#if i do and it keeps getting notes ill either rewrite one i dropped or make a new one

[bvmbl3b0x]

for every note this gets ill add a sentence to my current wip

[dreaming-in-alicante]

New chapter is up! Way longer than I planned it to be, lol. I mention Grace training with a bow and arrow in this chapter and now I'm just thinking about how awesome it would be for her to bond with Gabriel over archery.

Chapter 2: Taking stock

Grace jolted as a loud bang echoed through the basement. She was grateful that she had set down her glass beaker a moment before, else she surely would have dropped it. She whirled swiftly around, locating Christopher, and was relieved to find him startled but unharmed. Still, she asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said, inspecting his shirtsleeve where a hole had burned through. “My apologies. It turns out that combining a Swiftness rune with my current modified rune does not in fact make a message travel as desired, it just causes the message to explode,” he said, unfazed. He had been working on another long-time project, a way to send messages in an instant. “Perhaps I should take a break and return to this project later when Henry is around to consult with. He should be back from Idris next week.” Christopher bent to write something in his notebook, then made his way over to Grace’s station where she had a solution refluxing over a Bunsen burner. “How are you getting on with the synthesis?” he asked.

Grace had been working her way through some of Christopher’s old notebooks. The best way to gain scientific knowledge, it turned out, was to do the experiments yourself. She was attempting to replicate his results on past projects. In the process, she was learning basic techniques and becoming comfortable with the various instruments and chemicals in the laboratory.

“It seems to be going well,” shee told him, “although the solution is a darker yellow than you have described in your notes.” This began a very informative discussion about reaction conditions and the purity of compounds. By this point, it was starting to get dark outside, and so Grace finished her experiment and tidied up somewhat. “I’ll see you – not tomorrow, with the family day– Sunday then?” she asked.

“That’s right! I had nearly forgotten,” Christopher said, smiling. “My parents have – wait a moment. I thought we were inviting you and Jesse over! Oh heavens, I hope I wasn’t in charge of telling you,” he said worriedly.

“They did remember to invite us. Jesse will be there,” Grace assured him as she located her coat.

“And you won’t?” Christopher asked, head tilting in confusion.

“I thought it should stay strictly family. Jesse will always be my brother, but Tatiana was never truly family. And I share no blood with you all,” Grace explained. “It all worked out anyway because I… actually have family of my own that I’m meeting tomorrow. Cousins, or technically second cousins, around my age who are coming to London on some business this weekend.” She had sent a letter to her father’s cousin soon after everything had happened, and quickly gotten a response.

“I didn’t realize you had contact with the remaining Cartwrights! That’s wonderful then,” Christopher said jovially. “Have you met them before?” he asked.

Grace shook her head. “Perhaps as a young child, but not that I can remember,” she told him. “They were thrilled to hear from me though. Apparently, they sent letters infrequently over the years. Tatiana,” she said, fists clenching, “never let me know about them, and evidently sent short replies to tell them that I was well, but didn’t want to see them.” It was just one more cruelty Tatiana had inflicted.

Christopher frowned and said solemnly, “I’m very sorry Grace. That’s a terrible thing. I’m sorry that you had to suffer under her for so many years.”

“The important thing is that I’m free of her now,” Grace told him. She had to leave so that she could meet Jesse on time for training, so she quickly put on her coat and started out. “Until Sunday, then,” she said, bidding Christopher good evening before she left.

_________________________________________________________

Grace felt unusually light as she made her way home. It was incredible, she reflected, how so much had changed in just over two weeks. Spending her day in the laboratory was strangely peaceful, despite the occasional explosions. For so many years she had been defined by other people: she was Tatiana’s obedient girl, Jesse’s loving and determined sister, Tatiana’s weapon. In the lab, with Christopher… she was learning how to just be Grace.

Things had also improved outside the lab. Bolstered by a new confidence, Grace had finally accepted Jesse’s offer to join him in training. She was pleased to find that she remembered much of the training they had done together before he died. Over the years she had practiced when she could, but those times were rare with Tatiana prowling the house at odd hours. She was fast becoming skilled with a bow and arrows. She was also learning quickly with a Seraph blade, an entirely new weapon, although she doubted she was yet proficient enough to effectively wield them against a demon.

It was immensely satisfying to train and think how horrified Tatiana would have been. Grace wore dark gear rather than pale silk and lace dresses, hair kept in a simple braid instead of elaborate styles. She was gaining muscles and callouses, as well as covering herself in marks to increase agility, speed, accuracy, and so on. She was no longer Tatiana’s flawless porcelain doll. Even when not training, Grace now preferred simple dresses – necessary when she spent extensive time in a lab where spills and fires were always a risk.

Grace usually joined Jesse for training either quite early or quite late in the day, when fewer people were at the Institute. Jesse would share new techniques that he had learned and spar with her, as did Lucie on the days she joined them. Lucie had warmed again to Grace somewhat, although she still was a bit awkward whenever Cordelia or James came up in conversion. Another wonderful outcome of training was a tentative friendship with Ariadne that began when she encountered Grace and Jesse while training one evening. Ariadne confessed she had been unsettled by the revelations after Grace’s trial, but she bore Grace no ill will. They had started trading book recommendations.

Three friends made in three weeks, Grace thought, quite a change after a lifetime with none. Well, perhaps she had friends before her parents died, but if so, she did not remember them. Although it was difficult to tell whether she was truly friends with Lucie and Ariadne quite yet and not just familiar acquaintances. Grace didn’t entirely know how a friendship worked, how one should interact with friends. However, she was sure that Christopher could be counted as a genuine friend. They spent lots of time together and talked about numerous topics and weren’t those basic elements of a friendship?

_________________________________________________________

Sunday came quickly and Grace arrived in the lab early, eager to start a project she had considered for several days – organizing chemicals and other supplies in the lab. There was a system, vaguely, but she felt it could be much improved. She saw Christopher do a double-take when he arrived a half hour later and realized she was there.

“Grace! Good morning. You’re early. Or am I late?,” he asked, perplexed.

Grace felt a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Up to this point, she had always gotten to Grosvenor Square later in the morning. “I arrived early today,” she said, alleviating Christopher’s confusion. “I’ve been getting to work on organizing all the chemicals and other compounds. I am also creating a more thorough inventory.”

Christopher appeared pleasantly surprised. “Capital idea, Grace!” he said. He examined the inventory list she had started, and offered a few suggestions for the layout.

“Jesse said you all had a good time together yesterday,” she said, hoping to make conversation as she started rewriting labels that were stained or faded on various vials.

“We did! It was a fine time having the family all together and talking to Jesse,” Christopher said happily, “although there was a small mishap when I tried out another rune combination.” His smile turned sheepish as he added, “Unfortunate, but my mother said the important thing is that no one got hurt, and she believes the sofa can be salvaged.”

Grace smiled slightly at the story, comparing it to the version she had heard from her brother. Jesse’s description of the incident had included a fairly large blaze that nearly set Sophie and Gideon on fire, a good deal of shouting, and the confiscation of Christopher’s steles for the remainder of the evening. “Jesse did mention something about an accident,” she said mildly.

“How was your visit with your cousins?” Christopher asked.

“Splendid. They were both very kind, and easy to talk to. I’ll be keeping in contact with them now,” Grace replied. Truly, it had been a pleasant afternoon with her two cousins – Samuel, Grace’s age, and Sarah, three years older. They had exchanged telephone numbers, and the two had extended an invitation for Grace to spend a weekend with them in Idris at the end of the month, to meet their parents and other siblings.

_________________________________________________________

They were working in companionable silence that afternoon when a voice that Grace recognized as Thomas Lightwood’s called “Hello Kit!”

“Afternoon, Tom!” Christopher greeted him as Thomas stepped into the lab.

“Oh, and Grace. Good afternoon. Kit and Jesse mentioned you were helping out now,” Thomas said, looking a bit unsure.

“Hello, Thomas,” Grace said simply in reply. She turned back to the bench and busied herself inspecting a bottle, putting on a new label, and marking it in the growing inventory list. She had seen Thomas several times in passing, and he came up fairly frequently in conversations with her new mutual friends, but she had not spoken with him directly. She was grateful when Christopher began updating Thomas on his research, and Thomas’s scrutinizing gaze moved away from her. Evidently Thomas had stopped by early to catch up with Christopher before the Merry Thieves all went out that evening.

Grace did her best to avoid Thomas as she moved around the lab to get various chemicals or use different instruments like the microscope. She did have to interrupt their conversation at one point, calling Christopher over to inspect a vial, because did it actually contain demon poison? (It did – from a Raum demon to be precise) Several minutes later she searched for a bottle that she swore had been right in front of her. “Christopher, have you seen the hydrochloric acid?” she asked.

“Hm, I’m not sure that I have,” he said, searching around slightly, but keeping his attention largely focused on pipetting a solution.

Thomas sighed but smiled fondly as he plucked the bottle in question from among the glassware in from of Christopher. “It’s right here,” Thomas said, then walked over towards Grace. “There you are,” he said, handing her the bottle.

“Thank you,” Grace replied, taking the bottle from him somewhat clumsily. He started to turn, then halted.

“I know everything’s all still a bit awkward, but – especially after talking with Jesse yesterday– I just want you to know that I don’t hold anything against you, Grace,” Thomas told her earnestly. “Goodness knows I’ve made bad decisions myself. And when I imagine myself in your situation – if I’d had the opportunity to get my sister back,” he said, swallowing hard, “and only Aunt Tatiana for company, well… I’ll just say that I can understand your motivations. I hope that we can be on amiable terms.” He looked very sincere.

“I – er, thank you. I appreciate it,” Grace said, uncertain how to respond. That seemed enough to satisfy Thomas, however; he nodded at her and made his way back to Christopher’s work station.

The atmosphere was much less tense after that, but it did not last long. Christopher was somewhere upstairs, changing from his burned and stained lab clothing into something he was allowed out in for the evening, when she heard more than one person coming down the stairs. She looked up to see alarm rising in Thomas’s expression, and turned to see James and Matthew as they greeted Thomas.

“Ah,” James said, he and Matthew halting as they saw Grace. “Miss Blackthorn,” he greeted her coolly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” His expression indicated that he would have much preferred not to see her ever again.

“It’s Cartwright again, actually,” Grace told him, fiddling with her pen, unsure what to do with her hands.

“Good afternoon, Miss Cartwright. What are you doing in my father’s lab? Are you planning to seduce Thomas or Kit now?” Matthew asked, voice bright with false cheerfulness.

Grace struggled to restrain her temper at the insult. “I am here to study science, and work on research with Christopher. I have been doing so for the last several weeks, in fact,” she said evenly.

“Science? You’re here to learn about science? With Christopher?” James asked, as he and Matthew stared at her incredulously.

“You expect use to believe that?” Matthew asked, eyebrows raised. “That you have suddenly been overcome with a burning interest in science, have come to the Consul’s house, and you don’t have some ulterior motive?”

Grace took a deep breath. “I am interested in science. I never had the freedom to pursue it before but I find it exceedingly fascinating. I am trying to find a place for myself, and a purpose. And Christopher,” she emphasized, “has no issue with my being here.” She stared them both down. “I know I did you terrible wrongs. I have apologized, to both of you, and many others. I don’t know what else you expect me to do,” she said in an icy tone. “And even if you doubt my sincerity, you must have by this point heard that my power was removed. Ask your mother the Consul,” she said, gesturing at Matthew, “or ask Jem Carstairs and the other Silent Brothers.”

It was at this tense moment that Christopher returned, changed into clothing that had not yet been stained or burned. “James, Matthew!” he greeted them happily, then seemed to finally register the fact that everyone’s expression looked strained. “Is something the matter?” he asked confusedly.

“Yes, somewhat,” James said. “You somehow forgot to mention that Miss Bla- sorry, Miss Cartwright has been helping you in the lab?” He stared hard at Christopher, face showing his disbelief.

“Yes, Grace has been helping. It’s been quite a good time so far,” Christopher said, still looking quite baffled. “Did you want to help too?” he asked, looking between both James and Matthew.

“We’re not upset because we want to help in the lab,” Matthew burst out, “we want to know why you not only invited our – our nemesisinto my family’s house, and neglected to even mention it!”

“Grace is our nemesis?” Christopher asked, looking even more bewildered.

“Kit, do you not remember the entire ordeal over the past few months? In which we discovered that for years Grace used a bracelet and demon powers to control my mind? Under the direction of your crazy aunt and my demon grandfather?” James asked with great exasperation.

“Oh that!” Christopher said, looking pleased that he had finally figured out what they were discussing. “Yes of course I remember that. Grace apologized! She feels very badly about all of it,” he stated, apparently expecting that to settle the matter.

“Kit, we are telling you that you can’t be sure of her intentions. She could still be up to something,” Matthew said.

“I am not-” Grace began to retort, but was cut off as Matthew continued, “It’s just that you have to see how it looks, you suddenly being all friendly with someone who is a known manipulator who, for very good reasons, does not get on with your friends?”

“Thomas has Alastair around all the time, and we never used to like him either,” Christopher said stubbornly. “I don’t understand why we can’t also be friends with Grace now too.” Thomas sputtered, clearly uncomfortable having his still-new boyfriend brought into the conversation. Up to this point he had been hovering nervously, eyes darting back and forth as his friends argued. “Grace has apologized,” Christopher continued “She’s here because she wants to pursue science, and seeing as neither of you spend much time down here, you wouldn’t see her much.”

Grace was astounded to see ever-cheerful Christopher looking slightly angry. His friends looked quite surprised as well.

“Also,” Christopher added, “isn’t it rude to be arguing about Grace while she’s still in the room?”

Clearly taken aback, James said, “I didn’t mean to…I – look, Kit, just…” His mouth tightened as he glanced at Grace, then back to Christopher. “Gwyliwch eich cefn. Mae hi'n aml yn dweud celwyddau,” he said in some odd language.

Christopher answered him in the same language, his tone still uncharacteristically sharp. “Hyderaf hi.”

The cousins stared each other down for another moment until an abashed-looking Matthew cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “We’ll go wait upstairs, I think,” he said, tugging James towards the stairs.

They left, and Christopher told Thomas that he’d be cleaned up in a minute if he’d like to head upstairs too. Thomas did so as Christopher capped his open test tubes and turned off the Bunsen burners, face still pensive.

Grace broke the uneasy silence. “I’m sorry to put you in a difficult spot with your friends, Christopher.”

Christopher looked appalled as he replied, “No, I’m sorry Grace. I suppose I never thought to mention that you were helping in the lab now. I didn’t think about how they would react if they just saw you down here.” He sighed. “I’m never sure what to tell which people, or predict how they will react,” he said sadly. “I think they’ll come around though,” he added, brightening. “I’ll talk to them tonight. Maybe if I just tell them about the experiments we’ve been working on, and your organizational system…”

Grace began cleaning her station as well, but she still had a remaining question. “What was it that you and James were speaking? Was it some demon language?” she inquired. She had not yet covered any demon tongues in her training.

Christopher gave a small, surprised laugh. “Not a demon tongue actually – Welsh. Although my father does like to say it’s quite unnatural,” he said, amused.

Grace hadn’t connected the pieces. She had known that James spoke Welsh. It would make sense that his cousins would speak the language as well. “What were you two saying?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

Christopher looked somewhat uncomfortable, avoiding her gaze, instead focusing on his notebook. “James warned me to watch my back because you’ve been known to lie,” he said finally. He looked up, now meeting her eyes, and said sincerely, “But I told him that I trust you.”

Grace looked back at him, overwhelmed by his earnestness. “Thank you, Christopher. You don’t know how much that means to me,” she said softly, and her cheeks suddenly felt a bit warm.

“Of course!” Christopher said. “You’re a wonderful lab partner. As good as Henry.”

Coming from Christopher, who greatly admired Henry, Grace recognized that this was indeed high praise.

“I should be leaving now,” he said, grabbing his hat. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Have a good time tonight.”

Christopher smiled at her as he left. Grace wondered what it meant that she felt an odd fluttering in her stomach at that. And as she made her way home, she kept replaying the moment in her mind where Christopher looked earnestly at her with bright violet eyes and told her that he trusted her.

[the-satellite]

Hello friends and welcome to ☆Hateful Nostalgia☆. I was exposed to the mob talker mod WAY too young bc I was an unsupervised child on the internet watching mod showcases and SkyDoesMinecraft. Looking back these sucked, the stories were often bland and the designs were milk toast at best and tits out at worst. So for the sake of procrastinating on working on anything substantial I grabbed the main 6 I remembered and gussied em up. Redesigns, rewrites, better names, all that bullshit. If your interested in better photos, design notes, story details and rambling hit the basement, otherwise here's a line up you should click for better quality.

Also I wrote all this once before already but I deleted it like a dumb bitch. On the night Unus Annus was murdered in front of my eyes no less. Was a rough fuckin night.

The Creeper- Kupa. An explosive pyromaniac with a habit of making empty threats and yelling. She protects what she believes to be her territory with a suicidal passion, but if you manage to get her to cool down and soften up she's pretty sick to hand out with. Hard of hearing, has at least one bout of head trauma at all times, and deathly allergic to cats.

Because the creeper is kinda the og I wanted to reference AT2's design more than the others, but I'm p sure the only thing I actually kept was the red hair and brown gloves. Otherwise I was doing whatever. I really wanted to lean into the explody bit of creepers, so I gave her some bite and dressed her in clothes referenced from Irish railroad workers. This may also be why I keep imaging her with a very heavy Irish or Scottish accent, whichever would be most incomprehensible when angry. Every color but her skin was color picked from one of the references, with some minor alterations for makes my eyes happy reasons.

With Kupa I imagine a story line with her would largely be about her as a character and her development than like an actual adventure narrative like everyone else. She starts off ready to blow up both you and herself in a misguided attempt to defend what she sees as her's and opens up and learns not everyone is out to get her. Lots of time taken to understand her childhood and how she ended up how she is. Very simple, probably the default or tutorial run people would go through.

The Zombie- Bee. The ill husk of a missing explorer suffering from a less than conventional appetite. She wallows in her self imposed loneliness, believing herself to be an irredeemable monster doomed to hurt those around her. What she really needs is a buddy and some clue to who she used to be. Rough voiced, chronically fatigued, and prone to spontaneous combustion in sunlight.

 I definitely consider this one the weakest for design sadly. I imagined Zombies as humans who went into strange caves and caverns and didn't come out for years, only to pop up as completely different people. I just tossed AT2's design. The first thing I did was make her a bit of a genderbent Steve and tinted her green bc Zombies in game are just Steve but green. Tore up her clothes, colored picked the darkest colors I could from the clothes on the in game and boom, Bee. I do vaguely regret not making her eyes pure black but I also still wanted her to be human enough to fit with the other overworld mods.

 Ok so Bee actually has a basic story. When you meet her she's aggressive, but as a warning. She fears the possibility she may hurt somebody so heads for threats immediately. Going back and forth between her cave and village for a while you learn more about the situation with the missing folks who come back and Bee as a person. After a bit you pick her up off her depressed ass and start a nocturnal adventure of refinding your past, adapting to who your becoming, overcoming self destuction, and slow burn babey!!! 

The Skeleton- Ulna. One of the few surviving warriors of a now destroyed kingdom and dead culture. She spends most of her time now traveling alone, hiding in trees and shooting anything see sees as a threat- which is everything- in the face with homemade arrows. Very much suffering from loss of her home and a bad case of lost purpose. A woman of few words, very antisocial, and naturally nocturnal.

 I came in with the Skeleton wanting to make her seem mysterious, so my first thought was immediately a cloak and a mask, but I wanted her face to like be visible so I went with the face paint. I didn't actually know that I wanted to do under there so I went with wraps that are reminiscent of the original outfit but still not tits out bc it's so fucking easy! Gave her a quiver, color picked the cloak and face paint from the in game model and the wraps from AT2'S art. I did like. Subconsciously draw her eyes the way I do Asian characters but I didn't have anything specific in mind so like go nuts with what you think she is.

 Ulna's deal is very much her lack of purpose or home and the entire thing is about finding that again. She's found sitting up in a tree during a storm pointing a bow and arrow into your face. She eventually let's you stick around until the storm is over and theres some bonding into deep night until the rain stops. You ask if she wants to come with on your little travelling sword for hire business, she says sure, sleep schedule shenanigans, backstory angst, and road trip bonding happens and she eventually decides that helping people is her new purpose and you're her new home

The Spider- Park. A young adult experiencing the world for the first time through her tribe's rite of passage. She's really just trying to figure out how to live life outside of the cave she's been stuck in her entire life and aggressively trying to be an independent adult despite not knowing anything about being an independent adult. Its projection. Blind in the daylight, naive and excitable, and taken to refusing help at her own risk.

 Ok so. I don't know who looked at the spider and said "purple haired loli with puffy pants" so I once again yeeted the whole thing, only really keeping the kinda cutesy and childish bits. Spiders are a tribe of humans what live in caves unless they've broken off to live on the surface. Kids are kept inside until they hit a certain milestone, where they come up to explore at night. They're usually small and pale, but are pretty kickass when necessary. Again picked the colors off the in game model, played with the lightest gray for the skin, and bc I couldn't figure out anyway to use the stripes so they're on the patches lol.

 Park's meeting is probably the funniest and most meet cute one here, in that she accidentally drops on top of you from a little cliff drop off. Cue loads of apologies and an explanation about the spider deal and being blind in light. She asks for some help getting around and bam babey friendship and emotional attachment! What follows is kinda a buddy of coming of age story with the obligatory goes home and is miserable scene. Generally it's just about being a scared young adult and having someone to fall back on and why that's important. Also crushes and young people being bad at that.

 The Blaze- Amber. A demonic entity who would let the world burn and the sun die if it meant she'd get her soul back. She's known for being ruthless, taking souls through force instead of making deals like other Blazes. Keeps this forceful nature even once she's become friendly, makes you do dump shit. Territorial, eyes glow and dim with her life, and runs remarkably warm.

 Amber here is the first one I actually did! I was just. Really tired that she was in a bikini. I decided early on I wanted overworld mobs to be human and everyone else was decidedly not, so Blazes are demons who gave up their souls under false pretenses to other Blazes. Because of how little clothes AT2's design wore I had essentially free reign and my thought was immediately to lean on golden knight bc of how Blazes are found protecting fortresses. The gold isn't picked from anything bc I was looser with the colors, but everything else is, and the hair is supposed to represent the smoke. Also the sticks in her hair are blaze rods bc I don't like them just floating around her.

Amber is found in the Nether obviously, protecting a fortress and immediately trying beat your ass and either incinerate you or make you give up your soul. During you prove yourself a p damn good fighter and she makes a deal to show you how Blazes exist and pursade you to give your soul up willingly. Bonding happens and she explains where the souls go and what happened to her. Insert line about how she dug in the sand for her soul until her fingers bleed bc I'm an Arcana freak lol. In general I'd just like her to learn to adapt to who she is now and learning to live life well instead of letting her anger burn her up from the inside out.

 The Enderman- Violet. A confused but sweet young bit of void created by and connected to the Ender Dragon. Her relationship with reality is tenuous at best and abusive at worst, making stable existence rather difficult. She doesn't know a name, age, gender, anything about herself aside from that she likes sweaters. Communicates primarily through psychic connections, docile and sweet, and melts like a witch in water.

 Violet was incredibly easy, so this may be way short. Endermen are decidedly human shaped void from the End with varying sentience. They're direct extensions of the Ender Dragon, and nobody knows how they're made or where they come from, not even they do. Adventurers who escaped The End say they seem scared of it though. Violet in particular is pretty damn new and extraordinary nonconforming, and I tried to show that with her sweater and ponytail. Once again, literally all colors picked. Definitely the simplest but one of my favs.

Violet is the sweetest meet up I think. As your traveling between villages you notice a strange enderman watching you and plant a little flower in front of her. She picks it and you hear a happy little trill come from you and a pretty voice say thank you in your head. Now you have a tall dark teleporting travel buddy! After a little bit of back and forth she tells you in some broken English that the Ender Dragon made her but she doesnt know how, and that it's bad and needs to be killed for the sake of Endermen and that's the new goal. Spoiler they're the corrupted souls of those that died fighting it, with it gone Endermen are free to exist as their own being and do whatever, hurray!

[chappedandfadedvds]

Jan 14th, Thursday 21:39

If only someone had stood witness to the destructive nature, that arose from a simple conversation on the sofa half an hour ago, they could have stopped this.

The show on the tv they had watched was forgotten by now, as the two stood strictly three steps apart in the middle of the livingroom. The heavy tension high when they faced each other through hard eyes. Neither of the two boys had backed out yet. Whatever may be said next tonight would only bring the truth that they had ignored for far too long.

And perhaps if they looked back on it, this moment had been nessecary, even though it only brought pain, when Jens overstepped the unspoken and careful line they had draw at one point between their first encounter and this night.

And maybe he would have stopped himself from voicing this sentence out loud, constructed of wrong words and false intent. If only he had cared enough to notice the violent storm brewing on the horizon.

„You do not understand this. You can’t. I’m not doing this to you.“

Too late. The tempest arrived. And they prepared to sink.

„Shut. The fuck. Up.“

Jens did, stunned into silence by the shock at the harsh eyes staring him down. Unfamiliar on a face he could draw blind. The younger boy loomed over him, radiating danger.Unnatural for the younger boy, who always seemed to keep a cool head and mellow attitude.

Lucas took a deep breath. The orange light of the lamp by the piano reflected in his eyes. 

„Shut up, you selfish asshole. God! I’m so sick and tired of this. You never ever fucking listen to me. Never trust me to know what I want.“

„That’s not true.“ Jens tried, his voice deflated at the lie he kept telling to both of them.

„No? Because I am pretty sure that that’s exactly the case.

You never listen. You never let me explain myself. You never talk to me. And I am not speaking about you yelling at me on random nights that you decide to burst.

I know what you are doing and it is self-destructive.“

It felt like a knife had been raised to his throat. Jens lost the ability to think.

„Just this once you are going to stay quiet and let me tell you what I think.“

Jens nodded wary. There was fear there in his heart. He didn’t wanted to listen to Lucas. He didn’t wanted to hear him out. But he had to, That’s what Jens burned on a loop into his mind to keep the desire to scream back locked inside.

„I tell you over and over and over again, that I don’t mind, that I want to be here, that I want to be with you. That you can tell me anything. Every single time.

And you don’t believe me, don’t trust my words, and it fucking hurts to stand on the sidelines. What do you want me to do, Jens? What?

I really want to scream at you rigth now, if it wouldn’t be for Lotte asleep upstairs.“

The hurt was marked deep in the younger boys expression, as he straightened his back. Jens felt small compared to the force that was brought against him. 

The voice only raised loud enough to strike Jens down. Lucas was attentive enough to not wake the only other member in the house as he took a step closer, his hand combing the hair out of his face.

„Jens! This is not going to work. I know what you are doing and it is not going to work!

Botteling up emotions and thoughts in silence hasn’t worked for my mother a year ago and it will not work for you now. Sorry that I have to break it to you. But fuck you! Fuck you for deciding on my behalf. For keeping me out of it. Do you think I don’t know how much this sucks?

Should we have met in the highst of summer, smoking, sipping beer at a lake. Kissing underwater and driving our bike through the heat of the sun. Yes we should have. We should have our parents at home, happy, a bit stressed out by work, but still completely there for us. We should laugh and party and worry about passing history class this year. Waste all our thoughts on what to do for our brithdays and which university to attend. Tough luck. We don’t.

We have this stupid pandemic and asshole governments and on top of it all our family’s problems.

My father is a fucking homophobic piece of shit, yours wasn’t even really around to begin with. 

My mother is so ill, her brain needs medication to function properly. She just left me to figure it all out by myself a couple years ago. I washed my clothes and learned to cook at least some damn pasta. My father burning himself out at work, everything to not have to be home until he took off. She was fucking suicidal at times, breaking down without apparent reason. It’s fucking scary to see traces of it in your behaviour. And I can’t believe that I am the fucking lucky one here between us.

Because, I had Kes to help me through it, when I called him up one day. He listened and never left afterwards. And my mom is getting better. She’ll be fine. I get to have her and my life back soon.

And yes you have it worse. I know. I am so, so, so sorry. Your mom is dying, leaving you with your sister. If us breaking up would fix this, I’d be out already two month ago. But it wouldn’t. 

I fucking love you, Jens, and you are so goddamn stubborn. I wish I could hate you sometimes. I really do.

I was the one who moved to a different city midterm, I didn’t know a single person here, my mom is home maybe two days a week, and would you have told me the moment we met, what was happening in your family, it wouldn’t have changed a thing for me, okay?

Can you at least trust me on that?

You are not to blame for my mom’s absence. But I am not to blame for yours either.

Tell me Jens. When have you ever asked me how I am feeling? I can’t think of a time. But I would have answered you right away. Instead, I kept quiet to not burden you more than you already are. However when I ask you, all I get is silence.

I don’t deserve this.

This is not okay. We should be talking to each other.

So, I am going to go home, I would have anyway tomorrow with my mom being there the night. And I’ll call Robbe on my way, tell him to come here and bear you company. I know I won’t be able stay away otherwise. And you better open the fucking door for him, because if you don’t, I swear to god, I’m going to break into this stupid house of yours and do it myself.

I care too much for you, I think.“

Lucas shoulder’s sank in a tremble. And Jens noticed he had hold his breath. His lungs burning for air.

„You are not going through this alone. Everybody wants to help you. You just don’t let them.

Think about what you want, what makes you happy. If you decide that a relationship is too much for you at the moment, I promise I’ll understand. But make up your mind. I don’t want to fight you, Jens.

I love you. And.

I don’t know what else to tell you.

I’m sorry. We just got unlucky. Figure your shit out. I’m tired of this. And call me when you can tell me what you want.“

The room dropped into nothingness as the voice ebbed away.

Lucas deserved to give his anger away. Lucas always had kept quiet at his side.

So Jens forced himself to silently watch his boyfriend walk out of the room to grab his jacket and put on his shoes. Jens had followed with his eyes until the younger boy had stepped around the corner, and had found his feet to carry him into the doorway a moment later.

Lucas had waited for him to come and see him leave. How cruel, Jens thought.

They didn’t said another word. Everything that needed to be out there was stated and ready to be dissected over sleepless nights.

The younger boy exhaled, sorrow in his gaze, that was answered by Jens with his own. 

And then the bond snapped and a cold wind hit him, as his eyes kept staring at the back that vanished into the night. Perhaps he should run after him. That’s what people in movies did, right? 

Proclaim their love and shower the other in apologies and heartfelt compliments. A kiss. Happy End.

Jens couldn’t fathom the depth of the despair in his tears as the waters swallowed him whole under crahing waves. At worst this was the end. He prayed it had been needed to make them right one day. For now all he could give Lucas was to follow his wish and contemplate his words.

At least for tonight.

He closed the door and decided to stay.

__ __ __ tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots

notes:

How we doin, guys, girls and pals after this?

Cos Love by Tom Rosenthal is a song I listened to a lot thinking about this clip.

But what I actually wanted to say was, that I hope that you understand where Lucas is coming from here. My whole story is seen from Jens’s eyes and I’m not going to rewrite certain parts from other perspectives. I’m not going to say that he is completely right and that he hasn’t said some awful things in this one, but try to see Lucas here. If it would have been his clip, I would have inculed this paragraph:

__ „No? Because I am pretty sure that that’s exactly the case.

You never listen. You never let me explain myself. You never talk to me. And I am not speaking about you yelling at me on random nights that you decide to burst.

I know what you are doing and it is self-destructive.”

He gave and gave and gave, until all that he was met with was an empty heart. So he would take it back, reclaim his soul and mind before it would go to waste in uncaring hands.

„Just this once you are going to stay quiet and let me tell you what I think.“ __

I hope it did it justice. It needed to happen, I’m sorry.

[bluebirdwrites]

falcon; dg

> story of her i*

warnings; language? i think that’s it. fem!reader too, if that's a warning

authors note; had to rewrite this after tumblr glitched out lol, hopefully you enjoy (; btw, check my prompt lists, and maybe send some requests if you’d be so kind haha <3 — birdie

Life was a knife’s edge. A precarious tittering balancing act of ‘will we, wont we’ for the little people that could. Life was invigorating and maddening all in one. Your life was sprawling. Distant memories from a past life like a constant pull on your brain, whilst others consumed you wholly and solely until you knew of nothing else but flight.

Life and Flight were much the same in the sense of the feeling of exhilaration whilst there were no barriers, no social constructs. Nothing and everything all at once. It anchored you to consciousness and it anchored you to awareness. But flight was, after all, finite.

The incessance of nagging however, seemed to be beyond the comprehension of infinite, in your household anyway. With or without your agreement it only seemed to get worse with every new person, death, close call or injury. As the oldest it was your job to worry about everyone, sometimes it just didn't occur to you how much that they worried in return.

“Falcon, do you have eyes on the shipment?” She took a deep breath, sucking the air between clenched teeth.

“Affirmative Agent A,” she shifted from foot to foot, readying herself “Ill see you on the other side. Before you even say it, yes I know my chances. I know this is fuckin’ suicidal, but it needs to be done. Don’t tell anyone until I give the signal. Please. I’d like to keep the injuries to just me on this one. Falcon out.”

A reluctant confirmation was heard before the commlink was muted. 

She was a wild thing, she knew that. She was overprotective too, that she would also gladly admit. With reluctance, she would also admit that she was reckless at times. Stubborn and self-sacrificing. She was an angry creature too. It constantly licked at her conscience, it powered her wilful and it made her strong.

She shimmied through the hole that she’d created in the top of the shipping container, landing silently on the shoulders of a guard below. He struggled for a minute before he dropped to the ground, unconscious.

“Hell, maybe take me out for dinner first before putting your head between my thighs, it would have worked better,” she rolled her eyes, sucking in her cheeks. Now that one was knocked out she’d have to work quickly. She had her work cut out for her. 

She soon found herself surrounded by swarms of thugs with knives, fists, guns and tasers; anything that they could get their hands on really. She considered calling her family, she really did. But where was the fun in that.

She took them down in droves, but they kept on coming. For every one she knocked down, two more seemed to come in their place. By the time she called for backup, she had a gash down her side that was bleeding pretty heavy, and she had many more holes in her skin that weren’t supposed to be there.

“I wonder if he’ll try and ground me this time,” she kicked a thugs gun away and slammed him into a wall. “What the fuck possesses me to be such a basket case?” 

When her side decided that it would make her dizzy, she retreated to the high ground. Pulling out her comm and pressing the button three times, she wrapped her side and prepared to jump back into the fray.

After another ten minutes there were around five thugs left, they managed to finally incapacitate her. Two guys held her up whilst the other three questioned her. 

“You look pretty bloodied up there sweetheart. I hear you’re quite the looker, shame we had to mess up that pretty face of yours.” The thug stuck his finger into her wounded side.

“Wow, nice to know I have your approval,” she spat in the thugs face, smirking as blood and spit splattered on his cheeks and dripped down her chin. “Do your worst buddy, I’m a big girl I can take it.”

One minute, she was getting kicked on the ground, the next she was seeing flashes of bats, birds and gunslingers. The last guy to go down went down with a thud, hitting the ground probably harder than he should have. It hurt to breathe but she couldn't let them see how hurt she really was, although the gash in her side said otherwise.

Forcing herself upwards she looked toward the bat with a wince. She was in so much trouble.

“Good job guys,” She took a deep breath holding her side. “You really helped me out there. Now, if it’s no trouble, I’m just going to head back to my apartment. Okay? Okay.”

She was immediately stopped by a flash of green grabbing her arm as she attempted to stand. With a glare identical to his fathers, Damien tugged her arm over his shoulder immediately tugging her to stand.

“Grayson, I am aware that you have a death wish, but this is not the time. You are coming back to the cave, stop being idiotic.” He motioned to Jason and Dick to take his place whilst himself and Tim dealt with the clean-up job. Jason sauntered over, slinging her arm over his shoulder whilst Dick jerkily did the same on the other side.

They were both worried, how she hadn't bled out and died they were shocked. But neither questioned it as they hurried to get their sister safely back to the cave, alive preferably.

Now that she was back at the cave she let Alfred take care of her whilst Dick hovered. The gash in her side required many stitches, so did the two bullet holes. She was off duty for a few months, and everyone knew she would only keep going this way. 

“Don’t glare at me Richard. And before you start getting all mushy on me, go upstairs and distract Jason before he comes down here to frog march me,” she scowled meaningfully puffing our a breath of air. “I love you too and I’m just wound up, I’ll be up soon okay?”

He nodded and began walking upstairs, knowing he and their brothers would tag team her later. That- and Tim was waiting to speak to her, so he’d leave them alone sibling to sibling. And they’d have their own conversation when they’d both calmed later.

“You keep making us think that we’ll lose you. God, you’re reckless,” he tugged at the roots of his hair before marching towards her and squeezing her tight. “Please don’t be so reckless, we kind of need you. All of us.”

“Sure thing Timmy,” she pulled back from the hug when he was ready. “It’s weird seeing you all so worried about me. Go on upstairs, I’ll be up soon. Do me a favour and tell Dick not to worry so much either, I get the whole ‘you’re my only biological family left’ thing, but it gets smothering.” 

After a reluctant nod he too left to wait for her upstairs. She ran her hand through her hair before squinting in the darkness. She frowned, before letting out a low chuckle.

“Come out Bruce,” she licked her lips, cracked and itchy. “I know you, always hiding in the shadows. Pessimistic shit you are.”

He emerged from the darkness with a grimace, words burning on the tip of his tongue. He paused, staring at her for a moment. He looked older, seemingly having aged years in a few hours. He walked closer, sinking down close beside her, uncharacteristically open.

“You could have died,” he stared at her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder in a rare moment of fatherly affection. “Tell me one thing, why didn't you call for back-up?”

“Because,” she said leaning her head on his shoulder, and listening to Jason scream he was coming down to her. “I don't want he others to get hurt. God knows you’re worse than I am Dad. I do it because in my own way, I’m keeping you safe by putting myself through hell. If that's all you wanted to know, can you help me upstairs before Jason comes down to carry me up?”

They made their was upstairs, towards the rest of the family. She was the anchor, but like all anchors, she still needed a ship to guide her.

[legobiwan]

Just got home from The Rise of Skywalker. No pithy intro, I’m just going to jump right in and it’s going to be a LONG rant here so buckle up, my friends, and be sure to read below the cut. SPOILERS AHOY YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Okay, so yes, the first third of the movie went at a blistering, nearly nonsensical pace. JJ  really had to cram a whole watermelon’s worth of exposition into a...well, you know, there was a lot to take in. This movie had to do so much telling instead of showing because it was such a departure (and middle finger to TLJ) from what came before. 

The thing was, the first third was also the most interesting part of the movie. I actually wish the whole trilogy had started with all of the Sith nonsense. (Actually, I wish they had started with Kylo absolutely wrecking shit like he did and then the Palpatine scene. People would have made all the wrong assumptions and it would have been glorious to unravel it over three films.) There is a strong history of Sith artifacts in both Nu-Canon and Legends, and it wouldn’t have been out of place, considering what we know now, to have made Rey, Poe, and Finn’s quest for these artifacts the start of the new trilogy, and then told the rest of the story in a non-linear timeline. Probably too experimental for a Star Wars reboot, but it would have grabbed attention and everyone like creepy Sith shit. 

Frankly, I would have dropped zombie-robot Palpatine at the very start of the trilogy, as well. It’s bonkers but I don’t hate the Rey Palpatine thing and they could have spent the rest fo the movies explaining this weird-ass lineage and how it relates to Kylo, Snoke, etc. and then have built back to the final confrontaion on Exegol. 

Leia. Trained. Rey. I so so so so so wished we had been able to get more of this. This, in my mind, is what it should have been all along. I liked TLJ (okay, so shoot me) but Master Leia is a whole other level of awesome. If I had to rewrite Luke and Leia’s roles, it would have went something like this:

Luke was searching for Sith artifacts. Luke was becoming disillusioned by what he was learning of the Jedi through “The Sacred Texts.” WHO DOES THAT SOUND LIKE? Hmmmm, I wonder....

Could you imagine Luke started to go a little Dooku in this respect, and so instead of fucking off the Ach-To because he had a feeling that was more “gravy than of grave” about Ben Solo’s dark sidedness, he fucked off to Ach-To - or even better - gave up training in order to keep himself from going down a darker path. 

And so instead, Leia is getting involved with training (and probably also governing at the same time because she would be an overachiever like that.)

Enter Ben Solo, who is Force sensitive, strong, being trained by his mother and occasionally his uncle, who is not totally plugged into the light side at the moment, which can rub off on Ben. Meanwhile, Han is maybe not the best father (he wants to be, he tries, but it all comes out wrong. I’ve been watching a lot of Psych lately, so I’m thinking of a dynamic similar to Henry and Shawn, but a little more dramatic.)

Of course, Palpatine is seeing all of this behind the scenes, he’s fostering ill will and discontent through the scattered remains of the Empire, sending Snoke clones out to be almost pseudo-religious/cult figures in the wake of the economic and social devastation left by the Empire’s fall and the floundering new government. Extremism, in pockets, rises. Extremism which preys on discontent, which preys of the desire for family, for belonging. 

Enter again Ben Solo, who has been pitted against the other strongest trainee, Rey (insert whatever last name you want. She knows it’s not her real name, she knows she was an orphan on Jakku, but she was brought by Luke to be trained). Ben is pissed how she and Leia bond, has been talking to his uncle, and perhaps encountered a Snoke clone on the way. 

Rey, on the other hand, is no one but wants to be someone, and that manifests in weird ways during her training. Perhaps she leaves at some point, perhaps not. But the seeds of her being Palpatine’s bloodline are laid within her. She wants to seek that belonging Ben has.

Okay, but getting away from my personal rewrites of the sequels, Star Wars is about family and lineage, both blood and found. There was so much potential to play on this throughout the trilogy with the Skywalkers, with Rey’s relation to Palps that if they had just planned the damn thing, it could have been brilliant. 

Moving ...(for now)

I felt so bad for Oscar Isaac. I felt like I watched his soul slowly depart his body over almost 3 hours. That man was not a happy camper and it came out in his performance. 

Power levels. Here’s the thing, guys. Magic needs to have consequences. Sure, you can cast a spell, but what does that take from you? You can use the Force, but to what degree? How much? Even Anakin exhausted himself at some points, and he was (allegedly, according to one Qui-gon Jinn), the Chosen One. It’s the first law of thermodynamics - energy can neither be created nor destroyed - and the Force is literally the energy of every life thing in the galaxy. You take the energy, use it towards something else, it has to drain from somewhere. This is what bugged the hell out of me with Rey’s Force Healing abilities (an ability that doesn’t thrill me to begin with as it’s so easy to overuse). Kylo keels from resurrecting the dead (and yeah, he was pretty beat up already), but Rey barely seems to breathe a beat harder. Once you start ignoring the consequences for magic, you end up like a shitty video game, and one of the criticisms I’ve leveled at the movie is that it feels like a montage of Battlefront and I can’t say that’s totally off point.

JEDI HUNTERS. Ochi. I will bet my right liver we’re going to hear something about this on The Mandalorian. 

So I know a lot of people wanted to see Rey Kenobi, but there was one piece of glaring evidence in the film why that would never be. (Aside from Kylo just announcing it to Rey.) She has a lightsaber, but she still ends up using a blaster. So uncivilized.

Speaking of The Mandalorian - Stormtroopers with Mando jetpacks. Hmmm.....

I loved techno-Sheev hooked up to all the equipment just floating. That was creepy as hell and played with the whole cloning and extension of life that was such a large part of the Darth Plagueis novel (which I still consider to be canon, higher powers be damned). Also, Palpy’s glowup with the wardrobe was hilarious. 

Dark!Rey was hot. There, I said it.

Let’s talk about romance. Or the lack thereof. Or the shoehorned thereof.

Poor Rose got shafted in this film with no explanation. I didn’t buy that whole thing in TLJ, but god damn anyway. (Finn also got shafted, for different reasons, which I will talk about later.)

If they were going to romance, just let it have been Finn and Poe, Finn and Rey, or fuck it, even a trio. 

I mean, I could have bought Reylo if it had been presented better. (With context. Adam Driver is an amazing actor, another thing I’ll talk about later.)

The Reylo kiss though - my theater laughed. No joke.

Of course, this was the same theater that thought Lando was trying to mack on Jannah at the end, so who knows what we were all thinking in there. (On that note, Lando was hilarious because no matter what, he was just having a grand ‘ol time in the movie. I like to think he got a medical spice card in his retirement years and was just enjoying anything that came his way, be it Wookiees, Jedi, starships, wars, whatever.)

While the Reylo kiss didn’t hit the mark the space lesbian background kiss got cheers, so there was some hope for my fellow theater-goers.

Did anyone pick up on Threepio saying the Senate made the bill that would render him incapable of translating the Sith language? No doubt that was a Palpatine move from TCW era. 

What is up with these movies and desert/jungle planets? Ugh. Thank everyone for Kijimi, at least that was interesting. 

New characters I loved: Babu Frik and DO. 

Finn’s Force sensitivity. Yes, I totally buy it. I wanted more. I wanted more fucking context of a Stormtrooper who would have known nothing of the Jedi getting these feelings and then bailing from the First Order (or, if I were writing the movies, bailing from the remnants of the Empire/Snokes weird military cults.) Totally underutilized character development. 

We. Were. Robbed. of Good!Ben. Adam Driver is so phenomenal. Form the little we saw of redeemed Ben, he is the perfect mix of his parents, from the “Ow” to the eyebrow wagging, the swagger, the smirks...I LOVED good!Ben. I wanted so much more good!Ben. What a transformation.

Speaking of which - the scene between Kylo/Ben and Han was terrific. I wish we had had more context for why everything went south, but it was so good and the type of family dynamic we really needed more of. 

The Knights of Ren looked awesome in this film? They needed to be like the Black Order of Star Wars, and they were getting to it, but not quite there. Gods, they could have been the enforcers of Snoke’s cults (Palpy’s puppet cults) that could terrorize far more than a normal, brainwashed Stormtrooper, who was only useful as cannon fodder (I mean, if we look at the history of the clone army to the Stormtroopers, it would be terribly fitting.)

That ship tug-of-war was DUMB. (See my rant about magic and consequences). But, if Rey was going to shoot lightening Palpy-style and blow up a ship, Chewie should have died. I’m sorry, that’s terrible, I love him, but there needed to be consequences for actions and throughout the film, there were either no consequences or random consequences that were a narrative convenience rather than developed into the plot/characterization/worldbuilding. 

Here’s the thing with the ST - there is so much potential. There are some awesome ideas. But they wanted to play if safe with JJ by rebooting the OT, Rian was too far out for them, there was no cohesive storytelling, and so we get these little glimpses into what could have been amidst a shitstorm of trailers for Battlefront 17. 

we could have had it allll....

Final rating: 4/10

[cosmictuesdays]

So many different places to call home.

I've threatened, and since had requested, that I write up my notes and thoughts on how I'd redo Angel the Series season 5. I already largely outlined them in an email a while back, which simplifies the process considerably. That, and borrowing the good ideas Ginger sent back in her response to that email, I figure tonight might as well be the night for it. I wouldn't redo all five seasons of the show, because I'd rather not rewrite the whole thing from scratch. I'd rather focus on theoretical alterations of certain parts of season 5 for greater narrative coherence. While this does keep some of Whedon's ass-butt decisions, I've been in enough fandoms for enough time to learn how to focus my energy. All right, that's not entirely true. In this version that lives in my head, there'd be a few lines, and possibly a couple of scenes, about Fred moving into Cordelia's apartment in season 4. Then: Spike comes out of the amulet whole, intact, and corporeal at the end of episode 1. Because they didn't do anything worthwhile with it, getting rid of the concept of a vampire ghost smooths things out considerably. Spike spends a good chunk of episode 2 rallying on about making a grand romantic entrance back into Buffy's life, but then something happens, the sort of thing which compels him to be a white hat that has nothing to do with Buffy and all of the work he has to do to grow into his soul, and he realizes that he's got more to do that has nothing to do with her. The final scene of the episode has him showing up in Angel's office: "You're still here," Angel says. "Today, anyway," Spike replies.

"Destiny" is moved to the third episode of the season, where W&H try to pit the two known heroic souled vampires against each other in a bid to simplify possible destines and prophecies. It doesn't work. Spike growing into his soul - the soul he earned, not the soul he was cursed with - would make for a solid ongoing plot thread through the season, in conversation with, and contrast and counterbalance to, Angel's own journey.

The fourth episode has Xander come to collect Spike at the behest of Buffy, all remaining Slayers and Watchers, and the Scooby Gang, which covers the full cold open. Buffy sent Xander specifically because she knows they can't tempt him with anything. Additionally, framing Xander through the eyes of AtS would show what surviving growing up on the Hellmouth and several years of constant apocalypses would do to an ordinary person, which would honestly be pretty fun to see. Lilah Morgan: "Mr. Harris -" Xander: "No, no, please, Mr. Harris was my father." [Lilah smiles. Xander smiles back, sharply.] "You can call me 'sir.'" [Lilah stops smiling.] Because after the Hellmouth, the ordinary human evil of W&H is small potatoes to Xander. He'd comment that as evil as they are, they want the world to stick around to be evil in, and that's almost relaxing to have to deal with. "You guys, seriously, small potatoes, you don't even want to end the world! It's nice, really. Nobody wanting to eat the sun, nobody wanting to make literal Hell out here, just keep on being evil. I can respect that. I don't support it and would rather see all of you give this up and go join a commune up in Petaluma, but I can respect it." I assume the rest of episode 4 is either filler, as was the case with the Mexican wrestler episode, or it's where we get the werewolf girlfriend. "Damage" is next - the one with Dana, the mentally ill Slayer. Spike's sent to Los Angeles to collect her, along with Andrew and a few other Slayers, and gets his hands cut off for his troubles. They're reattached, and the next episode has him stationed at W&H by Buffy to openly spy on the place. Angel is fine with this. "It means she still cares." "That you're head honcho of Evil Inc." "Yeah, but if she didn't care, she wouldn't send you to spy on me." "I'm spying on W&H." "She still cares." "No she doesn't." And so on and so forth, etc cetera, ad infinitum, ad nauseam. Because the two of them are best when the show remembers they're family. Spike doesn't have the weird sub-plot with the Doyle faker, though Lindsay still tries to play the part. It doesn't work, and he's caught almost immediately, which shifts the power dynamics around enough to give Spike a good amount of stuff to do. Spike's also given freedom to go wherever he wants, and hang out all over the place, and Angel sometimes helps him edit his weekly reports to Buffy in case he missed anything. Everyone knows why Spike is there. This is played for both comedy and drama, because he and Angel grow closer as they keep talking to each other over the course of the season. So we still get moments like "wee little puppet man" and Spike freeing Angel from the parasite that trapped him in those hallucinations because he doesn't care about Angel's privacy. Those kinds of delicious relationship moment which show them as being genuinely close in a way that can't easily be translated to human terms, but the viewing audience easily understands. Out of everyone in the world, they're the ones best qualified to call each other out on their bullshit and when they're indulging their inner blowhard. (Spike leans towards the bullshit, Angel towards being a blowhard. "I know for a fact you spent that decade moping in disco halls." "It was only thirty minutes, and there was just the one werewolf.") "Hell Bound" - the only Angel episode aired with a warning for graphic violence - still happens. It's because of Fred. At some point, someone - possibly Xander, when he collects Spike, or possibly Andrew, when he drops by - comments how few ghosts there are around W&H. How little spirit energy. Magic energy, yes, but the spirits are weak, and few and far between. Unrelated to that, Fred invents some sort of machine to help Phantom Dennis manifest, because they've become friends since she moved into the apartment. It's one of those "gone horribly right" situations, because instead of Spike fighting Pavayne, it's Dennis. He makes Pavayne corporeal at the sacrifice of being able to return to life. He does get a moment of Fred seeing his face, and them being able to smile at each other, before he's whisked off back to the apartment - if he doesn't finally move on from being a ghost and goes into the rest of the afterlife. The back end of the season plays out much as it already did. There'd be a few more lines, here and there, giving reasons and justifications and explanations for why Buffy isn't contacted for whatever reason, and why they're not asking the Slayers for help for one disaster or another. Maybe "they won't get here in time," maybe "they have their own apocalypse," maybe "I have to do this alone and if I come out of it, I'll go see her because I'm Angel and that's what I do." "The Girl in Question" has its plots swapped, so more time is spent on Fred/Illyria and Wesley, and less on Spike and Angel in madcap hijinks in Italy. Also, no Immortal, no casual racism, no Andrew with a bunch of women, no Buffy decoy/fakeout, no explosion destroying Spike's coat. Because this is how I'd do it, and I don't much like any of that. I've read reports Whedon wanted season 6 to be a sort of Mad Max post-apocalyptic scenario, with car chases and big action sequences. I have no plans for season 6, not even theoretical ones. Mostly, I'm fine with Angel being asked how they survived the final battle, and Spike answering, "Heroically!" or "We almost didn't" and not elaborating past that. Because the audience can fill in that part themselves.

[amegatronfan]

Jame Roberts’ Instagram Q&A -November ‘18

Right. 

So.

- Back in MTMTE #15, when the original Rewind got locked in the Slow Cell with Overlord, he suddenly learned how to shrink while he transformed. This was not an ability he previously had, as shown in, for example, MTMTE #2, when Tailgate sees Rewind for the first time (before Swerve introduces him to CDRW) and remarks that he can see a “giant memory stick” in the distance. However, the fear that Rewind felt in that moment triggered his ability to shrink to the size we see him in, like, LL #25, for example. This helps him survive both Overlord and the shots fired off by Chromedome, and so he, along with Overlord, is recovered by the Galatic Council. Overlord is seen as too dangerous, so Rewind is chosen as the guinea pig for an experiment the Galatic Council are trialling; an experiment that would allow them to “punch holes” into alternate universes. Since they want to use Rewind as a weapon against the Black Block Consortia (and other enemies of the council, such as other Cybertronians), the technology is built into a suit of armour meant to resemble Primus (this suit of armour was built in the same vein as the Magnus armour, in that it made so that a small robo could pretend to be this big, famous robo and not, like, the sentai suit dealio I had originally envisioned when JRo was describing this. this was done because they rightly assumed that seeing Primus land in the middle of a battlefield would scare the royal shit out of everybody, most especially other Cybertronians, who have the cultural context to know who the fuck he is.) 

So, then, it worked, and Rewind made it into the past?? of another dimension (that wasn’t the Functionist universe), but then it malfunctioned and he got trapped there. He had fight his way back to the original universe by travelling through a bunch of other alternative universes (there would have been an interlude during the Mutineers Trilogy where we saw Rewind 1 travelling through the Marvel 2006 universe). At first, he was travelling back to the OG universe was so he could be reunited with his conjux (he met other Chromedome's along the way, but he wanted to find his Chromedome), but as he was travelling, he discovered Chromedome’s secret; that he had helped in the cover-up of Dominus’ murder, and so it became more complicated (he kinda wanted to avenge Dominus.) This would’ve all culminated in an issue where Rewind 1 finally made it back the original universe. As has been previously established, only one Rewind can exist at the one time, so Chromedome would've had to decide which Rewind would be cancelled out, all while Rewind 2 (and by extension, the audience) would’ve learned from Rewind 1 what Chromedome did to Dominus, which would’ve complicated things even further.

JRo came up with this idea before he began writing MTMTE, but by the end of season one, he was starting to become uncertain about this particular storyline, as Rewind, Chromedome and their relationship began to develop. Having Chromedome do this to Rewind started to feel wrong. After talking to his editor at the time (Carlos, I believe?), he decided to leave in the scene with Chromedome and Prowl, where Prowl threatened blackmail and Chromedome used Shadowplay to erase the blackmail from his memory, just in case he still wanted to go through with it. However, by the time it came to the final stretch of issues, he already so many other plot points to introduce, explain and tie up, he didn’t have time to do all three for Rewind 2 and his ultra-complicated, high concept adventures, and deal with the complications it brought with it to the cast, so he was forced to drop it.

So, with that out of the way, here are the more breezy answers:

- Megatron didn’t have a mentor who taught him medicine in the Warren, he taught himself everything he knows about treating people because he’s “the most ferocious autodidact.” (i stan a legend)

- Ratchet would still be the better medic though

- Megatron specialised in neurology

- Flame survived the events of LL #24

- The only reason Functionist Universe! Orion and Terminus were killed was because of time restraints 

- Making Drift and Ratchet’s relationship a romantic one started feeling right around their return in the Remain in the Light arc, but JRo didn’t really decide that they were definitely conjux endura until he began writing LL #25 

- Rewind’s colour changing pants are now (dubiously) canon (”Chromedome is fascinated; he might be an outlier.”)

- Admitted a couple of times, once again, that he wished he hadn’t killed Trailcutter 

- If a Cybertronian is gifted a vial of innermost energon and survives whatever near-fatal injury or illness they had, they have the option to either keep it, as a reminder of the love they and the donor share, or they can regift the donor’s innermost energon to them. If they do indeed die, the most common practice is to donate the innermost energon (as Ratchet did posthumously in #25)

- “Sorry, I’ve seen ‘Chromedome is a bottom’ on the screen and that’s thrown me.”

- When asked if he’d change anything if given the opportunity to rewrite the series, he admitted that there were “a bunch of things”, which included:

    * Spacing out events more, most especially near the beginning of MTMTE,            where so much was happening that it all felt “a bit busy”, and the Crucible           arc

    * Writing more stories about the tertiary cast (eg. Spotlight: Hoist) to really            sell the fact that this was a ship with 200 mechs on board (the main cast            would still have had their own quirky adventures going on in the                          background)

                * An example of such a story would’ve been having an issue focusing                    on the writer behind the Lost Light Insider

    * More stories with the Mutineer’s

    * Give the Scavengers an entire tradeback to themselves in Season 3,                  encompassing an entire arc he’d had planned for them

  ��  * He wouldn’t have “decapitated Red Alert like that” 

     * Having the charisma parasites being followed up by Swearth “didn’t do              him any favours as they were three very high concept issues one after the          other”

      * Would’ve seeded more mentions of the Guiding Hand in MTMTE (though             not in Lost Light, which had enough, he felt)

      * More Star Saber (longer fights with different characters)

      * Way more Roller!

      * Show Cyclonus’ recovery from his injuries in #47 more as more of a slow,          arduous process instead of an “Oh, he’s fine now” dealio

      * Would’ve liked to pull off the Troja Major two-parter better

- [SPOILERS FOR IDW’S UNICRON SERIES]

When asked who’s death Megatron would be most cut-up about, Optimus, Soundwave or Starscream, JRo said he’d take Stasrcream’s the worst, as the two had “unfinished business” (the new Pacifist Megatron wanted to reconcile with Starscream). Though Soundwave was listed last on the “who'd Megatron would mourn the most” list, he also said that he’d be “proud of what Soundwave did”

- On a more lighthearted note, he said that Stan Bushs’ Dare was playing in Rodimus’ head during his “Til All Are One!” montage in the 2012 annual

- Cyclonus is, unfortunately, no longer rich, because much of his wealth came from Tetrahexian real estate (as stated in the prose story Signal to Noise, packaged in Volume 4 of MTMTE), and the value kinda dropped after Unicron, you know, destroyed the whole planet (though he also said it’s more than likely he and Tailgate invested in real estate on New Cybertron)

- Said that if Rodimus and Drift had been amica endura “no one would’ve batted an eye,” (and that they would’ve completed the ceremony off-screen)

- Rodimus was originally going to sacrifice himself in Crucible to stop the Omega Guardians from using the Warren to enter our universe and take it over. (”Even saying that is making me yawn”) Everyone would’ve thought Rodimus was already dead, and as such, another, unnamed character would’ve gotten credit for his sacrifice. Rodimus would’ve known this, and sacrificed himself anyway.

- “You’re all [unapologetic] shippers and I salute you.”

- As he stated on Twitter before, he’d have liked to include a scene between Cyclonus and Drift, where Drift proclaims his new respect for Cyc after seeing his Great Sword. This scene would’ve happened around the Remain in the Light arc. 

- “Are you guys still talking about Chromedome being a bottom? Oh my god.”

- In a fight between Drift and Cyclonus, Cyclonus would win.

- When asked who he’d ship Rodimus with, he said that Rodimus was an interesting case, as he’d actually be quite well-versed in the area of romance, unlike the rest of the cast, and that he “wouldn’t pine for people.” In the end, he ended up choosing Roller.

- Getaway didn’t make up the Conjux rites; they’re real 

- Rodimus’ flame abilities are not an outlier ability, but an upgrade he got along the way (he compared it to getting a really excessive tattoo). The ability is really painful and uses up a lot of Roddy’s energy.

- When asked what he hoped from the next continuity, he said that he wanted it to continue to be inclusive “in every sense of the word”, specifically pointing out the LGBTQIA+ representation as something he wanted to see continued. 

- “Yeah, Springer’s pretty hot.”

- First Aid has a crush on crush on Springer (as does JRo)

- Cyclonus is legitimately a great singer. It’s that his abilities are more of the operatic kind, meaning “he is not always appreciated by the uncultured”

- “[A fan] says that Lost Light is a love letter to fan fiction, which it absolutely is”

- When a fan asked why (to paraphrase) Roller was just so dang hot, JRo said that “Roller just has that effect on people thanks to Jack’s lascivious designs” (and before you go off and google it, lascivious is defined as “feeling or revealing an overt sexual interest or desire”)

- Drift’s wealth was made through bounty hunting

- Brainstorm and Chromedome might have been amica endura, but that Chromedome felt “burnt out” from his various failed relationships, both platonic and romantic. 

- No one even has a “Rung-shaped gap” in their memory after LL #24. They honestly can’t remember where the various matrixes came from, as is the case with all the things Rung was responsible for. They all blame it on memory creep and have each come up with their own contradictory explanations as to how and why these things happened. 

- When asked if Swerve liked The Big Bang Theory, JRo replied with a swift “No, he has a brain”

- Instead, he said Community was Swerve’s favourite show

- Cybertronian weddings are “very long”

- There was a lot singing at Cyclonus and Tailgate’s wedding

- Brainstorm and Perceptor’s wedding, meanwhile, “would be very complicated” because “they’d be trying to outdo each other in subtle ways”. It would “make for a good sitcom episode.”

- Roddy’s favourite meme is “the butterfly one”

- Rung’s favourite meme is “the woman looking confused with algebra in front of her face”

- Swerve is over memes

- “[Drift’s thighs] are certainly impressive”

- Swerve is “destined to have many friends”

- Whirl and Cyclonus most certainly became amica endura after LL #25

- Swerve got Misfire’s number in the end

- Though he said many times in the lead up the end of this continuity that this was his last time writing for Transformers, he said he would like to write a 12 issue series centred around a character he didn’t name, and then later admitted that he wanted to try to convince IDW to let him write another series. He also said that is there was ever a Grand Collecter’s edition of the series (that collected all the issues, prose stories, additional stories from other series etc into one or two hardback editions, for example), he’d write an additional prose story to make it worth people’s money

- Hoist confirmed the Lost Light’s resident furry

- “Tailgate is the cutest? Yes, he’s a little marshmallow.”

-  In his final days, before his execution, Minimus would’ve taken his poetry to Megatron so that he could read it (he would’ve also read Minimus’ poetry on the Alt! Lost Light, though assumedly under far less tragic circumstances)

- Getaway was considered the hottest mech on all of the Lost Light, with Skids as a close second. Together, they were “a hot duo.”

- Functionist Universe! Anode was a brilliant war general 

- Nickel had a girlfriend before her homeworld was destroyed 

- Rung can’t dance (we been knew)

- Crankcase and Con4Eva did hook up in the original universe

- “Does Rung know we love him? No - he’s very lonely” 

- No one in the cast likes all of the Shrek movies, but all of them like the first one.

- Chromedome and Brainstorm met each other the New Institute (which was my question answered :D) 

- Roddy would eat Doritos if he could 

- Not a single Transformer (in the IDW-verse) would like Trump

- The worst film that Roddy likes is Caddy Shack 

- Terminus would’ve never admitted that he was lying to Megatron

- Unfortunately, the song Boogie Wonderland by Earth, Wind & Fire never made it to the Lost Light

- “Who would make the best romantic partner? Depends on your taste.”

- JRo’s favourite superhero is Spiderman, his favourite TF toys as a kid were Hot Rod & Sandstorm and Nautica is his favourite character (from MTMTE/LL)

- Megatron, does indeed, both give the best hugs and deserves hugs! 

- “You’re a tactile, compassionate, thirsty bunch, aren’t you?”

- Tailgate, Swerve and Rewind would all play Fortnite

- Drift and Ratchet would’ve opened a “clinic” together (the question asker was unintentionally vague, so JRo was intentionally vague with his answer)

- Drift thinks that Ratchet was the one who made the first move, while Ratchet thinks Drift was 

- Ratchet and Drift would’ve been together for “decades and decades” before Ratchet died

- While Nautica/Skids still isn’t canon, he did confirm that Skids’ feelings for Nautica were romantic in nature 

- While Jack Lawrence bases many of the characters’ mannerisms on his own, he bases Rung’s mannerisms off of JRo’s, which doesn’t help his “anti-mary-sue argument.”

- I can’t remember the exact quote, but when asked what it’d be like to have Whirl as a roommate, he said something along the lines of “you’d have a crush on him even though you’d hate him.”

- In case it wasn’t clear enough in the text itself, Whirl rejected Ratchet’s hands because of a shift in how he saw his own disability. He no longer saw it, and by extension, himself, as a “deficiency” that needed to be “fixed”

- JRo pronounces “Omega” as “Oh-me-gah”. This is important information to include. 

And then the livestream ended with JRo saying we all “need a cold shower” after all this “fervent shipping” and went off to finish his half a pint of Corona. (what a legend)

Feel free to add in any answers or details I missed.

[thejoeisthejoe]

Complete (OLD Story Idea): S1 EP 1 Rewrite Joe Sick

Title: Haunted House rewrite where Joe is sick the entire time Author: Robin Gurl Episode: Season 1, Ep 1 Mystery of the Haunted house Notes: yes I’m aware if he’s that sick he should be in bed. But you can’t and won’t convince me otherwise that he’d actually listen and do it. He’s going out there whether we want him to or not. 

Disclaimer: I own no one

“You know, you really shouldn’t be out here.” Frank whispered leaning forward on his bike to get a closer look at the door to the hotel. “You’re already sick as it is.” 

“I’m not letting you do this alone, Frank.” Came the hoarse reply. “Besides if I hadn’t gone with you Aunt Gertrude would have never believed our story.” 

“She shouldn’t have believed it in the first place, we have plenty of cold medicine in the cabinet.” The eldest Hardy didn’t like how he could hear his brother’s teeth chattering slightly. “It’s too cold out here for you, Joe. Let’s just go back home and call dad on the phone.” Frank offered. 

“Frank, there is no way either of us would get any sleep if we did that. Something is going on here and we need to find out what.” 

Frank sighed and looked over at Joe not liking how pale his brother looked in the moonlight. “Just stay zipped up for me, alright?” 

Joe made a face but zipped up his navy blue jacket and glared at Frank playfully, “Happy mom?” 

Frank only rolled his eyes. If they did go home now neither of them would get any sleep. In the long run Joe would get worse because he’d worry causing Frank to only fret more. He’d just have to stay here and make sure Joe at least tried to keep warm. “That’s fine.” 

“Frank, look – is that dad?” “Coming out of the Black Hawk hotel.” Both boys glanced at each other and Frank let out another frustrated sigh, “Alright Joe, you were right. Something is up with dad.” 

“So lets follow him.”

“No way! There is no way I’m backing down on this one. One you’re sick as a dog and two I don’t feel right following my own father.” 

“You can sit here and fret, I’m following him.” Joe started his motorcycle and sped off towards his father. 

Frank sighed and muttered ‘Brothers’ before starting up his own bike and followed Joe. 

*~*

Joe’s vision was blurring and he knew why too. His fever had risen sending chills down his spine. Frank was right, he really should be in bed. He found it hard to press down on the accelerator, his joints screamed with aching pain as he tried to go faster. 

He squinted and tried to focus on his dads car. He had to find out what was wrong with Dad, he just had too. He heard Frank’s cycle join his and glanced over giving Frank a weary look. He was wearing out quickly. He mouthed the word stop and pulled his bike over on the side of the road into the ditch. 

Frank joined him and was off his bike in seconds running over towards Joe. “Joe? What is it?” 

“I can’t see straight, it’s all blurry.” 

“I told you, you’re too sick to be out here.” Frank took off one of his gloves and placed the back of his hand against Joe’s forehead, “You’re hotter than you were before.” 

“I know, I know…” Joe started as he let Frank help him off his bike and on to a sitting position on the grassy shoulder off the main road. “I just, I need to know what’s going on with Dad.” 

“If you crash your bike it won’t matter what is wrong with Dad.” 

Why did Frank always have to be right? He hated that. “So, what do we do?”

“Well I think it’s quite obvious you’re not driving until further notice. Think you could hold on to me and I’ll drive us both?” Frank asked eying his bike. 

“You’re going to still follow Dad?” 

“I think I know where he is heading, so let’s find out.” Frank stood and bent down slightly pulling Joe to his feet. His brother staggered unsteadily and almost fell back over. 

“Frank, I really can’t see right..” 

“Take it easy, I’ve got you. Let me lead.” Frank commanded. 

Carefully he led his brother towards the bike and let go of Joe except for one hand and climbed on the bike. Then he twisted slightly and helped Joe sit on the seat. “Lean forwards and wrap your arms around me- perfect just like that.”

 In response Frank heard a strangled sigh and felt Joe’s feverish face lean against his back. He could feel the heat from the fever through his two heavy layers.  Patting the intertwined hands that were sitting in front of him he shouted, “Alright, hang on!” 

 Frank’s suspicion had been correct; their father was going to grave. Why he was here, Frank didn’t know. 

“Joe?” Frank shouted over the cycle’s engine. “You still with me?” Getting no response he noticed his brother’s embrace had gone limp and Frank knew Joe was out. 

Cursing silently he rode on keeping an eye on his brother’s form. He knew one bump could throw Joe off and onto the pavement. 

Finally coming to the entrance of the cemetery, Frank killed the engine and slowly stopped the bike. Joe didn’t move when Frank tried to get off the bike and almost fell head first into the dashboard. 

“Joe?” Frank started softly, he shook Joe’s shoulder a few times rousing his brother from his sleep. “That’s it.” 

“Frank?” Tousled blonde hair stuck out from the red helmet and glazed brown eyes answered Frank. 

“Where are we?”“Shh, come on.” Frank whispered. “I found Dad.” 

He wrapped one arm around Joe’s shoulders and helped him off the bike then wrapped the same arm around Joe’s waist keeping him up right. He felt Joe lay his head on his shoulder. “Frank, that other car is here.” Joe whispered weakly. 

“So Dad was being followed.” Frank said aloud. “Come on, let’s go see what he’s doing in there.” 

Even sick Joe put up a fight and gave his brother an incredulous look, “In there? In a cemetery?” 

“How else are we going to find out what’s going on with dad?” 

“I don’t think I want to know what is going on in a cemetery in the middle of the night.” 

“You can sit here if you want to and wait on me.”

“No way. Let’s go.” 

“Thought not.” Frank smiled and almost laughed until he remembered just how ill Joe was. 

*~*

“Frank, he’s coming. Let’s get out of here.” Joe hoarsely whispered grabbing onto Frank’s arm for support. 

Frank responded by almost lifting Joe to his feet and pulling him by his arm. The youngest Hardy stumbled forward almost fall over. As he tried his best to follow Frank he saw the mystery man’s car. 

“Frank, stop.” 

“What is it?” 

“Let me go.” Frank let go unsure of what exactly Joe was going to do unable to stand on his own feet at the moment. To his surprise Joe staggered over to the car and pulled the door open sitting in the drivers seat. “Joe, he’s right behind us.” 

He couldn’t tell if his brother was seriously delirious or what. “Joe!” He hissed.

Then he saw his brother take a box of cough drops from the glove compartment. “What a fine time to be stealing cough drops.” 

“I’m not stealing a cough drop I’m lifting a finger print.”

“Joe, I hear him, let’s get out of sight.” Joe stood and wavered unsteadily letting Frank take control again. 

*~*

After a quick stop to the 24 hour grocery store near the house, Frank drove up to their house, Joe fast asleep behind him on one motorcycle. 

The other was hidden in the bushes for Frank to pick up in the morning after he got Joe fast asleep in bed. He shook his brother’s shoulder slightly getting Joe to stir and then helped his little brother into the house and into his father’s study where Callie was. 

She looked quite startled when he produced the bag of cold medicine and his sick brother in one trip. “Frank, where have you two been? Aunt Gertrude has been pacing since you left.” “Callie, do you know what case Dad was working on?”

“Frank Hardy don’t ignore me, where have you two been and why does Joe look so pale? Don’t tell me you dragged him out there with his fever like it is..” 

At Frank’s look, Callie groaned. “Frank, seriously, Joe gets sick easily as it is, he doesn’t need your help.”

“He wouldn’t listen to me and stay in bed. Besides, if he hadn’t come he would have been driving you crazy as well.” Frank tried to reason sitting his brother into the leather chair behind his dad’s desk.

“So your excuse was to get cold medicine?” She asked dryly. “The stuff he can’t even take without knocking him unconscious for 2 days?” Frank laughed nervously shrugging, “Aunt Gertrude didn’t question it.” 

“You could have at least gotten the medication he could take.”  Frank glanced over to his brother who had fallen asleep as soon as he’d been sat down in the chair. “Knocking him out for 2 days may not be such a bad idea.” Callie rolled her eyes before putting more files into the file cabinet. “Now what were you going on about with your father?” “Has he been acting weird or strange?” “No? He went fishing to the lake, Frank. There is nothing suspicious about that. I made the reservations myself.” She crossed her arms glaring tiredly at him. 

“I don’t think he did. Herby Stallmaster saw dad coming out of the county seat yesterday.”

“What?” Her glare lessened, her eyes widening. 

“Yeah we went to the Black Hawk hotel, he was registered there, Callie. We saw him walking out of the hotel ourselves.”

“Well it’s obviously none of our business or at least not mine. Now look, I’m tired and I just finished typing up the notes for your father. I’d like to lock up and go home.” She begged glancing to Joe. “And you need to get him upstairs and in bed properly. He needs to rest.” 

Frank sighed as he stopped his pacing, he nodded running a hand through his hair. “I just... Callie, something is up. I know it is.” 

Callie walked over to him and kissed him gently, “Frank, stop trying to be detective for once. I admire that instinct of yours but sometimes it only makes it worse for you. You’re going to keep yourself up tonight if you don’t calm down. Now get Joe to bed and you go to bed, understand? We’ll worry about your father tomorrow, I promise.” 

Frank kissed her back, he looked defeated as he nodded. “Ok Callie.” 

“And Frank?” 

“Yeah?”

She pulled away and glared at him angerily. “You EVER pull a stunt like this again, I’ll be telling Aunt Gertrude what you did with all the details. Got it?” 

He holds up his hands nodding again. “Got it. Thanks Callie.” 

“See you tomorrow then. Good night.” 

Frank watched her leave and heard the front door close. He sat on the edge of the desk still deep in thought, he gazed over at his little brother watching him sleep. Joe’s face was pale but cheeks flushed with fever. Callie was right, he really shouldn’t have done that. 

It had felt strange to talk and halfway flirt with Callie and not have Joe making some sort of joke or quip about the two of them. He should have enjoyed the precious time he got alone but he didn’t. 

He stood up and walked over to the chair, he knelt down and pulled his brother’s navy coat off placing it on the desk. He would take care of it later. 

Thankfully, Joe was light and weighed hardly nothing. Picking his little brother up was a breeze. Frank easily gathered his brother into his arms, turning off the lights and heading upstairs. 

End Part 1(?) 

If people want this one continued let me know! 

[sol1056]

if you promise peaches, deliver peaches.

After S7, the asks have been piling up. A few examples:

I was so confused in ep4 when Acxa disappeared, I thought she’d stuck with the team after ep3 and maybe I just missed the scene where she left, but others have brought that up, too.

Funny how the majority of the problems in s7 are because they tried to force BP Keith to the detriment of the story, and ironically, Keith's story, too.

I thought Lance’s family reunion would be much more emotional and be a part of his arc, since he was the most homesick, but then they gave that to Hunk?

Shiro got tossed aside in the most ableist, racist, and homophobic way, and Allura could have had a cool storyline mixing her paladinship and her castle storyline with a new altean mecha, instead of Shiro becoming a bad Allura 2.0 and Keith becoming a bad Shiro 2.0.

Srsly tho, am I the only one who finds it extremely bothering that in writing Allura and Lance they don't bother to show Allura coming to view Lance in a romantic light after her breakup?

Why even bother in S6 to make such a big deal of Shiro/Kuron saying his dream is to be a paladin over and over? Until he was revealed a clone some of us thought he was Shiro, so it's even harder to accept Shiro not being BP anymore.

The EPs seem to be so stuck in their initial idea and salty they couldn’t do it exactly as they want that they just ignore the story itself?

The EPs have spoken of being determined to get the VLD gig out of fear it’d be given to someone who'd wreck the story. That's understandable, but we're talking about a 78-episode, six-season, space opera mecha series. This genre practically demands a sprawling world and a massive cast, and it's far beyond the scope of anything either JDS or LM have ever helmed on their own. 

My guess is that JDS and LM didn’t realize the enormity of what they were taking on, or they (and their bosses) seriously underestimated the degree to which they were wholly unprepared.

Behind the cut: what I meant when I said these EPs are not storytellers.

I’m not surprised the EPs over-estimated their skill, really. People will look at a creative process like art –- where you often start young, practice daily, maybe study it formally, apprentice or intern (especially in animation), and gradually work your way up -- and they see the effort. They know it wasn’t an overnight thing. 

Too often, the very same people won’t accord that respect to the art of storytelling. It’s treated like divine inspiration, something that just happens. We’ve been hearing and reading and watching stories all our lives; how hard can it be to do it ourselves?

It’s goddamn hard, is what it is. I would love to tell you otherwise, but that’s the truth. You can rock your dialogue but you gotta track character goals, too. Complicated backstories only get you so far if you don’t understand how to modulate tension. You can have a great premise but you still gotta resolve the damn thing. A story has a hundred moving parts; scale up to a space opera’s necessary levels of epic and we’re talking exponentially more.

In my experience, the hardest part of storytelling — not the technical aspects of writing, but the art of storytelling — is holding the shape of the story in your head. The entire thing, all at once. You have to, if you’re to see how a choice at this point will echo down the line, or a motif laid here should reflect there, how the theme shifts but stays true from start to end, how these secondary arcs weave together to undergird the main arc.

I’d say a lot of what we learn in our first few novels is how to see — and hold —the story’s shape in our head. I’m not talking dialogue or voice acting or choreography. I’m talking about the overall shape, the vision and theme it establishes, evolves, and eventually resolves.

If we cannot, we will find our stories promise peaches and deliver pine cones.

Looking back, there are too many clues --- almost all given by the EPs themselves --- that they didn't have the experience to do this story justice. What they did have was a certainty that their vision was the best, an inability to deviate from that one story they'd devised, and a continual low-grade frustration at being held back.

Let's go back to the beginning. S1 starts a little rocky (to be expected as a team finds its groove), but S2 builds on S1 quite deftly. It’s not perfect, but in a storytelling sense, it’s the strongest season, and it's much too self-assured to be a beginner’s. It moves swiftly but steadily to a pivotal midpoint, and from there snowballs gracefully into its finale; it balances nuanced characterization with plot movement, and its opening promises bear fruit by the end.

In those earliest interviews and panels, the EPs are often casually vague about basic details, like character ages or relationships. At least twice their answers change, giving the impression they hadn't known and had needed to confirm with someone else. Generally, though, they're low-key and hopeful, possibly leaning on the borrowed confidence of that other storyteller’s influence.

By S3/S4, their tone shifts to a peculiar kind of non-ownership. They joke about having no idea what's going on, tossing out guesses as though they'd be the last to know. They offer head canons, rather than insight. They wear their frustration openly, alluding to the story they'd wanted, chafing at what had been decided for them.

As the story moved into the split-seasons, it's clear that whomever lent that guiding hand in S1/S2 was no longer present. Someone else’s fingerprints are on S3, and my guess is it’s mostly Hedrick, at least on the script-level. The word choices change, the cadences change, the beats change. From S3 on, VLD has all the hallmarks of a muddy vision. 

You can see that in the story’s shape. It holds together, but barely. It darts forward, then sideways, then treads water for a bit. It’s erratically paced, dropping plot points and introducing new ones, only to drop those as well. It can’t settle on a driving antagonist, and when it finally does, it can't keep the antagonist’s goal consistent. It sacrifices nuance for one-note characterization, and shoves most substantiative character growth off-screen.

This continues to S6, which generally continues the focus on plot coupons over character goals, exposition at the cost of emotional beats, and neglecting established characters to introduce left-field swerves in the guise of plot twists. On the plus side, it does manage to rally enough to end its multi-season prevarication, and put to bed questions hanging around since late S3.

It's worth noting that both EPs have only a single writing credit each, for the pilot three-parter. That makes it doubly striking that JDS chose to write the Black Paladins episode. After the season aired, JDS complained in passing about rewrites on his episode. If that seems odd, remember that an EP has final approval on every script. If it bothered him to have his ideas rejected in favor of keeping Shiro, it must've burned to have his writing choices countermanded.

From the timing and the episode credits, this must've been around when Tim Hedrick left the team --- and the EPs took full ownership. 

It shows in their post-S6 interviews. Gone are the ambiguous expressions or vague promises of doing their best. Their wording is declarative: what Kuron had been, what Shiro would be, the resolution of Shiro’s illness, the nature of Shiro’s past relationship. None is equivocated, nor couched as head canons. They’ve taken control of the narrative, and their interpretation is now the deciding one.

This change was important enough to them that they had to make sure we’re aware. There’s simply no other reason to tell us S7 had been written in its entirety, let alone tell us the original outcome. Nor is there any other reason to tell us they petitioned for — and got — permission to rewrite.

When I look at S7 with my writer’s hat on, everything tells me this is where the brakes came off. With Hedrick’s departure, there was no one left but the EPs themselves to steer the story. By whatever means, for whatever reason, VLD went from a crafted vision, to a conflicted one, to none at all.

Set aside the larger controversies for a moment, and just think about the shape of S7. It’s almost three seasons in one: the first part skips from event to event, then abruptly timeskips to reset the entire playing field. That second part in turn is divided from the last half by a two-parter that halts momentum for an overlong flashback with an entirely new cast, followed by a finale that mostly backseats its protagonists in favor of letting that new cast dominate.

There’s a common pattern in the way beginner writers react to critique, and I see that all over the EPs’s responses, from the beginning. It’s only grown worse since S6. They can’t quite juggle the story they think they’re telling versus the story they’re actually telling.

I’ve had these conversations too many times to count. I ask, how did this character get from here to there? The newbie storyteller is quick to explain, usually in great detail. I ask, but then why did this happen? The more I dig, the greater the chance the newbie will get angry that I don’t seem to be reading the story they’re so obviously telling. If I keep pushing, they’ll get defensive.

They’ll confidently assure me this is exactly the story they’d intended to tell, and if I don’t like it, that’s my problem. (They may not be able to hold the shape in their head, but they’ve probably already taken to heart the adage that one must stay true to one’s ‘artistic’ vision. The part about listening to critique even when it’s uncomfortable… that takes a bit longer to learn.)

My reaction almost always boils down to: you’re telling me this amazing story, but that’s not the story you’ve actually written.

Sometimes the best description of the shape of a newbie’s story is that of a house after a tornado’s swept through: the front door is on the chimney, the roof is half-off, and the windows are shattered in the front yard. Most of the pieces are there, but it’s all so jumbled the newbie storyteller can’t see what’s missing. They can’t hold the shape of the story in their head, so even when they know here’s where something goes, they’re too overwhelmed to remember the door they need is still on the chimney.

An epic story is no cakewalk, and boy do I give credit for that effort, but it’s one thing to learn by noodling in a fandom on AO3. It’s quite another to do it at the scale of a television series, let alone one with the expected scope of a space opera spanning galaxies. This is not the place to learn as you go.

Here’s why the shape of the story — and holding that in your head — is so important. 

Think of a story’s resolution like a fresh peach. You want the reader to bite into the peach as the culmination of everything the story has been, from start to end. But you don’t get a peach by planting pine trees. You must start with the proper seeds, and make sure what grows is a peach tree, such that your final act bears the right fruit.

I touched on this before with the promise of the premise. Themes, backstories, world-building, and motifs are facets of the seeds planted in the first act. Everything you need to resolve the story must be present when the story begins; that’s where your premise lies, and your promises are made. 

Through the entire second act, the tree must grow. The storyteller’s task is to trim as needed, bind this to that, shore up the roots, add water and nurture: this is where the theme expands, the foreshadowing laid, the questions reveal answers that lead to further questions, narrowing the outcome, each outlining the tree’s shape in sharper detail.

By the time the story turns the corner into the third act, the readers should be reasonably certain they’re going to get a peach tree. This is not a bad thing! You want them looking forward to plucking the peach and enjoying it. You want everything planted at story-beginning to come to fruition, at story-end.

That is why you must hold the shape — the vision — in your head, always checking against where you began and where you plan to end. You cannot throw out the entire tree at the end of the second act and start over; if you ignore the fruit your story is producing and insist on serving up pine cones, you’re going to have confused and possibly angry readers.

You promised them peaches, damn it.

The story is now midway through the third act. Everything planted in the previous seasons must now be coming to fruition… but it won’t. The EPs are openly (even proudly) reversing course on everything that’s come before. That means directly violating every motif, every thematic element, every bit of foreshadowing in word, image, or sound.

And at the same time, the story’s scope is simply too vast, and they haven’t the experience to juggle all the thousands of moving parts. The result is the most slapdash season, yet. Characters simply drop out of sight, only to reappear again with no warning. Themes and motifs built up over so many episodes are tossed aside as if they mean nothing.

The hand-to-hand fights are visually striking — the EPs’ strengths are in storyboarding, after all — but emotionally hollow, bereft of dialogue that could finally give us closure. Characters that would’ve once spoken openly with each other barely exchange a word; character-distinct dialogue is uttered by someone else, as though the VAs mixed up the scripts in the recording booth.

To achieve the emotional heft required for a meaningful resolution, there must be echoes of the story’s beginning. But when the beginning is negated—underscored by a timeskip that resets the entire playing field—there’s nothing to refer back to. The events now are happening in a void, divorced from the themes and motifs that created the emotional context in the first place.

This is by design; the EPs’ vision has never matched with the story as it was told to this point. They can’t go back, so they’ve rebooted. Once with the timeskip, and again with a two-parter episode that introduces new characters that can be entirely their own. Compared to the protagonists, these secondary characters have been lavished with attention to the point of overload: full names, backstories, designs. All of of that, and the time required to introduce them is to the detriment of the actual protagonists.

Whatever story VLD ostensibly set out to tell, that story is gone, now.

This is no longer a matter of losing track of the story, such that the promised peaches have transmuted into pine trees. We passed that point somewhere in S6. The EPs have burnt down the orchard to plant new seeds, while doing their best to ignore the charred stump of the story we'd been promised.

I would've preferred peaches, myself. That was the story I was promised, and that was the fruit I expected from everything I saw onscreen. But now? 

I hope you like carrots.

[inky-imagines]

Foresthuntermajrach’s OC Special

Apologies for the long wait, @foresthuntermajrach! 

I mean to post this when I came back, but I didn’t like it and rewrote it. And then I rewrote the rewrite. And the one after that and the one after and- you get the picture.

This OC Special has given me no end of grief, but I’ve finally finished it and I’m pretty happy with it tbh. I hope you will be too!

Just a few notes:

I do mention Ophelia’s Angina in this, and though I did my research before and during the writing process, I might’ve made some mistakes. If I have, I apologise! Please let me know so I can educate myself and rewrite it accordingly. 

Also, this is kinda taking place in a coffee shop AU where Ophelia and Dake are on the precipitate of dating.

Enough blathering, I really hope you enjoy this!

Length Warning: Nearly 2000 words, so it’s most of this is below the cut.

Edit: I’m a little frantic cuz of personal reasons rn, so I might not have edited this properly. If you see anything that looks really out of place or just plain wrong, please let me know. =) 

He’d just had to get the lunch shift today, hadn’t he?

Nothing good ever happened on the lunch shift, and he always avoided it like the plague, unashamedly using his connection to the cafe’s owner to take the slot an hour after it. 

Not today. 

A replacement had been needed to fill the slot after the original barista had fallen ill and Dake’d been unfortunate enough to completely available.

The second he’d started the shift he knew it was going to be a bad one. The espresso machine malfunctioned, they ran of milk, most of the customers were small tippers with big attitudes and his co-worker had fucked off at the height of the rush.

To top it all off, he was now stuck arguing with yet another customer who wouldn’t understand they’d ordered the wrong thing.

“It’s daylight robbery!”

“Ma’am,” He sighed for the felt like - and possibly was - the twentieth time. “You ordered a macchiato, not an expresso. The prices are-”

The woman, best described as a soccer mom, scowled at him, hands on her hips.

“Don’t you tell me what I ordered. I know what I ordered.” She jabbed a perfectly manicured nail at him.

“I don’t think you do.” The words slipped out by mistake, but Dake couldn’t find it in him to care as she turned a vivid red, spluttering angrily.

“How dare you! I won’t let you speak to me like that! Where’s your manager? I’ll-”

He tuned her out, turning his attention to the clock hanging on the wall behind the bitchy customer.

An hour, give or take. Only 60 minutes until the one person who could possibly make this shift better arrived. At least he hoped so.

Usually, Ophelia would come in for her usual coffee and a pastry – always non-sweet, she hated those – and a quick chat, but, unlike him, Ophelia’s schedule varied greatly and it wasn’t uncommon that they missed each other.

‘I should really ask for her number at some point,’ He mused, reluctantly dragging his attention back to Soccer mom. ‘Make plans to meet outside of the café or something.’

He tuned in just in time to catch ‘-orsohelpmegod, you will be sorry!’ and immediately dismissed it, preparing himself for would undoubtedly be a exhausting fight.

“You’ve made a small mistake, miss,” He said, barely concealing his irritation, “What you ordered was a macchiato which we price differently from double espressos.If you’d like, I’m more than happy to replace your order with a double espresso; I’ll even give you a discount.”

‘Anything to get you off my back,’ He added mentally, hoping that his proposal appealed to her.

It didn’t.

She ballooned, almost bellowing –and thus attracting open stares from the other customers, “I won’t have you tell me, a Harvard graduate, that I made a mistake when you’re at fault. I’ll have you fired!”

“I doubt you can.” He replied blandly, dimly acknowledging the chiming storefront.

“Please.” She sneered, “Do you believe the management would keep something like you if I were to complain?”

“I’d imagine they would,” The approaching customer purred, the familiar voice perking Dake up, “He is the owner’s nephew after all.”

“’Phe.” Dake grinned, dragging a hand through his locks in an attempt to straighten them out.

The girl waved at him, smiling, before facing the older woman, her face a mask of faux-politeness.

The woman looked a little off-balance, clearly unaware of Dake’s diplomatic immunity, before scowling at the teens. “So that’s why you’re acting like that. You think your uncle will protect you when I tell him what you’ve done?”

Ophelia glanced at Dake quizzically and got a tired look in response.

“She ordered a Macchiato, but wants to be charged for a double espresso.”

“Because that’s what I ordered.”

“You ordered a double espresso with some steamed milk and foam.” He corrected.

“That’s a macchiato.” Ophelia deadpanned.

The woman frowned, shaking her head. “No it’s-“

“Siri, what’s a macchiato?”

Ophelia’s phone dinged before intoning, “Caffè macchiato, sometimes called espresso macchiato, is an espresso coffee drink with a small amount of milk, usually foamed.”

“Huh, what do you know?” Ophelia smirked at the now paling woman, “Three against one, lady. You lose.”

The soccer mom ballooned once more and Dake scowled, standing straight. It was one thing for him to be yelled at and deranged – It was a unfortunate part of the job – but he wasn’t about to let this two-bit bitch attack Ophelia.

His worry was unnecessary though; she knew how to handle herself.

With a pointed look around the café, Ophelia asked, “Are you really going to cause even more of a disruption, lady? You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

Soccer mom froze, looking around her as if suddenly aware of the other witnesses of her little tantrum. After spluttering for a moment, she slammed the money on the table, turned on her heel and stomped her way out of the café, taking her macchiato with her.

“Oh thank god.” Dake collapsed against the counter the second she was out of sight, forehead resting on the cool wood.

“Never been called that before, but okay.” Ophelia’s following laugh made Dake chuckle himself, lifting his head up just in time to see her slide onto one of the stools.

“Seriously though, I appreciate the save. I don’t much longer I could’ve put up with that.”

“I don’t know how you put up with that.” She said, resting her arms on the table, “She was upset because of what? A 50p difference?”

“30p.” He corrected, laughing at her disgusted face.

“But never mind her. You’re early today.” He propped himself up on an elbow, “Something happen at school?”

“Ugh,” She groaned, dropping her bag beside her, “I don’t want to talk about that. So let’s talk about you.”

Then she frowned, peering at his face. “You look exhausted. You alright?”

He smiled gently at her, patting her hand resting on the table, before winking. “I am now you’re here.”

“You’re so cheesy.” She snorted, turning her hand to entangle it with his.

“And you’re grate.”

She paused for a moment then snorting, trying to conceal a laugh.

“Dake, no. That’s too corny.”

“Really? And here I thought I had a kernel of talent.”

Torn between being laughing and groaning at his awful puns, Ophelia rocked in her chair, a hand stifling her amusement. Dake doesn’t bother doing that, openly laughing along with her.

“Seriously though,” She managed as her giggles subsided, “Are you okay?”

He sighed, standing a little straighter. “Yeah, today’s just been a bit rough.”

“That lady?”

“Amongst other things.”

He grinned at her, “Now you spill. What happened?”

Ophelia’s expression darkened immediately, wiping his mirth right off his face.

“Nothing good, I’m guessing.” He kept his voice light, but he was concerned when she didn’t answer immediately.

Ophelia didn’t really do quiet. She wasn’t loud and rambunctious, but she didn’t keep things to herself, her outspoken nature rarely failing to make itself known whenever she was displeased. Which left…

“You had an attack?” The fear in his voice made her sit straight, waving her hands in dismissal.

“What? No, no, no, Dake, I’m fine.” She scowled, glancing away, “It’s just… We got a substitute gym teacher today.”

“They haven’t touched you, have they?”

“Let me finish, will you?” She smiled briefly at his concern, before continuing. “They were… leery about me and decided to dismiss me from gym on the grounds that I was ‘medically unfit’ for it.”

Dake frowned, tilting his head. “Isn’t your school’s gym for basketball or something? No offence, but I think that’s a little too intensive for you.”

She rolled her eyes, scoffing, “I know that. The school created a specialized class plan for me so I don’t skip gym.”

“Did they know that?”

“First thing I said when we met; they said it was fine.”

Dake frowned, crossing his arms. ”So, what the hell happened?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Maybe they simply were humouring me, or they changed their minds and thought I was too fragile for 15 minutes of exercise. Either way,” Her voice and eyes dropped, cheeks flushed red with anger and embarrassment. “I don’t like being made out to be an invalid.”

“Ophelia…”Dake faltered, unsure of what to say.

Seeing Ophelia down always threw him off kilter, whether it was because of the surge of his emotions or the sight of the fireball’s downtrodden look, he didn’t know. But it was frustrating that at times like this his silver tongue failed him and he couldn’t verbalise his empathy.

A glance around the workspace, done in a vain effort to inspire some kind of response, proved fortuitous when his eye landed on something he’d been preparing to treat the girl to for a while.

He pushed himself off the table, shooting her a smile before busying himself in the small kitchen space.

“Dake? What’re you doing?”

“You look like you could do with a pick-me-up,” He grinned at her over his shoulder, “I’m making you one.”

She looked a little surprised, tilting her head. “Oh? What did you have in mind? Jasmine? Maybe rosehip?“

“No tea today.” He hummed, “I thought you might like to try coffee for once.”

Ophelia frowned, slumping back in her chair. “Dake, I can’t consume caffeine. Angina, remember?”

“No caffeine present, and no,” He held up a hand to pause her next argument, “It’s not decaf.”

The irritated look melted off her face, replaced by an avid curiosity. “What kind of coffee is it?”

“Dandelion & Chicory Root Coffee.” He said, holding up a packet of roasted dandelion roots. “I suggested it should be added to the menu for both the health nuts and the cute caffeine intolerant girls.”

He winked at her making Ophelia roll her eyes, but didn’t stop a smile spreading across on her face.

“Charming.” She leant forward once more, watching as he made the coffee, “And it definitely has no caffeine?”

“Yep,” He said, pouring the brew into her preferred mug before placing it before her. “Didn’t add cream or sugar. Figured you’d like it black.”

“Don’t we all?” She reached the hot beverage but jolted back when he slapped his forehead.

“Wait a sec, I forgot something.” He disappeared into the storage at the back, but only for a moment, returning with a slice of apple pie.

“You’re eerily prepared.” Ophelia said, raising an eyebrow at him.

He just smirked, placing the slice down and leaning back. “Bon Appétit.”

Dake held his breath as she took her first sip, studying her face for any sign of revulsion.

“Well?”

“It’s-“ She twisted her face, before smiling. “good. I like it. Very bitter though.”

“It’s coffee, what were you expecting?” He chuckled. Then more quietly, “Feeling better?”

Surprise flickered on her face before morphing into a softer look, the warmth in her eyes unmistakable.

“Much. Thanks, Dake.”

The look filled him with a sense of both joy and bashfulness forcing him to duck his head to the red of his face.

“It’s nothing.” He scuffed his feet then glanced up at Ophelia with a quirked grin. “You’d do the same for me.”

“I would.” She agreed, sipping her coffee, “And I’ll repay the favour someday.”

“Could do it be today.” He suggested, earning a confused look. “Currently, I’m kinda unhappy.”

The confusion on her face cleared as he slid a pen and pad to her with a wink. “A certain 8 digit number of yours would cheer me right up.”

[ienveeus]

"Those sure look like the scrawlings of a mad man." + sugamon

Sugamon, “Those sure look like the scrawlings of a mad man.”

(1.8k, high school au, fluffy fluff fluff) 

Part of my ongoing, non-linear  High School AU series

- 5th June, 2011    -          2nd December, 2010    -     21st October, 2011 -- 20th June, 2011       -        1st January, 2011       -       7th July, 2011 -

20th June, 2011

Yoongi jolts when the hand slams down on the desk in front of him. It’s too early for loud noises, especially when he’s been up half the night stressed out of his damn mind. He looks up and can’t help but gawk at the sight of Kim Seokjin standing over his desk, hair mussed and glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose. There’s that black smudge of eye liner under his eyes, gives the appearance of someone who doesn’t get much sleep. Yoongi could have him up for a detention for that, figures he might look into that if there isn’t a decent reason for this intrusion. 

Class isn’t set to start for ten minutes, so they’re the only one’s in the classroom. Seokjin doesn’t make a habit of slamming his hand on Yoongi’s desk for no particular reason and conversation isn’t exactly a commodity either.

‘Got your note,’ Seokjin says. Yoongi opens his mouth to ask what the fuck he’s talking about when Seokjin lifts his hand up, exposing a crumpled piece of paper that Yoongi’s far too familiar with.

‘Mother fuck,’ Yoongi hisses. ‘How the fuck did you get that?’

Of course, he knows how Seokjin got it. Admittedly, Yoongi doesn’t know much about Kim Seokjin, he’s an anomaly and keeps to himself, contrasting with the typical image of a theatre student. He has the bearings of someone who should be popular; good-looking, talented and clever, but his choice of company left a lot to be desired. Rumours about his sexuality ran rampant around the school and there was his habit of hanging out in his locker during breaks. It seems that he’s moved past his own and has also taken to other people’s as well.

‘You sure swear a lot for a class president,’ Seokjin says. ‘You know that?’

‘What are you going to do, tell on me?’

Seokjin scoffs, cocks his head towards the note.

‘You were going to give this to Namjoon?’

Yoongi’s blood runs cold. Seokjin must’ve been in Namjoon’s locker when he garnered the courage to shove the damn thing in there, he must’ve. There’s no other way of explaining it. He swallows hard as he meets Seokjin’s gaze, no-one knows about this. About them and he wants to keep it that way so it’s safe.

‘Please don’t tell anyone,’ he says, not really caring in that moment just how small he sounds.

‘Relax. If I was going to I would’ve done it by now. And yeah, I already knew, I’m not oblivious like Hobi,’ Seokjin says. Yoongi can’t help but frown at that, despite the relief. Hoseok’s a lot of things, but oblivious probably isn’t one of them. ‘But seriously. This is what you were going to give to Namjoon? Dropping the ��L-word’ for the first time in something like this?’

Jesus Christ. Yoongi looks towards the door, they’re still thankfully alone.

‘Why? What’s wrong with it?’

Seokjin raises an eyebrow and delicately unfolds the note with a lot more care than the creased atrocity probably deserves. He taps his finger on the smudged writing and meets Yoongi’s glare without blanching.

‘Those sure look like the scrawlings of a mad man.’

‘Alright, I see your point,’ Yoongi huffs. He yanks the note back towards him, shoves it into his pocket, out of Seokjin’s line of sight. ‘I’ll rewrite it neater.’

‘It’s not just that,’ Seokjin says. He takes it upon himself to tug a chair out from under one of the numerous vacant desks. Once seated, too close for Yoongi’s comfort, he folds his hands in his lap. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re emotionally stunted?’

Yoongi feels his eyes twitch. ‘What the fuck?’

‘I’m not trying to start anything,’ Seokjin says, waving his hands about in a placating manner. ‘I’m just saying there’s probably a better way of saying what you’re trying to say.’

‘Like how?’ Yoongi says, narrowing his eyes.

‘Like…’ Seokjin trails off, looking off into the distance and waving his hands yet again when words fail him. He beckons and when Yoongi hesitates, wondering what the fuck Seokjin is doing, Seokjin grabs the notebook on Yoongi’s desk and a pen and begins scribbling things down. 

‘I’ll just write it for you. Gimme a minute.’

Yoongi startles, scrambling to reclaim his stolen notebook but Seokjin switches to another desk, moving out of his reach.

‘Wait,’ Yoongi says, making another grab for the book. Seokjin is quicker than expected, he hisses out a curse. ‘Hold on—’

‘Trust me,’ Seokjin says easily. ‘Romance is my area of expertise.’

Yoongi huffs out a sigh, sinking back into his chair, defeated. ‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘Want me to make you fall in love with me and prove it?’

Yoongi opens his mouth, closes it. ‘No thank you.’

Seokjin’s eyes dance with mirth. ‘Because you know I can do it.’

‘You’re unbearable.’

‘Excuse you, I’m delightful. You just aren’t equipped to deal with me.’

Yoongi can’t argue that. Instead he folds his lips, eyeing the notebook, warily.

‘How do I know you’re not gonna sabotage me?’

Seokjin scoffs. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘Why would you not?’

Yoongi’s not an idiot. He knows Seokjin gets a rough time, and he knows a lot of that stems from people Yoongi would call friends. They never do it in front of him, Yoongi’s made it clear from the get go that it’s not something he condones, but he can’t stop it altogether. Seokjin could hate him for the shit his friends pull, and Yoongi wouldn’t blame him even a little bit.

Seokjin blinks at him a few times, then resumes his writing. ‘Namjoon likes you. Obviously, or he wouldn’t tell Hoseok to shut up when he disses you, or be heart eyes every time you stroll past in the halls.’ He taps his pen into Yoongi’s chest without looking up. ‘You obviously like him too, or you wouldn’t be jeopardising your reputation to see him.’

Yoongi stares at him, Seokjin continues to scribble down on the notebook.

‘Namjoon deserves the best, you’re better than a lot of the people he’s dated in the past, no ill intent. If that changes than I might look at that whole sabotaging thing, but until then…’ Another shrug, Yoongi lets the words wash over him.

‘There,’ Seokjin says, flashing him a beaming smile as he rips the page from his book and folds it neatly. ‘Share that with him, when you meet up with him after school. He’ll be yours forever.’

He slides it across to Yoongi with a wink and gets up from his seat, moving to his spot at the back of the room just as students begin to filter in.

Yoongi takes a deep breath in and slips the note into his jacket pocket, other hand reaching into bag for his phone to text Namjoon to meet him behind the bleachers in their usual spot.

Yoongi has dozens of friends, dozens of people who like him and who he likes in return. But he doesn’t think he has anything close to what Namjoon has in Seokjin and Hoseok.

Yoongi can’t help the nervous fluttering of his hands as Namjoon leans against the bleachers,  squinting down at the note Yoongi had all but shoved into his chest when he arrived. It’s nerve-wracking watching him, his expression gives nothing away as his eyebrows knit together.

When he’s finished, he gently folds the note and places it on the desk. Yoongi looks at him up through his lashes, shuffles a little from foot to foot.

‘Well?’ Yoongi says. He hasn’t actually read the note over, presumes it’s just a prettier version of what he’d written down before. ‘Are you going to say anything or just stare at me like that?’

Namjoon’s frowning at him, and that’s really not a good sign. Yoongi swallows the lump in his throat. 

‘Seokjin wrote this,’ Namjoon says. ‘Didn’t he?’

‘What? No.’ Pink creeps it’s way up Yoongi’s neck. How the fuck could Namjoon possibly know about this? ‘I don’t even talk to the guy.’

Namjoon raises an eyebrow and Yoongi caves.

‘Alright, fine, he wrote it,’ Yoongi crosses his arms and resists the urge to pout. ‘Fucker was in your locker and stole the original note I’d written. Which reminds me, what the fuck is his obsession with hanging out in lockers?’

Namjoon shrugs. ‘I don’t know, it’s just his thing.’

‘Well, it’s weird,’ Yoongi says. Namjoon just grins at him. ‘He said the note I wrote was shit.’

‘Seokjin wouldn’t say that.’

‘He said it in a roundabout way,’ Yoongi says. ‘I just. He seemed to know what he was doing. And you deserve the best, so I just let him write it.’

‘Yoongi, you’re a great writer,’ Namjoon says. ‘Maybe not the sort of writer Seokjin is, but his is all influenced by playwrights and Shakespearian love declarations. He probably wanted you to say all this out loud. There’s cues written in the margins.’

‘There’s what?’ Yoongi rips the note out of Namjoon’s hands and scrutinises it. Sure enough, Seokjin has written out little flourishes on how the note should be read, he expected Yoongi to cry on demand on the second to last line.

This is what he gets for giving Seokjin any power in this situation, he barely even knows the fucking guy. Theatre-loving dork. 

‘You have the weirdest fucking friends,’ Yoongi mutters under his breath.

‘Maybe so,’ Namjoon says, grinning. He leans in, reaches up to rub his thumb across the apple of Yoongi’s cheek. It’s like magic how the skin burns red under the touch. 

‘Hyung.’

‘Namjoon.’

‘What did you really want to say to me?’

Yoongi turns the question over in his mind, trying to find the best turn of phrase, the words that will really sell it all to Namjoon, but they’re not forthcoming, he’s not a romantic, and he can’t think of the things that Namjoon deserves to hear.

‘I really like you,’ Yoongi says. ‘Like a lot, more than I’ve ever liked anyone before and you’re really amazing and just perfect Namjoon, I don’t think you know just how incredible you are.’

It’s the first time Namjoon hasn’t been able to meet Yoongi’s eyes. Normally he’s the one too shy to function and Namjoon’s the one trying not to coo too much over how sweet he is.

‘I want to be your boyfriend, and you be my boyfriend,’ Yoongi says. ‘Exclusively, you know?’

Namjoon looks up slowly, dimples slowing coming to light as a grin stretches his face.

‘You’re asking me out, properly?’

And just like that Yoongi’s back to floundering.

‘I mean, yeah,’ Yoongi says. ‘Like I know we’re kinda dating already and stuff, and you don’t like labels really, so you can totally say no, I get it. But I just. I like you a lot. A stupid amount okay? And I’ve never wanted to be anyone else’s boyfriend and can you please just say something so I’ll stop talking now, Joon-ah, this is really embarrassing.’

‘Yes,’ Namjoon says and Yoongi just stares at him, lost. ‘Yes, hyung, I’ll be your boyfriend.’

It takes a moment for Yoongi to process the words and when he does he breaks into a grin. Namjoon pulls him in, kissing all over his face until Yoongi laughs for him to stop.

[stilltryingallthetime]

Rules

I’ll try to keep it as short as possible (and most people here will probably know me from my other blogs) but it’s all very important:

my name is Ele, born in ‘89, cis woman, aro ace, chronically ill and therefore can be slow/selective about threads depending on my energies and time. Super friendly, just absent/slow because of that. 

My main blog (that I’ll use to follow you) is thecharmingknightemma (you don’t need to follow it back unless you want to interact with her but you’ll find my ooc posts/updates there), other blogs are monsterinamusicbox, the more active Jemma Simmons au sosadandyetsoamazing, and my multi musesonawhim (my Clarke was revived there, initially).

In this blog I want to write all the canon divergent plots, especially the ones where the second Praimfaya doesn’t happen and they all get to experience peace and deal with their traumas. But in general, this is a blog where I want to find relief from the never-ending angst of canon, where we get healing and happy endings (after the obvious nice cliché plots regarding injures, dealing with traumas, saving each other, the basic normal angst and hurt/comfort, as long as it doesn’t end with death or ‘I’ll never be able to be happy again). You can find the canon divergences in the about page. There are also plot ideas for Bellamy, written when I meant to only have threads with Bellamy rpers, but that can give you an idea of all the scenarios in which I can write Clarke.  Note: I’m not exactly involved in the 100 fandom but I feel it’s important to say that you won’t find anti-posts here. This is a happy place. If you hate Clarke and post about it I will unfollow.   

due to the nature of this blog, aka an extra selective blog where I get to write all the canon divergences I want, and me having limited inspiration when it comes to how many characters I can see Clarke having interactions with, I prefer for now to only have Clarke interact with the following characters: first of all Bellamy, because I’m bringing Clarke back to change what canon did in s7/rewrite the show, and also because I expect to only have a few versions of the other characters, since I write Clarke as willing to fight back when antagonized by friends and I’m not sure of how many roleplayers will accept that or my canon divergences in general. But I’d also like to write with Raven, Murphy, Echo, Emori, Madi, Abby, Octavia, Diyoza roleplayers who don’t hate Clarke and would like to basically write aus/canon divergences and less depressing/fighty things. More bonding and friendships!

also very important: while my being constantly sick can get in the way of me being able to chat, I’m actually super friendly if sometimes shy, so PLEASE, feel incredibly free to either come to plot with me or specify in your asks (or the tags of your replies to my open starters) which au scenario you’d like or anything of the sort. I will worry less about forcing an au scenario on you. Even if ‘v. the mansion’ the one where Praimfaya doesn’t happen is my fave, for the sake of simplicity if we don’t plot I’ll default to season 7 not happening and them getting to live in Sanctum in peace. I can however welcome Octavia and Diyoza coming back from their own adventure with a child or adult Hope. 

this blog’s activity will depend on my health and the fact that I will likely only have a few rp partners, which means that there might be times when you won’t see me online not because I don’t have inspiration or time but because I don’t have drafts. Also I’m Italian and timezones are the enemy.

If I follow you from my main you can jump in. If I don’t follow you from my main or if you ignore/clearly haven’t read my rules and about page, and try to force an interaction with a character I’m not inspired to write with, I will ignore you/soft block you. Don’t ask me to try to rp with other characters, it’s so awkward to say no.

I’m the most chill roleplayer when it comes to threads being dropped, us having multiple threads and sending many memes, you being slow or replying to others first, shipping with others and not me. Only send me memes if you want threads, I don’t care if you reblog them from me. I’ll respect your preference if you believe in reblog karma.

I have no icons at this time. You feel free to use them.

I love shipping and I love platonic relationships, so I won’t ever forceship. NSFW depends on who I write with, normally I fade to black. I’m sex repulsed and bad at saying no so I’d rather avoid it altogether unless I’m comfortable with the other person. I don’t write polyamory.

Things I need to be tagged are: images with gore, nsfw, daddy kink even if ooc. I will not write abusive/toxic relationships or rape between our muses, eating disorders, descriptions of rape in general, and miscarriage. If you need anything special tagged, do let me know! I will tag suicidal thoughts (it’s Clarke) or anything related to suicide with ‘suicide tw’, I will not tag PTSD or trauma because that’s a constant. I will avoid any content you tell me you wish me to avoid (except, again, the fact that I cannot write Clarke as not traumatized).  

[autstudy]

Study Monday #7: Maintaining a Work/Rest Balance

(or ‘how to get stuff done without being absolutely drained 24/7’)

Disclaimer! This post is written by an autistic student and is mostly aimed at other autistic students, but some of this advice can be applied to anyone who uses spoon theory of chronic illness. So if you’re not autistic, feel free to use this info and add your own advice, but keep in mind that my main target audience is autistic students.

 So tell me if this sounds familiar. You’re a disabled student in school/college/uni and your mental and physical energy is limited. You work hard to meet your goals and generally try your best to be a good student. Somehow, you never have days when everything goes exactly as you planned: you either get practically nothing done, or seriously overwork yourself – and it’s annoying. You read every single time management guide out there, but nothing written for neurotypical/abled people seems to work – and it’s frustrating. And it doesn’t stop.

While some of your classmates get straight As, have active social lives and three different hobbies, you have to work twice as hard just to pass all your classes. You get even less done on ‘bad’ days, and on ‘good’ days you try to catch up and push yourself beyond the point of no return into a void of exhaustion – a vicious cycle fueled by guilt and executive dysfunction. You fall sleep hugging your planner. Life outside academia? You don’t know her. Your soul has been replaced with ECTS points. You… okay, a bit of hyperbole there, but I think you got the point.

If this is relatable for you, congratulations, you are not alone – this basically describes my freshmen year of university. I was very motivated to be a perfect student, but the problem was, there is no definition of perfect student, and constantly comparing yourself to your classmates is a very bad idea. As a result, I was perpetually tired, often miserable, and definitely not getting the grades I wanted. Well, this year I am determined to not repeat my own mistakes. Here’s what I learned about balancing work and rest as an autistic student.

 First of all, you new study motto should be ‘Work smart, not hard’. The key to actually getting stuff done with limited energy is to get the most out of every minute. That means analyzing your to-do list and throwing out everything that is not necessary. That means focusing on active learning instead of repetition. That means being honest to yourself about your goals and abilities. Etc. You can read this post for more info.

Below are my tips, tricks and advice on how to apply that motto to studying. Obviously, everything I list here is subjective and I won’t guarantee it will work for you – try it for yourself to find out.

·        You know those hour approximations next to ECTS points in the syllabus? That’s useless information. They are written by professors who have no idea how much time it actually takes to prepare for tests/exams, and honestly, nobody can even make those approximations, since everyone learns very differently. The hour numbers, ignore them. The only thing they’re good for is estimating whether the subject is lecture/class based or homework based (like whether you should focus more on class attendance or your own research).

·        However it is a good idea to know approximately how much time it takes you to read a chapter or write 1000 words or solve a math problem. Measure the time needed to complete each task a couple times, get an average and write it down. Do that for as many tasks as you want. It will give you some idea of how time actually flows for you, since our brains aren’t always great at making estimations.

·        Start preparing for exams from day one. This is a piece of advice that annoys me a lot, but it is true. There should be a period of exam preparation (three weeks is what works for me), but you are much better off studying throughout the semester/year consistently. It is much easier to catch up on material if the exam is two months (and not two days) away. So try to create reliable study habits.

·        Find study methods that work for you. Try every single one if you need to until you find out what works for you. Focus on active learning: ask questions, research stuff, quiz yourself, etc. Everyone is different. I learn great at lectures, but some people get nothing out of them. I love rewriting my notes, but for many of you, it is a waste of time. Be wary of neurotypical study advice! Sometimes it is brilliant, and sometimes it is utterly useless. Unfortunately, you can only find out by trying.

·        Now we get to the tricky part. Thing is, energy levels and abilities fluctuate a lot from day to day, and there is no way of predicting where you will be tomorrow. Some day you might have all the time in the world, but no executive functioning. Some days you have energy to achieve so much, but no time to do it. And that’s why it is so easy to get caught into this cycle of either doing nothing or overworking yourself.

·        First thing you need to do to break out of that cycle is to realize that hard work isn’t always productive work. You can rewrite your entire textbook in perfect handwriting and that might do zero good. Often I end up doing useless work just because I feel guilty and feel like I need to do something to be productive – and I end up achieving nothing and feeling even more guilty. Part of that is unlearning ableist ideas! I might write a post about this in the future.

·        Now what I try to do is to decrease that gap between my good days and my bad days. I aim for getting more stuff done on days when I would otherwise procrastinate, and resting more on days when I would work non-stop till I collapse on my bed. And it is difficult, but achievable.

·        Again, study habits! For me it means re-reading my lecture/class notes every day before bed and typing them down on weekends. It also means doing my homework as soon as possible and setting my own deadlines closer than they are in reality. And it means not missing lectures and class, ever, because that’s where I learn best – and for me it is like 60% of passing my exams. Habits are great, because once they become part of your daily routine, it is much easier to do them.

·        Remember that you don’t just have deficits, you have superpowers as well. Embrace unusual study methods! It doesn’t matter how weird they are, as long as they work. Find your superpowers and use them. For example, I recall information better if I explain it to someone, or simply infodump about it, so I talk to myself a lot – and it works. Embrace the weird.

·        And finally, remember about self-care. That doesn’t mean eating a smoothie bowl for breakfast at 7am in the morning and writing in a journal about all the things you are grateful for (although if that works for you, sure keep doing that). Often it just means going to bed half an hour early, or dropping an optional class you don’t like, or asking people for help. In the long run, it will do more for you than making those flashcards even though you are exhausted. You will learn much better as a happy, well-rested human being.

 Conclusion:

When your energy is limited, a good work/rest balance isn’t always about keeping a bullet journal and getting up at 6am every day. It is about knowing your limits and using your abilities to the max. You need to be honest about your goals and remember that studying doesn’t look like those aesthetic photos in the studyblr tag. You aren’t perfect (nobody is), but you can achieve a lot. Even if you don’t get straight As. Even if on some days you feel like giving up. You survived every single bad day so far, and you can survive much more.

I hope this helped, at least a little. Have a great week.

 What are your thoughts on this topic? Share them in the replies and/or asks!

[thedeadflag]

So I meant to post this yesterday, but honestly, I felt like hell, so I left it until I could have the energy to at least get to splitting this next wip into parts.

This is...sort of an older one? I’ve added onto it semi-recently, but it’s kind of aged. I used parts of it for inspiration in other fics I’ve published since, and I don’t feel like rewriting those parts, so there might be some familiarity.

It’s also a wip I wrote as a sort of...form of escapism? I mean, to some extent, I put bits and pieces of myself in my fics and play things out in another world, and that’s cool, but this one was more cathartic in purpose, more direct in what I projected into it and wrote it for. I’ve got a decently long history of people who were supposed to care about me ending up hurting me, and never feeling like they did anything wrong, blaming me for being hurt, continuing to hurt me, etc.

Sometimes I think about what it could be like, if someone who caused harm like that cared enough to listen, and learn, and become safer. Not just for those they harmed, but others related to that harm. A bit of escapism, a fantasy of sorts, to imagine that sort of situation, where someone who caused harm could turn things around and become better, safer for the person they harmed, to care about their wellbeing, to care about causing harm. And because I can’t help but write romance, it’s also that, and a bed-sharing fic, and a bunch of other fluff. 

I touched on that theme a bit in ‘Looking for the Magic’, and that theme continues here. I started both stories around the same time, not having been sure which route I wanted to approach the theme through. Ultimately, I ended up kind of writing both, even if each has their own differences in ways. So not much in the way of new themes and ideas here, mostly this one was just used to help me emotionally process during a rough period. Still, I may as well air it out, since it served its purpose, and it’s still a WIP.

Content Warning: transmisogyny, transmisogynistic slurs, transphobia

Part 1 below (I’ll post more later today)

"You've got to be kidding me with this, Lexa!" Anya seethed, knowing she was making a bit of a scene, but there was no way she was going to let the injustice stand. "You can't pair me with her!"

Lexa reached out to hug her, or maybe rest a hand on her shoulder, but she stepped away in time to deny the effort. "You know what happened last year. We had to take more rooms and stop cramming everyone into two or three. This is how the draw played out."

"Well the draw was useless! How am I going to get any sleep?!" Anya demanded to know, looking at the details of her lodgings.

Lexa had booked her a room with a single queen-sized bed. Most of the others had two beds, but hers only had one, and that created endlessly more problems than rooming her with Clarke Griffin did on its own.

"It's a big bed. You're both eighteen. Maybe it's time to get over your grudge, Anya." Lexa asserted, only stoking the fires inside of her, even if it'd amount to nothing without someone she could take it out on.

"I do not think about Clarke Griffin. I do not care about Clarke Griffin. But I will not sleep in the same bed as her, and you know why!" She countered, bracing herself as Lexa's face contorted in frustration, her cousin taking in a deep breath.

"She's not who she used to be." Lexa insisted, setting her with a firm stare. "And Clarke's had some recent troubles of her own, so be nice. It's two nights. Just collapse onto the bed first and stop worrying about it."

If only she could.

Fact was, this convention trip was what she looked forward to the most each year, and now not only did she have to spend a large portion of it with someone she couldn't trust, but her favourite actresses had pulled out last minute due to illness, automatically making it the worst Polis Comic-Con in years.

Luckily, nothing good or important had been planned for Friday evening, so their late-ish arrival hadn't cost them much of anything opportunity-wise. "Just give me my key card, Lexa."

It didn't take long to find her room once she had the card, taking the elevator to the eighth floor and easily finding the fourteenth room. It was as small as expected, with a tiny bathroom that had more of a shower stall than a regulation bathtub, and a main room with a large bed and a dresser and not much else.

Deciding to be a little spiteful, she unpacked most of her things into the top half of the dresser, knowing that when the other vehicles arrived, Clarke would be left with the less convenient drawers. It wasn't much, but it was something of an outlet for her anger, so maybe she felt a little better.

At least until the door opened and Clarke slipped in with her luggage.

"Are we gonna have a problem?" Clarke asked, sounding halfway exhausted as she set her luggage down.

"Are you sleeping on the bed?" Anya shot back.

"Yeah. Obviously." Clarke stated, face twisting a little in confusion.

"Then yeah. I'm setting up in the bathroom." Anya asserted, taking hold of the sheets and yanking them off the bed, figuring if Clarke can have a comfy mattress, then she could at least have the sheets.

"What the f...okay, wait. You and I both know the bathroom floors here are gross and tacky to keep people from slipping. Just...come on. The bed's big." Clarke argued, but there was just no way.

Anya shook her head. "This trip's already a mess for me. Sleeping on the floor won't make it any worse."

At least, she hoped it wouldn't. Her back injury from a few months ago could certainly flare up, but Anya was willing to take that risk.

"I don't understand why you have to be such a child around me. You don't have to like me, but you don't have to sleep on the damn floor. I don't know why you don't like me, maybe I'm not as pretty and perfect as you, but I'm not a damned leper. It's not like I have some infectious disease." Clarke muttered, letting out a frustrated sigh as she blocked entrance to the bathroom, as if Clarke had the right to essentially call her a shallow, vain misogynist and then feel upset about Anya's hostility. "Put the covers back on the damn bed."

"Not happening. Now get out of the way." Anya stepped up, standing firm in Clarke's bubble of personal space, holding eye contact. She'd long since promised she wouldn't hurt Lexa's friends, but she'd promised nothing about intimidation. Even if Clarke smelled really nice, even if she hated putting on an act of fierceness, she had to put up a fight, had to show she took it seriously and was not happy to be sharing space with the girl.

Clarke's deep blue eyes shifted focus across her face, as if searching for an answer to some unspoken question. When Clarke let out a tired sigh, she took it that the girl hadn't found one. "What is wrong with you?" Clarke whispered in disbelief before giving her head a shake. "Just...wait here. I'll be back in a half hour."

Anya barely had time to blink before the door was open and Clarke was marching out.

Whatever Clarke's reasons, Anya felt pretty content with another thirty minutes of solitude. She'd take her wins where she could.

Anya had just started to feel relaxed, splayed out on the mattress, when the door to the hotel room opened again maybe forty-five minutes later. She'd hoped that maybe Clarke had found some other lodgings, but feeling a few large and light objects dropped on her legs stole that calm from her, forcing her to a seated position to defend herself.

Some of that edge fell away once she recognized what Clarke had tossed onto her, even if some of that anger was only replaced with equal parts confusion.

"Sleeping bag and a pillow. Lay down these towels, and you should be able to avoid dealing with the sticky shit." Clarke stated, tired eyes staring right at her, as if challenging her to object to or refuse the offer.

She wouldn't, but she wasn't about to kiss the girl's feet for being half-decent for once. "Fine." She noted, deciding that was all the response she needed to offer. Anya rolled off the bed and picked up the covers, quickly setting them back onto the bed and tucking them in.

"Why are you like this?" Clarke asked, flopping down onto the bed with an exhausted huff.

"Don't ask stupid questions." Anya scoffed, grabbing up the items and heading towards the bathroom.

"I'm serious. Why do you hate me?" Clarke asked, stilling Anya in place at the entrance to her new sleeping quarters for the night.

Honestly, she'd operated under the notion that Clarke was at least self-aware, but maybe that had been expecting too much. "There comes a point where you're responsible for your actions, Clarke. You're bi...you ran the school's GSA. If you can't piece together how you fucked up, then that only damns you more." She answered, feeling a slight bit of tension in her chest as Clarke's face fell, features contorted in a heavy mix of confusion and remorse. She shook her head, hoping but failing to shake off the sensation. "Goodnight, Clarke."

Anya stepped into the bathroom and locked the door behind her, needing to feel safe, needing to create distance, needing to stop making other people's issues her problem, especially when those issues were caused by hurting her. She wouldn't baby Clarke through their shared history. She wouldn't feel bad for pointing out that the other blonde had hurt her. She deserved to be angry and hostile.

Feeling a little better, Anya laid out the towels and created a narrow but decent enough sleeping space to set up her sleeping bag on. It would have been a long night either way, but maybe now it could be a little better.

Didn't mean they were anywhere close to even, but a sleeping bag was better than some thin sheets, and maybe enough to stem some of her anger. Certainly not all, but a little bit.

Anya woke to a sharp pain in her back, the searing sensation stealing any sound from her throat as she rolled onto her side and rode out the wave of agony. Despite her hopes, the minimal cushioning of the towels and sleeping bag couldn't negate the dangers of sleeping on a hard unforgiving surface; Anya waited until she could breathe steadily again before unzipping the sleeping bag and getting to her feet, deciding she had over half a day to figure out her sleeping problem.

A glance at her phone told her it was a little after six, which was less than an hour before she would have gotten up anyways, so she packed everything up again, stashed it on the towel rack, took some Tylenol, and got to washing up in prep for the day.

Freshly showered, Anya wrapped herself in a towel and quietly padded out to the main room to grab some clothes, wishing she'd been mindful enough the previous night to stash some in the bathroom. She was just pushing the top drawer shut when she heard the rustle of sheets behind her.

"Anya? What're you doin' up?" Clarke slurred sleepily, the mattress creaking underneath her as Anya imagined the girl had sat up. "It's still way early."

"Getting breakfast." She answered simply, rolling her eyes as she heard the mattress creak again, bringing her to turn around and spot Clarke trying to get out of bed. "No, you idiot. You were exhausted last night. Get some more sleep, events don't start for another three and a half hours."

"Yeah, well good job with that, dropping a bomb on me last night and all. Barely slept." Clarke grunted, slipping out of bed, staggering on her feet for a moment before she found some semblance of balance. "Besides, I'm hungry."

Anya cursed herself internally for not just staying quiet, getting what she needed, and marching out when she had the chance. "I'm not waiting for you." She shot back, heading back into the bathroom to change as quickly as she could and get a solid tuck into place for at least the first part of the day.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Clarke was there, wearing leggings, an oversized sweater, and sunglasses, hair done up in a messy topknot. How Clarke managed to look stunning while clearly tired as all hell, Anya would never know, but apparently she would have to put up with Griffin for a little while longer.

"Go to the washroom. You don't want to use the one at the diner, sometimes they don't get around to cleaning the previous day's mess before the breakfast rush." Anya spoke, slipping past Clarke and opening the door to their hotel room. She wasn't going to wait, of course she wouldn't, but it was too early in the morning for spite to motivate her into moving faster as she made her way to the elevator, not to mention the ever-present back pain shooting up her spine with each step.

By the time she reached the elevator, she could hear jogging behind her, Clarke joining her inside of it just before the doors went to close.

"So what are we having for breakfast?" Clarke asked, sounding artificially chipper, as if Anya couldn't hear how groggy the girl was.

"You should be in bed." Anya noted as they descended to the main floor, trying to figure out how to handle Griffin tagging along for breakfast, and hoping it wouldn't be as frustrating and aggravating an experience as she expected.

"What are you, my mother? Besides, you're up." Clarke countered quickly, body leaning up against the railing in a way that didn't quite hide the other blonde's exhaustion.

"I'm an early riser. You're known for sleeping in closer to noon when given the opportunity." Anya rolled her eyes at the sleepy girl, thrilled when the elevator door opened and let her out, giving even a shred of possibility that Clarke would elect to wait inside and take it back upstairs.

She had no such luck. "Okay, it's super creepy that you know that." Clarke insisted, the clap of her sandals following Anya out of the hotel.

"You go to the parties Lexa and Costia host. I wake up early, make breakfast, and help with the cleanup. I notice which people sleep in and which don't." Anya explained, rolling her eyes again at the annoyed huff from behind her. "And don't think for a second that I care or am judging you for that. I don't give a crap. I just know you should be asleep, and that you're choosing instead to intrude on my breakfast."

The diner had always been her place to eat in the mornings when Comic-Con came around. Lexa and Costia would usually just grab something at Starbucks, but she kind of liked having a real breakfast, not just a coffee and a bagel like some would get. And since it wasn't the most popular place that early in the morning, she'd more or less have her choice of seating.

Usually, she'd just grab a small table, not wanting to take up much space, but once inside the restaurant's familiar walls, she made her way to a vacant booth, having some hope that the comfier seating could entice Clarke to return to bed after the meal.

Clarke plopped down hard onto the booth seating across from her and shuffled closer to the window, resting her head against it with a sleepy frown. "You know, I'd sleep a lot easier knowing why you hate me."

"And if I have to spell it all out for you, then you wouldn't understand anyways. We don't have to have some cliché heart to heart when it's pretty clear that we're at two different levels here. We don't have to reconcile. It doesn't matter." Anya answered, slumping back into her seat, arms crossing her chest.

"It does matter." Clarke asserted, taking off her sunglasses and putting them on their table. "Does it look like I slept last night?"

"So you felt too guilty to sleep. All that tells me is you're really uncomfortable with anyone thinking you might be a bad person. Newsflash, Griffin...you and your friends made people feel like shit all the time. Sorry if I don't buy your 'woe is me' act, given you still have no clue despite me literally sitting right here." Anya argued, willing her anger to sift back beneath the surface as the waitress approached.

"Hey there, ladies. Can I get you anything to drink to start with this morning?" The waitress asked a little cautiously, handing them both a menu, eyes flitting between her and Clarke as if to gauge if there was any trouble there.

Anya turned her full focus to the waitress, sending her a smile that seemed to ease the woman's slight apprehension. "Orange juice would be lovely, thank you."

"Chocolate milk sounds amazing. I'll have that, please." Clarke added, the waitress writing down the information and heading off, leaving them alone again for the moment. Clarke of course, just couldn't let the issue stand, fixing her focus on Anya again. "That's not fair. I think I'd remember if I said or did something hurtful to Asian women, Anya."

Anya had to fight the urge to face-palm, even if she immediately found herself more frustrated than she had been in some time. "You really need to stop beating around the bush, Griffin. This isn't about race or ethnicity and you know it. Rub some brain cells together for once and think. You made valedictorian, you're capable of basic deductive reasoning." Anya let out in a harsh whisper, feeling a pit form in her stomach at the pained wince Clarke gave at her words, at the way those blue eyes started to shimmer. "Don't you fucking start crying, Clarke."

"I'm just so tired. And I don't know. I don't know. Like, two years ago, Lexa told me about something lesbophobic that I said, and I haven't said anything like that since, I worked hard to think about it differently and unlearn the bullshit I used to think, so I just...I don't know." Clarke complained, voice cracking as the girl slumped forward against the table.

Anya wasn't sure whether she wanted to just explode and leave this plane of existence, or ream Clarke out over her supreme lack of attention to detail, or just try to work out the mystery of Clarke being so oblivious that she couldn't even think back a few years.

Not wanting to make a scene, and not wanting the situation to escalate even further, knowing full well her weakness for crying people, Anya reached out and took hold of Clarke's nearest hand. She wasn't gentle, she didn't tenderly graze a thumb over Clarke's knuckles or offer any such comforting gesture. No, she knew Clarke was a sucker for physical touch, and so long as she was holding her hand, so long as the potential for affection was so near, she'd have the other girl's attention.

"Take deep breaths. Look at the menu. Find something to eat. Think about all the fun things you and your friends will get up to today. Focus on that. Worry about me later." Anya stated slowly and calmly, annoyed that she was pushed to coddle her a bit, but it'd be worth it if she could still have and enjoy her breakfast in relative peace.

Yet, there was something in Clarke's eyes that told her that maybe she didn't have a full read on the other girl's issues. So when Clarke's head ducked away, maybe she brought out the big guns and let her thumb graze across the top of Clarke's knuckles. Maybe the mix of shock and hope on Clarke's face told her more than she expected.

"Lexa had you room with me for a reason, didn't she?" She asked, a few ideas floating around in her head that she wanted confirmation on before proceeding. She'd definitely need to sit Lexa down for a talk today, but for now, she needed details.

Clarke gave a silent nod, eyes falling shut and leaving a slight ring of wetness around the edges, officially sending Anya's heart into a twisting mess. Whether it was good method acting or legitimate, she couldn't say, but her maternal instincts were already kicking in.

Anya hadn't noticed the waitress approach, so the sight and sound of her orange juice being set down in front of her had her body jolting a little. Clarke, however, didn't even respond, just looking entirely sad and exhausted.

"Are you two ladies ready to order yet, or do you need a little more time?" The waitress, Niylah, asked, concerned eyes shifting between the both of them.

Anya fixed her focus on Clarke for a moment, already knowing her order. "Clarke, do you have an idea of what you want?" She asked, watching and waiting for a response, but Clarke remained silent. The girl had told her she was hungry earlier, so she decided to take her at her word, and use her past knowledge of Clarke to her advantage. In a worst case scenario, Clarke wouldn't like it, and they could stop at the Starbucks on the way back, anyways. Anya turned her focus to the waitress. "Can we get an order of the apple crisp pancakes, the cinnamon bun pancakes, and two fresh fruit cups on the side, please?"

Their waitress offered a nod and hurried off to another table, the morning rush starting up in some form.

"I don't understand...what, are you trying to soften me up? Get me to crack? I thought you didn't want a heart to heart." Clarke murmured, her words barely audible above the din of the diner.

Anya scoffed at the assertion. "I don't. But I'm not incapacitated, Clarke...I can tell when someone's hurting. I don't have to like you to want to minimize that, and I know you indulge your sweet tooth when you're feeling down." She answered, knowing some parts were a white lie, but Clarke didn't need to know that crying turned her to putty.

"It's totally unfair that you apparently know everything about me and I know nothing about you." Clarke let out with a frustrated huff, wet eyes finally opening again, even if they didn't meet Anya's.

"I find it hard to believe you haven't picked up something over the years. We've been sharing classes and schools since grade two." Anya noted offhandedly, figuring Clarke was exaggerating out of discomfort, but the immediate degree of wary disbelief on the other girl's face unnerved her and had her wondering if Clarke really was even more oblivious than she thought possible. "You...are aware that we spent elementary together, at least?"

Clarke's eyes narrowed. "I think I would have remembered you."

Anya pulled her hand away from Clarke and leaned back, feeling her mind fall apart bit by bit. "You at least remember when I came out at the end of middle school?"

Clarke recoiled as if stung, and even if the reaction last just a moment, there was a lingering sadness in Clarke's eyes. "I...I spent half of my last year of middle school at home after my father died."

She wanted to smash her face with a waffle iron for forgetting that vital detail of Clarke's history. Usually she didn't flub that hard. "I'm sorry, it slipped my mind, my apologies." Anya offered, earning a quick nod from the other girl.

"Thanks. Anyways, yeah, I didn't catch you when you transferred in. I only saw you in high school." Clarke stated, only furthering Anya's confusion, because she hadn't transferred anywhere.

And yet, it all made a twisted sort of sense, if she considered Clarke's popularity growing up, her relative obscurity, and the potential effects of alcohol consumption. Suddenly, Anya finally had a reason for why Clarke seemed so entirely off the mark, even if it still wasn't excusable. And really, if Lexa truly wanted her to spend time with Clarke, then she begrudgingly would, but Clarke would have to owe her for her openness, and Lexa would have a serious debt to pay. "You definitely saw me before, but yeah, your first time seeing me after I came out was the start of high school. You know, as a trans girl and all."

Clarke's eyes bugged out, a deep red blush tinting her cheeks as her hand fumbled to find her glass of milk.

Anya dug around in her bag and pulled out one of the gag gifts Lexa had given her long ago, pushing the big purple swirly straw across to Clarke. "So you don't spill any." She said dismissively when Clarke shot her a curious stare. "While it's ridiculous that I can mentally recall six times you were explicitly told I was a trans girl, and that information apparently never got digested despite most of the school knowing over the years, it doesn't let you off the hook. Especially since you can probably piece together my issues, or at least some."

"So...wait, you were A..."

"Don't say my deadname. It's a deadname for a reason. But yes, we were paired together in our grade four science fair, among other things." Anya interrupted, perhaps aggressively reminding Clarke of etiquette.

Thankfully, the other blonde looked appropriately remorseful. "Sorry. But...okay, that makes a lot more sense, now that I think about it. I always wondered where you came from, and where the kid I grew up around went. I guess I just never connected the dots. Okay." Clarke noted, nodding absently as the gears of her brain clearly worked away. "It was the Spirit Week stuff I did for the student council, right?"

Anya rolled her eyes, because even if those events sucked, they weren't as hurtful. Not directly, at least. "They were transphobic, the genderbend days, at least. But not what I had in mind." She clarified before taking a long sip of her juice, a satisfied moan escaping her at the perfect balance of tang and sweetness. "Anyways, we can deal with that later. What's going on with you? It has to be something big if Lexa assigned me to you."

"Assigned? You make it sound like a mission. She just said that you usually do your own thing at cons, and that if I could tag along that it would be good for me, since your schedules don't really ever align with our usual group's plans." Clarke explained, making the whole weekend roommate situation a lot clearer.

Lexa definitely owed her for this.

"And Lexa told me you were having troubles, and asked me to be nice to you." Anya added, earning a sharp laugh from her counterpart.

"Well, you knocked that out of the park last night and this morning. Way to make me feel welcome." Clarke groused, for decently good reason, even if Anya had been fully justified in her responses.

"Lexa wasn't explicit about it to me, and I have every reason not to be kind. But if she talked to you, and rigged the room draw, then this is all on purpose. I get that now." Anya explained, wishing her cousin and best friend had been clearer about it. She probably would have been a lot angrier before arrival, but she could have at least prepared. "Let me guess, you drove up on your own. You're avoiding your friends over some recent falling-out, but still want a decent weekend because you paid for a pass and the hotel months ago."

Clarke picked up the swirly straw, unwrapped it, and stuck it in her drink. "You're mostly right. Raven's been fast-tracked through high school, so she finished last year and started at MIT one year early. I heard she and Finn broke up because of the distance, Finn told me as much by the start of the school year, and after a little while we started dating. We kept it low-key, not wanting to attract much attention or drama in our senior year...or at least, that's what I thought. Turns out, he was still dating Raven long-distance, and would spend some weekends over in Boston with her."

Anya winced, knowing that couldn't have been an easy revelation to face. "When did you find out?"

"Two weeks ago. Finn's been trying to get me alone to talk to me, but I just...I can't. I can't be the other woman, and I can't hurt Raven, so I'm just trying to get as much distance as I can and pretend Finn and I never happened." Clarke explained before taking a sip of her chocolate milk, a hint of a smile reaching her lips.

"Good call. He's even more of a jackass than I thought he was, you didn't deserve that." Anya admitted, seriously hoping the jackass wouldn't show his face around her that weekend. It'd already been one of the few times she could escape him and his friends relatively easily even when they attended, so the notion of him seeking them out was irritating to say the least.

Clarke tilted her head to the side as she took another sip, eyes twinkling with some mixture of amusement and curiosity. "I think I could get used to this softer side of you."

Anya huffed and took a gulp of her juice. Like hell if she was being soft. Clarke had no idea what soft would look like on her. "Not soft. Just honest. You'll be hearing plenty from me later, but it's neither the time nor the place for that."

Clarke sat back in her booth, hands in the air in mock surrender. "Okay, you're not being soft. Though if this isn't it, I'm seriously curious how soft and cuddly you can get."

"It's such a shame you'll never know." Anya shot back, sending a glare Clarke's way, but it didn't even faze the other blonde's growing grin.

"Well, I have an inkling. You did hold my hand..."

"That was to get your attention..."

"...and you brushed your thumb across my knuckles..."

"...which was to save this table from becoming a spectacle since you were on the verge of..."

"...and you gave me a cute little swirly straw and ordered me comfort food."

Anya rolled her eyes, taking another long gulp of her juice. It was a tragedy that Clarke's annoying nature was keeping her from truly savoring the freshly squeezed delicious drink. "That's beside the point. I was hungry, so I put an order in, and you were on edge, so I didn't want you to spill your drink."

"I'm sure." Clarke noted cheerfully, and though her clear sarcasm and exhaustion was written across her face, there was some sincere joy there too, for whatever reason.

Anya's perfectly thought out verbal barb to Clarke's smug behaviour was put on indefinite hold as their waitress returned, setting their respective orders onto the table. "And here we go, is there anything else I can get you two?"

"Can we get another orange juice for the pretty girl?" Clarke requested, her shit-eating grin holding as the waitress laughed and scribbled a quick note on her pad, and try as she might, Anya could not keep her cheeks from burning. She'd always had a weakness to compliments from other women. "Thank you so much."

Anya waited until the waitress was gone before leaning closer, ignoring her delicious pancakes to glare at the girl across from her. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Good thing I don't have anywhere else to be. But it will apparently get blood rushing to your cheeks. That's interesting." Clarke mused as she thankfully turned her focus to her meal. "This looks like it'll put me into a food coma."

"I did tell you that you need to sleep." Anya snarked as she cut up and forked a chunk of delicious pancake.

"You can't just get me pregnant with a food baby and expect me to sleep, Anya." Clarke insisted with a laugh. Anya would have vocally disagreed were she not enjoying her delicious pancakes. She loved a lot of their options, but the apple crisp ones were honestly to die for.

Once she was finished savouring her bite, Anya pointed her fork at Clarke's plate. "Eat up. You can tell me I'm wrong when you're done."

Clarke let out a huff, her cocked eyebrow clearing sending the signal that she wasn't going to be undone by breakfast food. Still, when Clarke took a bite of her pancakes, eyes fluttering shut and a content moan rumbling in her throat, Anya knew there was hope yet.

Or, well, at least that she'd get to finish her meal without much more trouble.