#pen is a lot smarter then people give him credit for

[sandrockian]

WIP Drabble / Push & Pull

( I genuinely believe that Pen isn't wholly oblivious or meatheaded. On some level, he knows exactly what he's doing, and Builder Liira is the only one who can see through him. She piques his interest, and now he can't seem to leave her alone ( much to her chagrin ).

Liira stopped, and her self-control had returned enough that she hesitated only briefly before turning to face the self-proclaimed protector of Sandrock. "I have to leave, or I'll be late for work. Yan's expecting me," Pen hummed and glanced down at his wristwatch. "It's a short walk, Skinny. You'll have plenty of time to attend Miguel's sermon and make it back to the Commerce Guild." Stubborn bastard!

"I like to leave early in case of an emergency commission."

The explanation didn't budge Pen. Instead, his heavy-lidded blue eyes moved over her, their expression shielded.

"Why do you insist on fighting me. Skinny Arms?"

"I'm not fighting you. I'm just not interested in attending service today."

Or ever.

Pen laughed and shook his head. "Miguel requested that I start escorting you to church. Your recurring absences have already been noted."

"I'm. Not. Interested," Liira repeated, this time with her teeth clenched. His obstinance was already fraying her temper. She needed to get away from him. Now. "Who the hell do you think you are? Do you think you can show up at my shop and drag me away from my work? I'm not afraid of you!" She was spitting in her fury, her utter outrage.

"Tsk. This again, Skinny? I'm trying to be understanding." His gaze raked over her again. "But then again, I don't have to be," he said softly. This time when his eyelids lifted, she saw the dark gleam of an unknown emotion that made her stiffen, a chill of apprehension curling in the pit of her stomach.

It would be more difficult to evade him than she'd thought, for he sensed the response she couldn't quite mask.

Pen came down the steps toward her, and she swiftly retreated to her horse. Liira jerked the front gate open and practically jumped behind it, using it as a barricade against him. Pen regarded her behind the gate, his eyes sharp now, piercingly intent.

"Calm down," he murmured. "Don't be so upset, Skinny. I'm just looking out for you."

Liira glared at him, agitated almost beyond endurance. If he didn't leave soon, she would lose control and say something she knew she would regret. Slowly, she reached down for her pickaxe for support, her knuckles white with effort.

[from-the-clouds]

You have me daydreaming about this alt universe professor kendall. Tell me every headcanonyou have, you're keeping me sane in these times of ken uncertainty.

Forever Thankful as ken girlie for all that you do feeding a starving fandom 💖

hmmmmmm....i'm trying to think of anything else good to add. some of these things i mentioned forever ago here. but.

he always drinks tea or coffee out of a thermos he brings to class. sometimes if you arrive to class early enough you can catch him outside smoking a cigarette and reading the student-run newspaper. he gives off this vibe that he's smarter and better than everyone else but you notice how much he actually seems to follow what goes on around campus and he loves facilitating discussions in class. like, one time you see him at a student art show. but he leaves before too many people show up, but not without stopping to tell the student how much he enjoyed it. for as stern and standoffish as he can be, he really seems to love what he does. he dresses exactly like you think he would, lots of earth tones, brown tweed blazers with cashmere sweaters underneath. his clothes look soft and expensive, and he smells really fucking good on the occasions you've gotten close enough. he grades all his essays with red pen. obviously people know what his first name is, but he never so much as references it ever, and insists that everyone calls him "Doctor Roy" and not "Mr. Roy". apparently there was a kid a few years back that thought it'd be funny to call him "Kendall" on the first day of class, and he berated him so intensely that the kid ended up dropping the class.

you're young and still figuring out what you want to study so you take one of his classes as a general elective, it's one of those, like, 1000 level classes that you can tell he doesn't like teaching as much because there are so many students like you, who just want a credit and don't care because it doesn't count towards their major. but when you start getting interested in the actual subject, he notices and encourages you to take another class of his the following semester. like you have to go to his office hours and interview so he can sign a permission slip to let you into the class. and you feel so warmed by the fact that he notices you and sees you even in a class full of so many students, so you do. and that classes is smaller, and requires you to talk to him a lot more.... so the pathetic crush you've been nursing only gets more and more intense.

[marshmallowprotection]

Here are some very cute facts about chicken cause I love them and they should be appreciated a bit more! Yes those chicken dad Saeran asks totally put me up to this

They have great memory! Chickens can actually remember the name you give them, as well as your face. They will come running to you like feathery puppies when you call them by name or come home from work. They will get all excited to see you in the morning as well, I had a rooster that used to start his 'cockadoodledoo' sessions only after seeing me come out to feed them lol

They REALLY enjoy the sun. So, by all means, imagine Saeran laying on the grass next to a couple of chickens peacefully sunbathing next to him. Although they will dig themselves up into the dirt so he'll have to be prepared for that :) Dirt baths are their favourites

They're way smarter than people give them credit for. Like, you can literally train them like you do with dogs and take them for a walk. Although it CAN be risky without a harness so it's better to be prepared. It was easier for me to teach chickens tricks rather than cats, for example. They'll learn your commands and will gladly train with you. It's fun for them! Also, they're really protective of their owner, even the hens. So yes, Saeyoung pretty much CAN get attacked by an angry chicken for bothering his brother.

Oh, and did I mention that they will 'purr' whenever they're really happy and content? It's the most precious thing ever, really

Chickens are really neat and I love them

You know, I think the funniest thing I've learned from this is that if Saeran is just trying to enjoy himself in his chicken pen with all of his feathery friends, Saeyoung is strictly banned from coming out there if he's not invited. I want him to get chased by a hoard of chickens for the sake of it. I don't think he'd mind. it's not like he can't outrun the lot of them, he would just want to establish to Saeran that it's okay to hang out by himself for a little while and that his clucking friends will take care of it.

Are you gonna laugh when you see Saeran scoop up a chicken to let it get a better view of the sky? I hope not. He's helping them out so it feels like they're flying. He wants to touch the sky, too... maybe they feel the same way? There's a lot of cute potential to poke fun at farmer Saeran.

[smalltownbcy]

I know I say a lot of the time that my boy has rocks for brains, but really Mike is one of the smartest people in the show. Like even though he's away from Hawkins and all the stuff going down there in season 4 he's still the one to solve shit that's going down in California. Although it feels like he's more withdrawn than he is in earlier seasons, he still steps up and figure things out when everyone else is at a loss of what to do. Like he figures out the number when he realized the pen doesn't work in order to get a hold of Owens and find the Nina project. He's the one that figures out that Suzie is the closest person to them that can help find the coordinates to get to Nina. He doesn't solve everything of course like El figures out the piggyback idea while Argyle comes up with the idea of using the pizza dough freezer as a bathtub, but he's a lot smarter than people give him credit for sometimes.

[acefms]

🚫 PROHIBITED (ace), 💚 GREEN HEART sofia), 🤔 THINKING FACE (atlas), 🐈 CAT (august), 🖊️ BALLPOINT PEN (kyro), 💘 HEART WITH ARROW (luna),😖 CONFOUNDED FACE (landon), 💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL (felix)

🚫 PROHIBITED — does your oc drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?

Ace, very admittedly, drinks more than he should. He enjoys having a drink, but he is aware it is something he should try and cut back on. He smokes on occasion, but not regularly. He is prone to the occasional edible.

💚 GREEN HEART — does your oc prefer being inside or outside?

A mix of both, honestly. Sofia loves fresh air and a nice view, but she also loves being at home with old music playing, having a little dance while drinking a glass of wine. It’s not an either or, more a case of the mood she’s in.

🤔 THINKING FACE — what are some of your oc's quirks/mannerisms?

Atlas literally can’t go on with his day if he doesn’t start it off with a coffee whilst he’s reading the newspaper. He’s a weirdly fast walker. If he’s walking with someone it’s an actual effort to keep the same pace. Literally still pays with cash everywhere.

🐈 CAT — does your oc prefer a wide circle of friends or a few close friends?

Oh, a small amount of close friends for sure. August does not trust people enough to have a large group of friends and she moves around too much to make them. She is good at making acquaintances though, especially when it benefits her.

🖊️ BALLPOINT PEN — does your oc have any tattoos? do they want any (more) tattoos?

Kyro has one tattoo in memory of his father. It’s of him on his fathers shoulders as a child and Kyro is carrying his fathers last ever belt, kind of a nod to carrying on the legacy type thing. It’s on the back of his right calf.

💘 HEART WITH ARROW — what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?

Her family, of course. Luna loves her two dads and her brother Owen more than anything. There is not a single thing she wouldn’t do for them. But she also cares very deeply about each person she mentors through her job. She takes each case very seriously, and every one of their stories stick with her.

😖 CONFOUNDED FACE — is your oc an introvert, an extrovert, or an ambivert? do they let people in easily, or are they more reserved?

Landon is an introvert and always has been. He’s definitely the observer. If he’s in a space with other people he’s very clued in to what is going on. He likes peace despite his life having none of it. Quiet doesn’t mean timid, though. He can turn very quickly when people try to take advantage of his nature.

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

Felix graduated top of his class. He’s a lot smarter than anyone would think/give him credit for. Absolutely cannot stand the sound of people chewing loudly it irks him so badly. Has to make his bed every morning before he leaves the house.

[resolvebound]

she was nobody who waffled around. being anything but confident in her course of action was uncharacteristic for her, and she rather liked who she had built herself to be. she was stone. stone did not tremble, did not waver. ever. and really, what did she have to lose? overthinking this was a disservice to herself. could her actions be misread? certainly. but people had long decided who they thought she was, and she was in no mood to disagree.

flipping her hair over her shoulder, she dropped the wrapped gift onto the table in front of Gray. he was an artsy guy, he might like a sketchbook. it was easy as that---and really not that deep, despite what some might think. '' happy holidays, Gray, '' she said as she continued her path. no one could say that she could not do casual.

The fact he wasn’t aware of her approach said a lot, as in recent times, his awareness of her had even started to become somewhat of a problem. His level of distraction now, spoke to the fact he was so twisted up in both his thoughts and the effort of tamping down the dark magic within him, that he hardly noticed anything else around him.

His eyes were fixed on the table he sat at, not truly seeing it, but the patterns in the grain would echo in his vision for a moment, even as he blinked at the sudden gift appearing in front of him. The focus that had been scattered across his mind in a dozen thoughts, snapped together again. Gaze jumping to Evergreen, his features eased in surprise.

Ordinarily, he thought himself quick to react, quick to reply, yet the woman had already moved on by the time he gathered himself. Did that really just happen?

He rubbed his face and then peered at the present she had left him (it was still there, not imagined like he had momentarily suspected). Happy holidays, she’d said. Frowning, unable to think for the time being about what she was referring to, he carefully picked up the gift.

When was the last time he’d gotten a present? It was a thought that gave his mind a decent workout, rewinding and rewinding the time. Maybe it had been something from Juvia, or Cana. He couldn’t recall.

Curiosity nudged him to drop his line of thought and instead focus on what was in his hands. He unwrapped the gift with care, eyes widening slightly as he realised what it was. A sketchbook. A very nice one too.

He slid his hand over the cover, then slipped it open to get a feel of the paper within. A soft hum of approval left him, mind already going over his array of pens and pencils back at his cabin, deciding which he would use first on the fine paper. But…hold on. Why did Evergreen give him this? How did she know he would like it?

His interest in artistic pursuits wasn’t one he openly advertised, yet given his creative magic, he knew it would hardly be surprising to some. Had he mentioned his hobby to her before? He didn’t think so. She was more observant, and much smarter, than people would give her credit for, he knew that, so it should be of no surprise to him that she would pick something like this out for him (it did, however, make him feel slightly exposed, and whether that was a bad thing or not was yet to be determined).

The only real question was why she gave it to him. But that was hardly something to complicate, he decided, they were…friends, after all. And Evergreen, despite how others might view her, was nice to her friends.

So, in fact, the only thing left to do now was to wonder if he should give her something in return. And to say ‘thank you,’ of course (his mother would have been disappointed had he forgotten his manners).

But, what to get her? It was a much better, lighter thought to distract him than what had swirled in his mind earlier at least.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Realignment

Prompt: I love when Remus is a lot smarter than he lets on, so I’d love a prompt where Logan is overworking himself and not taking care of himself and one tic of the clock away from either passing out or having a full on mental breakdown (not the type you can recover from in a day). Remus notices the little signs Logan shows, and hears the intrusive thoughts Logan has. Remus really becomes concerned when Logan’s intrusive thoughts start to involve taking breaks, going to eat properly rather than inhaling granola bars, and even sleeping. Remus storms in and is like “Logan tf????” Then gets hella soft once he realizes the state Logan is in

Thank you for the prompts, babe! I liked this one the best so I picked it. 

GUYS PLEASE VIEW THIS AS A C H E C K P O I N T if you've been scrolling for a while (and you probably have) pause here! drink water! get food! walk around the room for a little bit! stretch! do something please! you are very important to me and I care about you very deeply!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: discussions of self-harm, nothing explicit, some self-destructive tendencies and behaviors. 

Pairings: focus on intrulogical, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic i don’t care

Word Count: 2410

Realignment: to align again.

Realignment: to reorganize or make new groupings of.

* * *

Remus hears a lot of weird shit.

The problem arises when the shit he starts to hear isn't weird at all.

Remus hears a lot of weird shit.

 The more appropriate definition would be ‘fucked up like you wouldn’t fucking believe,’ but one of us has a problem with particularly strong language and shit doesn’t have to be censored in a lot of media anymore. Which is so convenient! For some of us!

 It’s fucking great.

Anyway. Point being. Fucked up shit.

 Intrusive thoughts literally fall under his purview. It’s the fun stuff! The stuff you don’t wanna think about that makes your skin crawl and your eyes pop open at the witching hour and stay awake until the sun rises. That’s Remus’s job.

 And it’s like the whole Mindscape is whack-a-mole that he gets to play with! Buttons here and there, squeeze this part and watch the eyes bug out of this part, bap this one on the head, see which one pokes up next. Who’s gonna have nightmares tonight? Who is having a nightmare tonight?

 It’s fun.

 Point. Right. Right.

 It’s normally pretty easy to tell whose intrusive thoughts are whose. They taste different. Patton’s taste like sugar so sweet it’ll fill your mouth with cavities. Virgil’s taste like spiders, crawling around his mouth. Janus’s taste like salt. So much fucking salt. Dry as hell.

 Roman’s taste like blood. Problem is, Remus’s mouth normally tastes like blood, so…

 Yeah, they gotta work that out.

 Logan’s taste like ink. Which is why it took him so long to figure out that Logan was having them. Not just because the nerdy wolverine was so convinced he couldn’t have them—rationalizing them as philosophy principles, come on—but because Remus isn’t exactly an expert on pens. Writing like normal people. Ugh.

 Normal people.

 What a lie, Janny probably gets a big kick out of those.

 No one is normal and normal is boring.

 Logan. Right.

 Okay, so here’s the thing.

 Logan’s thoughts aren’t really…standard? They are to some extent, you don’t really get a whole lot of variety from him—even when Remus has been so helpful in making his room safe for him to be in during bad days, there’s such a lack of imagination there that he wasn’t sure exactly how to feel—but it’s the recent ones that’ve been getting…weird.

 Remus chews thoughtfully on the kraken tentacle. He swings up to the chandelier and hangs by his ankles, letting the blood run to his head. Makes it easier to think sometimes.

 It hasn’t been very long since they found out…well, since they found out.

 Remus frowns. Why is he censoring himself? It’s not like he can’t fucking say self-harm, it’s not like he can’t describe what it was, it’s not like he can’t close his eyes and see it happening again.

 Then his mind jumps helpfully to the shocked, panicked look on Logan’s face and the soft, furious resignation on Roman’s, and his jaw snaps shut.

 Oh.

 Right.

 He cares. So he has to be gentle with them.

 He growls, swinging himself up to perch on the chandelier proper. He turns the kraken tentacle over and chews on the rubbery side.

 The others are delicate. Not that they’re more breakable than any other metaphysical humanoid, but their minds are fragile when it comes to Remus’s side of things. Could they handle the full spectrum of his side of thoughts and shit? Probably, they’re stronger than they give themselves credit for. Should they have to? Hell to the fuck no. But it means that Remus can’t just throw them in the deep end and see if the kraken spits them out whole or in chunks. Could they survive? Absolutely. Would they still be…them? Doubtful.

 Remus lets one of his legs go, hanging by one knee as he tips over.

 Plus they’re always a little more fragile when it comes to these thoughts anyway. Poking and prodding too much would hurt. Like, the bad kind of hurt.

 They’re not supposed to get hurt. Not like that.

 So. Gentle it is then.

 Right. The others. He has a point, he’s just gotta get there.

 Roman…fuck he’s missed his brother. They got—they got so much shit to still work out but they’re gonna do it together and fuck he loves his brother so goddamn much. Roman knows that, he knows that, and he’s always there to pull Remus out of his head when he needs it, hit him with a pillow, or tackle him onto something and hold him tight. He’s—his thoughts taste like blood and Remus hasn’t bitten anything since so that he’ll never miss it again.

 But with Logan...

 Logan is…odd. It hasn’t been long since they first found out—or rather, they confronted him about it, and Remus hasn’t tasted ink without it disappearing very quickly or knocking on someone’s door to please go get your fucking nerd, please. But the ink has only written the usual suspects, whispering the theorems in dark corners, muttering about the incompleteness of a set, the need for Logic, not Logan, and how to jump through the little loophole again.

 It’s not exactly hard for the others to tell.

 Lolo hasn’t been looking great. Sure, he’s all pressed and dressed, glasses perfectly in place, tie done up just so, walking around like everything’s just totally and completely fine, but it’s in his face. Object impermanence aside, normally when Remus bugs him, he reacts in some way.

 Sass is an emotional response and you won’t convince him otherwise.

 Whether it be a wry comment, effortlessly fixing whatever Remus has done to him this time, or even just a look, Lolo does something.

 Not anymore.

 Now he’ll just kind of…sigh and move on? He’ll fix whatever it is only if it’s directly interfering with what he’s trying to do, or when Patton or Virgil come round the corner and freak the fuck out because you’re bleeding! Then he’ll fix it.

 Remus wouldn’t say he’s bored, but he’s worried.

 Mainly because the intrusive thoughts…aren’t what he’d consider intrusive anymore.

 Take a shower.

 Eat something that isn’t just a granola bar.

 Go to sleep.

 Ask someone for help.

 See?

 If those are Lolo’s intrusive thoughts, then what the fuck is normally going on in his head?

 Remus waits. Waits. Keeps waiting.

 The instant his mouth tastes like ink again, with a question of whether or not Logan should take a break, he sinks straight into his shower. He washes his hair thoroughly, gets every single bit of grime off him he can, and puts on the softest pajamas he has—thank you, Roman—and drops himself outside of Logan’s door.

 He strains, mouth still full of ink, to hear anything other than the soft click, click, click of Logan’s keyboard.

 He can’t.

 Fuck.

 He knocks.

 “One moment, please.”

 Indeed, a few seconds later, the door opens to reveal Logan, looking as annoyingly pristine as he always does, surprised to see him.

 “Remus? Did you need something? Why…” he trails off as he takes in what Remus is wearing. “What’s wrong?”

 “Can I come in?”

 “Of—of course,” Logan stammers, moving aside to let him in, “are you alright?”

 “Should be asking you that, Lolo.”

 “Remus, you’ve just knocked, first of all, on my door and asked to come inside.” Logan adjusts his glasses as he sits at his desk. “This is extremely out of character for you.”

 “Uh-huh.” Remus flops onto the bed. “You know what else is out of character?”

 “Not wearing your costume?”

 “Not hearing intrusive thoughts.”

 Logan’s eyes widen. “Has—is there something wrong? Are you not hearing any? Do I need to get Roman?”

 Remus frowns. “Why’s it so easy for you to do that?”

 “Do what?”

 “Care. Try and take care of me.”

 Logan blinks. “Because you deserve to be taken care of, Remus. Your needs are important.”

 Remus idly toys with a loose thread on one sleeve. “Why?”

 “Why? Why are you important?” Remus nods. “Because you’re—you’re an important part of Thomas, you’re important to us, and we care about you.”

 “So it’s easy for you to care for me because…you do?”

 “As simple as that sounds,” Logan says with all the softness that should be directed at himself, “yes.”

 Remus nods. “I’m not having problems with hearing intrusive thoughts.”

 “You’re—you’re not?” Logan sighs, relaxing a little back into his chair. “Then why did you say you were?”

 “Because the thoughts that I am hearing aren’t really what I’d consider intrusive.”

 Logan frowns. “Like what?”

 Glad you fucking asked.

 “‘Take a shower,’” Remus says, his eyes fixed firmly on Logan’s face, “'eat something,’ ‘take a break,’ ‘go to sleep.’”

 He watches Logan’s face tense.

 “Sound familiar, Lolo?”

 “You—I—my apologies,” Logan manages after a moment, adjusting his tie, “I did not mean to be an inconvenience. You are correct, those are not intrusive thoughts, I’m not sure why you’re hearing them.”

 He turns to his desk and begins to fish around for a notebook.

 “That is quite intriguing, I wonder what the possibilities for hearing other types of thoughts are, considering—“

 “Lolo.”

 Logan pauses, turning back. “Yes?”

 Remus fixes him with a look, getting up and walking toward him. “They are intrusive thoughts, Logan. The issue is that your intrusive thoughts are about you taking care of yourself.”

 Logan freezes.

 “W-well, I’m sure that it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

 “So either you can admit that was a lie or Janny’s about to get summoned.”

 “Remus,” Logan sighs, “it’s fine. As you said, these aren’t what are traditionally considered intrusive thoughts, it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

 “No, Lolo, it is,” Remus argues, “because it means that the thought of you taking care of yourself is so foreign, so fucking out of the ordinary that not only does it happen to cross your mind—“ he takes Logan’s chair and spins it around— “but you try to force it out.”

 Gotcha.

 Logan looks anywhere other than Remus’s face and tries to stand. Only to wobble and crash back down.

 “Easy,” Remus says quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder, “you haven’t eaten in a while.”

 “But I have work.”

 “But you need food.”

 “Remus—“

 “Logan.”

 At Logan’s honest-to-fuck pout, he sighs, dragging the poor nerd up and out the chair and sitting him on the bed.

 “Why do you think you don’t deserve to be taken care of?”

 “I didn’t say that—hey!” Logan blinks up at him, scandalized and covering his stomach. “Why did you poke me?”

 “’S what I do when Janny won’t tell me the truth.”

 “I wasn’t—okay, okay!” Logan covers his stomach protectively as Remus readies another poke. “I just…I’ve already asked for help for this before. I shouldn’t have to again.”

 Remus sighs and lightly flicks the side of his head.

 “Hey!”

 “Virgil tries that too.” He stares hard at Logan. “Come on, Lolo, you can do better.”

 “It’s not your jobs to take care of me.”

 For fuck’s sake…

 Remus reaches out and tugs gently on Logan’s tie.

 “Remus, what—“

 “You taking more books outta Patton’s library now?” Remus tilts his head. “You don’t have to beat around the bush, Lolo, just be honest.”

 “I am being honest!”

 “You’re not lying, but you’re not being honest.” At the poor nerd’s confusion, he sighs and fixes his glasses on that cute nose. “Just talk to me, Lolo.”

 “I—“ Logan sighs and oh fuck why does he look so tired?

 Well, because he hasn’t been sleeping.

 Or eating.

 Or taking care of himself.

 Unbidden, part of his conversation with Roman flashes into his head.

 “Self-harm can be self-denial too.”

 “Lolo?”

 “It’s bad enough that I’ve made you all worry about me,” Logan says finally, “I would hate to be a burden.”

 Oh, Lolo. “You and Roman, huh?”

 Logan looks up warily. “What do you do with Roman?”

 “You know what I do.”

 Logan sighs. “May at least take my glasses off first?”

 “You might wanna change too, I’m not letting you up for a while.”

 Logan stretches to place his glasses on the nightstand and poofs himself into a t-shirt and boxers. He sighs and opens his arms.

 Remus takes two running steps and tackles the poor nerd onto his bed.

 “Ah!”

 “Am I hurting you?”

 “No, no, just—just a little startled.”

 “Mm.” Remus snuggles closer into Logan, his arms wrapped tightly around him. “So. Wanna try one more time?”

 Logan sighs, deflating them both to the bed. His head lolls to his left, eyes on his open computer screen. Remus follows it, barely suppressing a growl as he stretches his arm out to save whatever’s on screen and shut it.

 “I know what I’m supposed to be doing,” Logan whispers, “I understand the process, I am aware that healing is not a linear concept, I know it’s going to take time, I—I understand.”

 Remus looks down, giving him an encouraging squeeze. “But?”

 “It’s hard,” comes the soft confession.

 Oh, Lolo.

 “I know,” he murmurs, leaning down to hug him properly, “I know, Lolo, I know it’s hard. But you can’t try and do it all yourself, you’ve gotta remember that we’re here for you, we care about you.”

 “But why?”

 Remus smiles and cuddles him tighter. “You said it yourself, Lolo. We care because we do.”

 “O-oh.” He feels Logan’s throat work as he swallows. “Thank you, Remus.”

 “Of course, Lolo. I’m guessing that sinking us to the living room so everyone else can spoil you is a bad idea, right?”

 “Yes.” Finally, finally, he feels Logan shyly tighten his grip on him. “Can we just…stay like this?”

 “Do I have your permission to hold you hostage until you fall asleep?”

 “Yes.”

 “Then go to sleep, Lolo,” Remus murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere.”

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[sometimesiwritebadly]

Carter (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: You’re a single mother, and your 12-year-old daughter, Carter, decided to track down her father.

Warnings: Mentions unsupportive asshole parents. Also language. References sex (between two underage kids) and teen pregnancy.

Notes: ....so i kinda disappeared for almost a month...and instead of updating my series i have decided to write a whole new fic... sorry? :) in my defence it says right there in my user that i only write SOMETIMES

also this is kinda an au where Spencer graduated high school at 16 instead of 12 yet somehow gets all his doctorates and joins the fbi at the same time. does the math work out? no. do i care? no. 

also sorry if your name is Carter. maybe you can pretend you pulled a Lorelai Gilmore and named your kid after yourself

Word Count: 1.9k

Masterlist

“Carter!” You ran through the hallways, paying no attention to the various government agents staring as you made your way to your 12-year-old daughter. About an hour ago, you’d gotten a call from her school because she hadn’t shown up to her classes that morning, even though you’d watched her get on the bus yourself. After the longest 15 minutes of your life, you got a call that freaked you out even more; Carter had gone all the way to Quantico and was now with the FBI. You drove like a madwoman from work, especially since all the FBI Agent, Jareau, had told you over the phone call was that your daughter was safe. Now, that same agent was trying to keep up with you as you marched towards your daughter, who was sitting at a desk in the middle of a busy office. 

“Miss Y/L/N, maybe we can take you guys somewhere private to-” 

“Carter Rose Y/L/N, what on earth possessed you to skip school and take a field trip to the FBI?” You interrupted the agent, talking to your daughter, whose eyes were now wide in fear. You two don’t fight often- or at all, really. You’d had her when you were only 16, so sometimes your relationship danced the line around the line between mother/daughter and two sisters. This was the first, and hopefully only, time she’d done anything to make you truly angry. Instead of answering you, Carter just looked down at her hands, mumbling something. “Carter, the longer you don’t answer me, the longer you’ll be grounded.” Your voice softened just slightly, but it was enough for Carter to know how worried you’d been.

“I found dad.” Her words made your heart stop. You hadn’t thought about her dad in a long time, you wouldn’t let yourself.

“What?” Carter only looked over to the man that had been standing next to her. You hadn’t even glanced at him, you were too worried and mad at Carter. You looked up at him, and he looked at you, and you felt like your world was crashing down. Spencer Reid. You hadn’t seen him since you were 15, when he’d left to go to CalTech. He was just a couple months older than you, 16 years old, but he was already graduating high school with enough college credit to put him halfway through an undergrad degree. He was set to become one of the youngest doctors in the country. And now here he was, 12 years later. He looked at you with the same wide eyes he had all those years ago, the same look your daughter had on her face. 

“Agent Jareau?” The blonde woman came back into your line of sight, but you only glanced at her before looking back to Spencer. “Can you watch Carter for a while?”

“Yeah, of course.” Carter stood up to follow Agent Jareau, but before she could walk away, your hand stopped her. 

“You’re grounding starts now, C. Hand it over.” Carter begrudgingly pulled her backpack off her shoulder and opened it. First she placed her phone in your hand, then pulled out a book and handed it over as well. You glanced at the cover. You know for a fact that she finished this book yesterday, so you tucked it under your arm and held out your hand again, and waited for her to place her second book in it. A moment later, another book was in your hand, and you nodded at Agent Jareau, allowing her to take your daughter out of sight to what you assumed to be her office. Finally, you turned back to Reid.

“Hi.” You started, avoiding eye contact. You weren’t sure how to start this conversation. You never thought you’d have to have this conversation. 

“Hi.” Awkward silence. Instead of looking at Spencer, you looked around the office space, and noticed that some people were staring at you and Spencer. Spencer followed your gaze, and turned back to you. “Um, those are my coworkers. We have a conference room, do you wanna talk there?”

“Yeah, that’d be good.” You followed Spencer across the office and into a small conference room. You both sat down at the circular table, and Spencer opened his mouth to speak first.

“Is it true?” You only nodded in response, still not able to look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You took a deep breath before looking up at him to answer. Spencer had tears developing in his eyes, and he was leaning towards you. Raising Carter on your own had been hard, but you’d never even considered how missing out on so much of her life would affect him. “You...you were going to college. You had this insane future ahead of you, and I didn’t want to ruin it. By the time I found out, you were already gone, so…”

“You left Vegas.” Spencer interrupted. “When I came home for Thanksgiving, I stopped by your parent’s house. They refused to talk to me, and said that you transferred to a boarding school.” You scoffed at your parent’s lie. Your parents were pretentious, upper-class people. They’d wanted you to “take a semester abroad,” and quietly give up the baby for adoption. You refused, so you emptied your savings account and booked a ticket to DC, where your cousin was willing to take you and the baby in. There, you finished up your GED online, got a part time job, and began to raise Carter. 

“Yeah.” You paused. “She was born May 19th. She’s 12 now.” Spencer was hanging on to every word that came out of your mouth. “She reminds me a lot of you. She’s always reading, and she loves school. I would say I’m surprised that she found you, but she’s way smarter than I am.”

“You never told her about me?”

“I told her some stuff. She knows that we dated in high school, and that you went to college early. I didn’t want her to feel abandoned, so I told her that you left before I could tell you I was pregnant.”

“You could’ve told me.” Spencer didn’t seem angry, but it was very clear how upset he was.

“I know I could’ve. But I was 16, and the only person in my life that was willing to accept me and Carter was my cousin, and she was only 22 at the time. I didn’t want to reach out to you only for you to reject me too.” Your response didn’t appear to make Spencer feel much better. “Look, Spencer, you can be mad at me all you want, but it’s obvious Carter wants to get to know you. I won’t force you to be a part of her life now, but don’t cut her out because you’re mad at me.”

Before Spencer could respond, there was a knock at the door, and a brunette woman poked her head in. “Sorry, I know this is important, but we have a case. Spence, Hotch said you can stay back, work this case from here with Garcia.”

“No, I don’t want to take you away from work.” You saw a stray piece of paper on the table, and reached into your purse to grab a pen. You quickly wrote your number and address on the paper, before pushing it towards Spencer. “Work your case, and when it’s over, we can talk more. It’ll give you some time to think things through.” Spencer looked at your words on the paper, and only nodded in response.

“You daughter is in JJ’s office, I’ll walk you over.” The brunette agent said, so you followed her out to pick up Carter.

~~~ 

A week later, you hadn’t received any calls from Spencer. Carter asked for updates practically every hour. You were tempted to give her back her phone and books just to get her off your back about him, but she’s grounded. That means the only books she’s allowed to read are for school, but right now it feels like you’re being punished just as much as she is. You were in the kitchen making dinner for the two of you when you heard a knock on the door. “C? Can you get the door? Check the peephole first-”

“I know, I know, never open the door for strangers.” Carter interrupted you, pausing her studying in the living room to walk out of your sight and to the door. You faintly heard the sound of the door opening before Carter spoke again. “Mom? Can Dad stay for dinner?” The mention of Spencer shocked you, and caused you to trip over your own feet and hit your knee against one of the cabinets.

“Shit!” You said loudly, reaching down to rub your hand against what would quickly become a bruise. Just as this happened, Carter and Spencer entered the room. Carter with a large smile on her face.

“That’s a dollar in my jar!” She said happily, grabbing your wallet from the counter and handing it to you.

“Yeah, I know.” You rolled your eyes, pulling a dollar out and handing it to her so she could put it in her jar.

“Mom and I each have a jar, and at the end of the month we go shopping with whatever money we have. Whenever she swears, I get a dollar, and whenever I do, she gets a dollar.” Carter explained for Spencer, then lowered her voice to a whisper, that you still easily hear, “I always have more money to spend.”

“Hey! That’s not true!” You defended yourself, even though you know she’s right. While the swear jar had easily stopped your daughter from using foul language (that she’d picked up from you), you had a lot more trouble holding your tongue.

“If your language is anything like it was in high school, then Carter is probably right.” Spencer joked, causing Carter to laugh.

“You know I don’t have to feed you two, I can eat all of this myself.” You responded, turning back to your stove.

“You wouldn’t!” Carter gasped, which caused you to laugh, giving yourself away. 

“Ok, ok, you’re right. This time.” You paused for a moment, “Hey C, Spencer likes reading almost as much as you do. Why don’t you grab one of your favorites from the shelf for him to read?” Carter clearly liked this idea, because she was running to her room in an instant, yelling facts about her favorite book from her room. You knew you’d only have a minute alone with Spencer, so you turned away from the food and back to him. “Are you sure?” You asked.

You could tell from the look on Spencer’s face that he understood exactly what you meant. Once he decides to be Carter’s dad, he can’t go back. You were giving him an out.

“Yes.” He answered, with more confidence than you’d ever seen from him.

“Good.” You said, with a small smile ghosting your face. Just as quickly as she left, Carter came bounding back into the room, carrying 5 books instead of the one you’d suggested.

“I couldn’t choose a favorite book. I read kind of fast, but you can borrow these for as long as you want! I don’t mind sharing.”

“Oh yeah? How fast did you read these?” Spencer asked, looking over the book descriptions on the back.

“I usually read a book a day. Sometimes I finish books in a few hours if they’re interesting enough.”

“Impressive! Maybe one day you’ll be on my level.” Spencer bragged. You tuned out of the conversation as Spencer began talking about how fast he reads, and how Carter could learn to read faster. You just watched them, enjoying the fact that for the first time ever, Carter could have a dad. And maybe, with time, you’ll end up being some kind of family.

~~~

taglist: @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @la-vie-en-amour1 @peculiarinsomniac

[r-redex]

A Way Out Snip 4

I was originally going to write this as a full PWP, but I abandoned it when I decided to focus on larger projects. I might pick it back up again someday, but for now enjoy...whatever this is

(In which Leo has an oral fixation, and Vincent has a Leo fixation.)

Despite their obvious differences, Vincent really does admire Leo. He might be impulsive and hot-headed, but he’s also brave, and determined, and honestly a lot smarter than people give him credit for. During their time on the run, Vincent’s come to respect him a lot, and rely on him even more. Honestly, he’s mostly just glad that Leo seems to be coming around to trusting him again.

He just wishes that he would stop sticking things in his goddamn mouth.

It isn’t something he’d noticed before, but he’s definitely noticing now. The tension of being on the run has eased significantly since they crossed the border, and though they still aren’t out of the woods by a long shot, Vincent’s mind seems to be clearing. Instead of constantly looking over his shoulder, he’s able to watch Leo’s expressions as he talks, watch the way his hands move to emphasize his words. Instead of listening for the slightest hint of their names in strangers’ conversations around them, he finds himself listening to Leo hum quietly along with the radio, tapping a rhythm on his knee as they drive. When he would normally be hyperaware of any movement around them, his eyes track Leo’s movements when curls up against the passenger side door and yawns, staring blearily out the window when they drive through the night.

And as he starts to notice more, he realizes that Leo is always doing something with his mouth; pinching a coffee stirrer between his teeth when they stop for food at diners; twirling a toothpick between his lips (Vincent isn’t even sure where he keeps getting them); chewing on his nails and cuticles when he gets bored or nervous.

Vincent gets on his case for that last one--they spend most of their time jumping from place to place, and the last thing they need right now is for one of them to get sick. When he points this out to Leo, he narrows his eyes in the way he does when he wants to argue what he knows is a lost cause, before huffing and muttering, “Fine,” and slouching down in his seat. When Vincent next looks over a few minutes later, he’s already found a toothpick from god knows where, rolling it idly between his front teeth. Somehow, that’s almost worse.

It’s not like it’s annoying or anything. Really, the whole thing wouldn’t even be a problem if not for the fact that it draws Vincent’s attention to Leo’s mouth: his teeth, slightly visible as he chews on the end of a pen; the tip of his tongue poking out when he’s focusing; his lips that purse in irritation, or scowl in annoyance, or curl up into a wide smile when Vincent says something funny--the type of smile that makes his eyes light up, and makes Vincent’s heart beat a little faster, and--

No, nope, he is not going down that rabbit hole right now.

They need to be focused. It’s already bad enough that Vincent’s letting his guard down--that’s what he has to keep telling himself when he catches those thoughts flitting through his head. 

And somehow, Leo’s become something of a master at catching them as well. As soon as Vincent starts to feel caught up in his own head, Leo will bring him back down to earth.

“You’re thinking too much,” he says, often accompanied by a sharp tap on Vincent’s temple. Vincent will scowl and swat his hand away, but the twinkle in Leo’s eyes tells him every time that he sees right through his “tough guy” facade.

Because that’s what it is: a facade. He really feels kind of weak, especially when it comes to Leo.

Leo, with his rough laugh and big personality. Leo, with dark eyes that sparkle when the light hits them just right. Leo, with his stupid hair, with his cocky smirk, with the pencil that he won’t take out of his mouth, Jesus fucking Christ--

“Will you cut that out?” he snaps. Leo looks up at him from where he’s slouched in the passenger seat, tapping a pencil against his lower lip as he studies the map unfolded over his legs. He’s been trying to find a route to the nearest town to pick up supplies, which is great on its own; but it means that he’s been deep in thought, and has been playing with that goddamn pencil for the better part of an hour. Vincent’s eyes are trained firmly on the road, but he can see enough out of his peripheral vision to know that Leo’s been alternating between tapping his lips and biting the eraser, and it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to focus.

“Cut what out?”

“That--” Vincent waves a hand vaguely at him, “that damn pencil thing. It’s distracting.”

He sees Leo sit up, and can make out his incredulous expression out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you serious?”

Vincent doesn’t reply, and Leo stares at him for a moment before rolling his eyes, slumping down in the seat again.

“You’re a real drag, you know that?”

“Alright then, how about you drive, and I’ll do my best to be as annoying as possible.”

Leo just scoffs and crosses his arms.

They drive in silence for a few long, tense minutes. The sun is beginning to set, and Vincent’s eyes flicker to the road signs as they pass.

Leo sighs loudly, breaking the quiet. “I really don’t want to drive all night again.”

“You’re not driving. You’re sitting.”

He doesn’t argue, and that’s enough to get Vincent to glance over. He’s staring out the window, watching as the greenery zips by alongside them.

Vincent purses his lips, then sighs. “Did you see any place to stop on the map?”

“Uh--” Leo sits up, spreading the map out to read better, and jabs at a spot on the paper. “There’s a small town a few miles off the main road. I wasn’t sure whether to mention it--it doesn’t seem big enough to have much in the way of shops--”

“That’s fine,” Vincent cuts him off, glancing over at the map. “It’s starting to cloud over, and I really don’t think it’s a good idea to be driving if it ends up snowing.”

Leo’s quiet again, but when Vincent looks up at him, there’s a small smile playing across his lips.

“Snow,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen snow.”

“Don’t get too excited. This truck isn’t exactly made for it.”

Leo shrugs, seeming a lot lighter than before. It takes a moment for Vincent to realize that he’s smiling to himself, Leo’s good mood rubbing off on him.

“Let’s get to civilization. I could use a good burger right about now.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Leo says with a smirk and a lazy salute.

[end]

[clumsyclifford]

Hi friend!! 10 for the writers prompt 🥺

Hello! 10 w the writers prompt was meant to be jalex! I forgot to include it! If possible thank you v much

listen anon. i have been watching a lot of new girl. that is my only excuse for this. also i know i loosely interpreted the intention of the prompt but i feel like i got away with it hope this satisfies <3

tw for alcohol

read on ao3

-

“Phone,” Jack says, holding out his hand. 

“I’m not gonna call her, Jack!”

“Yeah, you’re not gonna call her now. This is a safety measure. You can’t be trusted drunk with a phone.”

Rian’s whole face crumples. “I’m not gonna call her,” he stubbornly repeats, but digs out his phone anyway and slaps it in Jack’s hand like he knows Jack is right. “You’re a terrible friend.”

“Great friend,” Jack corrects him. At which point a cute bartender materializes, a towel over his shoulder, and smiles at both of them.

“What can I get ya?” 

“Whiskey, neat,” Rian says gruffly. “Cheapest one you have.”

“He has the alcoholic tastes of a grandpa,” Jack informs the bartender. 

The bartender shrugs. “Hey, I don’t judge. I’m more of a wine guy.”

“Just my type,” Jack says, grinning.

The bartender tilts his head. Belatedly, Jack questions his choice of words. Apparently cute bartenders make him lose the ability to assess the implications of his own speech. “So? What can I get you?”

“Oh, I’m not drinking,” Jack says. He jerks his chin at Rian. “Driving this guy home.”

Rian has slumped over the bar, head in his hands, staring down at the bartop like it will reveal the meaning of life.

“Hey, man, you okay?” the bartender asks, brushing the edges of his fringe away from his face. His hair is green, but the sparkling brown of his eyes perfectly matches the dark stained chestnut of the bartop. They must hire extra good-looking people to man the bar, Jack thinks. As a way to hook people. Get them to buy more drinks. Whatever. All things considered, it’s a good thing Jack’s not drinking, because it would definitely be working on him otherwise.

Rian apathetically looks up into Alex’s face. “Great,” he says in a monotone. “I’m doing really well, thanks for asking.” And he returns his head to his hands.

Jack presses his lips together so he doesn’t laugh. It would be cruel to laugh, but honestly, Rian’s in this position roughly every other month. At a certain point, Jack has to laugh. “His girlfriend broke up with him,” he tells the bartender. “Uh, again.”

The bartender winces as he turns to pour Rian’s drink. “Ah, that sucks. Hey, I’m sorry for your loss, man. Breakups are the worst.”

“It’s—” Jack lowers his voice and leans conspiratorially across the bar. “They’ll be back together within the week.”

The bartender’s lips pull into a half-smile. “Oh,” he whispers. “One of those.”

“Yeah.” 

At the other end of the bar, someone calls, “Alex? Grab me an old-fashioned glass?”

“Yeah,” says the bartender — Alex, apparently, and he smiles at Jack, for real this time. “Gotta go do my job. I’m Alex if you need anything. Here’s your drink, man.” He slides Rian’s glass of whiskey across the bar into Rian’s waiting hand and then turns away to bring some glasses to the other bartender.

Jack watches him go. Then he turns to Rian.

“Okay,” he says resignedly, as Rian downs the drink in one and sets the glass back on the bar. “Walk me through it.”

-

Rian gets progressively more drunk as the night wears on. As usual, this makes him increasingly incoherent, not to mention clingy. 

“One o’ these days,” he slurs into Jack’s ear, chin digging into Jack’s shoulder, “I’m. I’m gonna leave her first. B’fore she can leave me.” 

“Yeah, good idea,” Jack says absently. His gazes wanders down the bartop to where the cute bartender, Alex, is closing someone’s tab, giving them a polite smile and a nod as they take their credit card back. Jack catches a glimpse of a tattoo sprawled over the back of his left hand. It looks like a rose, faded and red; Jack wonders what it means, if it means anything, or if Alex is the kind of guy to get tattoos just because they look cool. 

“That’s stupid,” Rian mumbles. “She has her reasons. I’m sure I did something.”

“Oh my God, stop,” Jack says, zeroing back into Rian’s lament. “You didn’t do anything, Ri. She just doesn’t appreciate you. She keeps stringing you along and you keep letting her. You have to put your foot down or she’s gonna keep pushing you around like this. You know you deserve better, right?”

Rian hums. “I dunno.”

“Well, I do. And I’m telling you, you do.”

There’s a beat. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Rian announces, clapping Jack on the back harder than strictly necessary. Jack grimaces. “Don’t drink my drink.”

“Your drink is empty.”

“Oh,” Rian says, peering into his glass. “Oh. It’s empty. Get me another drink then? Please?”

Jack sighs. “Yeah, fine.”

“That’s why I love you,” Rian professes, grabbing Jack’s face and giving him a messy kiss on the cheek. Jack sighs again as Rian traipses away, an adventure to locate the bathroom that will almost definitely end with him entering the girls’ bathroom by mistake.

Right on cue, cute bartender Alex sidles up. “Should I bother asking?”

“Another whiskey,” Jack says, passing Rian’s glass to Alex. “If you haven’t run out by now.”

Alex laughs. He’s got a nice laugh. It’s just Jack’s luck that the one time there’s a cute guy working the bar, Jack has to be taking care of his friend. Any other day, this cute bartender would be Jack’s evening plans, sorted.

“Sure you don’t want anything?” Alex asks as he pours Rian’s fourth whiskey. The amber drink pools nicely in the base of the glass. Jack starts to understand why this kind of drink is described as neat. “Non-alcoholic? Virgin cocktail, anything?” 

“Do you serve shots of bleach?” Jack deadpans. 

Alex snorts a laugh. “Damn, that bad?”

“No, it’s not that bad,” Jack says, pulling a hand through his hair. “It’s just, you know, I love him, and I— I hate his girlfriend, and I really just want them to never be together again, but I have tried a thousand times, said everything I can possibly think of to say, and nothing sticks. It’s like I’m talking to a brick wall. And I’m not just saying that because of the, like, muscles.” 

“Been there,” Alex says, tilting his head to indicate the other bartender, who puts Rian’s build entirely to shame. “Zack doesn’t listen to me for almost any reason, but in fairness to him he’s a lot smarter than me.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jack says. “Rian’s way smarter than me. Except about this one thing.”

Alex grins. “Then he’s lucky to have you to take care of him,” he says lightly. “Hey, what’s your name?”

Jack blinks. “Jack.”

Alex nods like this confirms some suspicion. “Well, Jack, my shift is ending, and I know you have your hands full with your friend tonight, but if you ever want to come back without the, you know, angsty drama, I’d be happy to make you a real drink. On the house. You ever had an old-fashioned?”

Jack bites his lip. Idiotically, he says, “I’m not really a whiskey guy.”

“Yeah, neither am I, usually,” Alex says. “Is that a no?”

“No! I mean, no, it’s not a no. It’s a yes, just—” Jack shakes his head as Alex watches him, amused. “Jesus. Sorry. Yes, I would love to come back and for you to make me a drink. Even an old-fashioned. I’ll try anything once as long as it has alcohol in it.”

Alex smiles. “Good. I look forward to it.”

“Wait, let me just— do you have a pen?”

Alex ducks under the bar and surfaces with a black pen in hand. “Yes, apparently.”

Jack takes the pen, then grabs Alex’s right hand and scribbles his phone number on the back. “As long as we’re being old-fashioned,” he explains as he writes the last digit. 

The smile on Alex’s face stretches wider, and Jack knows this had been a good move. “I’ll call.”

“I hope you will.”

“Good luck with your friend,” Alex says. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack.”

And then he’s gone, sneaking behind the other bartender, Zack, and disappearing into a room in the back. 

Jack glances down at Rian’s glass of whiskey and the smile playing at his lips is impossible to stifle. Curious, he lifts the glass and takes a small sip.

Jack’s never really considered himself a whiskey guy, but as he swallows down this taste, he thinks he probably could be. 

[justinalovee]

Empty souls

0.05

Previous chapter

“We had no other choice!” Clarke was still struggling to convince Jill that they had to banish Murphy.

“Go fuck yourself!” Jill replied, walking past her.

Without thinking, Clarke grabbed her wrist to try to stop her from running away. The blonde wasn’t meaning to be aggressive; she was just fed up with people not listening to her. “I thought you wanted to work together? We need to talk to do that.”

Jill turned and glared at her. “What the fuck do you want from me? Forgiveness? Because you will not get it. I only agreed to come back to stop you and Bellamy from floating any more incident people.”

“It was for the best,” Finn said calmly, holding by the blonde's side, “and it wasn’t all her fault.”

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like it was. You found the knife and Bellamy warned you what would happen, and you Clarke, you ignored it. He got hanged because of you! If you had just kept you’re fucking mouth shut, none of this would have happened. Charlotte is dead because of you, not Murphy.”

Clarke shook her head, “that’s not fair.”

“Fair? You don’t have a clue about what an unfair life is like. All those higher ups on the ark sent us here to die after years of torture. And I’m the idiot for thinking you were different, but you’re not. You are just a mini Abby.” Jill hissed before shaking her head while storming off.

“What do you mean a mini Abby?” Clarke shouted after her confused. The blonde wasn’t even aware that Jill knew her mom.

______

“Do you want to eat with us?” Monty asked, giving Jill the same sympathetic look that he always did.

“No, I’m fine, but thank you.” Jill answered, smiling.

Monty was one of the few people she now spoke to, along with Jasper and Octavia. Miller sometimes made small talk with her, but Jill felt it was more out of politeness than anything else.

Octavia suddenly stood up and pointed towards the night sky. “Guys are you seeing this? Bellamy! Come look quick!”

Jill turned to see Roma and Bree exiting Bellamy’s. She rolled her eyes and twisted to see the sky again. Good to see he’s taking his leader position seriously. “I think we should go investigate it.”

“No.” Bellamy answered, shaking his head.

“I wasn’t asking your permission, Bellamy.” Jill snapped back. “Whatever has just fallen from the sky will attract grounders and god knows what else. If it’s supplied, we should get to it first.”

“She’s right, Bell,” Octavia chimed in. “We should go look before...”

“I said no, O. We need to wait until morning, it’s too dangerous at night.”

Jill shared a look with Octavia before following her brother into his tent. She stopped when she thought he hadn’t noticed her presence. Being alone with him made her nervous. Jill hated Bellamy; she found him intimidating.

“See something you like, princess?”

His question caused Jill to frown. “Don’t call me Clarke’s nickname, and no I see nothing I like.”

Bellamy turned to face her grinning, “If you wanted to spend the night in my tent you could have just said.” His cocky grin faded when he saw the serious look on Jill's face. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m onto you Blake. I don’t buy the act you are putting on for everyone else, there is another reason you want to wait until morning.”

Bellamy didn’t know if he should be mad or not. He didn’t like Jill sticking her noise into his personal business, but he had to give her credit. Jill was a lot smarter than she let on to others. She was the only one who could see through him.

“You aren’t even going to deny it?”

Bellamy shook his head. “Would there be any point? Even if I told you the truth, you still wouldn’t believe me.”

Jill shrugged, “true.”

“Fine. In the morning I will come and get you before I leave to go looking for the pod, okay?” Bellamy asked before falling onto his makeshift bed.

“Whatever you say Blake, I’ll see you in the morning, I guess.” Jill said before turning to leave his tent.

“Unless you just want to spend the night in here.”

Jill didn’t respond to his childish comment. She knew what men like Bellamy Blake were like, and she would not become another notch on his bedpost. Besides, she wasn’t over Murphy.

______

“What did you just throw away?”

Bellamy jumped when he heard Jill's voice behind him. She was incredibly quiet and creepy. Had she been following him full time? Of course, she had.

“What are you doing out here? Stretching your legs?” He asked innocently.

“Don’t screw me around, Blake. I knew you would leave on your own, my question is why? What are you hiding?” Jill asked, stepping closer to him.

Before Bellamy had time to answer, the unconscious brunette he left on the pod was storming towards him.

"Hey! Shooter! Where's my radio?"

Clarke and Finn closely followed the brunette. Jill huffed, she didn’t have time for this. All she wanted to find out was what Bellamy was hiding.

Bellamy glared at her, before throwing her against a tree. “I shoulda killed you when I had the chance.”

The brunette put a knife to his throat. "Really? Well I'm right here. Where is my radio?"

Radio? Son of a bitch. Jill zoned out while listening to how Bellamy shot Jaha and everything he had done was for his own selfish reasons. Murphy was right, she cared about what happened to the people on the ark, and now I sounded like they would all die because of Bellamy fucking Blake.

“Could you make flares?” Jill asked, finally speaking up.

“Of course I could, why?” The brunette replied, looking directly at her.

Jill shifted uncomfortably feeling four sets of eyes on her. “We don’t need to speak to the ark, we just need to let them know we are here.”

***

Jill did her best to not let out a sigh of frustration. Clarke had left with the new girl Raven to go look in a secret bunker that her and Finn found previously, which meant she was left walking back to camp with Bellamy and Finn.

“Have you heard anything from Murphy?” Finn asked, most likely trying to break the awkward tension.

“Yeah, we exchange letters weekly with the prison pen pal program.” Jill said sarcastically.

Bellamy let out a grunt, “She wouldn’t tell us, anyway.”

“Of course I haven’t seen him! And if I had the last person I would tell would be either of you hypocrites!” Jill yelled before walking in front of them. A few moments later she turned to look at the person now next to her, “Murphy wouldn’t have hurt Charlotte. He just wanted to scare her.”

“He definitely did that,” Finn said, raising his eyebrows. “We are both in predicaments, I guess.”

“They are completely different situations. You had sex with Clarke, and now your girlfriend turns up you feel bad? I love Murphy, and he was banished and threatened to be killed if he returned.” Jill felt awful after pointing out the differences. She wasn’t trying to be cruel, just truthful, Finn caused his own problems.

“Do you ever wish you stayed with him?”

Jill felt the tears start to build behind her eyes. “Every day. I tried to do the right thing by staying, but so far I’ve not done any good.”

Finn gave her a soft smile “you have, you might not release it, but you help people all the time.”

“I hope things work out with your love triangle.” Jill offered Finn a smile, before they both started laughing, irritating Bellamy who stormed past them.

______

At night they stood by watching lights flashing across the black sky. It didn’t work. Jill looked at Bellamy and saw the devastation on his face. He never meant for this to happen. Her gaze then fell to Finn wrapping his arm around Raven, he must have made his choice.

Clarke stepped beside Bellamy, “would you wish on it if it was a shooting stat?”

Bellamy never answered straight away, but his eyes landed on Jill. “I wouldn’t even know what to wish for. She’d want Murphy back though.” He ignored the strange look Clarke gave him before a head of brown hair was rushing towards him.

“This is all your fault!” Raven said, marching towards Bellamy. “None of this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t stolen my damn radio.”

Jill surprised everyone, including herself by defending Bellamy. “He knows, alright? Nothing will change what has happened.”

Raven glared at her. “The big hero over here says he did it all for his sister, but he's done it for himself and now all those people are dead.”

Wait, Octavia.

“Bellamy when was the last time you saw Octavia?” Jill asked, worried.

“I..I don’t know. Has anyone seen Octavia?!” He yelled.

Mumbles broke out among them, but nobody had a straightforward answer for where she was. Octavia was officially missing.

Next chapter

[cravingcrazewriting]

Hard To Understand {Treebros}

English was a hard language to learn.

Okay, that was an understatement, but when you speak German, already a hard enough language for English speakers to comprehend, they expected you to pull the weight.

Which Evan thought was dumb, but whatever.

The point was that he was in a sort of messy apartment with a single mother who was letting him stay with him, because she was apart of the foster care system and always wanted a kid of her own. She was the most fluent in German and despite having a busy schedule, still would have time for Evan.

He didn't ask why she didn't have any children. He knew better to get into her personal life like that. But he did know was that she was getting remarried to some guy named Paul Heere, who was trying to learn German for Evan's sake. He even had a son himself, named Jeremy or something.

Evan doubted he'd get adopted, because he'd recently just turned seventeen and was nearly an adult. He couldn't be on his own till he was eighteen, though.

Heidi drove him to his first day, which was in the middle of the school year, and that alone made him uncomfortable. She talked to him mainly through German all throughout the car ride, talking about how she wished he'd make new friends and that he'd have a good day.

Evan didn't think either of those options were probable, but he didn't tell Heidi that.

Inside the school, he had to rely on the four years of English knowledge he'd gathered (he wasn't fluent by a long shot) to get his schedule.

"Don't worry, your teachers know you're new so don't fret if you're late," the secretary had told him while handing him a generic schedule that of course, was in English.

He managed to make out that his first period was 'Government', which okay, he supposed he'd have to learn about how the U.S. government works, so it should be interesting.

But Government was a lot harder to understand than Evan gave credit for. It was in general just complicated and had certain regulations he had to follow. Like the draft, for instance, but Evan wasn't a U.S. citizen, didn't know if he'd actually become one, or if Heidi and Paul were willing to adopt him. He had a lot of questions but was too nervous to ask them, so he spent the rest of his first period translating his schedule.

His next class was accounting, which wouldn't be so hard if he didn't have to translate every word problem on his sheet. He'd seriously had been hoping the teacher would at the very least help make sure his translations were correct, but no, they just gave Evan the sheet and went on their way.

The whole day was a hassle, to say the least, and a lot of it was wasted by translating stuff that the teachers should've previously had done for him.

Jared was apparently the son of Heidi's friend, who'd asked him to hang out with Evan. That didn't exactly happen. Jared said hello, that he'd help him to get his mom off of his back, and said some type of insult at a long haired teen walking to presumably a lunch table.

The poor guy was tall and skinny, but that didn't mean he didn't have any form of muscle on him. He had a slight build on him, with long, curly brunette hair waving all around his shoulders. Everything about him was sharp, his face, his eyes, even the shape of his body, but was covered by a soft hoodie, trench coat, and ripped jeans.

Evan could decipher a good majority of what he was saying. He was asking Jared if he wasn't... being funny enough? No, that did not make sense, especially with the angry expression the latter was holding. It was something about a joke, but that was all he got.

Before Jared walked off, he called the guy a freak. Which well, isn't that smart? Leave a foreign exchange student alone with a fully fluent English speaker who probably doesn't know German.

He made a small noise, which could've been mistaken for a laugh, because it was short and nervous.

The taller teen snapped at him, asking what he was laughing about. Evan tried to reason that he wasn't, but all he could really say was 'no, I'm not' over and over until he was shoved into the lockers.

Afterwards, a girl that looked a bit younger than him with long, blonde hair that had faded blue streaks ran to his aid. She was wearing a jean jacket, t shirt, and jeans. She was asking way too many questions for him to decipher, and he was growing closer and closer to a panic attack as it was, so he just scrambled to get up and ran to the bathroom (thankfully the signs were a dead giveaway) to try and calm down. He was just so overwhelmed with everything, and wanted to go home.

The rest of the day didn't get any better. He felt so tired and worn out from lunchtime, and with how much stuff he had to translate, it didn't leave a lot of time to actually get work done. A few teachers already translated the homework for him, which he greatly appreciated.

In his open eighth hour, he began typing out a therapy letter. Heidi had been talking to his new therapist, who apparently recommended that he wrote them. He was meeting with him that day.

Evan vented to Heidi on the phone, speaking fast in his heavy, German accent. He talked about needing to translate everything, how the teachers only understood so much of what he was saying, and how he could barely understand his classmates. Heidi tried to sympathize with him, and assured him Dr. Sherman was one hundred percent fluent in German, which Evan found hard to believe, but he tried to, anyway.

The letter was mainly in German, mostly because it was easier for Evan and it was a test to see if Dr. Sherman wasn't lying. It basically talked about how shitty of a year he was gonna have because no one cared about the German speaking kid, that he was shoved, and that no one would care or notice if he disappeared the next day.

But the tall, dark dressed teen appeared in the lab, his letter in hand.

"I um... I wanted to apologize for earlier," he said, shifting his weight every now and again, "I didn't mean to freak out on you."

"Um," Evan couldn't believe he had to uphold a conversation with the guy who shoved him. "It is okay. I am not mad."

"You're not from around here, right?" That surprised Evan, because no one had really acknowledged it. "I've heard you're from Germany."

Only a few bits and pieces made sense to him, but he got the gist of it. "Yes. That is correct."

"Do you miss it? Germany?" They crossed their arms.

Evan furrowed his brow in thought. "There is... not much to miss. I had..." he suddenly shook his head, "I am in foster care. I have no friends."

The teen's expression fell, "That really sucks. I'm sorry..."

Evan shook his head, not wanting to think about that. "How do you know I come from Germany? What is your name?"

"Word gets around when someone new shows up," again, only bits and pieces, "And I'm Connor."

Evan smiled weakly at him, sort of wanting the conversation to end. "I am Evan. It's nice to meet you, Connor."

"Evan?" The taller teen, Connor, pulled out a sheet of paper. He read the top. "Is this yours? It has your name on it."

"Yes! It's... homework, in a way," Evan took the paper, relieved in the fact that he wrote it in German. It felt private that way. "I am... seeing someone after school... to talk to..." he snapped his fingers as he tried to remember the word.

"A therapist?" Connor offered.

"Yes!" Evan beamed. "You are terrifying!"

Connor suddenly looked like he'd been slapped in the face.

"No! I did not mean that! People are terrifying, not just you! It is..." he trailed off, thinking for a moment, before suddenly remembering the word. "Anxiety! It is what my foster mom calls... social anxiety."

Connor made a face, "I guess that explains a lot."

"And because English is hard," he shrugged sheepishly.

"Um, if you want, I could give you a little help? I know it's probably weird coming from the guy who... pushed you, but maybe I could make it up to you?" Connor offered, smiling weakly.

"Oh," the offer was a surprise to Evan, and despite not wanting to being around Connor a lot, he needed both the help and practice. "Yes. I accept."

Connor set down his satchel and dug through it, before pulling out a pen. "Got something I can write on?"

"Uhh..." he looked at his letter, and handed it to him, not really caring if he wrote on it. Dr. Sherman would be happy to see he got someone's number, at least.

Connor took the letter and wrote in the back of it. He just wrote his number and name. "Text me later so we can arrange a time, okay?"

Evan smiled weakly, taking it back, "Okay."

It was hard at first, getting used to a new situation with someone completely new who hasn't exactly left the best first impression. But Connor was smarter than Evan previously thought, because he was trying to learn German to make things easier for him. There was a lot of miscommunication at first, but slowly, they started to understand each other better and better each day. They even hung out outside of study sessions, either at the park, the old orchard, or Evan's house (Connor didn't want him to go to his house).

What was once a disliking for Connor slowly turned into liking, but evolved into love, and not just the platonic best friend love. Actually in love, with how Connor messed with his hair when he was nervous, or how he'd soften up when he knew Evan was struggling with anxiety or other things. He couldn't help but stare at him unabashedly, whenever the opportunity showed itself, like when Connor faced the opposite direction of him.

That was exactly why he didn't tell him anything. Despite staying with Heidi for almost four months, he was certain she was going to give him up and send him back to Germany. Evan wasn't sure if long distance would even work out. He knew it was hard to, anyways. Plus, he was certain Connor only saw him as a friend.

One day though, when Connor was dropping him off at home, he saw a black car outside his house and paled. It was the same car he'd arrived in when he met Heidi, and was dropped off in. It was a Jeep, he realized, unlike before.

"Evan? What's wrong?" Connor noticed his distress.

"It's- my social worker," he said slowly.

"Why're they here?" He growled at the black colored car parked in front of them.

Evan bit at his lip. "Whenever they come, they are taking me away..."

Connor's hand found Evan's arm and clutched it. "They are not taking away my best friend."

"You do not have a choice..." he muttered, "It is my mom's..."

"We could run away," Connor declared. "They can't take you away if they can't find you."

"They will look for me. I... tried running once. It did not end well," Evan shook his head. "It will not work. I do not want say goodbye but..."

"You're not legally an adult yet. They can still tell you what to do," Connor filled in, looking away.

Evan just nodded sadly. "I do not want to go... I would miss you..."

Connor stayed silent, his hand staying on Evan's arm. He didn't want to let go of him, because if he did, he'd be taken away. Even though it was inevitable, it was ground, saying that was Evan was still there, that he hadn't left just yet.

"We'll have to go eventually," Evan whispered, gazing at the hand on his upper arm.

Connor nodded shortly, a small sign Evan recognized as him being upset. Finding the smallest amount of courage he could muster, he reached over the cup holders and brushed his bangs out of his eyes.

This was enough for Connor to put a hand in his cheek, like he was urging him closer. Call it his imagination, or whatever, but it made the distance between them so small, and it was only getting smaller. Just before it happened, Evan realized they were about to kiss, and despite fearing the fact that they'd be separated, he couldn't help conjoining their lips, letting his worries disappear, even if it was for a moment.

He clutched onto Connor tightly, despite the gentleness of the kiss. He wanted to be even closer to him, to climb onto Connor's lap, or pull him on top of him, something more, but yet at the same time, it was all too much. Connor had moved his hand from his cheek down to his neck, subconsciously stroking Evan's Adam's Apple which make him jump into surprise, but also made him lean into it because it felt so nice. Connor was always so gentle with him, whether it was checking a bruise (Evan was extremely clumsy) or greeting him with a hug after a panic attack, it was welcoming and soothing, but most importantly, not suffocating. The opposite of that, in fact.

They separated and pressed their foreheads together, panting as they began to catch their breaths.

The most fantastic part?

Connor's hand never left Evan's arm. Not once.

"That was- amazing," Evan shut his eyes, refusing to move even an inch. It was like the magic of that moment would shatter if he shifted even just a bit.

"You- you liked that?" Connor sounded surprised, and when Evan opened his eyes again, Connor was staring back at him.

"I like you, Connor. A lot. More than just best friends do," he insisted, meeting Connor's gaze.

"Good," He let out a shaky breath, "Cause I do, too."

Despite the situation, Evan began to laugh. How ironic everything was, and how it was about to be ripped away from him, and he could only laugh and cry because it just wasn't fair. He finally had Connor, but he was about to loose him.

"What's so funny," Connor squeezed his arm, his voice laced with worry.

Evan shook his head, tears falling from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. "We have spent- f-far too long just... liking each other from a distance, when we could've gotten together sooner... We could've had more time together as... something more."

Connor brushed away some of the big, blotchy tears from his cheeks, despite more escaping. "Hey. I'm not gonna give up that easily. I still want to be with you, and I'm more than willing to do long distance if you are."

Evan sniffled, "I... I don't know, Connor. Long distance usually does not work, and there's so much for us to loose."

Connor smiled weakly. "What's there to loose? We can make it work."

"Du bist meine Welt," Evan whispered shakily.

Connor paused, and licked his lips. "I... I don't know what that means..."

"You are my world," he repeated, running a hand through Connor's wild, messy hair. "I admit that I didn't actively try to make friends... I saw no point, especially knowing that I could be taken at a minutes notice. But you... you forced your way in, and filled an empty place in my life I didn't know I needed. I know you might forget me, but... I won't forget you."

He quickly leans over and pecked his cheek, before moving to give another to his jaw. "You're fucking insane if you think I'll forget you," he muttered against his skin.

Evan laughed, "I always thought I was non important. Glad to be proven wrong, though."

Connor pulled away, and the space was aching. He pulled out the car keys reluctantly.

Evan began to move at last. "We, we should go..."

When they exited the car, Connor briefly released his arm, but once they were side to side, he curled his fingers around Evan's. He held onto Connor tightly, because it was probably the last time they'd be there, side to side. The ironic thing was is that he was never told when he was being taken away. The social worker showed up, said, "It's time to go.", and Evan would pack up all his things and go (he was a fast packer).

He was already trembling by the time he was inside. The social worker, with long brown hair, dressed in all black, was talking to Heidi, having her sign some forms. She turned around and smiled at Evan.

"Was ist los? Soll ich meinen Koffer nehmen?" Evan asked her, fidgeting with his hands.

"Nein, heute ist ein besonderer Tag," she smiled.

"Worüber redest du?" He looked up at her.

"You are being adopted," she stated, looking back at Heidi, who nodded.

Evan stares, mouth agape. "Wha- r-really? But you... don't have much time with me..."

"That doesn't matter to me," Heidi shook her head, smiling. "With how much time we've spent together proves that you're apart of this family."

"Wait, what was that other stuff?" Connor walked over, raising an eyebrow.

"I asked if I needed my suitcase, but she said no, because today was special. When I asked why, she uh, well you know what she said," Evan clarified.

Connor started to smile. "So you're staying?"

"I am. Like it or not," Evan desperately wanted to grab Connor's hand, but he still didn't know what they even were. They didn't exactly have time beforehand to discuss it, and they thought he was leaving, as well.

"I do like it, though," Connor smirked ever so slightly.

"Even though we are both hard to understand?"

"We find our own ways, Ev. I can usually find some way to figure out what you're trying to stay."

Evan just nodded in silent agreement, taking his hand at last, because how was he supposed to argue with that?

[trilliontreesinitiative]

THE TRILLION TREES INITIATIVE

It was really all my fault. Stars in my eyes, I haphazardly met strangers from the internet in more-or-less public places and pled my case, just to be brushed off over and over again. Months of pounding the keyboard, and trying to find people to help me, I gave up and decided if it needed doing, I could at least give it a game try.

I posted my plea to every corner of the internet, every newsgroup I could find, every fledgling website. This was back before there were pictures on the internet. I was a true believer then and was sure that if I found the right people, somehow we'd find a way to plant a trillion trees on our planet.

Spare change went to seedlings that I nurtured through frigid winters and increasingly hot summers. I surreptitiously planted them - a spade in one pocket and a sapling or ten in another, all wrapped in a damp rag ready for a moment no one seemed to be watching--I could add a sapling to a border of trees along the waters' edge, or in a little clearing of national forest.

Time passed, kids came, and overwhelmed by the responsibilities I'd willingly accepted without any real sense of the gravity of my commitment to the humans I'd made, I let my zealous mission drift off like my trapeze artist dreams from thirty years earlier. My kids were smarter than me, and kept me busy ferrying them back and forth with their extracurricular activities. I felt like an unpaid lab assistant for their science fair projects, but I knew that sacrifice was part of parenthood and I tucked my passions behind a mask of nurturing officiousness.

I truly forgot about the pleas I'd broadcast so carelessly. The internet was a wild place in the late twentieth century, and twenty years after my last screams into the abyss came the most unexpected answer, delivered simultaneously to my old and new email account and sent as a text.

WE CAN HELP WITH THE TREES.

It looked like it came from my own email address, my own cell number, and it was only addressed to me.

I almost swiped away the messages, but ... but what was I rejecting? My old mission? I still knew we needed trees to help counter our own environmental carelessness. What if my shouts into the void reached someone who could actually help?

I wrote and discarded responses, one after another. Finally, I replied with "I'm open to suggestions," and watched as my own words buzzed my telephone and felt foolish and a little more cynical as nothing happened. What was I expecting? Hackers to show up with bushels of acorns?

__________________________________

It wasn't hackers, it was a strangely bland man who rang my doorbell the next morning right after I'd hugged my kids and seen the bus shuttle them to school. Since I was still wearing pants, I answered the door.

"Sorry, we're renters" has been my greeting to anyone at my door for the last decade. It’s not actually true, even -- we bought our rented house before the kids were born, but it usually cuts off any sales pitch and lets any visitor trundle off to a more likely mark. I wasn't even really thinking about the weird message of the night before--my chore list was mighty and overwhelming and if I wanted to live in a clean house, I needed to make it happen--but the bland man took a breath before I closed the door in his face.

"THE TREES"

I don't know how it sounded like thousands of voices, all at once, at a conversationally comfortable volume, but I got a sense of foreignness, of something far beyond my understanding, happening right at my front door.

My chores didn't seem to be much of a priority anymore. I felt no danger from the stranger, just overwhelming urgency to do as he wished. My desire to invite the stranger to sit at my dining room table and listen was my only priority. I led the way to the table and offered some coffee to my guest.

"NO, THANK YOU" the myriad voices replied, sitting across the table from my spot. He just looked like a guy in his late twenties or early thirties. He could be my pizza delivery dude, or the guy who managed the movie theater, or a shoe salesman. Sandy brown hair was cut and combed neatly. He seemed to be in reasonable shape, with rested placid eyes and a neutral expression on his slightly ruddy face. He seemed both comfortably solid and like he was vibrating almost too fast for me to tell.

"HERE'S OUR OFFER" echoed (maybe only in my head? Maybe I'm actually going crazy. This is the weirdest interaction I've ever had with a sapient creature. I'm pretty sure that guy was not a pizza deliverer or salesman, he was something, maybe many things, different.)

The paper felt high-quality -- thick and smooth, but the letters were iridescent, black at first glance, but racing oil-slick colors at any angle. My eyes couldn't focus on it at first. Did this guy drug me? Why did I let him in my house? He was probably a serial killer. Or a mass murderer? All those voices all at once? This was insane.

"PLEASE READ IT"

I obediently looked down at the words.

"WE, THE UNDERSIGNED, WISH TO SAVE YOUR PLANET WITH YOU"

I looked up at the bland man and tried to explain my insignificance "I like where you're going with this, but I'm just one person. I'm not in charge of anything really, including my own children. I can't even keep my houseplants alive." I pointed at browning foliage in my house, a spider plant that was purportedly unkillable until my indefatigable inability to keep track of my own commitments caught up and dried out.

"WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND WHO YOU CAN BE. KEEP READING."

The words seemed to swim and reform as I looked down again.

"WE WILL BUY VAST TRACTS OF LAND AROUND YOUR PLANET. WE WILL PLANT YOUR TRILLION TREES. YOU JUST MUST AGREE."

I felt completely inadequate. I was in no way qualified to agree to this. I'm a suburban mom, not a diplomat or foreign dignitary. I recycle and try to avoid single-use plastics, but I'm not even sure that I'm doing that right. What if I was agreeing to an alien invasion? My authority is limited to two small humans who were at least half jerk, and that's not counting their father's influence.

More words scrambled across the page. "WE WISH NO HARM TO YOU. WE JUST WISH TO MAKE YOUR PLANET MORE HABITABLE, BOTH FOR US AND YOU."

Ah, there's the catch. Who the hell are they? Do I want to cohabitate with another species? What if they're like kudzu -- invasive and impossible to remove?

The page seemed to shimmer as the letters reformed: "WE WILL ONLY GROW TREES THAT CAN THRIVE WITHOUT DAMAGING OTHER SPECIES."

"But why me?"

"YOU ARE THE DREAMER"

"Even if I didn't want you to do this, there's no way I could stop you, so...sure! Go for it."

A pen rolled across my table and stopped, pointing at a big black X at the bottom of the page.

"SIGN AT THE X"

I looked over the page again. No legalese had suddenly appeared. The words were the same, The pen felt heavy and I knew I was doing something irrevocable but I couldn't seem to stop. I used my best handwriting and signed my name, which of course you all know by now.

The bland man inclined his head and took the paper at once, tucking it into an inside pocket of his tan corduroy jacket.

“THAT SHOULD DO IT,” his voice buzzed more as he stood, and moved to the door.

I felt bemused and a little like I’d signed something expensive away without fully understanding the value as I locked the door behind the stranger. Maybe I was seeing things. Maybe none of it happened.

__________________________________

The first sign that I hadn’t suffered a psychotic break -- to be honest, I was a little surprised it wasn’t, I’d always felt precariously balanced on the edge of sanity and figured this was the final separation of my tenuous grasp on reality -- the first sign was a few days later, when I finished matching another dozen socks, rolling them together, and throwing them in my older child’s underwear drawer. Her room was a pigsty, but we’d come to an agreement that her worktable was her problem and that no food was consumed in her room, so it was relatively hygienic. I looked out the window and saw that the empty lot next to my house no longer had a sign advertising a local Realtor and something was happening.

I slid my feet into flip-flops and walked to my mailbox and saw the bland man riding a giant lawnmower, cutting the native brush to nearly barren dirt. I flipped through three credit card offers I planned to dump straight into the recycling and leafed through the grocery circular and noted that pork chops were a few dollars cheaper per pound, so McRibs would be coming back soon.

The silliest things played through my head as I watched him clear the land, as a flock of quail (I have Opinions About Quail, mostly that they’re only saved from extinction by reproducing so much, because they seem to have a death wish near motorized vehicles) ran on foot just ahead of the mower.

I waved at the man, since we were acquainted. Sort of. I didn’t know his name, and I’d never even thought to ask. Why didn’t I ask? I’d signed a contract that I didn’t truly understand and I didn’t even know his name. I patiently waited for him to mow back toward my property line, the forgotten junk mail between my arm and chest.

He shimmered a little as he hopped off the mower and moved towards me.

“WE MUST PREPARE THE LAND.”

I nodded, like I knew his plan all along and was magnanimously supervising him. I offered him a bottle of water, or the use of my toilet, if he needed it.

“WE HAVE WHAT WE NEED.”

Why was he speaking in the plural? It hadn’t seemed odd until just then. My sense of incongruity and that something was Just Not Right began to ramp up. I waved at them and walked back to my bungalow. I popped online to see what was happening in the world and saw the bigger picture, easily seen by less self-absorbed human beings.

Every single vacant lot in the world was being mowed flat by a bland looking man, who was identical in feature to every other bland-looking man mowing a vacant lot. Too weird. Reporters tried to talk to the men, but they placidly mowed each lot, one after another. Where did all of the mowers come from? There were no brand markers on the machines. As soon as the lots were cleared, furrows were plowed. The bland men moved implacably, good neighbors every one, and stopped the racket of agricultural busywork well before dinnertime. They started the next day after sunrise.

The story got bigger as the days passed. It was on the front page of newspapers, and everyone seemed to have a hot take on what was really going on. Aliens? Nah, they looked too normal. Clones? How could millions of clones make it to adulthood without someone catching on? As far as I could tell, I was the only one who’d successfully spoken to any of these….people, if that’s what they were. I thought I might be able to tell someone about my weird experience, but I was also positive that no one would believe me. I told my husband the strange tale and he laughed at my creativity and rubbed my back as I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I drove the kids to school and went to the public library. I used it frequently for escapist fiction, mostly about young women in the early 19th century trying to snag a spouse. I went straight to the reference desk.

“Do you know what’s going on with these guys mowing and plowing everywhere?”

The librarian grimaced, “You’re number six to ask today. We have no idea.”

I returned a stack of Regencies into the slot next to the desk, and walked back to my car without grabbing any new trashy fiction. I drove home pensively, worried that I had fucked up something big.

Safe in my garage, I felt my anxiety rise, and I tried to breathe slowly and smoothly and reason my way through this mystery. I agreed to let someone plant the trees that I knew we needed. We clearly weren’t taking care of our planet and someone else was stepping in for us. Did it really matter that I didn’t understand their reasoning or motivations? I’d been begging the world for so long, and someone finally listened. Panic attack averted, I stepped into my kitchen and rinsed the breakfast dishes before loading the dishwasher.

__________________________________

I looked out of my kitchen window and saw a wall of trees in the formerly vacant lot. Not seedlings, fully grown and mature trees. I flipped on the news, and it was the same everywhere. The trees were in. The space station reported that there were just new trees everywhere, they hadn’t been uprooted from forests, they just suddenly existed. Every tree fit perfectly in its microclimate, and fruit and nut trees were included in each single-lot forest, freely available for hungry mouths.

I ran outside and looked for the man. He was standing with his hands on his lower back, looking up. Fruit trees were in full bloom. Conifers looked like they’d been growing there since time began. I stood next to the man. I didn’t even know what words I could use to express my gratitude, my discomfort, my fear.

“WE ARE DONE, MS. APPLESEED” he buzzed, and suddenly became a cloud of bees. The cloud, the machinery, the man all dispersed. The signed paper fell to the newly turned earth. The trees stayed where they were.

A lot of people had been watching the planters. A lot of people saw the planters become clouds of bees. A lot of people grabbed one of the billion copies of my signed contract, and everyone saw my name, clear as day. “Terra Appleseed, Mother of Trees”, the headlines called me.

My number was unlisted, but my phone didn’t stop ringing for weeks. I didn’t have any of the answers that the reporters wanted. I was just a dreamer, I told them. I don’t know why the bees listened to me.

The scientists had the most to say, of course. Carbon dioxide was down, oxygen was up. Glaciers stopped melting, and while I was trying to sound like a functional adult, refusing any interview requests, my older daughter figured out how to make cold fusion work.

She’d built a variation of a Farnsworth Fusor that fused two atoms of hydrogen into one of helium at room temperature, and suddenly eliminated the need for fossil fuel combustion. With a ready-built platform, we freely gave away her discovery to anyone who’d listen. At first, people thought I’d somehow organized the tree thing to sell my daughter’s invention, but I knew we’d get by fine without charging a dime. The truth was more mysterious and unexplainable, but we, as a species, weren’t going to get ourselves in such a fix again -- we didn’t need to. We just needed the bees to start us off, and my daughter to finish our addiction to combustion.

People started planting their own trees, too, but nothing made them grow forty feet in a day. The bees kept that secret. I was much too boring to stay in the spotlight for long, and I returned to my diet of trashy novels and quiet longing for that feeling of secret importance that had filled the days of planting, the wonder at this enormous leap towards peace and understanding that seemed to fall into my lap.

It was enough. My obituary decades later would focus on the mystery of the trees, the dream I tried to spread, and the unexpected way it came true.

The trillion trees initiative worked. We reached for the stars, comfortable that our home planet was safe. We found life everywhere we looked. As far as I know, no one ever spoke to the bees again.

[shy-magpie]

RQG 142

I used up all my delayed gratification avoid spoilers and not listening to a season a day; so in an act of optimism over evidence I am going to listen before bed instead of waiting for my lunch break at work. Come on dead!Shoin! It would be the perfect punchline to Zolf refusing to play, if Yoshida was killed by his own trap. I think I was wrong about Zolf's spell sobering up Skraak but we've got to be nearing the 24 hour mark in the next couple episodes. They have to sleep sometime. Eep! Streaming promo! Rusty Towers has to be doing well if they can branch out, good for them! What can I say I like rituals? Thank yous followed by the theme and intros make my brain light up. Alex went 3rd person over the stress of the series being up to 142? Time to poke the corpse. Exploding 20s sound fun but a pain to plan for. Body is in a state of disrepair. Panel open in the room indicates the bolt came from a trap Body is gross Adventurer not Shoin? We can't search the corpse? Not even for Alex's traditional wallet of backstory? Can't picture the layout (ETA  Babs you are amazing, and your map is my RQG post for tomorrow.) Explanation for this area having power, I just like hearing Cel talk. Locker by each door. No Alex, we don't trust them to be normal lockers. Fire ax, weird wrench, box. Box contains: Solvent, glue, a dead potion, means of applying glue/solvent Cel sounds like they are consoling themself for this not being a puzzle Zolf is not a public speaker, but I think I got the gist of it. Take the tool kits: we will need them whether this is a puzzle or not. Another dead trap. Thanks for the careful wording, Alex *Foul water pool surrounded by a walk way *2 dead kobolds :( *Killed by acid in the face from a creature I am tempted to mark the turnings but given the weird layout I don't think I could track it right even if I could juggle my MP3 player, this post, a pen and paper. Once again just going to trust them to spell out what's important. Yeah they would check for traps at every door. Ooh active trap. Its a well balanced team, nice to hear them give eachother credit for their respective strengths so readily. Dark hall way of options They are honest, and admit they are probably not checking for traps as they walk. Oh good Zolf doesn't actually have a Thing about Dancing Lights. It really was just a "could we not make it easier for people to shoot us?" coupled with a possibly IC trouble relating to how much moving around in the dark stinks without Dark Vision. Ha they immediately spot a tripwire they would have missed if they just had Zolf & Azu lead them in the dark. Chalk marking, ensuing discussion of what it means. Is that Zolf or Ben who is losing it over the puzzles? Cel, do you need a variation on the "a live dog is better than a dead lion" speech I nearly wrote when Hamid went after that ooze? Because dead scientists can't write up their findings. Love ya both, if you have to die, please not to something you could have just walked away from. Of course Zolf is going to indulge them; he took to Cel fast as Sasha and Cel is less squishy than L1 Sasha. Oh darn I have to be fair, learning what the symbols mean could be life saving later on. The glaive really is a 10ft pole, I was joking when I asked that. I hate the word "seemingly". Alex, don't break Ben. Hmm, this is actually pulpy fun. Getting us back to base levels after really intense beginning of the season or being readied for more emotional content? Most of the beats I'm expecting can't hit until they get off the island; could be the answers to the what's going on around here are intense. Final bets on it being Mr. Ceiling mark 1? Weird room with weirder floor. Clearly another puzzle. Once again how rich is this guy? That's a lot of money to go "I'm smarter than you are". Genre savvy is rewarded Dead wizard "I'm giving you this for free" is Alex implying that other info given without rolls has a price normally? Other room is completely flooded? Zolf suggests we mark the door.  Kinky Azu. Hamid switches mark to clearly writing the issue. This team backs a play,  so its now a Rosetta Stone of warnings Partially flooded room but no real danger? Ah Zolf catches that we could lose our path back if we keep doing letting water out. Flooded & trashed lab Speakers burst to life Break time Its Yoshida, arguing with himself. Cel is a delight. Azu is "going to shake" Yoshida Swimming sounds like a bad idea. Oh, caught that tone from Zolf, does he think Poseidon would mess with them? Worrying since Alex keeps tossing water related potions at them. Zolf and Hamid are making decisions as equals. Hamid no longer sounds nervous and Zolf still isn't pulling rank crap. Even Skraak is worried about Zolf. Oh right, better is a relative term. Still pretty depressed (mechanicaly grief stricken). Ok not to get to into it, but Zolf's mental health arc is really good. Like no show is perfect but Zolf going from the Paris breakdown to clearly putting the work in on changing how he talks about himself and relates to the team, but it not being a cure all? All while still being a fully contributing member of the team? Pretty damn good to see. Back to first room. Cel does not understand where Zolf is coming from. Cel, Azu, and Zolf have a brief conversation about Zolf's mood. Have I mentioned how great Azu is lately? Player vs Character thing? Because even without Alex lamp-shading it, Lydia doesn't strike me as the "you must be chipper" type. Zolf and Cel interaction. Zolf wants to put a pin in this and have a proper conversation later. Not sure how I feel about promising to "keep a lid on it". On the other hand its hard to balance expressing the emotion vs ramping yourself up vs the needs of the rest of the team. So much for me not getting into it. Flip-side: hey, turns out I can acknowledge an actual flaw in Cel while still thinking they are awesome overall. Crates of potions, including the stuff from the syringe spears. wanna grab a sample this time? Because I'm thinking the stuff in the spears is the stuff that makes the Kobolds so docile and may be a prototype for the alchemical side of the blue veins. That sounds cathartic for Zolf. (looting the place then letting Zolf smash the rest) Azu smashes too. Good for both of them. Ah point Cel, stuff could have airborne effects. Point Zolf, 2 way street, Cel should let people know that kind of thing. Speakers, what is up with Shoin? Assuming this isn't a pre-programmed contingency (which I wouldn't have thought possible until watching Alex), why is he using the script from the puzzle party while half of the traps are broken? Getting meta again Well maintained nasty trap with really obscure poison 2nd trap?! Isn't going to kill anyone, thank Alex. What in the Magnus Archives? Dancing mannequin room with weird heavy gas? Going to crawl on the conveyor belt. Its trapped too. Acid damage to Azu. Into initiative.

Skraak got a nat 20

Azu was hit with a syringe arrow of acid. 

Azu backs out past Hamid & Skraak

A second trip wire drops a grate! Hamid and Skraak are trapped on the conveyor; everyone else is back in the room.

Zolf sees Cel dithering and directs them to deal with the grate. No effect

Azu takes 7 damage

Hamid uses acid splash on the grate.

Oh cool, there is an actual rule for how long it takes to get armor on and off. It makes sense too, the better the armor is the longer it takes. From what I picked up, better armor would have more straps for better fit and have more thick overlapping bits rather than gaps

All Zolf can do is a heal check and help Azu get her armor off.

Cel offers the antidote potion, but we don't know what it does.

Hamid reassures Skraak, continues to splash grate

Cel can't really do anything

More damage to Azu

Sweet out of initiative

Zolf cleans Azu off, Azu takes a couple healing potions and that’s dealt with. The acid splashes didn't do anything to the grate. Lift the grate attempt one. Ah "come on Skraak,  we're going to help" so wholesome Zolf wacks it with his glaive, it has some effect but not a viable plan Speakers again, Cel points out they might need to meet Hamid on the other side. ...long story short lever attempt has no chance of working. Zolf: Hamid, mate, you're on your own Hamid: I've got Skraak. (winks at Skraak, Skraak blinks at him) Is it having little brothers? He is good with Skraak! Zolf: chin up, don't die on the conveyor belt. Hamid: yup gonna try Zolf: cool anything we can give you? Hamid: I'm pretty well equipped I think. Zolf: all right well we'll see you on the other side. Azu: Yeah, we'll meet you there alright. We'll see you soon Hamid: yeah Azu: alright Hamid: stay safe Azu & Zolf: you too And the end of the episode out takes are always fun

[ashleyspinelliburnbook]

S1E12: The Voice/Kids in the Mist

Have you all ever seen the show The Voice? Because I sure haven’t, but now it’s the only thing I think of when I see those words together, even in the context of Recess. (I’ve heard a lot of people who wouldn’t otherwise watch are now turning to it in quarantine, though. The Voice, I mean, not Recess. Though maybe those people will diversify their “voice” shows after reading this!)

The Voice

Ah, yes, the era where young millennials learned who Robert Goulet was! (Just in time to get attached for just under 10 years and be saddened by his death in 2007. Yes, I sure am speaking from personal experience.)

But before we get back to Goulet, there’s a plot to this episode!

The school is outside celebrating Martin Van Buren’s birthday (well, I assume it’s the president, though they just said “Van Buren”), and it’s time for the national anthem. TJ and the gang don’t seem to be a fan of the kid, Brandon, who’s singing it, but they’re in luck — he swallows a bee while singing and is going to be out of the game for a few months. The entire student body cheers, because who needs the national anthem, anyway?

Well, turns out Principal Prickly does. He and Miss Finster are distraught trying to figure out who can sing at the PTA Spring Fling, which needs a national anthem for some reason. (Maybe PTA in the Recess universe stands for “Parents, Teachers, America”? Who’s to say?)

Suddenly, they hear...the voice! They track down the beautiful singing they hear to the bathroom, and see that it’s our pal Mikey! After he’s reluctant to sing just for Prickly and Finster back in the principal’s office, they enlist the help of a teacher at Spiro Agnew Middle School (of course) who “can make any kid sing.”

But Mikey isn’t so sure about that, telling the gang that anyone can sing in the bathroom! (The alone time, the acoustics? It checks out.) But then the music teacher Miss Salamone shows up, and it turns out she’s young and cute, so off Mikey goes to compulsory singing lessons.

Miss Salamone tells Mikey that “singing is the most natural thing in the world...it’s like breathing, but for the soul,” which reels him in RIGHT away, but he still insists that he can only sing in the bathroom. Luckily, Miss Salamone has come prepared with a guitar, so they go into the bathroom — and what do you know? It works! Somehow they get a piano in there, and between bathroom lessons, Mikey sings the likes of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” “Ave Maria,” and “Little Brown Jug.”

The next day, Miss Salamone — in the music room, but flanked by toilets and sinks — asks Mikey to sing blindfolded to visualize the chords. But as he sings, people come in to take away all the bathroom stuff, and when he takes the blindfold off...he’s cured! Miss Salamone is so proud, she kisses Mikey on the cheek.

Mikey tells the gang that he never thought he was good at anything, and credits his newfound success to Miss Salamone (who, let’s be real, has only really tricked him into singing in a non-bathroom place because that’s why Principal Prickly brought her here). But then...he says that he and Miss Salamone love each other.

Gus is grossed out — “She’s old, really old, she’s gotta be at least 24!” he cries — so Mikey sets out to prove their love for one another. But when he gets to the music room, Miss Salamone is BEING PROPOSED TO by her boyfriend Antonio, who, she tells Mikey, sings opera for royal Hungarian cruise lines (is that all supposed to be a proper noun? Royal Hungarian? Either way, oof).

A very upset Mikey runs off, and the next day, no one can find him! He’s supposed to sing at what looks like a school assembly that the superintendent will attend (what happened to the PTA thing?), and they need a national anthem singer. Miss Salamone tracks down Mikey and coaxes him to come back by telling him that he’s her favorite student.

But Mikey won’t sing the national anthem, he tells the student body. “Something important’s happened,” he says, “and well, I think the nation will forgive me.”

He sings “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen” because he says he can understand it now. (It’s an African American spiritual, Mikey; no you can’t.) But everyone cheers, and Miss Salamone wishes Mikey a caring “See you in middle school” as she disappears out the door.

Takeaway: I like when Mikey is good at things, especially since he’s good at a lot of things that I like. Also: awwww, teacher crushes. Aww.

Kids in the Mist

Well, everyone, there’s an expert in child psychology on campus! Dr. Quilty has three degrees from “various Ivy League schools” and has written “half a dozen books, two of which were nearly published.” But most importantly, she’s never interacted with students in the field (don’t worry, that’s not the last weird brush with academia in this episode), so she wants Principal Prickly to give her and her grad students access to his students. You know, so she can study them. Like Jane Goodall and the chimps. (This episode title is probably based on Gorilllas in the Mist, right?)

Prickly is hesitant until Dr. Quilty tells him he’ll be interviewed as an expert for the video presentation she’s putting together, and then he’s right on board, of course. (Anything for that job at Spiro Agnew Middle School that is just perpetually open, I guess.)

Dr. Quilty tries to set up a hidden camera (which her grad students are operating), and then tries to blend in with the kids with a hearty “Wassup, homies? Mind if I hang with your posse?” She tries a number of different things to catch the kids on camera, like camouflaging herself as part of the jungle gym and as some grass. Shockingly, neither option leads to any data.

(Equally shockingly, her grad students quit because they’re not being paid. Which is weird, because Dr. Quilty said she had funding for this endeavor. All too real, huh?)

Anyway, this whole time, Dr. Quilty has been getting caught by students at every turn. As if, you know, a full adult trying to fit in with a bunch of kids, none of whose classes she has recently joined as a new student, wouldn’t raise any suspicions whatsoever. (Which university funded this?) So when she breaks down crying, the gang is just kinda like, yeah, we know.

Dr. Quilty admits she doesn’t like children (“No offense,” she adds; “None taken,” says Gretchen), but all Spinelli wants to know is why she didn’t just ask them for help. TJ adds a very TJ ultimatum: she leaves them alone, and they’ll help her make her video.

So they stage a bunch of activities for Dr. Quilty to film: hanging upside-down, playing basketball, letting the kindergarteners loose, all that fun stuff. But when they’re done filming, she doesn’t want the gang to see it. She says it won’t be ready until November...of next year. (This episode came out in January 1998, so this is November 1999 we’re talking about!)

But the gang also knows she’s showing it to Prickly and the superintendent on Monday, so she has to have some cut ready to watch. So they break into her office and find it...and it’s a disaster. It starts off as an educational video about recess, but Dr. Quilty has edited all their worst moments — Vince stealing the ball while playing basketball, the bar falling down with too much weight from people hanging on it, the kindergarteners nearly trampling Gretchen — as part of her compelling case that “recess is a place where dangerous antics rule the day” and an “archaic institution”...that should be canceled.

TJ’s plan? Edit the video again. They film new footage of kids having fun on the playground and talking about why they love recess. Bonus: When Gretchen is editing, we get this delightful sequence of her laughing maniacally, then coughing violently:

As soon as the gang are done editing, Principal Prickly appears — but they’re able to hide just in time, as he brings in the superintendent, followed quickly by Dr. Quilty’s supervisor (who evidently has a thing for the superintendent) and Dr. Quilty herself.

The kids have really outdone themselves with this cut. They’ve edited in nature documentary footage to make it look like Gretchen is running from a tiger and not the kindergarteners, a train crash after some video of Mikey dressed as a train, and so much more. It’s funny! And then, when Dr. Quilty’s original voiceover directs the viewer to the experts, it’s the kids talking about why recess is important to them.

Prickly is mad, obviously, but Dr. Quilty’s supervisor is impressed — she thinks it’s brilliant that Dr. Quilty thought of the idea to give cameras to the children! (Maybe that’s why, as the adults file out of the room, the superintendent asks the supervisor if she knows anyone who would be a good fit for the Spiro Agnew Middle School job.)

The episode ends with Dr. Quilty trying to give cameras to...the kindergarteners. You know, those giant VHS cameras. The kindergarteners, who are smarter than her, instead capture her and bring her into their pen.

Takeaway: Gretchen needs to let loose more often! Oh, also something about taking kids more seriously. Maybe the experts on recess are the ones who live it every weekday, you know?

[virovac]

Kyle’s Funeral

[ Man, I’m probably going to have to rewrite this to include more characters, huh? Most of this was written in season 2]

----

Bow, Scorpia and Catra were the only ones willing, or able to give speeches

Bow talked about how it took him a few years after the war to fully understand what Kyle and the rest of the Horde orphans had experienced, only fully realizing the severity after working with the younger former cadets.

Scorpia spoke of Kyle's artwork, and how she regretted never getting to know one of the Horde's few other artists. She even showed those she thought were his best on a screen.

Lonnie tried to give a speech, but stopped after a few sentences; unable to continue.

Entrapta had planned to read out a list of things Shadow Weaver praised him on in her files, but was persuaded not to once it was explained most were backhanded compliments...and that no one wanted to think about Shadow Weaver. So she just sat in the audience.

Catra's was simple and to the point.

"He was smarter than anyone gave him credit for. There was a reason I cheated off him rather Rogelio or Adora."

****

The speeches were over, and people flitted about. Some went to view the open casket. Others like Adora, procrastinated.

“You know in a weird way, having you act disrespectful is kinda helping me cope.”  Adora wore a smile of sad gratitude as she spoke.

Catra swirled her drink with a lazy twirling motion of the hand. “Better everyone be mad at me than focus on the sad.”

Adora shook her head. “I don’t think that will help the others. It will just distract them from getting closure. But you are helping me, so thanks and please don't try to cause trouble."

Catra calmly looked around, ready to drop this line of conversation.

She turned to Sea Hawk, who was looking at the options at the buffet.

"So how did you know the deceased?"

Sea Hawk jumped a bit, not having noticed her.

"Well, er, apparently I threw him. Unnecessarily, it turns out."

A dark grin sprouted on Catra's face.

"Pfft. Wow, I'm sure he'd really be happy to know you attended."

"Catra, be nice." Adora chastened. "He helped Entrapta try and track down Kyle where Kyle was born so he could be buried there."  

"In the remains" was the unspoken part of that sentence. Knowing the Horde, It was doubtful Kyle came from anyplace that was still standing.

In the end, it was decided he would be placed in the cemetery closest to Lonnie's and Rogellio's apartment.

Catra didn't understand why they didn't just cremate Kyle like back in the Horde, but it wasn't her business.

Sea Hawk puffed out his chest and dramatically gave a mid-torso salute ."One of the saddest things that can happen for a sailor is to not be buried at home. I wish I had succeeded in helping this man to where he came from, but alas… the trail was too old and too cold"

After that there was some more brief smalltalk (the pirate got unusually open about his acceptance his body would likely never be recovered the day he met his end) then they let Sea Hawk be.

****

Sometime later Adora felt a question poke her brain. "Scorpia showed pictures of the art he left behind, some even from back in the Horde. I know he could probably swipe a pen; but where did Kyle get the supplies to do the colors?"

Catra looked uncomfortable, but tried to play it off with a shrug "I gave him our old stash right after Thaymore. Didn't have it in me to just throw it out."

Adora was a confusing mix of feelings. They had worked hard on developing that collection, grabbing anything they could find in the trash or fallen off a Horde transport that had been (in retrospect) bringing in ill-gained bounty.

But… it was nice to know that after their falling out at Thaymor, their prized collection still saw use.

****

Adora found Lonnie sitting on a rock, flicking through a datapad displaying scans of all of Kyle's drawings.

"You know, I always thought he wasn't all there. But... I think I'm emptier than he was. He had dreams. Not likely ones, but ... as the war went on the impossible seemed to happen every day."

Her gaze turned to the horizon.

"If he couldn't make it in peacetime, what chance do I have?

Adora could not stay silent at that.

"He wouldn't want you to think that way.".

Lonnie bit back some instinctual counter about "why does that matter?".

She changed the subject.

"Grizzlor's old team sent a card."

Adora paused. "Aren't they all in prison?"

"For war crimes?" she thought.

There was a lot of stuff going unspoken today.

Lonnie brushed that off ."Yeah, apparently Kyle used to hang around them a lot when he wasn't hiding behind us. He was their "team mascot.' They'd bask in his admiration and tell him stories. "

Adora felt herself thrown a bit at this new knowledge. That seemed like such a big thing not to be in the loop of.

"And no one knew about this?"

Lonnnie shrugged.

"Rogelio did, but he didn't think it was important. But that's why he was always able to find Kyle. Its from them Kyle got the description to make a drawing of you and Swift Wind."

Adora gasped. "Kyle drew a picture of us?! While in the Horde?!"

"We didn't know you were She-Ra yet back then, okay?  It was right after you fought them outside the woods" Lonnie rolled her eyes.

Lonnie found a smile creeping up on her face.

"Can you believe he actually put it on his locker to try and look tough? Having a "scary princess" on it? Probably a good thing Catra tore it up so he didn't get accused of being a sympathizer."

"Actually, I would have liked to have seen it,'' Adora responded in a flat tone. She herself couldn't tell if she was actually wistful or just saying something nice.

Silence followed. The well of conversation was running dry, yet the emotions were not leaving.

Lonnie dredged up a memory from something Kyle had told her a few months before it all happened.

"Apparently, Grizzlor once tried to reassure him by saying it took him until he was 400 years old before anyone thought he was worth something."

That was so horrible, it was funny. The secondhand embarrassment from the terrible attempt to cheer Kyle up seemed to call across time and space. Soon Adora and Lonnie were snickering than full on laughing.

Then mutual sobbing.

Lonnie felt a strange pressure, and opened her eyes to find Adora's arms around her.

Lonnie sighed.

"You turned into a real hugger after leaving the Horde, Adora. I'm not sure I like it."

****

Swift Wind gazed upon the body in the casket.

Sea Hawk stood beside him, the only change in self-declared pirate's usual wear was his honorary Rebellion naval hat he never wore anywhere before. He held the hat against his chest now.

Swift Wind had also kept things simple, having Bright Moon tailors make him a simple black necktie.

He had thought about a different more... horse outfit; but the only funeral wear for horses he could find was simply for draft horses pulling hearse carriages. And he just didn't think they would look right. He wasn't a draft horse, and he wasn't planning on pulling anything.

His thoughts turned back to what was in front of him.

...It was amazing how Entrapta had managed to put it back together so well after her overly-thorough autopsy.

Kyle's body was dressed in clothing in inspired by what Salineas placed its sailors in before giving them a burial at sea. Though they were far away from the ocean, so the colors chosen had been more earthy tones, and there were some changes made of course to keep it from being too much like the source of inspiration.

Kyle's herd had suggested it after talking with Sea Hawk. Apparently Kyle had always been happiest in the Horde when on sea missions.

Swift Wind felt it was so weird in hindsight how Adora had never talked to him about her first herd. He felt like he should know more about this person.

Scratch that, everything today was so weird.

Funerals were weird. He had never felt more self-conscious in his life.

It had been awkward when he had yawned during one of the speeches, and Queen Angella had to explain that yawning in horses was a stress response rather than boredom.

(He had to admit she picked up a lot of knowledge in her long life.)

He never felt more separated from his peers than before this day. He knew the builder species occasionally talked to inanimate objects like they could understand them, and here in this place it seemed socially expected for one to address a corpse or grave like it could hear you. It was odd and confusing.

Still, he could give it a try.

"You know, while I love being a grand adventuring hero, I had it pretty good as normal horse.

...But, you seemed to have had it pretty bad."

He paused.

Sea Hawk placed a comforting hand on the equine's back. It was reassuring, it helped him feel like he had as much right to be here as any other person. He continued.

"I know how it feels to have people think you're annoying. Sometimes I feel people only put up with me because of my speed and strength and they otherwise wouldn't want me around."

A strange thought occurred to him, it was overpowering and selfless and scary, and seemed ridiculous.

"I think... if I could go back and make it so you got transformed into Adora's steed instead of me... I would."

It was a dumb thought. Time couldn't go backwards. But a pressure seemed to lift from inside him after saying that. He felt calmer.

Swift Wind felt he understood the purpose of graveyards a little better now.

****

Adora came back to find Bow sitting in a chair and talking to Catra while the latter feigned disinterest.

"It's not like I should have been expected to be sympathetic at the time to someone who had kidnapped me and just helped pulled off a terrorist attack."

He paused realizing who he was talking to.

Catra smirked humorlessly. "Continue."

Bow decided to just power through it.

"And I had Glimmer on my mind-

-but I thought of myself as a hero. And heroes are supposed to go above and beyond being merely decent. And I dismissed someone obviously in distress. And he was trying to help me as much as he felt safe doing so."

Catra gave a 'hmph'.

"You can't care about everyone and everything all at once or you'll go crazy. I wouldn't have gotten as far as I had if I did that."

"That is the exact opposite of comforting, Catra." Bow didn't even bother glaring at her. Just kept the same contemplative expression while looking at his hands.

Catra thought that over.

"Yeah, I guess it is; sorry."

Adora decided not to interrupt and directed her attention to those around her.

Rogelio was mostly motionless in a group of other people when Lonnie, who came back with Adora, joined him. He didn't really know anyone else here and looked thankful at Lonnie's return.

The exact nature of his bond with Kyle was always confusing in hindsight to Adora. Much less clearer than her and Catra's or his friendship with Lonnie. She wondered if either had understood it. It was dependable, but grew colder with age.

They had all grown less warm towards Kyle as they got older, she thought. As the Horde's grip grew tighter in their minds, they became less patient with him. And as they got less patient, his performance worsened.

He really only was kept on because he was good at written portions of the tests, and because Shadow Weaver liked to use him to berate everyone else.

"I see once again Kyle is the only one taking the lesson seriously," the sorceress would often say.

Adora knew apparently the two tried to turn things romantic after she left the Horde...but it fizzled out after the war ended.

She remembered asking Rogelio about that. He had just sadly growled that outside the Horde, Kyle had better options than someone like him.

****

Catra felt empty headed, yet also somehow like her skull was stuffed to the brim at the same time. She had never thought much of Kyle. But she never really thought about anyone in her squad except Adora. She had let Adora be her entire world, let the cruelty of the Horde make her treat Adora as her only refuge.

Yet there had been another outsider, one who had never done anything mean to her, another possible ally, in easy reach the whole time.

She regretted not trying.

****

He wasn't the best of them.

He wasn't the worst of them.

He was just a person who hadn't been treated as a person should.

She had said the squad had been her family to Glimmer once.

Now that felt hollow and comical.

She stared one last time at the grave.

Adora knew she'd never be able to move on from this completely. The only guilt she had ever managed to full break free from was that she was directly made to feel by Shadow Weaver. Any other guilt... it always found its way back

"I'm sorry."

She paused

"I'll try- no I will be better."

She felt something more was needed.

She took out her sword.

"For the Honor of Grayskull" she whispered softly.

She-Ra kneeled before the grave. Adora had never been one to think being She-Ra being made her better.

But maybe acknowledgment from the revered and mighty She-Ra could in some small way, partly make up for everything.

Angella touched her shoulder. She-Ra turned gazed into the woman's eyes

She leaned into the angel's maternal hug.

It was time to go.