#the next few concept arts you better not fail me

[spampai]

Back again with Cyanide in my style (again)

Got her anatomy now

Oh and she with Dr Reflex bcs who tf asked

[3amsnek]

new icon time bc the moment we hit double digits on the halloween countdown my brain genuinely straight up forgot it was still summer

[jetii]

Lessons of the Heart

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Teacher!Reader

Words: 15,738

Tags/Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, strangers to lovers, soft!Crosshair, grumpy/sunshine dynamic, awkward flirting, mutual pining, kissing/making out, Crosshair's anxiety, reader has long-ish hair, Tech mentioned briefly

Summary: Over a year after settling on Pabu, Crosshair is still struggling to adapt to life without having something to fight, or fight for. When Omega comes home with a bad grade, he jumps at the chance to help. He doesn't expect to become so invested, and he certainly doesn't expect to fall for his sister's teacher.

A/N: This one got away from me! But since the poll indicated I should keep this all one part, here you go. I really enjoyed writing Crosshair's perspective and all the little sibling moments in here.

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"Again, Omega? We talked about this."

Crosshair stops dead in his tracks, one boot in front of the other, and stares straight ahead. The basket of dirty clothes in his grip hangs limp by his side as he stands in the hallway, listening. Hunter and Omega are in the kitchen, the latter having just gotten back from another day at school, and they’re clearly talking about something serious.

Crosshair doesn't dare to breathe too loud in case he misses a single word. It's hard not to notice how Hunter's voice drops low when he speaks, trying not to be overheard by someone. By someone like Crosshair.

"I know, Hunter," she groans. He can hear the sound of something hit the counter, likely a datapad, and Omega shifts on her stool. "I tried on this one, I promise."

Hunter hums in a tone that makes it clear he's not quite believing her, and Crosshair's eyebrows raise a little in curiosity.

"Let me see, please."

"Hunter—"

"Omega."

She huffs, but a few seconds later, the datapad slides across the counter with a quiet squeak, and Omega's chair scrapes across the floor as she sits back down. "There. Happy?"

"Thank you." There's a pause, and Crosshair can only imagine the face Hunter is making as he reads whatever it is that Omega is showing him. His voice is stern, a tone that Crosshair's come to know as the sergeant, not the brother. "What is this?"

"I told you," she whines.

"She gave you a 50%?" Hunter's voice raises slightly. "Why would she do that?"

Omega scoffs. She's getting better at that. It almost sounds natural now.

Crosshair peeks around the corner, and sure enough, Hunter has the datapad in his hands, reading over whatever report the teacher sent back. Omega sits next to him, her shoulders slumped, arms crossed, and she's not meeting his gaze. Her backpack sits unzipped, its contents strewn out across the countertop and the stool where she usually sits.

He knows he shouldn't eavesdrop, but he's been doing it for so long he's not sure how to stop. And besides, the look on Hunter's face is one he doesn't like.

They'd all known going into this that Omega wasn't going to have an easy time at school. She excelled far beyond her peers in most subjects — math, history, science, languages, you name it — but there were two subjects where her intelligence failed her. Art, for one, because it was hard to grasp the concept of drawing something when she had no frame of reference. And then, of course, there was literature.

It's not her fault, and Hunter's well aware of it. Her education prior to the Batch adopting her was entirely focused on being the best lab assistant a Kaminoan could ever want. Over time, she soaked up anything they would teach her. Strategy, engineering, politics, even some basic medical training — Omega could do it all. But, as it turned out, there was a pretty big part of her education that she was severely lacking in, and it was starting to show.

Out of the three brothers, Crosshair was the only one who actually made a habit out of reading, though he'd never admit it to anyone. So he tried his best to teach Omega the concepts that her teacher was trying to instill in her, but sometimes it was difficult.

Literature was, by nature, subjective. It's always up for debate, and Crosshair found himself constantly questioning himself while helping Omega with her assignments. It usually ended with both of them frustrated, and Hunter or Wrecker stepping in to mediate the situation.

But still, Omega loved her classes, even if they were difficult. And Crosshair would never say it out loud, but he enjoyed spending time with her and helping her learn, even if it wasn't always the easiest.

It seemed, though, that her teacher didn't agree with his methods.

Hunter looks up from the datapad and places it on the counter. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and reaches across to pat Omega's shoulder. "It's okay. We can work with this."

She shrugs him off and hops down from the stool, gathering her things and stuffing them into her bag. When she tries to reach for the datapad, Hunter snatches it up and holds it out of her reach.

"Give it to me, Hunter."

"No. We're going to talk about this, Omega."

"There's nothing to talk about," she mutters, trying again and failing to grab the datapad.

Crosshair takes that as his cue. He steps into the kitchen and drops the basket of laundry onto the ground by his feet, the force of the landing enough to get their attention.

"Oh, good," Hunter says, looking at Crosshair. "You're home."

"Yep." Crosshair pops the 'p' and folds his arms, leaning back against the wall. He meets Omega's eyes for a moment, and the look on her face is like a punch to the gut. She looks defeated, and it's not a look that suits her.

He hates seeing her upset, especially over something so trivial. It's a report, and not even a very important one. It's not like her grades in the other classes were suffering. She was passing every single one of them with flying colors. It's just this one assignment, this one class, this one teacher who seems hellbent on making her feel bad about herself.

Crosshair can feel the rage bubbling under the surface. How dare her teacher give her a score that low, and why? Because of his help? That was his job, and he was doing it.

"What's going on?" Crosshair asks. He's still staring at Omega, trying to get her to look up at him, to meet his gaze, but she's not taking the bait. She's got her arms folded, her shoulders tense, and her lower lip juts out as she pouts at Hunter.

"I told her we'd talk about it, and she doesn't want to." Hunter sets the datapad back down, sliding it across the counter.

Crosshair picks it up, glancing at the words on the screen before scrolling through the report. It's an analysis, one he's read a million times. He doesn't bother skimming it, because he already knows exactly what she wrote. It's a decent summary of the text, and her thoughts and opinions are written plainly and with an obvious understanding of what the author meant. It's not her fault her teacher wanted her to interpret the text the way a typical thirteen-year-old might, but that wasn't who Omega was.

He glances back up at Hunter. "And what is there to talk about?"

"Well, her teacher doesn't seem to agree with her analysis," Hunter says. He nods at the datapad in Crosshair's hand. "The comments."

Crosshair finds the section in question and reads over the notes. It's a lot of the same, just worded a bit differently, but one comment sticks out among the rest.

Please try to stick to the original meaning of the text, Omega. You did well explaining how your interpretation differed from the traditional meaning, but try to focus on the actual story. 

It's the most condescending, ridiculous thing Crosshair has ever read, and he has to keep himself from throwing the datapad at the wall. He has to remind himself that doing that would only make Omega feel worse, and he doesn't want to upset her.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and hands the datapad back to her.

"This is stupid," he says, and he can see Hunter's eye twitch at his choice of words. "I read the text. I know what it means, and you know what it means. What, are you supposed to go through the entire thing and find the most cliche, obvious way of reading it?"

"No," Omega mumbles.

"Right," he agrees. "So then why is she giving you a low grade for your own thoughts and opinions?"

Omega shrugs. She's frowning, staring down at the datapad like it personally offended her.

And Crosshair knows that feeling, intimately. It's the same way he'd stare at the training room floor whenever a drill sergeant would call him a failure. It grates on his nerves, and he's half-tempted to find the teacher's home address and tell her just how wrong she is.

"But I'm doing it wrong," Omega says, her voice small and defeated.

Hunter is glaring at him now, but Crosshair can't find it in him to care.

"No, you're not," Crosshair insists, and he takes a seat beside her at the counter. "You did your research. You did everything you were supposed to, and you wrote a report about what you think it meant. What's wrong with that?"

Omega shrugs again, and he can see her hands balling up into fists.

The sight alone is enough to set him on edge. His entire body feels like a coiled spring, his muscles tense and ready to go. He hates seeing her like this. She's a bright kid, always smiling and happy, and to see her so down on herself makes him feel ill, and the last thing he wants is for her to think she's failed somehow.

Crosshair doesn't know why the teacher doesn't understand that, doesn't appreciate how amazing it is that a girl her age is even capable of writing a paper like this. Maybe, somewhere deep down, the teacher does get it. Maybe she's just pushing her own agenda. It wouldn't surprise Crosshair in the slightest, and the more he thinks about it, the more annoyed he gets.

"Maybe I should comm her," Hunter says, interrupting his train of thought.

Crosshair snaps his head around, glaring daggers at his brother. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't comm her." He pushes himself away from the counter and stands. "I'll handle this."

Hunter stares at him, one eyebrow raised, clearly confused. "Handle it?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna talk to her."

"Cross," Hunter says, but he doesn't finish his sentence.

Crosshair doesn't stick around long enough to hear the end of it. He's already halfway out the door, pulling his jacket off the hook, and slamming the door shut behind him.

Crosshair is pissed.

He doesn't often get angry. Annoyed, frustrated, irritated, yes. All those are familiar. But angry? Angry is not something he deals with. He can't stand it, the way his chest feels like it's about to explode, the way his heart rate picks up and his stomach feels sick. Anger makes him feel out of control, and the last thing he wants is to lose the little self-control he does have.

But now?

Now, he's angry.

Omega doesn't deserve to be treated like this. She doesn't deserve the way her teacher is talking to her, telling her she's doing something wrong when she isn't. If anything, the teacher should be grateful that Omega is even bothering to read the texts in the first place, that she's putting in the effort to analyze the meanings behind them.

He's so caught up in his own thoughts, he barely realizes how far he's gone. It's only when he spots the school, the tall building looming in the distance, does he realize he's halfway across town, and the sun is starting to dip below the horizon.

He slows his pace, taking a moment to catch his breath, and glances around. He's only been here a few times, just long enough to drop Omega off at the start of the day or pick her up after. He's never actually been inside, never even met a single one of her teachers, and he has no idea where her classroom even is.

A sign points him towards the front entrance, and he follows it. There's a handful of other parents waiting around the main entrance, all of them talking and laughing and joking with one another. A few of them glance his way, watching him curiously as he approaches the doors.

He ignores them, slipping inside and letting the doors close behind him. The hallways are quiet, and the sound of his boots against the tile echoes throughout the empty halls. He's not entirely sure where he's going, but he figures it can't be that hard to find her classroom.

It isn't.

It takes him less than a minute to locate her name, next to a door decorated with bright colors and images of what he assumes are the characters from a few of the stories they've read. He doesn't stop to admire the decorations, though. He doesn't stop at all, really. He pushes the door open and walks right inside, his eyes scanning the room.

The rows of chairs and desks are empty, but the one near the holoboard at the front of the room is occupied. There's a human woman sitting there, head bowed over a desk as she writes, and Crosshair strides up to her without hesitation.

"I want to talk about the report you gave Omega," he says, his voice tight, barely able to contain his anger. The woman looks up, clearly startled, and blinks owlishly at him.

The anger coursing through his veins suddenly tempers as he locks eyes with you, and he finds himself at a loss for words.

You're not what he was expecting, not in the slightest. He'd expected someone older, a woman with graying hair and crow's feet, maybe, one who's lived enough years to become old and jaded. Not this. Not you.

Your eyes are wide and bright, and the expression on your face is nothing short of adorable. He's not sure where that word came from, thrust to the forefront of his consciousness with the force of a speeder, but he can't deny that it's accurate. Your hair is tied up in a messy bun, a few loose strands hanging over your face, and there's a small, pink stylus stuck behind your ear. Your lips are slightly parted, a pretty shade of pink that almost matches the color of the pen, and he watches as they slowly form into a small 'o' as you process what's going on.

And then, just as quickly, your expression changes.

The adorableness falls away, and you straighten your posture, your brows furrowing and your lips pulling into a tight line.

"You must be Crosshair."

He frowns. "How did you—"

"She talks about you." You nod, glancing him up and down, and Crosshair has to fight the urge to shrink under your scrutiny. His mouth feels dry, and the sudden change in tone catches him off-guard. He was expecting defensiveness, maybe a little bit of anger. Instead, you sound...

Well, he can't really place it.

Crosshair nods, and he can feel his cheeks heat up. It's probably because he's angry. It has nothing to do with the way you're looking at him, the way your eyes rake over him, or the way your lips are curled up ever so slightly in a hint of a smile.

You clear your throat and gesture to the seat in front of you. He settles in it, not because you told him to, but because it seems like the polite thing to do. And because he wants to sit down.

Once he's seated, you fold your hands and place them on the desk, giving him your full attention. "I'm glad you're here."

That throws him. "You are?"

"Of course," you say, and the smile on your face is nothing short of dazzling. "I've been hoping to meet you for a while now. Omega speaks so highly of you, and I have to say, I was looking forward to finally meeting the man who's been helping her with her assignments."

And then, you do something Crosshair wasn't expecting. You extend your hand, offering a handshake.

He looks down at your hand, your fingers spread out, palm facing up. Your nails are painted a bright shade of pink, and there's a small smear of what looks like ink near the tip of your index finger. He glances up at your face, and you're smiling at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling a bit as you do.

His stomach does a weird flip, and his chest suddenly feels a lot warmer. He doesn't know what it is about your smile, your eyes, your voice, but it's...nice.

You're nice.

He doesn't take your hand.

You pull it away, but the smile doesn't leave your face. You don't seem offended or hurt, and you're still looking at him with an expression that can only be described as genuine kindness.

Crosshair swallows the lump in his throat. It's getting harder to stay angry, but he does his best to cling to his resolve. 

"You graded her report wrong,” he hisses.

He expects you to get defensive, maybe even offended. After all, no one likes having their work challenged. But instead, you just sigh.

You look down at your desk, grabbing the stylus and twirling it between your fingers. The light reflects off the smooth surface, glinting off the tip of the tool, and the movement is almost hypnotic. He has to force himself to look away, to focus on your face.

For the first time since he barged into your classroom, he notices the tiredness in your eyes. It's subtle, and he doesn't think anyone else would notice, but the way your shoulders sag is a dead giveaway. You look exhausted, and Crosshair suddenly feels an odd pang of guilty for dropping in on you like this.

Your smile is tight when you look up at him again..

"I can explain my rationale, if you'd like," you say, and it's not a question. It's a statement.

He's not sure if he should be annoyed by that or not, but he nods regardless.

"Thank you." 

You reach for a datapad laying haphazardly across your desk and tap away for a moment, before you hold it out for him to take. His fingers brush yours as he accepts it, and the touch sends a tingle up his arm. He tries not to show it, though, and busies himself by looking over the file as you speak.

"I know Omega has been struggling in my class, and I've done everything I can to make sure she has the support she needs. But, unfortunately, there's not a lot I can do when the curriculum is so..."

You pause, and he raises an eyebrow. "So what?"

"Well, it's not exactly tailored for her," you finish, and the small laugh you let out is strained. You shrug, a gesture that's supposed to be nonchalant, but he can see the tension in your shoulders.

He hums, nodding along as you continue to talk.

"I don't usually get students like Omega, you know? Kids who've already seen the world and have lived through so much more than their peers. And that's great, I mean, it's awesome. She's a brilliant kid, and she has such a great sense of herself, but I'm not equipped to handle a student like her."

Crosshair stops scrolling, his thumb hovering over the screen. He looks up at you, and you're staring back, chewing on your bottom lip.

He swallows the lump in his throat and nods. "So, what does that mean?"

"It means..." You trail off, letting out a sigh and shaking your head. You look away, turning to stare out the window behind you. The sun is setting, and the last rays of the day are reflecting off the buildings in the distance, bathing the room in an orange glow.

He watches the way the light illuminates your face, highlighting the curves and lines. It's not the first time he's found himself admiring the way someone looks, but it's the first time it's left him feeling like his heart's about to burst out of his chest.

It's not until you turn back to face him, the light fading, does he realize he's been holding his breath.

"I'm sorry, what was I saying?" you ask, and he's not sure if it's the lighting or his imagination, but he swears there's a faint flush creeping up your neck and cheeks.

"You were talking about the report," he says, his voice a little softer than usual.

You blink. "Oh, right. Of course." You clear your throat, sitting up a little straighter, and Crosshair has to remind himself not to lean in. "I graded the report based on how she did against the curriculum."

"Which is stupid."

"Yeah, I know." You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and Crosshair tracks the movement. "But it's how it works, unfortunately. We have a certain set of standards we have to abide by, and unfortunately, Omega's interpretation of the story was outside those standards."

"So? Her analysis is solid, and you know it," he says.

"It is," you agree, and the corner of your mouth twitches up into a half-smile. Your eyes are soft and full of understanding, and Crosshair has to look away.

"Her argument was well-researched, and her points were valid," you say, and it's with an apologetic tone. "But she also failed to follow directions."

Crosshair blinks.

That's not right.

"What?"

"She was asked to write a report on her thoughts and opinions on a classic work, and her interpretation of the story was excellent, but..."

"But what?" He knows he's being defensive, and he's not sure why, but the thought of you grading her unfairly, giving her a low score because of something that was his fault, makes his blood boil.

He takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair, folding his arms and forcing himself to relax.

You don't seem bothered by his attitude, though. In fact, you just smile at him.

"Well, she did a wonderful job of explaining her interpretation, but she failed to stick to the author's original meaning," you explain. "And while I understand why she was interpreting the text the way she was, and I'm happy she's able to do that, she was asked to write a paper specifically about the author's intended meaning."

Crosshair doesn't respond. He stares at you, his lips pressed together, trying his hardest to stay calm.

He has to admit, it makes sense. You're just doing your job, and the fact that you're even taking the time to explain it to him is a testament to how hard you're trying. But that doesn't make the situation any easier, and the disappointment in Omega’s voice when she'd shown him her report earlier that day is still fresh in his mind.

"It doesn't change the fact that she's brilliant," you say, interrupting his train of thought.

He snaps his head up, staring at you, and the expression on your face is almost...tender. You're not just saying it to placate him, or to try and get him to leave. No, you mean it. He didn't realize just how much you cared about his sister, and he's taken aback by how sincere you are.

"Omega is an incredibly intelligent young woman, and I am in awe of her every day." You lean forward, your elbows resting on the desk. You're smiling, but there's a hint of sadness in your eyes, and the way you speak, the words that spill out of your mouth, are genuine. "I can't begin to imagine the things she's been through, and I know that's not an excuse for how difficult I've been, but I'm sorry. I really am."

The anger he'd been holding onto melts away, replaced by a strange mixture of pride and confusion. He's proud that you care so much about Omega, and confused by how much it seems to affect him. He'd expected you to be stubborn, maybe even rude. But this? This isn't anything like the image he'd conjured up in his mind.

It's...

Nice.

"So, what now?" he asks.

"Well," you start, and the smile on your face turns mischievous, "you're welcome to challenge my grade. You can go to the school board, or we can go to the principal's office. You could even submit a formal complaint, or—"

"No," he interrupts, and his cheeks flush when he realizes how fast the word came out. He clears his throat, trying to compose himself, and says, "I meant, what do we do? To help her?"

"Oh." You blink, clearly surprised.

He's not sure why. Does he come off as the type of person who would file a formal complaint over a grade?

Probably, actually.

"Right," you say, and you take a moment to collect your thoughts. "Well, there's not a lot we can do. This was her last chance to make up for her last test score, and I'm afraid she'll have to repeat the class next year."

"There has to be something you can do," he insists. The words fall out of his mouth before his brain catches up, and he's already cringing internally at how desperate he sounds.

"Look," you sigh. "You're not the first parent to come in here at the end of the semester and ask me to raise a grade. But, if I raised Omega's grade, then I would have to raise the grades of everyone else who turned in a similar report. And I can't do that."

"You can't be serious," he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"I am," you say, an edge to your voice. "It wouldn't be fair."

"Life's not fair."

"Yeah, no kidding." You huff a humorless laugh. Your lips purse, and he can tell you're holding back a glare. 

He knows he's pushing his luck, and he's starting to feel like an idiot, but he can't help himself.

"You can't honestly tell me that there's nothing we can do."

Your eyes flicker away from his, and your gaze drifts down to the datapad. He can see your mind working, can see the gears turning as you mull over your options. You chew on your lower lip, and Crosshair tries not to stare, but it's a struggle.

He's never met someone who could have him going from angry to intrigued in the span of a few minutes, and he's not sure why he's so fixated on you. Maybe it's the way you're not afraid to stand your ground against him, or maybe it's the fact that you seem genuinely concerned about his sister's wellbeing. Or maybe it's just the way you look, with your bright eyes and kind smile, and the way you're clearly trying your best to make a difference.

Whatever it is, it's working.

"There is one thing," you say, after what feels like an eternity.

"What?"

You take a deep breath, as if bracing yourself, and meet his eyes.

"I can't raise her grade, but I could offer her some extra credit, if she'd like. It's not a guarantee, and I'd have to see her improvement before I decided to give her the points, but it's an option."

"Yes." The word slips out before he can stop himself, and he mentally curses at his own eagerness.

You arch an eyebrow.

"She'd like that." He clears his throat and forces himself to sound casual, unbothered. "If you're willing."

"Of course." You smile at him, and the warmth that spreads through his chest is...weird. But not unpleasant.

He's not sure what he did to deserve that look, that smile, but he decides he doesn't hate it.

"I'll tell her," he says, and he gets to his feet.

You stand as well, and the height difference between the two of you is not lost on him. He has to look down to meet your eyes, and the way you have to tilt your head up makes him feel strangely amused.

He's used to looking down at people, and most of the time, it makes him feel superior. But right now, he just feels...

Well, he doesn't really know how to describe it.

"Thanks," he says, and the word sounds foreign on his tongue. It's not something he's used to saying, especially to a stranger. He's not even sure what he's thanking you for, exactly, but it feels appropriate.

"You're welcome," you say, a grin on your face that's almost too wide, too bright, too much. "Oh, one more thing."

He hums, and you take a step closer around the desk. You're a foot or so away from him, close enough that he can smell the perfume you use, the floral scent filling his senses. He swallows hard and tries to ignore the way his pulse is racing.

You're not making this easy for him.

"We had a chaperone drop out last minute for the end of the year field trip," you explain. "If you have the time, would you be interested in helping me out? We're going to the spaceport museum."

Crosshair has no interest in a bunch of kids running around a museum, and he's about to decline, but the look on your face stops him.

The pleading look in your eyes, the way your eyebrows are knitted together, the slight pout of your lips. He knows what you're doing, and he doesn't like it. He's not the kind of man who caves to pretty girls asking him for favors, and he's definitely not going to cave now.

He's stronger than this. He can resist the urge. He's a trained soldier, a skilled marksman, and he's not about to give in to the will of a cute teacher.

He's stronger than this.

"I'll do it," he hears himself say.

Fuck.

"Perfect." Your eyes light up, and your smile widens. You're practically beaming, and it's like looking directly at the sun. "I'll send you the details. Thank you, Crosshair. I'll see you soon."

"Yeah," he says, struggling to think of a clever response, but coming up empty. He doesn't have a chance to say anything else before you're practically shoving him out the door.

When he turns back to face you, he sees you wave, and then the door is shut, and you're gone.

The silence of the hallways is suddenly too much, and he has to force himself to take a deep breath.

He's in trouble.

The trip is a nightmare.

It's not your fault. If anything, you've gone above and beyond to keep the kids in line. Crosshair's watched you run after them, chasing them through the exhibit and reminding them that they're not allowed to touch things. And, for the most part, the kids are well-behaved. There are a handful of them that seem to have a problem listening, but you've got the rest under control.

He has to hand it to you. It's impressive, and a little endearing, how hard you're trying. He knows you're exhausted, can see it in the way your shoulders sag when the kids start talking over you, can see it in the way you sigh when one of them pushes their way past you.

But the kids are bored, and he can't blame them. It's a pretty lame field trip, and he doesn't really understand the point of bringing them here. What is a museum, anyway, if not a place to look at cool, old ships?

So far, all they've done is look at boring, historical texts, and listen to you drone on about the importance of space travel and the role its played in storytelling throughout the galaxy.

The whole thing is dull, and he doesn't have the patience for this. He wants to go home and do literally anything else, and if he has to listen to one more kid whine about being bored, he's going to scream.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

Really, he's not bored.

In fact, he's quite the opposite.

He's fascinated.

It's the way you speak, the passion and excitement in your voice. He finds himself watching the way your lips move, the way your eyes sparkle with amusement. It's the same sparkle they had the other night, when he'd confronted you in the classroom. It's the same one that's been haunting him for the past week, and it's the reason why he's stuck here, in a crowded museum, surrounded by dozens of prepubescent teenagers, all while his brothers are back at home, probably having fun without him.

And, as if things weren't already bad enough, you're wearing the cutest outfit he's ever seen. It's a dress, the kind that flows down to your ankles, and it's got tiny flowers all over it. Your hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, tied back with a pink ribbon, and it swishes back and forth as you walk.

Crosshair's not usually one for dresses, and he's definitely not a fan of the color pink. But on you? It works.

It's almost unfair, really.

No, it's extremely unfair.

He's spent the entire day stealing glances at you, trying his best not to be obvious, and Omega is catching onto him. She keeps smirking at him, her eyes narrowed, and he's pretty sure she's been teasing him. He'll get caught staring at you, and she'll elbow him in the ribs and wink at him.

It's annoying, and he hates it.

Not as much as he hates himself, though.

Because he knows better. He knows it's wrong, knows it's stupid, and yet, he can't seem to stop himself.

And the worst part is, you don't even seem to notice. You're so busy trying to keep the kids in check, to keep them from causing a scene, that you're not paying any attention to him. He's grateful for that, because he's not sure how he'd handle the embarrassment.

But, at the same time, he wishes you would look at him. Just once. Just a quick glance, a tiny smile, a small nod. Something.

He sighs.

It's been a long day, and he's tired.

He's standing near the entrance, keeping an eye on the group of students, Omega included. They're currently huddled around a holoexhibit, and he watches as you answer their questions and explain the significance of each ship. You have the patience of a saint, and he has no idea how you do it. The questions they're asking are ridiculous, and a few of them are just flat out wrong.

Crosshair's tempted to go over and tell them how stupid they are, to get them to give you a break, but he refrains. He's not supposed to be getting involved, after all. This is your job, and he's just here to make sure the kids stay safe.

But he's not about to let them cause a scene.

A flash of metal catches his attention, and he frowns. One of the kids, a Rodian, is standing on a platform, and his hand is hovering over a lever. Crosshair doesn't need to read the label to know what the kid is thinking. He's been watching this one eye this exact display all morning, and he's been waiting for him to finally get brave enough to try his luck.

The kid reaches out, and before he can touch the lever, Crosshair strides across the room. He grabs his wrist, his grip firm, and pulls his hand away. The Rodian squawks in surprise, and Crosshair glares down at him. He's not tall, not for a Rodian, and it's easy for Crosshair to loom over him.

"Don't touch that," he growls.

"I-I wasn't gonna," the kid stammers, and his eyes dart towards the exit. He looks ready to bolt, and Crosshair would find it funny if it weren't for the way the rest of the kids are staring at him.

"Bullshit."

"Language," you scold, and Crosshair turns his head to see you approaching him, an exasperated look on your face. You have your hands on your hips, and you look like you're ready to lecture him instead of the kid who was about to activate the simulator without permission.

He raises an eyebrow at you, challenging you.

"You shouldn't swear in front of children," you say, your tone matter-of-fact.

"Well, maybe they shouldn't touch shit that's not theirs," he retorts, and he shoots the kid a pointed look.

"Crosshair!"

You're glaring at him now, and he knows he should feel bad, but he doesn't. He can't. Your cheeks are flushed, and your brows are furrowed, and you're trying so hard to look stern and serious, but it's not working. He's not sure why, but seeing you angry is a lot more appealing than it should be.

It makes him want to push your buttons.

"If I catch you touching this again, I'll throw you out," he warns the kid, and he lets go of his wrist. "Got it?"

The kid nods, and then he's dashing back to the rest of the group, a look of fear on his face.

"What is wrong with you?" you demand, and Crosshair looks down at you, fighting the urge to smirk. You're still glaring at him, but the flush on your cheeks is a shade darker now, and he can't help but feel a little proud of himself.

"I'm just doing my job," he says, and the smirk he'd been fighting is making its way onto his face now.

Your eyes widen. "Your job is to make sure the kids are safe, not threaten them."

"I wasn't threatening him," he scoffs.

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you—"

"Okay, fine, maybe I was. A little," he admits, and you shake your head, a huff escaping you. The glare falls away, and the look on your face is softer now, a little less annoyed, and a lot more amused.

"I had it handled," you tell him, and there's a hint of teasing in your tone now, too.

"Yeah, it looked like it."

"Crosshair," you warn, but the corners of your lips are twitching upwards, betraying the seriousness of your voice.

"What? I'm just trying to help," he says, and the shrug he gives is a little more smug than it should be.

Crosshair isn't trying to antagonize you, not really. He's just...testing the waters, he supposes. Seeing how far he can push you, seeing how much you can take before you crack, and he has to admit that you're holding up pretty well so far. Most people would've told him off, or stormed off by now, but not you.

No, you're still here.

You're standing in front of him, your arms folded across your chest, trying your very best not to smile at him.

You're enjoying this.

The realization hits him like a punch to the gut, and he has to force himself to breathe normally. He's not sure why that's such a revelation, but it is. You're enjoying his company, enjoying the back-and-forth, and it makes him feel lighter than air.

"Are you always this much of an ass?" you ask, and his eyes widen at the sudden vulgarity, but he recovers quickly. He likes it, actually. The bluntness, the honesty. It's refreshing, and a lot more than he expected from you.

Crosshair smirks. "Now who's swearing in front of children?"

"They're not paying attention."

"Oh, right, because the exhibit on the history of intergalactic trade is so exciting," he says, and you snort, shaking your head.

"Yeah, you're not wrong," you admit, and he chuckles.

"I know."

"Of course you do," you mutter sarcastically. But, the annoyance has faded, and there's a smile on your face as you turn to look at the kids, so Crosshair considers it a win.

You stand there, next to him, your arms folded, and you watch as the kids slowly make their way through the exhibit. They're talking among themselves, completely oblivious to the exchange between the two of you. It's a bit of a relief, because he's not sure what they would make of the fact that he's flirting with their teacher.

Is he flirting?

No, that's not right.

He's not flirting.

He's just being...friendly. He's just making conversation, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's not his fault that you're easy to talk to.

Omega is the only one looking in his direction, and he doesn't miss the grin on her face. He shoots her a look, a warning, and she winks at him. He glares, and she sticks her tongue out.

Great.

He's definitely going to hear about this later.

"You're not exactly what I was expecting," you say quietly. 

Crosshair looks back at you, his heart skipping a beat when he realizes just how close you are. You're standing next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and you're looking up at him, the same sparkle in your eyes as before. There’s a hint of a smile on your lips, and you seem...pleased.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" he asks, and he's almost afraid to know the answer.

"A good thing, of course." You nudge him playfully with your elbow, and the touch sends a jolt of electricity up his arm. "I'm glad I was wrong."

"Yeah, me too."

You laugh at that, and he smiles, more than a little pleased with himself. It's an unexpected, but pleasant, reaction, and he finds himself wanting to make you laugh again.

"Anyway," you say, taking a step back. "Thanks for keeping the kids in line. I really appreciate it."

He shrugs. "It's nothing."

"No, really." You look up at him, your eyes bright, and you give him a sympathetic smile. "I know this isn't exactly what you signed up for."

"It's not so bad."

You raise an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

"I mean, it's boring as hell," he admits, and the way your nose scrunches up as you laugh is adorable. He clears his throat and tries to focus. "But it's not awful. The company's...bearable."

You tilt your head to the side, and your eyes narrow. "Thanks, I think."

"Don't mention it."

"So," you start, a slight hesitation in your voice, "does this mean you're not going to file a complaint against me?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Crosshair teases. The way your eyes widen is enough to make him chuckle. "But I guess I can let it slide. For now."

"For now," you repeat, and you let out a breath. You shake your head and look up at him, the ghost of a smile on your lips. "Well, I'll take it. Now, let's get back to the kids, shall we?"

"After you," he says, gesturing for you to lead the way.

He follows after you, and he tries his best not to stare at the sway of your hips as you walk. He fails, but only a little bit.

And, if he catches you glancing back at him every so often, well, he's not complaining.

Omega is practically bouncing on her heels as they make their way down the street, heading home from the school. She's talking a mile a minute, her eyes bright, and she's still somehow full of energy despite the long day they've had. Crosshair can't quite keep up with her, and he's having trouble focusing on her words. He has no idea how you manage to do this every day, and he feels a little bad for thinking that teaching is an easy job.

She's going on about the trip, how much fun she had, and she's not slowing down. Crosshair doesn't mind, though. He's content to listen to her, and he's not going to stop her from gushing about her day. He does the same thing for her he’s always done for Tech, humming and nodding in the right places, and he knows that it makes her feel good to talk.

Besides, he's too distracted by his own thoughts to focus on what she's saying.

He's spent the last hour replaying the events of the day in his mind, trying to make sense of everything. The way you'd looked at him, the way you'd laughed, the way you'd teased him. It's all a little overwhelming, and he's not sure how to process it.

Crosshair isn't the kind of person who gets all worked up over a pretty girl. He’s not even the kind of person who gets all worked up, period.

But something about you, the way you carry yourself, the way you smile, the way you look at him. It's different.

You're different.

He doesn't know what to do with that information, and he's not sure he likes it. For all he knows, you're just being nice, just trying to be polite so he doesn’t give you a hard time. It wouldn't be the first time someone's done that.

Crosshair has been told his whole life that he's difficult to deal with, and he's learned to live with that. He's used to people being afraid of him, and he's used to people not wanting to be around him. He used to take pride in the fact that people were scared of him, but lately, it's started to wear on him.

Maybe it's because of his brothers, the way they've started to change, the way they've become softer. Or maybe it's because of Omega, the way she looks up to him, the way she trusts him, the way she thinks he's capable of great things.

Either way, he can't deny that he's a little lonely.

And maybe a little curious.

"Crosshair," Omega says, and the sharpness in her voice catches his attention. She's stopped walking, and she's giving him a look, her eyes narrowed. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Huh?" He blinks, and then he frowns. "Yeah, of course."

"Then, what did I just say?" she challenges, her hands on her hips, her head tilted up.

He pauses, and then sighs. "No, not really."

"I knew it!" she exclaims, throwing her hands up. "You were totally spacing out."

"I was not."

"Yes, you were," she argues, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"Really? Because you look like you're thinking about something."

"Nope," he lies. Crosshair turns his head away from her, pretending to look at something else. There's a few vendors pulling in their stands in front of them, closing up for the evening, and he watches them, trying to avoid Omega's gaze. The florist is packing up his display, and the bright, colorful flowers draw his attention. He tries to ignore the fact that they remind him of your dress.

"Are you sure? You seem...weird."

"I'm fine."

"Are you thinking about the field trip?" she asks, and he can hear the smugness in her voice. "About Miss—"

"Omega." He snaps his head back towards her, his eyes wide, and he gives her a warning look.

"What?" she says, feigning innocence, and he groans.

"Just drop it," he mutters, and he turns to keep walking.

"I can't," she says, following after him. She has to jog slightly to keep up with his hurried pace, but it does nothing to deter her. "You like her."

"Of course I like her. She’s nice,” he replies. His tone comes out more defensive than casual, and he grimaces internally.

"No, you really like her."

Crosshair opens his mouth, ready to defend himself. There's no way that's true. It's impossible. He barely knows you, and you're just his sister's teacher. 

Just a pretty, sweet, kind teacher who cares about her students and isn't afraid to push the boundaries to help them learn. Who didn't back down when he challenged her, and didn't hesitate to stand her ground when he was being an ass. 

Who smiles at him and looks at him like he's worth something, like he's important, like he matters. Who laughs at his pathetic attempts at humor and makes him feel like he's not a complete waste of space, like maybe there's something worthwhile inside of him after all. Like maybe, just maybe, there's a chance for him.

Shit.

He shakes his head. "You're crazy."

"Am not," she insists, and she skips in front of him, forcing him to stop. "I won't tell anyone."

"Omega—"

"You know, she's single," she continues with a knowing, smug grin, and it reminds him so much of Hunter that he has to take a deep breath and count to ten before he can speak again. And even then, he's still annoyed.

"How the hell do you know that?" he demands, his eyebrows raised.

"I overheard her talking to the other teachers during lunch," she explains, and the smugness fades, replaced by a sheepish smile.

"You shouldn't eavesdrop," he chastises, though he's a little too preoccupied with the new information to put much force behind the words.

"I didn't mean to," she says with a shrug. "I was looking for her, and I found her, and they were talking about her, so..."

"So, what else did you hear?" he asks, trying his best to sound disinterested.

"Nothing."

"Omega," he warns.

"I didn't hear anything!" she insists, her eyes wide. After a beat, a smirk forms on her face, and her eyes narrow. "Why? Did you want to know something else?"

"No," he snaps, a little too quickly. "Just forget it."

"But—"

"It's not important," he says, cutting her off as he steps around her and continues walking. He hears her groan in frustration, and he smirks to himself. Serves her right.

"Wait!" She hurries after him, her hands gripping the strap of her bag tightly as she catches up. She's practically running now, trying her best to match his long strides, and her breathing is a little heavier than normal. "Crosshair, slow down."

"No."

She huffs. "I'm just saying—"

"Omega, enough."

"I think she likes you, too."

Crosshair stops walking abruptly, and Omega almost collides with him. He turns his head towards her, his eyebrows raised, and she takes a step back.

"What makes you say that?" he asks. He knows he's being foolish, letting her bait him like this, but he can't help himself. The hopeful note in her voice is hard to ignore, and he's suddenly feeling a lot more optimistic than he should.

"Because she kept looking at you," she explains.

"No, she didn't."

"Yes, she did," she argues. "She was looking at you, like, the entire time. The whole trip. I'm surprised you didn't notice."

"You're exaggerating," he mutters, trying to hide the flush in his cheeks.

"I'm not," she says, shaking her head. "I was keeping track."

"You know, if you paid half as much attention to your schoolwork as you do to gossiping, neither of us would be in this mess," he retorts.

"Hey! That's not true," Omega pouts. "I learned everything I need to know about intergalactic trade from Tech. I'm good."

Crosshair can't help but smile at that, and Omega grins back at him. They start walking again, this time a little slower, and she reaches for his hand, grabbing hold of his fingers.

"But you like her, right?" she asks, tilting her head up at him.

"She's...nice," he admits, and the look on her face tells him that's not enough. He sighs and rubs the back of his neck with his prosthetic hand. "I don't know. Maybe."

"You should ask her out."

"Yeah, I don't think that's a good idea," he mutters, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I barely know her."

"So? Just get to know her," Omega says, and he sighs.

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Crosshair hesitates, trying to think of a reason. The truth is, he's never really had to deal with this kind of situation. He's not exactly the best when it comes to social interactions, and his history with romantic relationships is...limited. It's not something he's ever bothered to think about, but now that it's staring him in the face, he feels woefully unprepared.

"What if she says no?"

"Well, what if she says yes?"

Crosshair doesn't respond. If he's being honest, he hadn't even considered the possibility of you saying yes. He'd been so focused on the negative outcome, the embarrassment, the awkwardness, that he'd completely forgotten about the other side of the equation. What if you did say yes? What would he do then? Would he be happy? Relieved? Or would he be even more nervous than before?

"I don't know," he finally admits.

"You should ask her," Omega urges. "At least, think about it."

"Maybe," he says, and she frowns, clearly not satisfied with the answer. He sighs, and then gives her hand a squeeze. "I'll think about it."

"Okay," she grumbles, and the two of them continue walking, falling into a comfortable silence. It's quiet between them all the way to the front door, and he's almost home free, his hand hovering over the sensor pad, when Omega speaks up.

"I'm just saying," she starts, and he groans, "you should go for it."

"I'm done having this conversation," he grumbles as he tugs her inside, slamming the door behind him. He can hear voices coming from the kitchen, and he freezes, holding fast to her wrist.

"You have to promise not to tell them."

"Okay, okay, I promise," she says, rolling her eyes, and she tugs her arm away.

"No, not okay," he says. "If you tell them, I'll kill you."

"Okay, fine," she huffs, and he narrows his eyes at her.

"I'm serious," he says, his tone low, threatening. It doesn't work on Omega, not anymore, and she just looks up at him, unbothered.

"So am I."

"Fine." Crosshair sighs, deflating, and then, before he can stop himself, the words are spilling out. "So, what do I do?"

Omega's face lights up, a grin so wide it nearly splits her face in two, and he regrets the question almost instantly. "I'll help you."

"What?"

"I'll help you," she repeats.

"You're kidding," he deadpans.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I have a great idea. Trust me."

"Omega—"

"I promise, you won't regret it," she says, and then, she's gone, dashing off towards the kitchen where Hunter and Wrecker are arguing about dinner.

Crosshair watches her go, and then, with a groan, he drags his hand over his face.

What has he gotten himself into?

The next few weeks are a blur. Omega's been keeping him busy, asking him to help her with homework, walking her to and from school, and the whole time, he's wondering when she's going to bring up her big plan.

She managed to get a score high enough on her extra credit in your class to pull her grade up, and Hunter nearly fell over when he found out. You'd sent a letter home with her, letting them know how impressed you were, and both Hunter and Wrecker wouldn't shut up about it for days. Omega's been bragging about it, too, and Crosshair's heard her go on about how smart and amazing and brilliant and perfect you are, over and over again.

She hasn't brought up her big plan again, though, and Crosshair's grateful. She has, however, started dropping hints here and there, meddling in ways that she shouldn't, and it's getting old, fast. 

He's already had to stop her from inviting you over for dinner, twice, and he's not sure how much longer he can keep her from blowing his cover. More than once, Omega's forgotten her datapad at home, and he's had to drop everything to run it to the school. It's a pain in the ass, but at least it gives him an excuse to see you.

And he sees you, a lot more than he should.

He tries not to get too excited about it, tries not to think too hard about what it means, but it's impossible. Omega's made it her mission to get the two of you alone together, and he can't help but feel a bit like a pawn in her scheme, one that she refuses to share with him. Not that it matters, because it's working.

You're talking to him.

In fact, the two of you have spent so much time together over the last few weeks, that it's almost weird when he doesn't see you. Every morning, when he drops Omega off at school, he makes sure to walk her inside. You're always there, and he doesn't miss the way you look up when the door opens or the way you smile when you see him. You're usually sitting at your desk, grading papers, or helping a student, and he's quick to leave before anyone notices how long he's standing there. 

But every once in a while, when he's lucky, you're standing at the front of the room, and the two of you are able to exchange a few words. It's nothing too special, and it's not as if you're exchanging life stories or anything, but it's enough. It's more than he could've hoped for, and it's better than the alternative, which is absolutely nothing. He even brought you coffee one day, after you'd stayed late to work on a project with Omega, and you'd blushed.

Blushed.

For him.

Crosshair would be lying if he said he hadn't enjoyed that. It's nice, having someone to talk to, and it's nice, being able to see you smile. Even if it's only for a minute or two, and even if his brothers are constantly giving him shit for it.

He's not an idiot. He knows they're all watching him, waiting to see how this plays out, and he's doing his best not to give them any ammunition. Omega's already told him, several times, that they're rooting for him, and he's not sure how to feel about that. The last thing he needs is everyone butting into his business, and he's hoping that Omega will keep her word and keep her mouth shut.

He's not going to say anything, not until he's absolutely sure. And, even then, he'll probably wait. The only problem is, he's almost certain he's run out of time.

Crosshair has been keeping a mental countdown, counting down the days until Omega's finished with school, and it's come up a lot sooner than he'd expected. The semester is over, and it's officially summer vacation, which means you're no longer Omega's teacher. And with that, comes an end to whatever small shred of hope he'd had that something might happen, that whatever plan Omega had in mind would work, and the two of you would end up together.

Which is fine.

Really, it's fine.

He's not hurt. He's not disappointed. He's not anything. He doesn't care, not one bit, and he definitely isn't sulking, not at all, because that would be ridiculous.

It's just a crush. A silly, stupid, fleeting thing, and it's not worth getting upset about. It's not like anything would've happened between the two of you. You're way out of his league, and he knows that.

But still.

He can't deny that he misses the daily interaction, the brief exchanges, the occasional smiles. He can't deny that he'd enjoyed it, and now that it's over, he feels a little lost. 

He jumped at the chance to go to the summer festival with everyone, partly because he didn't want to be home alone, and partly because he was hoping to run into you there. Which is stupid, and foolish, and pathetic, but he can't help himself. He'd overheard you telling Omega that you'd be there, and it's the closest thing he has to a sign, and so, he's taking it.

Besides, Hunter practically ordered him to go, so it's not like he had a choice.

So, here he is, standing off to the side, watching the rest of the family enjoying themselves. It's still early, and the real festivities won't begin until the sun starts to set, but everyone is already in a good mood. He tries his best not to ruin it with his attitude, but he knows he's doing a shitty job of it, and it doesn't help that they're teasing him relentlessly.

"You're moping."

Crosshair sighs and rolls his eyes as Hunter bumps him with his elbow. He's been standing next to him, staring out into the crowd, and he doesn't turn his head when his brother speaks.

"No, I'm not," he replies.

"Yes, you are," Hunter says. He takes a sip of his drink, and then, nudges him again. "Is this about your girlfriend?"

"Shut up," Crosshair grumbles, and he elbows him back, a little harder than necessary. Some of Hunter’s drink spills, and he feels a small flash of satisfaction.

"Ow."

"Leave me alone," he says, and Hunter snorts.

"No, I'm not gonna do that," Hunter says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It's too easy."

Crosshair groans, and turns his head away, trying his best to ignore him. It doesn't work.

"Come on, just ask her out," Hunter urges, and Crosshair glares at him.

He can hear Wrecker snickering behind him, and when he turns around, the look on his face tells him everything he needs to know. He must've been listening in the whole time.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Hunter continues.

"I could make an idiot out of myself," Crosshair replies.

"So? You already do that every day," Wrecker jokes, and he winces when Hunter smacks him.

"Not helping," Hunter mutters, and Wrecker just shrugs.

"Look," Hunter says, turning back towards him, "if she says no, at least you'll know, and you can stop worrying about it."

Crosshair doesn't respond, too caught up in the sight of you weaving your way through the crowd. You're wearing a sundress, a cute little thing that ends just above your knees, and a flower crown sitting atop of your head, and he can't take his eyes off of you. 

You're walking with Omega's art teacher, a Rutian Twi’Lek laden with jewelry, talking and gesturing animatedly. She has her hands full with decorations for the festival, and you're trying to help, but she keeps shooing you away. He can see the pout on your face, and he can't help but smile, just a little, and then you turn your head and catch Crosshair staring.

He doesn't have time to look away.

He doesn't even have time to try.

Instead, he watches, frozen, as your eyes lock with his. Your face lights up, a bright smile on your lips, and you wave at him. He feels his hand lift in acknowledgement despite himself, and he can't stop the way his lips quirk up into a half-smile. 

He can see Omega trailing after the two of you, a stack of posters in her hands, and she's saying something, but he can't hear her. The only thing he can hear is his heart pounding in his ears, and the only thing he can see is you, your face flushed, and a look in your eyes that's far too soft for him to know what to do with.

"Wow," Hunter says, breaking the spell, and he blinks, the image of you in front of him fading, replaced by his brother's annoying smirk.

"What?"

"I knew you liked her, but I didn't know it was this bad," Hunter says.

"Oh, come on," Wrecker teases, a big grin spreading across his face. "He's in love."

Crosshair can't stop the growl of frustration that leaves him, and the sound makes his brothers laugh. He wants to shove them, or punch them, or something, but he doesn't have the chance.

You’re walking over.

You're heading in their direction, and Crosshair panics, unsure of what to do. He doesn't know how to be anything other than aloof and rude, and he's afraid he'll say something stupid and embarrass himself. He doesn't want to mess this up, and he's terrified he'll ruin everything if he says the wrong thing.

He looks at Hunter, a desperate plea in his eyes, but his brother is no help. Instead, he just smirks and shrugs, nudging Wrecker.

"We should go check on Omega," he says, his tone is casual. "C'mon, Wrecker."

Wrecker doesn't argue, and he doesn't hesitate, following Hunter without a word. Before he can blink, they're gone, and it's just the two of you. Crosshair's not sure if it's better or worse.

"Hi," you say, your voice soft as you come to a stop in front of him.

Your cheeks are flushed, and you're fidgeting. He finds it endearing, and the fact that you're just as flustered as he is makes him feel a little bit better.

"Hey," he says, his voice coming out a bit raspier than he'd intended. He clears his throat, and then nods towards your companion. "Are you having fun?"

You tilt your head and look back over your shoulder, and Crosshair doesn't miss the slight roll of your eyes.

"Yeah, I'm having a blast," you deadpan, and he can't help but laugh. He's grown used to your particular brand of sarcasm over the past few weeks, the kind that only seems to come out when he's around, and he's come to enjoy the way it sounds when it's aimed at someone else.

"Don't worry," he says, "we can be miserable together."

"Well, that's not very festive," you reply, and there's a teasing edge to your voice. "What did the festival ever do to you?"

"Nothing, I just don't like people."

"Fair enough," you say with a laugh. "So, what brings you here?"

"Omega."

"Ah." You nod, and a soft smile forms on your face. "Of course. She told me you'll be helping us out later. Thanks, by the way."

Crosshair raises an eyebrow.

This is news to him.

"Uh, yeah," he says slowly, his eyes narrowing. "What did she say, exactly?"

"She said you'd be helping with the games." You tilt your head and look up at him, confusion in your eyes. "Is that...not true?"

He stares back at you, unsure of what to say. He's never agreed to anything like that, and the idea of working with children is...unappealing, to say the least. He can't imagine why Omega would've said that.

The realization hits him, and his eyes widen.

That little brat.

She set him up.

She's been planning this, and he was too distracted with moping to realize it. He'd let her walk all over him, and now, he's going to have to play along. Because there's no way in hell he's going to tell you the truth, not now, not when you're looking up at him, expectant and hopeful.

"Yeah, no," he lies, shaking his head. "She's right. I'll be there."

"Great," you say, and he's pretty sure you actually mean it. "I'm running the scavenger hunt. And, if you wanted, I could use a partner."

Crosshair blinks, brain stuttering over the word partner, and he must look like an idiot, because you start to backtrack.

"But, you probably have better things to do. I'm sure there's someone else who would love to help. I just thought—"

"No, no, I'll help," he interrupts, and you stop, giving him a grateful look.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Your smile is so bright, so radiant, that it makes his heart ache. He can't remember the last time someone was this happy to spend time with him. He's not used to feeling wanted, and the knowledge that you enjoy his company fills him with a sense of pride he's not quite prepared for.

"But," he starts, his eyebrows raised, "you owe me."

"I know, I know," you say with a laugh. "Anything you want."

"I'm serious," he insists, though the smirk on his face betrays his words. "I'm doing this under duress. I'm being held against my will."

"I'll make it worth your while," you tease, and the way your eyes flash, the playful look in them, is almost enough to make him forget how to breathe. He tries not to focus on it, tries not to dwell on the way his mind immediately goes to some very interesting places, but it's a losing battle. He's sure his cheeks are red, and the knowing look in your eyes doesn't help.

"Uh," he says, his voice strangled, and he has to clear his throat again before he can continue. "Good.”

"Good," you repeat, and the smile on your face turns shy. You take a step back, and then another, and the look in your eyes is...different, softer, and a little more vulnerable. It makes his stomach twist. "Well, I should probably go. But, I'll see you later, right?"

He nods, and you grin. You wave goodbye and walk away, and Crosshair watches you go, a small smile on his face. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at himself, but he can't stop smiling. It's a dumb thing to be happy about, but it's nice, knowing that you're looking forward to seeing him. And the way you'd looked at him, the hopeful look in your eyes, the shyness, the blush on your cheeks. He can't stop thinking about it.

It's just a crush, and it'll go away eventually. It's just a silly little thing, and it'll fade away. You'll be gone, and he'll be left behind, and everything will go back to normal. He'll get over it.

But, as he stands there, watching you laugh and smile and talk to the others, the sight of you making him feel things that he's not quite ready to admit, he can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he doesn't want it to.

By the time the sun sets, the courtyard is packed. The vendors have all set up their stalls, the games have begun, and the music is blaring. Crosshair stays close to Wrecker, using his bulk to help him avoid the crowds, and does his best to ignore the children running around. Wrecker's not much help. He keeps wandering off, getting distracted by the food or the games, and Crosshair is left to wander around alone.

It's not all bad, though.

He's able to keep an eye on Omega, and that's enough to keep him occupied. He knows she can take care of herself, but it's hard for him to relax when she's not within eyesight. And, every once in a while, you catch his eye. You're busy, running from place to place, and he knows that you don't have time to stop and chat, but the small, shy smiles that you give him are enough to put him at ease.

It's a nice distraction, and it helps him stay focused, which is a good thing. Because, before he knows it, it's time for the scavenger hunt. Omega drags him over to the table where you’re waiting, and he can't help but smile at the enthusiasm in your voice.

"I'm so glad you could make it," you say, and the look in your eyes tells him that you really mean it.

At his side, Omega looks far too proud of herself. Crosshair narrows his eyes at her, and she gives him a toothy grin in return.

"Me too," he mutters, and you laugh.

"Come on," you say, grabbing a basket from the table. "Let's get started."

Crosshair nods, and he stands back as you hand out datapads and explain rules to the crowd that’s formed around them. He's not paying attention. He's watching you, listening to your voice, enjoying the way you look in the light of Pabu’s setting sun, and it's a nice moment. That is, until Omega elbows him, and he startles.

"What?"

“She likes you," she whispers conspiratorially, her hand cupped over her mouth.

"Shut up," he hisses.

Omega giggles, and he glares at her, but it does nothing to wipe the smirk from her face.

"I'm not talking to you," he growls.

"Yeah, you are," she says, her voice laced with amusement. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Before he can say anything, you announce that the scavenger hunt has started, and the kids are off. Omega joins the crowd, and soon, she's lost among the swarm of children running past them. Crosshair watches her go, his eyebrows furrowed, and then, he turns his attention to you.

You're smiling, waving at the kids, and he can't take his eyes off of you. This was a bad idea. He should've said no. He should've done something, anything, but instead, he'd let himself get roped into helping, and now, he's standing here, watching you, wishing he had the courage to just say something, and it's driving him crazy.

"Thanks again for helping," you say, turning towards him, and he startles, caught off guard.

"Uh, yeah, no problem," he replies. "I was going to be here anyway."

"Yeah, Omega mentioned that."

Crosshair nods, and the two of you settle into an awkward silence. He shifts on his feet, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he stares out into the crowd. You're quiet beside him, and the longer the silence lasts, the more uncomfortable he becomes.

It's not like you to be so quiet. Usually, you're chatting his ear off, asking him questions, trying to get him to open up, and the fact that you haven't said a word is concerning. You’re shuffling datapads and small trinkets around as if looking for something to keep yourself busy, and he's starting to wonder if he's done something wrong.

He's trying not to worry about it, but the longer the silence stretches, the more his mind races. He knows he's overthinking, and the more he thinks about it, the more anxious he becomes.

It's just a crush, he reminds himself.

He doesn't want anything from you. He doesn't need anything from you. He doesn't expect anything from you. But, as he stands there, trying not to dwell on the way his heart is racing, the way his stomach is twisting, the way his breath catches in his throat, he can't help but feel like a bit of an idiot.

He can't help but wonder if you've figured him out. 

Maybe you know, and that's why you're acting so strange. Maybe you can tell, and you're waiting for him to make the first move. Maybe you're nervous, or maybe, you just don't want him to say anything, because you don't feel the same way, and that's why you're keeping your distance. He knows that's a long shot, but it doesn't stop his brain from fixating on the thought. He can't help but think about how much worse it'll be if you do know.

So, he stands there, and the silence stretches on, tension thick in the air as you cast glances at each other. 

It's not until a couple of kids come up and ask for help with the next clue that the tension breaks.

The two of them are young, maybe eight or nine, and they're struggling. They're a cute pair, brother and sister, and they remind him a lot of his siblings. Their parents are nowhere in sight, and they're arguing, bickering, and it’s not until you crouch down to speak to them, taking the datapad from the boy's hands, that they calm down. You explain the next clue to them, and Crosshair watches as the siblings nod, their faces lighting up with understanding.

He wants to keep watching you, but a second pair of kids approach, and then a third. He can see you’re starting to get overwhelmed, and so he picks up a datapad and gets to work.

Soon, the two of you have a rhythm. You help the younger kids while he helps the older ones, and the system seems to work. He finds himself enjoying the task, and he doesn't even realize that an hour has passed until the scavenger hunt is over and the sun has nearly set. The two of you gather up the datapads, and the kids line up in front of the table, ready to receive their prize.

They're all so excited, and they're smiling and laughing and cheering, and it's a nice sight. Crosshair has never been the biggest fan of children, but these ones aren’t so bad.

He doesn't even realize that he's smiling until Omega runs back over to him, her arms outstretched, and she flings herself at him. She grabs hold of his waist, and she squeezes him tight.

"Thanks for helping," she says, her voice muffled, and he has to swallow past the lump in his throat.

"No problem," he replies as she lets go. She's still grinning at him, her eyes bright, and he can't help but reach out and ruffle her hair. "How'd you do?"

"I won," she boasts and slaps his hand away, and he rolls his eyes, unable to keep from smirking.

"Of course you did."

"It wasn't easy," Omega continues, her eyebrows raising as she speaks slowly. "But I had a great partner."

Crosshair sighs, and he gives her a knowing look, which she ignores.

“Don’t screw this up,” she whispers, and then, before he can say anything, she turns on her heel and heads back towards the others.

You're still sitting at the table, and he takes a moment to compose himself before heading over. You're organizing the datapads, sorting them into a bag, and he takes a seat next to you.

"Thanks for the help," you say, and he nods, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Not a problem."

"You did a good job," you tell him. He ducks his head, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as you continue, “You’re good with them.”

"Well, you're welcome," he says, his voice low. "I have a lot of practice dealing with little brats."

You laugh, and the sound makes his heart swell. You continue sorting the datapads, and he watches you work, his eyes trailing over your features. It's not until you clear your throat that he realizes how long he's been staring.

"So, um," he begins, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he's been caught. "I was thinking..."

You look up. "Yeah?"

"You owe me."

"Huh?"

"You said anything I want," he explains, and the confusion on your face clears.

"Right," you reply, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. You stop what you’re doing and turn to face him fully. "And what would that be?"

"Dinner.”

"Dinner?" you repeat, your eyebrows raised, and he nods.

"With me."

"Are you asking me on a date, Crosshair?"

"Yeah," he says, and his heart leaps into his throat when your eyes light up. "I'm asking you on a date."

"Oh," you say, a soft smile on your lips, and he can't help but mirror it. "Well, how could I say no?"

"Great," he replies, and then, after a pause, he asks, "is that a yes?"

"Yes, of course it's a yes,” you chuckle. You shake your head, and then, a teasing smile forms on your face. "Did you think I was gonna say no?"

"Uh," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was prepared for it."

You snort, and the laughter that follows is almost enough to distract him from the way his cheeks are burning. Almost. He looks away, embarrassed, but he can't help but smile.

"Sorry," you say, stifling your laughter, and he shrugs.

"It's fine."

"No, no, I'm not laughing at you," you say. You're biting your lip, trying to stop yourself from smiling, and his eyes narrow. "It's just..."

"What?"

"This whole time," you begin, and you have to bite back another laugh. "I've been trying to figure out how to ask you out."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah," you admit, and the shy smile on your face is almost too much for him to handle. He can't believe what he's hearing. "I've been waiting for an excuse to spend some time alone with you, but I couldn't think of anything. So, when Omega mentioned you'd be helping out, I figured it would be my chance."

Crosshair shakes his head, trying to process the words. It's a lot to take in. You've been trying to ask him out? All this time, he's been wondering, worrying, and it was all for nothing? You've wanted this, too?

"Oh," is all he can manage, and it's enough to make you laugh again.

"Yeah."

He doesn't know what to say, so he stays silent. You shift next to him, and you place your hand on his arm, the contact sending sparks through his skin. Your touch is light, but it makes his breath catch, and he doesn't miss the way you smile at his reaction.

“So, do you want to watch the fireworks with me?” you ask, your voice soft.

"Yeah, sure," he says. He's trying not to let his excitement show, but judging by the grin on your face, he's not doing a very good job of it.

"Good."

He's expecting you to let go of his arm, but instead, you slide your hand down, and your fingers brush against his, a subtle gesture that makes his heart race. He turns his hand palm up, and you slide yours into it, your touch warm and gentle. His fingers curl around yours, and the smile on your face makes him feel bold.

Crosshair stands, pulling you up with him, and the two of you walk to the edge of the courtyard, hand in hand. It’s quiet now, save for the music playing over the speakers and the soft murmur of conversation, and the sky is dark. There are only a few people left nearby, mostly parents picking up their children, and no one pays the two of you any mind. You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back, a smile forming on his face.

You lead him down a set of steps, and the two of you make your way towards a spot overlooking the bay. The breeze is cool, and the smell of salt fills the air. Without the lanterns and torches and strings of lights, it's dark, and he can just barely see your face, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon.

There’s a tree behind you, and it offers a bit of privacy, and the two of you settle against it, sitting on the grass. He can see the bay spread out in front of them, and the waves crashing on the beach, a steady rhythm that helps slow his racing heartbeat. 

He's still holding your hand, and he gives it another squeeze. You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder, and the two of you watch as the fireworks begin. The explosions are loud, and bright, and colorful, and you point out the best ones, and the ones that remind you of him, and the ones that make you laugh. And, as the fireworks continue, as the colors fill the sky, you lean closer, and he pulls you into his arms.

He's not sure how long it lasts, but the longer the fireworks go on, the closer you get, and the more content he becomes. You're sitting between his legs, leaning back against his chest, and his arms are wrapped around you, holding you close.

You turn your head, the movement catching his eye. Your eyes meet his, and the two of you stare at each other, and the fireworks fade away, forgotten.

"Hey," he whispers, and the corner of your mouth twitches.

"Hey."

"This is nice," he says, his voice low.

"Yeah, it is."

You shift, turning towards him, and your face is so close that he can feel your breath on his lips. He knows he should wait, should give you a chance to change your mind, should give himself a chance to talk himself out of it, but he can't. 

"I—"

"Yes," you interrupt, a mischievous glint in your eyes, and he has to laugh.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say," he teases, and you shrug.

"I'm sure it's something good," you say. You reach up, cupping his cheek with your free hand. "Whatever it is, the answer is yes."

He can't stop the smile that forms on his face. He doesn't even try. He just leans in, closing the gap between the two of you, and he kisses you, a soft press of his lips against yours. He feels you sigh against his mouth, and his eyes flutter closed as he loses himself in the kiss.

The fireworks are still going off, but he can barely hear them, and the cheers and laughter and music are distant, a soft hum that fades away. All he can focus on is the feel of your lips against his, the warmth of your body pressed against his, and the soft sound of your breathing.

He feels you smile, and his heart races, and he has to pull back to catch his breath. He opens his eyes, and he's met with the sight of you, your face flushed, and the most beautiful smile he's ever seen.

"That was nice," you say softly, and he scoffs.

“Just nice?" he asks, half-joking and half-serious. He’s just had the best kiss of his life, and if you think it was just nice, then he's got some work to do.

"Well, maybe it was a little more than nice," you tease. The look in your eyes has him leaning in again, his gaze drifting from your eyes to your lips and back.

"Only a little?"

"Yeah, a little."

"Hmm, well, let's try that again," he murmurs, and you laugh, a soft breath against his lips.

"Alright."

Crosshair kisses you again, and this time, the kiss is deeper, slower, and more deliberate. His hands find their way to your hips, pulling you onto his lap, and you don't hesitate to follow his lead. He runs his tongue along your lower lip, and when you moan into his mouth, he feels a thrill rush through him.

Your hands are on his shoulders, and you're straddling his lap as you kiss him back, matching his pace. The feel of your tongue sliding against, and the soft whimper you make when he bites down on your bottom lip, nearly drives him crazy. He grips your hips, and he tugs you closer, the pressure of your weight against him drawing a groan from his mouth into yours. It’s a sound so low and raw that it surprises him, but you don’t seem taken aback by it. If anything, you seem pleased, and it suddenly occurs to him that there’s a lot he doesn’t know about you.

And, for once, he's excited to learn.

He doesn't want this to end, and when you break the kiss, his lips chase yours, unwilling to part just yet. You're gasping, your breath coming in shallow pants, and he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his fingers digging into your hips.

"You're right," you say, breathless. "Definitely better than nice."

Crosshair laughs, and he opens his eyes. The sight of you, your eyes dark and your cheeks flushed, lips swollen and red, is almost enough to make him let go of the fragile grasp he has on his control. He wants to kiss you again, and again, and again, but the sound of cheering startles him and reminds him of where he is.

He blinks, and he looks around, and then, he lets out a breath. The fireworks are over.

He hadn't realized.

You're still staring at him, a dazed look in your eyes, and when your lips twitch into a smirk, his grip on your hips tightens.

"Don't look at me like that," he warns, his voice raspy.

"Why not?" you ask. Your hand moves from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, fingers brushing against the hairs there, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

"Because I'm trying to be good," Crosshair explains. "And you're making it very difficult."

"I'm sorry," you say, but there's a hint of laughter in your voice that tells him you're not sorry at all.

"Don't be," he replies, and then, with a groan, he continues, "you're worth it."

Your cheeks flush, and he has to fight the urge to lean in and kiss you again. He knows if he does, he'll never be able to stop, and he'd prefer not to scandalize the locals. Or worse, have his brothers catch him in the act. So, instead, he takes a deep breath, and he moves his hands from your hips to your waist.

"Come on," he says, giving you a gentle nudge, and you pout.

"Fine," you sigh, and you give him a quick peck on the cheek before sliding off his lap. You stand and dust yourself off, and then, you offer him a hand. He takes it and lets you help him to his feet. You're still holding his hand as the two of you start walking, heading back up the stairs.

"So," you begin, breaking the silence, "when should we have that date?"

"Are you free tomorrow?"

"You don't waste any time, do you?" you tease, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’ve wasted enough time," Crosshair says, his tone serious, and you give him a look of understanding

"Yeah, me too."

"So, tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow.”

The two of you share a smile, and he leads you back through through the courtyard. You walk slowly, and you let go of his hand, but the loss of contact is quickly forgotten when you lean into him, your shoulder brushing against his. He's tempted to wrap his arm around you, to pull you close, but the idea of having an audience for that makes his stomach turn, so he doesn't. Instead, he just enjoys the feeling of you at his side, and the easy way you fit into his space. 

It doesn’t take long to make it to the point where you part ways, and the two of you linger, neither one of you ready to leave the other.

"I guess this is goodnight," you say, your voice soft.

"I guess so."

You reach out and grab his hand, and you squeeze it, giving him a shy smile. He squeezes back, and then, without thinking, he raises your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of it.

The flash of embarrassment that follows is enough to make his face heat, but it's worth it for the way your eyes light up, and the faint blush that colors your skin. You duck your head, and the small, pleased smile on your face has his heart racing.

"Goodnight, Crosshair," you say.

"Goodnight."

You turn away, and he watches you go, his eyes lingering on the sway of your hips, and the way your hair dances in the wind. You don’t make it very far before you turn around, a mischievous grin on your face.

"By the way," you begin, your voice raised, and the smirk on his face fades. "Tell Omega I said thank you.”

Crosshair's eyes narrow, and his mouth opens and closes, his mind stuttering as he tries to process the words.

Omega set him up, and you knew, and this entire night was her idea. He'd known, in the back of his mind, that she'd been plotting something, and yet, it hadn't occurred to him until now just how much that entailed.

That little brat.

He can't decide if he's proud or embarrassed. He settles for a combination of the two, and the amused look on your face tells him that he's doing a poor job of hiding his feelings.

"Goodnight, Crosshair," you call out, a teasing lilt to your voice.

"Goodnight," he calls back, his tone flat.

You wave goodbye, and then, with a final, knowing look, you turn around and walk away.

He waits until you're out of sight before letting out a groan. Crosshair runs his hand down his face, and he shakes his head, trying not to think about how many times he'd made a fool of himself tonight. His siblings were never going to let him live this down. He sighs, and then, with a roll of his eyes, he starts walking.

When he makes it home, he finds them already gathered in the living room, talking amongst themselves. Omega’s chosen a chair that faces the front door, and her head snaps over toward him as soon as he walks in. Wrecker and Hunter catch on quick, and the room falls silent, the three of them watching him.

"So, how'd it go?" Omega asks innocently.

Crosshair glares at her, his eyes narrowed. She meets his gaze, a challenging look on her face, and he closes the front door with more force than necessary.

"It went fine."

"Fine?" Wrecker repeats. "That's it?"

They’re all staring at him now, and he can feel his temper rising, the heat of embarrassment rushing to his cheeks, and his fingers twitch, aching to shoot something. He forces himself to calm down, to remind himself they’re only asking because they care. Crosshair relaxes his shoulders, his jaw unclenching, and then, he lets out a sigh.

"Yes, fine," he says, his voice low. "We're going out tomorrow."

The room erupts into cheers and laughter, and Wrecker stands, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Crosshair squirms, trying to escape, but it's useless.

"Wrecker, let him go," Hunter orders, and Crosshair breathes a sigh of relief when his brother finally releases him.

"Thanks, Wrecker," Crosshair grumbles, only to let out a grunt when Omega barrels into him, her arms wrapped around his waist.

"I told you it would work," she says, and Crosshair reaches down and ruffles her hair.

"Yes, you did," he concedes, and the look of triumph on her face has him rolling his eyes. He sighs and extracts himself from her embrace, and he clears his throat. “She says thanks.”

Omega beams, and Wrecker and Hunter laugh, clapping him on the back. They congratulate him, teasing him, and he bears it as best he can, trying not to show how happy he is even as his heart races, and a warm feeling spreads through him.

He hadn't thought he'd have this again, a family, people who cared about him, and he hadn't dared to hope that he'd find something else, something more. He hadn't even known what he was missing until he met you.

And, for the first time in a long time, he's excited for the future.

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[neil-gaiman]

Hi Mr. Gaiman,

As an accomplished author with several books under his belt, how do you know that a story is a dud for lack of a better word? I have a million ideas bouncing around inside my head at all times, and while I consider them good ideas worth pursuing, how am I sure they will make a good story?

I ask this because I have been dwelling on something one of my professors said last semester. He held a seminar on poetry and got to the topic of fiction writing, where he stated that he had just recently finished a story he had rewritten several times over the course of multiple years. Now I myself write as a hobby with a faint imagining that someone might see it in the future, and I have written a dud or two, where the plot was poorly formed and the ideas behind it just had a flaw somewhere in the base concept. Perhaps this is my youth and amateurity speaking, but I was under the impression that given enough time and care, any story could recover from that stage so long as it had not been completed yet. Ideas would need to be reworked, concepts retooled, characters redrawn, but the very basic idea could still survive in a different format.

My professor disagreed, stating that he has destroyed 400-500 page novels that he has written before upon realizing said fatal flaw. He stated that the story was in a state that it could not recover from, and that many authors encounter ideas that seem good at the time, but stink later on to such a degree that the basic premise must be thrown out. This seems like a tremendous loss of work to me. As writing is an art form, it feels somewhat similar to destroying practice sketches and 'meh' oil paintings that showcase the artist's progress. An idea that stinks today might be able to work from a different angle later on in my opinion.

I suppose after rambling my question is now this: are some ideas and concepts just not worth pursuing? Are some story concepts flawed from the get-go and impossible to save, and is there a way to tell that before writing the whole thing? Is it even possible to waste that time as you're getting in practice for the next tale?This isn't something I ever really thought about before being told in sure tones that this is how things work by someone with a degree is this, so I figured I'd ask the professional author for a second opinion. Apologies for the length of the message, especially if this is one you've received before.

I have things that have stalled and a few stories that, when they were done, went to the box in the attic rather than to anyone who could publish them (there's a whole novel there I wrote when I was 21). But mostly because I was writing serial comics, failure was not an option, and if something did fail it had done it in public for everyone to see. And I learned that some things I thought were failures had actually worked really well.

Some people are afraid of failure. Some people are afraid of success, which can also be a good reason for junking books and never showing them to anyone. As long as you pronounce them irretrievably flawed and show them to nobody, you will never be judged for them or have to deal with either success or failure.

[lavender--fairy]

HEYY FAIRY!! I DID IT !! I MANIFESTED MY DESIRED FACE!!! okay i really wanna go in depth with this ask since i finally manifested my desired face. So i followed you just because you mentioned about how you manifested your df and i've tried and failed so many times its actually crazy. When i started i would affirm day and night (failed),tried self concept (failed), then i tried to enter the void (failed), tried shifting to a reality where i had my df (failed) and then you started posting edward art stuff and i am not even lying when i say it freed me in ways i didn't know i could be freed, i read all your posts and infact i would eagerly wait for your next post, i'd keep refreshing your blog in hopes that maybe you'd post and when you did i'd read it a thousand times ( i even have all your posts written in my notes just in case you decide to deactivate lol fan girl behaviour? yes) Anyways so i read your "be a doer" post and i decided to actually feel that i was who i wanted to be instead of thinking of it, it lasted a few days but i kept pulling myself back up since my college starts soon and i just cannot go looking and feeling the way i used to, so there was this burning desire to have what i wanted unlike any time before. But i had a hard time persisting and i figured out it was because i wasn't imagining what i want and because i kept switching my df like every other day (i got this from the "feeling and self" post you linked from edward art) so i took my time to figure out a face i loved and when i tell you it got so easy to persist (because i was imagining what i always wanted and it felt so nice that i naturally wanted to keep going back to feeling it) i did have a few doubts here and there but i read your posts and edward art's posts and i'd be back on track. There were alot of things that would bother me like 3d, the future, the past but when i imagined all of this didn't matter, i had my df right here and right now (i also manifested other stuff to build faith that the 3d will reflect no matter what, especially when i had thoughts like "what if it doesn't work?") nothing changed for a few days but i was busy imagining another thing that i did was i was trying to fix my appearance like instead of imaging my new face i'd imagine how i could fix my current appearance but i realized i dont have to do that, i can imagine a completely new face, a face that i loved and felt confident in. AND TODAY I WOKE UP WITH MY DESIRED FACE, I WAS SO SURPRISED LIKE OUT OF NO WHERE??? I LOVE WHEN THE LAW SURPRISES ME LIKE YESTER-NIGHT I WOULDNT HAVE EVEN GUESSED LIKE WTFFF?? UGH I LOVE EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW I AM LITERALLY DANCING IN MY ROOM RIGHT NOWWW!! i dont have to be insecure and hide when someone points a camera at me ?? i am being treated better?? i am soo soo confident and sooo ready for college !! Thank you so much fairy i can feel warm tears roll over my cheek as i write this, i couldn't have done this without you thank you for freeing me, i will always and forever love you !! thank you

hey butterbean!! wow wow wow this is just amazing honey and your journey feels so close to my heart. I just cannot express how happy i am for you!! So so so proud of you that you did not give up!! i hope your life is full of joy !! sending love!!

[vampireopossum]

@dash-n-step ok . youve given me an excuse to infodump about the forbidden megamind lore

to start off, the Doom Syndicate . originally they were going to be in the main film , but they didnt have enough runtime to develop each one's plotline so they scrapped all but Tighten . the members that appear in anything other than concept art include:

Destruction Worker: just a big guy with a traffic cone on his head and demolition tools for hands

Hot Flash: an old lady who can fly and ostensibly wields fire, though in the game i played, she just summoned goons

The Conductor: supposed to be the leader i think? never played his game and i have no idea of his deal

Judge Sludge: a court judge made of slime . thats it

Psycho Delic: my personal fave . a skin tight purple dude dressed like a pimp who runs a sewer disco . can turn into a cloud of toxic gas (he's voiced by King Andrias from Amphibia and Dr Facilier from Princess and the Frog!)

they serve as the main antagonists of three spinoff games. two are plot-identical i think, but are played very different due to platform limits, and one is a sequel.

starting with the home console games bc idk that much about them: the first is Megamind: Ultimate Showdown. a serviceable title, the Doom Syndicate blows up a building and kidnaps Hal out of prison, infusing him with metroman AND megamind dna, turning him into the super-strong super-smart Blue Tighten (his costume is the same, his skin is just blue now).

its worth noting that , after his defeat, hal has no memory of his time as Blue Tighten , and he seems more concerned than upset at his loss. this is important because of the next entry: Megamind: Mega Team Unite . the dumbest title ive ever heard. in this one, metro man and tighten are playable characters, as are each of the villains as you defeat them. because of the prior game, hal being a hero makes some amount of sense because of his unwilling role as the head of the Syndicate .

ok . now i get to talk about the weird fucked up ds game i love so much.

the title of this game befuddles me. the cartridge and box call it Megamind: The Blue Defender. The title screen, on the other hand, calls it Megamind: Bad. Blue. Brilliant.

so thats off to a great start , but it gets better and worse from here. the plot is identical to Ultimate Showdown but the gameplay lacks robot segments because its the ds.

megamind has a set of voice lines that have a random chance to play every time he takes a variety of actions, unfortunately including jumping. this set is very small and he is fully able to say the exact same line back to back . hooray!

one of the game's collectibles is pngs of the film . except one of them is a png of megamind doing finger guns, only found in a trailer . i have no idea why its there.

the credits of the game are astonishingly short, and it only credits four voice actors: those playing Megamind, Tighten, roxanne(?), and Metro Man. this is a problem for a few reasons. first, it fails to credit the misc actors for the goons, the main villains, and minion(may have swapped minion and roxanne) . secondly, and much funnier, it credits metro man, who has zero lines in this game. hooray!

anyway . this game sucks and you should play it . there isnt a 100% reward but the musics a jam and sometimes megamind just gives you a bloodcurdling scream when he falls or gets hit. ok bye

[stephofromcabin12]

Any art tips for artists just starting out? I’m struggling big time to find my style 😀

Sure.

It got kinda long. Bc when have I ever been a person of few words?

There is no trick to finding your style other than drawing a lot, and setting a, more or less, loose goal. When I was young it was old school Disney and Don Bluth. That was my holy grail, ideal style. But it evolved to be something else, because that's how style works. You'll put your own twist on things, in time. But first focus on practicing and don't narrow yourself down to just one thing. You'll also probably develop multiple styles out of convenience. Sometimes I prefer the cartoony, simpified stuff. Sometimes I'm more into fully rendered pieces.

Experiment. Make bad art a lot. The more you expose yourself to the inherent let-down of sucking at something, the less it stings. The key is asking yourself why something didn't turn out right.

You can't get good at All Art at once. Start with something you're most interested in learning. Maybe it's anatomy, or gestures, or expressions, or colors. Start with that one thing and practice is with a specific goal in mind. Fx: "I want to get better at drawing faces and expressions, so I'm going to do an expression sheet of a character once a week, and do a little practice every day if I can" – That sorta thing. Everyone is different, though. My old music teacher used to say 30 minutes a day. If we couldn't do 30; 15 mins. So on. As long as you do a lil doodling every day that's still progress.

Learning art is sometimes frustratingly non-linear. Somedays I still 'forget' how to draw a certain thing I've had down since I was 14. Other days I bang out something I've always struggled with on the first try, then fail the next day. It's not a linear progression, it's a damn roller coaster. Best you can do is throw your hands up and try to enjoy the ride. The pipe line for me is usually: First attempt (sucks ass but I've learned to laugh at this stage, just throw ideas at the wall) -> getting comfortable (this is where you think to yourself you have a concept down but you really don't) -> Getting good (you start to draw with more ease, you're not having to 'remember' how you wanted something to look, it's just muscle memory by now) -> Actually having it down (and still having more growth to go. But this is where you get to look back on the comfortable phase and go: 'wow I really had a long way to go')

In fact, having fun is by far the thing that's made me progress. More than tutorials, more than fancy equipment. If I'm not having fun, I have no motivation to keep going. If it's not fun, try and make it so.

Get into the habit of stepping back (whether physically or more metaphorically) and really looking at your art often while you draw. When you add a line, or color, or background element etc. Ask yourself "Does this work?" And adjust accordingly. It seems like a lot of work at first, but eventually it becomes a natural part of the process. I don't really realise I'm doing it but most of the patreon screen recordings I have show the way I zoom in and out of the canvas constantly lol.

Make the things you want to make. Even the most self-indulgent stuff. We have a million artists already doing their thing, but we don't have you yet. Show us what you got! There's room for everything.

Get used to people expressing mild envy/annoyance when you're drawing near them. I've gotten the 'wow I wish I could draw, I can't even do a stick figure!' comment from waitresses, cabin crews, classmates I'd previously never spoken to, teachers, strangers on trainstations, etc etc etc. But! Learn to say 'Thank you' when people compliment your art.

Don't ask for critique if you don't really want it. Don't let people critique you if you didn't ask for it.

You! Don't! Need! Fancy! Equipment! Save your money and get the version of a medium that's affordable and comfortable for you. Look at Stardew Valley's creator's old setup. It's really not about how the tools are set up or the price of them. It's how you make use of them. Didn't FNAF's creator build the models in a moving car on a laptop?

Art takes time. There is no short cut to make it take less time. But the more fun you have the more it'll feel like it's faster. If you're miserable the time will drag on and on and on.

Look at a lot of art. Take in and analyse. I wish I could go back a few years and tell myself to analyse paintings I liked, rather than just going "Oh I like that! Nice!" and then moving on. Why is it good? Why does it move you? What captured your attention? Be the person at a museum leaning forwards to see the paintstrokes, you learn more that way.

Don't feel ashamed if you want to take inspiration from others. Everyone takes inspiration from somewhere. If you see something cool another artist is doing with their rendering or lighting or whatever, try and do a drawing or two emulating it! Maybe you'll discover a new favorite technique, or you'll not really jam with it. Either is good. Both teach you something.

You'll go through more eras than Taylor Swift. Sometimes you gotta do a lil Eras Tour of your own and go back through the catalogue. I'm currently working on reviving several projects I made when I was 13-14. Keep everything. Don't delete; archive.

Get good storage. Like, seriously, wish for a harddrive your next birthday or christmas or whatever. If you're working traditionally wish for some good ringbinders and the good plastic sleeves. Much nicer than running out of storage and having to delete things. Never delete!

You are already an artist. You became one the second you picked up a pen and put it to paper, and then decided to keep going with that. So don't compare yourself. When you find yourself jealous of someone, it's because they have something you want. Figure out what it is, and make it for yourself.

Deadass? Tracing helps so much with learning forms. But it's only helpful when you also practice drawing the same things freehand.

The trick to coloring is just that everything looks good shaded with purple set to multiply, and that if you're ever in doubt go in an L shape on color wheel. Down in brightness, inwards in saturation.

People who say you can never use white or black in drawings are jerks and you should not listen to them. You can do literally everything you want. Sure, experiment with other ways of using white and black. But art advice is just that: It's an option, not gospel. As a wise prophet of our time, Justin Bieber, once said: Never say never.

People will say you should be your own biggest critic. But fuck that. Be your own biggest cheerleader. Love what you make, even when you hate it, find something that works. That stepping back I mentioned in point 6? Sometimes that's zooming out and saying "Damn! That looks really good!" – People will often make art out to be something that should be suffering and painstaking. It's not though. In my honest experience, I've made just as much good art when I was happy and content, as I did when I had severe depression and anxiety and burnout. You're not an artist because you suffer. You're an artist because you can't just sit in that suffering all the time. You know there's beauty besides your pain, and so you'll remind yourself in the act of creation that there is always something more.

Once you realise you have the power to draw truly anything, you'll start having a lot more fun. "Oh but I've never done it before" or "Oh I tried and it just didn't work" Okay. So?

In case of frustration to the point of throwing your art supplies out the window: Take a breath. Go for a walk. Sometimes it's just not your day. Sometimes the rollercoaster gets stuck in the middle of a loop or right at the top of a hill. Wait it out. Try again.

You have absolutely got this. Let me know if there's anything else I can help with.

[scarletsaphire]

This is the second fic I did for @ecto-implosion. This one was for @skarlettskwrl's art, which can be found here. Very cool art with a very interesting concept, lots of fun to write!

Summary:

Jazz moved away for college to start her own life, far away from ghosts. She didn't expect for her parents to finally capture the ghost boy and bring him to their lab. She didn't prepare to race back to Amity Park in an effort to save her brother from whatever grizzly fate awaited him. No matter how fast she went, she wasn't fast enough, or strong enough. She would never make that mistake again.

Trigger warnings for: Gore, violence, permanent disfigurement, dissection, unwilling transformation, patricide/matricide, bad parents jack and maddie, and wolves

Jazz's heavy breathing kept time with the pounding of her footsteps on the pavement, which in turn matched the pain in her head. She was tired. She was so, so tired, but that didn't matter. She couldn't stop. She was too late as it was.

Danny had assured her that he would be just fine. "You don't need to put your whole life on hold just to look after me," he'd said with a roll of his eyes. "I took care of myself just fine before you figured everything out."

Jazz had mirrored his eye roll. "Yes, because getting beaten up twice a day, failing your classes, and trying to give yourself stitches at one in the morning is taking care of yourself."

"I survived, didn't I?" He'd said.

"No, I'm pretty sure you didn't," Jazz had said. "But you are right. You've gotten better at taking care of yourself. And Sam and Tucker will still be here to clean up whatever messes you make." She ruffled Danny's hair. "I'll accept the offer."

The next few months had passed in a whirl of ghost fights and preparation until the day was finally here. Jazz had packed up her car with her belongings and had driven twelve hours to her new college campus. She'd declined her parents offer to help her move in; she appreciated it, of course, but she wanted to commit to the move - jumpsuits and the GAV weren't the greatest way to make a first impression.

Jazz wasn't able to disconnect from Amity entirely. She watched the news every day, normally as background noise while she studied. It was nice to see what her family was getting up to, even if it was normally accompanied by some kind of massive fight.

It was, of course, stressful. The first few days had her regretting her choice to move away at all, with every live report sending her down another spiral of what ifs. But she had been working on managing her anxiety, and she'd been a part of those fights enough to know how they would go; ghost shows up, Danny kicks butt, their parents show up, Danny runs away. She didn't need to worry.

And then Danny had gone down to a surprise Fenton Bazooka, gotten sucked into the thermos, and been carted away in the GAV, and Jazz knew she had messed up.

She'd already been awake for nine hours before she'd seen the news.

She hadn't grabbed anything besides her keys, hadn't even bothered to check traffic or the weather or anything. She just ran down to her car, skipping as many stairs as she could, and peeled out of the student parking lot. She'd driven as fast as she could, but the drive was still twelve hours, and she had to stop for gas, and she was still human and needed to eat and it didn't matter what she did she wouldn't be there fast enough.

Jazz was beyond tired by the time she entered Amity Park. If she hadn't pulled so many all-nighters in high school and then so many more as a part of Team Phantom, she would've been a mess. But she was fine. She was fine. She had to be fine because Danny-

She hoped that her hunch was wrong.

She hoped that she'd get home, and find her whole family, safe and sound sitting around the kitchen table, fighting off a hoard of ectodogs before deciding that they should just settle for takeout again. She hoped that Danny would be playing Doomed in his room and her parents would be down in the lab, trying to figure out how to remake their technology to not hurt Danny.

She hoped that Danny had gotten a chance to tell them and their love for their son was stronger than their hatred for ghosts or their need for knowledge.

Jazz hoped. But she knew her parents, and she knew, with a sick kind of certainty, what she would find when she finally reached Fentonworks.

Amity Park was nothing short of a disaster. Some time during her drive, another ghost had attacked. Neither Danny or her parents had answered the call, which left Valerie to try and take the threat down by herself. The roads were torn up from the fight, and traffic was at a complete standstill no matter what way Jazz tried to take.

It had only taken a few minutes stuck in traffic for Jazz to ditch her car entirely and start sprinting across town. She ignored the exhaustion clouding her brain, weighing down her arms and legs. She ignored the pain in her chest and her head.

She needed to keep going. She needed to be faster.

It took far too long for Fentonworks to come into view, another small eternity on top of the long one she'd already put up with in the car. She barreled up the front stairs, tugging on the door knob. It was locked. The door was never locked; locked doors didn't do anything to stop ghosts, and that was the only concern that warranted concern in the Fenton household. Jazz fumbled her keys out of her pocket. She squinted down at them, trying to figure out which one of them opened the door.

It took too long for her to figure out which one it was. It took too long for her tired, clumsy fingers to open the door. It took too long for her to get into the house. She shouldn't have left in the first place. What had she been thinking, abandoning Danny like that? Her own brother, who had been working so, so hard to keep everyone safe, and she'd just up and left.

She was a horrible, horrible sister.

She pushed her way into the house. It was dark, and quiet, and mostly clean. That was terrible. The only time Fentonworks was anything comparable to clean or quiet was when her parents were busy. And they were only ever busy when they were in the lab.

Jazz started the walk into the basement on shaking legs. She should be running. Maybe if she ran she would be able to stop them. She would run down the stairs to find her parents standing over an unconscious Danny. They'd be shocked to see her, and listen to what she had to say, and they'd apologize and hug her and Danny would wake up with no memories and a family that loved him.

Maybe, if she had stayed. Maybe if she had been faster. Maybe if she'd been a good sister. Maybe if she'd kept her promise and been the only other Fenton that put family first, that didn't get swept away in their own desires. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Maybes didn't matter right now.

Right now, Jazz was descending the stairs, and she could taste the sour tinge of ectoplasm mixed with a too-strong metallic flavor, and she could hear the sound of her parents talking, even if she couldn't make out the words. And then she turned the corner, and she could see.

The portal at the back of the room was the same bright green it almost always was, rendering most of the room as green tinged silhouettes. Everything except for the table in the center of the room, the blinding fluorescents all resting on three people and lighting the scene with blinding clarity. Jazz's family.

Jack had his back to her, humming a familiar tune to himself. His normal orange suit had an additional mask.

Jazz recognized it from a half dozen science experiments the two of them had worked on when she was younger. He'd worn it while they worked on her first baking soda volcano, Jazz wearing a much smaller, teal one. They'd added too much, and had gotten the mixture all over their suits. She remembered laughing about it as they wiped their hands across their faces, trying to clean off their eye protection.

Now, Jack's suit was covered in a bright green liquid, specks of red just barely visible in every splatter. His hands weren't busy wiping off a harmless foam, but carefully depositing something into a jar. It might've been a liver, but Jazz tore her gaze away before she could properly identify it. She didn't want to know what it was.

Unfortunately, her eyes found something so much worse. Maddie was dressed nearly identically to Jack. She was faced towards Jazz, just enough for her to make out Maddie's expression. Her face was steady, frozen in a look of concentration, but Jazz could recognize the glimmer of fascination in her eyes. A fascination that was directed at Danny, lying unconscious on the table.

At least, Jazz hoped he was unconscious. If he wasn't, then he'd be aware of Maddie's hands wrist deep in his chest cavity. He'd be aware of his skin peeled back and pinned to the sides of the table to keep it out of the way, as if it was nothing more than a nuisance for Maddie and Jack to deal with. He'd be aware of the fact that his organs were being carefully packaged into labeled jars, that he was being taken apart piece by piece as if he was some fucked up puzzle that they were going to rebuild later. If Jazz didn't do something, then maybe they would.

But Jazz was going to do something. She didn't know what, exactly, it would be, but it certainly wouldn't be pretty. She wanted to make them hurt, just like they'd made her baby brother hurt. But how could she? Jazz may be strong, but her parents were stronger.

And wasn't that just the theme of the day?

Jazz just wasn't enough. She wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough, wasn't dedicated to protecting her family enough to keep them safe and sane. And now she'd lost all of them.

It didn't matter.

She wasn't going to just stand there and watch. Even if she couldn't actually do anything, even if the only result was that she'd end up on the table next to Danny, then she'd do it. Jazz lunged down the next step, charging towards Maddie as fast as she could. She was the one who was hurting Danny. She was the one that needed to be stopped as soon as possible.

Somewhere in her leap, something shifted in Jazz.

Originally, her jump had been clumsy. She hadn't put any real thought into what she would do when she landed, pushed forward entirely by her frustration at herself, at her parents- at everything that had happened.

She definitely didn't put enough power and care to soar through the air, and yet that's what she was doing; her feet were stretched behind her, yet never so much as brushed the ground, even as she traveled further than she had intended to.

That was fine. It just meant she was closer to her goal.

Jazz landed crouched on the ground just ahead of where Jack was standing. She was moving again before his shocked yelp even reached her, continuing towards Maddie. Jazz tackled her, knocking Maddie away from Danny.

Good. That was the goal.

Jazz tore at Maddie with her hands, sharp claws tearing through both protective clothing and skin. Maddie shrieked, the sound shrill and loud. Maybe it was from how long Jazz had been awake, but the sound made her head spin.

She blocked it out. She couldn't afford to get distracted.

Her hand was sticky with blood when she felt the burning pain of an ectoplasm blast, she whirled around, snarling towards Jack. His eyes were wide with terror, a Fenton Blaster pointed directly at Jazz, the muzzle dripping the small bit of ectoplasm that had liquefied during the blast onto the floor.

Jazz almost laughed; was he really so far gone that he couldn't recognize either of his children? He should know that that wouldn't work on her.

Oh well. It worked in her favor.

She left Maddie bleeding on the floor, pushing off of the ground with her hands and feet. She stayed low; the Fenton Blaster might not be able to hurt her as badly as it might hurt a ghost might hurt Danny but it was still unpleasant. As long as he had the blaster in his hands, Jazz needed to stay small and fast. Another blast went over her shoulder, leaving a sizzling puddle on the ground where it hit.

That was her opening.

In just a few bounds, she was next to Jack. She wasn't sure what came over her, but before she could think, her mouth had closed around his leg, teeth digging into soft flesh. She could taste the latex of the jumpsuit he always wore, but the flavor was quickly washed away by the salty, metallic taste of blood.

Jack howled and tried to tear his leg away, but Jazz only bit down harder and harder. Distantly, Jazz could hear the sound of the Fenton Blaster being fired again and again, but Jack's aim was just as terrible as ever. Still, Jazz bit down harder.

The snap of bones between her jaw was not surprising.

Jack was strong, and his continued struggles only put more and more pressure on the bone. Honestly, the fact that Jazz had managed to keep the leg clenched between her teeth in the first place was impressive. With the breaking of his bone, Jack crumpled to the floor, the blaster flying from his hand and skidding across the metal floor with a horrible screeching noise that caused Jazz's ears to ring.

She let go of his leg and made her way so she was positioned just above Jack. His eyes were filled with tears, and broken pleas to not hurt him, to let him and his family go, that they didn't do anything wrong tumbled from his lips.

This time, Jazz did laugh at the irony of the situation, but all that came out was a low growl.

She could spare him; he'd learned his lesson about messing with her pack- he wouldn't be making that mistake any time soon. And he was still her father. Her eyes met his gloves, stained a sickening mixture of red and green.

No.

He hadn't had any mercy on her baby brother, on his own son.

She wasn't going to have any mercy on him.

Once again guided by instinct, she snapped down on his neck. Jack's strangled cry of pain was quickly stifled as he choked on his own blood.

Jazz stood up from the fresh corpse. She should wipe the blood from her mouth, but her job wasn't finished yet. Maddie was still whimpering and moaning from her side of the room, unable to move from the damage to her abdomen.

Jazz could finish her off now. It would be easy.

But Maddie wasn't her priority. She never had been.

Jazz padded up to the table to start assessing Danny's injuries. She could just barely see him, the edge of the table blocking most of her view. She must still have been crouched, even though she felt like she was standing.

She tried to straighten to her full height, only to find that she couldn't. Maybe she'd hurt something without realizing it, but she didn't feel hurt. The only pain was a slight sting from where Jack had hit her with the blaster.

If she wasn't able to stand, Jazz would just have to pull herself up. She reached both of her arms to the table, trying to grab the edge and was met with the sight of clawed paws drenched in blood. She flinched backwards, and the paws flinched with her.

Oh. That was her.

Jazz felt the familiar feeling of panic surge in her chest yet again, carrying with it the taste of bile. She forced it back down and returned to her quest of getting to Danny. She couldn't afford to panic right now, not while Danny was on the table bleeding out. Everything else was a secondary concern.

This time, when she lifted her paws, she did not flinch away. Moving felt weird, now that she was aware of the changes, but she managed to lift her head up to get her first clear look at Danny.

She wished she hadn't. Just as she had seen before, his abdomen had been cut in a neat Y shape, the skin peeled back and held down by evenly spaced clamps. His rib cage was exposed to air, and the left rib bones had been severed, letting her see straight to the thin layer of flesh on the other side, no organs or muscle to block her view. His stomach cavity was exactly that; a cavity. Everything had been removed until all that was left were some twitching muscles.

His face had not been spared from the mutilation. His mouth had been pried open with a metal gag, the device still stuck between his lips. Teeth had been forcibly extracted, the front part of his tongue had been cut off, and dried blood and ectoplasm pooled in his open mouth. His eyelids were pulled back, similarly to his torso, and his eyes had been completely removed. The cavities left behind had been filled with some kind of brownish silicone mixture. They had been trying to make a mold. Jazz didn't know what to do. If she'd had hands, then she'd be able to gather the organs, stitch Danny's torso back together, and inject him with the emergency ecto dejecto. If they were lucky, then he might be ok, at least physically. Eventually. But now she didn't even have that small hope.

She couldn't stifle the whimper that came out of her throat. She couldn't recognize it as her own, far more animalistic than any sound she should be able to make. By all accounts, nobody should be able to recognize it as her, and yet the moment the sound passed her lips, Danny's mouth opened.

His voice was broken, garbled and strained, but his words were still understandable. "Jazz?" he whispered. He seemed to be trying to lift his head to turn and look at her. He couldn't, obviously. Jazz couldn't actually reply, couldn't offer the comforting words she wanted to, no matter how empty they may have been. She couldn't offer the apologies she'd been reciting in her head for hours now. All she could do was whimper again.

"I..." Danny said. He gave up trying to move, letting his head and neck go limp. "I knew you'd come."

If Jazz hadn't forced Danny to drive her to the Far Frozen to learn ghost medicine, she would have panicked as Danny's body started to glow a soft blue, and then started to collapse in on itself until all that was left was a glowing orb in the same color Danny had glowed. But she had, so instead she saw it as a symbol of hope.

It was very, very hard to permanently end a ghost. Most of their physical forms were built on ectoplasm, so they could sustain a lot of damage. Even the worst injuries could be healed in time. However, in the case that they were seriously injured, they could retreat. Reduce themselves to just their core, focusing all of their energy into fixing their form.

Doing this meant that ghosts could heal nearly everything in a matter of weeks, sometimes sooner. It wasn't something that could just happen at any time; the ghost needed to feel truly, completely safe, and even then, it took energy to condense like that, so if a ghost was too far gone by the time they got somewhere safe, they wouldn't be able to do it.

Danny had enough energy to retreat into his core, and had trusted Jazz enough to do it. As long as Jazz kept him safe, then he would heal. He would be ok. Jazz nudged Danny's core gently off the table and into her mouth. She'd seen videos of dogs carrying eggs in their mouths before, and figured that was the best way for her to get Danny out of the lab. She was surprised to find how natural it was, even with how incredibly cold Danny's core was.

Jazz made her way out of the lab, not sparing so much as a glance at the carnage she left behind.

She had already failed Danny once. She wouldn't be letting him down again.

[ferhog]

Getting into Metroid This Past Month:

I first learned about Metroid (as well as most Nintendo franchises that weren't Pokemon and Mario) through my friend's copy of Smash Bros Brawl at around the age of 9. Samus being a hot lady underneath the cool set of power armor left enough of an impression for me to try and draw her from memory, but I otherwise had no interest in actually playing her games for most of the following decade and a half. In that time I learned a bit of her lore from Smash Trophys, Game Theory videos, and watching the first few minutes of Other M cutscenes to hear the lady from Smash Bros talk, but it wasn't until shortly after the release of Metroid Dread when I watched some late game cutscenes from the game and GameXplain's Metroid movie pitch video that I became interested enough in the story of the games and Samus as a character that I decided to downlo- I mean obtain copies of Zero Mission and Fusion for my Visua- I mean Gameboy Advance, which I held off on starting until I worked through my gaming backlog more, and it was earlier this summer that I decided the time had come.

The Metroid Manga: Before starting Zero Mission as my first game I read the manga so I'd get a good sense of Samus' backstory before starting. Now I knew what to roughly expect thanks to the Gamexplain movie pitch adapting much of the story, but overall I enjoyed it more than I was expecting. I probably don't need to tell you that Ridley was the absolute highlight. His pure evil is matched only by Louie from Pikmin in terms of Nintendo villains and it got me very invested in his rivalry with Samus throughout the games. Aside from that, my favourite part of the manga was Samus' characterization and her relationship with her bird dads. I have a real soft spot for all adoption related tropes so I really like the idea that Samus was taken in by what was once the most important race in the galaxy and inherited their legacy of keeping the peace, which she basically turned into a job via bounty hunting. However a lot of what the manga does is better in concept than in execution, as the art is hard to follow a lot of the time and much of the story is sped through quite quickly, no thanks to how much time is spent with the extensive cast of side characters. When Samus started her zero mission I held off on finishing the story until I played the game, and while I'm glad that they went with adapting the game at the end because we got to see a climactic fight against Ridley it is super bizarre that they didn't commit to the idea and just stopped when Samus reached Mother Brain. The manga is absolutely worth reading but best thought of as a companion to Zero Mission, probably best read afterwards.

Metroid Zero Mission: My experience with Metroidvanias was basically just Hollow Knight, the first Dark Souls, and Bloodborne, and while I was excited to experience the same sense of adventure I also feared getting lost as per this franchise's reputation. However I surprisingly managed to make my way though the whole game with only one thing I had to look up, which embarrassingly was the same mistake David Jaffe infamously made in Dread, as I failed to realize I could shoot a ceiling open even with enemies there to hint that I could. I think the game has the perfect balance between freedom and guidance as someone's first Metroid game through the chozo statues that mark your next destination without telling you how exactly to get there. Combine that with it being a remake of the first game and I think it was just the perfect game for me and anyone else to start with. My biggest issue gameplay-wise was just the fights against Mother Brain and the two black Space Pirates were very frustrating, the latter because the combat just didn't feel designed for a fight that reflex based, at least not for a newcomer. After finishing the game I felt compelled to earn the Zero Suit Samus ending, which I accomplished by constantly scouting out the optimal routes and resetting so I could get through them as fast as possible.

AM2R: I wanted to play these games in story order so I knew I had to play some version of Metroid 2 next. After trying out the original Metroid that you unlock after beating Zero Mission I figured the pre-NES games weren't going to be fun for me so I wanted to play either AM2R or Samus Returns, and I went with the former as it would be easier to find and would be closer to the game I just finished. The game is a very impressive feat for a fan-made project, though I think it was the one I had the least fun with overall. A few hours into the game I listened to the Some Call Me Johnny review which mentioned it being very hard, and that made sense considering it was a fan project by big Metroid fans for big Metroid fans, but it did result in a few of the bosses being quite frustrating with how much skill they demanded, particularly with the space jump which I struggled to understand the timing of. I didn't feel like instantly replaying it as I did with Zero Mission but I really loved how they adapted the ending.

Super Metroid: "This SNES game probably won't hold up that well right?" Thought the guy whose first console was the PS2.

Super Metroid is one of the greatest games of all time.

Metroid Fusion: I was real intrigued going into this game given what I'd heard about its linearity and extra story focus compared to the prior games but it was still a shock going straight from 2 playthroughs of Super Metroid to this. It didn't even really feel like Metroid, especially with how you were essentially playing through levels via Adam sending you through specific locations with specific tasks. Eventually I got used to it and fully accepted it as a Metroid game as I was increasingly required to be more explorative, though I think of all Metroid games I've played it has the most needlessly abstract methods for mandatory progression. The example which I eventually gave up on and looked up was the yellow Space Pirate X which which could only be damaged with a shot to the back apparently? There was seemingly no visual hints for that and the doors didn't even open if you absorbed the X before they formed the Space Pirates. While I figured out the other examples on my own I just felt I had to blow up way more seemingly random walls than normal. The bosses were generally very fun except for everything about Yakuza. A super long lead up to a boss that kept killing me super easily before I figured out how to avoid its grab attack, followed by a struggle to regain health for the ensuing SA-X encounter with how little health you get from enemies that could fly in out of nowhere and do more damage to you than you were regaining. Speaking of the SA-X, it wasn't in the game as much as I was expecting, but each encounter was quite memorable, especially when I was hiding behind power bomb blocks and it dropped a power bomb. Overall I didn't like most of this game's choices, but I like it when franchises try new things so I wouldn't say anything should have been changed except for how much health you get from enemies. This was the 2nd game I didn't feel like instantly replaying.

Metroid Prime: As of writing this I am currently a few hours into the first Metroid Prime, specifically having just gotten the boost ball. The Metroid formula was very well translated into 3D and the visuals have aged amazingly. I may be playing a remaster but most remasters still don't look this modern. But curiously this has been the Metroid game I've spent the most time away from during a playthrough, going several days without picking it up again. It's not that I dislike playing it, I just don't feel as much of a strong desire to keep coming back to it. Maybe I just feel the need to catch up on other stuff after playing so much Metroid. I do think I'll get around to playing the rest soon enough.

One of my biggest impressions overall is that Metroid is actually quite underrated despite how iconic it is. Samus seems mostly remembered as a Smash Bros character and her iconic twist as one of gaming's first female protagonists, but it doesn't seem like that many people actually play the games. It's also funny that while Samus is famous as a sex symbol in the Smash Bros and general gaming fandoms, it seems that the actual Metroid fandom prefers their Samus cooler than sexy. Anyway I'm looking forward to eventually picking up Dread, the game which first hooked my interest into this franchise, and the other 2 Prime games. Maybe I'll even pick up Other M if I see it around.

[velvet-vox]

What makes you think Doll wasn't a fully realized character in the pilot when the concept art clearly shows she has the Solver?

That's technically not exactly proof or anything, but it relates to that one reblog I saw you do. Doll clearly was suppose to have the Solver even at that point and could possibly fight the DDs. Which was kinda the point of the whole thing. She still might not have been fully realized but when it comes to how you were using it, I think that point is invalid.

(also, I'm not the anon that asked the original question. Figured you could tell that from the different writing styles but wanted to make sure you knew that)

I assume that this is the post you're talking about, the one with my reblog:

About that concept art of Doll with the Solver, knives, and evil smile, I always assumed that it was drawn and released after the pilot aired, as I wasn't aware of the fact that it dated all the way back to the first few drafts of the story.

If it really is that old, please, show me the date of its public release, so that I can get a better idea of the thought process behind her character's realisation.

Anyway, if post-pilot and pilot Doll were always intended to be Solver users, then I have two possible explanations as to why episode 1 Doll didn't protect the colony from J and V, both of them based around one of these theories: Doll's parents died during the pilot, or Doll's parents died before the pilot.

- In the case of the former, it's likely that Doll wasn't as courageous or as skilled with the Solver when the Disassemblers came in; with this timeline of events, V killed Doll's parents in front of her, then, the russian escaped to that giant storage room where the battle takes place, and as N and Uzi drag away V, Doll's left to metabolise her trauma and slowly begins her villain arc, the Solver activates as a result of high mental distress, and she starts to practice her powers, which would then lead to the events of the show.

This explanation is, admittedly, the least plausible, as many people have already pointed out all the issues with the "Doll's parents died during the pilot" theory, leaving the second one to be the most likely.

- For the ladder, I believe that Doll was in a state of panic and shock when J and V barged in, we saw this happen on numerous occasions (when she starts to backpedal from Uzi after failing to use her Solver powers against her, how she starts to hyperventilate when her death scene plays out): Doll, to me, looks like someone who prefers to be in control of whichever situation they are in (she's so me fr :) and whenever she can't plan ahead her next couple of steps, she's left stunned and doesn't know what to do next until she recomposes herself; she was probably asking herself if it was worth it to reveal her powers now knowing how much attention that would bring to her.

With all of that said and done, I still don't believe that the Doll that we saw in the pilot was already fully realised as the final version of Doll that we see in the show; there are a small handful of things that don't line up together:

Pilot Doll and her correspondents fanarts (the aforementioned smiling evil one with the bloody knives and the one with Lizzie and Thad in it) portray Doll as a somewhat happy and outgoing individual, one who enjoys bullying Uzi, while in stark contrast, canon Doll barely smiles or emotes, and if this line from Lizzy in ep 3 is anything to go by "Dude, no one is going to notice she is missing, just do your thing and I'll let in V", Doll was apparently against killing off Uzi.

It is my personal theory that, since Khan was originally intended to be the main antagonist of the show, and was most likely going to be a complex, layered douche rather than a straight up villain, the series was going to be far more comedic and less story focused than it ended up being.

Therefore, I believe that Doll, in this old version of the story, was conceived as a far more evil opponent meant to serve as a threat, kind of like our current Cyn; there's a lot of proof that demonstrates that the Absolute Solver was always a planned event, and although I am unable to tell how much concept Solvy deviates from their final implementation, I'm fairly certain that Liam Vickers originally intended Doll to be another, more reoccurring Pure Evil villain, and as the various rewrites went along he started to give her more and more sympathetic traits, while still maintaining some of her original Pure Evil roots in the story.

This would explain a lot of the various problems that I, someone who spends an ungodly amount of time thinking about Doll, often find when analysing her.

Also, no, I don't think my point isn't invalid, as it was extremely vague; in that reblog I've literally stated "Pilot Doll wasn't a fully realised character yet, I'm sure Liam Vickers would have changed the scene if the development of her character was completed by that point".

"Changed" in this context can mean literally anything, like changing the facial expressions she's making in one frame, it doesn't necessarily mean a rewrite, and since you yourself have pointed out that she might not have been fully realised by the time of the pilot, I don't think that the concept art showing her using the Absolute Solver means much when I didn't even specify how the scene would have played out alternatively.

[satyrmagos]

Well, friends, I've been talking about doing it for almost two years, now. Starting the next billing cycle, it's finally going to happen: I am updating the reward tiers to better reflect my ability to deliver on my promises.

The two most significant changes I'm making are that most rewards are going down at least one tier, and the patron-only podcast is going away. 

$1 patrons are getting a lot more. That's partly because I'm hoping to entice more patronage, but mostly because I can't seem to be trusted to make sure I'm posting to the right tier level when I click "publish". Also, the distinction between "authorial navel gazing" and "updates on behind-the-scenes projects" is ... razor thin, at best.

I don't know how many of you actually listened to the patron-only podcast. I hope it wasn't dear to you. Actually, I hope it was, because it physically hurt me to make it. Those twenty-to-thirty-minute recordings took me two or three hours two write, record, and edit, and every minute of it was agony, because I hate the sound of my own voice with a fiery passion. I sound neither butch enough to match my actual face nor femme enough to match my self-image nor alien enough to make the difference interesting; I just sound like some fuckin' nerd, and I hate it.

Other changes include rebranding all the tiers, removing the email address reward (which did not turn out to have any public appeal), and the photo print rewards (which I failed to deliver on). I may change the names again if I can think of a more stylish or coherent scheme.

If these changes make you want to downgrade or cancel your support, I totally understand. I am, in effect, arbitrarily changing the terms of service.

Thank you all so much for your patronage and support over the years. I hope that, having taken a bit of pressure off of myself, I will be able to better deliver on my promises going forward.

Now, here's a breakdown of the new tiers:

$1 – Lunar Priestex

The bread-and-butter tier of Patreon! Welcome, friends, and thank you.

This peer-to-peer support tier provides you access to a feed of patron-only content including but not limited to:

Early access to Journey Through the Obsidian Dream blog posts and any other short and medium form public writing

First viewing of new jewelry designs (except when I occasionally get too excited and share them on twitter without thinking)

First dibs on consecrated talismans

Authorial navel-gazing – essays and rants about the process of art and art-making

Worldbuilding information that will not be available anywhere else (unless I someday get famous and can publish one of those cool series encyclopedias.)

Archive of patron-only fiction

Archive of astrological images and devotional artwork

Archive of concept art for my writing projects and dnd games

First word on behind-the-scenes projects, and updates as they come

$3 – Venusian Adept

For my friends and colleagues with a little more love to give, I have a small back room with a few nicer pieces to share.

Access to drafts of previous year’s National Novel Writing challenges

Access to a growing collection of high-res occult-themed wallpapers

Plus all previous rewards

$7 – Jovial Patron

For those who can afford to offer a little bit more, first viewings of my work at its most raw: my photography and my unedited writing.

First viewing of photo shoots

Annual access to my National Novel Writing Month projects as I write them, near-daily updates in the month of November

Plus all previous rewards

$13 – Solar Monarch

Only a king can afford to be so generous.

20% off jewelry and merchandise anywhere I sell anything

Plus all previous rewards

$21 – Saturnian Hierophant

Truly, you are among the elect, the embodiment of wisdom at the threshold of the immortal. For this level of support, I can give only my most heartfelt thanks.

[regarding-stories]

Roundup of the backlog... returns!

As the Bloodhound Gang said... I had a lot of time. So, naturally, I watched anime and read some light novels and manga!

But I didn't end up writing about them. Fail. So let's give some at least a mention.

Hell's Paradise

The protagonist is a shinobi/assassin from a village who trains lots of them, finally up for the chopping block due to a betrayal. His executioner is a female sword master. Because the shogun craves an immortality elixir, both of them end up on a cursed island full of a strange remix of the Daoist, Buddhist, and other afterlives, fighting for their lives and seeking the elixir. As the story unfolds, more than a few things unravel.

Visually stunning, rather gory and violent, interesting concept and execution. Nasty butterflies, though.

Wave, Listen to Me!

Series focused on a woman who doesn't have her life together, ending up getting a radio show for her artful rants. The story is irreverent, doesn't thrive on typical anime tropes, and sometimes the protagonist is just... endless cringe. As such the whole thing is relatable and aimed at adults, for a change.

Intense, too... Give it a try, you might like it.

Listeners

I'm feeling like I'm spoiling something major here, but it gets revealed very early on, so here's the synopsis: Guy finds girl on trash yard and recognizes her as a "Player" because she has... a place to connect an audio cable? He then shows her the "Equipment" he restored which turns out to be a... guitar amplifier. Yes, the thing that takes electric guitar signals and makes them loud and awesome. And when she jacks in... it turns into a giant mecha under her control, in a design resembling the original guitar amp.

Fuck yeah!

So, "Players" battle a thread called "the Earless" with the help of their "Equipment." Expect to see a lot of classic guitar amps, mecha designs lovingly crafted to incorporate what made them stand out, and a deluge of references to all kinds of music, including ... Einstürzende Neubauten?? Yes, this is definitely from Japan.

The Prince/Artist Formerly Known Of... episode kinda sucks, but it's a solid anime with a unique twist in how it tells a story involving giant mecha, and some of its pop culture jokes are priceless.

The Angel Next Door Spoils Me Rotten

Unsurprising plot surprisingly well executed. Girl that's sweet on a boy starts showing up to take care of him. Takes him all season to get a clue (because Japanese rom-com). Wraps up with the season.

Generally sweet and I enjoyed it all the way through.

Hinamatsuri

Girl from the future with telekinetic superpowers shows up on Yakuza middle manager's doorstep. Yes, he kind of becomes her dad.

Everything about this show is weird (and so is the original manga, which you could get for cheap on Humble Bundle). It mostly features girls at high school age suddenly thrust into the world of adults, working jobs, for example, a theater of the absurd.

Blew my mind when it actually gave serious consideration to the life of homeless people in Japan. (In a dignified way, for sure.)

One of the weirder shows out there while still featuring a plot progression and character arcs. Go figure.

Malevolent Spirits: Mononogatari

In this show, objects can take on spirits and this gives those spirits access to the mortal realm. Meet an overzealous guy with tragic backstory who is tasked with policing them. To teach him a softer touch, he's thrust into a household with a young woman (with a tragic backstory) and five such spirit-people who enlisted in helping fight out-of-control spirit-people. Of course he doesn't like them at first, bonds form, lots of dramatic battles and slow personal change.

So, this is basically a slow-boiling romance between two unusual people interwoven with something that resembles a bit a police procedural, definitely a lot of action, and a growing cast of characters. Expect intrigue and some gray areas, too.

It's really hard to summarize this show, it's actually better to watch it!

Masamune-kun's Revenge

Masamune was a fat kid who got his heart broken in the most cruel way (and beaten up), so he got obsessed with working out. When he realizes the girl that did that to him is the man-hater of his new high school, he begins to plot revenge - to make her fall for him and then cruelly dump her.

Many people apparently expected that to go straightforwardly, but the series is actually full of plot twists and a somewhat sweet romance story.

The problem is that it at some point doesn't know how to sustain its own continuation, so instead of winding down, it throws more plot twists at us. Also expect lots of "never communicate" moments.

It has some nice characters going for itself. It also has some of the worst character intros. And whenever it seems to finally go well (in terms of a resolving narrative), it reverts to some unfortunate harem logic - which it didn't set up properly, either, so it doesn't really pay off. This prevents this show from getting truly good - it probably paced itself wrong, and then flails making up for it.

Zom 100: Bucket List of the Dead

Wow, this show is surely grim in its look on reality. Meet the protagonist, working a dead-end job for a black company. He literally works all the time, his life unravels, sleep-deprived, unable to enjoy any of it. Watch his descent into becoming a mindless capitalist zombie...

And then the actual zombie apocalypse happens. What a relief!

So, Japan is afflicted by a massive outbreak, almost everyone is dead, Tokyo is overrun by zombies that move way too fast, but this guy sets out to do 100 things to enjoy life before he dies. Somehow this struck a nerve, because it already got a live-action adaptation while the anime adaptation is also released.

It has strong art, it's super-gory at times, its humor is extremely dark, but most of the time it's fun to watch. (Just not while eating dinner.)

And all the parts really hard to watch are when we see the psychological abuse heaped on our main character in the workplace. That tells you something... Here the show is absolutely merciless. No kidding.

Am I Actually the Strongest?

Japan's anime industry is a hungry beast, and for plots it mostly surveys its enormous manga (so it also saves on original designs) and light novel markets. And there are only so many original ideas, it seems. So a lot of books with unimaginative titles exist, something on the nose like (I made these up) "Vampire Maid from Another World" or "Strongest Necromancer Now Reincarnated As Manga Store Clerk". And you would be surprised how many of these end up being picked up to be given at least one anime season. (Bottom of the barrel, anyone?)

"Am I Actually the Strongest?" is taking such a "remix premise" but it definitely has good execution. Boy is reborn in another world, and the ditzy goddess in charge of his case actually tries to make him an absolutely overpowered magician, but she fails to give him a magic school because she doesn't understand the magic system. He's born to royalty but since his magic is off the scale, the magic detection ritual actually reads it as almost non-existent, and he's discarded in the woods. Yes, a comedy of errors unfolds.

(Can't find any GIF for this I'm willing to show.)

The show makes fun of some of the Isekai genre's tropes, and follows our protagonist around as he rises in the world while actually trying to return to the lazy shut-in life he enjoyed before. So his character arc is actually involuntary and maybe driven by his care for this growing cast of people around him.

All in all a decent show, but expect some typical anime shenanigans.

The Girl I Like Forgot Her Glasses

Did I mention on-the-nose titles? Middle schooler has a crush on the girl sitting next to him. Luckily for him, she always forgets her glasses and apparently is almost blind as a bat without them.

Slowly this unfolds into a sweet little love story where he constantly tells himself (to an annoying degree) that she's not into him to keep the tension just a bit longer.

It's one of those guilty little pleasures where you wonder how they twist it in the next story, but we all know the premise is stupid.

Konosuba

Speaking of idiot goddesses. Konosuba is a parody on the Isekai and fantasy genres. Guy dies trying to save someone (but it was actually unneeded), so he gets to reincarnate in a fantasy world, allowed to take "one thing" with him to aid him in his quest against the Demon Lord. Since the ditzy goddess pisses him off, he chooses her, and he ends up in that world without a special skill and with her by his side.

His party soon fills up with two also completely weird characters - a wizard who can cast only one giant explosion per day and then collapses, and a crusader knight who misses every swing but can withstand massive punishment on the front line. The wizard is a "loli" obsessed with only one kind of magic and no other skills, and the knight is a beautiful but completely perverted masochist who says the most outrageous things throughout the series while on the surface pretending to want to remain chaste. The goddess herself is spoiled and wastes money, and spends the majority of her skill points on (surprisingly expensive) party tricks.

This is one show that takes neither itself or its genre serious, sometimes to its detriment. You'd wish at some point that it was more plot-focused or its characters had more sense... yet it relies on this setup for humor. It still grew on me.

It definitely is a show full of boob jokes, though. Excessively so. They aren't very funny, either. A very self-referential anime full of tropes to boot - and that part is funny.

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 32

Crossroad Blues/Tooth and Claw

I think I'm in for two good episodes tonight...

"Crossroad Blues"

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: Are we getting our first glimpses of hell hounds? (as far as we really get glimpses of them anyway) Sorry to this man, but you don't trade away your soul for the ability to play an instrument (if that's what you did). You better be the best there's ever been already when your soul is on the line. Yet to be seen...but I don't think I'd be selling my soul, so they wouldn't be after me anyway...

Dean, that's definitely a "you're right but you didn't have to say it" kind of thought. Not every...no, I don't know that there are very many people who would be thinking about how much or...how hard a hell hound could hump your leg...

DEAN DOESN'T KNOW WHAT MYSPACE ISSSSS. Poor thing. Also...omg MYSPACE being relevant. But '06 is about right. Facebook is still pretty much just for college students. They MIGHT have opened it up to high schoolers by then.

Man, this demon was just making deal after deal at that bar. Makes sense, I promised to name my first born Red Gyarados while at a bar with friends once.

Ok. I get it now. The demon at this particular crossroads is REALLY, REALLY PRETTY. But you wanted to make that pact BEFORE you saw her, sir.

OKAY. If so few people believe in the supernatural in this fictional universe, how are all these people making this many pacts in so little time?

This guy's the only one..........oh, sorry. It's an "Oh, Dean" time for me. Them piecing together and stewing over the fact John made that deal.

This demon is good....at being a demon, not actually good.

This...music is not sounding good for this demon. Don't worry, Dean. You will know sooner or later (end of next season) what Hell is like.

Sam's worry and uncertainty as to what Dean was planning on doing when he trapped the demon is...I wanna give him a hug

Not a bad episode. The information they got was important, but there was just a lot of "this person made a deal and so we need to track them down" that...just didn't interest me

"Been On My Mind...": The demon kisses to seal their pacts, but otherwise...nothin'

"Tooth and Claw"

...why do I feel like I've turned on the wrong show?? Seems like it's at least from the right country, but this opening scene is....just...wtf. Why was there a huge martial arts fight??

Ok. I am actually watching the right show. Still. What. the actual. fuck. was that opening?!

Hearing David get to use his natural Scottish accent IS in fact doing things for me. And Rose trying to copy and FAILING MISERABLY is perfection

7 minutes in and I couldn't agree more with the post I reblogged a few days ago. Those two definitely fucked since the last episode

Oh...oh. THIS is where Torchwood as a concept begins (physically, it's already been mentioned several times in the show, even if I didn't. Somehow, I never watched Torchwood.)

OH THAT TELESCOPE. it's BEAUTIFUL.

For a scene that consists of food being prepared and Rose going through the lady of the house's closet, the music is INTENSE.

Ooooo jumpscaaare. Maid in the closet. Starts telling Rose everything as all the guards get drugged. This is a WEIRD episode for on that deals with time travel and not space travel.

So...the werewolf is actually an alien possessing a human?

One of my favorite things about Doctor Who especially in this era is how fake the CGI monsters look. Like, I love practical effects when you can do them, but there's something about bad TV CGI that I really do like. It's charming, in a way that bad CGI in movies isn't

Watching the Doctor figure out that there's a trap within the trap for Queen Victoria that's meant for the wolf is like watching Brian David Gilbert try to reconcile the Legend of Zelda timeline, and I have to wonder if he got any inspiration for his whole thing for Unraveled from this.

The diamond...as soon as I saw it, I knew it was meant to go in that telescope

Also the piecing together historical fact with what has just occurred in the episode, making the royal family werewolves this time around is always a fun time.

(I think I wrote too much the other day and I'm suffering because of that)

[comicaurora]

hello! i have a couple questions!!

ysee im in a situation. over the years, i have made Serious Attempts at starting a comic with EIGHT different projects, and none of them have stuck. One of them i even made it 60 pages in before tanking. now im right at the brink of starting my CURRENT project! … for the fifth time…!!

needless to say i am sliiiiiiiiightly worried that this is going to turn out like the last 200,000 attempts. so like.

how do you know when you're ready to start a story?

do you have any experience with false starts, and if so how did you know that this time wasn't just another false start?

how did you handle the transition from the concept and planning part to the actual comic making part ?

and how do you keep going now?

thanks !!!

Whoof, that's a toughie.

I don't know how helpful this will be, but in my experience the only difference between a false start and a long-term commitment is just a matter of willpower - of choosing to keep going after you hit the first wall. Because there will be walls! Every project will eventually hit a bump where you question the value of the entire concept - a tricky bit of plot, an arc you need to scrap and rework, a character you can't get a handle on, a general sense of imposter-syndrome malaise. In fact, if you stick with it long enough, you'll discover that this is a regular occurrence. Walls happen.

The trick, in my experience, is that the wall is a signal, not that the project is a failure or you need to stop, but that you need to put the story down for now. Stories often get polished and worked on when you're NOT actively trying to make progress. My dad calls this "the better writer in the back of your head." That subconscious work can't be done if you're consciously focusing on it, and if you hit a wall where something just isn't working, your BWITBOYH needs a chance to look it over, draw a few connections you maybe hadn't seen, and then bump it back to the front of your brain for approval and execution.

So, ironically, the trick to sticking with a story long term is knowing that when you put it down you can always pick it back up. If an inactive project feels "abandoned" or "failed", you end up with all these negative emotions attached to it that repel you and keep you from picking it back up. That mindset is the real issue - not the work itself. ANY art can have merit; it's not a flaw in the project or in your creative process that makes you step away. The problem is the guilt and the feeling that "oh I ALWAYS abandon things", because that means a natural and unavoidable step in the creative process is just going to make you feel bad and reinforce this spiral. The projects won't judge you for putting them down, and even if you don't end up finishing them, there is always value in picking them back up!

Aurora is a long term project, but there are days - weeks, even - where I make no progress. Months have gone by with me stalled on a storyboard wrestling with writer's block and questioning the point of everything. The trick is I know I can and should indulge those moods, because as long as I don't let it spiral off into self-pity, I'll be chipping away at the problem in the back of my head. I was stalled for literal weeks choreographing an upcoming encounter and what ended up breaking the block was just a tiny new addition - "what if this character had a tool that could do this one thing?" Five pages of storyboarding flowed out that day, and then five more the next, all reshaped by that one additional tool. I'm currently stalled out processing exactly how a single small interaction is going to play out - I know the shape of it, but the character specifics are currently nebulous and hinge on a few larger-scale things I maybe want to use it to plant and pay off. With no angst in this process, I'm not at risk of becoming bogged down in bummers and losing my grip on the story. I know I'll pick it back up, because nothing is stopping me.

[mt-words]

Can we get some dream smp fandom positivity posts? As someone who posts mostly analysis and has never once had someone say anything rude in response, I think we perceive the fanbase as more toxic than it is because of a few outspoken individuals. Y'all are pretty chill and I like you.

In no particular order-

I love that Eret’s fans come up with such cool theories, I swear she could give you two sentences of lore and I could see three five page essays on what it could mean about their character within an hour and each of them is unique, intricate, and makes logical sense.

I love the compilations Foolish fans make of him doing ridiculous things on stream, he’s a fun guy that never fails to make me laugh and everything I see from them embodies that energy to me.

I love how creative Hannah’s fans are, you take the awesome ideas she has and turn them into the most amazing designs and concepts.

I love that Techno’s fans might write a ten page essay about his character or just say they enjoy watching him do crime, and you never know which it will be because both come from the same people.

I love how Philza’s fans embrace everything he does with so much enthusiasm. His chat is a flock of crows? Excellent, they can work with that, you will see fifty incredible pieces of art and a hundred theories in the first hour and they’re just getting started.

I love that Niki’s fans are so careful to pay attention and not miss any details. It has been ages and I still see occasional mentions and theories about the “Dear Friend” letter.

I love that Fundy’s fans are very empathetic, they love to find and elaborate on the connections between characters and that’s pretty cool!

I love Tommy’s fans for their energy. They seem passionate about making things right and hopeful that no matter what your situation is things can get better. I’ve seen so many breathtakingly emotional art pieces from this side of the fandom.

I love that George’s fans unapologetically simp for him but then catch me off guard by making deep insights about his character.

I love how Bad’s fans are as genuinely sweet as he is, they’re willing to really look at everything that makes up a character and see the tragedy of it and have compassion about things. And some just want to see an egg rule the server, c'mon, it would be funny.

I love the running gag with Skeppy fans of making Skeppy critical posts, y’all are hilarious.

I love how Purpled fans play up his lack of lore as him being an incredibly powerful cryptid, and they’re right. He totally carried the wither fight on Nov 16th.

I love the balance Quackity fans have between a love of humor, justice, and darker topics. I think like Quackity they are often underestimated and thought of as the jokester side of the fandom to an extent, and then I start reading things they write and it’s well thought out and insightful.

I love that Tubbo’s fans love chaos, cute things, or both to an unhealthy extent. Seeing anything from them reminds me of princess unikitty in all the best ways, and then they turn around and throw a super in depth meaningful analysis at me in the next breath.

I love everything about Sapnap’s fans. Y'all are perfect. The writing and art from the born in fire line? Gold.

I love how Jschlatt fans are generally chill and just enjoy whatever they want to. Their favorite Manburg president was the one who publicly executed his right hand man and gave Dream a resurrection book for firepower, and he looked good doing it.

I love that Callahan has fans. You people are dedicated and I respect it. The fact that Callahan was one of the first names to pop up when everyone was trying to figure out who Harpocrates was even though he rarely involves himself with plot? Your influence knows no bounds.

I love that Alyssa’s fans are simply too powerful. She hasn’t played on the smp since way before I started watching and there are still people defending her barn and drawing pictures of her.

I love that Antfrost’s fans have taken so many ideas and just ran with them and made them awesome. Like him practicing magic? Perfect, he now carries potions and gets a wizard hat.

I love that Dream fans look at a character who has been portrayed as pure evil from many points of view and understand that Everyone has motives based on their situation, even if it isn’t handed to us in an easily understood way.

I love how Jack’s fans are so ready to support any action he takes. Crawling out of hell? Incredible. Killing a child? Good for him! Go team Rocket. Grieving the same child? Learning healthy coping, he’s the coolest.

I love that Connor eats Pants fans are the most reasonable people in this fandom. This is terrifying. Thank you for your service, you always make me smile.

I love that Punz fans unapologetically just love their capitalist mercenary. As they should, his presence always tips the scales and everything he does brings more depth to the characters and plots he interacts with.

I love how much Ranboo fans love complexity. Most of them aren’t afraid to admit that their favorite characters are flawed, because aren’t those flaws what make them interesting and relatable?

I love the variety of Hbomb fans. Half of them may be embracing the cat maid bit while the other half goes on about how impactful and cool L’cast is, but they’re all super chill.

I appreciate that Puffy fans take the time to understand so many perspectives. So many posts I see involving her tie in lore from other characters and find interesting ways to connect them and build them together, kind of like Puffy herself.

I love that Wilbur fans seem to approach the story like they’re solving a puzzle, carefully piecing together details from months apart to figure out how and why everything goes down.

I love how hard Ponk fans work to spread awareness of how awesome he is. Ponk says and does wonderful things and is very fun to watch. I never would have tried his content without them.

I love that Karl fans saw him wanting to be involved and started coming up with such cool ideas around his character that they actually made them canon. Correct me if I’m wrong, wasn’t the time traveler thing a fan theory at first?

I love the creativity Sam fans have with his design and their willingness to discuss complex moral issues. Sam is involved in some heavy lore stuff but he and his fans keep things entertaining and calm.

I’m sure I missed some things, please feel free to add on!