#my brain just *windows error sound* looking at drafts

[mvnces]

brain hurts so no writing until later but just know my muses are basically like this

[gothhisoka]

𝑨 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒀𝒐𝒓𝒌𝑵𝒆𝒘

100 follower special!! Thank you everyone <3

Pairing: Chrollo x fem!reader

Tags: College AU, rich Chrollo, Gossip Girl vibes, this is my first draft so sorry about the errors

Word count: 4.8k

Summary: The infamous October party is all the talk at YorkNew University. It takes place at a huge penthouse in the heart of the city, owned by a mysterious man that few know the true identity of.

You attend the party just having entered your freshman year. There, you meet all sorts of people. But one, in particular, intrigues you the most. His name is Chrollo Lucilfer. He is an expensive suit-wearing, whisky-smelling, suspiciously rich graduate student.

And you are going to try to get him to dance.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+, Do not drink underage. You should not use any of the actions displayed in the following story as examples for your own life.

Playlist: click here to listen while reading

Ao3: click here to read on ao3

Chapter 1/?

As you walked through the streets of YorkNew City you felt gusts of wind push past you so strongly that they nearly knocked you over. It was already miserable to be outside, and it was only October. The sky was growing dark, the city growing brighter. Fall decorations adorned the buildings you passed. The Southernpiece Auction House looked the most magnificent of them all– with bright colored lights trailing the pathway and walls.

No time to wonder at your surroundings, you thought. You would have four more years to gawk at the city. You pulled your scarf tighter around you as you walked faster. Although you looked cute in your tights, it was definitely not the appropriate clothing choice for this weather.

Your decision to go to YNU seemed perfect in every way. It was one of the top schools in YorkNew and was in the heart of the city. Unfortunately, you failed to realize that the wind would be whipping for three-quarters of the year.

While it wasn’t the biggest “party school,” there was a single big party in October held by one of the fraternities. That party was the one you happened to be heading to right now. Everyone knew of it and talked about it non-stop. You were reluctant to attend. You hadn’t had many real party experiences at high school. For the most part, they consisted of sitting around drinking cheap beer while your classmates humiliated themselves. Your friends had high hopes for this one, though.

For one, it appeared to be in the penthouse of a high-rise building. You checked your phone to see if the location matched the one on your map. This wasn’t the frat house you had been expecting. Although your and the system’s arrows matched, you really couldn’t trust your directional skills, anyway.

Your hands were near frozen, but you managed to press the call button on your friends’ contact.

“Hey Canary?” you don’t hear her reply as music floods through your phone speaker. Seconds later, it becomes quieter, signaling she moved into another room.

“Hey, it’s absolutely crazy up here, sorry.”

You ask her about the address, and she confirms it. She tells you her location at the party so you can find her later. She hangs up before you can say bye or express more of your listless anxieties. Why were you so worried? You had Canary and Amane and��� well, you didn’t know many others. And of course Canary and Amane would be all over each other so really you had no one. That was a valid source of anxiety, was it not?

Either way, you needed to step into the building to escape the cold. Perhaps after you warmed up you could make your escape. I knew this was a bad idea.

The entryway was already magnificent, with tall arches and marble floors. A fire blazed near a seating area on the opposite wall. You rushed over to find it unoccupied, thank goodness. You sat as close as safely possible and felt the warmth creep back into your body.

Your head cleared a bit, thoughts straightening out into coherency. You were at your first party. Your friends were all up there already, so you wouldn’t need to wait for them awkwardly. Everything would go smoothly as long as–

Just then, a group of around six people entered the hall. You couldn’t help but stare. One was over six feet tall, another shorter than five. And some were unbelievably gorgeous. One of them particularly caught your eye. He was wearing all black, styled in an expensive coat and dress shirt. His hair was black as well, hanging loose around his pale face. Dark eyes looked towards a man at his right. He walked with such an intimidating stride that you nearly hid behind the sofa. Luckily, they didn’t appear to be heading in your direction.

They probably were all college students, why else would they be dressed up at a random apartment on this specific day? The thought sent butterflies to your stomach. If the group really was full of college students, maybe you should be going to that party.

Not to gawk at them or anything. Based on their looks, you could tell that they were the rich YorkNew city elite-type students, not the federal loan international-type student as you were. In other words, they had power and you did not. It was best to avoid these types of people. You knew that much just from living in the city for a couple of months.

The group was still waiting outside of the elevators. You made possibly the stupidest decision that you could’ve at that moment. You rose from your seat and flattened your hair. You then proceeded to trot right over to the elevator, behind the group. You had to go upstairs somehow, and reaching the top floor through the stairs didn’t seem like the ideal choice.

Clearly still distracted by the image of that man’s face that was now tattoed onto your brain, you didn’t even notice when the elevator doors opened. A voice sounded from inside that snapped you out of your daydream.

“There’s enough room if you want to come in…” it was the same man that you noticed from before.

An amused expression shone on his face– it was as if he was trying to hide a smirk. He placed his hand on the elevator door so it wouldn’t close. You noticed thick silver rings on a couple of his fingers. It was clear from his appearance that he was wealthy. Not to mention, his mannerisms had an undertone of superiority. Despite yourself, this only enticed you more. Who was this man?

Apparently, you were about to find out.

A blush rose on your face as you quickly gave him your thanks and scrambled inside the elevator. He stood directly next to you, with his friends on the sides. The sudden closeness made your stomach flip.

“What floor?” he asked, hand hovering above the numbers on the elevator wall.

You checked the keypad although you already knew that you would all be headed to the same place.

You tried not to look at him as you responded. “Same as you.”

“Oh,” he replied simply.

The rest of the ride was accompanied by a rising tension. The girls behind you made the only conversation, talking in low voices to one another. You were grateful when the elevator finally stopped on the top floor. You quickly walked out and made your way to anywhere but where that group was. On a second glance, you could see that the rest of them also had that air of wealth and superiority that the man had. That was definitely not the crowd you wanted to get acquainted with tonight.

Besides the music thumping through the walls and people waiting around the entrance, the hall outside of the elevator looked like it could be in any other apartment building. There was a large rack full of coats and hangers to your right. As you walked through the long hall you took off your coat and scarf, happy to get rid of the bulky clothes.

Going into the party was still nerve-wracking, but your outfit gave you a bit of courage. You chose a black silk minidress that accentuated your curves perfectly. You wore fishnet tights and combat boots to complete the look. You did your makeup to near perfection, with a bold red lip and your signature eyeliner. Needless to say, you were feeling good.

You almost forgot that the group that was still in the hall until you felt their eyes bearing into you. In your peripheral vision, you saw them take off their coats just as you finished hanging yours. Without another moment of hesitation, you walked quickly to the door.

The music grew louder and you grew slightly nauseous. This night has already been far too much. Is it really the best idea to continue on? It was too late to turn back, as you would be turning to face those who you wished to avoid.

So, you opened the door. You were immediately flooded with lights and sounds and people. The interior was huge. You guessed that this single apartment took up the majority of the floor, and apparently the one above it too. A staircase on the right side led to a balcony overlooking the main room. Couches and furniture lined the walls, pushed away to form a space in the middle. From what you could see, the entire back wall consisted of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city below. If you hadn’t felt so dizzy, you would’ve noticed that the room stunning and grand, unlike any you have seen before.

Students were everywhere, crowding on the couches and the dance floor. You couldn’t make out many faces as the neon lights were dim. You guessed that there were at least seventy people in this room alone.

The music thumped in your bones. You tried to focus on the lines of the song playing instead of your rising panic. “Oh god can you make my heart stop… killshot baby.”

After assessing your surroundings, you made a quick beeline to the kitchen, where Canary said she would be when you called her earlier. The walk was only quick in theory. It took you around five minutes to make your way across the room. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience, weaving through drunk bodies dancing with fervor. You smelt the sweet smell of vape smoke mixed in with the sweat. Heads turned to look at you but you did not look back. Nothing interested you more than finding your friends. Meeting other people could come after you were settled.

You bitterly realized that it had been a bad idea not to come with Canary and Amane an hour earlier. You thought as little time as possible spent there would be ideal, as it was your first time at a college party. Little did you know that arriving late would mean a frantic search for your friends amidst the chaos.

At last, you came upon an opening in the wall that seemed to lead to the kitchen. There were neon lights in there as well, lining the counters and cabinets. White marble countertops glinted underneath bottles of alcohol.

There were significantly fewer people crowded into this tiny space. About fifteen people stood around, drinking and talking with one another over the music. Without thinking, you grab a bottle of beer as you pass by the counter on your way to the other side of the room. There was an empty corner that was calling your name. From there you could observe the faces of the people around you. And possibly get a bit drunk while you were at it. You figured it was the only way you could survive the rest of the night.

As you scanned the faces your heart sank. You didn’t see your friends anywhere. Maybe they already moved to the dancefloor. You take another swig of the beer and pull out your phone.

The dial tone for Canary sounded just as you spotted a familiar face. He was leaning against the wall on the other side of the room with his arms crossed, talking to an attractive red-haired man standing next to him. Your mind was slowly growing hazier, but that didn’t mean you forgot about the man from before.

You quickly averted your eyes. Canary didn’t pick up your call so you decided to text her. All the while you felt your heart begin to thrum. Did that man intimidate you? Or was it just because you thought he was incredibly hot?

You couldn’t say for sure, as you have never felt this way about a person before. He looked older than you, a graduate student perhaps. Anyway, he was far out of your reach in terms of people you could talk to. So, you decided right there and then to stop thinking about him.

You wait a few more minutes for Canary’s response. She doesn’t reply to your text. You grit your teeth and pick up another bottle of beer from the counter. Unfortunately, the bottle opener was nowhere to be seen. Just my luck, you thought. Rather than going without the beer, you pulled out your keys and tried to pry the lid off with your sheer force. But your hand kept slipping and you were beginning to feel a bit embarrassed. You cursed yourself under your breath and looked around to see if anyone noticed your clumsiness.

Accidentally peering towards the wall where the man was before, you notice that he was no longer there. You didn’t know why you cared so much about the opinion of a stranger.

You were about to put the bottle down when you sensed someone next to you. A voice that smelt of whisky and cigarettes spoke, “Need some help there?”

You retracted at the sound and sensation until you noticed who spoke. It was him. You froze, unsure of what to do next. Slowly, your eyes trailed up to his face.

You tried not to stare as you took him in full, now that you were finally face to face. The low neon lights highlighted his strong nose and sharp jawline. His black hair was messily swept from his face, displaying a cross tattoo on his forehead that you hadn’t noticed before. He wore small silver hoops in both ears. Shadows formed across his deep-set eyes as he regarded you, emotionless and still.

He asked you again, pointing to the unopened bottle, “The beer?”

You gave him a nervous laugh, “Oh, yes. I don’t know where the bottle opener went…”

He still stood unusually close to you. Obviously, it was only so that you could hear him better over the loud music. Still, it made your heart flutter. You averted your eyes from his only to see the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up, displaying strong arms and hands.

You tried to tell yourself that he was just being nice. And you were making a fool of yourself, just as you were before at the elevator. You knew you had no chance with him, even though a party was a more relaxed environment than most. He would want nothing to do with you after he helped you again. These intimidating upperclassmen were the same.

The man said nothing as he placed the edge of the bottle on the counter, with the cap at the edge. Those beautiful, white marble countertops. Surely he isn’t going to…

With a slam of his palm, the cap came clear off.

“Here,” he said simply.

Why, you wondered, was that so attractive. You couldn’t possibly be getting turned on by the opening of a bottle. Maybe it was only due to the way he did it, displaying his strength so boldly.

He noticed your expression and laughed lightly. “It’s fine, I own the place.”

You couldn’t hide your surprise at his statement. If he was a graduate student, how could he possibly be making enough for this entire place? And you were told it was a frat house, not a single apartment?

A little bit of talking wouldn’t hurt, no matter his status. So you decide to allow the questions to flow. Perhaps the beer was finally loosening your lips and easing your anxiety. You really should’ve been searching for your friends, but it seemed that your body thought differently. Something about the man drew you in. Whether it was his flawless appearance or genuine kindness towards you, you weren’t sure.

“You own this place?” you questioned, leaning a hip on the counter with your beer in hand.

He gave you a small smile, clearly trying to appear humble. “Yes.”

All you managed to say was, “How?”

Was it genuine interest in his face that you saw? Or was he simply happy to boast about his tremendous earnings?

“My company. The dealings bring in solid money, so I decided to purchase this place.” He waved a hand, gesturing towards the general direction of his massive living area.

“Your company? Do you go to YNU?”

He couldn’t be that old to have established his own company. And if he was, surely you would’ve heard about it, as he would be famous. Perhaps he was like many of the other kids at this school, enjoying a trust fund to their name and claiming it all to be their sheer success.

He grabbed a beer from the table and opened it the same way as he did before. He seemed to almost be growing bored of the conversation, needing to drink to distract himself. He became more distant as the small talk continued.

“Yes. I’m in the first year of my graduate program. And you?”

God, those eyes. It was hard to maintain eye contact with him for too long. It felt as if he was simultaneously calculating you as if you were a complex math problem while trying to appear as emotionless as possible.

He was the one who needed calculating. His appearance was already bizarre, with the cross tattoo displayed so boldly on his forehead. But the fact that he was only in his first year of graduate school and already running his own company was too much to comprehend. All you wished for was to know more about this strangely alluring man.

You were about to reply when you heard your name being called from the crowd in the large room. Giggles followed the shout.

Canary and Amane were thrust out of the mass of bodies in the living area. Canary wore a minidress and Amane wore a dress shirt and pants, now significantly disheveled. They were smiling like mad.

Your heart jumped at the sight of them. Finally, you were safe. That was your immediate thought until you saw the stumble in their walks. They were drunk.

Canary slurred your name again. “We’ve missed you! Where were you?”

“I was here in the kitchen, where you told me to wait. Remember?”

Canary and Amane simply gave each other a knowing look and giggled. You had almost forgotten the man who still stood behind you.

“We’ll leave you to it then,” Amane said, making it obvious that she was referencing him.

They were about to leave when you called out. “Wait!”

It wasn’t that you weren’t absolutely entranced by the man and wouldn’t give everything to talk to him for even one more minute, it was just that your friends needed you.

You turned to see the man now farther down the counter, talking to the red-haired man again. He noticed your apologetic look and walked towards you.

“Sorry I have to–”

Your sentence trails off as he looks down on you with a slight smile, arms crossed. You almost want to take a step back, his look too penetrating and revealing.

“What is your name?”

You widened your eyes. He wants to know your name. What were you supposed to make of that?

You give him your name.

“I’m Chrollo,” he replies, sticking his hand out for you to shake as if you were making a business deal. You try to hide your laugh.

He simply smirks back at you as you take his hand. The cold metal of his rings contrasted with the warmth the both of you were emitting. The front of his hand was smooth, with light veins running towards his knuckles. A sign of strength. Moreover, his palm rough. His grip was firm and confident as if he had something he wanted to convey with this handshake. What that was, though, you couldn’t be sure.

You felt a tap on your soldier and knew it was time to go with your friends. You just couldn’t manage to turn away. You already began to think, what if I never see him again? What if he doesn’t want to see me again anyway?

“Nice to meet you, Chrollo,” you said before finally turning your back. You felt his eyes bearing into your back as you left. At least, you hoped it was your back. You weren’t used to the tightness of your dresses’ material and the looks that coupled it.

You silently praise yourself for your unusual boldness toward Chrollo. Maybe you were bold enough to make an impression. An impression was really all you could hope for, at this point. That man was impossible to read.

Before you left the kitchen, Amane held out a small cup for you containing a clear liquid. You hardly hear what she says it is before you knock it back. The taste burns your throat. You figured you would need whatever it was before heading out to the dance floor. Amane and Canary do the same as you (as if they needed it, as drunk as they were).

As Canary grabbed your hand, Chrollo’s name echoed in your mind. Where have you heard it before? You probably could remember if you hadn’t drunk that last shot.

“Who the fuck was that?!” Amane nearly screamed into your ear. You were nearing the main dance floor. The sound was deafening and you felt the thump of music in your bones.

“Chrollo. He owns this place, apparently,” your voice gets lost in the noise.

“WHAT?” Canary yells. You were deep into the mass of people so talking was virtually impossible. There was space to move once you reached the center. It was far enough from the speakers that you could hear fragments of speech from the other people beside you. The sound still bounced off of the tall ceilings, echoing through the large room.

A new song started to play and you began to dance. You, Canary, and Amane danced stupidly, movements sluggish yet wild from the alcohol. It was the most fun you had in a long while. Maybe going to the party wasn’t such a bad idea after all. At that point, the anxiety all but left your body.

After a couple more songs, you decided to try to find your way out of the crowd to take a break. Your body ached with all the movement and sensation. Amane and Canary remained on the floor, although they insisted on following you. It was a slower song, anyway. You couldn’t be caught on the floor with no partner.

At last, after much shoving, you found a wall you could rest against. It just happened to be the wall with the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was far less crowded here. The cold glass felt incredible after the mass of sweat that was the dance floor.

The city lights reflected in the glass

You were close enough to the kitchen to peer through the entrance. When you did so, you couldn’t see Chrollo or his friend. Rather, they were talking to one another next to the kitchen, along the plane of windows.

Suddenly, the glass didn’t feel so cold anymore. You began to heat up just at the sight of him. It was too late by the time you looked away, they had noticed your gaze. Chrollo caught your eyes and your heart skipped a beat. But it wasn’t Chrollo who came over to you. It was his friend. You looked towards the red-haired man with apprehension. This wasn’t middle school, was it? Was Chrollo getting his friend to act as their in-between? No , you told yourself. This sly-looking man is clearly here for something else.

“Hello there,” he said in a sultry tone. He leaned against the window just as you did the same.

His red hair hung loosely around his yellow eyes. He wore a loose dark purple dress shirt and black pants.

Your patience was running out. “Who are you?” And why are you not Chrollo?

“Hisoka. And you must be y/n, right?”

Your eyebrows rose as you nodded. Had Chrollo already mentioned you to Hisoka? What made you worth mentioning? Well, apparently you were about to find out.

“I was wondering, dear, would you dance with me?”

That was unexpected. You turned to face him to observe his expression and the one of the man behind him. Chrollo’s face was bank but his eyes looked stormy as if to issue a warning to Hisoka. Something in Chrollo’s look made you want to accept Hisoka’s offer, just to see his reaction. The slight changes in his expression were endlessly entertaining. If doing something as reckless as dancing with a man you had just met would warrant a change, you would happily oblige.

Hisoka’s smirk vanished as you replied, “Sure.”

Now it was your turn to look smug. Chrollo’s eyes widened slightly but he still remained silent, several feet away with his back against the window. If Hisoka was anyone else, say a person who didn’t radiate his dangerously sexual appetite, perhaps Chrollo would’ve been less surprised.

Although you assuredly gave him your answer, you knew you couldn’t trust this man. His sly expression persisted as he snaked a slender hand across your waist. You didn’t turn to see Chrollo’s expression but you could feel a pair of eyes on your back as you walked away. How unfair it was, that Chrollo always got the last look.

Hisoka led you to an opening on the dance floor that was situated near the staircase. He immediately pulled you to his chest. You gasped at the sudden closeness. You felt his torso with your own, his hardened with muscle. He moved his hands tighter against your waist and you nearly melted into the touch.

You were drunk. He wasn’t who you wanted. But you could easily pretend he was.

You tried to peer back to the spot where Chrollo was standing. It was far too dense and dark to make out any faces besides the one of the man before you.

He wasn’t Chrollo, but he was unquestionably attractive. His sharp features were riddled with confidence. He carried himself as a king would, so self-assured that he was borderline unaware.

The slow song had since ended and a faster one began to sound. You began to feel the rhythm and danced along, Hisoka pulling you closer all the while. Although you were significantly intimidated by Hisoka, it was still fun. You couldn’t tell if either of you was dancing well or making a fool of yourselves. All you knew was sound, movement, and the touch of his body to yours.

After another song or two suddenly Hisoka pulled apart. He wore a malicious expression.

“I have to go,” he said, simply.

He didn’t give you a chance to reply. He waltzed up the stairs to the balcony that you were dancing near. You trailed your eyes to where he stood, hands on the railing talking to the person beside him. It was the blond woman you saw earlier, the one who was with Chrollo’s group…

And next to her was Chrollo. He was holding onto the railing for dear life as if he would fall to his death if he let go. A fear of heights? No, you didn’t think so. Based on his facial expression, he looked almost bitter. You didn’t deem that possible based on his mild mannerism so far. And what reason would he have to be angry?

An idea sparked in your mind. A stupid one, undoubtedly. But Chrollo and his group were far too interesting to ignore for the rest of the night.

It was probably too dark for them to see you amongst the crowd, but you crouched as you moved away anyway. You sensed the tension in their conversation all the way from the floor below. You would wait until Chrollo cooled off a bit and then make your move.

You head back to the kitchen to have another drink. You go for something stronger, a shot of a pale liquid that you didn’t know the name of. Or rather, you were too distracted to care.

You made the perilous journey back to the balcony, dodging limbs and drunken stupors. It was nearing midnight at this point and the crowd was sufficiently rowdy. You think you spot Canary dancing near the back wall, but you couldn’t be sure. You will let her have her own fun tonight since you already found yours.

From below, you could see that Chrollo, Hisoka, and the woman were still leaning against the balcony railing. As you dizzily mounted the steps, you realized that Chrollo looked as perfect and intact as when you first saw him, all those hours ago. He must’ve not danced the whole night, even though it was his own party. How strange. Well, you were about to try and change that.

“Hey,” you said as you waltzed up to Chrollo. There was a bit of a stumble in your step so you quickly made use of the railing.

Chrollo no longer had a death-grip on the bar. He looked at you with a blank face.

“Hello,” he replied.

His friends glared at you so hard that you nearly turned back around. You seem to have interrupted an important conversation.

You lazily move closer to Chrollo and speak under your breath, so that his friends don’t hear, “Want to dance?”

[uh-oh-howd-i-get-here]

After All This Time (Bucky Barnes X Fem!Reader) Part 2

I went ahead and wrote the second chapter, I was so excited. I did a lot of research on PTSD and the triggers. I may not have a full grasp on it, but I hope I at least got some of it right. I feel kinda iffy on writing the characters, but I did my best to stay true to who they are. I hope you like this chapter!

Summary: The real world is a scary place, even more so when you’re alone. You live alone in a apartment filed with the ghosts of your memories. You’ve both changed since you last met your fiancé, but can love mend the gap after all this time.

Pairing: Bucky X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of torture, violence, yelling. Talks about triggers and PTSD. Mentions of death and killing. If there are any that I missed please let me know!

Word Count: 2,492

Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Steve, I don’t understand why you’re dragging me out here to this museum.”

“They told me that they made a new addition to the Captain America exhibit and I didn’t want to go alone.”

Bucky clenched his vibranium hand and continued to follow Steve. “Did they at least tell you what it’s about?”

Steve sighed, “No, they didn’t. I wish they had though, I hate going into these things blind. Who knows what they’ve dug up.

“Steve, did you find it?”

“Uh, yeah Buck. I don’t think you want to see it though. It’s something they had no business digging in”

“What is it Steve. And don’t even think of lying to me, I know you too well.”

Steve sighed and led Bucky to the new exhibit. A memorial just like Bucky’s, but it was dedicated to Y/N L/N.

Bucky scoffed but read it out loud anyways. “Y/N L/N was a childhood friend of both Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. Y/N met the two in 1923 and they were close ever since. In 1941 record says that she became engaged to Sargent Barnes, but never married. Y/N was drafted as an Army Nurse but died in Germany in 1944.” A picture of her before the war and in a case were her dog tags, which was weird. If she hadn’t been found, how were her tags here.

Bucky trailed off, the rest just going on about what kind of person she was. They stood in silence for a while, both staring at her picture. Steve finally broke the silence, “How much of her do you remember?”

Bucky looked away and tried to remember the girl in front of him. Flashes of smiles, tears, and laughter floated through his head, but he could only focus on one memory.

“I don’t remember her before the war.” Steve’s head moved to look at Bucky so fast that his neck cracked.

“What do you mean before the war Buck.”

He looked at Steve and backed up until he could collapse on a bench. A deep breath then, “I remember seeing her when I was the Winter Soldier. I vaguely remember a mission, maybe a couple, and then an order. I couldn’t help myself. All I could do was watch as I choked her to death, them dragging her away after declaring her dead.”

He shook his head as if he could erase the memory, make it disappear to never see again.

“If you killed her-“ Steve paused, “If you went on missions with her then she didn’t die in 1944. She was captured by Hydra. Then there could be a possibility that she, well that she could still be alive. Could it be possible that it was staged? Buck is there any chance at all that she could still be alive?”

Bucky shook his head again and looked at his hands. “I felt it Steve, I felt her neck crush. There’s no way she survived that.”

He took a deep sigh and felt the world shift, his heart plummeted to the ground as he realized the full gravity of what happened. “Oh god. Oh god, I killed her. I killed my fiancé, Steve.”

Steve just sat down next to Bucky, still in shock. She had been a good friend to Steve. They had come from similar backgrounds, hell they had grown up together, she understood him in a way that Bucky never could have at the time. She had been there when needed and even when she wasn’t. A ray of sunshine in a dreary New York. He had taken a picture of them after Bucky had proposed. They were all so happy.

It shook Steve to his core that Hydra had gotten their hands on her. He couldn’t imagine the horrors that she had gone through, might still be going through much like his best friend. Was she as much of a shell as Bucky?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It felt good to walk into her apartment without having to break in. She had hassled every office and bank that had her name in its databases to get her back as a registered live, human being. And to get electricity and water going to her place.

She had already been living in the apartment, but now she could cook, light a fire, and make noise. With her accounts opened again, she bought a couple pairs of clothes to wear while she cleaned the place.

Starting with the kitchen she cleaned every surface, threw away all the canned food that had been left behind.

By the time she had finished cleaning, she was physically exhausted, but she couldn’t bring herself to sleep in the master bedroom. She had managed to turn off her emotions for the day. No tears had been spilled because there had been work to get done. But her new superpower didn’t work now that she had nothing to do. Y/N stood in the middle of the living room desperately trying to stuff her emotions back into the box they had been in, but they had seen their chance and taken it.

Tears filled her eyes and she took her first real look around the place she had once called home. It was like she had never left at all. A place for everything and everything in its place. She turned to face the worn leather wingback. The thick blanket draped over the back just like it always had. She shuffled over to the chair and sat down in it. The leather was cold but familiar with the smell of her life before the war. Ghosts of days past floated through the air around her. She curled up in the chair, thick blanket pulled over her.

Things had been so easy then, and it would be so easy now to just fall back into that time when everything was perfect. Except the person that had helped make it perfect wasn’t here. A tear fell from her cheek onto the leather, and she quickly brushed it off not wanting to ruin the chair.

As she was wallowing in self-pity, a fight broke out on the street below her window, voices piercing the air and pulling her back to a place she never wanted to go again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Project Cecilia had become a nightmare. A nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. The project was a testing ground of trial and error. They tested the trial serums, triggers, enforcers, and everything else to make sure that they wouldn’t damage whoever took the role of Winter Soldier. The project was named after the scientist who did most of the testing.

The serums were bad, it felt like lighting her blood on fire, like hell itself was inside her. But trigger testing was far worse. For every test or experiment, a trigger experiment came after. Is sound more effective than smell? Are words better than sounds? What kind of words work better than others?

Trial and error for over 30 different types of triggers until they settled on a list of words that would mean something to the Winter Soldier. Her mind was blocked off so carefully that she couldn’t remember anything before the last trigger.

Here she was, testing how much electricity a super soldier could take before things started to shut down. And then the doctor walked in. Constantine Cecilia was the man who haunted her dreams. She couldn’t ever quite remember who he was, but somehow she knew that when he arrived, things would be bad.

“How is our little rabbit doing today? I believe a congratulations are in order, you finished testing.”

He put on plastic gloves and his assistant walked up to them both. “She’s due for sound this time.”

The doctor smiled. “Good good.”

Things were going well; the set-up went smoothly. She was ready to receive the trigger, the thing her mind would take as a trauma to seal away all of the bad.

But then a fight broke out, and then people were yelling, screaming at each other. The trigger was set.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shuri had done her best at getting rid of the physical effect of the triggers, and by best, she was completely successful. Unfortunately, there was still an emotional effect that came with the triggers. Certain smells, sounds, colors, and even sometimes emotions would send her spiraling into a memory. Most were memories that terrified her, they brought her back to Hydra and their torture. Some were good, like remembering life before the war.

They happened less at home, surrounded by memories of a past that never hurt. The outside world was what tortured her. Going outside was like sentencing herself to relive the worst of her life.

And she remembered it all. Hydra had done such a good job of playing Tetris with her brain that every time that Shuri released a trigger, she remembered everything. Y/N bet that Dr. Cecilia was laughing in his grave at her tragedy.

Y/N fell asleep under the thick blanket on the chair of the man she had loved more than anything else in the whole world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N decided to visit the Veterans Center, hoping that they magically had the cure for what Shuri called PTSD. She walked inside and was met with the smell of burnt coffee and laughter down the hall. She followed the noise until she came to what looked like a break room, or a very poor excuse for a kitchen.

A tall man took notice of her and he excused himself to go talk to her.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“I, uhh, came here to talk to someone, hopefully.” Y/N cursed herself for feeling so small. She was a veteran after all. She just fought in a different war.

“Are you a vet?”

“Yes?”

He smiled, “Well then welcome. My name is Sam Wilson. I help run this place. Mostly I work with the people though. Business isn’t really my style.”

Y/N gave a weak smile.

Sam spoke up again, much to her relief. “Why don’t we go somewhere to talk so we aren’t standing in a door way.”

She merely nodded and followed Sam to a room with foldable chairs and a couple beat up sofas.

After they had sat down, and awkward silence filled the air. Sam cleared his throat, “So what’s your name?”

Y/N took a deep breath and “My name is Y/N”

Sam nodded. “What war did you serve in Y/N?”

She froze, of course she could just answer him. She heard there was a whole museum dedicated to the two oldest people on the planet, so why was it so hard?

“You don’t have to tell me if you aren’t comfortable with it. I’m not going to force you into anything here. It’s a safe place.” The genuinely caring smile on his face helped her relax.

“I fought in World War II.”

Sam looked startled for a second. “Excuse me?”

“I was a nurse with the Red Cross in World War II.”

She watched as Sam’s shoulders dropped. Y/N prepared to fight, to tell him that it was true, without going through the horrors that she had witnessed. She prepared to give him the riot act like she had for every person who hadn’t believed her at the bank and social security office.

Instead, he started laughing. “Man, I wonder how many more of you there are out there,” Sam said between breaths.

The look of confusion on her face must have put more puzzle pieces together for him at how lost she really was.

“You… You actually believe me?”

“Yeah I do! I work with the other two.”

She suddenly felt cold, like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. While Shuri had told her about James, or Bucky, and about Steve and how they both lived in New York in the Avengers Compound, it had never occurred to her that they were so close. So close, yet so far away. Her heart dropped.

“How exactly do you know them? You said you worked with them, so you must be an Avenger I suppose.”

“How much do you know about this time and place?”

She felt, for the first time since she left Wakanda, that someone understood. Only a fraction maybe, but an understanding all the same. Sam somehow knew that she didn’t know much about the present she found herself in. She didn’t really care to learn either though, the world was scary, and she had to face it alone for the first time in her life.

“Not much. I’ve only been off ice for about 9 and a half months now. Most of that was spent in Wakanda, while Shuri worked on getting rid of my triggers.” The more she talked the more Sam’s face filled with understanding and horror and that scared her.

“You were captured by Hydra weren’t you?”

All she could do was nod, her head held low.

“I won’t ask about that. I know better than that. I can’t even begin to imagine the horrors you’ve been through.

“Well, I’m the Falcon, I fly and I see things really well with my goggles. Other than that I’m just a human, no serum or anything.”

It was like all she could do was nod her head, she had been robbed of words.

“Would it be ok if I went home?”

“Of course! Nothing is keeping you here. I’m glad we met, and you’re more than welcome to come by anytime at all. We do close at 9 pm, but here’s my phone number if you need anything after those hours.”

More nodding. Y/N rushed home.

The first thing she did was climb into the chair, drape the blanket over her, and tell a ghost of what happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sam are you ok? You seem distracted today”

“Yeah. Yeah man I’m good.” Sam looked at Steve for a minute. “Say have you ever met someone named Y/N L/N? She came into the VA today and when I asked what war she fought in she said WWII. She was captured by Hydra. I didn’t press her on it, she got that same look that Bucky does when it gets brought up.”

Steve froze. “What was her name?”

“Y/N L/N, do you know her?”

“Are you sure about what you told me?”

“Yeah. Why? What’s going on?”

“What did she look like?”

“She had H/L hair and E/C eyes. She was about yay-tall” Sam held up a hand to about her height. “Again, do you know her?”

“I promise I’ll tell you later, but I gotta go.”

Steve took off running through the compound until he got to Bucky’s door. He hadn’t seen Bucky since the museum, but this was important. He pounded on the door, “Buck! Bucky! Open the door!”

A quiet mumbled “Go away Steve” came as a response.

“Bucky,” Steve pleaded. “She’s alive. Sam met her today.”

Silence.

Then the door opened. “Where?”

[eunoiamaybe]

my “sort-of-complete” online classes and exams tips

This is a longer-than-usual post with tips for the 3 stages of online classes: focusing during an online class session, reviewing/studying for online classes, and preparing for online exams/ quizzes. So I decided to insert the “Read More” link to (a) not take up too much space on your dash, and (b) feel more confident in adding more tips as time goes on.

These are tips that I’ve compiled from my experience of taking online classes during my last 1.5 years at university. But having all of your courses moved online is so much more complicated. Since I’m currently doing an internship, I have tried my best to produce this post based on the comments of my friends IRL and on Tumblr (hence the “my”). However, I hope it can still be useful for you and many who were all abruptly put in this same situation.

So feel free to share your own tips and experience! I will probably go back to this once in a while to make some changes to it and add your tips. Good luck to everyone who is currently/ about to take online classes. You are almost there! 🍀 I believe in every single one of you!

~  Click away for them tips   ~

💻 DURING ONLINE CLASS SESSIONS:

- try to treat online classes the same as an in-person class, especially time-wise (set a specific time for each class and plan your own class schedule. even better, study for your classes at the same time they used to be held. this will create a sense of routine and trigger the brain's normal reactions to your usual class - which is to study)

- don’t be afraid to fix your plan/ schedule (aka don’t force yourself into one if it doesn’t work for you) (trials and errors, my friend. this applies to plans too. there’s no shame in not being able to keep up with the schedule you’ve made. if you’ve tried or if it hurts you mentally or physically, then that schedule is just not the one for you. everybody has their unique strengths and weaknesses. one’s perfect system might not suit another. finding a system that works for you takes time, patience, and courage. but it will be absolutely worth it)

- find a good spot with enough light and stable wifi (if you have multiple options, select the one that would make you most comfortable, most focused, and confident enough to take online tests/quizzes/exams at - create your “exam space” in advance to reduce the anxiety of tests and unfamiliarity)

- study at a desk, if possible (studying at a desk, with good posture, mimics the feeling of being in a classroom or the library. thus, it will create a sense of routine and help you focus better)  

- accommodate yourself (I’m all about making the best out of a bad situation, and this is one way to do it.  accommodate yourself, not just with comfort, but also with actual necessities that you cannot usually get in your usual classroom/library due to whatever reason. stress balls, stim toys, positivity cards, calming music/candles. comforting plushies. chewing gum. as long as it helps you focus better, it's on the table)

- get dressed (this will bring out that sense of structure and routine that you need. put on your normal outfits, uniforms and even perfume. trick your mind into being focused)

- minimize distractions (declutter your study space. put your phone out of reach. turn off notifications. close all other tabs on your browser. select non-distracting music/ sounds. don’t spam or pay attention to spams in your classes’ chatboxes. only bring along items that are absolutely vital to your focus)

- take notes, even if you can record your lessons and/or access the lessons later (it can either be digital notes or handwritten notes on paper - your call. this will force you to focus and prevent you from zoning out/ being distracted)

- be actively engaged in the lecture (if there are technical problems or if you have questions, chatbox away. this is also good practice for people with social anxiety too: the fact that you are in your home and behind the screen can make it easier for you to ask for help)

- if possible, put your teachers/profs on the big screen to create the illusion of being in a lecture (if your study spot has a TV/projector that can connect to your laptop and quality speakers, do it. it's more fun than you'd think. also super stimulating and kicks the boredom out of you too)

- if not, use headphones/ earphones (speakers can create a feeling of distance between the lecture and yourself. combined with unstable internet and/or monotonous voices of some instructors, this may result in your brain classifying your lecture as background noises and zone out. so use headphones or earphones with the appropriate volume for that optimal focus mode)

- give yourself breaks between classes (don't cram all your classes in one morning. but don't procrastinate either. time your breaks. look at something else besides a computer or phone screen while you’re on break too. maybe brew some tea/coffee for your next class or rearrange your notes from the previous one)

💻 REVIEWING FOR ONLINE CLASSES:

- make a schedule/ system - and be ready to change them (this is an elaboration of an earlier tip. your system doesn’t have to work perfectly right away. most of the time, you will have to make some kind of adjustments to it anyway. so take it easy. pay attention to how well you react/ adapt to the new schedule so that you can make necessary changes. and give yourself - especially your mind - some time to adapt to the schedule. don’t rush yourself or put too much pressure on being productive. remember to take care of your well-being too)

- it’s okay to give yourself some off-days (that’s the beauty of not having any physical or even abstract structure that forces you into an inescapable routine. Yes, I know this lack of structure sucks for a lot of us, especially for those who rely on external forces to keep themselves focused. But look on the bright side: now you don’t have to worry about missing classes or losing participation marks when you are unwell physically and mentally anymore)

- textbooks are your friends now (especially when your classes’ live-streams are just chaotic and hard to follow. or when the pre-recorded lectures aren’t loading properly and keeps lagging. practice speed reading. look for keywords and crucial information. take notes rather than highlighting everything. compare them to your lecture notes, your syllabus, or your friends’)

- take advantage of the online format’s availability + other resources (availability is here, baby! revisit lecture videos and podcasts as many times as you need to. check your email classes’ forums regularly for questions or announcements. re-listen to your lecture when you're cleaning or exercising. watch videos of Khan Academy or CrashCourse. look for online tutors. study at your own pace and in your own style. basically anything you wish you could do when your class was in-person)

- there’s no need to submit assignments early if it’s anxiety-inducing. but make a schedule/ tracking system/ set alarms to avoid forgetting to turn them in (take your time to double-check or edit your work - as long as the submission box is still open, of course. set aside about an hour or two before the deadline for submission to avoid any technical difficulties. and remember to start working on them early so that you don’t have to shorten that window of time and have more time for double-checking)

- don't be afraid to email the profs/teachers (if possible, compile your questions into a list. be as specific as you can about your concerns. put a subject for your email to reduces the chance of your email getting lost in your instructors' inbox.)

- reward yourself (don't stress yourself out by rewarding big accomplishments. reward small victories. reward baby steps. reward effort. you'll get things done eventually)

- take time to know your learning style (when are you most focused? do you like taking digital notes or do you prefer pen and paper? are you a visual or an auditory learner? do you like moving around while studying? what drinks or scents or sounds keep you going? you don't have to stick to your usual study methods or an online/paperless one now that you are studying in your own room)

- listen to your mind and body (it’s okay to feel a bit lost) (from my own experience, times that are without structure like nowadays is when most of us fall into this spiraling downfall of unhealthy sleep schedules, lethargy, and loss of purpose. so please take care of your mental and physical well-being during this very, very weird time. keep yourself active. re-ignite old interests/ hobbies. connect with people you love. give yourself some love)

- and more tips on productivity at home in my last post right here

💻 PREPARING FOR ONLINE EXAMS / QUIZZES:

- make a list of all the online exams and final assignment due dates (this will help you keep track of and stay on top of them due dates. from that list, trace backward to make a review or study plan to prepare for the tests and work on the assignments. if there are any time conflicts, especially for those who are now living in a different timezone from their schools or colleges, email the instructors to seek solutions or alternative options)

- again, find a good spot with good wifi, good lighting, and a desk (if possible, try to recreate your ideal exam environment as closely as you can while studying and reviewing for the exams. this can reduce the anxiety of tests and/or unfamiliarity)

- be prepared for technical difficulties (especially mentally, so that you don’t plan out a course of action to take if they ever arise. draft an email template. research in advance the contacts of people whom you can report to - IT personnel, your instructors, student office, etc.)

- bring everything you need to the exams - but no distractions (like mentioned earlier, if you need any special accommodations that are considered "unacceptable" in an in-person exam/quiz, now it's the time to bring them along - you’re in charge of your test space now, so make it as comfortable and accomodating as you want)

- plan your desk set-up prior to your exams (so many extra items. still so little desk space. therefore, plan ahead so your desk does not turn into a mess when you take your exams. plan where you want to put your notes, textbooks, calculators or scrap paper. think about how much use you’re gonna get out of each item and place them within or slightly-out-of reach accordingly. charge your laptop. sharpen your pencils. have your backup stationery handy. lay out everything you need onto your desk the night before your tests. this can create a feeling of preparedness and thus, reduce anxiety as well)

- make cheatsheets (the goals when making them are simple: (1) get you to rewrite your notes for that good memorization; (2) condense your information and find a connection between them for a thorough understanding of the materials; (3) reduce the time you use to flip through your notebooks or textbooks or google for information during the actual tests)

- time yourself with mock exams (if you are given mock exams to practice with, do them, with a timer. this will help you familiarize yourself with the stress of being timed, thus reducing your anxiety during the actual tests)

- get enough sleep and eat properly (even if the exams or quizzes are online, they are still, at their core, tests. and tests are always stressful and energy-consuming. so take care of both your physical and mental health, especially during the week leading up to your exams)

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 23

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Halloween chapter, part 1.

A/N: This is the first part of possibly a long-ish Halloween 'arc' that is to come. I have to warn you that I only have 1 more chapter as a draft version and the said chapter is a mess and has caused me a lot of insecurities so... I'm not entirely sure how long it will take me to work through the issues that chapter has. I still hope I will have something to post next Friday! Please be patient with me, I promise I have every intention to continue and finish this story.

Thanks for all the lovely comments the previous chapter got! You guys are the best :) And keep them coming because that is literally the best reward I can get :)

Words: 3200+

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

...

“Hey Sunshine, you ready?” Leo asked her flatmate one November Friday as he was pulling his winter coat on in the hallway.

“In a minute!” Calypso yelled from her room. “Just… One final touch up!”

Leo checked his watch. “Okay, as long as it’s really a minute! You know Argo II isn’t waiting!”

“You do know that Argo II doesn’t have feelings, right? It’s a car,” his non-understanding flatmate argued.

“You better hope he didn’t hear that!” Leo protested. “He may just not turn on at all if you claim such things.”

“Oh my gods, Leo. Sometimes I wonder if you care about your machines more than people.”

Leo didn’t respond to that. To himself he mumbled. “At least I know how to fix them. And can’t hurt them.”

The flatmates were getting ready to leave for Jason and Piper’s late Halloween party. Most of the members of their friend group had been busy doing their own things on the real Halloween weekend but they had decided that they’d still want to have a small gathering at Jason and Piper’s house on a later date. Percy and Annabeth would be there, as well as Jason’s sister Thalia, her ‘friend’ Reyna, and Jason’s friend and a distant relative Nico. To Calypso Leo had told, that he had only met Nico a couple of times, because apparently Nico was a bit of a lonely soul and he wandered around the country doing who knows what. That fall, though, he had apparently met someone who had managed to keep him rooted to his home, so Leo suspected that there was a possibility that Nico really would show up this time.

Leo snapped out of his thoughts when Calypso’s door was pulled open, revealing the girl in her costume. His mouth opened involuntarily as he took her in. She was wearing a white chiton like dress with golden decorations around the neckline and accessories that matched the theme. Those included a golden headband and a belt, a bracelet made of real flowers, strappy leather sandals and since her own hair was short now, she had gotten a caramel colored wig that she had braided to one side, reminding Leo a lot of the hairstyle Calypso had had when she had moved in. She smiled at Leo shyly. “Well, what do you think?” She asked, lifting the hem of her dress slightly to show it off better.

“You’re… you’re…” Leo felt the words escape him again. With frustration he wondered how one person could do that to him. Leo Valdez never ran out of words.

“Calypso?” she tried to guess what he had wanted to say.

‘What?” He asked with confusion, unable to follow Calypso’s track of thoughts. In his mind he had answered her question ‘prettier than greek goddesses’ but he realized too late that she had meant that she was dressed up like the Calypso from the Greek mythology. “Oh, now I got it. Must have sniffed too much machine oil or something…Anyway, I see you have some self irony, dressing as your name sake.”

“That was kind of the point, Valdez. A girl named Calypso who studies Greek mythology? People comment on my name so often that I decided it’s time to make it clear that yes, I’m aware of that coincidence.”

“Ooh, the great revenge,” Leo chuckled. Suddenly he noticed that Calypso had turned more serious, her hands fiddling with her purse.

“Really, though, what do you think of this? I made this dress and these bracelets myself. And my mum gave me this before we moved here,” she pointed at her headband. “Apparently it’s something that’s been running in our family; my grandma wore it in her wedding picture and so on…”

“Oh… Well… that’s cool,” Leo said, mentally cursing the ‘error’ message on his brain. “You did a good job. I mean… I once saw a painting of Calypso in the Indianapolis Museum of Art and I think you look nothing like her… in a good way!”

“Aww, thank you.” Calypso seemed happily surprised about Leo’s comment, and he swore the expression made her even cuter. He also wondered if he should have a doctor check his heart because it seemed to do funny things in her presence...

“You’re welcome?” he replied stupidly.

“So, where is your costume?” Calypso asked curiously, apparently only now paying attention to the fact that he indeed wasn’t wearing one yet. “I thought you said we’re in a hurry.”

“I can’t drive in mine, it’s difficult to see from under it,” Leo explained, returning to his room to get a huge sports bag where he had packed his creation a bit earlier. He had spent several days making it and he was kind of proud of the final result. Although, seeing Calypso now, for a moment he still wondered if he had made a mistake with his costume choice, but it was too late to change his mind now. “I’ll put it on when we get there.” He gestured towards the bag.

“Okay,” Calypso nodded while changing her shoes into more fall suitable ones. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you have come up with.”

“Good, because it will blow your mind,” Leo claimed.

“I will refrain from forming any opinions before I see it,” Calypso noted, putting her keys into her pocket. “Now, come on, mister Mysterious, I hear Argo II isn’t very patient.”

Leo secretly loved it when Calypso attempted to joke back, and he grinned at her as he held the door open so she could leave first.

“Let’s go then, Sunshine.”

…

The drive to Jason and Piper took about 20 minutes so Leo and Calypso had a lot of time to talk about whatever came to their minds. At first Calypso gave Leo pretty short answers and he got worried that something was wrong between them again, but eventually Leo got her curious about the guests at the party that she hadn’t met yet.

“The Hunters are traveling a lot because of their competitions so I haven’t met Thalia that often. She’s a little bit scary, though. She has this edgy look going on and I’ve heard she is super strong; she’d ninja throw me on the floor before I’d have time to say Festus if given a chance. I’m trying very hard not to give her any reasons to do that.”

“Ouch. She sounds like something else,” Calypso said.

“She is,” Leo confirmed, almost getting chills only thinking about her. “She can be nice if you get to her good side, though.”

“Is it just me or does someone have a crush?” Calypso asked teasingly.

“What? No!” Leo exclaimed, glancing at Calypso’s reaction briefly. “Alright, maybe I used to have but that was when I didn’t know what was the best for me. But that was a long time ago. Besides, she’s totally dating someone even though they won’t admit it.” ‘And I wish I was dating someone else as well’, he thought, but left that unsaid.

“Oh? Will I get to meet that person today?” Calypso asked with curiosity.

“I think you will. From what I know Reyna’s always with Thalia. They claim they are only best friends but Jason has told me that they are keeping a low profile because it’s forbidden inside their team to date their teammates.”

“That sounds like a basis for a tragic love story,” Calypso said while staring out of the window with a dreamy expression. “I don’t even know these people but as a hopeless romantic I hope they will find some solution.”

Leo thought Calypso was very cute when she talked like that “Yeah. I hope.”

“So, do you know this Reyna personally?” she asked then, distracting Leo from his thoughts.

“You could say that,” Leo answered, trying to focus on the road instead of the girl next to him. “The team visits Waystation regularly because Jo and Emmie used to coach them back in the day and as a fellow Spanish speaker Reyna has always paid special attention to me. I swear, sometimes she treats me like I was his little brother…”

“Aww, that’s kind of sweet in my opinion. What is this team you were talking about, though? Did you say Hunters?”

“Oh, yep. The Artemis’ Hunters, named after the Greek goddess Artemis, naturally. It’s an archery group… Hey, is everything alright?”

Leo couldn’t help but notice that Calypso had shifted uncomfortably on her seat and adjusted her seatbelt a bit looser around her shoulder when he had said the name.

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I just… used to know someone who was in the Hunters as well, so I was surprised they have some connections here, that’s all.” Calypso turned her head to stare out of the window, sending Leo signals that he should drop the topic. He decided to push it a little bit further, though.

“You did? But you said ‘was’. Is she not in it anymore?”

“No,” Calypso shook her head, but didn’t elaborate.

“OK.” Leo sighed. A few moments earlier Calypso had been smiling and teasing him about some old crush and now she was acting cold again. Clearly the Hunters were a painful topic for her, but Leo couldn’t figure out why. Had something happened to the person Calypso had known? And why did she have to be so secretive? Leo wanted so badly to be able to help her and understand her, but when she was not opening up, it was very hard to do anything about it.

“Any guesses about what my costume may be?” He decided to change the topic. That seemed to cheer his flatmate up a bit.

Calypso closed her eyes while thinking, a tiny smile forming on her face. “Hmmm, I imagine it’s probably something flashy. But knowing you it could also be your work coveralls and working boots. I know how much you love those, after all.”

“It’s flashy, alright,” Leo said, his grin returning back to his face. “I’ll give you another hint: it’s a character from one of my favorite TV shows or movies.”

“You have a lot of those,” Calypso reminded him. “Ooh, now I know!! You’re Dalek! That’s why you would have a hard time seeing from under the costume.”

“No,” Leo shook his head, “But now that you say that, that would’ve been cool! Why didn’t you give me that idea earlier?”

“Because you already had an awesome idea? Or that’s at least the impression I got,” Calypso reminded him.

“Well, yeah. I still like my current idea. Maybe next time I’ll make a Dalek.” Leo had a goofy smile on his face as he imagined building a Dalek costume from the scratch.

“Sounds like a plan. So, will you reveal to me what you will be this time?” Calypso asked.

“Nah, you’ll see soon. Good things are worth waiting for, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Calypso shrugged. “Although our opinions on what’s good tend to differ a bit based on our previous TV watching experiences.”

“Yeah, but that’s why it’s good we are flatmates. It’s good to broaden your horizons sometimes and learn about different things that other people like,” Leo pointed out.

“Maybe you’re right,” Calypso admitted. “But are you saying you have learned something from me? What could that be?”

“That olives taste bad? That sometimes Venusaur can be more useful than Charizard?”

“Not exactly what I was looking for, but I’ll take that.” Leo turned his head just enough to see a small smirk on Calypso’s face.

“I was just messing with you because I think you secretly like it,” Leo said with a grin. “But really, you have taught me a lot. That we shouldn’t let fears control the direction of our life. That Greek mythology is actually pretty fascinating even if tía Callida made it sound boring as hell, and we should all learn to understand different cultures better. And, you know? There’s no way we can know every single thing about someone else so we just need to learn to trust and give them a benefit of the doubt sometimes. And finally, I shouldn’t underestimate your Mario Kart skills.”

Calypso snorted at the last part. “Sometimes you do surprise me, Repair Boy. That was a good answer.”

“I can feel my reputation as the Bad Boy Supreme getting shattered to pieces. What about me, though? Have I taught you something?” Leo asked. If he was honest to himself, he didn’t want to know because what could he possibly teach to a smart girl like her?

“You taught me that chilis are evil and you should never eat them the way I did,” Calypso replied, and Leo was fully prepared for more teasing. But it never came.

“You have also shown me sometimes persistency can be a very good thing – otherwise we probably wouldn’t be friends now. We also shouldn’t judge a book by the cover – I’m just saying that when I first saw you I was kind of prejudiced… but since learning to know you better I realized I was wrong. And remember that time when Jo and Georgina were visiting us and you came home a bit late? Jo told me some stories about you before you arrived and that made me understand how far hard work can sometimes take us. You’ve come a long way… and while there are always things we can work on and improve, I think it’s important to be proud of the things we have already achieved, even when looking ahead.”

“Wow… those are some really nice things you just said there…” Leo stumbled to find the right words. Especially the last point had hit him hard because he had had a very hard time with his self esteem recently. He still didn’t know if he would be allowed to retake his lab test – and more importantly, if he was even capable of trying. That was just the tip of the iceberg; it definitely wouldn’t be the only time he would have to face his fear during his studies and later on in the work life, and he would eventually have to make the difficult decision whether it was worth going through. He did want to get over his fear, but with her own issues on her mind, he hadn’t wanted to ask her to help until the situation was better.

“Hey,” Calypso squeezed his knee gently and Leo was afraid he’d accidentally brake so fast they’d crash somewhere. Thankfully he managed to contain himself. “I know I nag and tease you sometimes, but I hope you know despite that I actually care about you and respect you for the things you do. I’m… glad you’re my flatmate.”

Leo was very thankful that it was dark in the car because he was positive that he was redder than a chili pepper. After swallowing hard, he managed to croak: “Yeah. Thanks. You’re pretty neat too.” “Pretty neat?” Calypso asked, cocking her eyebrow.

“Argh, sorry, you can’t expect a guy to be able to think straight after you tell them something like that!” Leo exclaimed. “But, uh, I mean, I think the same way. That it’s nice that you’re my flatmate.”

“Glad we have that established.” Calypso smiled at him. Again Leo wondered what it was about that smile that made his heart go crazy. He had had a couple of short term girlfriends before Calypso had moved in and even though he had liked them, there was something different about how Calypso made him feel. But now that Leo thought about it, he realized that for example Khione, his first girlfriend (who had turned out to be quite an ice queen in the end) had had a smile that had never quite reached her eyes and made him wonder what was truly going on in that head of hers. His second girlfriend, Echo, had been a sweet girl but something about her smile had said that she’d rather be free of relationship bonds. Leo thought that he had probably sensed that from pretty early on because it had been a smaller shock for him than his first break up. But Calypso’s smile? It made Leo want to see it over and over again, and instead of wanting something from him, it seemed to give him more energy. It made him feel restless, but in a positive way.

When Leo snapped out of his thoughts, he realized that Calypso was staring at him weirdly, as if he had been in his daze for a while.

“What?” he asked a bit nervously.

“You just completely missed my question,” Calypso stated, frowning a little.

Leo tried to shake his head to clear his mind a bit. “Sorry, I was just… remembering something. But what did you ask?”

“I asked if there’s any news from your professors about your studies. It’s been a while since you’ve said anything about that.”

Leo gulped. “Yeah. Right. Um, at the moment I’m continuing to attend the classes except the lab one. I guess I should ask the lab professor if he would still let me redo the test at some point. But the other problem is, I’m not sure if I can. You know, if I have it in me to get over my stupid fear.”

“It is not a stupid fear, Leo. You have your reasons. But I do believe that you can get over it. And I want to help you. We should start working on it soon, how about tomorrow or some time next week?”

“Tomorrow is fine to me.” Leo started tapping his fingers against the wheel, a sign of him feeling anxious about the topic. “I… really appreciate your help. Is there something I can do in return?”

“You already did!” Calypso said to his surprise.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Remember that flower shop you mentioned to me?” Calypso asked. “I guess I’ve been so busy this week that I forgot to mention this but it looks like I’m getting the job! The interview went well and the boss invited me to see how they make their flower arrangements and they even let me do this.” Calypso showed him her flower bracelet that had some small roses and several other flowers the names of which he didn’t know. “She will make her final decision on Monday but I might start working there already next week.”

“That’s awesome news! Congrats!” Leo said, genuinely happy for her.

“Thank you! And sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, it seems we have both been rather busy this week, I feel I’ve barely seen you…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad I was useful for something! But look, that’s Jason and Piper’s place.” He nodded towards the building in front of them.

Leo looked from the corner of his eyes how Calypso would react to seeing the house. From what he knew Calypso hadn’t been there earlier; she and Piper had hung out more at their flat due to the closeness of the university. He wasn’t disappointed when he saw Calypso’s mouth open a bit.

“I know, pretty impressive.” Leo said.

“I have seen big houses before but this looks way nicer than the ones I know…” Calypso noted. Leo wanted to ask more about that but he knew that the friends were waiting so he decided to leave it for later. Once he had parked the car, some strange instinct told him to rest his hand on hers for a moment before he gestured to Calypso to step outside.

“After you.”

[ommsims]

story process challenge

i was tagged  by @xldkx​​ to do this challenge, created by @herpixels​​​ , like a month? a month and a half? ago and it’s been sitting half finished in my drafts for nearly as long. *sigh* (regardless, i love stuff like this so even if it takes me forever to get to it, i appreciate the tags! 💕). 

i decided to answer all the qs because it took me damn long enough to get to this, so i might as well put some extra elbow grease into it (plus it was fun!). btw it’s all going under a cut b/c it is long. i apologize in advance.

1. My Writing Process - used to be a hot damn mess. literally word docs strewn throughout my pc. However, I recently switched to using Onenote (it’s what i use to organize my d&d campaign notes) and hoo-boy is it so much nicer. this is how it’s set up and it’s honestly night and day. i can have a page with outlines, a page to organize & order screenshots, and a separate page for drafting text, and i can easily toggle though them without having to switch windows? a big thumbs up from me.

When it comes to actual writing- I used to write my drafts in novel format, which i enjoyed but it made “converting” them into tumblr posts time consuming and frustrating. I ended up scrapping most of the text in the process, retaining pretty much only the dialogue. 

Anyway, nowadays I write in more of a screenplay format: dialogue only + key scene information with the occasional note to self. 

I do keep a master “arcs” page with key events and each individual character’s arc from beginning to end and secondary “outline” pages with slightly more detailed outline for each leg of the project. No screencaps b/c spoilers galore! 

My typical work flow process for a scene goes: (1) brainstorm scene ideas, (2) take screenshots, (3) organize screenshots into a rough storyboard, (4) add 1st draft of text, (5) edit photos, (6) edit text, (7) upload to "drafts” here on tumblr, (8) let sit for a bit (9) take a final look at things/proofread and edit as needed. It may sound counterintuitive, but i find it much easier to write dialogue for a set of images rather than attempt to take images based on prewritten text. I feel more comfortable editing and tweaking tone and content in the text this way. Otherwise, I get frustrated when I “can’t” shoot a scene exactly as it appeared in my head.

2. How I build my scenes - A lot of what i do is rooted in gameplay, therefore my sets are usually (a) play-tested and (b) not super pretty. I’ve certainly improved at decorating & building over the years but more often than not I download lots off tumblr and the gallery because I don’t have the patience, aptitude, or time to build all of my own sets. That being said, I frequently gut builds only to build a number of completely unrelated mini sets inside to reduce the number of times i have to replace lots. I also keep a list of “important locations” and where certain characters live / will move to, to help keep this all straight as there aren’t nearly enough lots per neighborhood or even per world in this damn game...

my least favorite part of scene building is actually decorating. lol. Don’t get me wrong, I love clutter. I honestly do. but fuck me if i expect myself to spend hours meticulously decorating a set, spend another 3 hours toggling back and forth b/w BB & live modes adjusting things to get rid of the damn routing errors. (yeah, yeah, i know i could ignore them, they’re not important, especially in those scenarios where i’m using a set for screenshots and nothing else, but idk. it really grinds my gears.) and then have to replace the lot like a week later because there aren’t enough lots in the game. *sigh*

3. CC/Pose Making - i do not consider myself to be a cc creator nor a pose maker but i do dabble occasionally. And to be completely honest i’d much rather spend my time doing other stuff, so it’s not high on my list of priorities atm. plus there are so many talented cc creators in this community; i can usually get by with what’s already out there.

4. Getting in the zone - Honestly, I do a lot of brainstorming for plot & dialogue in the shower. I don’t have any particular playlists to get me “in the writing mood” but I do enjoy listening to music as I work. Either instrumental stuff or simply artists/songs I like. If something just so happens to “fit” a scene I’m working on, one i’ve got planned, or even just gives me vibes for a certain character or group, I add a quick note to the top of said scene’s draft. Most of the time I stick it in the recesses of my brain and add a quick link when I finally get to the point of posting the draft to tumblr. For whatever reason, when I have one of those “oh this song is perfect for X” moments it’s essentially ingrained in my mind for the rest of eternity. 

5. The screenshot folder - this will most likely give some of you out there major anxiety. but i swear it’s an organized chaos. :)

yep. 32.9gb of screenshots & related things... 

So with the raws from a single random scene selected, you can see i take roughly 10 screenshots per image posted. not terrible i guess but i’m working on it. Typically I take screenshots and once I’m done editing a scene I’ll move them from the general folder to a more specific project folder.

6. Captions - I’ll answer this in three parts:

for my townie story. not really. I prefer using the text box. I tend to write (& re-write) the dialogue for each one of these scenes several times over as I add more “scenes” into my drafts. It would be incredibly inefficient, time consuming, and would waste a lot more space on my pc to have to save .psds of each image just so i could edit dialogue when I decide: “oh hey maybe so and so needs to bring up X in this scene” and then change my mind an hour later.

for niko, noor, & co. I’m a text on image type gal here. don’t really know why, but it gives the project a different energy. ironically it makes it feel more laid-back to me. which i guess makes sense, it’s a much more light-hearted “story” than my townie project. which is, imo, very soapy haha.

for legacy stuff. all text goes below the images in the text box. reasoning: it’s gameplay, I don’t brainstorm, outline, or pre-write for this. I play the game, take screenshots, plug ‘em into my drafts and write some commentary / dialogue to go along with it.

7. Editing - i am a creature of habit and have not majorly changed my editing process in probably a year and a half (when I began using reshade and had to adjust my color correcting psd). it’s a super basic system:

drag & drop my “color correction” psd.

run actions in ps. (i made my own “all-in-one” actions to really streamline the process; i have different “actions sets” for my premades’ story and for other things that get posted to tumblr. even if no one else notices it, i like the little details that keep my projects separate and “identifiable”. 

voila. all set to upload.

sometimes i crop images, add “text effects”, or do more in depth editing (i.e. editing a phone screen or adding rain etc.) but overall i try and keep it simple for myself. 

8. Throwback - i posted an image of one of the first (but never posted) scenes I’d written for my townie project up above. but as for how would i redo a scene i’d already posted. well i’m currently re-doing my townie story so i guess i’ll just say you’ll see how it’s redone when i get to part 1! 😉

anyway, no tags because i’m so embarrassingly late to this party but if you hadn’t gotten around to this tag, wanted to do it but didn’t get a tag, or started it and left it to sit and now you’re thinking “oh god that was months ago should i even post this anymore?!?” consider yourself tagged by me and go ahead and post it for all to see!

[haro-whumps]

Group Whumpees 8: Need

CW: death ment, slavery, crying, multiple whumpees, aftermath of abuse, abusive relationship from the victim’s perspective

Tag List: @bleeding-demon-teeth @theycomeinthrees @redwingedwhump @whimperwoods @inpainandsuffering @whole-and-apart-and-between @whump-whump-whump-it-up @whumpingupastorm @newandfiguringitout @lonesome--hunter @looptheloup @icannotweave  @deluxewhump @whumping-every-day @yeet-me-out-a-window @what-a-whumpy-world @burtlederp @constellationwhump @swordkallya @finder-of-rings @fairybean101 @adventuresofacreesty @arlennil @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

Masterlist

The problem with having sex dreams was that they absolutely never made sense, involved kinks Galo himself did not have, and weren’t even particularly arousing. They just left him vaguely unsettled and staring up at his ceiling with his arms crossed over his belly, squinting.

“Alright. So that’s how we start today, I guess,” he muttered, and hauled himself upright. He unwound the bandage on his arm and surveyed his wounds, and decided that it was time to do away with the bandages, and probably gonna be the last day to disinfect the cuts. He was healing well. He got dressed, brushed his teeth, grabbed the disinfectant, and went to the kitchen.

Now that the funeral was out of the way and he didn’t have arrangements to make or family to talk to or furniture to move, his number one priority could be focusing on helping the slaves. If he were to create a sliding scale on how well they were doing, he would probably put Nyla and Greyson closer to “better” and Evan, Sasha, and Lilah closer to “worse.” Sasha was petrified of him, but she’d done best when he had her making food for the funeral. So he drew the conclusion that she liked to feel useful, and was more at ease when she had a task to focus on, rather than just, like, Galo’s presence or whatever.

So.

“Morning Sasha,” he greeted as he entered the kitchen. She took her thumb off the blender--she’d taken to making his shakes for him, in the mornings, and he had to admit she got them just how he liked--and kissed his extended hand. “Mind helping me with my arm? It goes faster if someone else does it for me.”

Sasha took the disinfectant seriously, focused solely on the task, and he smiled a little. She was kind of intense, in her own quiet way. He found it charming.

“Thanks.” He flexed his hand to test his arm, not making the mistake of flexing the arm itself, and gave a nod of approval. “Has everyone been eating?” Galo asked, knowing he’d not really been around much, the last few days. If anyone had missed meals, he wouldn’t know.

Sasha nodded. Her eyes were wide and downcast, as she handed over his thermos, and he bent over so he could smile at her.

“Good girl, Sasha!” Her eyes darted to him, then down, a flimsy smile tugging at her lips and her shoulders hunching slightly. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Or, well, see. Keep it up, okay?” Galo prompted with a hand on her right shoulder. Another nod, and he gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Good girl.” Another fleeting smile.

Sasha liked praise. Evan did not seem to. Nyla did, Greyson was outwardly passive about it, and Galo still hadn’t seen a lot of Lilah. Just The Incident™ and the introduction meeting and not much else.

He tried to think while he was on the treadmill, formulate some kind of plan on what he was going to do with them all. He knew stability was going to be key. A routine was a must, and to be fair, Galo would need one too. His boss had told him not to bother with the two weeks and so he’d officially quit his job, but just going to the gym wasn’t going to be enough structure for him.

He should volunteer. Put in hours at a soup kitchen or animal shelter or something. He’d look up local volunteer efforts in his city when he got home; if he gave four hours every weekday that’d be enough to give him structure, but not so much that Galo would get fatigued or overwhelmed. After deciding on that course of action, he just ran, mind blank and body sweating.

He showered, drove home, threw a fleece around his shoulders (it was a pleasantly cool day), and then dutifully pulled up his laptop. He opened his notebook and flipped to a blank page, and wrote down “Ongoing observations of praise” with an underline, then listed how each slave currently reacted to it. He also wrote down where they preferred touch, if at all, and then put it away with the intent on updating the list as time progressed. 

He scrolled immediately past any religious-based volunteer groups, not interested in that shit in the slightest, and quirked his lips as he passed by hospitals and blood drives. He was not a medical professional, and while he could theoretically keep up in an environment that fast-paced did he really want to? Nah. He was retiring in his thirties, at least at the start he intended to take it easy and enjoy it as best he could, given the situation with the slaves. So probably not gonna take it easy for a while. But all the more reason not to burn himself out at his replacement for a job. 

He opened a tab for a volunteer firefighter group. He was physically very fit, and fire wasn’t a particular phobia of his. But again, fast paced and high stress, maybe not the best choice for right that particular moment. He bookmarked it, though. Maybe later.

Then he opened a tab for his city’s parks and recreation organization, and got interested. He clicked around a bit, gathering that there was a very wide range of opportunities and tasks that needed handled, pretty much year round, and hey, he’d take rainy days off. He emailed the person listed on the site and detailed that he was freshly unemployed, was looking for daily tasks, was interested in litter cleanup, mulching, gardening, and painting outdoor benches and picnic shelters, and he could start pretty much immediately. He lived in a large city, so there were quite literally hundreds of parks that needed tending. He, a single volunteer, would not be held responsible for anything more than his part, and he was genuinely excited by the idea of doing more with plants than just the little potted buddy on his windowsill. 

“Master?” 

Galo snapped out of his thoughts, head whipping over and then down, to find Greyson kneeling next to his chair.

“Hey, Greyson,” Galo said, blinking and recalibrating his brain. How long had he been there? Galo hadn’t heard him come in.

“Do I interrupt, Master?” he asked without looking up from the carpet.

Galo glanced at his computer screen, with his email that he’d finished drafting but needed to read over before he sent it. Lying was not a good basis for a relationship, but telling Greyson yes might spook him.

“It’s nothing that can’t wait,” he decided on, a truth that ideally took pressure off of Greyson. “What’s up?”

“I would like to request an indulgence, Master Galo. I will do anything you ask in return.”

“You already do everything I ask you to do, Greyson,” Galo pointed out with a gentle chuckle, leaning over the armrest to brush his fingers over the back of Greyson’s jacket. Again, no outward reaction, but Galo assumed Greyson would at least tense if he didn’t like it, so? Galo tugged on the fabric of his jacket, urging him to sit on the floor itself instead of his heels, and Greyson moved fluidly, legs bent to the side. “Go ahead and just ask.”

“May I visit Mistress Bethany’s grave?”

Galo blinked, neither of them moving for a long moment. That was not on the list of things he expected to be asked for. He didn’t have an official list or anything, but if he did, it wouldn’t be on there.

Greyson didn’t seem like an overly vindictive type, so getting written up for public urination probably wasn’t on the schedule. Then again, Greyson didn’t seem like much of anything, from an outside perspective, and if anyone deserved to have her grave pissed on it was Galo’s aunt.

“Yeah, dude, sure. Like, now..?”

“Whenever Master would prefer,” Greyson said quietly, and Galo pat his back between the shoulder blades.

“Lemme wrap up this email and then we can head out, yeah?”

“Thank you Master.” Greyson waited with one hand braced on the carpet, the other resting in his lap, face low to the ground, entirely immobile. Galo might think he was a statue if he was going off of movement alone. He read over his email, corrected a spelling error and reworded his parting sentence, and then sent it.

“Alright, let’s vamonos.” Galo stood and the fleece around his shoulders flared briefly, like a cape almost, and he folded and hung it over the back of his chair. Greyson stood gracefully, and Galo took note of the bright red rose tucked into his breast pocket. It matched his tie. He didn’t comment, though; Greyson could do whatever he wanted with his appearance and Galo didn’t want to make it sound like he disapproved (and it was very easy for him to accidentally sound like he disapproved, here). 

In the garage Greyson swaned ahead of Galo and opened the passenger side door, but did not actually get into the car until after Galo was sitting in the driver’s seat, buckling himself in. “You good, Greyson?”

“Yes, Master,” Greyson said, startling only just a little. Galo might have imagined it. Once he was also seated and buckled, Galo drove the now-familiar route to the cemetery, and pulled to a halt just next to the row.

“She’s the fresh grave at the end there,” Galo said, pointing in the direction. He thought carefully on how to word his next question. “Would you like me to come with you, or can I wait here in the car?”

“Whichever you prefer, Master.”

Eh, should’ve expected that. “I’ll wait here, then. You go do whatever you need to do; take your time. I’m in no rush.”

“Thank you Master.”

“Sure, Greyson.” Galo watched him leave the car and walk down the row, then pulled out his phone. Let the man have some privacy. 

--

“Hello, Mistress,” Greyson said softly, consciously putting effort into moving fluidly, gracefully to his knees. The soil of the grave was still loose, freshly turned, and Greyson’s otherwise immaculate pants touched the strip of grass separating her from her neighbor with two silent thumps.

He took a deep breath. Master did not like when he knelt like this. Slowly, he shifted to sit on the ground, his legs to the side, like his living owner liked, not the one whose grave he sat beside.

“I would kiss your hand in greeting,” Greyson whispered, “but that is not an option any longer.”

Agitation welled inside him. He was sitting incorrectly. He’d learned this lesson, learned proper posture over and over and over with each smoking cigarette. And although Master Galo insisted on new posture, it was not Master Galo that Greyson knelt next to in that moment.

He lurched forward, hand coming up to cover his mouth, and he knelt properly, like he was meant to. His Mistress was dead, but he would kneel beside her grave like he knelt beside her in life. His anxiety abated, slowly, but markedly, as he knelt low to the grass.

“I apologize, Mistress. I reacted poorly,” he whispered to the dirt. It made one of the knots in his stomach loosen, if not unwind. And Mistress was no longer here to punish him for the infraction, so his apology really was the end of it. He knelt there, breathing, saying nothing, for a time.

He should… ‘do whatever he needed to do,’ and stop wasting Master Galo’s time. But he’d urged him to take as long as he needed, and just this once, Greyson would like to actually do what he’d set out to.

But what to say? What to say.

“Your nephew is nothing like you,” Greyson said, hands clasped pristinely in his lap. “We do not understand him at all. He’s pleasant and cheerful, slow to anger, we don’t know his rules, and his punishments have been mild, more or less. Hunger and recitations, so far.”

Greyson lifted his head, kneeling with his spine straight, most of his weight on his ankles. He stared forward, chin and eyes perfectly level. He took in the rows and rows of headstones, the occasional splash of color where people had left flowers. Mistress’s own grave had many, leftover from the ceremony two days before. Without looking, he lifted his hands and unfastened the rose from his breast.

“I wish I knew why I wanted to come here, so badly,” he said, lowering his hands to his lap again, flower clasped between them. He cradled it loosely, careful of its thorns. “I wish I knew what I was looking for.”

He saw the gust of wind before he felt it, rolling through the grass, past the headstones, before rustling him gently. There were a few trees, in this cemetery, but none close to him, and they were fairly far away from each other. 

“I hated you.” He said it louder than the rest he had said so far, harder. He would’ve been beaten for that tone, if she were alive, and not a bad memory lying six feet below him and a little to the right.

“I hated you,” he repeated, quieter, and he felt his throat constrict, his chin spark with unwelcome tension. He blinked. He looked up, breathing in deeply. He willed himself not to tear up.

“I hated you,” he whispered skyward, to the woman who was certainly not.

Rose clasped gently in one hand, he gingerly removed his glasses and folded their arms, individually, and set them in front of him. Normally, if he was kneeling for his Mistress and his glasses were off, it was because she intended to hurt him, and didn’t want to break his glasses. Such an expense was not something to be wasted on the likes of him.

“I hated you,” he said, barely audible at all. 

He lifted one knobby hand to his face and covered his eyes, grinding his jaw as his lips pulled back, a sob trapped behind his teeth. His body curled forward, not to submit, not to bow, just in on itself as the tears spilled over, tension lancing his body so badly his hearing whited out for a moment.

“I loved you,” he gasped, and there. He’d said it. “I miss you as much as I don’t.” He fumbled for the tissue he’d had the foresight to bring and blew his nose twice, then held it beneath his nose. His tears were, at this point, a lost cause. 

“I hate you, I’m glad you’re dead. You hurt the others so badly. You hurt me all my life. You were cruel and unrelenting and the one time I prayed, I prayed for your death.”

Greyson sobbed, fingers curling instinctively tighter around the rose, thorns pressing into his skin in warning. No further.

“But I knew you,” he whined, some distant and untouchable part of him surprised by how high his own voice was, “You were fussy and always so anxious about what other people thought of you, and when good things happened unexpectedly you would get so happy…”

Greyson bent over all the way, fist to the dirt, flower poking out the top, the back of his hand pressed to his thighs as he held the tissue to his face, still.

“I hated you,” he insisted, begging to be believed, “I hated you so much.”  He blew and wiped his nose, running out of dry spots on the tissue. He wanted, so badly, to lie down on his side, to curl up around her leg with his hand to her ankle, beseeching, like he used to. He crumpled the wet tissue in his hand, used up, nothing left for it but to be discarded.

He wept.

--

Galo had started with 195 unread emails in his inbox, and had now successfully pared them down to 17. Most of those were marked unread for strategic reasons, so he wasn’t lowering that number beyond that. He’d responded to all social media notifications, and had even popped into his guilds’ discords to let everyone know that he wasn’t dead, just that his aunt was. He told them he’d ideally be back online here sometime in the future, but he wasn’t quite sure when. 

He enjoyed that, when his guildies sent their condolences, he was able to respond with nah dw abt it, she was a heinous bitch and the world is better with her gone. He also enjoyed that he pretty much immediately heard back from someone agreeing and sharing an anecdote about their own shitty family members, may they not rest in peace at all.

Should Galo… check on Greyson? He knew he told the guy to take as long as he needed, but it had been well over an hour. He glanced at the clock and told himself he’d wait ten more minutes. Ten more, and then he’d wander over. At least ask if the guy wanted to talk about it, if everything was otherwise fine.

--

Greyson pocketed the wet tissue; these pants would need washed, anyway. He fumbled only momentarily before he got his glasses back on his face. He uncurled his fingers so the rose perched on his open palm, red pricks from where he’d gripped too hard marking his hand, but that was fine. They were shallow, and the blood was dry.

The grave had a mass of flowers already, left by Mistress’s large network of peers, friends, family. The rose became indistinct the moment he set it down, a single bloom amongst many.

He left it there as he stood, sorely, and he actually had the audacity to catch himself on her headstone when his right knee buckled. He wasn’t as young as he used to be. He stood, bent improperly, waiting for blood to circulate into his legs again. 

He turned, and forced himself to look at the car, still idling where he’d left it. Now he had to return to his Master, the one who was alive, and answer for the time he’d wasted. Pay whatever price his request had incurred.

Master Galo had been right, after all. Greyson would do anything he liked, with or without the indulgence. Master could order him, and he could hurt or use or claim Greyson whenever and however he desired; perhaps only Mistress Bethany had looked for reasons and excuses to do so. Perhaps such was part of her games, but not his.

Greyson walked smoothly, with the practiced grace of three decades in his heels. He opened the car door (fearing only in the moment that he pulled the handle that it might be locked) and sat down, buckling himself. He knew how he must look. Dirt on his pants, his face an ugly wreck.

Master Galo made no comment, only opened the center console and handed Greyson a pack of tissues.

“Thank you, Master,” Greyson said hoarsely.

“Yeah, dude,” Master said softly. He put the car in drive and said nothing else, the entire drive home.

Once inside, he placed his hand on Greyson’s shoulder and told him, “Take it easy, yeah?”

“Yes Master,” Greyson said, even though he had no idea why that was his owner’s reaction. He’d wasted his time, as well as his own. He should work harder, to make up for the time lost, not take it easy. But an order was an order. And whatever Master Galo’s games were, this one, at least, the family was fairly certain they knew. He wanted to be obeyed, even if the orders made no sense, even if they were strange and confusing.

But Greyson was good at obeying. Even if the orders made no sense. Even if they were strange and confusing. So he would obey, and if he obeyed, maybe he and his family could stay “winning” this round of Master Galo’s mindgames.

Nyla, however, there would be no winning with.

“Where were you?” Nyla hissed, frantic, one hand cupping Greyson’s cheek, her other pressed firmly to the center of his chest as she backed him into the hallway wall. 

“I asked Master Galo to take me to Mistress’s grave. He indulged me.”

“He--you asked for an indulgence?!” Nyla asked, aghast. Greyson didn’t need to nod. “Did you at least have to pay for it?”

“More mindgames.”

“More mindgames--!” Nyla cut herself off, one hand pressed to the cool wood by Greyson’s ear, the other making a fist and coming down, very lightly, twice to the center of his chest. “Grey.”

“Nyla.”

“I rely on you; you know that?”

Greyson lifted his hands and settled them gently on Nyla’s hips. “I know.”

“I need you to not go off the rails, okay? For me? I need to know you’re not going to be reckless and do stupid things anymore. Please.”

“I promise,” Greyson said quietly, “I will not ask for another indulgence. Not until you say I may.”

Nyla sighed, her head dropping and replacing her fist on his chest. He pulled her into a hug, and she returned it tiredly.

“You hold this family together, Nyla.” He kissed her hair. “I’m not trying to make that more difficult for you than it already is.”

“So why--” She took a deep breath. “Why did you ask for an indulgence?” she asked at a much more reasonable volume. “Why that indulgence, specifically?”

Yeah, it’d be really nice, if he knew the answer to that.

“I can’t explain it,” he said honestly, arms tightening around her warm solidity only briefly. “I needed to. I’m sorry.”

He held her, lips pressed to her hair, arms around each other, until Sasha arrived with a soft, “Uhm, Grey?”

Her hands were anxiously tugging on the lock of hair she kept free, specifically for the purpose of anxious tugging. “M-Master said you’re h-home. You need t-to eat.”

“Thank you, Sasha.” Greyson nudged the side of Nyla’s head with his nose before the separated. “Master ordered that I ‘take it easy,’ too. I don’t know why.”

Nyla rubbed at her face. “More mindgames.”

He offered her a smile, terse and a little strained, but well-intentioned, and she was good at reading the meanings of his gestures. She bumped her knuckles against his chest and went off, and Greyson smiled at Sasha, who looked at him with worried eyes.

“Lead on.”

Sasha’s lips quirked briefly and she returned to the kitchen. Greyson trailed after her, silent as a ghost.

Next

[ink-flavored]

Thank you so much to everyone who’s followed me since I made this blog! I never expected to get to 100 followers this quickly, and you all mean a lot to me <3 With that in mind, I decided to share some of my knowledge about screenplays for you all. Thank you all again for following, and I hope I can make more of these in the future!

Script Formatting Guide: The Basics

[Next Guide: Parentheticals and Special Headings] [Ko-Fi]

In my (admittedly, short) time on writeblr, I’ve noticed some people who like to write scripts. That’s really cool! However, I’ve also seen a good number of said scripts that aren’t up-to-code, as it were, in the formatting department, which is essentially a death sentence if you want to get that script produced. I’m fortunate enough to attend a university that teaches the ins and outs of TV and film script writing, with at least a dozen classes of screenwriting technicalities under my belt, all taught by current industry professionals, so I figured I would use my powers for good and write up some instructions for present and future scriptwriters!

Don’t be ashamed of formatting a script incorrectly, because if you don’t do a metric assload of research, you can miss A LOT of information. Please do not feel bad for not knowing everything. But, if you’re really dedicated to writing scripts – for TV, film, shorts, or even video game cutscenes* – you have to understand a few things:

Script writing is 80% formatting. You might have the greatest screenplay in the world, but you’ll be laughed out of every studio in Hollywood from the first page if your formatting is off by a centimeter. The slush readers are begging for an excuse to throw out your script. You can’t give them one. You have to know your formatting before you know the name of your own child.

You are not the director. As a newbie writer, the first script you ever hand off to a studio isn’t going to be yours to do with as you will. Neither will the second, third, or fourth. The director will not be you, nine times out of ten, and whoever the director is will mess with your story as they see fit. You have to be okay with that.

Throw all prose rules out the window. A lot of unlearning happens in scriptwriting, especially if you’re a prose writer by trade. They’re essentially polar opposites. It was really hard for me to get used to writing scripts, but now I can kind of switch my brain on and off between modes.

Still want to write scripts? Great! Follow me under the cut.

The first thing you should do is get some kind of dedicated screenwriting software. Don’t go blowing all your money on Final Draft or something, but it’s important to have software that knows what you want. DO NOT use Microsoft Word for screenwriting. Please. I am begging you not to. It doesn’t know what it’s doing. It’s like using crayons to try and make an oil painting, or something equally ridiculous. Here’s a list and another list of free screenwriting programs.

Next, check out this really handy glossary of screenwriting terms. I’m going to be using the professional lingo in this post, so just CTRL+F on that site if you don’t understand something.

If you’re really dedicated to scriptwriting, get the most recent version of The Screenwriter’s Bible by David Trottier. Buy it, borrow it, download it, torrent it, steal it, use telepathy, I don’t care, but get this book. Once you have it, read it cover to cover, then read it again. This book is now your life. It has everything you need to know about script formatting and then some. I have it open on my lap as I type this, because formatting is that crucial to getting your script circulated.

To teach you the basics of formatting, I’ll be using screenshots from a couple of my own scripts! They’re not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but they were also picked to death by my professors, so they’re the best examples I have. Plus, I don’t want to rag on anyone else’s script, or try and compare my knowledge to that of an industry professional – because I’m not.

Without further ado, let’s format that script! (Apologies for the quality)

A little daunting? Don’t worry. All of this is a lot easier to explain than it looks.

Margins (Red)

The margins of your script (yes, this matters), should always be as follows:

Left margin at 1.5 inches from the left edge of the page

Dialogue at 2.5 inches from the left margin

Dialogue tags (the character’s name in all caps) at 3.7 inches from the left margin

Action lines at 3.1 inches from the left margin

If you don’t do this, the slush readers will notice, and your script will be thrown out. Most screenwriting software will do this for you, but it doesn’t hurt to check!

Bonus advice for this section: your text should always be 12-point Courier font – there are absolutely no exceptions to this rule.

Scene headings and Sub-headings (or Sluglines) (Dark Blue)

Ask any screenwriter, they’ll tell you the most common script formatting error is the scene heading – or slugline. Why is it the most common error? New writers not understanding what it’s for.

The slugline’s job is to tell the director, the costumer, and everyone else on set where and when they’re shooting. If it’s wrong, then the entire production of your script is thrown into chaos. Even if you write your script by yourself in an apartment, you have to keep in mind that dozens of people’s livelihoods for several months depend on your formatting. No pressure.

So what is a slugline? In prose terms, it’s the setting. In screenwriting terms, it’s what the camera sees when your movie starts. For just a little bit, you get to be the director, and this is how.

The slugline is always in all caps, and always begins thusly: INT., EXT., or INT./EXT.. INT. for “interior,” meaning that the camera is inside a house or a building. EXT. for “exterior,” meaning that the camera is outside. INT./EXT. is reserved for vehicle shots.

After the camera location, comes the actual setting! This can be whatever you want – so long as it’s short, snappy, and consistent. So, the scene heading in my script is “EXT. FOREST” which means that I have to keep saying “FOREST” every time I want to go to a new scene. I can’t suddenly say “EXT. PRETTY FOREST,” because that implies that the camera was moved to a different location – even if I meant the same place.

But you’ll notice there’s something following that “EXT. FOREST.” It’s called a “sub-heading” and it’s exactly what it sounds like. If you have a house, for example, that’s called “INT. HARRY’S HOUSE” and you want Harry to be in a specific room in the house, you would write “INT. HARRY’S HOUSE – LIVING ROOM.” You really shouldn’t have more than one sub-heading.

The last thing in a slugline is DAY or NIGHT. No other times are permitted, because telling the lighting crew to set up for “twilight” or “midafternoon” or “dawn” isn’t as easy as saying “day” or “night.” Keep it simple. You can imply what time it is in the action lines.

There are other kinds of sluglines called “special headings,” but they get complicated, so we’re going to save them for a different post.

Overall, your slugline should look always be a camera location, setting, sub-heading if applicable, and a time. Dashes go between the setting and the time of day, as well on either side of the the sub-headings. There’s always a space between the slugline and the action lines, and you need a new slugline every time you go to a new location. If, in my example, my character Aiden were to drop out of the tree, I would need a new slugline because the camera would follow him out of the tree.

Action Lines (Purple)

Action lines are exactly what they sound like: lines about the action. But don’t get too relived when you see something that looks like prose. Action lines don’t have a lot of rules, but the rules they do have are set in stone**.

If you’re particularly fond of writing description, you might want to brace yourself when I tell you that your action lines should never exceed three lines. If you can keep them below three lines, that’s even better. Pull up any unneeded orphans (single-word lines), and use what little room for description you have to make your script concise, succinct, and visual.

Speaking of visual: everything you write in your action lines should be able to be picked up by a camera. That means no internal thoughts, nothing happening off-screen, absolutely nothing that the audience can’t see. This took me forever to get used to, but if you don’t get used to it, your script is doomed. If it can’t be seen by a camera, it can’t go in your action lines. Only describe what’s vital for the audience to understand, then move on as fast as you can.

Additionally, you action lines should always be present tense. Full stop. Not even the most acclaimed screenwriters violate this rule. When you watch a movie, TV show, short film, etc. everything is happening in the present – you’re watching it in the present. You write in the present as well.

SFX (Pink)

Sound effects are a bit of a sticking point in scripts, because nobody agrees on what kinds of sound effects need to be capitalized. I learned to capitalize all sounds that aren’t human sounds, because the editors and sound mixers need to know what sounds they have to add in. Grunting and coughing can be done by the actors in their scene, so it’s usually okay to leave those kinds of noises lowercase. If you want to capitalize them, it’s not wrong, but if you do, remember to keep it consistent. If you do it once, you have to do it for the entire rest of the script.

Character Introductions (Orange)

When you introduce a character for the first time – and only for the first time – you have to capitalize their name, give their (approximate) age, and a quick description of their demeanor and personality. By “quick,” I mean “eight words maximum.”

Why do this? For the casting director, of course! As in all things screenwriting, you are working with and for a lot of people before you even finish your first draft. They need to have some kind of idea of what kind of person they need to cast, and the actors need to know what kind of person they should be portraying.

You don’t have to give an exact age like I did – I’ve seen people get away with “early 30s” or “mid 20s” – but whichever one you choose, keep it consistent for every character you introduce.

With the description, however, it’s best to specific. Give a quick insight into your character’s personality, even if it’s just one word. “Vain,” is one, “anger-issues,” is another. “Bird enthusiast,” is vital to Aiden’s character, so I included it in his description.

Never describe clothes unless it’s unique or vital to the character – a leopard patterned three-piece suit is specific and unique enough to warrant a place in the description. Jeans and a t-shirt? Not so much.

Dialogue (Light Blue)

Finally, something familiar! Writing dialogue follows mostly the same rules as in prose, the only thing missing is the ability to add description to that dialogue. In fact, most screenwriters will tell you not to add description to your dialogue. It’s a controversial topic that I’ll be getting into in a different post, because discussing the usefulness of parentheticals is a can of worms that I don’t need to open on a Back to Basics post.

You can suggest dialogue description by showing us the character’s facial expression in the previous action line, but be careful. If the actors feel like you’re railroading them, then they’ll get mad. Divas, am I right?

Aiden is talking on the phone in my example, but the dialogue is exactly the same as it would be in any other situation. I mentioned he was talking on the phone in his introductory section, so now he’s talking on the phone unless specified otherwise. It works the same way for every kind of dialogue.

Dialogue Tags (Green)

This is where your character’s name goes, in all caps, centered on the page. The only thing I can really say about this is to make sure their name is spelled correctly and has no space between itself and the dialogue.

CONT’D and Additional Tags (Light Green)

CONT’D is something that most – if not all – screenwriting programs do automatically, but in case yours doesn’t here the gist. Add a “CONT’D” when a character that had been talking previously is interrupted by a page break or action line. All it means is that his dialogue isn’t breaking from line to line, and it’s still the same character speaking.

There are other kinds of “add on” tags to your dialogue tags, all of them going in parenthesis next to the main tag. The most popular ones are O.S. and V.O. – “Off Screen” and “Voice Over.” Getting these mixed up is a rookie mistake, and a lot of rookies do.

O.S. is used when a character that is in the scene speaks off-camera. This does NOT apply to phone calls, radio, TV, etc. because the character isn’t in the scene – they’re somewhere else. They’re being heard in the scene, but no person is there. For situations like that, you’d use V.O. instead. V.O. is used for narration, phone calls where one party is in a different location, and any voice coming from a different location from the one that the current scene takes place in.

Conclusion

Alright! Well that’s the very, very basics of screenplay formatting down. I hope this has been useful to you. If you all enjoyed this post, I’d love to get down in the nitty-gritty about scripts and screenplay formatting with you all. I’ve learned so much at school, even though I don’t want to be a screenwriter, so it would be awesome to share this knowledge with all of you.

Thanks for reading, and happy writing!

– Annika

*Video game cutscenes use something called “modified screenplay format” which is different than what we’ll be covering in this post, but it is based off of traditional script formatting.

**If you’re a very well-known writer/director, you can get away with this. But you have to be Steven Spielberg levels of legendary, or you’ll be kicked out so fast. Unfortunately, the film industry is Like That.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 14

Author’s Note:  I know it has been a little bit since I posted last.  There is a lot of stuff going on in my life right now, so it has been difficult to focus and give this story the attention it deserves.  The lovely Tyche has sent me her next chapter, however, so I have edited that and am posting it tonight.  This chapter is from Tyche’s perspective and is relaying her story.  Any editing errors are solely my own, and please don’t hesitate to inbox me if you notice something.

If you want to, you can skip down to the story below the cut.  I just want to give everyone an idea of what is going on with my life right now.  

For those of you who don’t follow @ritualistic-raven, my mother has quit two jobs this year with no savings, no safety net, nothing to keep her going long term.  The first job was one she had been in for eleven years, and she quit it as soon as her tax return came in (I think it was February? It was the beginning of the year). She lived off her tax return, without even trying to find a new job, until early June.  She found a new job in mid-July, and quit that one in September.  My sister a full time college student, and had not been working while going to school, so this was the only income they had.  There is also my nephew living with them.

My mother still has not found a job, and we are coming up on December. Toward the end of October, they (my mother, my sister, and my nephew) moved into my spare bedroom...  That’s right.  Me, my spouse, my sister, mother, and nephew all living in a just-a-hair-under 1100 sq ft house.  It is making everyone involved more than a lot bit stressed out.

My sister started a good job last week, but it is currently just seasonal (although there is a chance to go permanent after the seasonal gig is over).  I’m not even sure if my mother is still looking for jobs, TBH.  I work 42 hours a week, my spouse works 40-45, and we both have 45 minute commutes one way.  If she doesn’t, I have no idea when they will be able to get their own place - I feel terrible that my sister is sleeping on my couch or an air mattress in my office, and that my nephew has literally nothing to do at my house because my house is not very kid-friendly.  Fairly kid-proof, but not kid friendly.

I spend an inordinate amount of my time angry, depressed, overwhelmed, and exhausted.  I have difficulty sleeping, difficulty focusing on work, and resent my mother so much right now I could scream at her every time she crosses my path.  Add to all of that the fact that she has apparently forgotten how to cook (which she has done, and done well, for a living, on several occaisions?), we just made it through Thanksgiving here in the States, and Christmas holidays are right around the corner.  I’m also preparing for a business trip, trying to train a new person to help do my job, etc.

All that said, I am trying very hard to still write. I know it doesn’t always show on here, but that’s because sometimes I work on a fanfiction I have not even started posting yet, sometimes I am working on my novel-in-progress (which at this point has become something Brian Griffin would be proud of), and sometimes I am working on Destiel and Sabriel Secret Santa stuff.

TL;DR: Thank you for being patient with me, I have A Lot going on right now, and I promise The Miys is not on hiatus.

I stood on a platform in front of a large number of my fellow humans. The lights were dimmed, for the sake of my nerves, but I could still see several of the front rows thanks to the light from the video screens behind me. I felt like a mega-millionaire with a groundbreaking statement.

There was no form of microphone, no podium, not even a glass of water for my comfort. Everyone would still hear me, however, thanks to the Miys linking the translators.

I don’t know how long I stood in silence, trying to shake the nerves I expertly concealed. My feet were planted, my fingers woven in front my hips, shoulders back, and chin up. I appeared to be taking in the crowd. I was used to preparing any presentations. I was used to having a visual to gesture to or explain factually.

Here, I had nothing but my own history.

“Okay, Tyche. Deep breath. You know how to tell an engaging story. You can do this.” I thought to myself.

I rolled my shoulders in preparation and finally spoke.

“Thank you all for joining me. This hall has been reserved for those brave enough to share their stories of what they experienced after the End began. This is why we are here now. Many of you have met already, but for those of you who haven’t, please allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Tyche. I like dark clothes, fluffy cats, coffee, and swearing.”

A few in the audience chuckled.

“I am a very serious person when needed. When I don’t have to be so serious, I am aloof to those who don’t know me and social to those who do. A bit like a cat, I suppose.

“You may be able to hear an odd French accent when I speak. On Earth, I was born in the United States of America but worked very hard to move to Paris. I spent years learning the language before I ever boarded a plane, and my accent shifted a bit towards French from that alone. I spent several years in France, honing my pronunciation in order to better communicate with those whom I worked with. I worked in executive administration for a very large financial institution after bustin’ my ass to get a middle-level administration job working with my sister.

“A few years after I moved to Paris and began buying my flat, I was approached by a smaller company. The pay wasn’t as good and they weren’t globally known, but I had apparently chatted with a family member of the owner one day and my occupation came up. I had been recommended to help keep this company from going under after a fiasco left them with no one to run the accounts.

“I was reluctant to leave my comfortable job until I could at least straighten out this smaller company’s bookkeeping. I’ll be honest, it was a mess.

“I had drafted my letter of resignation a few nights before the Launch. I was preparing to hand it in; I just had to convince myself I would be happier this way. Everyone was buzzing about who would be leaving Earth and if we would ever see them again, so on and so forth. I knew the CEO of my financial institution was leaving, but I didn’t feel bad about it. It was a corporation, after all, run by a board of directors.  Still, I kept my poor sister up late one night as she talked me into doing what would make me happiest, even if it meant leaving the company we both worked for.

“The night came and everyone was watching the synchronized streaming of the Launch. Twelve ships. Twelve launch sites around the globe. Faster than light travel! And, of course, only the rich could afford to go.

“We saw it. We all saw it. Well, most of us. It was declared an international holiday, wasn’t it? So many of us sat around on our devices, streaming this brand-new technology being launched with paying customers, civilians, on board. It was momentous! It was historical!

“But then when the ships launched… Well, they blew up. There just isn’t any other way to describe it. The ships had been sabotaged to explode in the atmosphere at the same moment. The feeds cut right after we saw the start of the explosions and if you were outside or near a window? You probably saw the light race across the sky, rippling the air as it went. Then everything went dark.”

I paused for a moment. I could hear murmurs which I assumed were people telling their neighbors where they were when it happened.

Struggling to continue, I cleared my throat again. My vision was being overwhelmed by the past. My brain had thrown me into a visual flashback. I forced myself to narrate what I was seeing, telling my story as my brain recalled it.

I had taken my wine glass and tablet out to the balcony of my small Parisian flat. I was four levels from the ground and could see the lights of the city from where I lived. Even the Eiffel Tower could be seen here, as it twinkled in the distance. The view was everything I had worked so hard to achieve.

I was overwhelmed at that moment with the feeling I was finally, truly home. Drinking wine on my Parisian balcony at 4am was what I truly wanted. Having a fantastic job on top of that, allowing me to be relatively stress free? Absolute freedom, aside from the sound of my mother snoring in the other bedroom.  Headphones on, I listened with minor interest until the countdown began. I could hear several of my neighbors counting down as if it was the New Year, making me laugh in delight.

« Dix ! Neuf ! Huit ! Sept ! Six ! Cinq ! Quatre ! Trois ! Deux ! Un ! »

The buildings and streets erupted with cheering as the ships set off from their launchpads, ready to embark on a journey like no other. I had mixed feelings about it. Fantastic new technology is amazing, but the richest of the rich being the only civilians? I was thrilled about this new age of space travel and tried to focus on that, pressing the negative feelings to the back of my mind.

I was pondering what discoveries would be made along their journey and how long we would have to wait to find out when suddenly the crowds fell silent. The screen of my tablet was shaky for a moment before the livestream simply ended.

Something was wrong. What was that color? It only last for half a moment before the stream ended, but it looked like…. I had seen this before. It was a fireball. But there was an odd color to it. Orange and red and white, but there was something else.

Before I could put any more thought into it, a light rippled across the sky, warping any clouds in its path. It was like a shockwave of light. It was unreal and worse than that, unknown. I gazed out in the direction it went and saw everything flicker, then go black.

The City of Lights was dark.

It all happened so quickly. I’m placing my glass on my balcony table with my tablet, sitting down a few minutes before launch, and then watching everything go dark. Less than ten minutes.

A few fearful screams could be heard, but we knew sunrise was soon. There was already panic, however, as more and more people shouted to their neighbors and even strangers that their phones and flashlights weren’t working. Cars wouldn’t start, the metro rail wouldn’t move, and we saw no airplanes flash overhead. We waited for emergency vehicles. Police and firefighters. “Where are they?” we kept asking each other. No sirens, no lights, no sign of help.

As the day went on, we realized more and more things wouldn’t work. It didn’t take long for us to reach the conclusion that anything that had been powered by electricity, even batteries, was useless. Looting began around midday, taking advantage of the lack of police vehicles and security systems. It didn’t matter what the store was, it was at risk. Electronics were especially popular, as people assumed the power would be restored at some point.

We marched on the government buildings. We demanded answers! What the hell happened? When will it be fixed? Tell us!

Our officials were as baffled as we were. No one had answers, because the people who would have the answers couldn’t communicate or travel with ease to let the officials know.

“You have to wait. We have to go to our scientists. We have to go to them to find out why,”

Tension rose higher and higher. Insulin pumps had failed in the flash. Pacemakers failed as well, and families were outraged that there was no help. At any moment, people would die.

The horror struck many who had not considered how much we rely on technology to keep us alive.

“What about hospitals!” Many started shouting to no one in particular.

I remember leaving the scene, in a state of shock from the realizations, and returning to my flat. “France riots at the drop of a hat. I’m not French. I don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.” I told my cat as I stuffed a few clothes and some bread and water in a bag. I knew how cliché it was, but I also knew I wanted to pack light. I grabbed my duffel bag to shove more supplies into. Candles, matches, a book, a few knives… “Maybe more food.” A few more bottles of water and a wrapped cut of cheese really weighed it down, but I couldn’t skip nourishment. I was leaving Paris, on foot, not sure how long it would take me to get anywhere in this country. My mother refused to leave. “I’m sixty-four,” she declared like it was some great revelation. “I refuse to let some idiots run me out of my home.”

Technically, the flat was mine, in my name only, but I knew that tone and wasn’t about to try to argue.  She wanted to stay, she could stay.  I was taking Mac and getting the hell out of there. I wrapped in a thick coat and two scarves, put on my good boots, and then clipped the walking harness around the cat before remembering my passport. Just in case.

The click of the door behind me was heartbreaking. Was I ever going to come back? Would life restore itself in a few days? My feeling in my gut said no. It said the flash was catastrophic. It said to not get my hopes up.

“At least there’s still enough Arkansas in me to be able to navigate with the sun and stars,” I told my upset feline companion. He just squawked at me plaintively.

I headed south, toward the country. I’d go south for as long as I could.

I lost count of how many days it had been by the time I reached a small village in smelling-distance of the salty ocean. There had been no power anywhere. I had been able to stop here and there, begging people for a bit of food, just enough to make it another day. Everyone was scared of strangers. That wasn’t the French way, but this new reality made everyone paranoid. We’ve all seen those films.

The last town name I could remember is Millau. I ended up somewhere past that. A kind woman named Sandrine said she saw the flash and had been worried criminals would come.

“I’m too exhausted to hurt anyone who isn’t trying to hurt me,” I told her. I had seen very few people along my trek, but none of them seemed to think the lady with the leashed cat was worth bothering.

Sandrine offered me shelter and food from the gardens that were popular there. Aside from the candles and oil lanterns everywhere, it was hard to imagine that life here ever had electricity. It was peaceful and still very organized. The adults would speak in hushed voices. Theorizing what had happened, but no one could agree on one answer.

I stayed there for several months, never finding out what the source of the seemingly-permanent blackout was. Things were going well. This small village was rustic enough to function with little issue the entire time I was there.

Suddenly, it all came to an end. We had seen smoke off in the distance for a few days, but when we woke one morning, it was to the sound of screaming and panicking. The fire had spread overnight thanks to rough winds. It was engulfing the village.

I never want to see that again. So many people couldn’t escape. Many had been asleep when the fire took them. The sight of it was too horrific. Sandrine told me to take one of her horses and go. She would be close behind. Since I never unpacked all of my things, I grabbed my bags and rushed toward the horse pen. I was shaking as I dressed one of the horses, but managed to get everything cinched up. I ran for another saddle and bit when her house collapsed. A tree nearby, weakened by drought, had caught fire and fallen. Sandrine was inside.

I hate feeling helpless. I fought so much in my lifetime to that point so that I would be stronger, more capable, but in that moment, I knew I was helpless against a burning home. And I was terrified beyond screaming. In panicked silence, I mounted the horse and took off to the east.

This repeated for years. Find some people to huddle down with, something would destroy our home, we’d all take off in different directions for safety. Lather, rinse, repeat. The longer it went on, the more hopeless we felt. Many gave up. Many stopped caring. Many begged “why,” even though we had no way of truly knowing what caused all of this.

Sure, we saw the ships explode, very briefly, before everything went down. Around many fires we would discuss what this meant on the global scale. Nuclear reactors, medical necessities, agriculture… How long could we keep going, when everything we knew before was so tech-heavy?

After a handful of years, I quit trying to make allies. I was tired of seeing them die. I went off on my own to try to live like a hermit. I wanted isolation. I knew I could find it if I went back to one of the destroyed villages in the mountains. I knew I could stay there for a while, since I had learned how to scavenge for food and make minimal supplies last.

What I didn’t know is that I would get too comfortable in my solitude. I didn’t know that when approached by some fool stronger than myself, I would panic. He was bigger than I am, and the look in his eyes was one of true insanity. He rushed at me. All I could do was try to lose him in the woods I spent years casually learning, leaping over fallen trees and ducking under low-hung branches. This man…this man somehow kept up with me. He cornered me at a cliff, one that looked as if it overhung a flooded quarry.

I’m small. I’m perceived to be female. And I was alone with this terrifying man who’s lost his mind. I was not going to risk finding out what he wanted. Maybe to kill and eat me. Maybe worse. I wasn’t going to find out.

So, I flung myself, arms spread like wings, over the edge of the cliff, expecting death.

Instead, I woke up on this ship. I woke up with a few injuries from the chase, severe malnutrition, and a ringing in my ears.

Simon was there, and though we got off to a very rough start, he helped me by explaining the Ark and the Miys. He did have to sedate me a couple times, as violent as I was trying to be. He helped me get settled onto the ship and understand what the Miys were here. Simon was the first human I met here. And while he is, erm, awkward, I will say it was nice to see someone who hadn’t been through what we had.

A few people clapped, sensing that I had wrapped up my story. I snapped back into reality and wondered how long I had monologued, a bit embarrassed. I took another deep breath. Time to truly wrap myself up.

“Thank you for being here and being patient enough to listen to me go on. I hadn’t put much thought into how much I would share, to be honest. We all went through a lot. That’s why we share. Through our experiences, we can feel more comfortable with those around us. Hopefully, sharing my story will help show that I am an entire person, not just someone who tells you where to go and what to do. Again, thank you.” I found my way off the stage area as I tried not to cry. There were reasons I put this off for so long, and my caretaker was about to find out first hand what I am like when I break down. I needed to find him.

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[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, finnickfoxes!

We wish a very Happy Birthday to @finnickfoxes! We hope you had a wonderful December 21st full of cake and surprises. To help kick the birthday cheer up a notch, @ally147writes has written a story just for you!

AN: Happy Birthday, @finnickfoxes! I apologise for the short delay; I’ve been a tad unwell these past few days. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this blend-up of a little enemies-to-lovers with a bit of kinda-sorta fake relationship. (I may expand on this one in the future, too, just to flesh it out a bit and make the ending a tad better). Unbeta’d, untitled because titles are hard when you’ve got a headache, and rated M-ish for language; all errors and questionable decisions are my own. Enjoy!

In between another sharp nip of his teeth and a vengeful swirl of his tongue, Peeta Mellark, pain-in-her-ass jerk wad for the better part of her senior year of high school, then her entire college existence, whispers against her lips, “You plan on explaining yourself anytime soon, sweetheart?”

 She bites his lip, hard enough to make him groan into her mouth. She swallows the sound and kisses him again. They’re forceful things, rough and punishing. But they’re addictive, too, and full of so much intensity and indefinable feeling. Nothing at all like a kiss should be. At least, not one you’d have with a guy you hate, let alone in public.

 “Not yet.”

She should, though. She owes him big. What’s the going rate for accosting a guy, with whom you’ve had a mutual hate-fest going on with for the past three years, in the middle of a busy guild coffee shop and kissing him with no explanation?

 (In her defence, she’d like to point out that she had no idea it’d be Peeta she’d be turning around and landing lip-first on. She just thought it’d be another blond-haired, broad-shouldered… literally anyone else she could have explained the situation to and bought a coffee for to apologise).

 But his kiss is nothing like she expected. Nor is his reaction. He should have shoved her away — she would have, if the roles were reversed — not drawn her in even closer with one hand cradled around her head and the other wrapped around her waist like they’re… like they’re an actual couple or something. He tastes… sweet. And spicy. Like cinnamon sugar. Funny. She figured someone with their head so far up their own ass would taste like —

 He slows the kiss to something that threatens to melt her. She shouldn’t be enjoying this anywhere near as much as she is. She tries to drive the kiss back to the hateful roughness of before, to match the tone of all their interactions so far, but he doesn’t let her. His lips are soft and strong, wresting control away from her. They’re in dangerous territory, but there’s not much she can do about it. Hell, there’s not much she wants to do about it…

 He pulls away at last with a soft, damp smack and smirks down at her; the expression he wears is unreadable. Par for the course for the two of them since high school ended. She doesn’t think she’ll ever understand the smarmy bastard and just what it is he does to her.

 Still, she stares as he licks at his red, swollen lips and fights the shiver that threatens to take her over. She needs her head checked, that’s for sure.

 “Well, princess,” he drawls, but he doesn’t move away; his warm breath fans over her face with each exhale, and he draws small circles against her hip with his thumb. It’s lulling, and almost enough to make her forget about… “Is he gone?”

 She darts her gaze to her right where, just beyond the window, Gale Hawthorne — the second-biggest pain in her ass for the better part of her entire college existence — stood just a moment ago, tapping on the glass to get her attention. Or was it even longer ago? Seconds and minutes seemed to bleed and meld with Peeta’s lips on hers, though it couldn’t have been more than five, ten, fifteen seconds, surely…

 She jolts back and shoves Peeta away from her with more force than necessary, and gains a little more satisfaction than she should when he stumbles into a (mercifully) empty table and lands ass up. The café goes silent, and he stares up at her like she’s the insane one.

 Maybe she is. The kiss addled her brain something fierce.

 “Yeah, he’s gone,” she says with a shrug, though it’s hard to act casual when you can’t get your breathing back under control. “We’re done now.”

 He quirks a brow at her from his spot on the floor. People are gawking, but they all seem enraptured by what might happen next. She doesn’t blame them; it’s like a scene out of a bad soap opera. Even she kind of wants to know what happens next.

 “We’d have had to start for us to be done, sweetheart.”

 She almost freezes. They came so close to starting, all those years ago. It scared her how much she wanted them to start. “Don’t care, Mellark.” She waves him off and turns to leave. The sooner she can leave his stifling, baffling presence, the better.

 “Don’t I at least get a thank you?” he calls after her. “Anyone else would have bought me dinner before they start batting around my tonsils. Or at least paid for my tea for me.”

 She flips her middle finger over her shoulder and steps out into the sunlight, far, far away from Peeta Mellark and his confusing lips. “Screw you, Mellark.”

 XXX

 She’s beginning to wonder if there’s such a thing as far, far away from Peeta Mellark’s lips.

 The memory of the kiss follows her for the rest of the day. To her classes and to the dining hall, and consuming every step in between. It’s not fair for a fake kiss with a guy she hates to be the best kiss she’s ever had.

 She wants to be angry, that it could affect her so much, but Peeta Mellark isn’t really to blame, is he? She’s the one that initiated it, that allowed it to happen. Just that thought pisses her off more than she ever believed possible.

 It even follows her to the library later that evening, where she’s pretty sure it’s illegal to have any sort of even remotely smutty thought. Her lips still tingle with a vivid sort of after-memory, still feel swollen and chapped. She’s sure everyone she walks past can see it on her face, can feel the conflict rolling off her in waves.

 But the library is deserted, so quiet that Katniss can hear her footsteps padding over the carpet. She passes a few people on her way to the elevator, and thankfully shares it with no one as she mounts it to the fifth floor, where Gale said he’d be waiting.

 Her respite from Gale was never going to last long, not when they’d been partnered up for an ecology paper at the beginning of the semester. It’d been all right at first; they’d compared their similar upbringings, shared similar tastes in music and pop culture. They both hunted to keep their families afloat, lived a mere town over from each other back at their respective homes, and were forced to grow up too fast when their fathers died (in the same mine explosion, they’d later learned). But where Katniss could laugh off the suggestions from their classmates that, with their matching black hear, grey eyes, and dusky olive colouring, she and Gale could almost be siblings, Gale would glare them down and scoff, like he’d been offended in some way.

 Something in him shifted after that. From then on, he’d touch her more — never anything inappropriate, just light, fleeting things she thought were accidents until they were happening all the time. Next came the innocuous invitations to parties, movies and cafés he thought she’d like, and not-so-subtle hints about a cabin by a lake he knew about in the woods. All the while she’d smile tightly and decline. But he never quite seemed to get the message…

 She finds him at a table in the farthest corner of the floor. He’s hunched over his computer, his back facing her. Katniss takes a deep, bracing breath and pads closer.

 He doesn’t even look up, or turn around at her approach. “Hey, Catnip.”

 She grits her teeth. One day, she’s going to snap and strangle him for calling her that. Soon, too, she thinks. “Hey, Gale.”

 He looks up from his computer like she’s inconveniencing him somehow, and fixes her with a blank look. “So, how you wanna do this?”

 Katniss slips her bag from her shoulder and takes the seat opposite Gale. “Well,” she says as unzips her bag. “We should probably get the rainfall data down, so we can start on the actual report.”

 He nods and shrugs, like it has no real bearing on his grades or anything, like the report’s not worth sixty-percent of their final grade. “Whatever.”

 Katniss rolls her eyes, but says nothing. He’s an ass, but it’s a welcome change from him ploughing her for details on her personal life. She takes out her notebook and a pen, and carefully writes down the stats Gale recites for her, all while the memory of the kiss plays on repeat in her mind. She’s not sure she could banish it if she tried now.

 They’ve been working together for close to an hour, drafting out their report and dividing up the tasks, when Gale clears his throat and says the words she’s been waiting for.

 He doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “Saw you in the coffee shop earlier today, Catnip.”

 “Really?” she says, hoping her complete and utter disinterest shines through. “I didn’t see you.”

 Gale snorts. “Bet you didn’t, what with your tongue down that random Blondie’s throat.”

 Katniss blushes, but a hot lick of anger is building inside her, too. Who the fuck does Gale think he is, and where the hell does he get off judging her?

 “Uh… yeah. It’s not random, but it’s still kinda… new, so…” She doubts she sounds all that convincing, but Gale’s derisive slip of laughter tells her she managed it all right.

 “Yeah, I bet. Madge didn’t even know about him.”

 Her hand jolts hard enough to send the nib of her pen clean through the paper. She’s going to have a chat with Madge when she gets back to their shared dorm tonight. “You’re asking my friends about me now?”

 Gale shrugs. “You weren’t going to tell me anything.” The fact that Madge has a giant, exploitable crush on him goes unsaid.

 “And that wasn’t hint enough?” She slams her notebook shut and shoves it into her shitty bag. Gale glances up from his laptop for once and watches her pack her things away with a look of annoyance. She doesn’t think she could keep working, let alone glance in Gale’s direction again tonight.

 “I’m not interested in you, Gale. I never was and I never will be. So how about you grow up and leave me the hell alone, all right?”

 She storms away from him, ignoring his yells of her name. She’ll finish her part of the assessment on her own and email it to Gale in the morning. Colossal twat though he is, she admits that he’s much better at the design side of things than she is. Besides, Madge owes her a explanation, and it better not have anything to do with Gale’s arms…

 XXX

 All’s well that ends well, Katniss supposes as she wanders the campus, looking for lunch. After a chiding better suited to a small child than a good friend, Madge is off her back and more contrite than ever; Gale is cordial, if a little cold, but now that both their intentions are out in the open, they’re working together fine. And she hasn’t seen Mellark since that fateful morning. Hell, she’s barely thought of their kiss in days.

 She skips the guild coffee shop. Something tells her she wouldn’t be welcome there after last time anyway. Instead, she ventures further across the campus, to a tiny restaurant run by the adjoining culinary school.

 It’s not quite midday yet, so the restaurant is quiet and peaceful. Only half a dozen other students take up tables, eyes locked on their laptop screens while plates of pasta steam at their elbows.

 She places her order at the counter — a big, cheesy bowl of spaghetti sounds more than perfect — and shuffles along the parade of two-person tables, until a sickeningly familiar voice stops her in her tracks.

 “Katniss Everdeen.” She closes her eyes and bites back a groan.

 When she looks up again, Peeta Mellark leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. “Back for more?”

 She scowls. “Don’t be a pig, Mellark.”

 He grins. “Not that I’d mind being ambushed for random kisses from you again.”

 “Fuck this,” she mutters to herself, and starts to walk away.

 “Katniss,” he calls after her, and something about the soft command in his tone stops her in her tracks. She turns back and watches him kick out the chair opposite him. “Sit down. We need to talk, all right?”

 “If this is about the kiss and… shoving you, then I’m sorry, all right? Otherwise, I don’t have a damn thing to say to you.”

 “Fantastic. You can sit and listen to what I have to say, then.” He nudges the chair out some more, until it bumps up against her shins. “Sit down, Katniss. Please.”

 She does, but she’s not happy about it. She drags the chair back across the floor as she pulls herself in, the scraping both deafening and obnoxious.

 He sighs. “Thank you. Look, Katniss. I’m not sure what I ever did to make you hate me so much —”

 “— You know perfectly well what you did, you sorry son of a bitch.”

 He slaps a hand down on the table, firm enough to rattle the cutlery. When she levels her gaze with his, his eyes are the same angry blue as a hot flame. “That’s the thing, actually: I don’t. I’ve got no idea what I did to piss you off. All I know, is that we were friends — as much as anyone could be your friend, anyway — and then one day, we just… weren’t anymore.” He shrugs, helpless. “You started acting like… God, I don’t know what, like I’d killed your puppy or something, and you never once told me why.”

 “You ditched me for Glimmer fucking Carmichael,” she hisses. Even now, five years after the fact, the memory still threatens to suffocate her in humiliation. She’d only left the shitty hotel ballroom for a moment before Peeta was sticking his tongue down Glimmer’s throat.

 At his slack jaw, she lets out a derisive snort. “You remember that? You made this huge fuss about that night, going on and on that we could just go as friends, and then you just —” She stops, unwilling to go further. The fact that she was then, and still is now, so incredibly hurt by what happened, makes her want to lock herself in a dank, dark cave forever and never come out. God she was such an idiot back then, wanting all of it, all of him, so much.

 “I don’t know what I even expected out of that night,” she mutters to herself. “Of course, if given the option, you’d choose her over me.”

 He’s silent for a long time, but when he speaks, his voice is soft, regretful. “Kat, no. I didn’t…”

 She bites back a gasp at the nickname only he ever used. Mostly because he was the only one who ever bothered to give her one.

 “Look, it doesn’t matter now —”

 “Yes, it does,” he cuts in. “It matters a lot.” He runs a hand through his curls and lets out a noise like a growl. “I didn’t want Glimmer that night, Kat, or ever. I didn’t even know you saw her with me. She just…” He sighs. “I didn’t want to be rude. You went and did whatever you did, and she just started dancing with me, and before I knew it…”

 “You didn’t look like you minded,” she mutters. The image of them pressed together with no ending or beginning is burned into her mind with no hope of removal.

 “Katniss, I wanted to be there with you that night,” he says, and with the surety in his voice, there’s no way she can’t believe him. “I asked you there as friends because that was the only way I could get you to go there with me at all. By the time I got Glimmer off me, I couldn’t find you anywhere. I called, I checked your house… I looked everywhere I could think of for you but… nothing.”

 She shakes her head. “That’s the general idea when you’re trying to avoid someone.”

 He reaches across the table and covers her hand with his. She wants to pull her hand away, but can’t; with his warmth covering hers, she feels frozen to the spot.

 “Please don’t shut me out, Kat,” he pleas. “Not when… god, this whole thing was just a stupid misunderstanding. I lost my best friend because of a stupid misunderstanding.”

 Katniss’ heart feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest. He’s not… he couldn’t possibly... “What are you saying?”

 He squeezes her hand. “I’m saying, I never wanted Glimmer touching me. There’s only one girl I’ve ever wanted touching me, and if she stayed long enough to watch me push Glimmer off me, she might have understood that sooner.” He leans forward, close enough to kiss her again, but he doesn’t, and she’s not sure how she feels about that. “It’s always been you, Katniss. Always.”

 She swallows, but it feels like there’s a lump of cotton lodged in her throat. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 He quirks a brow at her. “Would you have listened?”

 “So, you decided you’d be a huge ass jerk right back?”

 He smiles at her, and though it’s cliché as all hell, she swears her heart skips a beat. “Pot, kettle? Besides, Kat, that was literally, literally, the only way I could get you to speak to me after everything. I tried being nice. All you did was bite my head off.”

 “Well, I’m listening now.”

 “Yeah,” he says softly. His thumb is tracing circles over the back of her hand, kicking up a trail of goose bumps. “I guess you are.”

 “Sorry for being… you know, a massive cow.”

 His smile spreads even wider. “Thank you. And, uh… ditto.”

 They’re quiet for a moment again, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. Rather, it’s a charged, electric thing she can just about feel, so laced with hope and anticipation that she could almost choke on it.

 “Kat, can we try again?” he suddenly says. “I just… I want what we were so close to having before. I never stopped wanting it, even when we were at each other’s throats. And before you say anything, just consider —” He trails off, his smile turning into something sly and mischievous “— we’re awesome kissers.”

 She taps a finger to her chin and ponders all the infinite possibilities, just long enough to make him squirm. “I don’t know. Maybe that kiss was just a giant fluke.”

 He grins another heart-stopping grin. “Maybe we ought to try again, then? Just to make sure we’re not getting into anything we might regret.”

 She smiles back, and feels the same flutter in her stomach that she always felt around Peeta Mellark as a hopeless, awkward teenager with a crush. “That might be the best idea you’ve ever had.”

[vertiny-main]

Horrible Day (AU)

This is just a little fic dedicated to @toxicsanders (Thank you darling. Also helped me pick the pairing), @treblegirl and @dani-the-flower-bab as these wonderful people helped me when I was at my lowest x Thanks again loves x Also @romananalogicality as their page is wonderful and I cry x

This is a standalone and has no affiliation with anyone’s work :) (This has been sitting in my drafts for a long ass time ((Which is also a lie, as I added way more and edited it recently sooo))

Ship - Poly - Logan/Roman/Patton/Virgil

Caution/Warnings: Slurs, bullying, a*buse (none relationship wise) swearing, brief mention of blood (Nose bleed), brief mentions of a hospital. Nothing else that I can think of, but if I’m wrong, feel free to tell me x

Any and all errors are mine x

Word Count - 6005 (holy bloody hell. 15 pages)

Headcanon that Logic is really into playing sports.

Human and Werewolf type idea from Teen Wolf, all credits in that department go to TW creators.

Okay, I apologize. Enough rambling and on with the fic.

Summary - ‘It seemed to be that the world can hate one person. Good thing that Logan has his pack to chase it away.’

Logan woke with a groan as he felt the start of what was a beautiful migraine. “Fucking hell…” He muttered, eyes still firmly shut, burying his head under the pillow and reveling in the added darkness the pillow gave. Seconds later, his father knocked loudly, “C'mon Wolverine. Time to get up!” The older man yelled through the wooden door and his heavy footsteps could be heard as he made his way downstairs.

He steeled himself as he removed the pillow, softly moaning as he opened his eyes and they made contact with the light streaming in from the window. He got up from the bed in one movement, thanking that his clothes were hanging up after the mess he found them in after his regular study session with his boyfriends and grabbed his signature black shirt, blue tie and black jeans. He slowly made his way over to the bathroom and then the medicine cupboard, looking for some type of Ibuprofen, but found nothing.

Cursing under his breath, Logan undressed as he turned the shower on. Waiting until the room was filled with steam, he finally got into the shower and stood under the hot spray, letting it work its magic, if only temporary. After standing there for a while, he started to clean himself up; taking extra care as to not jerk his head. Once he had finished in the bathroom, dried his short hair and gotten dressed, he walked down to the kitchen, “Dad, do you know if we have any headache tablets?” The logical male’s father looked up at his son and quickly took in his pale, clammy face and stood up, “Not that I know of son,” he paused as he appraised Logan once again.

“Why don’t you stay home today? You can just sleep all day and try to get rid of what I’m guessing is a migraine?” He lowered his voice as he made his way over to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder, attempting to turn him back towards the stairs. “I can’t dad. I’d love to, but I can’t. Coach says if I miss a day of training this far in the year, then I’m off the team for the rest of this season and next season; and I can’t have that happen this late into the year. I also have two big tests that I have to ace and the pack is apparently meeting after school, although I only found out last night.” Logan shrugged at his father as he leant against the kitchen counter.

Sighing, his father slowly massaged the back of his son’s neck, alleviating some of the pain for a few seconds, “Okay, alright, Lo. Go to school and do what you have to, but just remember, as soon as it gets somewhere near your previous ones, you call me and I’ll get you out, okay?” He made an affirmative sound and smiled softly as his dad pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Alright. And with that, I have to go. Good luck today.” He picked up his car keys and left.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen, Logan took a deep breath and made his way to the fridge. Once he opened the door, he squatted so he could see what they had. Quickly grabbing the margarine and strawberry jam, he stood but knocked his head on the upper part of the fridge that opened up to the freezer. Letting out a string of curses as his migraine was kick started into full gear, he whimpered softly and put the items back into the fridge, suddenly losing his appetite. He walked back upstairs breathing deeply through his nose, digging his nails into his palm hard enough to draw small drops of blood and grabbed his backpack.

Walking over to his nightstand, he turned his charger off and grabbed his phone, seeing he had a message from Roman.

From King 👑: 'Hey Smartacus. Don’t worry about coming around to mine to pick me up. Mum isn’t feeling so good, so I am going to be taking the day off to look after her. See you at the pack meeting nerd. I love you x’

The logical being sent a small thanks to whatever deity that was listening, thankful that today of all days he didn’t have to put up with Roman’s loud and happy rambling and his singing of Disney songs; because Logan, Patton and Virgil; as well as everyone that knew of Roman, believed him to be the embodiment of royalty, with the way he acts; hence the alias in his phone 'King 👑’, once he started talking about something he was passionate about, it was as if a switch had been flipped on. Logan loved the boisterous male, he truly did, but today, there was only a small amount he was sure he was going to be able to take.

Nonetheless, he sighed as he made his way back down the stairs and out to his Jeep, knowing that he was going to miss his boyfriend while he was at school.

'Awh. That is upsetting to hear, Ro. Give your darling mother my love and such. I’ll come around after with a home cooked meal for her once the group is finished. See ya later, Pumpkin King ;) I love you too x’

He sent off the message and pocketed the phone, getting into the drivers’ seat and drove to school, groaning at each pothole and bump he came across; no matter how hard he tried to avoid them.

Pulling into a free parking space near the front of the building, Logan took a deep breath in, and grabbed his water bottle from his satchel bag, taking a swig but spitting it out on the other seat and throwing the bottle away as soon as he felt how warm the water was, “Oh, so gross…” He muttered, dragging a hand across half of his face and got out. Once he had locked the Jeep, he was suddenly turned around by a jock wannabe, Carter Leighton.

'Oh fucking great.’ Logan thought as he raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the other male, despite feeling like his head was being attacked by a jackhammer and had a kangaroo bouncing on his brain. Carter sneered at him, shoving him back against the Jeep’s door, “Just because Thomas and Roman have started being nice to you, doesn’t mean we have to be, you stupid, polygamous fag.”

“Wow. I’m surprised someone like you knew that big word, let alone how to pronounce it.”

Silently cursing for not shutting his mouth, Logan froze as Carter visibly bristled. Looking at the two males behind his tormentor, he failed to see the other male motion for them to go forward. The two people standing slightly behind Carter moved towards him, the bigger of the two pinning Logan’s arms above him while the other punched him in the stomach, each side and then his back; before switching positions and repeating the process, “Alright lads, you’ve had your fun,” Carter chuckled, “now it’s my turn.” He smiled sweetly at Logan as he lifted his hand up, grabbing fiercely into the brunets’ hair; the usually pleasurable stimulus bringing him nothing but pain. Logan’s eyes quickly shifted from person to person, quickly closing them as he felt his head being brought forward, only to have it jerked back instantaneously, smashing his head into his car door. Logan grit his teeth, vowing not to give Carter the satisfaction of hearing him in pain.

“We’ll see you at practice, fag.” Carter’s two cronies released him as soon as he rag dolled in their arms and Logan heard them laugh at him as they walked away.

“Real original boys. Real original.” He muttered, spitting as the taste of copper filled his mouth. “Just fucking great. Perhaps I should just go home. I fail to see the point in being at school today. It’s been a shitty day from the word go.” Despite whining, he pulled himself up and grabbed his bag once again, slinging it onto his shoulder. He quickly maneuvered himself into his home room and sat down in the back of the room, ignoring the burning pain in his torso and back, resting his head onto his arms, biting his lip to muffle any sounds that might have tried to escape.

He tightly shut his eyes as the bell sounded and the sounds of all of the other kids ambling inside the room reached his ears; thankful that none of his overprotective and overly aware boyfriends were in his home room. Logan buried his head under his arms, only making a barely loud enough 'here’ when the teacher started marking the roll. For the next ten minutes, he made no sounds and didn’t dare to move in worry that he’d aggravate his migraine and the pain caused by Carter and his lackeys.

Once the second bell had gone, Logan waited until the room was cleared and then made his way out into the hall. He stuck to the walls and walked towards his AP English class.

Walking past the Home Econ room, the door quickly sprung open and hit Logan, sending him to floor, the unmissable feel of 'owowowowpainhurtsfuck’ and blood coming out of his nose.

He started to laugh softly, trying to stop the urge to scream, cry and punch whoever had unintentionally done this. Pulling himself up, he looked at the person who had opened the door, “Sharp. You okay?” He heard his coach ask him, placing a hand on his shoulder, steading him, only just realizing he was slightly shaking.

“Y-Yeah, Coach, I’m fine. Just a bit banged up,” Logan said, gesturing to his nose and tilting his head forward, pinching his nose shut in an attempt to stop the blood flow and stop it from reaching his mouth. He breathily laughed as the rugby coach swore, “Alright, off to the school nurse, we go.” He left his hand on Logan’s shoulder and steered him to the nurse’s office.

Opening the door, his coach grabbed a few tissues for Logan and then went to find the nurse, “Just sit down on the bed. I’ll be back.” Evans said as he walked deeper into the room. A minute later the nurse came over to him, “Alright, my dear boy, lie down for me. What happened?” Logan went to open his mouth to explain, but the fluorescent lights were suddenly just too bright and he vaguely noticed a small, furry caterpillar like thing in his eyesight, blurring small sections of his sight.

Noticing his star player was taking a bit too long to respond, Evans gave the nurse a brief summary of what happened and then patted his calf. “You don’t have to worry about today’s practice. I’m giving you today off and I won’t be afraid to bench you if you show up, Sharp.” Logan made a soft affirmative sound as he scrunched his eyes closed tightly, the light starting to get to him.

He heard Coach Evans’ heavy steps leave the room, “Okay, sweets. I need you to open your eyes for me. Can you do that?” The nurse’s soothing voice filled Logan’s ears, causing him to minutely flinch, but he obeyed nonetheless. “Alright, I’m going to shine my pen light into your eyes and then move it side to side to check for a concussion, okay?” She stated as she flicked the light on and checked his pupil’s reactions and then fixing a small bandage over his nose after setting it back in place and wiping away the drying blood. Deeming him fine, if not a bit banged up and bruised, she went to leave him to his own devices, drawing the curtain to a side so she could leave. “Excuse me,” Logan whispered, frightened if he spoke normally, he would further aggravate his pain, but the nurse managed to hear him. “Yes?”

Logan sighed, “I have two questions and one confession…” He paused and took a deep breath as he saw her wave her hand in the 'go on’ motion, “Okay, number one is I was wondering if it’s possible for you to turn the lights in here off? Number two is could you possibly tell me where Thomas Sanders, Patton Rogers and Virgil Thompson are?” He held back the confession as he allowed the nurse time to answer, “Alright, I’ll see what I can do about finding out where those three students are, but why do you want the lights off?”

Logan quietly told her why and was eternally grateful when the nurse walked off and the lights turned off. Seconds later the nurse coming back a minute later with two Ibuprofen, a glass of water and a wet face washer. “The tablets won’t do much now, but either way, thank you.” Logan praised her before taking the tablets and placed the wet wash cloth on his forehead.

“And your 'confession’ is?” The nurse softly prodded, “I’m purposely leaving out names and anything incriminating as I don’t need this to get any worse, okay?” He continued as she nodded, “Well this morning, something happened and let’s just say some fists met my torso, sides, back and then my head was pushed back so it hit the door of my car. This 'hit’... Could say it aggravated my migraine to no end and it hurts if I breathe too much too fast and hurts to move.”

Logan once again closed his eyes and let the nurse instruct him in what to do in order for her to check him out and wheezed slightly as she wrapped bandages around his midsection as a precaution. “Alright, my love. It seems like you’ve had a rough start to the day so I’m going to let you stay in here all day, but the moment you feel well enough to go to class or need to go to the toilet, I’ll let you leave the room, other than that, try to sleep.”

After half an hour passed of near silence, the only sound in the room apart from his soft breathing, was the soft tapping of a keyboard. The nurse came back, pulling the curtain open just enough for her to step inside, “Alright, to answer your second question, Virgil hasn’t shown up to school today, no doubt skipping school. Thomas is marked as sick and Patton has an off-site excursion for his Child Studies class.” Logan thanked her and silently huffed at the fact that none of the pack was at school, even though Thomas should be considering the Werewolf can’t get sick.

In that moment; he would reflect later that he was being overdramatic, he felt his world slightly crumble. All he wanted was some type of contact, be it Patton’s worries and cuddles, Roman’s soft singing, Thomas’ humor and crude jokes as an attempt to lighten the mood or Virgil’s fond teasing while rubbing his thumb over Logan’s knuckles as their hands interlocked, he just wanted someone.

With a small whimper of distress, he fell into a restless sleep.

Coming to a few hours later with a start, as the nurse softly shook his leg, Logan whined as his sudden movement made it way to his head. He raised an eyebrow in askance as he looked at the nurse. “The bell is going to go in about ten minutes, so I thought it’d be best for you to leave before it goes off and the rush of students overpower your head again. I’ve rung your father and he agrees with me, so you’ve already been signed out. All you’re going to have to do when you take your bandages; is check for any pain apart from the bruises, and if there is any pain, you’ll need to rewrap yourself. Take care, Logan.”

“Thank you.” He quietly mumbled as the nurse patted his shoulder, smiling at her quick apology as he flinched and handed his bag to him as he meandered his way past her and into the hallway, blinking quickly to get used to the light change. He quickly made his way to his Jeep and slipped inside, sighing and resting his head back on the head rest. Reaching out blindly, he managed to put his key in the ignition and start the Jeep up before his phone beeped. “Okay, what siren song are you going to sing to me today?” Logan muttered as he unlocked his phone and went into his messages. New message: 'My Heart 💖 - Pack meeting is still going to be on. The time hasn’t changed. It’s still after school. Be there or my teeth will meet your throat, and not in the nice way ;) I love you x’

Logan whined again and chucked his phone onto the passenger’s seat; taking off the bandage the nurse placed on his nose, 'resetting his nose’ be damned, wishing the day was already over. He put his car into gear and waited for the dull sound of the bell. Once the car park was clear, he sighed again and drove off to Patton’s trying to make himself seem happy as to not alert the werewolves he was going to be stuck in a house with for the next few hours.

Reaching the beginning of Patton’s immense land, the Jeep started to stutter and a minute later the car came to a halt. Despite the migraine raging on in his head, Logan yelled, slamming his fists down on the steering wheel and got out of the car, grabbing his bag and phone and walked to the newly renovated house. Upon the house coming into view, he quietly cheered and then slightly jumped as Roman appeared in front of him, crooked smile and arms open for a hug which Logan gratefully reciprocated, softly smiling as Roman pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head. When he tightened the hug, Logan whimpered and Roman immediately pulled back, “Darling, whatever is wrong?”

“Promise to keep this secret for now?” Roman raised an eyebrow but nodded either way; feeling the distress and pain roll off the other’s body in waves, and Logan lifted his shirt, feeling a small warmth erupt in his stomach as Roman’s face contorted angrily and met Logan’s eyes, his eyes a deep red. “Who?” Logan averted his gaze from Roman’s. “Carter…” He mumbled as Roman bristled beside him, his hands clenching. “Baby, I know I haven’t asked this in a long time but… Carry me? Please, I hurt.” Logan whimpered and held his arms out. Roman turned around and informed Logan to wrap his arms gently around his neck and jump on, never able to say no to his boyfriend, especially when he sounded so vulnerable.

Logan did as he was told and rested his head in the crook of Roman’s neck, “So, what happened today?” Logan groaned slightly and told him what had transpired that day, informing him of the migraine, hitting his head on the fridge, Carter, the broken nose, needing comfort, and just having an overall shitty day. “By Odin’s eyepatch! I am so sorry, Lo, for not being at school today. Although, I am as confused as you are as to the fact of why the others; besides Patt, weren’t at school.” Logan made a soft agreeing sound as Roman started to make his way back towards the Roger’s house, feeling himself tire out, covered in warmth from his heater of a boyfriend.

“I know, sweetheart, but I cannot blame you. Your mother was ill, and you did the right thing staying at home looking after her.” He pressed a kiss onto his boyfriend’s neck as the other male quietly growled.

When Roman came up to the front door, Virgil appeared, face clean of his usual makeup and laughed, “Awh, is Logan such a baby he needs to be carried? How sad is the poor human?” Normally, he would be all for the normal sarcastic banter with his boyfriend, but he couldn’t muster up any response and closed his eyes, hoping Virgil would sense his pain, blindly handing him his glasses. “Got no response? Pathetic.” Logan could hear the normal rebellion in his voice as well as slight concern, but he didn’t care. The pain was getting worse with each passing moment. “Virgil, baby boy, as much as I love you baby, please fuck off.” Virgil made a startled noise and went to place his hand on Logan’s back but suddenly stopped as Roman growled protectively at him, moving so he was facing the other male instead of Logan.

Logan softly patted Roman’s chest in a placating motion, “Good boy, but he’s not a threat and you know that. I understand that you’re protecting me, but that’s no means for you to be rude to Anx. Apologize.” Roman huffed, “I’m sorry, baby.” Roman quickly kissed Virgil, “But at this point in time, my main focus is you, Logan. You’re hurt and I don’t want you hurt more.” He made his way inside, Virgil on his heels. Walking over to the lounge room, Roman carefully put him down on one end of the many couches, sat down and gently pulled Logan down to rest his head on his lap, softly carding his fingers through his soft hair.

A collective shadow fell upon Roman and Logan, causing them to remember the rest of the pack was there. Looking at Patton, Logan groaned as the dominance of Patton’s werewolf personality made its presence known. “What’s going on?” Patton growled; his heart slowly rising into his throat at the sight of his wounded boyfriend, the younger male’s hurt radiating off of his body, “Shhh, heart, you’re too loud and the lights are too bright.” Logan turned around and pushed his face into Roman’s stomach, leaving the explanation to his princely counterpart.

Softly sighing, and shaking his head at the other male’s actions, Roman placed his free hand onto Logan’s shoulder, taking away some of the pain. “Logan has a migraine, got beaten up by Carter and his friends, got a broken nose from Coach,” He paused as growls and snarls were heard throughout the room, “It was purely accidental, my dears.” He added in a placating manner. “Oh and his Jeep broke down, so once of us need to go out and get that later.” Roman finished with a soft smile as he heard Logan’s soft snores. “I’ll get it once we figure out what to do.” Thomas spoke up as he pointed at himself.

“Who is this 'Carter’ you speak of? He go to school with us?” Thomas continued as he sat down on the arm of the couch, adjusting his hair. “C'mon, kiddo. I wish you’d actually sit on the couch. I don’t want you to do any damage to it.” Patton gave him a semi-stern look which failed as he started to giggle at Thomas’ fake offence.

“Anyway, to answer your question, yes. Yes he does. He’s in the rugby team with Lo.”

Patton’s eyes went wide and he turned around to face the others. “Has this ever happened before?”

Roman carefully maneuvered his way away from Logan, making sure he was still asleep. He walked over to the moral man and placed his hand on the other’s shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I believe he’s come to all of us, at least once.” He paused, wrapping the silently fuming male into a hug, “W-Why didn’t he come to me? I’m h-here for all of you.”

Roman’s hand moved up into his hair, slowly grazing his nails against the back of the emotional man’s head. “Oh, sweet sun, he knows that you’re here for him, as do we. He just didn’t want to worry you. He always sai-”

“I didn’t come to you, Patton, as it is your last year in that hell hole, and I didn’t want to get in the way of you enjoying your last year with all your friends.” Logan interjected, surprising all the werewolves in the room; Patton moving back from Roman’s embrace. “So much for you guys being more observant than me.” He sighed as he stood, his eyes closed. “Patton, my heart. Please make this less embarrassing for me, and c'mere, please.” Logan lifted his arms in the universal sign for a hug.

Motioning for Thomas to shut the curtains, Patton brought the familiar body to his, holding the younger male close. “Please, beloved, tell me these things. I want to be there to protect you.”

Wiping away a few tears, Logan sniffled and moved back from Patton’s embrace, content to resting his back on the older male; gratefully taking his glasses from Roman’s outstretched hand, “If you must know.” He pointed in the direction he knew Virgil to be as he put his glasses back on. “Darkness over there can start the emotional roadshow.”

Rolling his eyes fondly at the nickname, Virgil groaned playfully and sat next to Thomas, “If I must. Well, when Logan came to me for the first time, it was well before we started dating, and so I couldn’t do as much as I can now, but nonetheless. The most memorable occasion was when he appeared in my room, looking completely disheveled and his shirt was slightly bloody, ripped and seriously dirty. All I did was hold him as he cried. The next morning, the only explanation I received was something along the lines of 'Carter seriously doesn’t like me, does he?’ and then Logan just thanked me for allowing him to cry on me, and left with the promise of a new hoodie as a way of thanks.” Scoffing at the disbelieving looks, he breathily chuckled, “What? It’s true!” Logan laughed at the response, “Don’t worry, it is a true guys.”

“Sir Sing a Lot, you’re up next.”

“Must you call me that?” Roman sounded exasperated, but the laughter was evident in his voice as he sat at Virgil’s feet. “Well, apart from earlier today, Sherlock over there as only come to me with Carter related injuries or hurt feelings because of him, a small handful of times. In keeping with the most memorable occasion trend that Virgil started, I guess it’d have to be literally the night before we became werewolves.”

Holding up a hand to silence Patton from the beginnings of his tirade, Roman continued, “Instead of going to a goddamn hospital, the bespectacled idiot actually came to my house. Thank heavens that my parents weren’t home, but still. So much for being the smart one… Anyway, I digress. He came to me with a broken arm. Yeah, I was not happy about that one little bit.” Roman rolled his eyes as he saw Logan looking at him with a shit-eating grin. “After I set his arm in place; thankful that I had taken first-aid courses, I wrapped it up and cuddled with him and we fell asleep. He was gone when I awoke, but he had left a letter.”

Thomas gaped at Logan, “That’s why you were in the cast? Gosh darn. I truly believed your cover story. Looking back at it, and realizing who one of your boyfriends are, I seriously should’ve noticed this. Well then, I guess it’s my turn then?”

Nodding as the others chorused “yes”, Thomas cracked his knuckles. “Well he’s only come to me about twice so? Anyway, the more important occasion was after he had an anxiety attack at school because Carter shoved him into his own locker for a good hour or so. I only found him in there because he was taking me home that day. He was a mess when I got him out and I was so ready to kill this jerk, but Logan assured me he had it under control, so I admit to letting it slide. Thinking back, I really shouldn’t have. My deepest apologies Wolverine.”

Shaking his head at the nickname, Logan stood up straight and stretched, feeling the bandages move. “Ah… I have just one thing to ask of you, Thomas.” He walked over and grabbed then male’s hand, dragging him into the kitchen. Sticking his head back around into the lounge room, Logan made eye contact with all three of his boyfriends. “Not to sound like a cliché for the stereotype of werewolves being dogs, but stay.” His soft laugh could be heard as he walked into the kitchen.

“What'cha need me for, Lo?” Thomas asked him as he hauled himself up onto the counter, poking his tongue out at the other man’s look. “I think it’s better if I show you. Ro already knows as I showed him, so I’m just going to show you, okay?” He waited for Thomas to nod before pulling his shirt off.

“And before the question arises as to why I’m getting you to change my bandages is because,” Logan paused, making sure he had Thomas’ full attention, patting his shoulder as the other males fingers flittered over the bandages that wrapped around his torso.

“I need you to know that I mean no offense by this, but out of everyone, you’re the least emotionally invested as although you are a part of the pack, you are not a part of the romantic relationship between us. You are the somewhat neutral party in this.” Squatting down, he grabbed new bandages from the first-aid kit from under the sink. “Mhh, I also meant to ask. How’s your migraine?” Thomas said as he got off the counter. Fondness could be heard in Logan’s voice as he muttered, “Fucking werewolves and their pain sucking powers…”

Laughing, Thomas’ hands found the clips holding the bandages up. “Alright, I’m going to take them off. Breathe in for me, yeah?” He instructed the younger male. Logan took a deep breath in, and Thomas quickly removed the old bandages and froze as he saw the bruised expanse of Logan’s torso. “Holy… I’m sorry for this Logic.” “What could you-” Logan’s question was cut off by Thomas’ shouts of 'Roman! Virgil! Patton!’

“Oh. That’s why you’re sorry.” Logan muttered as he heard his boyfriends rushed and heavy footsteps. “What’s the pro- HOLY FUCKING HELL LOGAN? WHAT THE FRESH HELL?” Logan flinched slightly at Virgil’s uncharacteristic shout. “I-I told you about this.” He whispered, worried he was going to say the wrong thing and further upset his boyfriend.

“Argh, baby. I’m sorry for yelling. I know you told us; well more Roman than us, but the way it was said was so nonchalant. I,” Virgil paused and looked at Roman and Patton, “We didn’t expect it to be like this.” He stepped towards the other man, carefully holding him as he fell into his arms, the events of today finally catching up with him.

Virgil moved his hands so they rested in the middle of Logan’s thighs and hoists him up, Logan instinctively wrapped his legs around his waist, hugging him like a koala.

Sniffling into Virgil’s shoulder, Logan laughed as he felt himself be enveloped in warmth from all sides as Patton, Roman and Thomas joined in on the hug, all whispering promises of comfort, love and protection; as well as taking some of Logan’s pain away.

“V-Virg?” He hiccupped. “Hmm, what is it baby?” Feeling warmth on his neck from Logan’s blush, he smiled. “Baby?” Lifting his head up, he yawned and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. Logan smiled at the people surrounding him, “M'sleepy. Is it too early to go to bed?”

Patton laughed and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “Sweets, after the day you’ve had, you can go to bed whenever you want.” Patton leaned in to kiss Logan. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rested below his ear, Patton’s thumb caressing his cheek as their breaths mingled. He pulled back with a soft smile and then Roman was in front of him. “My darling mind. I love you so much.” Roman covered Logan’s lips with his own, kissing him slowly. It’s soft and gentle and chaste. It’s a wave of warmth that fills Logan up, spilling out from his heart and the warmth of Roman’s lips on his and rushing to every corner of his body.

“You’ll be fine, Lo. We will make sure of it.” Thomas had a small smile on his face. He leant forward, pressing a soft kiss onto the drowsy man’s cheek, the warmth flooding his body.

He was surrounded by love.

Virgil walked up the stairs, a peacefully dozing Logan in his arms. “We all love you, and we always will, dear genius. Please, promise me you’ll never forget this.” He leaned down and pressed a loving kiss on the logical male’s head, placing Logan down and then laying down next to him in the middle of the sizeable bed Patton had sourced from Amazon.

“It’s big enough for pack cuddles, guys! We have to get it.”

“I won’t forget that Virg… S'long as you promise the same too…” Logan shifted so he was positioned with his head under Virgil’s chin, wrapping his arms around the male’s midriff. “I promise, wholeheartedly.”

Smiling into the soft and sleepy kiss Logan pressed to his lips, Virgil pulled one of the multitudes of blankets, comforters and quilts that were roughly shoved down to the end of the bed, over them, “Go to sleep, darling. We’ll deal with Carter tomorrow together. As a pack.” Logan smiled into the hollow of his boyfriend’s neck, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, love.” He drew small patterns on his back with his fingers as the others’ breath evened out.

It wasn’t that long of a wait for Virgil before his other boyfriends trickled into the room. Patton on Virgil’s side, Roman next to Logan. “Where’s Thomas?” Virgil whispered, looking around for their pack mate and friend. “Shhh, Emo Nightmare, he’s perfectly fine. We just went and brought Logan’s Jeep here and now he’s just downstairs watching some Steven Universe. He’ll come join the pack pile soon enough. If you need further reassurance, just listen for his heartbeat.” Roman answered, his hot breath fanning the top of Virgil’s head. Silencing the rest of his senses, Virgil focused on the sound of heartbeats, hearing four steady heartbeats around him and one steady one, further away.

He closed his eyes, “Goodnight Patt, Goodnight Ro. I love you.” He smiled at the soft chorus of, “Goodnight, Virg. I love you too.”

“Oh, by the way. What are we going to do with Carter?” Virgil hummed happily as Patton pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “Well, Virgil,” Roman whispered, a small snort escaping him.

“Ask the Dragon witch. She knows the drill.”

[alexthomasfmp788]

Experimentation - Game Interface Style

A piece I created to experiment with the images I created with my newfound Spectrogram technique. 

This is a collage of various technological and nostalgic themes coming together to create a chaotic screen. I would like to use infographics a lot for the art development of this project, but for strange things - sometimes things that are more arbitrary, like heartbreak, fate, and in this case, the “Desire for vengeance”

This project had been laying around in my draft project folder for quite some time, and originally looked like this. I think that the sourcing of the images in this piece was more ambitious than usual. These images do not have any sort of Photoshop effect on them - instead, i found the images i wanted, converted them into an audio file, and viewed them as a Spectrogram in audacity. The Spectrogram feature essentially allowed me to view audio as an image. I think that this method was effective not just in creating a good looking effect, but the way i have meshed audio and imagery directly links to project’s aim - studying dreams, nightmares and how surges in brain activity affect them.

While I was thinking of just posting it like this, I thought it was missing something.

With some alterations to the Blending options, I changed the entire vibe and feel of the image. All the different components seemed to fit together more, and the Blend options helped the images blend in with the background, as Blending helps some of the texture on the background seep through to the overlay images.

The picture of the face (right) has a Vivid Light filter applied. I found that this filter worked best at portraying the facial features clearly, which is important because i didn’t want the image to lose its’ emotional value.

The spectrogram (left) has a Hue filter applied. This filter exemplified the colours of the spectrogram, especially the colours that represented high intensity.

The next addition to this was the chatbox. I wanted to include some form of dialogue between the image and the viewer, and to explain further what the person in the image was going through. This particular chatbox is the Pictochat interface used on the DS, launched in 2004. I used this myself at a young age, to talk to my friends while playing games on my DS.

The typography consists of a conversation between the person in the image above, and an anonymous speaker. The first “-I CAN’T CONTAIN IT ANYMORE” has no effects applied. The second one has a Dissolve effect, to imply the character’s breakdown in rational thought. I initially highlighted the word “Help” in red, to go against the notion that help is a good thing. I later changed it to pink to go with the colour scheme, but I think that red may have been better. The last box of text says “YOU CAN’T CONTAIN ME ANYMORE”. To really drive this point forward, I placed this piece of text outside the borders of the chatbox, and added doubles of the text behind it to make it look like it was ‘jumping’ out of the frame. The black background was purely to contrast against the white text and make it readable. I even made a gap in the white border to the right, where it impedes into its’ space.

The last image addition was this Windows 95 error message.

I created this graphic using an error message generator website. While this was easier, I think that I could have made my own error message rather easily, and customized it more to my liking. However, I was working with some constraints in time as didn’t want to spend overly long on something that didn’t have too much of an effect on the piece, and so that i could finish other projects that day.

For the title, I ended up actually doing some research on the parts of the brain, and their functions. I was looking in particular for the part of the brain that controls emotions, judgement and behaviour, and found that the ‘Frontal lobe’ was the part i was looking for. ‘Frontal lobe’ sounded a bit uninteresting to me, so I looked further for more parts of the brain that had more interesting names, while having similar functions. 

I settled on ‘Prefrontal cortex’. This part of the brain contributes to the safekeeping of memories and skills. While not having the meaning that i wanted it to have, it looked more intriguing on the error message.

For the description, I aimed to mesh the vocabulary of technological and emotional concepts together, to personify this computer message and make it feel as if it is breaking a fourth wall. The words emotional, and yourself were more personal terms, while ‘overload detected’ and shut down’ brought a more impersonal, emotionless approach to it. The image of the skull on the left of the text was also a nice touch that brought human grief into the mix, with implications of human death, should the error message be ignored.

The option buttons were pretty straightforward, I didn’t do too much to these. I attempted to use the Zalgo text generator to give the middle button a ‘corrupted’ look to it, but it didn’t work very well. Zalgo text is text with random unicode symbols protruding from the letters, made to look like corrupted or haunted text.

I applied some colour grading to bring out the pink hues more, drew a low opacity black rectangle over some of the work, and overexposed it a small amount. With some cropping, the borders of the image made more sense and now looks like a more refined, finished piece. The blue of the blueprint background really complemented the blue of the error message windows, and seeped through the Spectrogram images to give the pink colour more bounce and vibrance.

[delusion-of-negation]

Don't ask me why I wrote this, I don't know, I have no idea, it just happened, cartoons fucked me up as a kid, they fucked me up. Anyway, here's a quickly written, first draft, absolute garbage, weird story about a trans person getting a new body from the fellows at the baby factory.

At precisely 16:00, the time of my appointment, I arrived at the fabled building. After a moment of adjusting to the cold air and low pressure, I turned to thank my lift, but only a couple of feathers and a small hole in the clouds remained as evidence that there had even been anyone there at all.

I made my way up the marble steps and through the golden doors, into a room that I could only describe as resembling a large, dystopian, London bank. Windows and statues of birds lined the walls to the right and left of me at even intervals, with carved patterns and gold plating on almost every surface, contrasting unpleasantly against the sleek marble. The echoes of nearby chatter and pleading, and the gentle rocking of the wind beating against the cloud that the building stood upon, made the room feel like an unpleasant fairground ride.

My shoes tapped an unsteady rhythm on the shimmering tiles, as I made my way towards the largest window, which stood proudly opposite the main entrance and thankfully had less gold and artwork to distract from its simple majesty. There were no other patrons waiting to be served, so I leant forwards, tilting my mouth towards the tiny black microphone that stuck out from the small ledge, and coughed to get the attention of the staff member.

There was a grunt in response, and I felt beady eyes drilling into my skull, like they were anticipating someone annoying to end their already long day.

"I have an appointment," I stuttered into the microphone, "With customer services."

I heard the tap of a beak bumping into the glass as the tall creature on the other side leant forwards to their microphone, "What for?"

"Repairs and replacements," I said, wracking my brain for all of the numbers and referrals that I'd gone through on the phone earlier that week.

The creature shuffled in their seat, feathers scratching against leather - they were a good half metre taller than me while sitting down.

"Your warranty expired," the creature mumbled, and I glanced up to see the light of a computer screen reflected on their long beak and in their black eyes. The white feathers on their face and neck were tinted slightly blue by the glow.

"I purchased-"

"Yes, our care package," they interrupted nonchalantly, "I see it now. Through the door on the left."

They lifted a wing lazily to gesture in the direction of a simple, wooden door at the end of a path dictated by posts linked by golden rope - likely put there in anticipation of a queue that never formed.

I nodded in gratitude and then made my way between the rows of posts, silently cursing the part of myself that was too polite to simply duck under the rope and make a beeline for the end, until I was through the door and into a long, empty corridor. Concerned about looking out of place or stupid - not that I wasn't aware that I already looked both out of place and stupid being so tiny in a building designed for much larger creatures - I kept walking.

After a sharp right, I found myself face to face with another of the giant storks, but this time there was no glass between us. They were hunched over, fumbling to pick up some papers and books that had somehow become strewn across the floor in disarray.

I bent down and scooped up a few bits and bobs, and then slipped them into the material sling that hung around the stork's neck.

"Thank you, thank you!" they repeated, each time I dropped an item into the makeshift bag, "I really must watch where I'm going. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience- Oh! I know who you are!"

My eyes darted up at the sudden change of tone, "You do?"

The stork stood up to their full height and their head almost brushed the ceiling - I never expected to be able to relate to a fish facing certain death, but standing in the shadow of an eight foot bird sent a chill up my spine.

"Well, you were just a wee little thing when I last saw you, but I'd recognize that hideous mole anywhere!"

I placed a hand over my cheek instinctively, "Umm, you're the one who delivered me?"

"That's me! Storkington Copperfield!" The bird bowed low as they said their name, and the sling tilted dangerously, threatening to throw all of the documents out for a second time, "And may I be the first to say that I am so sorry for the error. The XX and XY models are always getting mixed up; I've complained to HR but they don't listen to us, we're just the delivery guys..."

The bird trailed off and began mumbling in anagrams and company policy that I didn't understand, and it took over a minute of gobbledygook for them to realize that I wasn't following at all.

"Yes!" they exclaimed in answer to a question that I hadn't yet plucked up the courage to ask, cutting off their own rant, "I'm who your appointment is with today. Sorry, I'm a little flustered - bird-brained, as your kind would say!"

The squawk that followed, which I assumed was either how their kind laughed or the equivalent of snorting in humans, was nearly enough to make me jump out of my skin.

"Anyway!" Storkington cawed, "Follow me!"

They led me further down the corridor and into a small office, prancing along effortlessly on spindly legs that didn't look nearly thick enough to hold up the rounded body, huge wingspan, downy neck and long beak.

I cannot stress enough how big the bird really was up close, it was like seeing a moose for the first time - except, I'd seen storks before, at least, the ones we had miles below in the normal world. The workers and owners of this huge corporation weren't the same as our storks - they were taller, bulkier, and looked more like someone had poured glue over a skinny dinosaur and then thrown it into a pile of feathers, before taping a sword to its face.

Actually, that mental image was a lot more amusing than watching Storkington's legs bend backwards with each step, as their head bobbed up and down above me.

They clicked the sign on the outside of the office door into the "In Use" position, before nudging the door itself closed and turning to face me. Smaller black feathers surrounded Storkington's eyes, giving the illusion that they were bigger than the other stork's, which was oddly calming.

"We won't be in here long, just need a couple of details before we decide the best way to resolve your case."

I nodded, eager to hurry things along and not be enclosed in a dimly lit room with a creature that could impale me with its mouth for any longer than was absolutely necessary.

"So, your new care package covers all of this - you and Storkney Wellington sorted all of the financial stuff out on the phone, so that's..." they trailed off as they thumbed- winged? -their way through a few pages, "Yes, that's all good."

I nodded again, slightly more forcefully.

"So, I guess all that's left is to establish if we want to repair or replace..?" they said, looking up.

I had been thinking about this for days. I'd weighed up the options and the possibilities. But I had one question before I made my final call...

"Where do you get the replacements?"

The stork let out another squawk-laugh, "Don't humans have factories too?" They wobbled their head from side to side, and their neck weaved like a dangling string that had been lightly shaken, "We are a manufacturer, we make a surplus."

I gawked for a second, "What do you do with them? I mean, who raises them?"

"Raises them?" Storkington lowered their head until the tip of their beak was an inch from my face, and I thought back to the sound of the other stork bumping into the glass, hoping that this one had better spacial awareness. "We don't add the consciousness until they're ready to be delivered, that'd be a waste of valuable resources."

"So there's just a bunch of baby bodies in boxes?"

"They still grow," Storkington explained, pulling his head back, "Would you like to see so that you can pick out a fitting model?"

I nodded in excitement before my thoughts had even had a chance to make sense of what I had heard and what I was agreeing to. Almost immediately, a wing was wrapped around my shoulder, whisking me back out into the corridor and deeper into the innards of the building.

The further we went, the less decorative and majestic the halls became, and the more it resembled a factory or the back of a supermarket, with boxes stacked here and there, scattered footsteps, and the sounds of machinery. I only saw two other birds along the journey, both shorter than Storkington and too busy at work to bother looking up at us as we passed.

It wasn't long after passing the second stork that we stepped through an archway and into a huge, dark chamber. From ceiling to floor it seemed to be occupied by nothing other than rows and rows of thick, metal pillars, darkened with age and wear, with just enough space between them for two of the giant storks to pass through together. The columns looked mechanical, but old, rusted in some places.

Then there was a click, and I looked back to see Storkington with one wing against the wall where I'd expect a lightswitch to be.

The columns began whirring, clunking, moving in sync - as the metal pulled away from itself, blue lights began to shine through the gaps.

The outershell of the pillars disappeared into the ceiling and floor, section by section, revealing glass cylinder upon glass cylinder, each glowing blue and holding a human form within it.

I took a step towards the closest one and stared into the empty, grey eyes of an elderly woman. She looked like a corpse, hairless, lifeless, dead-eyed, just a shell - there was no character in her face, no wrinkles formed by laughter, no scars or stretch marks anywhere to be seen. It was so chillingly clear that she had never even been alive, but it all combined to make it impossible to place her age - that is, until I glanced at a little white sticker, about chest height and on the left side of the container.

"Manufactured March 4th 1867."

If it wasn't for the fact that her lifeless eyes and flawless skin were haunting to the point of feeling inhuman, I'd have said that she looked bloody good for 150.

"Row G7 has the age and sex that you're looking for," Storkington said cheerily, "Follow me!"

[smartgirlsaremean]

The Question Falls - Chapter 3

Fandom: OUAT (inspired by Sex and the City)

Pairing: Rumbelle

Rating: M (A ratings bump? What? Not sure it’s totally merited yet but it will be in future.)

Summary: Divorce attorney Gold knows better than to fall in love with a client. Really he does.

There was a knock on his door and Gold sighed irritably. “Yes, what is it?” He shuffled the papers on his desk into some semblance of order.

“Hi.”

The voice made his head jerk up and he would have stood if he could be reasonably certain he wouldn’t fall back down again. “Hey,” he replied, blinking a few times.

Belle French was standing in his office doorway, wringing her hands together.

“I’m sorry, did we have an appointment?”

“No, but I...I was in the area and I wanted to see you.”

Gold’s higher brain functions stuttered to a halt. Belle had no reason to be in this part of town. She lived in a Park Avenue apartment and worked at an art gallery in Soho. But why would she lie about that?

“Okay, so that was a lie,” she said with a nervous little laugh. “I came here to see you, I wasn’t in the area.”

Well, that cleared up exactly nothing. “Was there something you needed?”

She bit her lip and glanced down at the floor, and when she looked up all vestiges of shyness and nerves seemed to have melted away and she was looking at him, her eyes burning into his and he wasn’t sure when he’d decided that standing and walking around the desk to face her was a good idea, but here he was.

“Miss French, what…”

Belle launched herself across the room and into his arms, which went around her waist on instinct. Her hands buried themselves in his hair and she pressed her lips to his, kissing him with an intensity that took his breath away. Tightening his grip on her, he pulled her flush against him, leaning back against his desk for support, and tried to answer her fierceness with his own, but she was overpowering. One long leg came up to the level of his waist and pressed against the desk, bringing her even closer, and he whimpered when he felt the heat of her core even through the layers between them.

Her hands left his hair and traveled down his neck to the collar of his shirt, where they yanked on the knot of his tie and pulled it free; she tossed the strip of silk to the floor and scored her fingernails down his chest. The intensity of her kiss tapered off a bit and she pulled at his lips with hers, taking first his bottom and then his top lip between her teeth and pulling until he thought he would burst into flames.

When she drew away a fraction of an inch he tried to chase after her, but she pushed against his shoulders until he was sitting on his desk - not, he thought dimly, something he’d ever considered, and there was a perfectly serviceable armchair a few feet away, and… His thoughts, scattered as they were, dissipated completely when she clambered up after him and straddled his legs, pressing down onto his lap and pulling his hair so that his neck arched. Belle pressed heated kisses to his neck and she shoved his jacket off his shoulders and his hands had just found their way into her hair when someone knocked on his office door.

“Go away!” he tried to say, but his voice was muffled by Belle’s lips and he doubted whoever it was heard him. Belle was attacking the buttons of his shirt, batting away his hands as he tried to get her attention, when the knocking sounded again, louder and more insistent. He wrenched his mouth away from hers. “Bugger off!” he snarled. The knocking continued, though, and if he couldn’t get Belle to stop soon…

With a start Gold opened his eyes to a very empty office. The lights were still on, there was a brief stuck to his face, his back was aching from the angle at which he’d fallen asleep, and...he glanced down at his lap and sighed. He was painfully hard, but at least he hadn’t completely humiliated himself. To make matters worse, the knocking wasn’t part of the dream.

“What?” he shouted, scrubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes.

The door opened and David Nolan poked his head in. “Hey, you okay? I was knocking for awhile...were you asleep?”

“What. Do. You. Want?” Gold growled, dragging his fingers through his unkempt hair.

“I’ve got the Lefleur-French divorce papers here. One of the interns brought them to my office by mistake.” Nolan held the file out for Gold to take.

Gold stayed where he was.

Nolan raised his eyebrows and gave the file a little shake, as if Gold’s vision were movement-based and he simply hadn’t seen it. When David’s face lit with realization Gold wished he could crawl under his desk and die.

“I’ll just, uh...leave this here, then,” David said, his voice thick with amusement as he dropped the file on the coffee table. He was almost out the door when he seemed to remember something. “Oh, Regina is having a dinner party this weekend and she asked us to invite you.”

“What, no formal invitation?”

“She literally said, ‘Make sure you invite that grumpy bastard Gold, too.’”

“I’m flattered.”

“So it’s this Saturday at 7. If you’re up for it.” David winced at his choice of words and tried again. “I mean, if you wanna come. I...I mean…”

“GET OUT. ”

David shut the door quickly, but not before Gold heard him chuckle. With a groan Gold rose to his feet and limped to the table to retrieve the file. He flipped through the contents, allowing the dry legal jargon to envelop his brain and drown out any other heated thoughts. They certainly looked ready, and God knew he’d been picky enough about the language over the last week.

He returned to his desk and took a deep, steadying breath before dialing a number that he really shouldn’t know by heart.

“Hi, Mr. Gold!”

She always sounded so damn happy to hear from him. He’d never had a client so thrilled to talk to her divorce attorney before.

“Good afternoon, Miss French. Do you have time to talk?”

“With you? Always!”

Why did she have to say things like that? His stupid heart beat a little faster. “Spencer’s minions just dropped off the final draft of the divorce papers. Everything looks in order. Would you like to make an appointment to sign them?”

“Of course. Only...rats, I’m booked solid this week. D’you think you could come by tomorrow afternoon? I have a couple of appointments but I’ve got a window between one and two, and I wouldn’t have time to run down there, sign stuff, and then run back.”

“That’s no problem,” he assured her. “I’ll see you tomorrow around one.”

“It’s a date!” she chirped, and signed off.

“Oh, shut up,” Gold muttered to himself and his suddenly very interested lower half. “She didn’t mean it like that.” No change. No one listened to him anymore, not even his own body. Well, Gold thought, getting to his feet again, personal bathrooms existed for a reason.

When Belle opened to his knock, Gold felt the breath leave his body as if he’d stepped into a vacuum. Running shorts and a sports bra. That was it. That was all she was wearing. Her thick dark hair was swept up in a ponytail and little rivulets of sweat were trickling over her skin.

“Come on in, Mr. Gold,” she smiled, opening the door a little wider. “Sorry about…” she gestured vaguely to herself, “I was with my personal trainer.”

He reminded himself that he was fifty-two and a brilliant and eloquent lawyer. There was no reason for him to be struck dumb by this woman every time he saw her. Nodding in acknowledgement, he stepped into the tastefully decorated foyer. She led him to a living room - was walking in front of him in those shorts really necessary? - and made a sweeping gesture with one of her hands.

“Sit anywhere you like. I’ll get us some iced tea.”

Excellent. He would have a moment to convince his brain and vocal cords that this was not the time to take a sabbatical. Digging through his briefcase, he came up with the at-long-last finalized divorce papers. All she needed to do was sign, and then he would file them with the judge and she would be free.

And he would probably never see her again.

He had a wild urge to burn the papers. He could claim they’d spontaneously combusted.

Disgust welled up inside him and he clenched his hands into fists, allowing the nails of his fingers to dig into his palms. He knew better , damn it. Her fondness for him was not real: he was the man who had gotten her out of an impossible situation, had forced her harpy of a mother-in-law to back down, and had ensured that she could stay in her home for as long as she wished. Once he was out of her life she would forget about him and meet another handsome young buck to marry, one who would worship her in all the ways she dreamed of. And that was how it was supposed to be. There was nothing new or original in any of this. He was the only one suffering, here, and that was just because he was an idiot who had broken the cardinal rule of being a divorce lawyer: don’t fall in love with the client.

Belle re-entered then with two iced teas, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that she hadn’t changed out of her workout clothes. Or at least put on a T-shirt or something. She set his glass on the coffee table and sat, not on the armchair across from him, but on the sofa directly beside him.

“Here’s to freedom,” she smiled, holding up her glass as if for a toast. He touched her glass with his own, took a sip, and set it down, not trusting his hands at the moment.

“Well, here we are,” he said cheerily, setting the papers before her and handing her the pen from his shirt pocket. “A few signatures and the deed is done.”

Her eyes searched his face before plucking the pen from his fingers. “And this...this is really it? Are you sure there aren’t any more clauses that need to be reworded? No more errors in syntax? No more words that could be exchanged for a more specific synonym?”

Gold squirmed a little as she enumerated all of the excuses he’d given for not having her sign the papers just yet. A little more tweaking, dearie, don’t want you signing away something without knowing you’re doing it. “This is it. Three signatures and you’re free of us all.”

His pen hovered over the paper. “Us all? What does that mean?”

“Ex-husband, ex-mother-in-law, attorneys, judges, the whole lot of us. Gone from your life for good.”

He could feel Belle’s eyes on him, but he’d looked down to study the carpet. She really did have excellent taste. Perhaps he could hire her to redo his own gloomy apartment. That would be a way to see her again. A pathetic, transparent way, perhaps, but…

Her hand was on his arm and he couldn’t then avoid looking up at her. Her eyes were large and luminous, and he thought he saw a smile lurking somewhere in their depths. “I didn’t realize I was divorcing you, too,” she said gently.

He shrugged. “You won’t want reminders of your marriage, dearie. It’s only natural.”

“You don’t remind me of my marriage. You help me forget about it, or at least think about it as a stage of my life that was necessary for growth but well behind me now.” She twirled the pen in her hands. “I don’t want to sign this and have you use it as an excuse never to talk to me again.”

“Miss French...”

“Belle.”

He swallowed. “Belle.”

“It might sound silly, but...I’ve started to think of you as a friend. I like you, and I thought you liked me. Was that just me projecting?”

Sighing, he shook his head. “No.”

“Okay, then...I’ll sign these and...we’ll meet up for coffee sometime?”

“Sure.” It would never happen. He knew that. After a week of not seeing or talking to him she would remember that she had other friends. Better friends. Probably younger, fitter, more handsome friends. He would never hear from her again.

She smiled brightly and leaned over the coffee table to sign the papers and he tried very, very hard not to watch too closely, but she was so beautiful and so close and wearing nothing but a sports bra and he wasn’t made of stone.

“There!” She slapped the pen on the table and beamed at him. “Done! I am Belle Lefleur no more!” She frowned. “Well, actually...for a little while longer, I guess, until the name change goes through. Oh, well, that’ll be something else to celebrate.”

He tried to smile, but from the look on her face he didn’t think he was entirely successful. “I should go, let you get to your next appointment.”

“Yeah, sure! Thanks for coming by.”

She walked him to the door, kissed him on the cheek again (good fucking grief) and waved him on his way, and Gold let out a long, slow breath as he waited for the elevator.

It was over. Finally over.

He should feel relieved, but really he felt...sad.

And aroused as hell.

[dgwrites-stuff]

Editing and Feedback Checklist

I wrote this for myself a while back and recently shared it with my writing group. Hopefully it’ll be useful for other people too!

You might have the best idea in the world, but if it isn’t presented appropriately, you’ll get nowhere. I use all of the lists below in my own editing. This first list will be most useful when giving feedback to your peers; sharing creative ideas is helpful. The second list is my editing and proofreading one. This stuff is seriously important. If you get all of that right, you’ll look like a writer who knows their shit. Make sure you know your shit. The last list I usually use when I’m coming to the end of my edits and I’ll double check I haven’t left any of those points unattended. They’re fairly obvious, but when you’re editing several thousand words, it’s hard to get everything in one sweep, so you usually have to look for a few specific things at a time. This is, by far, not a conclusive list. It’s just a useful guide that I use in my own work and that I thought I’d share to help people out.

Questions regarding the story as a whole

1.       Plot:

a.       Is the scene set well?

b.       Do you like the events? Is there something else you would have liked to have seen happen? Another direction the story could have gone?

c.       Strong first sentence?

d.       Strong first paragraph?

e.       Satisfying ending (anyone writing ‘she woke up and realised it was all a bad dream’ will be shot – you’re better than this!)

f.        Is there any part of the story that is predictable?

2.       Pace:

a.       Were there any paragraphs that are too fast/slow?

b.       Did you want more description anywhere? (People and place)

c.       Did you find there was too much description in places?

d.       Is the action described appropriately? (Quick and effective – like a mugging. This isn’t Hollywood: we don’t do slow motion action scenes of bullets flying and damsel-in-distress-screams. Trigger pulled. Bang. Body hits the floor. Game over.)

e.       Is there any point in the story where you lost interest/skipped words and sentences? Be honest – this is important.

3.       Characters:

a.       Are they realistic?

b.       Are they consistent (an emotional character at the start of your story might be a little disturbed after witnessing someone be pancacked by a double-decker.)

c.       Are there too many/too few?

d.       Are they different enough from each other?

e.       Are they introduced gradually – not five all in one go so that the reader has no clue which one is the one with purple hair and a nipple-piercing.

4.       Tense:

a.       Is the tense appropriate?

i.      Would it better in present/past tense? If you’re unsure, change your first paragraph to the other tense and use that to inform your decision.

5.       Person:

a.       Is third person most appropriate, or first?

i.      Like the above, if you’re unsure, change your first paragraph to the other.

6.       Style:

a.       How close is the narrator to the reader? Are they chatting away to you over a cup of tea, or is it more of an ‘Attenborough’ narrator, describing what he sees and why they do things?

b.       Is the style appropriate for the story you’re telling? Sitting on the shoulder of a narrator might be perfect for a murder mystery, but maybe less so for a fantasy tale with complex concepts. Figure out how ‘attached’ you want your reader to be – do you want your reader to see everything your character does, or is it a little more omniscient?

c.       Lexis (not a typo for the car) – what is your vocabulary like? As a university student, you probably know big words. These aren’t usually appropriate for a fictional novel. Choose your words carefully.

d.       Think about who is telling the story and how they would speak. Would the narrator use colloquial and contracted language, or would it be written with full and ‘proper’ English?

THE IMPORTANT STUFF

If you’re sending anything off to anyone that isn’t part of your writing group, you need to make sure all of this stuff is perfect. I’m not kidding: not even your mum wants to read something riddled with typos and grammatical errors.

1.       Capital letters. Full stops.

a.       Sounds like obvious stuff, but when your fingers are flying at 30-keys a second, you want to make sure you catch these bad boys before you get your manuscript shoved back in your face. Grammarly and digital proofers will usually pick these up, but make sure you double-check.

2.       Apostrophes

a.       These are easy to miss when you’re in ‘the zone’. I won’t hold it against anyone who misses a few on their first edit. After edit two, these errors should be gone. That’s why you have writing friends and English nerds.

b.       It’s/hasn’t/she’s – these are all using the apostrophe to replace a letter. They are two words glued together.

c.       They donkey’s left bollock – this shows the left bollock belongs to the donkey. I don’t know who the right one belongs to. The apostrophe is possessive.

d.       James’ dad likes to eat wild mushrooms – this one is also possessive. This is more of a stylistic thing, but in other countries, it could be written James’s. The UK way is like the first example, and most broadly accepted.

3.       Commas

a.       The first draft always has weird commas. You look at them and think ‘how the hell did you get there?’ It’s usually with these little shits that the thought comes up ‘Oh my God, I’m a terrible writer, I’m never going to make it.’ This is why we have editing!

b.       Before you tell me commas aren’t that big of a deal, have a look here: ‘Let’s eat Grandma/Let’s eat, Grandma.’ I don’t know about you, but I prefer my Grannies roasted. Here’s another: ‘This book is dedicated to my siblings, Jenny and God.’ Now, if you’re siblings with his almightiness, then this works fine. If not, then you’ve got a bit of ambiguity here.

4.       Semi-colons:

a.       I love these things. Read this: http://theoatmeal.com/comics/semicolon

5.       Typos

a.       We all cringe at the random autocorrected work that Word thinks is right. Make sure you check your work for duck’s sake!

6.        Clarity

a.       Whatever you write, you want people to understand you. If you’re going through your writing and tripping up a little or getting lost, have a restructure. Usually, it’s nothing a little punctuation can’t fix.

b.       Use language everyone will understand – not everyone knows

7.       Speech

a.       There’s usually quite a bit of confusion about how to write speech. Where do you put the commas? How do you punctuate it when you have a dialogue tag? What about action?

b.       “My uncle is as dim as that lightbulb,” James said, pointing to the lampshade. // Laura frowned. “But it’s off.” // “Exactly,” he grinned, “that light was switched off years ago.” Okay, so that last bit doesn’t make a lot of sense, but you can see what I’m doing with the punctuation.

c.       Each time a new person speaks, a new paragraph ensues. In the above example, the // shows the paragraph breaks.

d.       Use ‘said’ or use action. Anything else use sparingly. Do this and your reader will throw darts at a printed picture of you: “Red,” Kyle said miserably. “Blue,” Tiffany said excitedly. “Yellow,” June said uncertainly. “Why are we saying colours?” Rory said nervously.

e.       If someone shouts, do not put it in capitals; you’re not texting.

f.        Italics are for emphasis. Don’t do what I’ve done in this and underlined stuff. You don’t see it in your novels, so don’t do it in yours.

Last checks

The above are all the things you need to go over with a fine-tooth comb. Make sure all that stuff is in order and tidy. Now you need to look for changes that will make your writing sparkle!

1.       Use common language.

2.       Omit needless words.

3.       Don’t dump all your fantastic research in one go – fly tipping is illegal, and no one likes it.

4.       Don’t be obvious.

a.       ‘She nodded her head.’ Well what else is she going to nod?

b.       ‘He clapped his hands.’ Well what else is he going to clap? His feet!?

c.       ‘She blinked her eyes.’ You get it by now.

5.       Try and avoid the words up/down.

a.       ‘He sat down on the bench.’ You can just say ‘he sat on the bench.’ Nothing is lost and it’s easier to read.

b.       ‘She climbed up the stairs.’ You don’t really climb down stairs.

6.       Give your reader credit.

a.       As much as we might think it, they’re not stupid. They have brains. If you say ‘they sat across from each other,’ we assume they’re say on chairs, probably at a table, probably directly opposite.

7.       ADJECTIVES

a.       You misuse these, and I’ll tell Stephen King. Sparingly is the only way.

8.       Clichés

a.       These are bad.

b.       Unless you’re twisting them or playing with them, just don’t.

9.       Use character action to express emotion

a.       ‘He was angry. He punched her in the face.’ You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to know that a punch to the face usually means someone is pissed with you.

10.   Verbs are what sets an amazing writer aside from a good writer.

a.       I’m serious. A good writer might do something like this, ‘He walked down the road, wincing every time he put his ankle down. He looked in a shop window, saw the security camera, and moved swiftly on.’

b.       An amazing writer will have more fun with it: ‘He limped down the road, head down, hands in pockets. He glanced in a shop window, spotted a security camera, and hurried on.’ Good verb choice takes your writing up a level. Be an amazing writer.

At the end of the day, if you’re ever unsure about anything, go to your bookshelf and pick out a traditionally published book (you’d be safer learning from a traditionally published book). Flick through and find an example of what you’re stuck on. See how the pros do it. If they’ve been published, it means a whole team has read that book. A professional editor, proof reader, and copy editor has gone through it and done their job. These are the industry standards, and you need to make sure you’re on their level.

[taylornationtv]

Cleveland Browns General Manager John Dorsey chats with the media:

Opening statement:

“Good morning, all. Before we talk about the draft, processes and players in there, I would like to recognize the professional sports teams in the city of Cleveland. First, with the Indians. For me, I’m kind of excited. I like baseball, and my wife loves baseball so after the draft and we go through this, we get a chance to go watch some baseball. Then you look at the Cavaliers, they have had an amazing season. The game they played last night, all I say is guys, keep it up. That is pretty cool. Listen, in this draft process is it a collaborative effort. We all know that. It is important to recognize the guys in the personnel department, the guys in the analytics department and (Head Coach) Hue (Jackson) and the coaching staff for all of the hours and the time that they have put into this thing. I want to personally thank those guys. Really all of it does not happen unless Dee and Jimmy Haslam give us the resources to kind of make this thing happen. We all know in this room that this is an important draft for this organization and the community of Cleveland – we all know that – and it won’t be from lack of hard work and trying to get this thing right.”

 On if Cavaliers forward LeBron James could help the Browns:

“I will tell you what, maybe one of these days we will get an athlete like that, and impact the game, which is always cool.”

 On if the team has decided who to select No. 1 overall:

“I’m a guy of processes. I’m a guy of structure. I’m a guy of systems. I’m a creature of habit. I have done it for 27 years. Where we are in the process right now, the draft is seven days away here. I’m very confident in where we are in the process moving forward. I am going to meet with the offensive staff here today at like 1 to 5:30, and then tomorrow, we are meeting with the defensive staff to kind of get their viewpoints on that in combination with the scouting staff. There are still a couple of days here in this thing to get this thing where we want it to be.”

 On if his mind has changed at all about specific QB prospects during the process:

“I think you have to have an open mind in this process. I think you have to listen to all of the information that is filtered to you. You also have to watch them play the game and who is best to impact [the game]. That is what I look at in games – who is best to impact [the game]?  How do they play the game of football? Then are they good people? Do they love the game of football? Will their teammates like them? That is kind of how I look at things.”

 On if he has determined the top quarterback in the 2018 NFL Draft:

“It is not I. It is we. I still look at it this way, the draft is still seven days away. I am very confident in where we are in the process. The draft is seven days away for me.”

 On his pre-draft process:

“In terms of the process – I do not want to give too many trade secrets away – the process is to get consensus within the organization. That starts early on in February. By that, I mean that the college scouts have a 17-day meeting. We sit as a group as an organization, and we begin to do that type of meeting. Also right before the combine, the coaches will get a list of players to begin to evaluate in the upcoming draft. They will begin their process of ranking their players, as well. Then we come back, and after the combine, there are workouts. You begin to analyze data and numbers. Then as a group, you begin to watch more film. Then the college scouts who have been on the road, they come back in here and you sit for about 10 days and you evaluate each position as a group again, and things may have changed over the course of the spring. Then we come together as an organization, personnel, coaching and we sit there and begin to build and come to a consensus and kind of bring that together so I can hear everybody’s viewpoints and objectives. At the end of the day, we are going to try to make what is the best decision for this organization as we can.”

 On the importance that the organization has consensus and believes the team ultimately selected the best players with the top draft picks:

“That is why you have to have discussion. You have to listen. You have to encourage guys to speak up so everybody’s viewpoints are taken into effect. At the end of the day, we want good football players here, and we are going to get good football players here. We are going to get good football players here. We just so happen to be at the top of the draft, but I am confident in this process.”

 On reports the Browns will select Wyoming QB Josh Allen No. 1 overall, per ‘friend of Dorsey’:

“Really. What do I say? First off, who is ‘friend of Dorsey?’ Second of all, I’m going to tell you all I go black in this time of year. For a month, I don’t listen to radio, I don’t watch TV and I don’t pick up the newspaper. I think in scouting when you do that, you see the purity of information, you see the facts and you see the film without listening to the outside white noise. That is kind of why I always have done it.”

 On evaluating USC QB Sam Darnold, including his fumbles:

“In terms of the fumbles? I think you have to sit and evaluate how he handles the mechanics of the ball. What are the causes of those fumbles? I think you evaluate that by a case-by-case basis.”

 On if it is difficult to fix the fumbles:

“I don’t think it is. I don’t think it is.”

 On if the No. 1 overall pick comes down to best player available or best QB available and if the Browns are obligated to take a QB with the top selection:

“I’m very confident in the processes where we are right now. The draft is seven days away.”

 On if it easier for coaches to improve a QBs’ completion percentage or fumbling, in regards to Allen and Darnold, respectively:

“Let me sit here and think about it. You know seriously, that sounds like a trick question. We are not doing a trick question here. The only thing I really care about is do the guys win? Does he have accuracy? Does he have a strong arm? Can he throw the ball in the red zone and in tight windows? Can he drive the ball? At the end of the game, does he win? That is kind of what I look for.”

 On if arm talent or mental factors matter more in evaluating QBs:

“It is not as easy as separating the two. You have to be able to assess the whole package, because we are human beings and you have to be able to take the physical skillsets and also the emotional and mental skillsets that actually make the body move on the field. How does he react to adverse situations? I think it is a combination of how guys move on the field, but then do they have the physical skillsets to do those things needed to be highly successful in the National Football League.”

 On QB Patrick Mahomes II playing in the Big 12:

“He was a three or four-time academic All-Big 12 quarterback.”

 On deciding to trade up for Mahomes last year:

“You all know me well enough here, I am a stickler for certain things. Unfortunately, Patrick Mahomes is with another team, and it probably would not do us fair or him fair to talk about him or anther team’s players. I really don’t feel comfortable doing that.”

 On Mahomes’ attributes coming out of Texas Tech:

“Again, you start to talk about the player that is another team’s player. I feel uncomfortable [talking more about it] because all of sudden, they could submit a violation of the rules and I surely do not want to break those.”

 On the most important attribute when considering a franchise QB – best fit, arm talent or projections:

“What you have to understand first is the offensive package that the Cleveland Browns are trying to get. Then you have to see, can he fit into those packages? Then, does he have certain physical skillsets that you know will succeed in moving this franchise forward? That is kind of what I look for.”

 On his scouting experience and how it benefits his draft process:

“As I have always said, really to have an understanding of what scouting and players are, you have to be in the scouting world for at least five years to understand and to learn from trial and error. Then as you are in rooms with experienced scouts, you begin to listen as they talk as a group. You sit and listen, [watch] film together, and you begin different concepts. Hey, maybe as a young man, maybe I didn’t understand this or see this. Then you start picking their brain. Slowly, you begin to develop and learn as long as you have somebody at the top who is willing to teach you as a young man. I think it is invaluable to have that system in place because if you have a person in place who allows young guys to take ownership in their craft, I think they are going to work really hard at getting developed. I was fortunate to have that with (Pro Football Hall of Fame GM) Ron Wolf many years ago, to teach and develop a lot of us young guys. In terms of the art of scouting, he never had a closed agenda and he was always willing to answer any question. You have to gain experience. It is all about experience.”

 On communicating with internal staff regarding draft operations and decisions and if he tells individuals at a specific time:

“I listen to a lot of different things. Again, I am very confident in where we are. Seriously, I am very confident in where we are in the process. The communication within the building, for example, Hue and I, we talk about an unbelievable amount of things four or five times a day. Ownership and I talk at least two or three times a day, too. I think the lines of communication within this building are as good as we have had. I am very happy with where we are right now.”

 On if playing in Cleveland and the AFC North has an impact on evaluating QBs:

“We all know that the elements in Cleveland play a role. We all say it and you all laugh at me when I say it, but I think hand size is important. With that being said, hand size in November and December in the elements when it is snowing, when it is raining, it is muddy, the hand size. That is what you were talking about in terms of the fumbles of Darnold. You are worried about that sometimes. So hand size.”

 On if where a player grew up or played college football impacts on if they are selected:

“No, not at all. Not at all. Once you meet the person – I always like to meet guys face-to-face and find out who they are – then, you find out who he is and you look at certain things. Will he fit in the locker room? Will he be a good guy in the locker room? Will guys like him? Can he lead young men to wins and victories? Those are the kinds of things I look for.”

 On having confidence going into the draft:

“What I am confident in is the system that we kind of have unfolded here because I know that this particular system has a degree of success. It has been proven over time. It is a pretty good system. That is one.”

 On confidence level involving finding a franchise QB:

“Again, I am confident in the system. I am confident in the people in the room and their understanding and their experience. I am comfortable with the coaching staff that we have here. Overall, the process, the system, has proven over time that it can be successful. That is why I am confident. I am not over confident because you never can be, but I am confident.”

 On describing the system in place:

“Defining the system would be listening to every piece of information you can get. You cannot get enough information. Be very prudent. Be very patient. Also, trust your eyes. Watch the film.”

 On how much Cleveland’s draft board has changed since before the NFL Combine:

“I am not going to put a number on it, but there have been some adjustments to that board. I am not going to put a number on how much it has changed up or down, but adjustments have been made. That is only logical because you actually are starting to get more information in regards to their physical skillset and other pieces of information.”

 On changes to the Browns QB room:

“With (QB) Tyrod (Taylor), you get experience. You get a guy who understands how to get to the payoffs. You get a guy who understands how to extend a play. With (QB) Drew (Stanton), I have always thought that the second quarterback is the guy who has got a little bit of veteran presence with him. He is going to help. That No. 2 guy is invaluable to the starter when they start game planning on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday getting ready for a game. Also, if in fact we have to go the young guy route, he will be that bridge to kind of teach him how to be a professional because there is only one way that a young man is going to learn how to be professional in this game, and that is by true professionals. That is kind of why you do this thing.”

 On how this draft process is different than when having the No. 1 pick in 2013 with Kansas City:

“There are probably more quarterbacks in this draft. Seriously, realistically, I could say that there may be five quarterbacks taken in the first round here or there may be four, but there will be a number of quarterbacks. Where in the 2013 draft, I think EJ Manuel (Buffalo), he went [in the first round], and Geno (Smith) went in the second (NY Jets) so there really was not a true guy in the upper echelon of that draft.”

 On if having fewer QBs changed his draft process in 2013:

“No, I think that the process has to be consistent year in and year out and how you go about this thing.”

 On getting decision-makers on the same page in regards to who gets drafted at QB:

“I had the chance to draft a quarterback in the first round last year, and you know what, there was a consensus. If in fact I go down that route with a quarterback, there will be consensus there. If you are like-minded in thinking, you will be able to see the same things or we could talk things through and find out exactly what the differences are. Maybe, we go back and say, ‘I see that.’ That is what you do. You just have to sit and listen and just let the process play itself out.”

 On the likelihood of drafting a quarterback No. 1 overall or the possibility of trading the top pick:

“I think I have said this consistently and I think that I said it to you about a month ago that I am going to consider all options. I am going to try to do what is best for this organization. I still have seven days before the draft. I still have to go through some of the processes. That is not to say that you know what? My phone is still on, the power is still on. We are going to do what is best for this organization regardless. Let’s say you do trade out and then you have to weigh the value of the player versus the trade so you have to play those two options, too. At the end of the day, you are going to do what is best for the organization.”

 On reports that Penn State RB Saquon Barkley, Alabama DB Minkah Fitzpatrick and NC State DL Bradley Chubb did not make official visits to Cleveland:

“A man once told me, don’t show all of your cards at once.”

 On what the Browns staff knows about Barkley, Fitzpatrick and Chubb:

“They are great kids. All three of them are awesome kids. What more do you need to know about them? I have talked to each one of them on the side at the combine. I know what there are as people. Why waste a 30-player visit? If there are guys you have questions about, why not bring those guys in here?”

 On if the function of bringing prospects in is to see ‘what kind of people they are’:

“You cannot recruit them anymore; you have got to draft them.”

 On if he has received calls about the top picks from other teams:

“My phone always rings.”

 On if any of the calls were ‘worth considering’:

“As you sit there and analyze that, there are some options that have been presented. Last I saw, the draft is seven days away, and we have a lot of time to think about it.”

 On when talks will ‘heat up’:

“Draft day.”

 On the WR group:

“Sitting there, with (WR) Josh (Gordon), we all know what his abilities are. With (WR) Jarvis Landry, he knows what he brings to the team. Where (WR) Corey (Coleman) is in the process, you would expect him to make big strides in Year 3. I’m excited to see the new (WR) Jeff Janis and see what he does from a vertical perspective if he can get geared into this offensive system. Then you have to let the other young guys fight out for their roster spot. Who’s to say? We may get a receiver or two in this draft.”

 On his hope for how Browns fans will react to the team’s draft selections:

“We all know that the Cleveland Browns fan base is as good as there is in the National Football League. I understand the passion of why they are so good. I was reading a book somewhere where of the original 11 football teams in the National Football League, I was going through this and I found it fascinating that five of those 11 teams, they were all from cities in Ohio. That just shows you the importance of football within this community. All I can tell them is that it won’t be from lack of hard work. We are going to do our due diligence in terms of bringing really good football players to awake the sleeping giant as we have said in the past. We are going to awake this thing. That is how I look at it.”

 On if Barkley is still being considered for the No. 1 overall pick:

“Why wouldn’t I? The guy is a really good football player. Absolutely. You cannot have enough of them on your team.”

 On if the Browns selecting DL Myles Garrett No. 1 overall last season impacts the potential to take Chubb high in this year’s draft:

“I don’t think that necessarily. I think what you have to do – again, we talk about listening – you listen to how teams are built. Who is on your team, and then you look at those types of players and the impact that they can have on your team. Now, the guy from North Carolina State is a really good football player. I continually say, you cannot have enough of these good football players on your team. If it so happens that he becomes a member of the organization, I would be thrilled to have a guy like that, again, because he fits all of the models we talk about. He is a good football player. He is a man of character. He would be great in the locker room. Really, he is a super kid.”

 On Oklahoma QB Baker Mayfield and his character as an ‘off the-field guy’:

“Well, you guys always try to create the narrative of this guy of that he’s like something he’s not. We said that back at the Senior Bowl. Just meeting with him, he is a pleasant fella. He is pretty sharp. He is fine. I have no problems with him.”

 On UCLA QB Josh Rosen, given the off-field ‘public narrative’ about him:

“I have had the chance to be around him in three different environments, and every environment I was around with him, I had no problem with him. I thought that he was very smart. He is very passionate. He is a broad thinker now. Maybe that is the thing people talk about; he is a broad thinker. He has lots of interests, but it won’t be from lack of he doesn’t like football. He is very competitive in that regard. I’m fine with him. People can talk all they want, but me personally, I’m fine with him. I thought he was a neat kid.”

 On being open to trading first-round picks and if he would consider trading back up into the first round or if he likes having two early picks on Day 2:

“I like having the first pick of Day 2. I do like that, but that is not to say that I wouldn’t try to package something together. If I felt that I could go up and get a player that would help this team, I wouldn’t [be against] package it up and move and go get that player. Again, I keep telling you, I am going to keep my options wide open, and determine the player versus the trade options.”

Source: Cleveland Browns