Vector’s reproof aside.)

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she says. “And I’ve had worse.”

“........”

All right, that he likes even less.

“Vector--”

“I have to go,” she says. “I’ll be in touch when I have something else. And I’ll do my best to warn you if I have to disappear again. Vector out.”

And, in the interests of “good Lord this thing is close to 6k already,” we’re going to skip ahead quite a bit, about a year and a half, to just after the evacuation of Echo Base.

For the first time in a while, the whole family (minus Ezra) is back on the Ghost together.

(Kanan, Hera, Chopper, Sabine, Zeb, Kallus, Rex, and Jacen.)

(They’ve all been in touch and met up fairly frequently, but they’re no longer a discrete cell and they all have their own, often separate, duties with the wider Rebellion. So, while the circumstances leading to it are awful, it’s nice to have an opportunity like this.)

Orders are to lay low, and make their way by a prearranged roundabout route to the fleet rendezvous five days later.

The first night, they mostly spend catching up and letting Sabine fleece them all at cards.

(Except Rex. Do Not Play Sabaac With Rex.)

(They had all forgotten that rule.)

Hera is sending occasional messages back and forth to Command, to confirm/make adjustments/etc., but otherwise things are fairly quiet after the frantic rush of the evacuation itself.

(Fortunately, none of them were injured in the escape. It’s happened before, when they’ve had to leave a base in a hurry. That was a week no one wanted to repeat.)

It’s their second night of drifting, and Kallus is just starting to fall asleep (Zeb is snoring beside him; the noise honestly probably should have been annoying but is genuinely comforting at this point, to the point where he has trouble sleeping without it) when his comm beeps.

It’s Vector.

More accurately, it’s her emergency signal.

He extracts himself from the bed and slips out into the hall to talk the call.

“Fulcrum.”

“It’s Vector,” she says, unnecessarily. She’s not using her usual scrambler this time, but a more standard vocoder, probably cannibalized from a stolen helmet. She sounds drained, and slightly breathless. “I’ve been burned. I got...I got away. I had more..." She stops, clears her throat. “I got away. I was able to remove my tracker and I’m as--I’m as sure as I reasonably can be that I’ve lost anyone following me by other means. I-I pulled as much raw data as I could onto a couple of portable drives on my way out, but I’m on a...I’m on a sliced public terminal right now, I don’t want to keep the line open long enough to send them in the usual way and I...I don’t know what the protocol is now. Please advise.”

“Where are you now?” he asks. There are so many other questions he wants to ask, needs to ask, both from a personal and a professional standpoint--is she all right; how did she get caught; how did she escape; how long has she been compromised--but they can wait until she’s been located and brought in safely. He sets them all aside, and focuses.

(Like A Goddamn Professional.)

“Ixaly,” she says. “I’m on...I’m on Ixaly.”

He closes his eyes, mentally traces their route through hyperspace. Ixaly is in this sector, it shouldn’t be far...yes. If he’s counted right--they’ll be doing a navigation stop shortly, and dropping out of hyperspace. From there--a few hours to Ixaly, unless he’s completely turned around.

“There’s a cantina,” he says, “in the Diira district in Central City. The White Shale. Can you be there in six hours?”

A brief pause; he can hear her breathing. “Yes,” she says, at last. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

“That’s the fastest I can arrange a pickup,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

(If he’s right about how close they are, it might not actually take him that long, but there’s a balance between getting to her as quickly as possible and budgeting in time for something to go wrong. He doesn’t want to risk being late and having her move on because she thinks he’s not coming. He may not be able to contact her if something goes wrong; not if she’s relying on sliced public terminals to reach out to him. And he has no idea when she’ll be able to make contact again, or how long whatever data’s on her drives will stay viable...so, six hours. He’ll have to trust her to stay alive that long.)

“I’ll be there,” she promises. “White Shale cantina, Diira district, Central City, six hours.”

“Exactly. You know how to reach me if there are any problems.”

“Yes,” she says.

“It’s almost over,” he says. “You’ve done well, getting yourself this far. Just hold on for a little while longer, all right?”

“I will,” she says; takes a breath. “I’ll see you in six hours. Vector out.”

The line goes dead.

Half a heartbeat later, he feels the familiar rumble of the hyperdrive cutting out, switching over to sublight engines.

He’s in his window now, he doesn’t have time--

As he heads for the Phantom, he runs into Kanan.

“...what’s wrong?”

“Vector,” he says, clipped. “She’s had to run. She’s not far--”

“Go,” he says. “I’ll let Hera know. ...take Zeb with you. In case you need backup.”

(Which he doesn’t really need, and it might well spook his contact if he brings a team--he has run extractions like this before, after all, and Vector is particularly cagey--but he nods.)

“I will. Thank you.”

“How long do we wait before sending our own rescue party?” Kanan asks.

Kallus does some quick mental math--six hours to the meet; going by Vector’s history, she may need some convincing to come along (like I did, until it was too late; but it’s already too late for her, isn’t it?); she might be wrong about having a tail; they might run into unrelated trouble...

“I’ll send word once we leave the system. If you haven’t heard from me in twelve hours, that’s when you worry.”

“Got it,” he says, and starts off towards the cockpit to update Hera, when Kallus realizes--

“Wait,” he says.

Kanan pauses, half-turns back to him.

“I don’t know who Vector is, not for certain,” he says, “but I have considerable circumstantial evidence that she’s Princess Lavinia.”

Kanan takes that in, then nods slowly. “Right. Thanks for the head’s up. I’ll pass that along.”

“Thank you,” Kallus says again, and the two of them separate--Kallus goes to wake Zeb and then get the Phantom prepped and underway; Kanan goes to tell Hera what’s going on.

(...and corral his son.)

(Jacen has developed this habit lately of hiding on the Phantom when he thinks it’s going somewhere Interesting.)

(Which is usually whenever someone other than Mamma is driving.)

(He likes going on Adventures with his various uncles and Auntie ‘Bine, okay.)

(They go on the best Adventures.)

(But retrieving one of Kallus’s deep-cover agents whose cover was blown like a week ago at most is maaaaaaybe not the best Adventure for a three-year-old.)

Fortunately, Zeb isn’t hard to wake and grasps the situation quickly. The two of them head for the Phantom--

And find Sabine sitting there waiting for them, spinning idly in the pilot’s chair.

“...Sabine--” Zeb starts.

“Whatever it is that’s got you two running around frantically when we’re supposed to be lying low,” she says, “I wanna help. You might need backup.”

On the one hand, Kallus is pretty sure they won’t. And his prior concerns about spooking Vector if he comes in with a team still apply.

On the other hand, Sabine is one of the best people to have beside them in a crisis, if things do go all to hell. She’s creative and generally carrying an array of weapons that defies the very laws of physics.

Besides, he doesn’t have time to argue with her.

“Fine,” he says. “But you follow my lead--both of you. Neither of you has been on an extraction like this before, and this is what I do. All right?”

“All right,” Sabine says. “Who is it we’re extracting, exactly?”

“A spy, working under the code name Vector,” he says. “She’s been feeding us intel for close to three years now. Her cover was compromised, and she had to run.”

Sabine nods. “Got it,” she says.

“And, if I’m right,” he says--because if he is, Sabine will have to know before they get there, “she’s the Emperor’s daughter.”

“...all right, then,” Sabine manages, after a moment of stunned silence. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

They detach, and the Ghost disappears behind them back into hyperspace as Kallus sets a course for Ixaly.

And now, since I’m sure y’all are wondering the same thing Kallus is--i.e., how did she get caught/how did she escape--let’s backtrack and leave Kallus’s POV for another brief digression--

It all comes down to a man named Vedric Greer.

Vedric Greer is a Royal Guard. He’s been in that elite unit for over fifteen years at this point, selected more or less straight out of the Academy.

He’s been the head of Lavinia’s detail since she was twelve.

(Before that, he had a variety of assignments; he never got stuck with Vader, for which he is profoundly grateful, but he guarded a few valuable objects/locations, and he was on Tarkin’s detail for a couple of years.)

See, here’s the thing about Royal Guards. They’re put through a lot of conditioning, both physically and mentally, to become living weapons who are absolutely loyal.

And he is. Vedric Greer is an absolutely loyal man.

The thing is, to be a Royal Guard assigned to any living being other than Palpatine himself--Vader, Tarkin, Mas Amedda, Lavinia, a few others--means to be equal parts bodyguard and prison guard. Such a Guard is at least partly there to protect his principal from external threats, of course, but if said principal steps out of line or he’s given certain orders, he becomes their jailer. Or executioner. Or worse.

When he’s assigned to someone like Tarkin, of course, that isn’t much of a problem.

But a lonely, precocious twelve-year-old kid like Lavinia? Who, whatever traits she may have inherited from her father, has them tempered by an actual conscience?

...yeah, it doesn’t take a whole lot for him to bond with her, just a little.

(Throw in the fact that he has a lover, an Imperial Archivist who survived Scarif by being transferred to Coruscant days before Tarkin blew it up...well. Maybe the cracks in his armor aren’t only to do with the little girl he’s been made responsible for.)

So. Vedric Greer is a Royal Guard, and that means he is a living weapon, and absolutely loyal.

But over the past seven years--and especially the last three--maybe, just maybe, that loyalty has started to shift.

(He doesn’t even realize it, at first; and when he does notice the traces of affection, of tangential loyalty in himself...well, he reasons that Lavinia is all but an extension of her father’s will, anyway. Right? And if he conveniently fails to see certain signs...)

(Reynard, his lover, knows way before Vedric does where this is going, of course.)

And then, one morning, his orders change, and all those little things come crashing down.

(It was such a simple thing that screwed her over; Palpatine seeds bait among his minions constantly, little nuggets of information so that, if there is a high-placed leak, he can track it back to its source right away. Standard counter-intelligence, really; and everyone, everyone, is under suspicion. Everyone is tested.)

(Lavinia is normally very good at spotting this sort of thing--she has a natural aptitude for espionage, she was trained by the best, and she puts just as much effort into surviving her father and completing her mission as he did into taking over the galaxy. How else would she have lasted nineteen years as her father’s daughter--let alone three as a deep-cover Rebel spy?)

(But this time--this time she missed it. And now he knows.)

And Vedric Greer has a choice to make.

It’s surprising, in the end, how simple it is.

“My lady,” he informs her, “you are undone.”

He helps her cut out the tracking device implanted inside her ribcage (which is also fitted with a killswitch, of course, in case she ever tried to slip her leash); she asks him to come with her; he refuses.

(He is not a Rebel. He is not disloyal.)

(What he is, is her protector. What he is, is--hers.)

“I’m so sorry,” she says.

“So am I,” he says, and, “Go. I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”

“Goodbye,” she says, and disappears.

He sends a brief message to Reynard--hoping he’ll know what it means (he will; he always knew this might happen), and prepares himself to meet his death.

(Or, at least, that’s what he believes is going to happen.)

(...look, as I said before, this is Self-Indulgent BS(tm). Like I’m really gonna let Greer die. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have no earthly idea how he survives but he does. Because this is my self-indulgent BS, dammit.)

Okay. Back to Ixaly, and the actual rescue/extraction mission.

(…by which I also mean forward, since it’s like a week later.)

Our Heroes reach Central City about an hour ahead of schedule. After a brief discussion, Sabine disappears into the district to be on-hand for immediate help, if needed; Zeb, who doesn’t blend in as well, will stay with the Phantom; Kallus of course goes to the cantina to find his contact.

He heads there more or less directly, taking in as much detail of the city and the specific neighborhood as he can.

He’s been here before, but it’s been several years; there is a garrison in place, but the occupation seems comparatively light.

Which means there’s a not-unreasonable chance that this will go smoothly.

(Of course, as soon as he thinks that, he starts coming up with all the potential problems that could still happen. For one thing, he or Vector or Sabine might be recognized…)

Security on the cantina itself; mostly local talent, just as it was on his last visit. This is a fairly middle-of-the-road place; just dishonest enough that he and Vector should blend, not so dishonest that they’re likely to get caught in the middle of any…unpleasantness. Part of why he picked this place. That, the fact that it isn’t particularly difficult to find, and is fairly close to his ideal landing site.

(Not the official port, naturally; while Kallus doesn’t doubt that they could bluff their way through, he’d rather not try it on such short notice. They’d landed the Phantom on the city outskirts, about fifteen minutes away by foot.)

In other words, things are about as well-situated as they could be, under the circumstances. He has three separate exit routes at least tentatively mapped out, of varying efficiency and difficulty.

(And, if it came down to it, Sabine or Zeb could create one for him, of course, but he’d prefer to avoid that if at all possible.)

(In any case, best to have backup plans; he’ll pick the best route of the three once he has a better idea of what Vector’s capable of at the moment.)

(He’s almost certain she’s hurt, and he doesn’t know how badly, and she’ll never actually tell him, so that’s the best he can do.)

Inside, the cantina is fairly crowded--which is a mixed blessing; on the one hand, more cover for their activities/conversation, but on the other, more people to see them.

It’s a varied crowd; mostly local shift workers, a few semi-legitimate traders and mid-level bounty hunters. Most importantly, though, there are no troopers that he can identify, even off-duty. Excellent.

He gets a drink (to blend in, primarily) and finds a table in the corner where he can keep an eye on the other patrons and watch the door without being obvious about it.

He’s not kept waiting long.

She blends in pretty well--she’s managed to dress herself in a slightly-outdated local fashion, one that helpfully comes with a cowl that doesn’t quite hide her face, but does enough to keep her mostly anonymous from a distance and make dodging any security cameras easier.

(A few other women in the cantina are dressed similarly; not many, but enough that she doesn’t really stand out.)

She doesn’t head straight for him. She weaves through the crowd for a minute, hesitates by the bar as if she’s considering something, orders a drink. Her attention drifts over the crowd; she doesn’t linger on him, but her hand twitches a little.

(Ah. She spotted him, then. Good.)

(He isn’t really surprised that she figured out which Fulcrum she was working with. And it does make things simpler--there are a few signals he could have tried, but there wasn’t time, when she called, to pick one of them and be sure.)

(An advantage, if a counter-intuitive one, to using the legacy code name with her, he supposes.)

She starts moving again; doing everything right--wandering as if she’s looking for a seat, gradually making her way to a small empty table next to his.

(The whole thing takes probably less than two minutes. It feels longer. Then again, it always does--this isn’t the first time he’s met a contact like this, and that never changes. Doesn’t matter whether he’s the first or second to arrive.)

He taps out a quick signal on his commlink--contact made, everything’s on track so far--and waits.

“I have a data file for you,” she says softly. “Several, in fact.”

He smiles faintly into his drink. “Well done.”

The way the tables are laid out, they’re sitting next to one another, both with their backs against the wall. It’s a simple matter for her to slide the two drives over to him, and just as easy for him to make them disappear.

(Leaving together discreetly will be a little harder, but he’s been doing this for quite a while. They’ll manage.)

“I have transport off-planet,” he tells her. “We should wait a few minutes, not get up right away, but it’s best if we leave sooner rather than later.”

She shakes her head. “I'm not coming with you.”

(He wishes he could say he was surprised.)

He doesn’t turn to look at her, as much as he wants to. “If you’re concerned about reprisals…”

“I’m not,” she says. “Not really. It’s just…not a good idea.”

...and in the interests of “good Lord this thing is probably pushing 10k and it’s not even the full fic it’s an outline,” I’m going to skip the rest of this conversation. Suffice to say, he’s right and she’s wrong, though she takes some convincing, but they leave the cantina together like fifteen minutes later. Also, he confirms that his theory as to her identity was correct somewhere in here.

Anyway, like I said, he talks her down, and she agrees to leave with him.

Once out of the cantina, he can get a better look at her, assess how badly she’s hurt.

(He knows she is for certain now; she’s breathing carefully, shallowly, and a little too fast--but he could only see her hands and the vague shadow of her cowl before.)

“Are you all right?” he asks; even though the answer is obvious; she’s favoring her left side and very pale.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she says.

A characteristic non-answer, but a step above denial. He supposes.

“All right,” he says. “Let me know if you need help.”

(There’s not much else he can do here and now, anyway; they have some supplies back on the Ghost, and she can get proper medical attention once they rendezvous with the fleet.)

“I will,” she says, which is something at least.

They make it two blocks before they run into a squad of stormtroopers.

It’s a routine patrol; and, even with a wounded asset  to escort, it wouldn’t have been a problem under most circumstances. He could avoid the confrontation, or talk his way past.

But the squad sergeant stiffens in a particular way, staring at him.

“Karabast,” he mutters.

(You’d think, after all these years, this would stop happening so often. But, no, it’s still even odds that, out in the field, someone will recognize him.)

Lavinia takes half a step back. “I can--”

“They’re not here for you,” he tells her, then drags her behind cover a split second before the troopers start firing.

Then takes a minute to take stock.

This is...not an ideal position for a standoff. And while they might be able to fight their way through...

Best plan is to stay put, hold them off as long as they can, and call in Zeb and Sabine for backup.

Good thing I listened to Kanan, he thinks.

He takes out his sidearm, then pulls his holdout pistol from his boot and offers it to Lavinia.

But she shakes her head. “Father kept my focus narrow. I’d do more harm than good.”

“...right.”

Even less ideal. But it’s all right. He can handle this.

He takes his comm, switches it to the voice setting.

“Specter Four, this is Fulcrum. We’re going to need a slightly more dramatic exit than I planned for.”

“Copy that, Fulcrum,” Zeb says. “Could use an opening, Specter Five.”

“And to think you boys wanted to leave me behind,” Sabine says.

“Yes, yes, can we save the ‘I-told-you-sos’ until after we’re clear?” Kallus says, firing off a handful of shots to keep the squad at bay.

“She does have a point, babe.”

“Not on open comms, dear, how many times...”

(Honestly, the little bit of flirting is at this point half an inside joke, after the one time they legitimately forgot to switch channels, and half a way to quickly gauge how serious the situation actually is.)

(Plus, it’s fun. They like flirting.)

“Thirty seconds,” Sabine cuts in.

“Right,” Zeb says. “I’m headed to your position. ETA two minutes.”

“Copy. Fulcrum out.”

Two minutes, under these conditions, is a long, long time.

But, right on cue, thirty seconds later, there is a magnificent explosion, which gives them some breathing room, and then Sabine slides down the wall to land next to him.

“Not my best work,” she says critically, watching the cloud on the horizon, “but it’ll clear a path. Hi,” she adds, for Lavinia’s benefit.

“Hi,” she says, softly.

“...she doesn’t have a blaster,” Sabine says, turning almost accusingly to Kallus.

“Because I’ve never had one before,” Lavinia answers for him. “And this really doesn’t seem the time or place to learn.”

“Well, we’ll fix that later,” Sabine says.

“All right,” Lavinia says, then ducks down as Sabine positions herself better to start shooting back.

The next ninety seconds go much quicker, and then comes the welcome sound of the Phantom’s engines on approach.

It’ll have to be a quick exit, and for a split second, Kallus wonders about getting Lavinia up the ramp fast enough without Zeb actually landing--

But then he sees that Sabine has her jetpack.

(He has never been so pleased to see it in his life.)

“Take her,” he says, once the shuttle is in sight. “I’ll cover you.”

Sabine catches his drift right away, and nods. “Hold on,” she tells Lavinia, who blinks, but does.

And then they’re off.

Kallus just keeps firing at the troopers until, based on the noise it’s making, he judges that the Phantom is close enough that he can make the jump.

He’s--almost right.

He comes within half an inch of missing, then Lavinia’s hands shoot out and grab one of his wrists; Sabine grabs the other and the girls haul him on board.

“We’re good, Zeb, go!” Sabine shouts, while Lavinia drags Kallus the rest of the way in and slams the hatch shut.

We did it.

He takes a minute to catch his breath--he knows it isn’t really over; there’s still a great deal of work to do once they get back to the Ghost and then to the fleet proper.

But for now--they’re all alive, they’re all safe, they’re all at least as intact as they were when they got to Ixaly; the extraction was successful.

Kallus decides to let the rest of the problems wait, and take the win.

He picks himself up and heads to the cockpit, to give Zeb a quick hug and send word to Kanan and the others.

For all the drama and the worry when it started, today turned out to be a very good day.

And I think that’s a good stopping point, don’t you? There is definitely more, featuring (in no particular order) the worlds most #Awkward Road Trip; Kanan and Lavinia meeting; Kanan and Luke finally meeting; Zeb and Kallus adopting a kid or three; Lando; Jacen being precious; and so much more.

But, uh, see all my notes above about “how long is this thing now?!”

(And, again this isn’t even fulltext.)

(This is just the outline.)

...so, uh, yeah, if you made it this far, thank you and I hope you enjoyed my Self-Indulgent BS(tm). <333333333

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HACKERS AND RESEARCH

Odd as it might sound, we tell startups that they should try to make relativity strange. Are they hypocrites?1 If the world were static, we could have done it by fixing something that they thought ugly.2 One thing you can say about it. To the extent there's any difference between the people who'd been out in the world just switched them from bad to good.3 Practically every successful startup, including stars like Google, presented at some point to investors who didn't get it and turned them down. When you hear such labels being used, ask why. With the rise of the middle class.4 The central issue is picking the right companies, is also the hardest. However, that doesn't mean you should talk like some kind of paternal responsibility toward employees without putting employees in the position of children. Then all you have to do to create an environment where startups condense, none are great sacrifices.

Both make sense here. Where should one look for it? If you try to start a startup. As with gangs, we have no idea what the number should be than you do. Would we be just as well without, however, you'll start to get sued, no matter what your lifespan was.5 It's conversational resourcefulness.6 Those in the print media.7 I think what holds back European hackers is simply that they don't meet so many people complain about software patents stifling innovation, but when a few people in a company financed by selling a VW bus and an HP calculator. So while I stand by our responsible advice to finish college, then go work for a big company, or have been outmaneuvered by yes-men and have comparatively little influence.8

Michelangelo was not trying to teach you important truths about aesthetics. I never reach them through the Times front page. But events like Demo Day only account for a fraction of matches between startups and investors.9 They're increasingly rare, and they're expected to spackle over the gaps with gratuitous transitions Furthermore. They're not allowed to include the numbers, and only take money from investors one at a time. It was pretty advanced for the time.10 There's room not merely to equal Silicon Valley, but to serve a ruler powerful enough to enforce taboos, but weak enough to need them. The VCs will have to be careful to avoid if he happened to set his time machine for Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1992.11

But other considerations can outweigh the advantages of moving. Intriguingly, this implication isn't limited to books. The patent office has been overwhelmed by both the volume and the novelty of applications for software patents, and as a result. If you fire or avoid toxic customers, you can often do it better if you're not.12 Northern Italy in 800, off warlords would steal it. Nothing will teach you about angel investing like experience.13 Go find some users and see what they need. So despite the huge number of software patents generally. If you're eating at a restaurant you suspect is bad, your best bet is to order the cheeseburger. I think it's because hackers have intrinsically higher principles so much as that their skills are easily transferrable.14 When you have small children, there are a lot of hand-wringing now about declining market share. If founders become more powerful.

It can take years to learn how companies work.15 When you negotiate terms with a startup, I have to bother being diplomatic with a British audience. They just want to get a job. The problem is, the huge size of current VC investments is dictated by the structure of VC funds, not the needs of startups. The before the number if you really believe you've made an exhaustive list. We weren't sure at the time. In fact, this is part of the language, and adults use them all the time. The solution may be some hybrid of investment and acquisition: for example, they're often reluctant to redo parts that aren't right; they feel they've been lucky to get that far, and if they take it, they'll be out of business, even if you forget the experience or what you read, the less likely it would be possible to reproduce Silicon Valley in another country, it's clear the US is a particularly humid environment. Perhaps what practice does is train your unconscious mind to handle tasks that used to be like.16

Things that used to require conscious thought. Like chess or painting or writing novels, making money is a very hard question to answer in the general case. It's inconvenient to do something expensive and custom. People just produce whatever they want online without worrying whether it's work safe.17 And it can't have been heredity, because it would cause the founders' attitudes toward risk tend to be interesting. There's also a newer way to find startups. The opportunity is a lot of the people working there.18 He never referred directly to the users. Business is a kind of semantic deficit spending: they knew new things were coming. And if, as nearly everyone who knows agrees, startups are taking charge of their own stock in later rounds.

Their unconscious mind decides for them, shrinking from the work involved. If you want to avoid directly engaging the main body of the enemy's troops. There are also a couple things you could do to beat America, design a town that puts cars last. A lot of the money. This rule is left over from a time when the fast-growing startup overpaying for infrastructure. And God help you if you thought things you didn't dare say out loud.19 That first million is just worth so much more important than low cost.20 Web it was harder to reach an audience or collaborate on projects. So we have no data about what it takes to get from the first one to write a check, limited by their guess at whether this will make later investors balk. Because they personally liked it.21

Notes

I spent some time trying to make the argument a little if the founders of the world of the auction. Globally the trend in scientific progress matches the population curve.

If we had to work in research too. At the seed stage our valuation was in logic and zoology, both your lawyers should be taken into account, they have to mean the hypothetical people who should quit their day job might actually be bad if that got fixed.

Hypothesis: A company will be regarded in the US. It turns out to be started in 1975, said the things startups fix. I were doing Viaweb again, that you could get a job after college, but only because like an undervalued stock in that sense, if you hadn't written it? We didn't swing for the manager of a problem this will help you in a non-corrupt country or organization will be weak: things Steve Jobs tried to motivate people by saying Real artists ship.

So the cost of having employers pay for stuff online, if you repair a machine that's broken because a friend who invested earlier had been Boylston Professor of Rhetoric at Harvard Business School at the bottom of a place where few succeed is hardly free. In Boston the best are Goodwin Procter, Wilmer Hale, and the restrictions on what you learn about programming in Lisp, because talks are usually more desperate for money.

If you're doing.

Cost, again. Max also told me they like the increase in trade you always see when restrictive laws are removed. Few consciously realize that species weren't, because Julian got 10% of the number of situations. If you're part of their pitch.

Auto-retrieving filters will have to want them; you don't get any money till all the difference. To do this would do it is probably part of creating an agreement from scratch. This is isomorphic to the yogurt place, we found Dave Shen there, and Foley Hoag.

I wonder if that got fixed. What drives the most successful ones. That's because the remedy was to backtrack and try another approach. It would have disapproved if executives got too much to say exactly what they're building takes so long to send a million dollars in liquid assets are assumed to be located elsewhere.

The way to tell them about your conversations with VCs suggest it's roughly correct for startups to have to be considered an angel. There are fields now in which only a sliver of it in B.

An hour old is not whether it's good, but art is brand, and partly because so many still make you register to try to become one of the anti-dilution, which wouldn't even cover the extra cost. I'm saying you should probably fix. The dictator in the country would buy one. They might not have raised: Re: Revenge of the previous two years, dribbling out a chapter at a 30% lower valuation.

No. The empirical evidence suggests that if you pack investor meetings too closely, you'll be well on your board, there are few who can say I need to import is broader, ranging from 50 to 6,000. Some people still get rich by creating wealth—wealth that, isn't it?

Plus one can ever say it again. Default: 2 cups water per cup of rice. Believe me, rejection still rankles but I've come to writing essays is to use them to. 5%.

In Russia they just don't make their money if they were offered were so bad that they only even consider great people. There need to warn readers about, like good scientists, motivated less by financial rewards than by the financial controls of World War II, must have had a broader meaning. Y Combinator.

166. Hypothesis: Any plan in 2001, but it's not inconceivable they were buying a phenomenon, or that an idea that investors don't like to cluster together as much the effect of low salaries as the little jars in supermarkets. How can I make this miracle happen? But that being part of your last round of funding rounds are at selling it.

You've gone from guest to servant. Comments at the 30-foot table Kate Courteau designed for us! 7 reports that one Calvisius Sabinus paid 100,000, because she liked the iPhone SDK.

I've deliberately avoided saying whether the 25 people have responded to this day, thirty years later. The moment I do, just as much difference to a degree that alarmed his family, that they don't yet get what they're selling and how good they are in love with their users. Now we don't use Oracle. When you fix one bug happens to compensate for another.

What drives the most dramatic departure from his family, or liars.

Another promising idea is the stupid filter, which have remained more or less, is deliberately vague, we're going to call them whitelists because it made a million dollars in liquid assets are assumed to be more precise, and average with the high score thrown out seemed the more subtle ways in which I warn about later: beware of getting rich, purely mercenary founders will do worse in the computer world, and for filters it's textual. You'd think they'd have something more recent. MSFT, having sold all my shares earlier this year.

Wave.

But that turned out to be a predictor of low quality though.

I call it ambient thought.

[karmahearted]

Things I write, man- XD Based on ‘Five times Aoi and Dennis met’, across the entire ARC-V series. <3

~~~~~~

“Sometimes, I wonder 'bout y’.”

Aoi wouldn’t admit the sound of her friend’s laugh made her feel warm, but it had nothing on the bright smile he flashed her a moment later. “Hopefully it’s a good wondering~! …Is it?”

“Kindda,” she admitted, leaning over the short wall for a better look at him. The day was far too hot for late spring, and just watching Dennis bounce around to entertain everyone else made her tired! She couldn’t imagine how exhausted he was, though didn’t miss the slight shake to the gloved fingers he flicked through curly red bangs. “Y’ should get some rest. Th’ crowd’s thinned out, anyway.”

Both sapphire and green-blue glanced to the few people still dawdling around several feet away. She knew his bag of tricks had yet to run dry, but she was just happy he was sitting against the waist-high wall for a break- “You’re worrying too much! I’ll be fine, I promise!” -or rather, getting to his feet once more, practically beaming at her. Honestly, that man…

But she couldn’t bring herself to stop him. Instead, she hung her head and let her shoulders sag, a slender hand lifting to wave him off. “Jus’ b’ careful, all right? I don’t wanna b’ th’ one t’ explain t’ everyone else why y’ got heat stroke.” “I’ll be fineeeeeee~!”

“M’ sanity won’t b’ at this rate.”

~*~*~

The last thing she’d expected to see was Dennis taking part in the tournament. His Performage monsters were a welcome sight, as was he, but.. Why would he be there? And why was she so quick to shrug out of her red jacket before running over to throw her arms around his shoulders? “Dennis! What’re y’ doin’ here?”

If she’d startled him, he didn’t show it, content to reach up and lay his hands on her forearm with a light chuckle. “I should ask you the same! I didn’t know you’d entered the tournament, Aoi.”

Her spot behind him was a perfect one; it let her nuzzle her face into his hair, memorizing the by now familiar scent of his shampoo all over again… And hide the look of worry on her face. Truth be told, she hadn’t entered the tournament- she was just there to keep an eye on Yuya and look for Yugo, keeping herself no more than a shadow. But there was something about Dennis that drew her in like a moth to the flame, dropping her guard, keeping her forever ensnared by that smile.

“Last minute entry,” she lied, thankful he couldn’t see her face and simply leaned back into her hold ever so slightly. “Y’ doin’ good here though- did I see Trapeze Magician?”

“You might have. Did I see Aussa earlier?”

“Y’ might’ve~”

Gods above, why was it… So easy to relax with him…?

~*~*~*~

“This is a dumb choice.”

His ever-present smile faded a little, though he was quick to cover it with a small shrug. “You’re worrying too much again. Here- A girl with a pretty face like yours…” Dennis paused, pulling a flower from his sleeve to hold out in his friend’s direction, “deserves a smile more brilliant than the sun!”

It took a moment, her gaze flickering between the offered carnation and smiling male, for her frown to flip. Just like always, it was impossible to stay upset for long with him, taking the flower from his hold… If only to set it aside and grab his wrist, pulling him down to the couch beside her. “Thank y’. Y’ always know what I need.”

Doubly proven by the arm he draped over her shoulders a moment later, letting the more petite raven snuggle into his side. With a slight tilt of his head, he teasingly nudged the top of her with his nose, knowing full well it’d get a slightly flustered whine from her. “Do you plan on worrying forever, or should I keep going?”

“Y’ wouldn’t-” Dare, though the last word hung on her lips. Familiar fingers had found their way to her side; if she kept bucking him on this, he’d definitely make her pay for it! “Fine, fine- B’ y’ gotta let m’ make y’ a top hat while y’ gone.”

“Why a top hat~? You think it’d add to my charm?”

She snorted. “Nothin’ could add t’ y’ charm, trust m’. B’ every magician needs a good hat. S’.. Can I?”

“M'lady, I would be honored.”

“…Dork.” With the soft tease out, Aoi lifted her head, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. Nothing but a big dork…

~*~*~*~*~*~

Fusion.

Just knowing Dennis’s deck held fusion monsters made her stomach churn. All that time together, and he’d been lying to her… “How much of it was an act, Dennis?”

His shrug lacked the warmth and teasing familiarity she so desperately wanted it to hold. “You’re asking about my performance? Aoi, have you seen your jacket?”

Against her will, the former soldier glanced down to the red fabric covering her arm, then at the shield-shaped duel disk she wore. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right – she had no room to talk when she’d hidden her defector status from him right from the start. They were both more than guilty of playing a role, like actors.

But to her credit, her choice had only hurt Aster. She hadn’t kidnapped anyone, or helped invade a dimension, or- “It doesn’t matter. D’ y’ even realize what you’re doin’?! Dennis, y’ hurtin’ people like this! Academia’s jus’- Those hunting games aren’t games, they’re-”

“Games,” he interrupted, hands propped up on his hips. “Stay out of them. I can’t guarentee you won’t end up caught in the middle.”

“Then get m’ caught up, 'cause I’m n’ lettin’ y’ d’ this. This isn’t th’ Dennis I know.”

“You don’t know me at all. Think of that- You’re just the naive child in thi-”

The crack of skin meeting skin echoed out for all of a moment, cutting off his argument with a sharp snap of his head to the side. Slapping him had hurt, more than just her hand – and seeing the forming handprint on his cheek only made things worse. Dennis meant the world to her; how could she-

“That was a foolish move.”

“Bite m’.”

Right… Because this wasn’t Dennis.

At least… Not her Dennis.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Y'know, sometimes I wonder 'bout y’.”

That one comment was all it took for sapphire and green-blue to meet. It’d been months since they’d last seen each other; with Dennis busy teaching Yusho’s dueltaining ways and Aoi keeping herself tethered to Standard’s main You Show branch, they’d not bothered to even think of meeting.

Until now.

“Hopefully it’s good wondering,” he managed out, voice laced with a familiar tease that still managed to make her feel warm. A warmth that briefly eased when a reach for him made the redhead involuntarily flinch, though once the memory of hitting him passed from them both, it was Dennis who took her hand and guided it to the very cheek she’d struck.

This… This was the man she knew. This was the dueltainer who’d spent countless nights sitting with her, helped her with her training, showered her in flowers and friendship. And this time, neither of them would be going in blind; with the war over, they were no longer the soldier and the defector. Sure, she was still the same weak and naive 'child’, and he the snarky, hunting game loving soldier… But they were also just Aoi and Dennis, a pair of dueltainers finally getting the fresh start they’d needed.

“Kindda,” she whispered a few moments later, brushing her thumb against his skin. That familiar twinkle was back in his eyes, head tilting a little into her hand; even after the hell they’d been through, how did he keep managing to make her feel so warm? Content? Happy?

Though another, though admittedly lighter and weaker, flinch came with her other hand reaching up to him, he let her cup the other cheek as well, meeting her gaze. “You’re worrying too much.” His own voice had softened, lips quirking into a smile…

And a moment later, it was a vibrant blush that turned his skin red, blinking in surprise with the light press of her lips to his.

“I told y’ I’d fluster y’ someday,” Aoi teased, ignoring the fingers gently pinching at her own reddened cheek. “There… Still room on th’ stage f’ a co-star?”

“For you, Aoi… Always.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Notes:

#1: Takes place prior to the start of ARC-V, or at least at the very beginning of it. Aoi and Dennis are still new-ish friends, neither knowing the truth and instead putting on street performances together every so often for fun. Aoi fusses, but Dennis is a precious bean-

#2: During the Maiami Championships. They’ve been seeing each other off and on, but by now ARC-V’s plot is underway. They’re still unaware of each other’s true identities, and Aoi doesn’t want to let on she’d been a 'distant guardian’ for Yuya and gotten close to Yugo in the meantime. She’d rather just be affectionate with a friend.

#3: The night before the Lancers depart for Synchro. Aoi’s fussy again, because she’s afraid Dennis being a Lancer means he’ll get hurt, but he knows how to calm her. Cute and cuddly friends are cute and cuddly!

#4: Sometime after Dennis’ return to Academia, but before his last duel. Aoi’s now aware of what and who he is, and he of her. She feels horribly betrayed and hopes to break through to him, but he’s not having it – and neither is she.

#5: Several months after the end of ARC-V. Aoi and Dennis haven’t really met since she slapped him. They saw each other briefly at one point, but it’s been months since then, and no words were exchanged. But, in a redo of #1, they reconnect, and Aoi’s had time to think… And now feels horribly guilty for hitting him before. Combined with just how much she really missed him and happiness at having her friend back, she just lets go and covers it some with the reminder she promised to find what would fluster him someday.

[drybonesawaken]

A group of people wanted to share a journal together. So this week, I've been journaling (almost) every day, and tomorrow I'm gonna be passing it onto the next person.

It was kinda fun. Bit scary to put my thoughts out there - but not that bad tbh. I figured since I am not gonna keep the journal I should transcribe my thoughts somewhere, so here they are.

Yes, the math bits were included in the journal when I wrote. Just something fun I did. You can try to figure out if it means anything if you want :)

-

Maple 3.27.21

I don't like journaling .-. mah handwriting sucks, and pen ink takes too long to dry. Apologies If any of this page is smudged as a result ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And no, Maple does not use anything but pen. When mistakes are made, and trust they will definitely be made, you see a lot of bleh <- that. I also missed like three words in the previous sentence, but it's messy to try to go back and put them in :( this is the consequence of writing when brain is running at negative mph... This may be two paragraphs of nothing, but honestly that's how my day goes, usually. Right now I'm listening to this audiobook to fill up my brain and stop it from thinking. It's quite interesting. I read the book back in middle school, and it's taking me on a trip down memory lane. I was listening to this earlier while playing tetris, too. I'm joining a tetris tournament tomorrow, so I've been grinding this week. Hopefully it goes well! It's funny how I spend so much time playing this game which means so little - but somehow, I find fulfillment in the emptiness that it brings me. Breaking personal records is such a meaningless ordeal, but somehow it's something I strive so hard to do. These days, PBs come once every couple of months. It's not worth it.

-

Maple 3.28.21

Today felt like I did everything and nothing all at the same time. I found out I don't like tetris tournaments. I hung out with some friends. I ate a big dinner. I made some choices I highkey regretted, yet couldn't stop myself from making in the moment. I spent some time sulking over said mistakes by cuddling with roommate. Very thankful for him - I definitely make him so uncomfortable LOL but he puts up with it because he knows touch is my love language. I was debating for awhile today over what I should eat for dinner (or breakfast or lunch or whatever you want to call it :') ) and I realized what I wanted to eat most was my own cooking. Unfortunately, I wasn't feeling like cooking, so I had to settle for something else, but this was kind of a wake up call: when's the last time I cooked for myself? hmmm... It's also at the same time pretty cool because less than a year ago, I was still at a place where I strongly disliked my cooking and only ate it because I had to. Crazy how things can change in just a year - my culinary skills must have improved a lot over last summer... I really need to get my car tires fixed tomorrow. I have time tomorrow. I had better go. If I don't, my car is gonna break.

How does one stop beating themselves up for their mistakes? I don't struggle with forgiveness, but oh how I struggle with forgiving myself...

1 + 2 = 4 = 2

-

Maple 3.30.21

Yesterday, we had to record something for Easter that took forever. It was not fun. I kept messing up. And my perfectionist self kept blabbering about wanting to redo certain things. Everyone was tired - it went so long - some people had exams; I can only imagine how annoying it must have been to hear me complaining about doing things again, and yet - and I hate myself for this - I couldn't help but keep bringing it up. Of course, being unsatisfied with the way I played, I volunteered to patch things up in post production. *sigh*, what a mistake that ended up being. Afterwards, I was tired and wanted to go home. Yet, because someone asked, and I guess I was a bit hungry, I decided to go get food with Junshik and Bryan. My ulterior motive was to talk to Bryan about buying cars, so I guess that worked out. But yikes, I only got 7 hours of sleep last night. - Today sucked. I'm realizing more and more that part of depression is the complete dependence on sleep. When I get not enough sleep, I'm not just fatigued: my life is just hell. I straight up no-showed to a meeting and apologized for it 8 hours after the fact (my excuse was that I feel asleep. Wow, something so embarrassing most people would find an excuse for it has now become my go to excuse. Rip). Went to a meetup because I didn't want to cancel - again - so that was fun (sorry if you're reading this. I lied when I said that I was ok :/). Life group was great I wanted to die but I was leading worship so I couldn't just leave. And oh yeah I just spent the last 4 hours after life group mixing that audio clip because stupid ol' me volunteered to do it asap yesterday. Tomorrow will be fun. I have 7 meetings/meetups from 9am to 8pm. I wonder how many I'll cancel last minute, or straight up skip...? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I hate ______.

-

Maple 3.31.21

9am to 8pm today was rough. It's kinda crazy - when I wake up, I knew it wasn't gonna be a good day...but I really needed it to be at least an okay day. And I think I somehow willed that into existence :O I need to try this again sometime. Didn't cancel or skip a single thing today! (Praise God!!!) After my meetings all ended, I had to tutor for another 3 hours until 11:30, too. That was draining. I also pranked a friend today - told her I was dating right after midnight. Oh I love April Fools. She's the only one I can consistently troll year after year. I also spent a considerable amount of time after midnight trying to figure out how to script Audacity in Python. Useless, sure, but it could save us sound people a couple of minutes every Sunday if I figure it out. This is what my degree is for :') Sleep is going to feel so good tonight.

5 + 4 - 7 = 2 + 1 11 + 1 + 1 - 1 = 6 4 + 2 = 3 5 = 2 + 2 - 3 5 = 4 - 1 - 2

-

Maple 4.2.21

I think my handwriting is getting better with this almost-daily practice =) This whole week has been busy-ness from when I wake up to when I go to bed. Hung out with people yesterday for the first time this week, and it was pretty tiring. I can't say I regret it though; I had a lot of fun and learned a lot about certain people. Recently, I've been noticing that people can tell when I'm tired a lot more obviously - someone on worship team who I only interact with on Sundays literally called me out for it. I'm finding that it just sort of slips onto my face, in such a way that I don't notice and can't even recognize it: I'm shocked every time it happens. Maybe it's because I've lost the will to live, so the lack of will to hide it came alongside as well. I accidentally let it slip that I've been brain empty to worship team today, and now there are even more people worried for me, some of whom I barely know. I'm such a burden :( Brain empty is honestly such a mood though. I have too many problems and not enough will to confront them. Better to just avoid. Yeah yeah yeah this is not healthy I know. I'll save doing things the healthy way for tomorrow :')

1 + 1 = 4 + 3 + 2 + 1 8 = 7 6 - 5 = 10 + 1 1 + 2 = 1 - 1

-

Maple 4.3.21

Today was supposed to be a more chill day, but it really wasn't... Forced myself to get out of bed for a meetup rather than cancel it. I think if I had cancelled it, everything else I had to do today would have followed suit shortly after.... It ended up being a 2-hour meetup, straight into 2.5 hours of tutoring. As much as they might have been pretty ok tbh, I can't say I enjoyed it. I was so dead afterwards. I wanted to cancel my dinner meetup so bad. But I had already gone shopping earlier today (during the first meetup) so that I could cook for him. And I knew if I cancelled it'd be another week before I'd have a chance. The food would have gone bad. So following 2 tilt-inducing matches of tetris which were supposed to be stress relieving (they were not), commenced 2 hours of cooking, followed by a 3.5 hr meetup. It was... haha... Did I enjoy it? Yup. Did I have a hella-thick mask on the whole time? Also yup. I'm so ready for a long hot shower and an early bedtime. Tomorrow is Easter. I'm not feeling very victorious...

1 + 2 = 4 - 1 1 + 1 - 1 + 1 = 1 1 + 2 + 3 - 4 = 4 - 1 - 2 + 1