#so i doubt proper credit would be given anywhere else

[thelabofrinth]

some gumi icons! use w/ credit :]

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 3 - ao3 -

The closing ceremony of the discussion conference was dignified and serene, as appropriate for an event hosted by the Lan sect, and after it was done everyone milled around to chat a little more before starting to break off into groups to leave.

The leaders of the Great Sects naturally gathered together.

They were an unusual mix. Wen Ruohan was the eldest by an entire generation, technically hailing from the generation of Lan Qiren’s grandfather even if his extraordinary cultivation made him seem as young as Lan Qiren’s brother; after him there was Lan Qiren’s father and the Jiang sect leader, Jiang Menglin, who themselves were a generation above their younger counterparts from the Nie and Jin clans – Jin Guangshan especially, having only inherited his position in the past year.

Lan Qiren’s brother stood beside them, speaking with them with his head held high. Their father planned to slowly transition sect leadership to him over the next half-decade so that he himself might be allowed to retire from the mundane world to focus on cultivation, as Lan An ultimately did. In accordance with that plan, he had allowed him to take the lead on hosting certain small events at the discussion conference, like the night-hunting.

Lan Qiren was there, too.

He was lurking as far to the back of the platform as he could get, trying simultaneously to perfectly reflect his sect’s expectations for proper behavior while also doing his utmost to remain beneath anyone’s notice – Lao Nie had caught his gaze at one point and winked, a friendly older man’s indulgence of a junior, but that was in large part unavoidable given the man’s gregarious personality – and enjoying the rare moment in which he could see his father at something other than a distance.

He usually only saw his father when he was brought before him to report on his achievements, typically once a month. When he was younger, he had been accompanied by one of his teachers, who would report on him while Lan Qiren anxiously examined his father’s face for signs of approval; now that he was older, he went by himself, dipping into a deep salute as he recited anything of interest, and sometimes if he really exerted himself his father would reward him with a word of praise.

Lan Qiren was only allowed to stand with the rest of them on the basis of a technicality – his father hadn’t officially transferred power to his eldest son and wouldn’t for a while yet, so he had brought along both of them on the transparent excuse that they could provide company for Jin Guangshan and Lao Nie as members of the same generation. It was very much a technicality in Lan Qiren’s case, given his much younger age; he fell on the very tail end of their generation on account of the circumstances of his belated birth.

Lan Qiren’s birth was very late to allow him to be considered a peer to those a decade or more older than him, in fact, but that was the way of things.

He was a child of duty, rather than pleasure.

His parents had been very much in love, as was the Lan sect’s way, and together they had had two sons and a daughter within six years, each one of them deeply beloved. But perhaps their joy had been too complete, because the heavens had not permitted it to last: they lost their younger son and daughter both – one to an unexpected illness, the other to an accident. Their eldest, Lan Qiren’s brother, was still there, but it would have been irresponsible to have only a single heir to a Great Sect. Accordingly, under great pressure from the sect elders, they had sought to have another child, only to fail time and time again, enduring countless miscarriages and stillbirths alike.

There had even been some debate as to whether such a situation permitted the sect leader to take on a concubine, regardless of custom or even his own wishes. Desperate to prevent such a result, Lan Qiren’s mother had inadvisedly taken certain drugs to encourage conception and at last Lan Qiren had been successfully born in a slow and bloody labor that had sapped his mother’s already poor health. She had died a few years later, suffering a recurrence of the infection left behind from his birth. Lan Qiren had been too young to really remember her, but he knew that his brother had blamed him for her loss ever since.

He sometimes wondered if his father did, too.

Of course, unlike his brother, his father had never said as much. As the Lan sect leader, he was graceful and refined, educated and reserved, a venerable and venerated cultivator; it was widely agreed that he would never have planned to retire so early if it hadn’t been for losing his true love all those years ago. Perhaps he might even have been another Wen Ruohan, seemingly ageless, striving for immortality – at any rate, he would never be so petty as to mistreat a person due to the circumstances beyond their control. It was something he had heard that his father had said from one of the other Lan sect juniors, and at any rate it was in the rules, and Lan Qiren believed in the rules.

Besides, it wasn’t a surprise that Lan Qiren would be an afterthought in comparison to his brother, the already famous Qingheng-jun, who his father treasured like a pearl cupped in his palm. His brother was the much-anticipated first child of his father’s happy youth, the reminder of good days gone by, a child who had survived the misfortunes that had taken his siblings, and Lan Qiren’s brother repaid his father’s adoration with strength, intelligence, and endless potential. He was a cultivation maniac, yet good at managing the other juniors; he was cold and aloof, elegant, yet capable of being personable and even charming when needed. He was one of the shining stars of his generation, already a powerful cultivator and a respected gentleman even though he’d only just passed twenty-one. Even the name which he was commonly called, Qingheng-jun, was a rarity, a personal title unusual in this peaceful day and age.

Lan Qiren, in contrast, was slow and clumsy, with only average cultivation skills and positively dire social skills. While his teachers praised his strong academic skills and musical talent, the Lan sect followed first and foremost the orthodox path of swordsmanship; once his weakness in that area had been discovered, many of his sect elders lost interest in him as anything other than the inferior back-up plan that he was.

Undoubtedly that was why, when Wen Ruohan turned to Lan Qiren’s father and said, “Your son is a credit to you,” everyone assumed he was talking about Qingheng-jun.

“Sect Leader Wen does him too much honor,” their father said, clearly pleased despite his deprecating words. After all, Wen Ruohan, Sect Leader Wen, was well known to be extraordinarily sparing with his praise for any who didn’t share his bloodline or surname. “My unworthy son is still young and foolish. His eyes are always fixed upon cultivation, never straying – he doesn’t even spare time for girls, despite his advancing years!”

The other sect leaders were smiling, and Lao Nie already opening his mouth to say something teasing, when Wen Ruohan said, “I meant your other son.”

Lan Qiren wasn’t prepared at all for all the sect leaders to turn to look at him.

He shrunk back.

“Qiren?” his father said, almost as if he were checking to confirm that that was the right name, a trace of doubt in his voice even as Lan Qiren’s brother’s face went white with humiliation. “I didn’t realize you’d had a chance to hear him play.”

“Regrettably I have not yet had that pleasure,” Wen Ruohan said, a slightly strange expression on his face. “We merely exchanged some charming conversation, that’s all. Is that his most notable skill?”

“His accomplishments as a musical cultivator are sufficient to rank him among the adults of his already talented sect,” Lao Nie volunteered when there was a brief pause, and Lan Qiren’s father was quick to smile and nod along. “You missed out, Sect Leader Wen.”

“Perhaps another time,” Wen Ruohan said, his return smile still strange and almost subtly displeased, though Lan Qiren would hardly trust himself to know for sure.

At that point, Jiang Menglin spoke up, changing the subject, and most everyone joined in, all of them evidently relieved – not least of all Lan Qiren himself, who had started wondering if there was some way he could become invisible or else fall into a deep chasm that might conveniently open up beneath his feet.

Nothing more was said on the subject until the ceremony was done and the last of their guests departed, when Lan Qiren’s brother tracked him down and hissed, “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Lan Qiren cried out. “We only talked!”

“You mean you talked at him the way you always do – ”

Their father cleared his throat, having come up behind them, and they both turned at once and dropped into deep salutes.

“Do not think about it too much,” he said, voice distant as the cold wind on a winter night. “Sect Leader Wen sometimes likes to make trouble for the sake of making trouble, especially if he thinks he has found a weakness. You will need to be on your guard against that when you are sect leader.”

He was talking to Lan Qiren’s brother, of course. Lan Qiren could count, and had, the number of times his father addressed him directly in a given year, but it was only reasonable – he wasn’t the heir, doomed to take on the burden of leadership, and so there was much less his father needed to say to him.

“Yes, Father,” his brother said. “I’ll remember.”

“Do not trouble your younger brother over nonsense.”

Lan Qiren felt his brother’s angry gaze like a flame against his skin, even if it wasn’t anywhere as weighty as Wen Ruohan’s. He did not understand what he had done wrong, whether to Wen Ruohan to decide to make trouble using his name or to his brother now that had made him angry, but that wasn’t so much different from the usual.

“Very well, Father,” his brother said. “I won’t.”

[kyasarinkishinuma]

Being Caesar's sister would include... (2/2) [Part 3 spoilers!]

As promised! Also, you guys can feel free to use my OC stand Viper's Shiver for your JJBA stuff. Just kindly credit me, thank you.

Part 1/2

Rewind time. After your parting from Joseph in 1939, you headed back home and spend the following years taking care of your remaining family as best as you could. You worked your ass off to get the money to afford them a roof, food and proper education.

Once the youngest sibling has spread their wings, though, you find yourself considerably more aged and slightly lost. You had dedicated your whole life to your family, and now you had all parted ways to start your individual lives. And Caesar's absence haunted you still, years later.

As a result, you decide to seek a new purpose. Leaving the house to your family, you leave for what will be a lifetime's worth of travelling. All you bring with you is essential things and Caesar's headband.

You choose to disguise yourself as a man during your travels, hiding your hair and flattening your chest using bandages. That way, your beauty will attract less attention. As a result, even after so many years of meeting countless amounts of people, you never find anyone to settle down with.

Although, during your voyage, you do discover a great companion.

Your Stand emerges when you end up at the wrong place, at the wrong time. You find yourself in the middle of an ugly alley fight in Poland when suddenly, the approaching gangsters fall to the ground, screaming in agony. Thick icicles protrude from their faces and blood gushes from their odd wounds. And there's a hissing sound from your shoulders...

It takes a while for you to understand what Viper's Shiver is, and for you to accept it. Your Stand takes the shape of a ice-pale snake that can project different forms of ice from its mouth. It can also render itself longer or shorter, thicker or thinner, on your command.

At first, you conclude Viper's Shiver is your brother's spirit. After all, it uses a form of H20, just like Caesar had, and it protects you. You start wearing Caesar's headband around your arm to show him you acknowledge his presence.

For the longest time, you believe in this conclusion, especially given that no one else can see Viper's Shiver. Well, until you meet another Stand user, decades later...

Both the young Frenchman and you are shocked into awe when you first stumble across each other in Paris. You can see each others' Stands!

Your battling skills are put to the test when you two engage in a fight. However, given your lack of fighting experience and Silver Chariot's speedy close-range attacks, you are forced to admit defeat.

Once you two recover from your initial adrenaline high, Polnareff and you talk things through and realize you're both good guys. You two simply have the same ability to summon Stands. This is when you start to doubt that Caesar is Viper's Shiver. Such a thought leaves you more lost and lonely than ever.

Upon getting to know Polnareff, you realize you have more in common than you thought. You both lost a loved one and live restlessly in their absence.

Given that you're both loners, you two part eventually, heading your own ways to chase your respective goals. However, you keep in touch, having become good friends in what little time you spent together.

That is how you're able to pick out his odd behaviour when he suddenly leaves for Hong Kong.

You're quite intrigued as you watch your friend Polnareff approach a group of complete strangers in the restaurant in Hong Kong.

And then, you're utterly confused when you discover that they're all Stand users.

Even though you don't understand what's going on, you're able to tell, thanks to the Stardust Crusaders, that Polnareff is not in his right mind. As a result, you help them take him down, using Viper's Shiver's long-range attacks to your advantage as you help from a hidden spot.

Of course, once Polnareff is dealt with, the men start to search for you, sensing your presence. You're smart enough to understand that you're far too outnumbered to fight. So, you decide to escape while you can, telling yourself you'll come back for Polnareff.

But a voice stops you right in your tracks. "Wait! Is... Is that you, (Y/N)?"

You'd recognize that voice anywhere.

Joseph and you are overjoyed to see each other after so many years! You two have paid each other visits, of course, but the last time you've seen him was when his grandson was born, 17 years ago.

And... Oh boy. That tall, shady-looking man there is his grandson? Good grief, he has grown!

Much like Polnareff, you choose to join the quest to take Dio down. Joseph is like family to you. His family is your family, and you'll do anything to help.

You end up being the caring person in the group. Despite the hurry to get to Egypt, you're able to sense it when the boys start to get tense and you try your best to help them relax by offering to treat yourselves to some good food and by being someone they can count on.

Your Stand's ice abilities also help a lot in the dessert. It helps cool the group down from time to time.

When Kakyoin's eyes are injured, you end up staying by his side at the hospital. You all agreed it'd be best if someone stayed with him in case some enemy stands were sent after him. The boys are overjoyed when the two of you come back to offer a helping hand!

In the ultimate battle against Dio, you end up participating in the ambush plan on Dio. While Polnareff, Jotaro and Joseph and Kakyoin will attack from either side, you'll attack from overhead.

However, that plan falls into ruins. Upon seeing your friend Kakyoin, brutally murdered by Dio, you feel yourself fall into a world of hate. You've lost enough people as it was. You wouldn't let anyone else be taken away from you.

Blinded by rage, you launch yourself at Dio, both to quench your bloodthirst and to buy Joseph some time to escape. In that precious time, he understands Kakyoin's message and decodes The World's ability.

However, he is too late.

You're stabbed through the stomach and left by Dio to bleed out . However, even in the face of death, you don't flinch. Your time has come. You'll finally join your brother, Caesar.

Joseph somehow finds the time to come to your aid, hollering at you to stay awake. "(Y/N)! Not you too... I can't lose another one of you!"

Even as your best friend cracks before you, you find the courage to smile at him and to comfort him. "I have faith in you. We have faith in Jotaro and you."

You rip Caesar's headband off your arm and shove it into his chest. "We'll be there, fighting by your side."

Joseph is forced to pull away from you when Dio comes after him, but he promises you he'll come back and yells at you to hold on.

Your death is a slow, cold one. Every minute, you feel the life seeping out of you. Despite Joseph's promise, you don't put your hopes in seeing him, or any of your friends, again. It's time for you to say goodbye.

You're awake just long enough to hear Dio's pained shriek pierce through the night. You smile to yourself. They've done it.

By the time the Speedwagon foundation gets to you, it's already too late. You're gone.

But the Zeppeli spirit lives on, in that headband you gave Joseph. He treasures it preciously, finding courage and company in the relic you and your brother have left behind.

[END]

[stillness-in-green]

Idk if anyone told you but the MVA OST leaked, with themes for both the League and the MLA. If you haven't listened to it yet, please do! And if you have, what are your thoughts? I think Mine Woman and RE-DESTRO slap for 2 characters that got shafted hard by canon so I appreciate them a lot.

I have listened to them, and I like several of them! I feel like I need to lead with that, because I'm about to add some criticism about my previous responses to BNHA's score for context, so it's important to know that I genuinely do enjoy quite a few of these.

So, I haven't listened to a lot of Yuki Hayashi's scores, but he's definitely done work I've liked! He composed the music for several of the more recent PreCure shows, including their movies; I particularly loved his finale for the 15th anniversary film, which prominently featured a truly delightful medley of every team's opening theme. I'm also very fond of some of his pieces for Kiznaiver and Welcome to the Ballroom.

His BNHA work, though, I feel like suffers from two main problems: the tracks are too short to work up a good head, and yet, despite that short length, they sometimes feel exhaustingly over the top. (Did Shigaraki's theme really need crying children to get across the point that he's bad news?) I've long felt that the BNHA anime wants me to feel like everything is way more Epic and Stirring and Dramatic than I actually find the material to be, so curiously, the music winds up having a distancing effect rather than drawing me in. This is frequently compounded by placement choices that feel so staggeringly poor that I'm often left wondering whether the staff chose the music out of a hat! (Seriously, why does a fairly rote test of character in Nighteye's office warrant doom choirs?)

As to the MVA tracks specifically, I wish there could have been tracks that sounded a bit more fun or heroic, given that the League in MVA really are the heroes for the arc, complete with Shigaraki suddenly having access to Shonen Nakama Tropes and getting all these little comedic reaction takes. It'd be nice if the music could cue in and let the League have some aural triumph without being all doom all the time ("Oh, no! The villains are winning!" Yes, they are; let them have this for one arc, would you?)

But that said, I do rather like most of these! There are some that I do suspect will fall prey to the This Is Too Much Drama, Would You Please Ratchet Back? problem, but there are also some that I can imagine playing better in the context of the show than they do in isolation, and some that feel like they could even be exactly what I was dreaming about, if they go where I hope they will. For some individual thoughts, see below:

The Mission of the Stealth Hawks: A reasonable enough little tense atmospheric piece. Doesn't jump out at me.

Different Ability Liberation Army: I always approach the MLA as styling themselves as an army, but in reality being more of a sect--far more cult than militia-- I appreciate that if they can't have a good dramatic march despite having Army, like, right there in the title, I'm glad I could get church bells instead. On the whole, though, this is a good example of the first problem I mentioned having with Hayashi's work for BNHA--his pieces tend to be pretty short, and it takes them so long to land on a melody that by the time they find one, there's hardly any time to develop it before the song ends. Even a lot of the hero pieces are like that, and the villain songs, even more so. That said, I do like the horror strings that creep in around the 1.25 mark, blossom at 1.45, and float on through 2.10. I just wish they went on longer. Admittedly, "erratic church bells and horror strings" is still not the choice I would have made for the MLA's main theme. I really would have preferred something with a more militant air; as it is, this sort of feels like it scores a creepy prologue that plays before the opening credits kick in and then the episode proper starts. Which isn't a bad description for the way the dinner scene played in the manga, but thanks to the anime's decision to reshuffle everything, I don't think that dinner scene's going to maintain that feeling of "prologue" when we finally get to it.

My Villain Academia: Better on the melodic front; I enjoy the drama at .43, the dancing tension at 1.05, and particularly the minor strings from 1.25 that just keep climbing until everything else drops out around 2.10. I do wish it found a better place to end rather than noodling on for a further thirty seconds, but the melody will get a more central, and more bombastic, treatment in the final track, so it's probably okay for it to trail off here. (It's also apparently a reprise of a villain theme from the very first season's OST, which is rad. More on that in the Track 11 blurb.)

Second Coming: This is a bizarre one because, while I complained that Hayashi's BNHA tracks are usually short, this one is a full six and a half minutes--except that it falls clearly into movements of about a minute each, with clear lulls in between. I wish it was twelve minutes and everything was twice as long! As it is, I'm highly doubtful that we're going to hear this one played in its entirety anywhere, since I can't imagine what scenes would require this specific sequence of musical passages at this length. 0.00 - 1.01: I love that the song kicks in comparatively quickly; the first minute's passage has a great, thrumming drive that very nearly hits major key towards the end. 1.02 - 1.53: The drive picks up pace in the second minute before the chorus arrives, and for once, I am very prepared to love a BNHA choir piece. I hope this is what plays when Deika's going up in ash. 1.54 - 3.01: I love the melodic line being carried by the intentionally hard to distinguish violin and whatever brass instrument the violin's trading off with in the third minute. It's bit out of place with the rest of the track, but I like it quite a bit on its own, and it does have a similar sound as some of the "dirty" brass in RE-DESTRO and Mine Woman. It's probably too long for RD's childhood flashback, but I wonder if it'll play for an MLA character somewhere? 3.02 - 4.07: The fourth minute has some very fun drums, but otherwise doesn't jump out at me as much of the rest of the track. I'm very curious to know when this will play, though. 4.08 - 5.32: The fifth minute, god bless, has some proper march drums--I like this passage a lot, particularly when it come back in the sixth minute accompanied by the choir. I like this because the key is minor but it's not "oooo scaaaary" minor; it's more dramatic, a bit tragic, but triumphant too--pretty much perfect for Re-Destro, Spinner and Machia's moment of revelation in the crater. I wish it were longer. 5.33 - 6.36: And here for the end we're back to the driving guitar and some fun low-thrum strings and percussive chain sounds. Like the fourth passage, it's fun, but jumps out at me less, particularly as the song's finale.

Gigantomachia: This is an extremely boss kaiju song. Seriously, that brass in the opening could come right out of a Toho flick. Extremely good walking calamity number, love that distorted synth stuff towards the end. It's going to sound great when (if) it plays over Machia leaving the villa, the hand rising up through the floor behind Toga, Momo and the other students surveying the desolation left in his wake, and so on. (I know that's all Season Six material, shhhh. I hope they use this piece there.)

Mine Woman: This is so fun. And so extremely superior that that awful Christmas insert song! I'm glad Curious got this at least, and I love the moment the beat drops at the one-minute mark, and that interwoven sax. So good. It's hard to imagine the fight between Toga and Curious being paced to this song, mind, but it's real good, anyway.

TOGA's Nature: This one showcases the other problem I have with Hayashi's BNHA work, especially his stuff for the villains: it feels very on the nose in a way that tips over into being Too Much. The birdsong, I think, is on the nose but in an effective, playful way, with the natural beauty of the birds undercut by the lovely but ominous piano/synth melody. I am considerably less kindly disposed to the creepy child laughter, which just feels on the nose in a thuddingly obvious way--though I do like the way it slides in when the birdsong fades. I like, too, the sort of cloudy roaring reprise of the melodic line that kicks in around the 1.10 mark. It feels like an effective echo of Toga--cute but creepy as a young girl, and then, after she snaps, creepy in the same way but now you can't ignore it.

Symbol of Fear: The beginning doesn't do much for me, but I enjoy the howl that gives way to the organs at 1.15; while it's too action-heavy to be Tenko, the transition does still put me in mind of Tenko wandering the streets, internally crying for anyone to help him, and the person who finally does is--well. I like that the organ nurtures that howl into something considerably more dire, though you still get a return to that guttural cry periodically. While it is, again, difficult to imagine this scoring the scenes between AFO and Tenko's first meeting and Tenko being formally named Tomura--it's much too bombastic--it does still feel like an excellent representation of AFO sculpting Tomura's formless, aimless rage into something that really could tear down the world.

I Don't Kill My Friends: It would have been really nice if they'd let the most significant, unadulterated personal triumph of the arc sound actually fun. Why does the Sad Man's Parade song sound so upset?? @aysall predicts that it'll play over Twice's confrontation with Hawks and death scene, and I can see it working extremely well there, but it's a pretty weird call for the Dead Man's Parade bit, if that is indeed what this is intended to evoke. Quibbling about the title aside, I do like the way this pulses and throbs, something like an exposed wound, which is not a bad description of poor Jin's mentality. I still hope this isn't what scores his breakthrough, though. As I said previously, the villains are the heroes for just this one arc, and it'd be nice if the score could reflect that at least a little.

RE-DESTRO: I like this one a lot. I love the interwoven layers of that dirty sax and the Big and Dramatic orchestral strings + brass, but both of them undercut with that regular, machine beeping that could almost be a heart monitor, but mostly isn't--right up until the long beep at 1.52/1.53. It feels like a strong illustration of the titular character's different personas--his attempts at casual, friendly villainy (like menacing Giran or chatting with Shigaraki on the phone), him when he's thundering full-volume about the weight of his legacy at people (THE BLOOD OF DESTRO FLOWS THROUGH THESE VEINS I AM RE-DESTRO), and, beneath it all, the constant little thread of stress that Rikiya can never escape (right up until Shigaraki). I probably wouldn't love it so much in isolation, but I'm easy to win over with the right character association. XD

Paranormal Liberation Front: Very fun grubby guitar intro. It also has much the clearest melodic throughline, which inclines me towards it. What inclines me to it even more is the knowledge (per @aysall again) that it's the same main melody as the track Villains Theme from the very first season's OST. That track already having used its allotted Doom Choir quotient, this track makes do with less synth and a lot more orchestra and chunky bass backing, which is much to its benefit, I feel. I do wish it had any of the MLA's theme in it, to represent the merger, but admittedly, it'd be hard to make that very audible when the MLA theme has…next to no central melody, percussive rhythm, etc. Still, as an evolution of the League to something bigger, classier, and far more dangerous, it's real good--just long enough to develop into itself and explore its central leitmotif. Probably my favorite track simply on its own merits.

Thanks for the ask, anon! I'd listened to the tracks once driving around for work, but sitting down with them properly gave me a greater appreciation for them, and now I'll definitely have an ear out for them when we get to this material in the anime…

….whenever that winds up being. *sob*

[mxpseudonym]

Familiar Terrain

Pairing: Ada x Reader (gender-neutral)

Summary: Ada's visiting from the US and there are some things she’s missed that she can’t get anywhere else. 

Length: 1304 words (allegedly)

Warnings: Sexy times, 18+, NSFW

A/N: This one’s for the girls and the gays, that’s it! 

--

It had been a while, you thought as Ada warmed herself in your small living room. It was just over a year ago that you could hardly contain your surprise at the news she'd be moving to the States.

It's for the good of the company. But mostly, I think I need to get out for a bit.

And now, Ada was back. Well, she was visiting. She'd see her family just in time for Christmas and said she'd like to see you as well.

"How's Karl," you asked as you led her to the kitchen. 

"He's doing well. I think he's enjoying the move for the most part, but he's the only Londoner in his school, and you know how kids can get when there's anyone different," Ada said with a sigh. You nodded, thinking about your own childhood.

"I know. And how do you like it?" You put the kettle on then turned to see her face when she hadn't responded. She looked around your space, taking in the coziness she'd likely missed and the humbleness she'd never need to endure again. You did okay, but you didn't have much money. Though, in comparison to Shelby's nowadays, no one had much money.

"I think we'll move back soon," said Ada after letting her eyes finally land on yours. 

"Not to your liking, then?" You raised an eyebrow. "Wanting for nothing, dressing all posh and trendy like a woman from the pictures, handsome foreigners. What's not to adore?" You tried to rouse excitement in her. She smiled, her eyes never leaving yours. 

"There are just some things I can't have when I'm away," she said. 

The kettle whistled, and you quickly moved it from the flame. You should have reached for the mugs, but her words have you pause. Things she couldn't have, and you couldn't have them either. 

It was a smooth motion, cupping her face in both hands, fingertips threading through the hair a the nape of her neck and pressing your lips against hers. It was muscle memory. 

"I missed you," you breathed when you pressed your forehead against hers. This was the moment when Ada got to lead. She could push you away, no longer interested in what you had, or could pull you in for more.

"I've missed you most," she said before choosing the ladder. "I've missed all of you."

The fancy red lipstick made her lips smoother than you remembered and tasted waxy when your tongue ran over it. The floral perfume "from Paris" lingered even as clothing was peeled off. The luxurious fabrics were insulted at being discarded on your shabby floors, mixed with the cotton of your work suit that had seen smoke all day. It didn't matter. They were all breadcrumbs from the kitchen to the bedroom anyhow. 

Ada shimmied up your bed in just her slip and stockings. You tossed the last of your delicates aside, welcoming the slight winter chill that lingered where your fireplace couldn't reach. 

"How has no one stolen you from me," Ada asked, looking you over while you kneeled on the bed. "Divine."

"Don't get any ideas, Shelby. I get my fill first," you warned playfully, making her laugh.

"Oh, I love it when you're selfish." She pulled off her slip, but the stockings were your job.

"I'll be much more than selfish, love," you told her as you brought her calf up to rest on your shoulder. Your fingertips skimmed the nylon, no doubt creating goosebumps based on Ada's sharp inhale. "I'll be greedy with you, Ada Shelby. I will have my fill of you and then some. I will make myself sick with you and want nothing else."

"Y/n," she gasped, letting her eyes flutter shut. Ada's thighs had parted for you like a celebratory homecoming, and your hand found its way to the apex of her legs. You brushed your thumb over her swelling lips, slick already, and more than wanting. 

"Hm? Would you like me to stop?"

"What?" Her eyes snapped open, and for a moment, you thought you saw panic before her face contorted to a pitiful pout. "Don't be insufferable. I thought you missed me."

"I do." You nodded and made quick work of her stockings. You crawled up her body, her thighs comfortably allowing your hips to settle between as you kissed her once again. "I do, and I'll show you just how much."

This is what you loved. Underneath the expensive additions to Ada's life were still the flushed freckled shoulders- squared and bold when she commanded any room. The belly that held her most profound laughter at your silly puns. The arms that linked with yours when you walked home from a lecture or the pictures. Yes, this was familiar terrain. 

You kissed away any sassy remark that she could have been thinking and made your way down. You kissed and tongued her skin, enjoying it just as much as she did, if not more, due to you taking your time. Any attempt to speed you up was ignored. This path was not efficient. It was the scenic route designed to let her know you remembered and would never forget this body you knew as well as your own. 

According to a series of moans, Ada still loved your egalitarian approach to her breasts. Each fits perfectly in your hands as you kneaded and ran your thumbs over her attentive nipples. She liked it when your tongue swirled around one and pulled the other. Her hips wiggled in an attempt to find friction against any part of you to no avail. You showed kindness by continuing through the valley of her breasts, the winding curves of her stomach, and the ever soft hair that announced you were close to your destination. 

"God, I love your thighs," you murmured, kissing the inside of them.

"I need you," Ada whimpered from above you. You cherished it. Shelby's weren't beggars, and this was as close you'd get to see this side of the one. Though you'd always had more patience than you were given credit for, and a mischievous side that could keep Ada in bed for hours, that was for later. You looped your arms under her legs, placed your hands on her pelvis as an anchor, and wasted no more time. With gentle firmness, you dipped between her folds.

"So sweet," you hummed. 

"Y/n," Ada gasped, looking down at you. Your eyes remained locked as you tasted her again. More purposefully, to tease her entrance, then swirl around her most sensitive little bud. Breathy gasps and sighs came from your bold revolutionary as her hands found their place in your hair. Ada's bucking hips were held with one hand, and the other moved to your mouth to moisten a finger. There was no shame as you slid into her with a bit of hubris, just eagerness to feel her again. 

"Christ, have you not found anyone to have you in America," you said your thoughts about the way she squeezed you aloud, and Ada luckily found it quite funny. 

"Just move, y/n. That feels wonderful."

"Yes, Ms. Shelby," you said obediently. You continued your work, feeling the warmth around your finger, and adding another for a proper massage. Ada's eyes rolled back, and one hand reached for the headboard.

"Fucking hell, y/n, I'm going to come," she told you. 

Her hips rolled to meet the steady pace you'd found with two fingers in, and your lips around her clit. Ada's volume increased until her thighs were shaking around you, and a fresh coating of wetness covered your fingers. She sat up on her elbows in time to see you pulling your fingers from your mouth.

"So good, I think I'm not quite done."

"I'd hope not. Not to mention, you are next."

[the-odd-job]

Up in Flames chapter 22 - My Roots, My Roots (Ashes Part 2)

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Major Character Death, Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Megatron, Sideswipe, Shockwave, Flatline, Original Character Additional Tags: Dubcon, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 4065

( Previous )

Alright, so. Having a sparkling sawing itself off your spark? Hurt like all pit. Now he knew and could never do that again.

Not that he would’ve really done it the first time either, if there hadn’t been an… Accident. And yet, he could have entirely avoided the whole ordeal by snuffing that accident when it was still so small he would’ve barely felt it.

He hadn’t, though. Clearly he was as insane as everyone thought he was.

Granted, he hadn’t exactly foreseen how far off tracks his life was going to go just because of that one tiny decision: to keep or to not keep. Maybe he should’ve seen it coming, all things considered. What had he expected? That he could just carry and deliver the sparkling without anything changing? Maybe hand it over to Megatron at the other end and be done with the whole thing?

Chances were he never had thought any of it through and had just acted, reacting to situations as they came without many considerations for the consequences. Just as long as things worked out in the moment, no? Never to worry about how the future was going to work, until it suddenly didn’t work at all anymore. Megatron dropping a nuke on his old life the way he had he could’ve taken. Oh, he wasn’t happy about it, but he could take it.

What the Autobots had done after? That he wasn’t willing to just take. Why? Was he that concerned over the sparkling’s safety? Wasn’t he supposed to be too selfish for things like that?

But for Primus’ sake, it was his. What else was he meant to do, say, and think?

It was his.

Which was, admittedly, more than a little weird. Becoming a creator, or a commissioner, or a mentor had never really been something he had had an interest in. He couldn’t avoid the creator part now, but…

He could still walk away. No one was holding him. Megatron had made it clear enough that they were free to do what they liked to, now. Or were in theory—who actually knew how the Decepticons might react to their decisions in practice. 

But he was yet to even try to go and leave it all behind—the Decepticons, the sparkling. Megatron.

Megatron the absolute slagturd. Who the frag did he think he was? The wannabe leader of Cybertron, sure, already commandeering an entire army, sure, one of the most powerful mecha anywhere in the galaxy no matter which way you looked at it, fragging sure–

But that didn’t give him the right to just… Just… Take control of his life to the extent he had, do all the things he had, then throw that all away because they’d reached the end of their agreement. 

Megatron hadn’t left Cybertron yet, but neither had he… Invited either him or Sideswipe into his quarters. Had he done so to Sunstreaker, and oh, he would’ve torn the damn mech a new one. Or tried to. That tended to work out so well, but the point wasn’t to succeed, it was to give Megatron an undeniable piece of his mind. 

But noooo, he couldn’t be given the chance. Instead they were in the quarters they’d had since their arrival here, him and Sideswipe… And the sparkling, now. It was cuddled against his side, and that was… Going to take some getting used to. 

Sideswipe was infinitely amused by him right then, and Sunstreaker glared off to the side where his twin frame’s optics were glowing on the other side of the sparkling. Neither of them was recharging, mostly because Sunstreaker couldn’t chill out enough to not kick himself straight out of any recharge cycle he initiated. Part of that was probably the sparkling, its presence so foreign that his entirely overactive self-defense protocols didn’t know what the fuck they were supposed to do about it. 

Or maybe it was unfair to blame his problems on it and not place them directly at his own pedes and the spark deep aggravation Megatron had seated in him. He was damn offended!

And Sideswipe found that absolutely hilarious, as much as he kept quiet about it for the sparkling’s sake. It was very much recharging, and if he had to guess, pressed against him in part to keep itself warm. Cybertron was far on the cooler side of things even inside the compound—not enough so to make it impossible for their species to function, but it could get uncomfortable. Larger frames like theirs could create enough heat on their own that it didn’t really become an issue, but he imagined that for something as small as the sparkling, things got a bit chilly. Its fans weren’t running and all of the vents it could close it had closed.

The sound of its frame was so… Diminutive, too. It wasn’t the quiet rumble like those of his and Sideswipe’s, but he couldn’t rightly call it just a whine, either.

Whatever it was, Sideswipe thought it was cute, but then he thought practically everything about the sparkling was cute.  

It was an odd little creature, Sunstreaker had to admit that much. Very… Intense, despite its small size. There was calculation in its optics, and Sunstreaker couldn’t tell what for. Was it just heavily judging everyone without any proper reference point to judge others based on, or was its battle programming already at work despite the fact it was a threat to absolutely no one? Because oh, it had inherited a few too many things related to combat from its creators.

To its credit, it did already bite Shockwave when the scientist got a little too handsy without a proper warning. Harmless, but delightful. Even Shockwave had commended it for that act of bravery and stupidity.

Just wait until it got bigger.

And its field? It was calm, but only in the way weather was before a storm. He liked to think it wasn’t dumb enough to unleash whatever it was holding back because indeed, it was absolutely defenseless and could’ve gotten crushed beneath a carelessly placed pede, but clearly it already had… Spirit.

Not that he had ever doubted that, after carrying the damn thing. He’d gotten quite up close and personal with it over the course of that process. But even so, he wasn’t in a position to predict how having a physical shell would affect how its spark’s qualities would manifest—especially considering Flatline had already stated the obvious, that its programming was non-standard.

And a little messed up on top of it all. 

Such a special bundle.

But it was small. Too proud to agree to be carried anywhere, but the fact it didn’t even come up to his knee meant it had to jog to keep up with them even when they were walking slowly. At least it was smart enough to stick close to the walls, and to always keep either himself or Sideswipe between it and anyone else who might not be so aware of their surroundings that they wouldn’t accidentally kick it.

Although it looked like everyone was keeping a pretty close watch of their pedes, likely because of who the little thing’s creators were. If Sunstreaker hadn’t slagged them, Megatron certainly would have.

They got to the rec room without incidents at the end of that very poorly recharged recharge cycle, despite passing a couple of Seekers on the way. Sideswipe picked a table after a detour to the energon dispenser and the sparkling, with great difficulty, hauled itself up on the seat next to him, but Sunstreaker had his attention elsewhere.

Megatron was present in the room as well, speaking with Shockwave by the furthest wall. Sunstreaker didn’t give too many thoughts to why the tyrant would be present, if it was to fuel or for something else—all he cared about was that the damn mech was around, and he immediately beelined for him.

His rather furious field announced him before anything else and both Megatron and Shockwave turned to look, both as unimpressed. If that wasn’t the perfect thing to make him even angrier. He hadn’t expected anything else from Shockwave, naturally, but fragging Megatron…

“I see you haven’t left yet,” Megatron commented once he was a couple of steps away–

And fragging pits but that was it. Sue him but he was done with this bullshit. Megatron knew slagging well he hadn’t gone anywhere, that he was still with the warlord’s fucking sparkling–

Consequences? Who gave a fuck about those. There was a table next to Megatron, and now, it wouldn’t do to underestimate Megatron’s reflexes���

But Sunstreaker wasn’t exactly slow himself. He couldn’t reach the tyrant’s faceplates from the ground, but quick as they came, Sunstreaker had jumped against the table, using it as base to jump just that bit higher–

And ah, his fist connecting squarely with Megatron’s stupid face was so intensely satisfying.

Sunstreaker dropped back to the ground afterwards, but even his attempt to backpedal out of harm’s immediate way wasn’t quite quick enough. Megatron might not have seen that coming enough to block it, but he was very aware and very angry now. 

Just like Sunstreaker.

He dodged, but not fast enough. Megatron caught him by the shoulder and with all of his considerable strength–

Slammed him into the wall. He couldn’t silence his grunt as his backplates ground against his protoform, which in turn ground against his spinal strut. Rather uncomfortable, to say the least.

But just who had the bastard’s attention now, hm?  

“What,” Sunstreaker snarled even as he kicked up and hit Megatron somewhere in the leg, he didn’t care where, “you’ll let me get away with stabbing you, but punching’s a no-go?”

“Not in front of everyone, dear,” Megatron growled right back at him. Sunstreaker fought to suppress his grin, sneering instead and wrenching himself free and out of the way just in time for Megatron’s fist to connect with the wall where his helm had been.

That would’ve hurt.

But he wasn’t a coward or wont to quit things just because they got a bit rough. Before Megatron could stop him, he’d sank his claws into his side, as relatively little damage as he could do the tyrant’s impossibly thick armor.

Megatron made a grab at him again. He dodged with not an inch to spare.

Sideswipe didn’t have a cube to sip right then, but he would’ve really felt like sipping one when he watched Megatron and Sunstreaker once again go at it. If you asked him, Sunstreaker had every right to be pissed, though of course his brother was going to take his emotions and their unleashing to an extreme, no questions asked.

There was also no question about who was going to win this particular brawl, but that didn’t mean Megatron wouldn’t get to hurt quite a bit before they were done. Shockwave had moved well out of the way and everyone else kept their distance too, the occupants of the room watching the show with varying reactions. Some were shocked by Sunstreaker’s audacity, others just entertained, and a few took their cues from Sideswipe and didn’t show much reaction at all.

The sparkling was looking at him too, a bit of askance in its optics.

“That,” Sideswipe grinned, pointing at the quite vicious pair, “is called flirting.”

The sparkling considered him for a moment, probably integrated what the fuck the word even referred to–

And then nodded at him in full understanding before it went back to watching its creators slag each other, calm as they came.

Charming little thing, honestly. 

Megatron and Sunstreaker were about as charmed with each other, right then. There was growling, cussing and insults from Sunstreaker’s side as he worked through his grudge, Megatron meeting it all with a snarl and sometimes a question clearly aimed to chart what the pit had gotten into Sunstreaker this time. Sunstreaker sort of but not really answered those. See, communication! Make the other guess what they’d done wrong.

And just beat them up until they got the answer right. Though in all fairness and as expected, Sunstreaker was getting a little more beat up than Megatron. Not to say Megatron wasn’t gaining an impressive collection of claw marks and dents on him, but without going berserk, Sunstreaker wasn’t really a match to him. 

And he wasn’t going to risk it around the sparkling, knowing he became a threat to everyone and everything once he let go like that.

So, on the schedule was Sunstreaker getting royally messed up by one slightly confused and mostly angry Megatron. And was that blood? Oh, that was definitely blood.

Sideswipe might not have had a cube, but the sparkling sure was sipping from the little one it had while watching the show.

--------------------------------------------------

Megatron didn't even bother getting repairs before storming off the entire planet. The twins had no such luxury, or rather, they didn't know if they wanted to do the same. Going back to Earth would've required Megatron's permission, else they'd scarcely have the ability to use the space bridge, but the rest of Cybertron? Supposedly free for them to roam as they pleased, if they wanted to.

Did they want to? That was what Sunstreaker considered long and hard while suffering through Flatline's repairs. Megatron was absolutely infuriating and it wasn't as if the sparkling needed them.

So what the fuck kept them here?

The sparkling was entertaining Sideswipe on the neighboring berth, the two of them plugged into the same datapad and playing some sort of competitive shooter. Sideswipe was winning so far by a rather wide margin, but that was slowly growing smaller as the sparkling figured out the game mechanics and the use of its own battle programming. It wouldn't threaten Sideswipe's skills anytime soon, but more important than that was its determination. It wasn't discouraged by the constant losses and only focused on the game all the harder because of them, the little optical ridges of its protoform scrunched down in utter concentration. It had undeniable tenacity, a quality that would serve it well.

But tenacity alone wouldn't keep it alive. "When can it be upgraded?" he halfway demanded from Flatline as the medic replaced some of the last of his armor pieces. He'd taken the fact his work on restoring their armors had gotten damaged in such a short order surprisingly well. Ratchet, or Hook for that matter, wouldn't have had an end to their complaints.

"The sparkling?" Flatline glanced up from his work, first at him, then at the sparkling itself, that had looked up too now that it was being discussed. "Anytime, really. If you want anything more experimental, Shockwave will have to do it, but I can handle the rest."

"Are there any limits?" Sideswipe asked, his mind already swirling with possibilities, each more outlandish than the previous. 

"Not really. If it's something that hasn't been done before, Shockwave and I will enjoy the challenge."

Had to wonder to what extent that actually held true, but at least they could work with mostly free hands. Sunstreaker turned to look at the sparkling. "Do you want to be upgraded?"

The sparkling considered him for a moment before nodding, carefully and deliberately. "I don't want to be small and helpless."

Sunstreaker nodded back, but when he was already going to say that settles it–

"I'll have someone contact Lord Megatron and make sure he agrees," Flatline said, and at the fragging reminder of that mech's existence and general influence levels, Sunstreaker went right back to ugly snarling. 

"Sire and carrier don't get along very well, do they?" the sparkling asked from his brother as they returned to their game.

"They're funny like that," came Sideswipe's flippant response. The sparkling thought about that for a moment like it tended to think about everything for a moment, before it took the answer and shrugged. 

They went to go back to their quarters once Flatline finished his repairs and gave the sparkling a checkup for good measure, not that there was anything wrong with it. The little thing trotted next to them as they walked the dark halls until they’d come to their room, without incident once again.

But preferably they wouldn’t need to worry about incidents quite so much soon enough.

Sunstreaker stopped once they were inside and turned to the sparkling. “I don’t see why your slagging sire wouldn’t say yes to your upgrades,” growl growl snarl, “so would you like to get started on designing them?”

The sparkling stared at him, but nodded after a bit of a delay. “Yes. Can I decide?”

Sunstreaker shrugged, but it was Sideswipe who answered. “It’s your frame, so, your call.”

“I withhold veto rights if it’s something ugly, though,” Sunstreaker tagged on as both him and Sideswipe sat on the berth, the sparkling doing some mountain climbing to follow them.

“I don’t want to be ugly,” it said with a little growl, managing to deposit itself onto the berth between them. They scooted back until they’d formed a circle and Sunstreaker pulled out his drawing pad, placing it in the middle, within his reach.

“Fear not, we won’t let you pick anything ugly,” Sideswipe laughed. Sunstreaker pulled up a basic skeleton he could start designing the frame features on, the sparkling watching the process raptly. “So, what would you like as general guidance?” his brother asked. “You’ve got files on standard upgrade processes somewhere in your helm, see if you can’t find them.”

The sparkling focused inward for a moment, by all appearances digging through its base education. They waited patiently until it nodded. “Found ‘em.”

“Awesome. Where do you wanna start?”

“Size,” it responded immediately and Sunstreaker deftly pulled images of both himself and Megatron onto the screen, positioning them next to the empty skeleton. The sparkling considered it for a moment—its files would have informed it that the larger the jump in size, the more difficult and time consuming it’d be to adjust to its newly upgraded frame.

Despite that, it eventually pointed, “I want to come up to sire’s hip.”

Sunstreaker increased the skeleton’s size until it was almost shoulder height to him and Sideswipe before he cocked an optical ridge at the little one. The sparkling nodded resolutely. “Like that.”

“No point in going slow, eh? What else?”

“I want to be spiky, like you and sire.”

Sideswipe laughed. “Now that’s the right aesthetic! Okay, let’s work Sunny’s magic and see what we get.”

There was an uptick to the corner of Sunstreaker’s mouth too, but he brought the stylus back to the screen and began to quickly sketch features onto the skeleton, adding sharp points here and there. Shoulders, hips, knees—and claws, naturally, the sparkling was adamant on getting those and they had no reason to argue it. It wanted pedes like its sire’s, but helm fins like Sunstreaker’s, only smaller. A sharp chin guard also came to the list of must have items. 

Sunstreaker refined the image as they went and as the sparkling became more certain of what it wanted after seeing it on the canvas. Before long they had something that did a perfect job of getting across what it wanted, and then repeated the process on its backside.

“That good?” Sideswipe asked once they had a clean image. The sparkling stared at it with a frown for a good while before it nodded, certain.

“Yes. That’s what I want.”

“Cool. Should we do colors next?”

“I want grey, black, and… Red, I think.”

“What amount of color coverage?” Sunstreaker asked as he messed around with the palette until he had starting points for each of the colors.

The sparkling thought about that for a moment, too. “Can I see equal amounts of black and grey and accents of red, first?”

Sideswipe nodded and Sunstreaker set to work on the color placement, giving the sparkling chances to offer its input as they went. Eventually they opted to mix in lighter grey as well, bringing the frame’s color count to four.

They tweaked until the sparkling was nodding in satisfaction at that too. “Are the looks done, now?”

Sunstreaker cast a critical optic over the drawing before he gave a nod of his own. “I believe they are. Let’s see what’s next… Your voice and any modifications you want.”

“Voice, first.”

Sideswipe fished out a datapad from his subspace and navigated to the vocal emulator, quickly setting the limits generated by its to-be frame’s physical dimensions before he set it down in front of the sparkling. “Play around with that and find what you like.”

The sparkling’s optics brightened in excitement and it set to work without hesitation, testing the various vocalizer qualities. Soon enough it abandoned the higher voice ranges entirely, gravitating instead towards the deeper, rougher tones.

…Very deep. Very, very deep. As deep as things would go, in fact.

Which was deep. He didn’t add particularly much roughness to it, though, thus setting his voice aside from both Sunstreaker and Megatron’s, but, “That’s gotta be deeper than either your carrier’s or your sire’s,” Sideswipe laughed once it looked like the sparkling was satisfied with what it had.

His brother got a flat look for his trouble. “It’s what I want.”

“And it’s what you’ll get,” Sideswipe promised even as Sunstreaker connected the datapad to his drawing tablet and downloaded the vocal specs to bundle them together with the frame design.

In the middle of that he was interrupted by a comm. call that he accepted before looking at who was even calling him.

It turned out to be Flatline. ::Just letting you know that Lord Megatron agreed to the upgrade, although he wants to see and approve the design first.::

Sunstreaker growled, but fraggit, if that’s what it took to get the sparkling its upgrades… ::We’re near finished with the design. I’ll send it to you once we’re done so you can get Megabastard’s approval.::

It almost sounded like Flatline was holding back laughter, but he answered with as even of a voice as he managed, ::Very well. I’ll be waiting.::

With that the connection was cut and Sunstreaker focused back on the task at hand. Sideswipe and the sparkling were already debating the pros and cons of possible and some impossible modifications. “I wouldn’t get any weapons inserted at this stage. You could try handheld ones first, see what you like, and have them applied in your next upgrade. That way you won’t be stuck with anything you won’t like, even just for a while.”

The sparkling nodded its acceptance of that logic. “Can I get a proper battle computer, at least?”

“Oh yeah, no reason why not. Anything else?”

“Priority mods on my senses to make them play better with a battle computer.”

“Deal.”

“And combat reroutes to my engines so I have better control over them.”

“Can do.”

“Limited redline overrides?”

Sideswipe laughed. “You’ll be giving Autobots some woe in no time. Yes on that too.”

“I can’t think of anything else.”

Sunstreaker rumbled. “You can always add them to later upgrades,” he promised as he listed the desired mods in with all the other design features they’d already agreed on. Then he placed the drawing pad in front of the sparkling. “Final review. Do you approve of everything or would you like something more added, removed, or edited?”

The sparkling took a good moment to browse through everything, focused on the task and so clearly serious about getting just the frame it wanted. Only after it had gone through everything four times did it nod and push the tablet back towards Sunstreaker. “It’s good.”

Both of the twins nodded and Sunstreaker jacked into the drawing tablet, downloaded the bundle, then pinged it to Flatline. Flatline pinged back that he’d received it, and then it was just about waiting for Megatron’s go ahead, followed by Flatline getting everything ready for the upgrade itself.

That in mind, Sunstreaker followed the ping with the question of how long that was going to take, and Flatline promised no longer than an orn, looking at everything they’d decided on. He relayed that information to the sparkling, who huffed in disappointment at things taking that long.

It was just a matter of time and Megatron’s approval, though, and Sunstreaker was quite certain the latter would be easy enough to get. 

Bastard.

( Next )

[tfw-no-tennis]

mtmte liveblog issues 4&5

its delphi time babey

I'm sorry but drift & co look like such fuckin nerds on their scooter things on the cover lmaooo

oh god. seeing the first page just reminded me of how horribly confused i was for this whole little arc the first time i read it. i was like ok, who are all these new characters, and also why does everyone look so similar

anyways now i now what's going on. i love first aid

love the running continuity of rung being the literal only psychologist on cybertron (except for fr*id but that's later). no wonder everyone's fucked up they all have to share a single therapist 

ok i find it extremely funny that first aid was demoted from doctor to nurse, as if that's a thing that happens EVER - I mean it'd be one thing if first aid was a nurse practitioner (which i doubt is a position that exists here), at least that demotion would make sense, but like...the doctors i work with don't know how to do most nurse stuff (like BP, cathing, vaccinations, hell even using some of the thermometers - that's all stuff nurses/etc do), so demoting one to a nurse would be a disaster (just like promoting a really good nurse to a doctor would be a bad idea). anyways i know I'm being pedantic but it Be like that when you work in the medical field and read something that has medicine-related stuff in it

i love swerve giving ratchet the tiniest free drink ever lmaooo

is that skids being a rowdy drunk in the bg lmaoooo

unironically i love medical statistics. keep it comin

i love magnus’s giant sternal chestpiece thing. its like a bird’s sternum but without the massive pec muscles attached 

i love magnus and rodimus’s dynamic so much

oh pipes....im so sorry but this fun space adventure is going to be not so much fun for you

ratchets ideologies are certainly interesting, and i liked seeing how they changed over the course of the story

drift: why would i be SCARED of the DJD, I've got a SWORD, two swords even,

hvbhajkhfbsdjkf pipes really said ‘oi, you two - what's this, then?’ that's the most british fucking thing, that's literally something i say when I'm doing an overexaggerated british accent, oh my god,

PIPES IS SUCH A TINY DUMBASS. ILY SIR BUT WHAT ARE YOU DOING

aaaand now you're covered in dead bodies, pipes. look at your life, look at your choices

drift epic sword moments

drift confirmed for the kinda weird guy who has katanas that he uses to like, cut up fruit and water bottles in his backyard while rodimus films him

‘i thought i heard...bickering’ lmaooooo

ah, so its covid

this arc is how i feel working in healthcare lmaooo especially now that i probably have covid 

so rewind condensed the entire war into an 11 second long cringe compilation. nice

seeing the mechanical stuff past tailgate’s visor is so cool

poor tailgate, this guy is getting slammed with history from multiple sides. and like, bias is inevitable in ANY sort of recounting of events, especially controversial historical events, so poor tg just kinda has to take it all in and decide who to listen to 

that’s...not really how immunity works, guys. also, you shouldn't be exposed to so much disease with proper ppe usage

is there even such thing as ppe in the transformers universe?? there are fluid- and contact-transmitted illnesses, so there SHOULD be

is there even OSHA in this universe??????? unbelievable 

first aid, holding a giant fucking claw clamp: we haven't tried EVERYTHING............

first aid read a human wikihow article on how to jumpstart a car and took notes 

i love tailgate’s ‘mom says its my turn on the xbox’ pose 

tailgate has a point - he’s from pre-war times, where things weren't as grey so of course he would try to divide the two sides into ‘good guys’ and ‘bad guys’

CYCLONUS BE NICE DONT HIT UR FUTURE HUSBAND

go get some character development and then maybe you'll feel better

seeing the word quarantine is making me twitchy w/my possible month-long complete isolation quarantine on the horizon

drift pulling his swords on pipes and ratchet pushing down drift’s arms...lmao

poor pipes...even tho this is completely his fault, its still rough

also jesus, pharma and ratchet look so goddamn similar, reading this was so confusing the first time around 

drifts idea of subduing pipes involves turning into a cool car and also posing with his sword

also. never gonna be over drift’s massive thighs. jesus man

ooof now drift has the rona. ouch 

poor drift, his covid realization is getting overshadowed by pharma being flung around

first aid bustin thru w/the epic medical nipple clamps and some Big Boi Backup

ok that's an epic pre-beatdown speech from fort max right there, daym 

im just gonna continue on w/issue 5 now for continuity’s sake. yay!

the cover of tailgate in magnus’s autobot school is so cute

and we open with an incredible shot of fort max str8 up ripping a guy in half. i mean, to be fair, he DID just give an epic speech about how much he was gonna do that, and he certainly followed thru

yeahhhhh, fort max is not doing so well atm

when he puts that dudes head in his chest vent thing and then snaps it shut....man 

also i fucking LOVE when their faces are shaded all in black w/only the eyes/mouth fully drawn...fantastic stuff

ratchet: phew i am not equipped to deal w/this level of Fucked Up Mental Trauma. u good m8?

ratchet is already writing up a referral to rung for fort max as this is happening

drift is just laying on the ground dying like, oh hey yeahh I'm still here too 

i fucking love when punctuation is drawn in story - like here where first aid has a little ? over his head....fav

ratchet holding drifts hand ;_; 

ok tbh ambulon having switched sides 10 yrs ago is wild bc like, 10 years is barely any time for these guys, especially in a war that lasted 4 million years. that would be like a human switching sides in a war like, 3 months before it ends. probably. i sense some math bs, I'm just extrapolating here

all that mexican standoff shit is going down and first aid is just like But That's None Of My Business

ah so ambulon is an asymptomatic carrier 

and there's first aid with the save! iconic

pharma calling ratchet ‘buddy’ hbvakjdsbfhkasdf

ooooh i love that they figured it out - and i love that twist, that transforming is what triggers the start of symptoms. remember when drift turned into a cool car? yep

s/o to Ambulon Transformers for helping me in my medical terminology courses, bc now ill always remember: Leg(tm)

also this explanation makes a ton more sense (in universe, at least) than the whole ‘i guess we as medical staff have been exposed to enough Germz that we’re more immune to this or something’ theory 

ah, i love the meaningless (to me) alien robot medical jargon 

drift and ratchet hhhhhhhhh

‘I'm too wide’ fort max L O R G E

also once again drift is forgotten in favor of a bunch of other dramatic stuff happening vbhjksdfbjhskdf

godddd i love tailgates little flashbacks where we see how Important and Special he is, complete with his ‘bomb disposal’ arm label...augh its so good! 

and tailgate’s autopedia page even reflects his lies! like, did tailgate go edit that first thing upon waking up??? seriously, I'm fascinated by tailgate’s meticulous dedication to his fake life

also the fact that ultra magnus believes everything he read on autopedia is amazing lmao

ultra magnus: you think somebody would just go on the internet and tell lies? 

fuckgin love magnus’s long ass name/title placard 

tailgate hvbahjkdfbjhaskf i mean, he’s gotten the abridged version of everything else, of course he would assume that’d be the case here too...but not on magnus’s watch

magnus cant even say ‘fun’ hvukdasdbjfkjsadf i love my uptight law dad

love rung implying that upon questioning, he would easily divulge a patient’s name and maybe even information about said patient’s treatment while under him....love the disregard for patient confidentiality and hipaa in general 

not that hipaa seems to exist here, at least not in a fully realized form 

also i mean the above genuinely, i think rung’s tendency towards at least slight malpractice is very interesting 

poor red alert....super bad luck that HE was the guy to get roped up in that overlord business 

I'm glad that, at the very least, red alert was able to prove that he was Actually hearing something to rung, rather than get brushed off completely 

god magnus and tailgate’s interactions are golden 

also tg is much more sarcastic/quippy than anyone gives him credit for tbh

‘thought warfare,’ ultra magnus says with complete seriousness. god i fucking love this comic

now i can tell pharma apart from ratchet bc pharma has let his true Petty Bitch nature emerge and you can see it in his expressions

the whole ‘tarn is addicted to transforming’ thing didn't really go anywhere, right? i feel like i noticed that on my second readthru as well 

also pharma is such an interesting character given the context of him like, trying to strike a bargain w/the djd to keep them from destroying delphi, but that arrangement inevitably kinda making him lose it as the situation escalates. he’s also just really entertaining bc i feel like he kins the joker or st and probably gets into really heated arguments w/people on twitter about just abt anything

‘sound bomb’ i love this comic

another important facet of pharma’s character becomes clear around this time as well - how he’s really into ratchet. i also choose to read them as awful exes tbh, it makes their dynamic even more entertaining

‘killmaster, with the wand’ is one of my favorite running remarks lmao

also, was killmaster even a character before mtmte? or, if he was, was he an important one? it would crack me up the most if he literally didn't exist at all, but any way you spin it is still funny 

ratchet’s tiny humansona facing off against pharma is wild

‘I'm miles from anyone i truly care about’ brutal, ratchet, drift is dying like 2 floors away (im p sure)

SUDDENLY DRIFT IS HERE, ACTUALLY 

oh don't worry first aid, that sure isn't the last we’ll be seeing of pharma 

so like, did first aid save everyone by posting that data log to his wreckers fan blog or something? lmao love it 

i love the pretty fucked up reveal of ratchet having stolen pharma’s hands. like, damn dude. 

and that wraps up the delphi arc! our first true ‘arc’ of mtmte, and a fantastic one at that. short and snappy and fresh, with some very clever writing and cool new characters, and a lot of great plot threads to be picked up later. plus, we got to see the beginnings of drift and ratchet’s whole thing (and ratchet and pharmas whole thing). and the lost light gets some much needed extra medical staff, so everyone wins! 

well, we’ll see how fort max feels about this all pretty soon.....

[pentanguine]

22) What is your sexual and romantic orientations? Are they affected by your gender?

Ah, the million dollar question.

Honestly, short answer, I have no idea. And maybe I’ll never have any idea! Maybe my sexuality and/or my understanding of it will shift every few years as I learn new words and ways of being, or as I have different life experiences. Maybe I’ll never settle down and “figure it out,” because there is no a priori sexuality living inside me like the solution to a puzzle, there’s just complex human feelings overlapping clumsily with a rigid society. Sexuality is totally made up, not because the feelings aren’t real but because the way we taxonomize those feelings is so particular to time and place, and I’m particularly bad at fitting into the structure of the time and place where I live! I’m attracted to people of many different genders, to different extents and in different ways across time, but mostly I seem to be into women, and I am not a woman or a man. This experience is well-nigh impossible to shoehorn into the schematic of modern Western sexual orientation.

I’ve had so many epiphanies about sexuality, and at the time, each one felt like a lightbulb going off and something finally settling inside me. But all of those experiences have shifted over time, and they’ll probably keep on shifting. First I thought I was bi, and then I realized that the thought of being a woman with a boyfriend made me feel bleak, so I jettisoned the idea of a boyfriend and called myself gay; then I realized that I was still attracted to men even if I didn’t want to date them and I read a lot of think-pieces on sexual fluidity; then I realized I was genderqueer and leaned way too hard into being a lesbian to justify my attraction to women (because if I wasn’t a lesbian, it would be Bad!); and then last year I decided I felt much more comfortable calling myself bi and just giving my sexuality the space to sprawl out and make itself at home, even if I do have a preference.

And my actual sexuality changes, too! The more I stop pressuring myself to be a neat little lesbian who was Born This Way, the more comfortable I feel acknowledging that my formative experiences with attraction in middle school involved guys, and not girls. It’s not just that I was oblivious (although I was also that), I was just into guys more often and more strongly, which is the same way I feel about women now. And yeah, it is really, really weird to have your sexuality do a 180 like that! It’s not like it happened overnight, but it does lead to this feeling of disjointedness with my past self, like I jumped through some kind of parallel universe portal and emerged in an alternate sexuality timeline. In retrospect, I guess the best way to describe what I was was a girlfag: I thought of myself as a girl, even if I wasn’t one, but I wanted other boys to think I was a boy, and I liked guys who were pretty and effeminate and possibly gay, because if they were gay that made them “better” to be attracted to. The first narrative for this is that I’m a straight girl who fetishizes gay men; the second narrative for this is that I’m a lesbian who has crushes on feminine, unattainable boys as a proxy for girls; the third narrative is that I’m trans and gay and so duh, I like queer guys.

--

[A Tangent]

Also, you know what, it’s very important to me to not be a lesbian. Because I’m not. We can’t all be lesbians! And that’s ok!

I am not a man and I am mostly attracted to women and I have a very complicated relationship with my infrequent attraction to men, but that does not inherently mean that I am a lesbian struggling with comp het. Maybe I really am a bi person with a preference. Maybe I really am a genderqueer person with no affiliation or alignment or whatever the fuck to womanhood. Maybe my interest in men is so complicated by my own transmasculine gender that I can’t really access it. Maybe my experiences don’t need to be twisted to fit a Good and Proper Lesbian Narrative wherein I realize that Men Are Bad and Women Are Good and I’m not really attracted to the Bad People, and I’m absolutely willing to reduce myself to being Basically A Good Person so that the Good and Loving Light of Lesbianism will shine down upon me.

Look, lesbians are great. Lesbian is a word with so much political power, so much potential for self-definition and self-realization, and so much more fluidity than people give it credit for. It’s a beautiful word and sometimes I wish I were a lesbian. But I’m not, because I choose not to be. I will be mistaken for a lesbian for the rest of my life. The specifics of my queerness will never be legible to other people, because people will see me at my most visibly queer and think “she is a lesbian,” and they will see me with my hypothetical girlfriend and think “those women are lesbians.” And so while lesbian is a word that could fit me under its umbrella if I so chose, I don’t so choose, because it’s not the most accurate or fulfilling word for my queerness, and I will be lesbian until proven otherwise for the rest of my life. And so, when given the chance amongst friends and fellow queers, I want to prove otherwise.

--

I’m also ace, which I see as the queer umbrella that covers all of my sexuality and gender under its scope. My feelings on how, exactly, I’m a-spec have shifted wildly between “gray-asexual,” “demisexual?,” and “totally ace” over the years, often multiple times within the same freaking week. Trying to pin down what sexual attraction even is when it’s something you rarely or never experience, and when it’s also something that you approach through a totally different lens than most people, is an exercise in futility. Words like “hot” or “turned on” or just “sex” don’t even make sense to me; I know broadly what other people mean when they say them, but when I try to find corollaries in my own experiences, I either come up empty-handed or with something that’s like a distorted reflection seen through fog.

I’m not aromantic, but the older I get the less I feel like romantic attraction applies to me, so at this point I’d consider myself sort of philosophically aromantic. I know I’m not actually aro, but the kind of attraction that I feel, while very normative (fluttering hearts; swooping stomachs; improbable daydreams; a desire to impress), also has nothing whatsoever to do with emotions or relationships. My body finds other people cute, and my brain tends to agree, but those feelings don’t lead to desire. They don’t go anywhere. Appreciating the experience of being attracted to someone almost never leads me to want anything from that attraction. I don’t know what that is (maybe it’s shyness or insecurity, or maybe it is some kind of queerness), but I do know that I don’t want to push through it and force myself to go through those rituals just because other people tell me I should want to. 

I guess a lot of the disconnect for me comes from calling that type of physical attraction romantic, when for me it has nothing whatsoever to do with sweeping romantic emotions or intimate relationships. I’d be tempted to call the attraction aesthetic, except I think that’s what I feel for forests and my friend Jonesy’s fashion choices (visual appreciation with no real attraction), and I doubt it’s alterous attraction because the symptoms seem so commonplace and archetypical. So I assume I do feel what most people, bafflingly, call romantic attraction, and the romance part is just a miss for me because I’m delightfully perverse or something. I just don’t understand why “person I find attractive” and “person I want to be intimate partners with” and “person I want to have sex with” and “person I want to cohabit with” all has to be the same person. The whole narrative of romance just doesn’t make sense to me.

--

Good god, this got long.

To finally end up at the second part of the question: My genderqueerness is very closely intertwined with my sexuality, to the point where I wish we still had words like “invert” that combined the two and saw them as mutually constitutive rather than at constant odds with one another. Basically, I see myself as being fundamentally bi, but gay both ways: I’m similar-to-although-not-the-same-as women when I’m attracted to a woman, and similar-to-although-not-the-same-as men when I’m attracted to a man. (When I have a crush on a nonbinary person, I’m just really t4t.) At the moment, attraction to women is the most salient aspect of my sexuality, which is often fraught, because I’m a lot more adamant about Not Being a Woman than I am about not being a man. But I’m still gay for women, and I think I come from a long lineage of people with similar experiences (Vernon Lee, Radclyffe Hall, Leslie Feinberg, Rae Spoon, etc). Speaking of Rae Spoon, I think it’s very easy to assume that you’re not into men when you spend so much time being/trying not to be jealous of them. But I’ve learned that it’s possible for something to be both. Maybe when I love men hypothetically but find it difficult to translate into reality, that’s not because “ew, men bad,” that’s because “DANGER, gender bad.” Maybe (radically! shockingly!) I am actually bisexual and I have crushes on people of various different genders, and none of that negates my attraction to anyone else.

So in summary, I guess I’m just queer, with a side of bi (*gestures expansively*) and ace (*shrugs blankly*).

[dokuhebi]

Sakura / cont. @shikkotsunin​  

Sakura’s heart lurches into her throat when they speak, but the Sannin is right: there would come a time when she would have to face someone dear, someone who she possessed in her memory with tenderness and smiles, and there would be something ugly she’d uncover. Sakura knew better than to think that this would end in fanfare, that she would escape intact. Doing the right thing was rarely the most wanted, especially in a haven of patriotism like Konoha where people lived happily and obliviously. Because that was the social contract: in order to live in safety, people were willing to give up certain freedoms, to shutter their view of certain avenues, all in order to live in some semblance of peace.

Except, where did you draw the line? How many freedoms were relinquished until one couldn’t move? How blinkered could someone be before they were blinded and made to look at a painting of what the higher ups wanted to see? It was funny. Orochimaru had long been a tenebrous being shrouded in shadows, this fluid scapegoat that transformed according to the accuser’s accusation. That didn’t mean she saw them as innocent, but Morino’sensei had taught her that she had to look where it was gray. That in between point A and point B, she needed a winding, meandering route to take in between. “I’ll be honest with you, Orochimaru-sama, Morino-sensei mentioned something like that. Once, I was the foolish girl screaming at Sasuke to come back to the village. I didn’t know why he didn’t want to return. Then I found out.”

Ibiki had been stern with her. She’d be the face of what she was undertaking, there was no mistaking that. People would see her, and accuse her. She couldn’t afford to see things as she had for years, and even if the light in her eyes had dulled some, she’d learned. By the gods, she’d learned. Reading, and reading, and reading. Running through the lives of so many different people, taking notes and mapping bridges between them. What crimes connected to what, what mental illness possessed what symptoms. Being good and gray as he’d told her to be.

“I think, in any other circumstance, I would have been at your throat. If I didn’t know, I’d shout at you for ‘corrupting’ Sasuke. For the past deeds you were portrayed as being the sole factor in. A mad scientist who chased immortality.” Her gaze was sharp upon them, but it doesn’t possess a threat. It was a memory. Gray matter where they were stored. “But, you’re in the gray. You’ve seen the playing field at both sides, and we both know I need that insight. I can’t afford to go to people who only have ever seen the village’s good and see nothing else.”

Taking another sip of her drink–maybe too generous to be just that–she placed her ochoko down again. “To answer that, yes. He can’t overtly pledge his support–since no one knows how successful this will be–but he’s given me more than adequate clearance. Enough to garner the resources I need.” What a lie it would be if this didn’t fill her with icy fear and resolved fire all at once, like the cold of that dungeon basement where the village disgorged the rotted and badly decayed corpses at her feet.

Sakura felt her eyes widen and throat tighten at the divulging of this new information, gripping her cup so tightly she could feel it crack and splinter. “I see. I think the obvious answer to the imprisoned man is to visit him first. Leverage his anger to work in my favor.” She wasn’t the same girl. As she’d been taught by one of the most dangerous men in Konoha, she felt like a predator. Sizing up weakness, looking for holes to exploit. It was a dangerous mindset, because power could corrupt so easily. Getting drunk on the assurance of victory was so like her impulsive temper, wasn’t it?

“Figuratively speaking, if I was to accompany you on such a mission after we finish what we do, how would you plan on rooting them out? Fake terrorist cell to pander to their wiles? Information? Or do you just know them well enough to follow their scent?” Of course, there was always the possibility of utilizing Orochimaru’s own assets as bait. The information, the forbidden jutsu, the people that could be leveraged or coveted items scattered like bird seed for them to find. Endless tracts of temptations for those running and seeking power.

“Is it a bit blunt to say we probably won’t need much time spent here? We’re both too experienced for that. In fact, maybe I can contact Kakashi-sensei to have leave to proceed the next objective.”

Corrupted Sasuke? They certainly had played a part, but that boys innocence had been lost the moment his brother stuck a knife in to his mothers throat. Leaving the body before his siblings young eyes. It hadn’t taken much to give the Uchiha a little push in to darkness. To take credit for corrupting him, as odd a victory that may seem to those less keen on using manipulation as a toy, it wasn’t fit for the serpent. But her comment still gets a smile from them, the thought that she may have, if she were that same girl from years before, be waging war upon seeing them. It certainly would have been a conversation coloured differently. They prefer this shade. When they hear the crack of the cup and see the intensity rise in her green eyes, their slender hands reaches across the table. Pale fingers lightly coiling around her wrist to position her hold nearer the wooden surface, a subtle request she unhand the object in her grasp. Lest more damage is dealt. They can’t help being amused by her response however - they liked ambition that teetered in to obsession. For truly, how else could anyone fully invest in a project without placing that much in to the goal? Like a dog fixated on a rabbit, or a doctor in surgery with a patient. If one did not lose themselves intensely in their task, if they didn’t give undivided attention, the results were simply never the same. “Each one of them will require a different means to reveal their location,” they say releasing her hand, golden eyes briefly veiled by thought, evidently working out each and every target in accordance to ease, “Tachimasa has a long list of health issues, he would be unable to live anywhere regionally cold or medically underdeveloped. Keeping that in mind, I can narrow down the search and have Karin assist with seeking him out,” they begin, knowing the woman would not bother question the vipers reasons for making use of her sensory abilities. There were only so many warm and well developed villages that did not coincide with being past enemies of the Hidden Leaf. They move on to the next council member. “Hagemu has been indulging in the trade of illegal weaponry since his defection,” they say, “elusive as he is, I can easily make contact with those who work under him, and see if using Kusanagi as bait will draw him out in person. Since my affiliation with the Hidden Leaf is not public knowledge, I doubt he will be scared off assuming I have connections with his enemies. If anything, someone like me is just who he is used to getting business from.”

Then there was the final council member, someone the viper had quite respected when they were younger. Thinking the workings of her mind to be brilliant, curious with how vocally, and with unwavering confidence, she would demand better reasoning from Hiruzen during meetings.  “Lastly, there is Machiho-sama,” they say, “I know the prison she was originally placed in, but the chances she was relocated is something to consider. Either way, the movement of prisoners is tracked and recorded, the paper trail will be easy enough to get a hold of and use.” Now their gaze becomes curious, evidently about to place their first hurdle in front of Sakura, to see what she is willing to do, wanting to do and deeming necessary or risky. The outcome of this little mission is not quite in the serpents interest, but how easily won over they are when it comes to ambitious shinobi. They would be lying if they said they didn’t want to see where her mission would lead her. What would become of her ideals, goals and mind. “You could leverage her anger... or, you could wager her freedom,” they say, fangs flashed briefly in their grin. Propping an elbow on the table, their head rests lazily on their hand, their gaze catlike in a playfully predatory fashion, “she was imprisoned for treason, because she refused to allow Hiruzen to continue down his path of no return. She was much like you, absolute in her pursuit for proper justice. It wasn’t seen as heroic during my days as a child however. Her questioning of the Hokage, her effort to be more open with the public against orders... it is why she was silenced behind bars. Perhaps you would be killing two birds with one stone hm? Freeing her could be seen as another means to acquire justice, and gaining the information you seek may be an added reward.”

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Forty-Seven: Compassion ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, animal death ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ] 

It wasn’t entirely her choice, at the beginning. Her high school required a certain amount of community service hours, so...Hinata had started looking anywhere she could think. Her first choice - a local nursery for plants - already had several people from her class signed up to help. Most notably was Ino who - despite her family owning a nursery of their own - took up a slot at another in order to circumvent any rules about personal connections to the work.

So there went that idea.

She’d considered a place at one of the smaller medical clinics, but...a few hours at one had her sent home, nauseous and unsteady on her feet. Turns out she had a rather weak stomach when it came to things like injuries. Needless to say, she didn’t go back.

One by one, her initial ideas failed to pan out. And Hinata found herself increasingly frustrated. She wanted to do something she could at least partially enjoy if she was going to dedicate hours and hours to it! Having to use precious time amongst her school days, hours of study, and what few precious free minutes she had meant wanting them to be at least a step above her classes in tolerability.

Venting to a penpal (one homeschooled, and never having had to oblige certain public school requirements, she’d gotten one last idea to make things work.

“What if you volunteered at an animal shelter?”

Lying on her bed as her tablet rests on her pillow for voice chat, Hinata perked up. “...w-what?”

“You know, they always need more people. There’s a lot of abandoned or given up pets that need care. It wouldn’t be too complicated, and I bet you’d be good at it! You’re such a compassionate person, Hinata - be it people or animals, you’re great at helping those in need. And you’d get to be with cute dogs and cats all day, while helping an organization that needs more hands on deck! Seems like a win-win to me.”

The Hyūga went quiet for a moment, mulling that over. She’s never been allowed to have a pet of her own given her father’s rather strict view of them (nothing but messes and mouths to feed, according to him), so...it hadn’t even occurred to her. But her friend has a point. “...I’ll h-have to look into it.”

“Sure! I bet there’s at least a few in a city as big as yours, so you’ll have a few options if the first one or two you try doesn’t work out for whatever reason, right?”

“...I guess so. I just hope it goes better than the medical clinic…”

“I doubt they’d have you do anything with injured animals - probably just help with giving out food, maybe like...grooming or just spending time with them. It’s not the happiest or most stimulating place for an animal to be, y’know.”

That made Hinata wilt a bit. “...true.”

Once the call was over, she started browsing the sites of the local shelters. There were four altogether, and she started by sending all four emails asking about their volunteer programs and doing so for community service credit. Of course, by that time it was late evening - she likely wouldn’t get any replies at least until the next morning. So after exhausting the rest of her night, she shut everything down and headed to bed.

School then took the majority of her day, and she didn’t really have a chance to check for replies until she got home. One had yet to reply, and two had policies restricting volunteer work when it came to those under eighteen.

Well...shoot.

Opening the last email and feeling rather frustrated, Hinata skimmed the reply before pausing.

They...they said they’d take her!

Wasting no time, she replied and ask for a chance to come in and see if the place would be a good fit, managing to arrange to go in the following Saturday and tour around.

Finally...finally she had another lead!

...now, hopefully she wasn’t allergic to anything…

Thankfully it was only two days until the weekend, and come Saturday she’d already arranged for her father to drive her. It was within biking distance, but...well, she’d prefer to scout the route ahead of time and make sure there weren’t any obstacles making the path a pain. Pulling up to the proper building, Hiashi simply asked she text him when the introduction was finished, and he’d come back by to pick her up.

Well...seemed he wasn’t going to stick around. Not that she really expected him to.

Approaching the front doors a little shyly, she’d been quickly welcomed and introduced to the front staff They were all smiles, glad to have someone her age around to help.

“The animals will love you!”

“I...I hope so!”

The back was filled to the brim with pets, staff, and other volunteers. Hinata was given a thorough but quick-paced tour, it being rather obvious the place was busy.

“So...w-what all would you have me do?”

“To start, probably work with supplies. Your email said you have no experience with pets?”

She shook her head.

“Well, we don’t want to throw you to the wolves, so to speak, so...we’ll introduce you to the different parts of the facility and the tasks slowly. Any known allergies?”

“No, but...well, I only really have one friend with a dog. Cats, I have no idea...or a-anything else.”

“We’ll see how today goes and see if you have any reactions. If they’re mild, you could always take something over the counter if you’d like. But of course we’ll hope you don’t need them!”

Almost immediately...Hinata found herself all wrapped up in the animals. There were dogs and cats of every pattern and color, age and breed. And even other animals like rabbits, hamsters, and reptiles!

“Kittens and puppies tend to have good turn around times, but…” A staff member gestured sadly to an older dog. “Those who are grown, or getting on in years, have trouble finding new forever homes. No one wants something already grown up. They want small and cute. Which is how many of the adults end up here in the first place: they get too big, too rowdy, too...much.”

Hinata had wilted. Oh, if only she could change her father’s mind...she’d love to get a cat someday. Or maybe a rabbit. “I...I see…”

“So if you’d like, once you’re more settled in, we could have you spend some time with some of the harder adopts. They need and enjoy the company. It’s good for them. We’ll keep you only to those already proven sociable and behaving. No problem cases for someone new to it like you.”

When a few hours had passed of touring and not even a trace of hives or a sniffle, Hinata was given the clear to officially sign on to the volunteer program. She’d be there twice a week for two hours a day. Not too bad - she could make her homework fit around it, she was sure!

Her first tasks were mostly help with upkeep and organization. There was a lot to keep track of, and every animal had to be accounted for. Exercise and play times, meals, clean up, baths...Hinata was mostly involved in the former things. Nothing that was too hands on, given her beginner status.

She loved it.

Even after her required hours were met for the year, she kept on. And came back next year. And the next. Soon came the Summer before college, and she’d soon have to give up the practice as her schedule became too packed.

...that’s when it happens.

Spending some time with a young adult cat she’s grown fond of, Hinata hears the telltale sound of the door to the back opening. Sounds like someone’s here to look at the animals! Closing up the kennel and turning to look, there’s a pause.

...she knows this guy!

Dark eyes flickering over the bars, none other than Sasuke Uchiha - a rather popular boy from her class - peruses the selection of felines in this part of the shelter. For a moment he doesn’t notice her, but a glance eventually locks their eyes.

“...Hinata?”

...well that’s a surprise. He knows her name…? “Uh...yeah! Fancy seeing you here.”

“I could say the same. Do you...work here?”

“Volunteer. I have since I was a freshman. Sadly this is my last week since school is s-starting up. I’m hoping I can come back in the Summers.”

Brows lift slightly, clearly not expecting...any of this. “...glad you like it.”

“I do.” After a polite pause, it’s her turn to ask. “So...here to look for a pet?”

“Yeah...me and a few others are renting a house this year and pets are allowed. I lost my cat a few months ago, and wanted to get a new one to keep me company.”

That gets her to sober. “...I’m sorry for your loss.”

“...thanks.” He gestures to the kennels. “...any recommendations?”

“All of them,” she replies with a smile that’s clearly teasing. “Um...any preferred traits…?”

“I’d like one more quiet. Maybe independent since I’ll have to be gone for classes and studying.”

Well...she knows just the one. Waving him over, she nods to the cat she was just visiting: a little smoky grey female. “This is Miya. She’s about three years old, and was given up when her owners had a baby. They were afraid she might hurt the child. But she’s really sweet. Even tempered, and not very clingy...but she’ll sit with you and just h-hang out.”

“Miya, huh…?” Sasuke observes her for a moment. “...can I..?”

“We’ll take her to the play room.” Getting the feline out, Hinata leads Sasuke to the proper room, complete with places to hide and climb and play for the cats. “Just, um...have a seat, and we’ll see what she’ll do. She can be a bit nervous of strangers, but otherwise she’s friendly.” Setting Miya down on a platform, Hinata steps back to observe.

Eyes scanning the room, they land on Sasuke, and Miya drops to a crouch. Sasuke doesn’t move, just...watching back.

A long minute of standoff passes, Hinata glancing between the two. Well...at least she isn’t hiding. That’s a good -

Cautiously, Miya drops to the floor, tail twitching. Hugging the wall, she nevertheless gets closer, sniffing the air curiously.

Ever so slowly, Sasuke holds out a hand.

The cat retreats half a step, ears conveying her nerves. But then she eases up, little nose flaring as she smells his fingers.

“...hey there,” he murmurs, watching her think.

Another pause...and then she gently strokes her cheek along his hand.

Hinata releases a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The pair bond for a while longer, Miya even being so brave as to sit on his lap. Sasuke is clearly enamored, and before the afternoon is out...he signs the adoption papers.

“Thanks,” he offers as she’s put into a carrier.

“Thank you for taking her.”

“I’d never have given her a try if not for you. Seems you know your stuff.”

That earns a smile. “...guess I do. Um…”

“Hm?”

Hinata hesitates. “...could you...let me know how she does? I’ve been working with her a lot, and…”

“Oh! Yeah, sure. Uh...I can text you…” Fishing out his phone, he exchanges their numbers. “I’ll let you know how she settles in. And if I have any questions.”

“Okay...great! I know she’s g-going to a good home.” Turning to the crate, Hinata gives the kitty a somber smile. “...you be good for Sasuke, all right?”

She gives a soft meow in reply.

“All right, well...you better get her home so she can start adjusting.”

“Will do. Thanks, Hinata.”

“Bye…” Waving, she watches them take their leave.

One down...many more to go.

                                                     .oOo.

     It's late @~@ This is...rather random, but I like it! And it actually turned out a lot longer than I thought it would, lol. I like the idea of Hinata working with animals. Usually I have her as a plant person, but...this was really sweet! And her getting to help Sasuke find his next kitty companion was too cute not to write~      Anyway, I'm...very tired and my eyeballs aren't happy, so I'm gonna go xD Thanks for reading!

[blueblend]

Fallen First, Serpent Second

Fandom: Good Omens

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley.

[Disclaimer: I am neither claiming to own, or to have invented, any copyrighted characters or concepts in the below works. The work below is purely for entertainment purposes only and receives no profit. Credit is given to their respective owners, with many thanks for the creation of a work that brings so many fans together.]

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Note: I haven’t written in a decade; I am as thankful for GO as I am floored that it’s been so long. I’m back. Feedback welcome.

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No one talks about what happens after major events, usually. Everyone leaves out the clean-up, the put-togethers, the assembly of people crowding around after a big event wondering what’s next?

These things are less exciting, less of a spectacle, and generally much messier, and thus less fun to discuss.

After the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, Aziraphale without a moped and his companion without his beloved car, both found themselves scrunched in a London bus.

Without much conscious thought, the angel found himself sitting next to the widow, whether out of an age-old habit to take up the least room and not infringe upon others, or rather a desire to see the world mosey along as if it hadn’t just nearly ceased to exist less than an hour ago.

Aziraphale barely thinks to look up, lost in a daze, before he realizes that his companion who had been stead-fastly behind him, and oh, didn’t that seem to be true for more than just the past hour?, was lagging.

Crowley’s gait, always awkwardly shuffing side to side, as if he’d never quite managed to stand right on two legs in these past six-thousand years, and what if he hadn’t? Aziraphale had not really thought to ask; did he perhaps feel comfortable in one form over the other?

Aziraphale found his thoughts were clouded and it was as if they had all been brushed in homemade butter, but someone had forgotten to remove the clotted cream up top and now his thoughts were wandering and floating in chunks because Aziraphale had had Faith, certainly, and Hope, definitely, and a Belief in the Ineffable, always, but…

But he had not realized until now that he didn’t quite expect to live past today.

And yet, here he is.

Here they are, he thinks, looking at this gangly fellow shuffling about hesitatingly, footwork reminiscent of their time in a Germanic church.

It was only by the grace of knowing someone who wore shades as dark as night for the last few millennia, that he recognized the minute tics to Crowley’s brows; eyeing the seat Aziraphale was in, before darting away and skittering towards the empty seats around him.

It was at once, easy to think that, of course they shouldn’t go sitting together so closely on the bus, as what would either side say?, as it was to think it preposterous for Crowley to sit anywhere else.

He was warring with himself, unknowing if either side would seek them out in the next twenty minutes it would take to get where they were going, oh where were they going at any rate, as it was to not care in the slightest so long as Crowley sank into the seat next to him.

Aziraphale barely had thought as much before he found himself looking purposefully at Crowley and slightly tilting his head towards the seat, and he could practically see the slight ease in tension around the other’s jawline as he no doubt quit clenching his teeth.

Aziraphale felt the worn seating dip with the other’s weight next to him as they sat silent, both contemplative before he realized the other had sat, but was no less relaxed.

Crowley’s jawline bowed where the muscle was taught from clenched jaw, lips moderately pursed from the effort, and his body taut as a bow string.

Just as Aziraphale began to speak he noticed Crowley’s hand twitch before slowly reaching towards him.

Giving up the pretense of not looking at him, Aziraphale’s head tilted, looking at the proffered hand, tilted up, its fingers lax despite the tightly coiled body they were attached too, and the head of auburn hair tilted slightly down, as if Crowley couldn’t bare to look at him and had only had the capacity to raise one limb, and he’d chosen to reach out.

He found himself seized at once with the realization, that perhaps it’s all the energy the other did have.

He took in the dried sweat mussed hair, soot covered appearance, and thought of this demon, this Fallen, this man asking for insurance, for help, for companionship and possibly a million other little things by them all throughout the years, and getting turned down each time.

Crowley was full of grandiose gestures; typically complete with wild hand motions, flailing about and somehow managing to land more on the side of endearing and quirky rather than ridiculous and inane; however, it seemed that whatever had been fueling him had slowly been cutting away strings until this was all that was left.

Belatedly Aziraphale thought that he had been given a sword, never scissors, but that didn’t seem to have stopped him from cutting regardless.

He saw the offered hand twitch briefly at his blatant scrutiny before the hand began to close slowly, rotating gently towards Crowley’s thigh, as if for security.

He recalled telling the other that he had gone to fast at one point. Though now Aziraphale could only look back on the last several millennia and reach the conclusion that it had indeed been one long, slow journey to this.

And regardless if either Heaven or Hell’s staff disapproved of them sitting together, nor him offering comfort to a demon, surely it would be crueler to refuse? If anything, this was practically his duty, to help that is.

He had always been good at rationalizing things in their favor previously, and it seemed that nothing should change in that regard.

He reached out, hand reaching around the other’s wrist, wrapping a now clenched hand in his own.

At the same time, he noticed Crowley’s legs stiffen further, his feet inching closer together and back dipping more; effectively causing the other to curl in on himself, barely able to make out the sharp intake of air and the instantaneous creasing to the other’s eyes, obviously clenching behind black shades.

Aziraphale felt a sharp pang as he recalled Crowley’s posture at the revelation that his car was gone and realized he quite disliked seeing his friend in such a state, nor any similar.

His hand tightened further around the long fingers in his grasp, pulling the willing arm closer, and resting his other hand atop the other’s forearm.

“There, there dearest.”

Crowley’s entire body jerked suddenly, and if his arm wasn’t so thoroughly entangled in Aziraphale’s own, he might have jolted it back to himself.

“D -,” Crowley’s body curled more into itself, “don’t. Not - can’t,” he cut himself off, arm attempting to pull from Aziraphale in earnest now, before the angel locked his hold, gently, but firmly tugging the others towards him.

“Hush now, until our stop then.” Aziraphale murmured, feeling the other’s shiver and holding the lanky curled arm with its lankier owner, curled inward as if trying to ball into coils he was not in the proper form for.

Aziraphale was tempted; a feeling he usually laid blame for at Crowley’s feet, but would admit, if only to himself, came from a personal desire to soothe at this point, to pat the other’s head and push the hair matted around his temples into some semblance of its normal style, for comfort of course, before he relegated himself to patting the other’s arm in three quick motions before falling still the remainder of the way.

The bus lurched forward before toddering back at each stop, and so too did their bodies sway with the great vehicle. Finding themselves tilting left or right with its wide turns, until Aziraphale was reminded of a multitude of reasons as to why he was not a fan of public transportation.

Finally, they reached their stop and Crowley was jerkily trying to rise as best he could with one arm held captive, brows and forehead twitching madly, a subtle thing, as Aziraphale could imagine his eyes were clamoring about the bus again, ready for an escape more suited to prey than the predator Crowley had been formed to be.

Aziraphale rose with the other before releasing the arm he’d held and following him out.

Crowley didn’t look back before hurriedly making his way down the street to his house, Aziraphale trailing behind him, albeit somewhat nervously.

Crowley tried the door with his keys approximately three times, each fumbling attempt with a shakiness to the other’s hand that Aziraphale had never associated with the other, before he dropped them resolutely and with a snap of his fingers the doors opened for them.

When he tried to continue forward still without look at him still, Aziraphale reached out for the same hand he’d held not ten minutes prior.

“Crowley…” he stated imploringly, as the other finally turned his hunched form to look at him.

Face tauter than Aziraphale had ever seen, Crowley snapped back at him: “What?! What angel? What do you want now, because I…,” his voice cracked as did his anger and he winced in upset at himself or embarrassment for the situation, Aziraphale wasn’t quite able to discern. And oh, this was worse than the Bentley. 

“Dearest, I’m just trying to catch up.” he states primly, “Come now, what has you in such a state?”

He finds himself leading through the other’s home, although he’d never been given the tour, and finds that they path had led to him naturally dragging the other to a living room lush with plant life and a grandiose couch. Very Crowley, he thinks.

After a minute of both settling on the couch, and Crowley finding a means to sit ramrod straight and yet still seem curled inwards, a far cry from his usual sprawl, and as far away as the couch and Aziraphale grip on his arm would allow, the blonde found himself nudging the other with a squeeze to his newly acquired captive third limb.

Crowley eventually seems to lose whatever resolve he had, heaving a shuddering sigh before practically folding in on himself, head nearly dipping down to his knees, heels tucked nearly under the couch.

“It…Aziraphale,” Crowley trailed off as if unsure of how to begin, because how do you begin to explain to someone thoughts that you can’t even form into coherent thought patterns, much less words? Aziraphale has yet to learn and he’s well aware that of the two, he does more talking. It seems only fair that Crowley is at more of a loss than even he.

His demon forged on, stuttering through his own haze of muddled thoughts, and a seemingly overwhelming sense of displacement, head slowly rising to meet Aziraphale’s face.

“You were - I mean, I had thought - that is,” he swallowed heavily, “youweregoneAziraphale.” He finished in a furious hoarse whisper that seemed to absorb the oxygen around them.

The air was charged in static, as if one of them had frozen time and Aziraphale found his thoughts muddled again, as if trudging through water.

The other’s teeth were grit in such a way that Aziraphale could see the unevenness to them, the one on his bottom right that went awry in it’s build and tilted away from the rest, and if that didn’t endear him more to this man in front of him, Aziraphale would somehow damn himself.

It hit him then.

He recalled the auburn man in all black at the bar drowning himself in bottles, less than hours before the end of the world, but looking as if it has already ended for him. He recalled the look of awe on his fiendish friend’s face at his appearance, blatant even when he was looking through a hazy veil of discorporation. He recalled the way the madmen had driven through fire in a burning car as if driven by a primal force to get somewhere, to himself Aziraphale belatedly realized, and how the demon had immediately shuffled over to help before realizing what had become of his most prized possession and had to have a moment to himself.

“…the friend you’d mentioned.” He stated with a tone of realization. 

Realization that it was him.

He received a suspiciously watery sounding laugh in return.

“Yeah,” he seemed to force out, “friend. You.”

“Oh Crowley.” Aziraphale said with feeling, voice in a tone of wonder as his mind reeled. “You do go fast, don’t you?”

There was a commiserable keen next to him, quickly cut off when Crowley crumpled again, arm going limp in his hold as the other legs curled underneath him.

“I’m sorry A-”

“Hush that, you silly serpent,” he murmured fondly squeezing the hand he held and reaching for the other’s face to tilt it towards him. “You do, you know. Go fast that is. Terribly at odds with my pace.”

Aziraphale found himself brushing his knuckles softly over the jawline he’d been touching, his softer, admittingly rounded white hands brushing achingly gentle over black streaked darkened skin and clenched tight skin.

Perfectly at odds with one another, but in a sense, so perfectly contrasting as well.

“But I supposed you always been slowing your steps for my shorter legs then, haven’t you now? Not quite my fault that this body was built shorter than yours, to be fair.”

Crowley’s brows creased again, head tilting to face his own, and Aziraphale found his hands inching towards those every-present shades pausing only the slighted for the other to give the smallest of nods in acquiesce for their removal and - oh.

Oh.

There was so much warring in that expression, Aziraphale could have written a book over the pages of confusion and uncertainty in those eyes. He found something in himself choke at the look of hope in them because he could feel hope. He was an angel. He should be able to feel that feeling envelope him anytime he was around it, so why -

Once more with feeling:

Oh.

“Crowley.” He stated, stunned.

“Uh …angel?” A wry smile broke out on the face he was cradling, before vanishing as Aziraphale leaned in to rest his forehead on the others, scooting closer so they were both more comfortable with this change.

Crowley’s body language was hesitant, but now that Azirphale bothered to feel him, now that he had opened up a channel he had become so complacent with, that he no longer even noticed, he could…oh he could feel it.

A wash of love he’d not felt since the presence of the Almighty Herself had graced him with Her Light all those years ago.

It was so strong Aziraphale found himself agape at the potency of it, breathe stolen from his pseudo lungs and heart stuttering at the weight of it. The crescendo of its depth, the calamity of its meaning, his soul twisting in a mass of near disbelief and awe at the accompanying emotions of faith, longing, and the piteously small trendle of hope snaking through it all.

He breathed out slowly.

“Oh darling. Your love is so very strong.”

At the word ‘love’ Crowley seemed to flinch in on himself before Aziraphale could see the beginning of tears well in the serpent’s eyes as they fettered shut hard.

“Demon’s don’t feel love angel. Remember?” He croaked out, body shuddering, and not in a moment Aziraphale realized the poor thing was running on empty, as were they both, but that he was fairly certain the other was -

“It’s okay to cry, Crowley.”

Another wet laugh choked out harshly and the other’s head began shaking against Aziraphale’s own.

“Demon’s don’t cry either.”

There was a pause as they both did not mention the wetness pooling around his eyes, and Aziraphale looked at the bloodshot veins making their home in exhausted but otherwise gold eyes.

Aziraphale decided to give in to his earlier urge and grabbed the back of Crowley’s head gently carding his fingers through hair singed from fire and thickened from soot and guiding it to rest against Aziraphale shoulder.

The body in front of him shuddered violently as his other arm reached behind to pull Crowley closer, because he needed it, because he needed it: the both of them. They were alive, and Crowley hadn’t known. There was love, and Aziraphale hadn’t realized.

Crowley was chilled to the touch despite the sky-light above them pooling sunlight onto auburn hair causing it to glint like the fire that had tried to ravage it while ensconced in a car earlier, and Aziraphale wanted to offer warmth, to offer his own love and tugged him closer still. After a scant few minutes he found himself with a lap full of a loose-limbed six-foot and one-inch mess of a man.

“If I recall, you were a Fallen first.”

He continued, maneuvering liquid limbs into an arrangement that, to be fair, did not seem very probable for the other. Legs splayed on either side of Aziraphale, knees folded around his middle, and arms and elbows trapped against the angels’s chest, but seemed to be possible all the same.

“A serpent second,” he added hushedly, feeling this moment as a sacred one and unwilling to break it, speaking despite the wetness he felt seeping through his vest and shirt to his skin, “and it’s a good thing Hell won’t claim you as a demon now, wouldn’t you say?”

Aziraphale tucked Crowley’s head under his own, not giving up having his fingers tangled in the other’s mess of a haircut, while the other firmly grasped at the lithe body in his lap, as if to stop it from quaking.

And together they rocked as if still on the musty London bus, but sat as a mass of tangled limbs atop one another, knowing that the next stop would be theirs as well.

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[spootiliousrps]

Suspicious Natures

[An Ongoing RP with the amazing @fandomrp ] 

 // [Next]

Castiel pulled his cloak tighter around him to try and ward off the chill from the night air. It seemed that these late nights seemed to grow colder and colder. He paused just briefly to glance over the rolling hills before him before continuing his patrol of the armaments. It was late but it wasn’t as if he had anywhere else to be; he was the Knight Commander of the King’s Arms, he took pride in his work and nothing could pull him from it. He paused to nod at one of the guards as they passed each other but said nothing. How long had he served until King John? It had to have been the better part of a decade and now that he had passed his son was due to take over. Cas had only met the man briefly, but it was enough to notice the Alpha’s reckless nature. He obviously had his reservations about the boy’s ability to rule but it would not interfere in his duties. That is… if the newly appointed Monarch allowed him to keep his position.

No, Castiel would be fine. Even if he were demoted, he would take pride in training his replacement. Though there was no real worry that he’d be replaced, not unless… Well, not unless someone discovered what he really was… He was sure the younger Prince had figured it out long ago. Sam was far too intelligent for his own good, it worried him some time… But as far as he knew the boy never told anyone Castiel’s secret and for that the Knight Commander would be forever grateful. He had worked far too hard to gain his title. Of course, he couldn’t take all the credit; if it wasn’t for Hannah, he would have never discovered how to hide his scent so effectively.

He offered another murmur of greeting as another guard bowed in respect as Castiel passed, a bit too lost in his own head to really pay attention where he was heading.

King Dean was a strong Alpha, he considered himself to be fair and just, just like how he runs the Kingdom. Though if it wasn’t for his brother Sammy, he would be lost. He much preferred to be out with the King’s Cavalry actively protecting his Kingdom. He was walking through the fields above the Kingdom, looking down on what he ruled. As he walked he noticed the Knight Commander walking towards him. King Dean jogged up to him. “Castiel isn’t in? I’ve been meaning to have a discussion with you. How about we have it now?” He asked, as he held his hand out to the Commander.

Cas glanced up as his name was called, intense gaze falling on the man in question. He straightened immediately, tension obvious in his shoulder. “Your Majesty.” Castiel greeted quickly, fist pressing against the thin metal covering his chest as he bowed deeply. “I was not aware you were out for a stroll. I apologize for not sending an escort.” He hurried before the man’s words sank, causing him to frown, thankful that his low bow hid the expression. The King wished to have a discussion this late… it did not bode well.

“Oh no, no. I did not tell anyone.” King Dean smiled. “I prefer coming out here alone. You can straighten, Castiel. Unless you enjoy the reflection of your face in my boots.” Dean chuckled warmly. “There is no need to worry about this chat, it’s just a formality. We may as well do it now when we are both free, then try to find time in our schedules.”

The teasing had the Knight Commander flushing slightly as he did as he was instructed, lips still pursed in apprehension. “I… Understand your desire to be alone, Your Majesty, however, I do not think its wise for you to venture the grounds alone, especially with your recent rise to the throne.” He protested gently, unsure of Dean’s temperament when it came to question his actions in such a manner; King John certainly wasn’t too fond of it. Still, he fell in step next to the King. “I will be happy to discuss whatever you wish, My King, if you will allow me to walk with you.”

“If I was not born the eldest child, I would have joined the quests to search for far off lands. I feel the safest out here.” He explained. “But now I have you, to ensure my safest. That if you are loyal to me.” King Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. “You would never conceal your true actions, nor lie to the King would you?” He asked.

Castiel glanced at him once more, intense gaze narrowing at the implications. “I am loyal to the Throne, Your Majesty. You sit upon it. I am loyal to you just as I was loyal to your father. If I have given you any reason for doubt or concern, I will do what it takes to make things right. All you need do is name the task.” Castiel reassured, avoiding a direct answer in regard to his ‘true actions’ and ‘lies’. “It is my honor to serve this kingdom and the royal family.”

“Do not be so offended, Commander, or one could read into it. These are just formal questions, I am asking of the staff surrounding me.” King Dean hummed. He knew that Castiel was keeping something from him, but he wasn’t sure what it was. He decided to change tack and continue on with the formal questioning. “Throughout this transition period, I’m hoping you’ll take some slack, that I may cause, I am still trying to juggle many things, and as such, I may not answer your queries as quickly as my father.” He explained. “During this time I wish for you to follow your gut, or think back to what my father would have asked you to do. Will you do this?”

Cas blinked at the request, unsure of what to make of it. “Of course, Sire.” He mumbled after a moment’s hesitation. “I will do my duty with honor, have no doubt in that.” He encouraged with a nod. “I have a request, however, if you will hear me?” He offered, gaze shifting back in the direction they walked leisurely.

“Of course, Commander. But I do reserve the right to waiver the request if it is not suitable for a King to do.” King Dean smiled warmly, he watched Castiel walk, noting the softest of the cheekbones and narrower shoulder’s usually adorning Omega men.

"Of course, Sire." Castiel nodded, unaware of the King's attention to detail. "Ruling is a difficult job, one that I am certain you are already of aware of. But a King is only a great as his people. You are not alone in your power, Your Majesty. We are all here to help lighten the burdens of the crown. Forgive my brash nature, but this includes your brother. He may be young but he is wise beyond his years perhaps he could be of use in your transition to the throne." He offered, tensing slightly as he waited for the backlash the was undoubtedly coming. Castiel had a tendency to toe the line of insubordination but it had served him well on occasion.

I speak with my brother often.” King Dean hummed, he stopped walking and turned to Castiel. “He is helping with more... mundane matters at the moment. Is there a reason you wish for me to use my brother more frequently? He has a job of his own, that we both wish for him to attend to, and a good wife.” Dean hummed. “I do not wish to take too much of him time away from either of those matters.”

Castiel paused when Dean did, turning to face him as was proper. “Of course, Your Majesty, I would not wish to imply that you would.” He rushed, obviously worried he had offended the Monarch. “It is just that I have watched the two of you for the better part of ten years now. King John, God rest his soul, ensured that your brother remain on a very strict path and while I must respect his wishes, I fear that your brother’s talents and intelligence may not be utilized to their fullest. If allowed, I believe your brother would gain immeasurable honor in a more productive role. While a scholar is an honorable trade I feel his talents may be wasted scribing others’ words.” He explained before flushing deeply as he realized how it sound. “Though I, of course, would not presume to know anyone in the Royal Family with such familiarity.” He rushed. “I am merely making assumptions off a few rare observations of the boy.” When had he become so easily embarrassed? Perhaps it was just how warm it had suddenly gotten. The thought had him tensing as he realized that that couldn’t be right, the night had been chilled just a moment ago. No, it had to be the way the Alpha’s scent seemed to swirled around them in the evening air that seemed to heat him, making him realize that they were particularly close and causing him to take a step back.

King Dean eyed Castiel as he took a step back, as his cheeks flustered with warmth. “As you are so keen to hand out unwarranted advice, how about you give me advice. You are the Knight Commander of the King’s Arms. These following days, I wish to receive a full report on one of the men directly under you. Each day, until you have reported on each of them. Their strengths, their weaknesses, and where you would advise to place them.” Dean stated. “At dusk every night. Or, of course, you can explain why you refused to answer my question about whether you’re lying and telling me the entire truth of your actions.” Dean offered, with a wry smile.

Castiel’s stomach twisted almost painful at the words, eyes growing a bit wide in surprise. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs noticeable as he quickly bent low at the waist once more. “Of course, Your Grace!” He rushed perhaps a bit too loudly. “I will have those reports ready and waiting just as you request.” He offered eagerly, pausing in his bow the action helping to conceal his worried look. “Forgive me for stepping out of line.” He added. “I meant no disrespect. It was wrong of me to assume you were in need of any such advice from someone such as myself. Though I fear I do not understand what actions you refer to, Sire. I try and conduct myself as honestly as possible.” ‘As possible’ being the key words. He had never lied to the man… Merely, provided a lack of information.

“Honesty. Yes, I agree. Yet you are not honesty about your entirety. You are keeping something from me. And as your King. If you do not wish to be demoted out of the Army, then I suggest, very wisely, that you provide all the information about yourself to me, right now.” Dean’s eyes narrowed, as he tried to piece together what Castiel’s secret could be. All he could imagine was that the Commander was an Omega, but that was surely untrue, his father would have noticed.

Cas’s brows furrowed as if confused as he straightened. “Of course, Your Grace. Whatever you wish.” He offered. “I was born Castiel Novak in a neighboring Kingdom, though I could not say which, to Charles Novak. My Mother died giving birth to myself and I do not know her name. I have too many siblings to name, most of which I couldn’t even if I tried fore I was very young when I was sold to a labor camp outside the walls of the city. After a few years among the slaves I presented and managed to escape by killing my direct caretaker and made a run for it. After a fortnight of scrounging for food I was collected by a small merchant train who cared for me until they reached your Father’s territory. I was left to care for myself with no money nor skills and thus began to gravitate towards the page boys who taught me to spar. Sir Metatron took notice of my willful nature and took me under his wing, educating me and guiding me towards knighthood. When the war broke out I served as a foot soldier beneath him, quickly rising in rank and glory on the battlefield. Until, of course, Metatron proved to be a traitor and fought against your father, may he rest in peace. Discovering this I led the rebellion against my mentor, ultimately slaying him and gaining great renown. Upon returning victorious in both the battle and the war I was given the title of Knight Commander and have served your father and your kingdom faithfully since.” He explained almost as if he had rehearsed the whole thing. He managed to keep an emotionless expression during the explanation aside from the small flash of pain that tainted his icy blues at the mention of his mentor’s death. “I hand pick each of the men in your service to ensure that history does not repeat itself and that the Kingdom’s integrity remains at its utmost strength. I wake early each morning to make my rounds, ensure my men are in peak physical and mental condition and assess any security issue that may pose itself. I eat my meals among my soldiers to boost moral and end my evening far past dusk after my final inspections. I find pride and satisfaction in my work which is why I have committed myself wholly to it. I have not, nor do I plan on marrying or having cubs for that reason. I am and will remain a faithful servant to the crown and while I hope this satisfies your curiosity, Sire, I respect your decision and have a list of men that I feel would excel as your new Knight Commander should you wish to replace me.” He offered with another bow.

// [Next]

[mxsinistir]

Valentine’s Day (Sherlock x Gender Neutral! Reader)

Requested by sovereignoblivious

A/N) I was gonna publish this on Valentine’s Day but there was a school party and I ended up hanging out at my best friend’s house and I didn’t have my laptop so yeah. It’s here now though, so I hope you enjoy!

Request: a romantic and sensual Valentine’s Day one-shot of Sherlock x Gender Neutral! Reader (who are in an established relationship for like 3 years) where Sherlock and Reader have gone on a romantic date (Sherlock gives a bouquet of red roses given to Reader, Reader and Sherlock are dressed nicely to go to a fancy restaurant for their dinner date) and Sherlock has proposed to Reader and after they get back to 221B Baker Street, Sherlock tells Reader what I had put in my Valentine card and then they are kissing and touching each other.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Sherl!” You called out casually, strolling into the morgue with your hands stuffed into the pockets of your lab coat.

“Hmm?” Your boyfriend said, glancing up as you walked to stand next to Molly and Lestrade with a cheeky smile. “I don’t know what you’re on about, but I called you to help me on a case.”

“Flowers?”

“What are you on about?”

“Candy, perhaps?”

“For some reason, Anderson gave a box of chocolate to Donavan this morning, so he has them, evidently.” He said obliviously, “Certainly Mycroft has sweets lying around; you could always ask him.”

You bit back a sigh, “You’re hopeless, babe.” You huffed, blocking out the apologetic looks that Lestrade and Molly were casting you from behind your back. You sat next to Sherlock, watching as he analyzed a sample beneath the microscope, hyper-focused on whatever his latest case entailed.

You weren't sure what you expected. In the three years that you had dated the younger Holmes brother, you had never once been praised like every other significant other on valentines day. Honestly, you felt absolutely single on February fourteenth. Part of you must have just assumed that this year would be different now that John Watson had come into Sherlock’s life.

Maybe part of you had expected some of that emotion to carry into Valentine’s day.

“I told Lestrade it was the backpacker, of course, he didn’t believe me,” Sherlock grumbled over the phone. You just rolled your eyes, murmuring some answer. On the other side of the line, Sherlock sighed. “Are you mad that I didn’t go all out or whatever for this idiotic holiday?” “It’s not just the holiday; it’s like you hardly care about me.” You tried not to sniffle. “Every day of the year,”

“Valentine’s Day is a marketing scheme,”

“It’s a day where you’re supposed to show your affection like a proper boyfriend. Or at the very least, lie about it.” You scoffed. “I’ll see you back at the flat. Molly asked me out to dinner. At least she had the decency to.” You hung up the phone, fuming, despite your better judgement.

You usually didn’t demand his attention. Usually, you were fine with supporting him from the background, even when he became focused on a case and forgot you or anybody else even existed. But for one day, he could remember that you did. Was that too much to ask.

It’s Sherlock Holmes, what do you expect? You told yourself, walking up towards the restaurant while wondering if he’d sent chocolate to Jim Moriarty. You strutted towards the front counter as you slipped through the door.

Molly had texted you earlier, apologizing for Sherlock’s behaviour and begging you to come to dinner for a girl’s night. She was single anyway, she told you. You agreed without putting up much of a fight, and she told you the name of the restaurant (packed with couples acting much happier than you) at which she had already claimed reservations.

“Reservation for Hooper?” You asked, and with some typing, the waiter pointed towards a candlelit table twelve.

And in the soft flame, you made eye contact with a tall brunet; seated and nervously texting somebody, looking around frantically until you walked in. He smiled, reaching under the table.

You had not expected Sherlock Holmes to be the kind of man to bring red roses to date, but you were over the moon.

“What, you didn’t think I’d come through for you?” He asked, handing you the bouquet as you took your seat.

“I don’t know if this is John Watson’s influence making you emotional,” You giggled, taking the flowers, “Of James Moriarty making you dramatic.”

“Both,” He decided, waving down one of the waitresses for wine and an order of fish. You asked for [Favourite Food].

“This place has got to be expensive,” You said quietly, still awestruck as you observed the facility, “Did you prove the innocence of the owner or something? That’s usually how you get discounts at all the other places you take me to eat-“

“No, but it’s not my problem. It’s all going on Mycroft’s card.” He said with disinterest, “I couldn’t give you much this morning because I needed to go to to the parliament building to run into him. He’s always been easy to pickpocket.”

“Nope, you’ve been at morgue all morning.” You called him out with a grin, “Try again,”

“Well, since my attempt to impress you has failed,” The younger Holmes sighed, “Anthea originally got the reservation for her and Mycroft - it’s never hard for her to pull strings, she can get in anywhere. Anyway, there was trouble with the NATO board, and so he’s busy. I asked for the favour, and then used one of Mycroft’s credit cards that I stole a while ago. He has so many that I doubt he even knows it’s missing.”

You laughed fully, making a mental note to thank Mycroft’s assistant later. You and Sherlock continued to make conversation through the evening until your stomachs and hearts will full.

After receiving the check and offering a generous tip to attack Mycroft’s credit celebrate Valentine’s Day, you walked back to 221b, hand in hand.

You ran your thumb over his calloused fingers with a ghost of a smile, looking up at him every now and then to see that he was already looking at you with though sparkling blue eyes and an adorable smile that you wished you saw more.

“Your eyes are dilated,” He noticed. Classic, romantic, Sherlock; you thought as his fingers left the embrace of yours, moving up to your wrist. “Would you like me to take your pulse, too, Valentine?” You giggled.

“Do you think Irene’s expecting candy from you?” “Well, I only do gestures for my favourite person.” He smiled, pecking you on the lips to get a soft giggle from you as you both kept walking.

“You know, John is out with his girlfriend, and Mrs. Hudson has gone out for the weekend,” Sherlock informed you as he closed the door to the flat,

“Good for them,” You said, walking over the kitchen counter to fill a vase of water for your new roses. You turned around to find your consulting detective right behind you, his arms snaking around your waist.

“I’m implying that we have the flat to ourselves,”

“Does it really take a genius to find that out?”  You said with a smirk, pushing up onto your toes and running your hands through his hair as your lips collided, bruising the calloused skin.

“You really are such a romantic, Sherlock Holmes,” You said, pulling away just for air as your arms lazily fell around his shoulders. Without any warning but a mischievous smile, he darted to hook his arms underneath your thighs, never stopping to look anywhere but your bright, smiling eyes.

“Well,” He remarked, “I try,”

[future-critical-blog]

How Pacing Fucked Steven Universe

Note: this is anonymous because I know what will happen!

Steven Universe is without a doubt one of the best shows I've ever seen. It's certainly the best cartoon series I've ever watched. The first four series, and a large amount of the fifth, are truly wonderful.

So, I'm going to be entitled and complain about the last little bit that didn't work for me. I got all those hundreds of episodes, and I’m just going to take a moment to really honk about the stuff I don't like.

Because we live in an age where Nazis are back, feminists think trans woman are the biggest threat they face and the world is burning - at this point, a bit of a moan about Steven Universe/Future will get lost I think.

Bear in mind: this comes from a place of love. I care about Steven and the characters because they took me on an amazing journey that really had an emotional impact on me. Then they tripped me right at the end, and now they're fuck-twaddling around taking up space in my brain that should be used for thinking about how great the show is.

This is about how the inability to wrap Steven Universe properly sucks and undermines all the amazing work the creators put into it. Now, that work hasn't gone anywhere: I can, and will, re-watch the series to reminisce about it. About what could have happened. Nobody has taken that away from me.

But still, there's nothing worse than a story that buggers up the ending. Worse yet, that ending is still going in Steven Universe: Future.

So what's the problem? Let's start.

Pacing, pathos and atmosphere

Things used to be teased, hinted and slowly revealed. Steven Universe used to a slow-burn that really built things up with the even-hand of a masterful storyteller.  Remember that long shot at the end of 'On the Road', after the characters leave? We see just the empty, sinister kindergarten whilst a discordant note builds in the background before... bang, credits. It builds atmosphere and tension.

What happened to that? Slowly building a feeling, weaving a narrative, and taking us on an emotional journey? We got a very rushed pay-off to all this with Series 5. The crew thought the show wouldn't be renewed, so they made the executive decision to wrap it all up.

·       Everyone’s fixed now. Pearl, Garnet, Amethyst, Steven.

·       Diamonds are friendly now. Blue got sad, Yellow got angry and White got… put in her place by a comeback?

·       The bubbled gems/corrupted monsters are all fixed.

·       The Off-Colours and Lars just got home.  No further adventures, they just got home.

Bits got missed out. Things got rushed. Homeworld, the Diamonds and five series of build-up got dealt with in the space of 40 minutes. For comparison, just Series 1 alone was 8 hours long.

Yeah, the network created that situation. You're cancelled! They seemed to say. No you're not! HA! They continued.  But it still sucks, narratively, and the creators are now compounding that problem by trying to go back and add in the bits they missed.

Worse, there's no pacing now because there’s no more overall story.  No atmosphere. Fundamentally, post Change Your Mind, everything is done. The series was wrapped up.  All we have left now is some loose-ends and Steven being moody.

It came back mostly just to tie up random ends. But more of something isn't always good: Series 1-4 and about half of Series 5 are amazing. We shouldn't clap and applaud we get more just because it's more for its own sake, we should cheer things for being good in their own right.

I don't just want more meep morp, I want the morp to have something to say and to mean something. Victory laps and adding unnecessary lore is pointless: characters and emotion are what drive stories.

This isn't about 'filler' episodes as such, nor is it about breaks and hiatuses. It's about spreading the story arc (and the individual elements within that arc) correctly over the allotted time. A story that takes 700 pages to set up, only to be resolved in 3 pages feels badly unbalanced - I'm looking at you, Stephen King. And that's exactly the problem Steven Universe has. The set-up is incredible, and the payoff is badly disappointing. That's pacing.

Being the Underdog

This was covered nicely, if ironically in hindsight, with the episode ‘Historical Friction’.  The play about olde-time mayor William Dewey was utterly uninteresting until Pearl rewrote the play’s script to make him an underdog.  This is part of pacing. It's dull to watch a winner win constantly. The characters need to be in situations where they're facing actual threats, otherwise we're just watching a series of foregone conclusions unfold.

What would Lord of the Rings look like if the Hobbits just marched from The Shire to Orodruin, with no setbacks or problems, and then just lobbed the One Ring into the fire? What's the point of the story? It'd be like a grand-scale version of watching someone go out for groceries.  Nobody wants to watch that, not really: you can go to the supermarket and see it if you’re that interested!

This couples with suspension of disbelief. Usually, the good guys win. We know they're going to win. We need to be able to suspend our disbelief, and that's something that the pacing and storytelling need to enable. We need to be able to get caught in the story, even though we know everything will probably work out by the end.

When you get it just right, even the creators don’t know for sure everything will be alright.  Remember when Picard was assimilated by The Borg?  Even the writers weren’t 100% sure how it would play out, because Patrick Stewart was playing hardball with the studio at the time over his contract.  There was a chance this could have been the end of his character.

But Steven isn't an underdog anymore. He's a bossy, self-important grump with a martyr complex. He wins all the time, not least of all because of the pacing problems. By this point:

·       Steven has healing powers that can literally bring people back to life

·       He has all the powers of a Diamond

·       He has the backing of the three other diamonds

·       He now has an army of friends who will fight at his side

So where is the story to tell? Consider, in Steven Universe: The Movie, Greg's arm gets hurt by the injector. There's no danger, no worry. We know Steven has healing powers. So why bother showing it? It's about as relevant or interesting as watching Greg brush his hair.

There’s no danger.  There’s no suspension of disbelief because the hero is now so super-powered.

This is even worse when coupled with the uneven pacing: when something takes so long to be painstakingly set up, only to be knocked down in a heartbeat, then why get invested in it?  The 21st Century reboot of Doctor Who falls into this trap a lot: multipart episodes about a Dalek (or whatever) invasion… but luckily their Evil Machine has a ‘reverse’ switch that fixes everything. Dust hands, job done. All that build-up utterly squandered on an almost supernaturally fast resolution.

You Need a Story to Tell

The first five series have a definite story. It gets rushed, badly, come series 5 but there is still a story. That is done now: there's no grand, overarching tale now. We're very much into 'oh, what if...' territory.

What's the problem with that? Things get missed, because they don't need to fit into a cohesive whole. They just happen because they're cool.

Consider The Movie:

·       Spinel goes from a cuddly, professional buddy to a would-be mass-murderer

·       Spinel knows where to find a stupidly powerful injector

·       She knows how to work it

·       It is tuned to work to her 'trumpet' sound

·       It is shaped like her gemstone

·       She knows specifically where Earth is

·       She knows how to fly a massive injector, with no obvious engines, to Earth

·       This all happens in an afternoon

And the explanation we're given, after the event in a Q&A session? It's because Spinel and Pink Diamond were close. That is supposed to explain the entirety of those bullet points. It rankles me because it's not truthful. Those questions aren't answered by that, they're answered by 'because we thought it would be cool'. It's an unsatisfying explanation, but it's true and they’ve tried to handwave it into something else.

It's also what happens when you run out of proper story. Sure, you can still come up with little adventures but there's no big narrative anymore. There is no large picture for everything to fit into.

That’s dangerous territory. Not only does it lead to weird scenarios, but it also starts generating new lore at a maddening amount. The fans don't help this, it seems to me that some people purely watch Steven Universe to demand moar fusions, moar songs and moar lore.  Even when that’s all they get, it’s not enough.

It's like demanding more swimming pools in your home because you're bored with foundations.  Sooner or later the whole structure falls down because swimming pools can’t hold a house up.  Neither can lore hold a story up: stories are about characters.

Similarly, the concept of 'fusion' relies on characters otherwise it's nothing more than the character dumps we used to get in toy-driven franchises back in the 80s. Songs have to have an emotional resonance otherwise they're just empty pop.

Remember the X-Files? How they got into a rut just generating series after series with no pay-off, but lots more wrinkles to an already convoluted story? Then it got to the end and... you can't end it. It's too sprawling, too stupid and too contradictory. That's where lore without a story takes you. Lore has to serve a vision, not the other way around.

Filler

Not filler the way it's come to mean to SU fans. I like the 'boardie' episodes - they're full of interesting characters and ground Steven's world in something resembling ours. No, I mean filler in terms of stories that don't mean anything: the characters don't learn anything, the world isn't made any more interesting. Things just happen in a self-contained bubble with no payoff or consequence.

In itself, that's fine. Some episodes are like that. If that were the only aspect to 'filler' episodes in SU, then who cares? The problem is the pacing. After glacial teasing, hinting and laying down groundwork... things get wrapped up so fast it'll make your head spin.

·       The cluster? We talked it into staying bubbled.

·       The Diamonds? They're fine now.

·       Bismuth? Steven chatted to her.

·       Lapis? She's sort-of fine, but not really.

·       Spinel? Sent to live on a farm.

These are all things that took many, many lines of dialogue and building to create and were knocked down in the space of a couple of sentences.

This is where the 'filler' comes in. Instead of another story about Onion being weird, why not devote it to tying up the plot in a way that feels paced properly? Instead of answering questions about Watermelon Stevens, why not draw-out a little more the actual conclusion to a big story point?

Why do I think Onion and Watermelon Stevens should be singled out for Calvary? Simple: they have no explanation and don't matter. They don't matter to the day-to-day lives of the characters or the world. They serve no narrative purpose. They don't advance other characters' arcs. They don't ground the world they inhabit. They turn up, do 'stuff' in a little bubble and then go back into the toybox until the next Onion episode.

As a side note, I would lay a lot of money that Onion will never get any sort of pay-off. He doesn't age. He's deeply bizarre. He's apparently a wanted criminal. He's terrifying. And I don't think for an instant he will ever get a reason for being any of those things: he'll just carry on as a quirky in-joke and take up episode space because apparently that is a story-telling priority now.

Songs

Songs are sung when something is too important for the characters to just say it. The song needs an emotional resonance, to show what a character feels effectively. Contrast 'That Distant Shore' to 'Independent Together': one is about a deep longing and sadness for a home the character has never had. The other is a soft-rock ballad about how great stuff is when you can be your own self but also be with other people... or something.

See the resonance that the former has, and that the latter lacks? Whether you like Lapis or Steg, or the songs, is irrelevant to the story and the characters. One song has something to say, the other is there for the sake of giving fanservice. Independent Together isn't something so important to say that the characters feel they need to sing it.

This really kicks off around the middle of Series 5. Previously, songs were a special event. Now, they're commonplace. Even in Mr. Greg, a fully musical episode back in Series 3, the songs have so much emotion. Plus, Mr. Greg is an experiment: 11 minutes, mostly held together by 6 solid songs:

·       Don't Cost Nothing: how much Greg and Steven just love one another.

·       Empire City: how excited they are to go on a trip together

·       Mr. Greg: Pearl almost lets her guard down, then realises and shuts down.

·       It's Over Isn't It? : A heartbroken character sings for a life they never had.

·       Both of You: A child shows the two adults they have something special in common.

·       Don't Cost Nothing: reprised as a coda.

I won't pretend that all those songs have a huge emotional impact, but they do all serve part of the story arc. You can see it there: the status quo, the trigger, the choice, the quest, the showdown, the resolution and the new status quo. Couple that with the fact that at least 4 of those songs (counting Don't Cost Nothing and its reprise) do have a very real emotional punch, you've got a great episode.

All in 11 minutes.

That's the level of truly amazing, genius storytelling we're working with. Now contrast that to the 1hr 20m of Steven Universe The Movie:

·       The Tale of Steven: A prelude to a re-cap song

·       Once Upon a Time: a re-cap song

·       Let Us Adore You: The Diamonds are emotionally disturbed and co-dependent! How adorable!

·       Happily Ever After: The status quo. Also another bloody re-cap.

·       Other Friends: The trigger! Not huge emotional resonance, but up-beat and plot-relevant.

·       system/BOOT.PearlFinal(3): The quest.

·       Who We Are: NICE. This one has emotional impact and says something important.

·       Isn't It Love?: A Garnet re-cap. So at this point we're recapping what we re-capped when we recapped the re-cap. Lost yet?

·       No Matter What: Again, NICE. Emotional relevance and says something about Amethyst and Steven.

·       Disobedient: Kate Micucci hadn't been given anything to do yet?

·       Independent Together: Aimee Mann brought a friend! Can he have a job and some dollarydoos?

·       Drift Away: CHARACTER. PUNCH. PATHOS. It's here, folks. They can do it!

and so on.

See the pattern? For every one song that brings what we saw in Mr. Greg, there are at least four that are there just because. Because we thought it'd be cool. Because we needed more tunes to fill the runtime. Mr. Greg achieved more in 11 minutes than Steven Universe: The Movie achieved in over 80 minutes.

What's the reason? The Movie doesn't really have a story to tell. It's a victory lap. It's not bad: it's fine. Bits of it are simply excellent. But this is what happens when you stop having a big, cohesive narrative arc that you're trying to bring together.

Characters

Characters grow and evolve. Specifically, they have arcs. Just like the plot as a whole, and just like the subplots that compose it.  Generally, the stages are:

·       A status quo (Luke on Tattoine)

·       A trigger (his Aunt and Uncle die)

·       A critical choice (he leaves to become a Jedi)

·       A quest (the adventure)

·       A climax (the fight at the Death Star)

·       A turnaround (the Death Star is destroyed!)

·       A new status quo (the Rebels are ready to take on the next challenge)

SU gave most of its characters arcs broadly representative of this. The problem is, once those arcs were done the characters got put back in their boxes. They were 'fixed' and that was it. Amethyst's arc probably worked best: it spread over most of the first five series and felt like a real progression. Hence her fusion with Steven (Smokey Quartz) felt 'earnt'.

Pearl doesn't really grow or evolve much at all until Series 5. Ditto Garnet. Lapis is basically the same throughout the show: she broods, runs away and then comes back because of Steven's coaxing.

So, it’s back to my main drumbeat: its pacing is badly off. Some things take their good time and evolve naturally, others are wrapped up quickly and cast aside. Examples:

·       Peridot worked to become friends with the CG. She had a character arc that took half a series.

·       The Diamonds: it mostly turned on a sixpence in the 2nd half of Change Your Mind. Off-screen they then became annoying relatives, rather than murderous galactic tyrants.

Why does this matter? Well, most of the characters are now 'done'. Pearl is no longer co-dependent. Ruby and Sapphire know they're together (as Garnet) for love. Amethyst no longer hates herself. Peridot is a sweet (albeit socially clumsy) sidekick. Lapis is... well, the same as she's always been but seems happier with it now?

How do you tell more stories when your characters are already done? When the veg is cooked, you can't put it back on the hob because you've decided you want dinner prep to take longer.

SU keeps wrapping things up, believing they're 'done', then getting more time and needing to draw it out. This means either dawdling around with characters not going anywhere (which feels like either a smug victory lap or just something for its own sake) or actively unpicking their development.

Scrubs, in my view, is the poster child for the latter option: the show's cancelled, quick wrap up JD; Elliot; Dr. Cox; Carla; Turk etc! Oh no, we got another series! Undo the happily-ever-after so we can do more stuff!

That's why the pacing, particularly around characters and where they're going, matters.

Fusion

Fusion is the absolute biggest muddle of a metaphor. Is it friendship? Understanding? Sex? All? None? In any case, it used to be meaningful. Fusion meant something, even if that something would vary depending on the characters and the circumstance.

It took special effort to do: characters had to synchronise themselves through dance, to bring their thoughts together to fuse.

Now? It happens at the drop of a hat. No synching, no dancing. Fanwank it away any way you like: the characters are all 'fixed' now, they all trust each other, whatever. Fusion now doesn't mean anything because it takes no effort: pop here's Sunstone, pop here's Smokey, pop here's Opal. The fusions have just become like alter-egos that take no more effort than a quick-change in a phone booth.

And then there's Steg. Yeah, I get it: he represents the familial love between father and son. But why is he so built? Why does he look like some sort of sex-god? I'm a long way from a prude - it's just weird is all. A 16 year old boy + his middle aged father + the memory of the mother/wife shouldn't create a weird Adonis! But let me set that aside: the true problem with Steg is we had no build-up. Greg and Steven didn't talk about it, Steven just suggests fusing (through whispered dialogue we don't hear) and then it just happens.

Steg also isn't saved by being an interesting exploration of either Steven or Greg. He's fanservice. Fans wanted more fusions and more 'what if so-and-so fused!!' so they got it. He has 0 character. Just like Sunstone has no character beyond being an 'after school special'. Rainbow Quartz 2.0 has no character, aside from being chipper and cockney.

Contrast that to Smokey Quartz. Smokey is a delightful, self-deprecating scamp. She has a definite personality and stood up to a full interview with Sardonyx.  Smokey has enough of a character that it would be possible for her to act out-of-character.  What would out-of-character look like for Rainbow or Sunstone?  Provided it was cartoon-English and early 90s cartoon dialogue (respectively) it could be anything.

What happened? Fusions used to be characters, they used to have personalities that couldn't be written down on a postage stamp in luggage marker.

The answer is the story ran-out. The characters are all fixed now - so there's no emotional or narrative drive for their relationships. Hence the concept of fusion is now just serving fans who want to see 'what if' combinations of characters.

Too Many Endings

I’ve touched on this already, but here it is again.

The problem with wrapping up a show is you put all the pieces away as well as you can, and implicitly make work for yourself if it is not the end. You've just set up a load of strawmen you need to kick over if you decide you've got more story to tell.

That's what happened here. Change Your Mind ended it. Except it didn't, so we went back and unpicked what we could. Even though everyone is basically fixed now and the characters have no real growth or underdog-fight. Then The Movie ended it. Except it didn't, so we went back and unpicked what we could. Even though everyone is still basically fixed.

Will Future be the end?  Probably not.

That's why Steven is now a moody little jackass with a hero complex - we needed some conflict to drive what little plot there is, which exists only as a vehicle for tying up loose plot threads (Jasper!) we left out because of how rushed the first ending was.

It's a bit like when you misspell something, then you go back over it with your biro. But now it looks unclear. So you go over it a few more times to make sure it's clear. But now it looks like someone took a biro and leaked half the ink onto the page. The very act of trying to tidy it has made it less clear.

A Special Note About Garnet

This isn't about pacing, but whilst I'm on the moan I'll leave this here.

I feel wicked for this. Garnet is a brilliant character. I love Estelle: she brings Garnet so well to life. Any LGBT representation in a cartoon is rare and amazing, and we need more. But Garnet also sucks.

Why?

She's a metaphor. She's a metaphor for being gay and together in love. She is a symbol of a same-sex relationship.  On a side-note: yes Gems don't have gender technically, but let’s not be wilful here: they have female-coded designs and the subtext is so obvious as to barely be subtext.

It's nearly 2020. We're now 20 years into the 21st Century. 2001 A Space Odyssey was set 20 years ago.  First contact between Zephram Cochrane and the Vulcans is now only 43 years away.  And we can still only talk about gay (or, God forbid, bi or transgender) characters in children’s' media through metaphor. I cannot emphasise enough how utterly shitty that is, and how glacial progress has been.

Now, that isn't SU's fault. However, what is SU fault is their clever (and I mean that genuinely) ploy to sneak a same-sex couple into the show means that we don't see them as a same-sex couple 95% of the time. They're hidden. Ruby and Sapphire's love and relationship literally lives under a disguise called Garnet.

And that sucks. It makes sense as a plan. It's great we have Garnet. Garnet is still amazing. But she also sucks, because she acts as invisibility for the lesbian couple she represents.  Yeah, that’s some tough mental gymnastics to work that cognitive dissonance but I managed it.

My God, I Get It: You're a Cat Person

This is also nothing to do with pacing, it's just a creator conceit that bugs me. I freely admit it's also piddly and petty.

So: I'm not a cat person. And no, it's not because I haven't met your adorable little Tiddles or whatever. I don't hate cats, it’s just that most of the cats I've ever met are simply ghastly little shits. Their owners, through some mental blind spot; ancient Egyptian curse or brain parasite have become convinced that these hairball-gobbing, furniture-shredding, wildlife-destroying little cunts are angels. Somehow they've convinced themselves everything they do is adorable.

No amount of murdered birds or small mammals change their minds.

I've met, officially, two nice cats in my life and I treasure their memories. The rest can go to hell.

Why does this matter to SU? Cat Steven. Lion. Peridot and Amethyst doing little kitty-mouths when they're being cute. My God, crew, you love cats. I got the memo.

Why does that work me up? Well, do you know what I'd like instead? If a tiny amount of that 'cats are brilliant!' energy went into a proper wrap for Pumpkin. Created by Jessie Zuke and obviously a puppy metaphor... what happened to her? The crew don't care, because they won't tell us. If they cared even a jot it would have a story around it. Instead, we got some half-arsed bullshit from Joe Johnston about 'pumpkins don't last forever' and... scene. That's it.

But Cat Steven, OMG, yes we have to make sure to include him. Whenever we're at the Beach House. Especially if Garnet is there. Because... lesbians all love cats? Or something? Just... CATS. MOAR CATS.

Couldn't you show a little more respect for a character, albeit a not particularly important one, rather than worrying about how much airtime the various cats all get?

In Conclusion

It bears restating, this is mostly ire directed at Series 5 onwards. The other series are all still there, and I can watch them to reminisce. I can still enjoy some truly wonderful episodes of just about the best cartoon I've ever seen. This show is incredible... but the endings kinda suck. And that's down, mostly, to pacing. And how it kinda fucked Steven Universe.

[dovahgriin-archive]

Meet-Cute and Other Adventures {1/100}

Relationship(s): Clint Barton/Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Notes: There is a brief, nondescriptive mention of the Reader vomiting.

As a recent graduate of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, you are well-versed in the skill of remaining undetected by the general populace. You have a nice, steady job working in a second-hand shop in a neighborhood near to the Hudson River. The woman who runs the store is kind enough and doesn’t ask questions that you don’t want to answer. Your landlord is of a similar mindset, content to leave you to your own devices so long as you pay your bills on time.

You don’t draw attention to yourself and that is exactly how you want it to be.

Now, given your abilities in manipulating biological matter, Professor Xavier had wanted you to stay on as a member of the X-Men (and maybe even as a mentor to future students). You firmly turn down the invitation. All you wanted to do was to live out your days in peaceful solitude.

Naturally, that doesn’t happen.

On your way to work one day, you are cornered by a trio of thugs who want something you are not willing to give to them. When your back hits the brick wall in the alleyway, you instinctively panic. All it takes from you is a touch of your fingers against the first man’s bare neck to cause him to collapse into a pile of unresponsive flesh.

You’ve never used your powers to intentionally harm anyone before. It is a horrifying experience. Your breakfast makes an unwelcome reappearance.

“You fucking freak,” the second man seethes, grabbing for you before you have a chance to raise your hands again. “Mutant bitch.” He pins your wrists against the wall. His breath stinks of vodka and stale tobacco. You wrinkle your nose and turn your face away.

“Let me go!” Your cry bounces off the alley walls and goes unheeded as the man crowds into your space. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of your neck. It leaves your skin itchy, the lingering feeling reminding you of bugs crawling underneath your skin.

The third one is opening his mouth to probably shout more slurs at you when a new guy clears his throat.

“Maybe it’s just me, but my mama always told me that it’s rude to call a woman names.” Your attackers whirl around to face the man interrupting their fun.

“Shut the fuck up. She’s less than human. She’s a fr—” Number Two doesn’t get to finish his sentence; you pull your hand back in disgust as he melts into a separate flesh pile next to his buddy. Some of his reverted matter lands on your chest. Gross gross gross ew.

To his credit, the newcomer looks less disturbed than you feel.

Number Three (the only one left) suddenly seems to realize that since you’ve liquefied his companions, there’s nothing standing between you and him to stop you from doing the same to him. You’re seriously considering doing exactly that, too. See how he likes being attacked. The thought is harsh and callous and everything you’re not. The scary thing, though, is that you one hundred percent mean it. The newcomer steps between the remaining thug and the only exit of the alley.

“C’mon, man, apologize to her and then I’ll let you go.” His eyes are hard and you wonder if he’s really just going to let the goon walk away from all of this. With the way his arms are crossed and his feet are planted, though, you doubt it. You remember watching students spar at Xavier’s, and that’s a fight-ready stance if you ever saw one. This man clearly can scrap, and is comfortable with it, too. The thug seems to realize this, and he tenses, body taut like a bowstring.

“B-bullshit!” He cries. “You’re lying!”

Mystery Man narrows his eyes. “Huh. I guess you’re not completely stupid. You’re right; I was going to beat some sense into you, since you’re so keen on attacking defenseless women and all,” he glances at you, a small smirk quirking his lips, “but I don’t think she’s defenseless, after all’s said and done. What do you want to do about him, Miss?”

Melt him melt him melt him make him gone.You’re still simultaneously outraged and horrified, so it takes you a minute to recognize and process that the man’s last question was directed at you. You clear your throat delicately, flicking biological matter from your work blouse as you think of an appropriate answer. “I—”

Number Three bolts before you can finish speaking. Your mysterious savior intercepts him. Both men go down in a flurry of yells and grunts. Honestly, with all the noise you’ve been making, it’s a wonder that nobody has called the police on you yet.

Finding a better vantage point is easy — there are mountains of trash surrounding the nearby dumpster, and you clamber onto the top of it, thanking your lucky stars that you’d worn your ratty old sneakers today instead of your new mary janes. The scuffle continues on below, and you watch with trepidation.

Good Samaritans don’t actually exist, so who is this guy, and why is he defending you? He’s clearly well-trained. Is he a mutant, too?

No, you realize. He doesn’t look too much older than you — maybe thirty, at the most — and you don’t recognize him from Xavier’s. So who is this man?

Number Three lets out a pained yell as Mystery Man jabs his elbow into the former’s nose. You wince. The sound of the cartilage cracking sets your skin crawling, and you shudder like your cat does when you stroke its spine.

”Are you done?” The stranger holds his arm against Number Three’s neck, effectively pinning him to the ground. He waits until the other man nods, still choking on his own blood. You slide off of the top of the dumpster and make your way over to the two men. “Good. Now get outta here before I change my mind.”

Number Three scampers off, whimpering like a kicked dog.

”You didn’t have to do that, you know,” you mumble, helping the man to his feet. “But… thank you.”

Mystery Man grins charmingly at you. His eyes are a very pretty shade of blue-green, and the shiner he’s now sporting on his left cheekbone makes them seem more blue than green. “It was nothing, really.” He sticks his hand out. “Clint Barton.”

You shake his hand and introduce yourself. “I can, um. Fix that up for you, if you’d like.” You gesture at his face. Clint raises his eyebrows, then winces.

”Really? Where’ve you been all my life?” You snort.

”Hiding away from the world.” Your voice is sardonic as you run your fingers lightly over his injury, willing the cells to speed up his body’s natural repair process. It fades from red to blue to green to yellow in the span of about thirty seconds, and the swelling goes down immensely. “Are you hurt anywhere else, Mr. Barton?”

“Clint. Dick got a good kick in my ribs, but — ah, shit, yeah, no, that’s probably cracked.” He lifts at his shirt, revealing a rapidly purpling bruise on his right side. “Could you—?”

“Of course,” you say quietly as you kneel beside him. His skin is hot under your fingers. Your hands longer on his side longer than they need to as you work up the courage to ask him a question that’s been bothering you since he first appeared. You keep your eyes on the ground beneath your feet. “Why aren’t you running?”

“Huh? I’m hard of hearing, sweetheart. Gonna need you to look at me when you talk.” Flushing at the impudent usage of the endearment, your ears go red and you look up at Clint. He’s got a small smile on his face. “Could you repeat the question?”

You acquiesce, and he shrugs. “Well, you were being attacked, so it only makes sense that you’d use your abilities to defend yourself. You don’t seem like the kind of girl to just up and zap a man for no reason at all.” He wiggles his fingers, miming sparks flying from his hands. You giggle.

”Fair enough, I guess. Could I ask you one more favor, though?”

”Shoot.”

”Could you not mention me, or, uh, my abilities, to anyone? It would be hard to relocate, especially with all the anti-mutant sentiment going around recently.” Clint tilts his head to the side as he thinks, then nods. “Sure thing.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Clint.” It feels as though a weight has been removed from your shoulders. He offers you a hand, which you gratefully accept. Your knees pop as you stand. “Ugh. I hate that sound.”

“Getting creaky in your old age?” You glare up at him, but your expression softens when you spot the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. A glance at your phone reveals that you are running late. Shit.

”Good afternoon, Clint. Thanks for helping me out.” You don’t wait for him to reply, leaving Clint standing there staring after you, a thoughtful expression on his face.

The walk to your workplace goes quicker than you expected, but then again, you’re not walking so much as jogging. Thankfully, it’s about as busy as New York City proper in your neighborhood; nobody pays you much — if any — attention. The bell hanging over the door jingles.

There are already some customers in the store. Double shit.

“Where have you been, kid?” Kitty, your boss, descends upon you like a flock of vultures (or, one giant vulture), her head bobbing up and down on her skinny neck. “You’re over an hour late, I—”

She takes note of your ruffled appearance and the dirt on your clothes. “What happened to you?”

”Some jerks decided that they wanted to play. Some random guy helped drive them off. May I use the bathroom to clean up, Boss?” You raise your eyebrows as you ask your question and Candy waves you off.

”Yeah, yeah, go on. Are you alright?”

”As good as I can be, Boss. I swear I’ll put in overtime this week.”

”Good, good, that’s good. Go get cleaned up, then help that woman in the green jacket.”

[sol1056]

Okay so i'm really confused. Who pitched the idea for the Voltron reboot? Did they write the original story or was that someone else? Who's writing the story now? Like i get that there is more than one person working on the story but like to take someone's vision of their story and to just throw it in the trash is just kinda fucked up ya know? I wouldn't want to work with a network if they're gonna screw over something I came up with.

It’s not a simple picture since there’s a lot of history. There’s three parts, behind the cut: who wrote the original story (vs the original-original), who pitched the idea for a voltron reboot, who’s writing the story now, and the issue of revisions. 

I must have at least three pages of asks that talk about Hedrick’s story and how the EPs butchered it… and I recently stumbled over something that made a few pieces click together. So, if you sent me an ask about Hedrick’s story and what he’d planned, you might want to read, ‘cause this answers a lot of your questions.

who created voltron

Back in the early 80s, the Koplar brothers purchased a license from Toei’s back catalog, and adapted/cut/rearranged the original GoLion into an American-only version called Voltron. GoLion hadn’t been much of a hit in Japan; it was kinda behind the curve. When the Koplars adapted it, Voltron was a huge enough hit in the US to warrant a second season, requiring new footage from scratch (mixed in with re-used stuff from the original season). 

The sequel (using a completely different anime from Toei’s back catalog) didn’t do anywhere as well. The planned third part was never made. Since then, there’s been reboots, comic books, idk what else. 

who pitched the idea

Long story short, Universal purchased a bundled archive of licenses. These are collected existing properties they could redevelop – anything from some no-name, one-season, failed cartoons to ones that were popular once and since forgotten. Voltron was one of those properties.

I doubt anyone pitched the idea, formally. More like, the execs saw Voltron in the pack and chose it for a reboot/remake. All they needed was staff to do it, so they interviewed potential showrunners. Around that time, JDS had pitched his idea for a Streetfighter cartoon. DW TV passed on JDS’ pitch, and instead offered him the position as EP of what would become the VLD reboot. 

(An aside: JDS and LM both talk up how much they loved Voltron as kids, but in early interviews they admit neither could remember for certain who Voltron’s ‘real’ leader was — Keith or Sven — all the way up to starting their interview with the execs.) 

who wrote the version we have now 

I’ve been operating under the assumption that as the story editor, Hedrick had a major influence on the story. I’ve also noted in several different posts that S1/S2 feels like a completely different story, in more ways than one:

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

A few days ago, I was researching for another ask and came across this:

On-screen, a “producer” credit for a TV series will generally be given to each member of the writing staff who made a demonstrable contribution to the final script. The actual producer of the show (in the traditional sense) is listed under the credit “produced by”.

According to IMDB, these are VLD’s  executive producers:

Joaquim Dos Santos  (63 episodes, 2016-2018)Lauren Montgomery (63 episodes, 2016-2018)Jae-Myung Yoo (24 episodes, 2016-2017)Robert Koplar (23 episodes, 2016-2017)Ted Koplar (23 episodes, 2016-2017)

We’ve been assuming Hedrick steered a large part of the story. If that were so, though, Hedrick should also have EP credits. He doesn’t. The Koplars have EP credit ‘cause they created the original Voltron. JDS and LM are on there, as showrunners. 

And then there’s this guy Jae-Myung Yoo. He’s done key animation, directing, and storyboards. He has a handful of executive producer credits, mostly for single episodes. Yoo left VLD in 2016, and joined Big Fish & Begonia as a co-producer. 

I think we just found the voice that steered the first two seasons, and whose departure left the story without a clear vision. 

Yoo doesn’t have any writing credentials, but his resume goes all the way back to Gargoyles in 1995. He doesn’t have to be a writer to be a storyteller, after all; there are different ways and methods of telling stories. My guess is Yoo’s a respected directorial voice around Studio Mir, understands how a story flows, and most importantly was probably a trusted voice after working with Ryu, JDS, and LM on AtLA and LoK. 

We’re left with one of two options: Hedrick stuck to the Yoo-created outline, rewriting and rearranging as the EPs shifted tracks, and the majority of the story’s direction since S2 has been from JDS and LM. Or Hedrick did have a substantial impact from S3 on, and JDS/LM refused to grant Hedrick the proper credit for that level of contribution.  

the issue of revisions

Television’s a wacky environment. It’s somewhere between collaboration and sheer hell, especially if you don’t come with major credentials (ie, your name is not Guillermo del Toro). 

Here’s how it starts: the showrunners, any other EPs, the writers, the senior writer/head editor/story editor (title depends on seniority), production assistants, writing assistants, and other producers will gather and brainstorm the story, and come up with a synopsis for the story’s outline. When the execs approve the synopsis (after probably a round or two of feedback), the expands the synopsis into a full outline of the entire story. 

The writers set about writing the script, which are sent to various execs for their feedback. The execs send their feedback — called ‘notes’ — to the showrunner. These are usually a jumble of responses (and a lot apparently tends to be personal taste, too), and also often contradictory. It’s the EP’s job to relay the exec response to the writers’ room, and make sure things get changed so the execs are happy. 

The EP (and the writers) must do a delicate balancing act, between budget, story, and sheer insanity like one exec demanding a scene be cut and another exec thinking the scene should not only stay, but be expanded. Or insisting on specific pairing endgames (or lack thereof). Or — as seems to have plagued VLD — saying the story is too dark and ‘needs more humor,’ which the EPs appear to have interpreted as ‘do more filler episodes that have no plot relevance.’ 

The first thing to remember is that most execs are not intentionally malicious. They will ask for too much, and they often have their own agendas, but their goal is a hit, not wasting a bazillion dollars for no gain. If you look at the credentials for decision-level execs at Dreamworks, every single one came up through the ranks: they’ve directed, produced, some were also animators, and at least one did either acting or voice acting. They’ve been doing this for awhile. My advice to any wannabe-EPs (or writers) would be that when an exec says, “kids are going to be bored stiff with this scene,” listen. I’m not saying automatically change it, just give it a fair listen. 

Collaboration is hard. It takes patience and good listening skills and empathy for the people on the other side of the table. It takes a willingness to bargain and enough strength to be vulnerable, and a whole lot of honesty about your own reasonings for wanting one thing or another. 

Stories created in the high-pressure hot-house environment of a collaborative group are a very different critter than one-author novels: no one person owns the story. Not everyone wants to sign up for sharing that creative process, and that’s fine, too. We do need books with good stories as much as we need shows and movies with good stories. 

Just color me seriously unimpressed when someone in a collaborative storytelling process constantly snarks about exec meddling. I have no sympathy: they signed up for this. If their creativity is so fragile it’s threatened by feedback, they need to find a different medium, ‘cause the collaborative world of television production is probably not the best fit.