#you know its exam season when I start posting essays no one asked for

[octaviasdread]

Mrs Perry, the 50s Housewife & Neil

This entire post is inspired by a discord discussion so I can't take all the credit, but Mrs Perry gives off alllll the signals of a 50s housewife reliant on emotional suppression and prescription pills to cope with the demands of post-war society.

'They used barbiturates to aid in sleep, minor tranquilizers to ease anxiety, and amphetamines to help lose weight and boost energy. [...] Women’s pill consumption signals their difficulties, at times, before feminism of the era explicitly touched upon them' - Erin Brown, You Go to My Head: Women's Prescription Pill Use in Postwar America

Her smoking while she waits for Neil to return with Mr Perry from the play suggests a habit to cope with stress. It’s also notable that she hurries to put it out. Is this a further sign she’s smoking to relieve anticipation, or is it something she doesn’t want Neil to see?

And Mr Perry? His treatment of her can partly be explained by patriarchal family structure. What Mr Perry wants, Mr Perry gets. He is head of the family, and takes the lead in family communications with Neil, so much that beneath Mr Perry's repeated use of 'we,' it's difficult to discern how Neil's mother feels.

In the scenes set in the Perry house, we mainly see the family in Mr Perry's study. This direct parallel to Nolan's office INSIDE Neil's home emphasises the rule of authority over his life, and the extent of how trapped he is.

The parallel is important because Nolan's office is shown as a place of punishment for the students, and a reinforcement of their lack of agency.

More specifically, the deleted scenes show school clubs being dictated to the boys as they stand in front of Nolan’s desk. This confirms that school annual - and the editorial position that Neil earned - is taken from him on Mr Perry's whim, just as his whole life is ripped away the next time he stands beside a desk in Mr Perry’s office.

The hurt and betrayal Neil feels in these early scenes is hidden from Nolan, and he submits to the authority of his father. But Neil can no longer hide his hurt by the end. He has gained and then lost too much to accept the stricter controls Mr Perry is imposing.

So what does Mrs Perry do when faced with her son's obvious distress? Almost nothing.

Her worry for her son is real, but she shows no true support that Neil can rely on. He looks to her for help and comfort twice. The first time, she looks down, then back at Neil, and says nothing. The second time is after she begins to speak, but her one attempt fails, and she falls back into passivity.

She stands aside. It's as if Mrs Perry isn't really there, stuck behind an invisible boundary observing the damage as the scene unfolds.

It's only when Mr Perry leaves that she provides some fleeting comfort - but this comfort doesn't feel present to Neil. She doesn't articulate her support, doesn't touch him, or make signs that Neil can grasp without doubting her belief in him.

Instead of prioritising her son, she follows Mr Perry without complaint, leaving Neil to grieve alone for the loss of everything he holds dear.

This tiny scene says so much about the dysfunctional family dynamic Neil has been raised in. It's impossible to say when it started, or when his mother stopped advocating for Neil's emotional wellbeing, but there's definitely a bond - however strained - between mother and son that isn't shared with Mr Perry.

As @desire-mona has said, Mr Perry uses his wife and possibly her health to guilt and manipulate Neil into following his demands. There's definitely an argument to made for Mrs Perry having fragile health. If this is physical, or a 'nervous' ailment historically diagnosed in housewives, or a combination of the two isn't clear. Whatever it is, she must not be upset.

This puts a lot of pressure on a child, and Neil (understandably) complies under the threat. As the above scene implies, Neil is blamed, and likely blames himself, if Mrs Perry's symptoms get worse around the time he disobeys, or just fails to please his parents.

The Perrys different reactions to stress are clearest at the discovery of Neil's death. The shock causes Mr Perry to bypass anger (although anger returns in his search for someone - i.e. Keating - to blame) and his care for Neil surfaces. This is the first time his care is shown through sympathetic emotion rather than demands for Neil to succeed.

Mrs Perry hurtles into denial. Her body is reacting to distress, but she can't comprehend reality. 'He's alright,' she repeats, retreating into a fragile imagined safety to cope.

@pencileraser1 has also linked the parallels between Mrs Perry and Neil smoking to the possibility of an inherited mental illness.

Being raised in an emotionally abusive household, and internalising the shame of not conforming to Mr Perry's ideal would be enough to contribute to depression in Neil. But I think both mother and son could share dissatisfaction and a desire for escapism.

When faced with the constraints of the larger system they live under, their mental illness plays out in different ways.

Neil finds a healthier outlet behind the backs of authority through the club, acting, and finding an adult mentor to support him, while Mrs Perry has little to no opportunities to escape the confines of the home or the scrutiny of her community.

Once these opportunities (and coping mechanisms) are taken from him, Neil doesn't turn to smoking, escapist poetry, or other forms of temporary numbing. He's seen his parents suburban lives, seen the life they want for him, and perhaps he can't and won't live in quiet compliance the way Mrs Perry does.

I wonder how Mrs Perry copes afterwards? Does she see a decent therapist? Separate (but not divorce) from Mr Perry? Does she take pills and numb herself further? I don't think I want to know.

[luvrsunwooh]

Anything For You, my Darling.

This is the first post for my Prompt Generator series! This series is to help me get me back into the joy of writing. Hopefully, my writing gets better again.

Prompt:

About: You’re stressing about studying for your O.W.Ls and your constant nagging from your parents. Fred notices this stress, and takes you for a de-stress date to Hogsmeade.

Warnings: none.

A/N: I tried making this gender and house neutral! I also avoided using “Y/N”.

“You know, I’m very surprised you agreed to come out today.”

You turned your head to the source of the voice that interrupted the silence you were starting to enjoy. The same silence that had you enjoying the presence of the tall boy with the voice, and being lost in your thoughts. It was Fred who was the owner of that voice. Tilting your head in confusion as to why he was feeling that way, you responded.

“And what’s makes you surprised that I came out?” Fred and I continued walking, his glove-clad hands that intertwined with your bare ones. You realized you forgot your gloves half way to Hogsmeade. Fred swore you had them in your jacket pocket before you left the castle. Your empty hand is becoming numb and red due to the icy air and wet snow. You had wished you double-checked your pockets for those well wanted gloves.

“Love, you were neck deep in parchment and textbooks! What made you pull a Hermione and take so much classes? I was thinking you would rather study, since that has been a new hobby of yours. But I also don’t want you to turn into some mad woman because you’re holed up in the common room all day!” Fred giggles as he unclasps your fingers and wraps it around your shoulders, pulling you closer. His gloved hand takes your other hand and holds it. The warmth of his body travels to yours, making you feel a tad bit warmer.

“Hey, at least I wasn’t taking so much classes that a whole time traveling unit had to be used. Plus, Snape gave us two days to finish a very long essay. I can care less about Moonstone and it’s uses, and I can care less about potions in general.” A groan left your chapped lips as you were reminded of the half finished “Moonstone and it’s uses in Potion Making” essay that lies half finished on your bed.

But it was true, Fred had noticed you were working extra hard lately. Staying up late in your common room (Fred caught you in the library once covered in ink whilst writing another essay for Muggle studies.) Being in your fifth year was probably your hardest year. With your O.W.Ls exams coming up and wanting a head start in practicing on top of your current studies. It was also true that you were taking more classes than what the normal student would be taking. You silently blamed your third year self for choosing this much classes.

You seem to be studying so much, that Fred was starting to see you less and less. At the second week of this year, he asked you if you wanted to watch one of his Quidditch practices. You rejected his request due to wanting to study for your O.W.Ls. And before you know it, you’re spending your days, Fred-less and in the library with ink stains blotting fingers and textbooks. Once Fred realized you were doing more studying with little to no breaks, he decided enough was enough and wanted to take you out on a small date to Hogsmeade. Even though Fred has had enough of the trips to the small village (the excitement of the idea wearing thin), he figured just taking you out away from the castle, away from the source of your stress was the best idea to de-stress his beloved.

“Darling, I just want you to take a break before your brain combusts into pieces for trying to contain so much information in that brain of yours.” Fred joked as a giggle escaped from your lips. A snowflake touched your tongue as you giggled.

“Thank you for thinking of me, Freddie. You already know this but I’m just worried about my parents. They keep feeding me these ideas that I’m going to fail my whole life if I fail one class. It wasn’t that bad previously, but this year especially has been worse than any other year. They just want me to get the most O.W.Ls I can. If I don’t bring home the desired O.W.Ls, they’ll kick me out.” A sigh was heaved, as you stared at the white fluffy ground creating a shape of your black combat boots’ sole.

“I’m under so much pressure to make them proud, that I feel like my only option is to study night and day. I’ve just come to realize that I’m spending less time with you and I’m so so sorry for not making any time to spend time with you. This isn’t right of me to just leave you hanging. When you do ask me on dates and spend time, I want to, I really do. But my parents keep pushing into my thoughts, making feel like I have no choice but to stu-“

Suddenly, your back is pushed against something loud and rather flimsy. You don’t get to register what it is, when a pair of soft lips braided with your chapped ones. Your eyes flutter shut and your lips moved back, rhythmically with his. His fingers laced into your hair, while your bare hands wrapped around his shoulders. After a small moment, he pulled away and stared, taking in your beauty. A soft smile crept up to his face.

“Darling, hey. Today is our day to de-stress. Why don’t we try to forget everything back at home and the castle? It’s just us two and Hosgmeade, eh? Plus, it’s snowing! You told me once that you love taking small walks while it was snowing. Let’s take a small walk.” You took his hand that was stuck out after his small speech. You gladly accepted it, and continued your small walk in preferable silence, hands once again intertwined through the busy village. This time, you got an opportunity to suck in all the scenery.

To your left was the Three Broomsticks. The warm air hit your face for a moment, as a Ravenclaw student opened the door to leave. Once you walked past, you head the Ravenclaw yell out a name, probably for a friend. The street lights were coated in white, and yellow light was beaming from the inside of the street light. A big, red bow complete with a shrub of mistletoe in the middle hung on every post to signify that the Christmas season was currently taking stage.

You passed by a couple more shops and small local restaurants, enjoying the snow laying swiftly on your eyelashes. You look up to take a small glance at your beloved. The tall ginger took notice that his loved one was staring at him, that he turned his head to you and smiled. You swore your heart skipped a beat just at his smile. Fred’s messy hair that poked out from his knitted hat becoming soaked from the previous bits of snow melting on it. You stop for a moment and Fred furrowed his brows in confusion, due to your pause in motion. The snow continued its motion downwards. You looked up at him taking his hands.

“Fred, you know I love you. Thank you for taking me to Hogsmeade. I really needed the break. I really don’t know what I would do without you.” You mumbled, as you hear a giggle coming from the older Gryffindor.

“Anything for my darling.” Fred smiled wide, as he also dug something from out of his pockets.

“Oh, and by the way, here’s your gloves. I took them from your pocket when you weren’t looking.” Fred smirked and held out your gray knitted gloves that were clumped in a ball.

“FRED WEASLEY!”

You knew you could never ignore this prankster.

[heyletsbeorganised]

Organisation and Planning

Have a planner or some area where you can write your plans for the day so you can easily see when you have a class or event.

Update your planner/ calendar every day

Have weekly to do lists. I taped mine in each week of my planner so i can see all tasks and events in the one glance.

Clean your desk or work space every night or after a session, this way it’s so much easier to get started the next day.

Have a post it note near you to jot down important things you remember for you to do later that way you don’t get sidetracked. 

Get out any power cords, pens, food etc. that you need for a study sesh before you start.

Stick on your wall a list of upcoming assignments or class work due dates and tick of as you do them, or post it note them and remove when done.

Break down tasks on lists so it seems more achievable. 

Always make a plan before starting an assignment, maybe a mind map of what needs to be done and where you’ll get what info. I love doing this for essays.

Make sure you know what things you need to do before each class whether its reading or printing slides, come prepared.

Keep all notes for a subject together whether in a folder or digitally, this will help in exam season and don’t leave papers in your bag to be forgotten about.

Empty your bag everyday and put handouts or information in its appropriate place.

Studying

Pomodoro! Most people i know do the 30 mins study 5 min break but this has always been too short of time for me to accomplish something with too little of a break so i tend to do 45 or 60 minutes with a 10 minute break which is pretty much the same time it just works better for me.

ASMR! i know this sounds cringe or cliche but asmr can be super relaxing and provides that white noise that we like without listening to music which may prove distracting. I suggest the Harry potter common room ones they are beautiful.

Attitude. This is so important because if you go into studying pessimistically you will end up annoyed, go in with the mindset of getting a lot done and reaching your goals.

A pretty work space is a used work space, well at least for me. When my walls are covered with artwork and my desk is neat i feel most motivated, cleaning your desk is a small task that might inspire you to get working. 

Candles, see above. 

Watch YouTube videos on the subject you're studying, for visual and auditory learners this is especially helpful. 

Make summaries after your notes, mainly focusing on explicit points in the syllabus.

Make sure your summaries are done as you complete the course work so you are prepared for exam season.

A few weeks before exams make a list of all you want to get done before then and start working!

If you have your textbook on your device get a program that will read the text to you, save your eyes and this is normally a quicker way to digest material.

Find the study space that works for you, e.g. home, the library etc. 

As much as i love it, coffee makes you peak and come down so if you can water and good snacks can be better for sustained energy.

DO PRACTICE QUESTIONS! For some reason i thought it was okay to think about a practice question and then just look at the answer? No, this did not work, you need to actually see what you know and write a response. 

When possible work under exam conditions, it's going to be stressful to be put under those circumstances but you need to actually get used to working that way.

Set a time and write down all you know about a small topic on a page, what you miss is what you need to go over.

Most textbooks are a base resource that can help you if you don’t understand a concept but there shouldn't be too many notes to gather that you shouldn't have already gotten in class, this is obviously different for each class but for me this has been the case. Don't waste good revision time relearning what you know.

Highlighting allows us to tune out of the actual reading so avoid when possible and take notes as you go if you need to as this makes you focus more.

Flashcards are fun to make and they are proven to work, just make sure if you make question cards you don’t cheat when using them and look at the answers. 

Making your notes is pretty but time consuming, don’t feel pressured to have that aesthetic all the time, the work is more important.

Find online quizzes on the topics you are studying. Many people have done your course before and already put in the hard yards, take advantage of this.

As above there are many resources for topics online, find these before you start a new section to be extra prepared. 

Rereading notes before bed makes sure it stays in your head as your brain will be processing it overnight or some science but it does work.

When studying put your phone in another room to relieve the urge to check it all the time.

Stationery 

Have a good trusty pen. Mine is the uniball signo. We have a friendship, it’s good.

I've learned recently you don’t need 100 coloured pens and the entire fine-liner collection because i only like a few colours and often don’t have enough time to use a brush pen, markers, highlighters and pens all in the one page of notes.

Don’t feel pressured to have pretty equipment, functional equipment is 100 times more important

Small dot or grid notebooks to do summaries in or mind maps really has helped me feel motivated because they do look really pretty and gets me focused in exam times.

There is a movement towards digitising notes but i think it is still good to have a binder for handouts and articles etc.

Only take to college/school/university the essentials and save your back.

Keep a few bad ballpoints in your bag to save giving friends your nice pens and never getting them back.

Don’t buy stationery that doesn't work, yes the New York post its i got were beautiful, did they stick at all, no. This clutters your work space and steals your money.

Personal Care

Don’t feel guilty for taking breaks, realistically know your limits and think of it as refuelling.

Try to eat healthy not for weight or looking good but because your body will hate you when you are always giving it takeaway and then asking it to do 14 hour study sessions.

When struggling to focus of a morning, get up and have a shower. This will wake you up and get you feeling motivated.

Have a support person. Mine is my boyfriend and is the person i can just let out all the stress onto, have a cry and then get back to work. You just need to let it out sometimes.

A more relaxed study method is to group up with friends and test each other, create little games etc.

Make sure you still socialise and go to events during crazy stressful periods because you need an outlet and a break.

write out your goals for a term, semester, class or year and refer back to them when you get your results, this will make sure you are judging yourself by your own standards and not compared to anyone else’s.

Reach out for help or advice, whether that’s to friends or people on tumblr or your professors, if you are struggling its ok to get a hand.

[sunlitroom]

Hi! For the ship chart - Gobblepot, Wayleska, BatCat, Nygmakins

Thanks for asking, anon :)

Well, I like all of these :D  But to elaborate.  And by elaborate, I mean - write a massive essay, because I’ve been in lockdown for over a month now.

Gobblepot - The best OTP of all OTPs

I’ve written a ton of meta (how unfashionable of me) and had conversations with very clever people about Gotham’s writing.  It has its flaws - as does everything - but when it does things well, it does them well.  Jim and Oswald are paralleled from beginning to end.  Even when they’re not technically sharing a story - it’s made clear that these people are connected.  Prisoners offered a good example of that, which I recapped here

Jim and Oswald’s connection is made clear right at the beginning - we start off with their story.  Jim’s freshly arrived in town, full of big ideas and hopes.  He has a shiny new job and a beautiful fiance.   Oswald doesn’t seem to have the same external trappings of growth and success - but he’s planted several seeds in the hope they’ll come to fruition later.

It’s interesting to see how reckless and brazen they both are in season one, too.  They both stare down the barrel of a gun at points, and practically swagger up to certain people and dare them to kill them.  They both retain their impulse to thumb their noses at authority, and do downright dangerous things - but they become increasingly less blithe about it over the seasons as their respective trauma accumulates.  There’s a joy in it at the outset, more of a desperate grimness as we go on.

We also get to see their vulnerabilities.  There’s little hints early on that there’s more underneath.  Jim might look like the invulnerable golden boy but - to quote a line from Silence of the Lambs - his face is all scars, if you know how to look.  Look at his immediate bond with the bereaved Bruce, because Jim saw his father die at the same age.  Look at Jim’s reaction when Loeb comments about not following in his father’s footsteps.  Look how quickly his relationship with Barbara falls apart - in fact, just look at it in the first place.  

Oswald’s vulnerabilites are more and less obvious.  He’s the Other to Jim’s all-American hero.  He’s flung about all over the place in season one - tiny-looking in comparison to the likes of Falcone and Maroni.  He’s left with a permanent limp after Fish’s beating.  Less obviously, we see that he’s strongly motivated by his need to make his mother happy, and that the notion of causing her shame hurts him to the point of tears.

All that kind of stuff, all the careful details, built slowly, really make it for me.  They’re built on later - in many ways they’re very different, but in others, very similar.

This difference/similarity plays out in their encounters, too.  They’re oddly fascinated by each other.  Oswald’s attraction is made very apparent from the outset .  Yes - Jim might be another piece on the chessboard (albeit one he won’t sacrifice) - but he blushes and stares and lights up when Jim appears.  Even later, when all the hurts and wrongs between them have mounted up, he still can’t quite resist gazing.

Jim’s a combination of uneasy but fascinated in Oswald’s company.   The early scene in the alley pinpoints it so well - the moment right after this one:

Oswald - who is adept at reading people (in season one, anyway) grins - because Jim is rapt.  He has his whole attention.  To steal a line from Hannibal this time. he watched the red sparks pinwheel deep in his eyes and felt the excitement of a child approaching a distant fair.  Although, in this case - it’s all more illicit and scary.  Jim knows he shouldn’t go to this fair, and this fair is a dangerous place.

And that odd fascination never really goes away.  Even at points when Jim is angered or revolted by Oswald’s actions - he’s never repulsed.  He’s more likely to shake him than turn his back on him.

This dynamic might morph a bit, depending on circumstance - but Jim always stands too close, stares too long, likes to tease, and is quick to head in Oswald’s direction when the chips are down.

A last point. Something else I enjoy is that they know the best and worst of each other, and seem to have an endless capacity for forgiveness.

Wayleska - sort of an OTP?  I do find it a heartbreaker of a ship.  

Pre-gas Jeremiah is so instantly smitten with Bruce.  That first interaction and he’s completely gone.  I’m posting the gifs again because they’re glorious.  I know they’re all different sizes, but meh.  

What makes it all so painful is that you can see - post-gas - this is still there.  He’s still head-over-heels, and there’s slivers of awareness there.  But the gas has twisted everything, and you can see part of him is mortified and pained at how this is all playing out.

Especially here, in these next gifs.  Even the big showy gesture is laced with pain, and afterwards just seals it

Given his secretive and hidden-away past, you could probably hazard a guess that this is the first time Jeremiah has been in love.  On top of that, he seems reserved and restrained by nature.  And here he is - being forced to reveal his feelings like this.  

On saying all that, I loved what I saw in show - but maybe prefer it as a pairing in fics.  Bruce - for me, anyway - doesn’t seem mature enough to deal with the intensity of Jeremiah’s feeling - pre and post-gas.  Maybe when he’s a little older, it’s something he could at least take in and process, but it seems a little one-sided in show just because Bruce doesn’t really seem to recognise what’s happening, let alone parry it.  

The only point where you could argue that he was aware, and that there’s feelings there, I think, is the fact that he’s so angry at Jeremiah.  With Jerome, Bruce almost felt responsible for his actions, and does what he can to mitigate them.  But with Jeremiah, Bruce refuses to even tell him that they have a connection in order to save people’s lives.  His anger and obstinacy feels more visceral and - if I prod it - looks like hurt and betrayal.  Bruce saw Jeremiah, at least, as a friend.  His reaction to the loss of that seems a bit disproportionate - so maybe there are nascent feelings there?

But generally. yes, better in fic where the writer can take more license and time with Bruce.

BatCat - It’s not an OTP - but it’s sweet and I like it?  I’m not so mad keen about how forgetful Alfred and Bruce can sometimes be of Selina in earlier seasons, and sometime tone-deaf at points later - but yes, it’s nice.

Nygmakins - I like this.  It’s maybe not an OTP - but I ship it.  The foundations aren’t quite as extensive as with Gobblepot - but they’re there.  They’re both seemingly sweet-natured, sciencey and fascinated with the darker side of life.  Very early on, we know they have interactions that we don’t see.  Lee apparently allows Ed to use the lab and exam room when he wants, and he dreamily remarks that she smells nice.

Later, we see more similarity as their duality becomes more apparent, and their shared taste for violence, darkness and power.  Lee enjoys the applause of the crowds in the Narrows just as much as Ed enjoys the audience adulation for his ‘gameshow’.  Lee’s revenge on Sofia is as protracted and merciless as Ed’s on Oswald.  

Last up - they both have a desire to be entirely seen, which is something they seem to find in each other.

Thanks for the ask, anon.  I fire the same pairings back at you, if you feel like answering :)

[rwbyconversations]

Why has Adam proved controversial after Volume 6?

Fandom is a culture that is constantly changing. It’s a culture effectively built around self-sustaining itself through fanart, music videos, fanfiction and discussion theories about the content the fandom is built around to tide them over until the next big release. Taking the RWBY fandom for example, it’s a fandom that’s really only alive for less than two fifths of the average year, from October to January when the volume itself airs. The rest of the year, RWBY’s fandom has to keep itself afloat through self-generation of ideas and the sharing of the aforementioned means of content to tide people over until October comes back around and the season starts anew. Headcanons and fan theories become commonplace and can become exponentially more popular than ever intended thanks to the gap in seasons giving it time to form and gain weight as a theory before canon can prove it wrong. 

What that long period of downtime means is that you can see previously loathed characters come back from the brink and gain a lot of fandom support and approval in the turn of a season. Or alternatively, popular characters can take a swan-dive in popularity, being reduced to joke status that they never recover from. People who swore up and down that “this character is trash and I don’t care what they do with them” suddenly next hiatus are on the other side of the trenches. One season can do a lot for a character in either direction is what I’m saying. 

Because that’s what’s happened the past two years to Adam Taurus. 

Adam after Volume 5 was a turbulent wreck of a character. Humiliated at the end of the season and forced to run with his tail between his legs, while his character lost much of the appeal that it had garnered over the prior four volumes, making him resemble a whiny child LARPing as a doomsday villain. It was a pathetic display for his character, one so infuriating it inspired me to begin writing analysis essays after a heated Discord discussion, and that essay struck a note with many of the people who read it and agreed with the contents therein, especially in regards to how much Haven damaged Adam’s threat factor. People simply weren’t scared of him appearing like they were prior to his smack from Blake, several comments even derisively writing off Blake and Yang’s rematch against Adam in advance because “they made him job before, they’ll do it again.”

 And yet interestingly, within the span of a year, the tides partially turned. With Volume 6 Adam wasn’t widely derided as a joke anymore, but in spite of that, the discussion around him was just as heated as it was last year. Adam was still the core topic of the argument but now the battle lines had been redrawn thanks to his death in the climax of Volume 6. Now it’s become commonplace for RWBY’s discussion communities to deride many of the dime-a-dozen posts about Adam and his “wasted potential” that have been arriving nearly daily like reinforcements to batten at a wall. But why? What changed in just one year that changed the entire argument around Adam? Why are his fans and critics embroiled in a new war to enter the hiatus?  

That’s what I’m trying to set out and accomplish in this essay. I am going to hopefully explain the primary reasons for why Adam is a controversial character following Volume 6, in particular why his fans are dissatisfied with the way his characterization was taken over the course of the show. Keep in m ind that parts of this essay touch on Adam’s abuse so if that’s a thing you’d rather not see, avoid going further. 

1) Headcanons were proven wrong

No one likes being wrong. Just look at students who get fail grades in exams, they’re usually despondent. It’s never something you lose as you grow up, in fact, Being wrong just sucks, to put it bluntly. 

Remember how I mentioned at the beginning that because of the content droughts fandoms experience, headcanons and theories can grow far further than anyone intended? Adam is an example of that happening for three years. 

Adam’s first appearance was in the Black Trailer, released on March 22nd, 2013. He wouldn’t make a significant appearance in the show until Heroes and Monsters, the penultimate episode to Volume 3, released on February 6th of 2016. His only significant appearances between those two dates was a cameo in the Volume 2 finale and V3C7, Beginning of the End, released on January 2nd. 

Adam’s initial appearance left much of his personality vague, barring that he was Blake’s superior, a stoic swordmaster and that he was fighting to liberate the Faunus from humanity with the full intent of taking a pound of flesh from humanity for what they’d done to the Faunus- to quote From Shadows: 

From Shadows, we’ll descend upon the world, take back what you stole, from shadows, we’ll reclaim our destiny, set our future free.

As such, the mental image of Adam that the fandom was given had nearly three years in real life to set in stone, that he was Blake’s former mentor who had fallen into extremism and terror attacks. Some even suspected going off Oobleck and Blake’s interactions in Volume 2 that Adam would receive a redemption from his wicked ways to show as an example of how Blake would redeem the White Fang from its own muck-filled past, or that Adam would need to die in an alternate variant of that story to show how far down the dark path he’d gone. Tauradonna was even a fairly high-profile ship in the early days of the show, being on roughly the same level as Blake/Weiss.

The headcanons were only given further room to grow thanks to adaptations of the Black trailer and early RWBY not taking the time to more properly setup Adam’s true character, in particular the Shirow Miwa adaptation. Miwa’s version of the scene, or at least the localized version, was released across two chapters in April and May of 2016, with the full book getting a physical print in the West in August 2017. Adam in the Miwa adaptation is far more talkative than his canon counterpart and even makes several dry quips throughout the fight:

When they first see the AK-130 guards (”Looks like we’re doing this the hard way” in the trailer): “Looks like all the seats are taken Blake.”

When asked who they are (Adam doesn’t have a line here): “We’re thieves.”

Upon seeing the Spider Droid for the first time: “Tch! He’s one serious baggage clerk.” 

Adam’s dialogue is also softened from his original dialogue to boot: 

“Buy me some time!” “But-” “Do it!” instead now is “Blake, buy me some time.“ “But that’s-” “I just need a second.” Blake also gets to make a quip that “You know... You’re fairly high-maintenance.” 

When Blake’s barrage ends, she says “I did all I could,” and Adam thanks her with “It was more than enough, get back.” All Adam says in the animated version of the scene is “Move!” 

The manga makes a significant addition to the aftermath of the battle, where Blake chides Adam for the ambush being sloppy. Adam initially just smiles as “that’s what you’re here for,” before Blake quickly rebukes him, cutting the train car as she says that the White Fang “not lower itself to bloodshed.” The last we see of Adam in the manga is him standing on the train carriage, pondering to himself “You think this is wrong Blake?” 

A similar change is And “Perfect. Move up to the next car, I’ll set the charges,” is now “There’s at least 5,000 cases. All right, let’s kill the engine.” “What about the crew?” Adam is silent and when Blake presses him for information, the Spider Droid attacks 

Prior to the train attack there is a scene added by the Manga where Blake says that the Dust will be redistributed to Faunus in need. She asks Adam to confirm this and he looks back over his shoulder, lips parsed, and says “Of course.” However the next page has a black box of him saying “Don’t overthink it Blake.”  

The point of this extended summary of the Black Trailer in Miwa’s adaptation is to show that even in adaptations of the trailer, RWBY didn’t do much to dissuade people from forming the headcanon that Adam was simply a fallen revolutionary. In fact the manga smooths out Adam’s rougher edges, making his dialogue less harsh and more sarcastic. Remember as well that these were initially released soon after Volume 3 wrapped and before the commentary confirmation of abuse, meaning that these gave Adam fans one last bit of material to bolster their ideas of what Adam was. 

Obviously, all of these ideas and theories went out the window with Volume 3 Chapter 11 and the subsequent reveal by Miles and Kerry in Volume 3′s commentary track that Adam was in fact an abuser. A lot of his fans didn’t take to this reveal well, which I’ll return to in a future section of this essay, since in part it shot down all of their theories about Adam and made him an irredeemable monster. Adam’s potential redemption was destroyed the moment he slapped Blake. 

It is telling that most of Adam’s more passionate fans are from the early generations of the RWBY fandom who were around since the early trailers, since there’s a sharp divide between those fans and the more common Adam fan reaction of “I like him in spite of the abuse or explicitly only work with AU stories where he isn’t as bad.” Again, no one really likes being wrong, especially when it means accepting you were wrong for nearly three years.

2) The abuser twist

Something that I’ve never liked about Adam’s turn as an abuser was how looking back at Volumes 1 and 2 for evidence of the twist in advance, it’s difficult to find anything concrete. I had this discussion on a server lately where looking at all of Volumes 1 and 2 along with 3′s first half, there was really only one agreed upon sign of abuse prior to V3 in Volume 2- Blake’s flinch when Yang goes to hug her in Burning the Candle. But the problem with that is that even this can be taken into a different context, as one of my friends pointed out. As she reminded the chat, Yang had already shoved Blake several times by that point in the conversation and Blake may have flinched instinctively when she saw Yang’s arms raise again. 

Of course given the context of Adam’s abuse, Blake flinching may in fact have been foreshadowing, or it may have just been her instinctively preparing for another shove. We just don’t know, and that vagueness around Blake’s past and the abuse twist is partly why a lot of fans argue that the abuse twist was never planned in the early stages of the show and was an idea introduced during production. This is not a concept new to RWBY- Monty came up with the Maidens one day while working on Volume 3 after all- but it does mean that for sudden character turns like Adam’s abuse, the question will be raised of “was this always planned or was it just something you added as the story flowed along?” 

Much of the cited evidence that Adam was planned to be an abuser from the early show is in a similarly murky place. Blake speaks of Adam in Volume 2 as a mentor (”I had a partner... more of a mentor actually”), Monty himself called Blake the “apprentice” in an interview after the Black trailer, and much of her subdued behavior compared to her more affectionate self seen in Volumes 5 and 6 can be simply explained as Blake keeping a low profile to avoid Faunus discrimination and the attention of the White Fang. 

Even in Volume 3 Chapter 7- Adam’s last scene before Chapter 11 and the confirmation of his abuse- things are kept vague. Adam even sharply rebukes his Lieutenant when he offers to hunt Blake down following the Black Trailer, saying “Forget it.” Adam’s plan is to go to Mistral without a care for Blake, which goes against his obsessive behavior seen later in this very season. 

Much of the evidence given for Adam’s abuse- him gaslighting Blake in the Adam short, Blake talking about him in Volumes 5 and 6 to Sun and Yang, his dialogue during the Volume 6 battle- is all retroactive evidence, which does not solve the initial problem of the initial seasons poorly setting up Adam’s turn. Much of the evidence for and against the twist is shady at best, and reaching at worst due to how vague the wording is around Adam. Blake only ever speaks of him as a partner or mentor, never belying a romantic connection outside of the volume 2 premiere with the drawing of him in her notebook. Certainly with the benefit of hindsight some may find evidence in Volumes 1 through 3, primarily that Blake is simply an unreliable narrator, but I still feel like the lack of clean foreshadowing to such a large part of Adam’s character it weakens the twist, and some of Adam’s fans remain bitter that his character underwent a drastic 180 out of relatively nowhere.

3) Simple preference

Being blunt, a lot of Adam’s fans just prefer the Adam shown in the early seasons to the one the show closed out on. This idea is often mocked by some that his fans just wanted to see a Vergil knockoff, but for some of Adam’s fans it just came down to wanting to see cool fights. After all, RWBY was built on the initial idea of well-designed characters having well-choreographed fights. The show advertised itself initially as “From the maker of Dead Fantasy and Haloid,” which to surmise, weren’t shows that lured people in for their narrative quality. Monty’s loyalist fans who followed from his freelance work and from Red Vs Blue followed for cool fights, and Adam’s fighting style and design made him an instant fan favorite. It has only been from Volume 3 onwards that the show has advertised itself more as a drama than an animation showcase, and as such some of Adam’s fans don’t care less for his character turn other than that it makes him whiny and edgy and they’d like to see him swing his sword a bit more.

While the idea of preferring Adam as a revolutionary over his Yandere self seen from V3 is also a mocked concept as it tends to be used by people less well-versed in expressing critique of Adam’s character and makes for a popular strawman tactic, a morally gray villain may have worked well for RWBY. Especially as Adam and Cinder both show in different ways that the series should stay away from villains with no redeeming qualities. 

Though I suppose at least unlike Cinder, Adam actually has a backstory, so I should count my blessings. 

To surmise, for some of Adam’s fans it was a purely physical love affair

4) Adam’s death and its connection to Bumblebee

Blake and Yang’s final confrontation with Adam in Volume 6 marks a significant step in their relationship, which means if you like Bumblebee then the emotional climax of the volume hits home for you. If you shipped literally anything else then at least the choreography was good, but if you didn’t ship Bumblebee and never liked the Adam abuser turn... hoo boy. 

Being blunt, a fair few Bumblebee shippers don’t mind the abuser twist since in the long run, it helped their ship and gave Blake and Yang plenty of angst to work through both alone and as a pair. I’ve said before that Blake’s recovery arc made for some good content in Volumes 4 and 5 barring the Sun slaps, and Yang’s PTSD arc, while bare-bones in Volume 4, was some of the more consistently good material that year when shown. And as such, Adam being made a one-note psycho who wanted to kill Blake suited them well, as it gave a clear villain for Blake and Yang to overcome while developing past their respective traumas. The problem of course being, Adam’s fans not appreciating this turn and definitely not appreciating the names they were called when they expressed this dissatisfaction.

This led to a litany of hot takes- “Adam’s fans only cared for the show and the character as an outlet for a male power fantasy,” “Adam’s fans were entirely made of sexists who just hated women,” “Adam stans are abuse apologists.” (Like 40% of the Adam fans I know are actual abuse victims so fuck yourself on the front of trying to use their trauma as a low blow) And to be fair, Adam’s fans responded with their own disappointing share of bad takes involving the dreaded words “wasted potential,” alongside murder and nerfing, but I go over those later. 

(also you know genuine homophobics but trying to avoid braindead reasoning here for my own sake)

Getting back on topic, I quite obviously detest this lumping in of all criticisms. For one it means that simply shipping something that isn’t Bumblebee and disliking the fight can get one labelled with accusations of homophobia. A disgusting tactic on its own, to say nothing of how some people use it just to deflect criticism. Liked Adam? Then you’re an abuse apologist now. It’s interesting to compare the response to Adam last year and this year, where suddenly the fandom went from dismissing Adam after Haven to suddenly being very insistent that his death was well done and that only bigots opposed it; a naturally insulting statement to any members of the LGBT community or racial minorities who took umbrage with the handling of the Faunus.

And speaking of, my largest gripe with Adam’s turn personally is how it overshadows his previous commitment to the Faunus. Even though Adam’s short shows him fighting for the Faunus, to the point where Lionized and From Shadows are both expressly about how the Faunus are subject to inhumane treatments, it all gets tossed aside for the sake of Adam’s obsession with Blake and I’ve always found the almost-retcon of “Adam only truly cared for his own equality” a bit.. hard to get a read on? Since the original reason for his fall was because of his rabid devotion to his cause/getting vengeance on humans. Adam in-setting had been prepped as a Malcolm X style analogue before most of these traits were pushed over to Sienna. I feel like there is a lot that could be said about how RWBY handles its racism narrative, especially when it pertains to Adam given his own placement in the narrative, but that such a thinkpiece would likely be hit with accusations of homophobia or abuse apologism likely curtails that idea in anyone’s head. Some voices in the fandom have even come forward and expressed their dissatisfaction at how the arc depicting racism got curtailed for a romance. Adam rather sadly could have been part of a cornerstone on a narrative about the natural consequences of violent extremism, but instead the writers went with a far shallower option in my opinion.  

Also being blunt the whole “Adam was just a secondary character for Blake and Yang’s arcs” feels a bit like revisionism of weak writing. 

5) Damaged goods

Adam lost a lot of fans thanks to Volume 5. You can argue about this all you want but the facts don’t change that the volume was overall one that shot his character in the leg. Alongside having him go completely bananas out of nowhere with the “THE BELLADONNA NAME HAS BROUGHT ME NOTHING BUT GRIEF” scene, Adam’s humiliating head smack from Blake that knocked him out for an entire episode and his Naruto run escape from the Battle. Put bluntly, people didn’t give a shit, especially after CRWBY’s own attitude was to mock Adam, further undermining any threat factor Adam was meant to have.

It’s quite obvious in hindsight that Adam’s short was made quickly, and was almost certainly damage control made to counter the backlash from the Battle of Haven episodes. Sienna’s inclusion has eve been admitted by Miles on RWBY Rewind to be done as pure fanservice for the fans who wanted more from her design, and it shows with how Sienna dominates the back half of the short. But the short’s nature as damage control, while ultimately well received, still marked it as a fix job for Haven. Even last year fans wondered what was the point of trying to hype Adam back up as a threatening villain given he would almost certainly lose any future battles he fought in. 

Ultimately, a lot of people just didn’t care about Adam. The damage had been done by Haven, and even a lot of his own fans wrote off him being allowed to be even half as competent as his Volume 3 self again. With even his own fans having written off his chances of being a fearsome combatant again and the crew openly reviling Adam, not to mention his own voice actor despising him, a mood of “why should we care if the crew don’t?” began to settle in for Adam’s fans. Some even looked forward to his death since it would mean at least in death, Adam was free of being written as a psycho Yandere. For some of Adam’s fans, his writing had been so schizophrenic that death seemed like the only way forward instead of dragging it out.     

6) “Wasted potential”

This is a point I don’t entirely agree with myself, but as this is an essay about why Adam has been controversial after Volume 6 I only feel it fair to include it, even if solely for the purposes of rebuttal. Wasted potential has become a set of dirty words to portions of the fandom thanks to the many, many, many arguments about Adam post-season. 

A rather large complaint is that Adam “jobbed” for Blake and Yang, despite neither of them really having gained much experience onscreen since Beacon. I disagree with this notion since it does take some details out of consideration for this angle- B&Y were both tired from earlier fighting in the day, Blake was shocked to see Adam out of nowhere and that’s why he overwhelmed her, Adam still actually defeats Blake at Argus and it largely comes down to Yang to win the fight, and V5 had actually set up her changing her fighting style to better combat Adam’s own style. 

One idea of potential for Adam that I will admit to liking is the idea of Adam as an ideological villain to Blake. Adam and Blake could have both represented the differing sides of the Faunus debate and how to achieve results, perhaps even going for a scenario where neither side was truly correct or wrong. Such a plot would have even had the benefit of tying the Faunus narrative into the wider stakes of the show while also humanizing it on a base level through their struggle. But at this point, this is becoming me wishing the show was something else. I’m sure a great fanfic could bloom from this idea in the future and I hope I get to see it one day. 

There’s also the entire idea that Blake and Yang “murdered” (it was self-defense) Adam since apparently this is a big deal. I dunno fam, you just ignoring all those White Fang goons RWBY killed in V2 by leaving them in the tunnels? The ones they smacked around during V3? All those people Yang probably killed in the Yellow trailer? Now seems like a bit of an odd time to draw a line in the sand about the RWBY girls killing someone. 

7) Conclusion

To conclude, there’s a lot of controversy surrounding Adam, and a lot that will surround his character for years. I feel like arguments around him will still be going by the end of the hiatus, if not for years to come. Adam has attracted a fandom from varying walks of life, but one thing I’ve noticed with some regularity is how many of of them themselves have histories with abuse. What unites a lot of them in their reasons for liking the character is the tragedy of how Adam is a person who has been persecuted then gained the power to bite back, but in his blind rage winds up lashing out at someone he is supposed to love. With permission, they let me share their accounts so I could put them here:

Be it purely visual/choreography appreciation, falling for fan theories and headcanons, his allusions to the Beast, the mystery of his mask and later branding, his potential as an ideological rival for Blake or for personal reasons, Adam gained a fan following from all walks of life over the past six years, who may not have learned everything they wanted to about him but who wanted to learn more regardless. Even if they only liked him just to watch him fight, Adam has a small if passionate fanbase, and I hope I’ve explained some of their grievances with the show as a whole now, particularly following Volume 6. Adam might have been a scumbag, but ironically his fandom has actually been quite pleasant to talk to, so I hope I’ve presented their more accurate or personal issues in a fair light. 

Thank you for reading. Please consider sharing the post around if you enjoyed it or think someone you know would. 

[sadlittlenerdking]

Hi, so here’s a masterpost of all my Magicians fic. Complete with summaries and warnings for angst. If there’s no excerpt, it’s just a drabble. 

A quick key for you: 

Italics means Angst.  Bold means Fluff.  Both means Hurt/Comfort.  Nothing means crack. 

to love to die - Quentin & Eliot through the time loops.

The first time Eliot Waugh sees Quentin Coldwater, it feels like a bucket of ice waters been dropped over his head. It's almost as if his life resets itself, readying itself and settling in on this moment as his rebirth.

Truth - Quentin uses a truth serum on Eliot following Mike’s death.

Quentin’s ashamed to admit it takes him a week to realize something's wrong. Eliot’s barely conscious, lying on the couch, mumbling about some lizard man watching him, when Quentin walks into the cottage. He doesn’t think anything of it for a moment, because this is Eliot, and Eliot likes his drugs and copious amounts of booze. Except, on closer examination, Quentin can see the tear tracks that Eliot lazily swiped away, and it’s enough to make it click in his head.

Nausea comes crushing through him in an intensive wave, and Quentin barely makes it to the bathroom before the bile forces itself out of him.

Home - Quentin misses Eliot. 

Quentin Coldwater fucking misses Eliot Waugh. And it’s more than the, ‘he’s my friend and he matters’ kind of missing. It’s the full body ache, migraine inducing longing kind of missing. He wakes up missing him, he falls asleep wondering if he’s even alive. Every day, every moment, every thought is of Eliot.

breathe it in - post season two finale angst.

The first time he sees the cigarettes, he’s sitting on the couch in the cottage, feeling himself fading away almost like he had in the fictional mental ward. Part of him wonders if Penny’s going to pop up here as well. Of course, he doesn’t, because magic is dead - Penny might very well be too, for all he knows - and it’s Quentin’s fault.

Even when he does the right thing, he fucks everything up.

The Death of Magic (Rains Hell On Us All) - Eliot & Margo realize Quentin’s not coming back.

They don't get a warning when it happens. They're in the throne room, celebrating their victory, stressing over what the hell they're going to do now that there are no gods to run Fillory. Now that they have to do everything on their own.

And then the flames all go out at once.

Magicians Moon - Eliot’s a secret romantic. 

The thing about Eliot, Quentin thinks as he’s quietly dragged through the cottage by his right hand, is nothing he does makes sense. It’s all carefully planned out, but he doesn’t explain anything until he absolutely has to. So, Quentin being pulled through the Physical Kids Cottage at two in the morning by an invisible force, while wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and socks - is clearly Eliot’s doing, but it makes no sense.

Not even two hours ago, they’d curled up in bed, and fell asleep. Quentin to Eliot’s soft snores, and Eliot, well, to put it gently, Eliot was fairly spent after the nights events. For once. What? Quentin’s allowed to be smug every once in a while - it takes a lot to wear Eliot out.

Which makes this even more confusing.

Project Seduce Quentin Coldwater And So Lift His Spirits - (WIP) Eliot is definitely not falling in love with Quentin Coldwater, he’s simply fulfilling a promise. (There’s some fluff in here too.) 

Morality. Eliot scoffs, pulling his flask out of his jacket pocket and spilling a fair amount of this weeks alcohol into his coffee. Who the fuck needs morality? He’s happy with general debauchery and a mild case of alcoholism. Who wouldn’t be? Just a week ago, Margo had been on the same boat as him, planning to float off into an actual universe of nothing but sex, drugs, and alcohol. But then she found out he’s been kind of, maybe, definitely, stalking Quentin, and practically kicked him off of the Ibiza trip.

She’s going to regret that decision when she comes back and finds all her clothes are cursed to make her look fat.

Soulmates - Margo realizes Quentin is a part of her and Eliot. 

It's not that she doesn't see it coming. It's just that its so fluid, and natural, that it kind of hits her long after it's happened.

It all started when Eliot got assigned to get a first year to his entrance exam. Kid was late, but he was cute, and Eliot had nothing but good things to say. Well, on Eliot and Margos terms of good - it probably wouldn't be seen the same way if he'd said any of it to someone else. Not that he would have, it's always been just them. They don't confide in, or really bother getting close to anyone.

Misguided - Quentin starts getting texts from a stranger. 

The first time it happens, Quentin’s walking across the quad, head in the clouds, desperately trying to figure out a plan to defeat the beast. But his phone dings in his pocket, making him remember he actually has a phone, as he passes through the tech areas. He stops, pulls it out of his pocket, surprised the battery isn’t dead, and reads the text.

Angst and Anger - Penntin. Takes place at Brakebills south, Penny doesn’t want to admit he likes Quentin. 

“What are you doing?" Mayakovsky demands, “You think you choose partners? No. I choose partners.” He glares at them, walking around the table with slow, careful steps. “You,” He points at Quentin, “Failure waiting to happen. You will work with tall, dark, and angry.” He points a finger at Penny. "Go."

Quentin looks at Alice, sighing as he pushes himself up from the table and makes his way out of the room, Penny just a few steps behind him.

Denial ain’t just a river - Penntin. Sequel to Angst and Anger. Quentin wants to talk about the kiss. 

“Quentin,” Penny mutters, slamming his book shut and squeezing his eyes closed, “If you don’t shut up, I am going to bash your face into the wall until you literally can’t think ever again.”

Quentin looks up from his own book, “No you won’t,” He says before looking back down at it and turning the page. ‘Just like you won’t talk about what happened,’ he thinks.

Whole - Quentin’s an oblivious idiot, and Margo’s a schemer. And Eliot’s just a victim, damn it. 

“I don’t think it’s us,” Alice says, gaze barely glancing away from the books stacked in front of her. Her pencil taps along the edges of her paper, eraser dancing along the outline of one of the spells she’s studying.

Quentins brow furrows as he lets his eyes trail from the pencil, up her arm, to land on the curtain of hair she’s using to hide her face from him. “What isn’t us?” He asks. It’s the first thing she’s said in hours, since Eliot and Margo left the library to go do something less boring. Whatever that means.

“Us.” She answers after a moments silence, before looking up and setting the pencil down. “I think Mayakovsky was wrong.”

Sing Me To Sleep - They defeat the beast, but something goes horribly wrong. 

Alice has the beast in her grasp, when the beast fires off a spell and Quentin goes crashing against a tree. Eliot rushes to his side, kneeling next to him, one hand on his shoulder, one on his thigh. Quentin shakes his head, “Go - I’m fine. Stop the beast.” But his words are singed with pain as his eyes squeeze shut, and he takes a deep, shuttering breath.

“Q -,” As he speaks, the battle disappears through the brush of the woods.

Quentin opens his eyes, but Eliot can tell it takes more effort than he’s letting on. “Do - do you want to be the reason the world ends? Go help Alice!” He yanks his arm out of Eliot’s hand, and sits up, “I just need a second. I’m fine. I’ll catch up. Go.”

There’s This Idiot - Quentin accidentally eavesdrops, and Eliot’s the idiot. 

Quentin doesn’t even remember falling asleep in the nook. But here he is, waking up, curled in on himself, with both of the sliding doors shut almost all the way. For a moment, he’s confused, mouth smacking together with sleep and thirst. He’s not sure what wakes up him up, but there’s a soft hum of voices beyond the doors. For a moment, he’s tempted to push them up and reveal himself, but the familiar sounds of Eliot and Margo’s laughing, followed by Todd’s disgruntled, confused grumbling, stays him for a moment.

Expectations - The morning after the threesome. Fix it fic. 

Eliot expects a lot of things to happen when he opens his eyes. He expects Quentin to be freaking out, but too much himself to risk waking either Eliot or Margo by running out of the room. Or for Quentin to be gone, and this warm, Quentin like shape under his arm to just be a pillow spelled to keep him from waking up. He expects a lot of things, none of them pleasant.

Well, none of them pleasant for him.

No Mercy For the Living - Quentin’s dying and nobody knows why. 

They’re working on a solution to bring back magic when it happens. Not Julia’s sparks, or any of the other stuff she can do that nobody else can. They’re - Quentin, Julia, Josh, and Kady - in the library working on one of Dean Foggs essay assignments. Quentins reaching up, arm stretched out, standing on the tips of his toes, when all the air comes rushing out of him in an angry gasp. He falls to the ground, knocking books off the shelf on the way, most of which come tumbling down on his head and shoulders. He’s reaching up, grabbing at his chest and throat, gasping for air. The taste of iron floods his mouth as he bites down on his tongue and his knees crash down on the ground with an aching crack.

Hold On - Hey look I killed Margo in this one. 

Quentin knows something’s wrong when his bedroom door crashes open, slams against his dresser, and nearly closes again with the force. But Eliot’s hand reaches out, stops it with a small thump, and takes a slow, staggering step into the room. He stares blankly at the door, jaw slack and eyes wide and misty.

Quentin sets his book aside, pitches his legs over the side of the bed, hand coming to his side to push himself up. “Eliot?” He asks, tentative, as Eliot takes another, slow, clumsy step into the room. “Eliot, what’s wrong?”

Power - Eliot’s a Niffin. 

Eliot’s hands pause mid-cast as a blue flame erupts around him. Quentin tries to run towards him, screaming his name, but Margo pulls him back, unusually silent, as Eliot screams out in pain, the blue light engulfing him whole. Quentin struggles against Margo’s hold, but her arms wrap around him, and she holds her ground. Eliot’s eyes dart across the clearing towards them, then up towards the sky as he screams the rest of his soul away -

And then he’s gone.

“No!” Quentin screams, finally pulling free from Margo. He whips around, glares at her as tears well in his eyes. “We could have stopped him!”

Self Sacrifice is Bullshit - Quentin tries to sacrifice himself, and Margo’s not having it. 

Margo slams her fist into Quentins shoulder with a glare. “What the fuck!” She exclaims, punching him again. “You fucking idiot!”

Flinching, he backs away from her assault, “OW - Margo, stop! Why - ow! Stop punching me!”

“You! Could! Have! Gotten! Yourself! Killed!” She emphasizes each word with another punch. She advances on him with every step he takes backwards, until Eliot rolls his eyes, taking pity on Quentin, and gently pulls her away from him. “Let me go!” She exclaims, eyes following Quentin’s movements as he moves backwards, and bumps into the nook.

Got a Bad Case of Loving You - Quentin’s dealing with memory loss, and is confused by a photo he finds in his drawer. 

The picture is clutched tight in his hands as he makes his way down the stairs, back to the living room of the cottage. It has to be a manipulation, or a spell, but he checked it. There’s no spell on it. There’s no evidence of any kind of tampering. He’s just spent fifteen minutes raking over every inch of the damn thing, and nothing came back positive - other than the picture being genuine. It doesn’t make sense. As he steps off the last stair, Alice and Margo turn to grin at him, stopping short at the look on his face.

Margo slowly stands up, “Q?” She asks, “Are you okay?”

Eliot turns around, then, as well, eyes tracing Quentin as he looks him over. His eyes stutter to a stop as he sees what’s in Quentin’s hand and he stumbles to his feet as well, turning around. The drink in his hand nearly spills as he tries to set it down. The cigarette on his lips vanishes, spelled off to wherever garbage goes, and his mouth falls open. He knows exactly what it is before Quentin has to say anything. His mouth works open and closed like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

Game On - Eliot’s a flirt, and Quentin doesn’t have a chance. 

He’s struggling to reach the cereal on the top shelf of the pantry when a warm presence appears behind him. Heat runs all up and down his back, even though the person is a few inches away from him. Static shoots through the air, and the hair on the back of his neck stands up. “Need help?” Eliot asks, voice soft and gruff and sleep laden.

Quentin inhales, nodding, and Eliot moves forward, until he’s pushing up against his back, and reaching up for the cereal. Quentins eyes close as the warmth washes over him, sweet and summery, as the smell of Eliots woodsy aftershave fills the whole of the pantry. His eyes trail up Eliots arm as it extends past him, breathing quickening as long fingers close around the edge of the box and lift it from the shelf.

Prickly Like a Porcupine - Let’s pretend Quentin and Eliot are allowed to be happy. 

Eliot opens his eyes to find Quentin staring at him. His eyes are soft, and one of his hands is running through Eliot’s hair, twirling his curls. He smiles as he realizes Eliot’s woken up. “Morning.”

Eliot nods sleepily, curling in closer and humming, "Morning. Were you watching me sleep?”

Quentin shakes his head, “No, I woke up a few minutes ago.” He twists a curl around his finger and gently tugs at it. “Was gonna go make some breakfast. But your hair is so . . .”

I’ve Got You Cared On My Heart - post it communication. 

The first one Eliot sees is on the throne room floor. He furrows his brow, bends over and picks up the bright yellow post-it note ambiguously thrown to the floor. Part of him wonders how it got here because post-it notes don’t exist in Fillory, or at least, not that he’s aware. But another part figures Quentin dropped it sometime before Magic disappeared, and it’d somehow been swept through the castle to find itself to him. The theory seems even more valid when he unfolds the crumpled ball, and reads, in Quentin’s handwriting,

There has to be a solution.

He checks to make sure there’s nobody else in the throne room before silently slipping the post-it in his back pocket and heading down the hall.

The Price We Pay - The Gods are willing to bring back magic, at a cost. 

The gods are willing to give magic back. But Quentin must give something to them first. A punishment for what he took from them. The cost of killing a god.

"Q, don't!" Julia calls from her place, where two celestial hands hold her back. "You don't know what they're asking of you!"

But neither does she. None of them do. But the whole of the magical community is depending on them. Eliot and Margo are depending on them, and quite frankly, Quentin would give his own life if it meant bringing magic back. And getting Eliot and Margo back. Nothing else matters. Not himself, not the price, nothing. He will pay whatever he has to.

This Moment - Quentin and Eliot are finally reunited. 

Something changes when they’re together. In the air, in the world - in Quentin. Before they figured out how to get magic back, there’d been a point where he convinced himself Eliot was the magic. The absence of magic, and the absence of Eliot somehow held the same weight over his heart, now that he didn’t have grief over Alice clouding everything. Eliot is a part of what made Brakebills what it is, magic or not. And living there for five months without Eliot, learning magic they couldn’t practice -

It made Quentin realize a few things.

Hot Chocolate - There’s been some confusion. 

A steaming mug of … something suddenly appears in Quentin’s line of sight. He frowns, following the length of the hand and arm holding the cup out in front of him, up to a shoulder and oh. It’s Eliot. “What?” Quentin asks, eyeing the mug warily.

Eliot sighs, “It’s hot chocolate,” He says, shaking the cup slightly at him, “Drink it before it gets cold.”

“Hot … Chocolate.”

Insanity - Quentin accidentally casts a spell that makes the entire Brakebills campus fall in love with him. Except Eliot, oddly. 

“Eliot…”

Quentin sits down on the couch and stares at him with wide eyes, until Eliot sighs and looks up at him. “What, Quentin? I’m busy.”

Quentin makes a face because that’s clearly not quite true but shakes his head because this is more important and Eliots the only one who hasn’t lost his god damned mind. “I think everyone’s gone insane,” he nods erratically as if it emphasize the statement.

Eliot sighs again, leaning back on the couch with a roll of his eyes and a wave of his arm in a go on motion, “And how have they gone insane?”

“Well,” Quentin kicks his lips, “Penny pushed me up against a tree this morning -,”

“Sounds pretty par for course, Q.”

“– and kissed me.”

Wake Me Up - Eliot’s pretty sure Quentin keeps dying. 

Eliots eyes flutter open, and for a moment, he’s startled by the TADA sign blaring bright and beautiful in the peripheral of his gaze. His right hand comes up to block it, and he groans as he attempts to push himself upright. But a soft, calm warmth holds him steady and he looks down.

Oh.

He smiles softly, sleep riddled and stares down at him for a moment. His head is on Eliots lap, while his legs are dangling off the couch, and his arms are wrapped tight around Eliot’s waist. Eliot reaches down and lets a hand cart through Quentins hair softly, careful to not wake him up, as he tries to remember how they got here.

The Mad Royal Family of Fillory - (WIP) A timeline where they do defeat the beast, but are driven so far beyond the brink of insanity that Jane has no choice but to reset.

When Martin Chatwin dies, Eliot falls to his knees, drained and broken down. His vision is etched red with the blood of a popped blood vessel in his right eye and his chest heaves as he takes in his surroundings. His hands shake as he looks over his friends bodies, gaze sweeping across the clearing in search of any sign of life. A careful breezes brushes his hair out of his face, cooling the sweat and blood in its place.

A moment later, there’s a soft groan from Margo, stuttering into a hacking cough that wracks her whole body. And then a wheezing inhale from his right indicates Penny’s not dead, either. Alice’s fingers twitch at her side, and Julia and Kady are already starting to stand.

Twenty Five - Quentin’s inexperience is a problem. Jane has a solution. 

Jane looks up as Henry enters the office. She attempts a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach as he makes his way around the desk and sits down. They sit in silence for a moment, Jane watching Henry, Henry staring down at his desk, a glare faint in his gaze.

“They’re going to fail again,” he finally says, eyes darting up to hers. “Three of them are dead already.”

Jane nods solemnly, “I know.” But she leans forward, crossing one leg over the other. “But, I think I know the problem.” Henry raises an eyebrow, prompting her to continue. “It’s Quentin.”

Got Your Back - Eliot links up with Quentin’s emotions.

Linking up with Quentin’s emotions did spur Eliot on to try harder, though. The only way he’d been able to get through that particular week was with a heavy —er than normal—dose of narcotics. And Quentin got through every day of it with nothing more than pessimsm and sad, puppy dog pouts directed at nobody in particular.

So, maybe Eliot spent six months perfecting a spell that allowed him to be there for Quentin whenever he experienced any sort of negative emotions. So what? Eliot’s a perfectionist.

And he also kind of, really, cares about Quentin.

Magnetic - Quentin and Eliot see something else when they touch the Truth key.

“Did you see anything?” Eliot finally asks, leaning his head back against the headboard and turning to look at him.

“Huh?” Quentin blinks away memories, returning the look.

“When you touched the key. Other than Penny.” He shrugs a shoulder, “You said it makes you see the truth.”

God, did he see anything?

How does he say, Yeah. You were shimmering gold and ever since all I can do is feel your lips on my skin, and your fingers in my hair. All I can see is you, Eliot. Jesus Christ I was so blind before—

“Not really,” he says instead, swallowing thick. “Just Penny.”

The Test - Rupert set up a test for the final key. 

The last thing they expect is for Quentin to die immediately after acquiring the last key.

Something happens when he touches it. Something Eliot and Margo can’t even begin to try to explain. Though it’s like he’s talking to someone who isn’t there. For a moment they think maybe it’s like the Truth Key and is showing him something hidden.

That Which Binds - Eliot expects Quentin to stop the wedding.

He keeps expecting the doors to the throne room to burst open and for Quentin to stand there, huffing and puffing as he yells, “Stop the wedding!”

But Eliot says I do, slow and cautious, with his eyes locked on the door rather than on his soon to be husband.

Idri squeezes his hand and pulls him closer, gazes at him in the way Eliot just wishes Quentin would allow himself to. It’s not even sweet, not really. Maybe it’s loving. But Eliot can’t be assed to care. Isn’t sure he could even identify if he did care. “I do.”

Fifty Year Break - Quentin and Eliot have a meddling son.

Quentin shakily climbs to his knees, silently cursing his aching joints and holds out his arms just in time to get two armfuls of grandchildren. He laughs into their hair, ruffles the youngest and looks over their heads at his son. “You came.”

But Rupert just shakes his head with a laugh, and says, “Of course we came, dad.”

Even now, it’s so strange when he says it. When he calls him dad. His eyes well up and he lets go of two of the grandkids to wipe at the tears before they can fall. The last thing he needs is his son worrying about him. He’s already made him worry about Eliot. “I missed you,” He says, grateful smile on his lips as he brushes away the tears.

Sacrifice - Eliot finds out about the depression key. 

“You did what?” Eliot hisses, rushing forward to grab Quentin by his elbows. One hand slides up Quentin’s left arm to cup his jaw. “Are you okay?”

“Y—Yeah. No, no. I’m fine. El, really. I—Benedict was the one—“

Eliot shakes his head, his hand moving around to grip the back of Quentin’s neck. “We’ll talk about that later. Where’s the key? You got it back?”

“Yeah, I—“

“Give it to me.”

Sharp - Quentin accidentally cuts his finger. 

Cooking is Eliot’s thing. Especially in Fillory, where he can experiment with new recipes with strange and exciting ingredients. Where he can tests the limits of cooking and magic—together.

But they’ve been here for five years, and dammit, Quentin wanted to do something for him.

Warm Kisses - There’s a reason Quentin isn’t the one that does the seducing. 

They’re working on the mosaic in the dead of winter, and Quentin should be focusing on the way his fingers go numb with each tile he presses into the sand, or the way his knees ache with each tile he accidentally crawls over. Or the snow that crunches beneath them. Hell, he should focus on literally anything other than what he is.

Which is the length of Eliot’s fingers, and the lithe movements of his body. He’s graceful like a cat, but sexy like—well, like a man. Every tile he places, shuffles his shirt up a little higher, and Quentin catches a glimpse of the V forming on his hips, and he’s clearly got a warming spell to keep him from freezing to death like Quentin is. Quentin could cast a spell and warm himself up, too. Could do a whole lot to end his misery. But he’d kind of hoped Eliot would notice how pink his skins gone, and the way his spine shakes every few seconds. But, nope.

Date - Quentin and Eliot need a break, and Rupert knows just what to do. 

When Rupert grins at them, all mischievous and dangerous, Quentin and Eliot prepare themselves for the worst. No teenager with that look on their face should ever be trusted, and they learned that years ago. And then again and again and again. Because teenagers are fucking difficult.

Eliot is the one to narrow his eyes suspiciously. “What are you up to?” He asks, pointing a finger, “You’ve got that look.”

Cry - Quentin’s had the depression key for too long. 

They’ve been passing the key around. Alice had it for a while, then Josh, then Julia and then Quentin again. He’s curled up on the floor of his bedroom at the physical kids cottage when two pairs of shoes appear in front of him. And then two pairs of knees, and two sets of hands. And then he’s being manhandled until there’s a large warmth at his back, and a smaller warmth at his front.

Margo wraps her arms around his stomach, rests her head on his chest. Her shampoo is a somewhat familiar comfort as her legs tangle in his. Behind him, one of Eliot’s hands come up to comb through Quentin’s hair, soft and easy. His breath is like fire on Quentin’s chest.

Proposal; Take 1 - Eliot’s proposal to Idri is back on. Quentin’s not a fan.

Penny expects a lot when he walks into the the throne room. He doesn’t expect his friends to react, they’d done all their reacting after Julia gave him a new body, but he does expect a hello from one of them or something. He expects chaos now that the fairies are dead. He expects hustle and bustle. He expects a lot.

But, what he finds are three of his friends, Kings and Queen, sitting on their thrones, just staring out at nothing. Quentin’s hairs fallen all in his face, and jesus, he’s still got the fairies blood, dried up where it dripped down his cheeks. Margo’s toying with the ends of her hair as she stares listlessly. And Eliot’s staring at Quentin like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Too Late for Goodbye - Quentin makes a horrifying realization.

It’s three days after they remember that Quentin makes the realization. He’s sitting in Eliot’s room in the castle, flipping through the quest book. Every page is replaced by a memory from their other life, and it plays like a movie in his head. Stupidly simple words bring another memory on, and then he’s lost in it.

But this is the first real one of his—their—son. It’s not long after Ariel died.

Maybe thinking about her is what makes him realize.

No Fear - Eliot takes to being a father surprisingly well. 

When Quentin pulls Eliot aside, Ariel watching them with careful eyes from a distance, Eliot figures he has plenty reason to be afraid.

Somewhere deep down he knows he’s been afraid of Quentin leaving him—and the quest—for Ariel. And it’s only confirmed when Quentin tells him Ariel’s pregnant. He grabs his hand, though, squeezes and says with more emotion than Eliot knows what to do with that he’s not not going anywhere.

Eliot and the key - Eliot gets his hands on the depression key.

He doesn’t mean to touch it, but his life sucks and the universe hates him. He’s shuffling through the stacks of papers Quentin’s left on the table in the dining room, trying to figure out where they’d left off so he can at least help Quentin in that aspect. Since he won’t pass the key to anyone else, or come out of his room.

Rupert - Quentin and Eliot have the best son.

He’s fifteen when he realizes. Honestly, he’s always suspected that his dads loved each other, but growing up, they’d always just been there. And they’d always just been . . . them. Close and somehow, not. He’d had moments before, obviously, where he expected Papa El to lean in and kiss Dad, but then, he just leaned passed him, and picked up a new mosaic piece, and in all honesty, Rupert’s attention span has never been long enough to really pay too much attention to his parents beyond that.

Todd - Todd gets to have a backstory too damn it. 

Todd’s always been an outcast. As far back as he can remember, he’s had to fight to be a part of any sort of social group. He’s always been too enthusiastic, too permeable. Too willing to flex until he’s the guy people want to be around. Or, as his step dad likes to say—He’s always been too much. It’s not like he means to be. It’s just, he wants so badly to be a part of something, that he’ll say or do whatever he needs to. He’ll be the guy people need him to be, even if it kills him.

No More Goodbyes - another marriage proposal. 

Quentin is so fucking sick of goodbyes. Every other day for longer than he has the energy to remember, he’s had to say goodbye to the people he cares the most for without knowing if he’ll ever see them again. First, it’s all to defeat the beast. Then it’s to deal with bored gods. Then it’s a fucking quest.

He’s done saying goodbye.

Not Today - let’s pretend Quentin and Poppy didn’t sleep together.

“No, Poppy–” Quentin says, pushing her away and taking three, steadying steps away from her. He holds one hand out between them, like a lion tamer. “I can’t–I can’t do this.”

She tilts her head, “Why not? It’s not like it has to mean anything.”

“But it will–”

“Look, I’m amazing and all, but, I’m not the type to get attached.”

“I’m kind of–I’m. I’m seeing. Someone?”

Dark Places - Even Quentin’s capable of doing something awful to save the people he loves. 

He climbs to his feet shakily. The world goes wobbly for a second, dizzying and dancing until it balances itself out and Quentin remembers he hasn’t eaten or had anything to drink in days. But it’s okay. He can eat and drink and do whatever the fuck else when he fixes this. He blinks away the blurry vision, shaking his head slightly, as he takes a wobbly step towards the doors on the opposite side of the throne room. He takes another step, pulling the key in and clutching it to his chest. This is the only way. This is his—their—salvation.

He follows a map he’d written lifetimes ago. He’s not even sure how he remembers it. But it’s there, stuck in his mind, vague but just strong enough to outshine the memories he doesn’t want to access.

She’s not even surprised when he stumbles through the barrier.

Holding out for a Hero - Todd’s time to shine. (WIP)

He knows the minute magic comes back. Feels it when the cancer returns. Scorching pain through his veins that leaves him lying on the kitchen floor, curled up in agony.

He’s not sure how long he lies there, before everything settles, and he falls asleep, too weak to get up or call for an ambulance. All he knows, is he wakes the next day, to the sun shining in through the kitchen window. He finds the strength to pull himself up on shaking legs, using the counters as leverage, and forces himself to the table, where his phone and wallet are.

First, he calls Quentin.

“We’re sorry, but the number you have dialed has been disconnected.”

Promise Me - The monster gives Quentin his memories back. 

“You’re sad.”

Quentin looks up from his book, heart jumping into his throat at the sight before him. It’s been four months, but he’s only had his memories a few days. Before, he was just a stranger that pulled him into his life. Now... it’s so jarring. Because he knows it’s Eliot. He’d recognize him anywhere—Which is why it’s so strange seeing something new beneath his eyes.

He’s not sure what hurts more: having had been by his side all this time without knowing, or Looking into his eyes and realizing that while it looks like Eliot, it’s not him.

Happy Birthday - Margo & Co., throw Todd a birthday party.

Kady sets down the cake on the dining room table and crosses her arms, “Remind me again why were doing this?”

Margo barely looks up from her place of directing Eliot on where to hang the banner, “Because you heard what he said.”

“Yeah, his life is pathetic. That doesn’t exp—“

“No, El. Two inches higher.”

Eliot sighs and lifts the banner another two inches, shooting Margo an exasperated eyebrow raise. “Here?”

“Perfect.” She turns to Kady, then, tilting her head. “The reason we’re doing this, is because whenever we need help or information, he’s always there for us.”

Patchwork Love - Quentin’s grand romantic gesture. 

He’s not even sure it’ll work. But Kady mentioned it once, absentmindedly, from her place at the center of the couch in the physical kids cottage. And they’ve (once again) successfully stopped another disaster, and beat the library, and got magic back.

The only thing that’s not how it should be is entirely Quentin’s fault, and even if this doesn’t work, he has a back up plan. Because things are finally going to be perfect. They’re all going to live, no more monsters are coming to kill them or fuck shit up, and they’re going back to Fillory. For good. He just . . . needs to make something as abundantly clear as is possible, so nobody (read: Eliot) gets it into their thick skulls that what he’s asking for is less than what he wants.

Three Words - Brian’s still regaining his memories, but there’s one thing that comes in clear.

They told him to sleep. That they’d distract his gate keeper, and he could finally get some rest.

Maybe they’re all dead.

The creature doesn’t like strangers. Then again, maybe they’re on it’s list of enemies. One of those it wishes to punish for imprisoning it, torturing it, abandoning it—whatever the reason.

He doubts they’re alive.

Maybe that’s why the creature is suddenly kneeling next to the couch, like he’s the prisoner needing comforting, and placing a gentle hand on his elbow. Maybe it knows something he doesn’t. Who these people were to him when he was Quentin. If he ever was Quentin.

and it’s no sacrifice - Todd sacrifices himself.

He wishes he could say goodbye to them. But he doubts they’ll even notice he’s gone. He doesn’t mind. He’d have helped them no matter what; they’re his friends. Even if he’s not theirs. They’ll probably never even know it was him; that he sacrificed himself for them, for magic.

Lifeboat - (70k words) Todd is a time traveler set out to save his family. 

He stumbles across Jane Chatwin’s little clearing in the Fillorian woods shortly after being crowned king. The crown dangles from his fingertips, vague memories of it resting atop his father’s head flitting across his mind the closer to the tips of his fingers it gets, as he crosses the barrier. He only recognizes her because his family had described her and their heroics practically all his life. Remembers his father, former High King of Fillory, sneering at the ground and proclaiming her, “The ultimate anti-hero.”

And when she looks up at him with shining eyes and a gentle smile, his other Dad’s words ring even louder. “Anti-hero or not. She’s the only reason we’re alive. So we’re thankful, El.”

He can practically hear the two of them bickering as if they were standing right beside him, facing their past with him. But, of course they’re not. He’ll never stand side by side with them again. The crown in his hand, digging into his fingertips, is an unwelcome reminder of that fact.

thus with a kiss, i die - Quentin kills the monster to save his friends.

He’s lying on the ground, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Unseeing.

The knife slips out of Quentin’s hand and falls to the ground with a clatter. His mouth falls open on a staggered exhale. There’s a noise behind him—someone getting up, crunching their shoes on the broken glass.

“Is—is everyone—“

He’s not sure who’s speaking. They sound like they’re underwater, or far away. Maybe both. Quentin’s legs give out from beneath him, and he falls to his knees in front of the body. A large piece of glass digs into his knee—punctures the skin. Be Quentin can’t feel it. Or he can. But it doesn’t hurt. Not like this. It’s deep, can feel it in the skin of his knee, cutting through skin. Stinging.

Comfort - Eliot and Margo realize they’re all in. 

“You need to tell me what the problem is,” Eliot murmurs, running a hand through Quentins hair.

They’re sitting on Quentins bed, Quentin curled up in Eliots lap, head on Eliots thigh while he shakes. He hasn’t spoken in hours.

“Q,” Eliot says, leaning down, ignoring the way his spine practically screams at the angle, “I don’t know how to do the comforting thing. I can’t say what you need to hear, because I don’t know what you need. Tell me what you need. Please.”

You Push, I’ll Pull - Quentin’s there for Eliot after the mike debacle. 

Margo comes to him one night, terrified and not at all herself. She doesn’t even say anything, completely ignores Alice, who is sitting with him. She just grabs his arm by the wrist, and drags him up the stairs and to Eliot’s room. He looks at her, confused, as she stares at the closed door. “Talk to him,” She whispers, “I can’t get through.”

“But you’re his best friend.”

She gives him a face, “We both know he and I don’t talk, you can stop pretending you think we do. He’ll talk to you. He won’t talk to me. Not about this.”

Spoon me like you mean it - In which Quentin and Eliot spoon. 

Quentin & the clock - Post season two finale. 

i can hold you - Quentin has a bad day

Teaching Quentin to Bake - in which Eliot teaches Quentin how to bake. 

Eliot’s secret - Eliot has a secret. 

R & R - Quentin needs a break. 

An Evolution of kissing - Quentin and Eliot’s kisses. 

Glasses - Eliot has another secret. 

Teach Me - “Do your lips move when you read?” 

The Banning of Public Displays of Affection - Quentin and Eliot get caught a few too many times. 

Waffles - Penntin. Quentin’s useless. Penny’s gotta help.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Penny asks, walking into the kitchen, half asleep. Quentin’s standing on top of a chair, waving a dish rag over the smoke detector, while smoke billows out behind him on the stove.

He looks at him guiltily as the incessant beeping finally stops. His arm stillw aves frantically, as Penny rushes across the kitchen, grabs the pan off the stove and throws it in the sink, turning the water on. “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Quentin says, breathless.

Can’t Stop This Feeling - Eliot resets the loop. 

Margo and Quentin are dead. Alice is going to defeat the beast, he can see the tremble in Martin’s hands, the way he eyes the spell Alice is working up. Something inside Eliot snaps as he looks across the field at Penny and Kady. They’re watching Alice intent, waiting for her to finish the spell.

If she finishes the spell, there won’t be any more loops. If she finishes the spell, the beast will die, and Eliot will have to go on with his life without Margo or Quentin. If she finishes the spell, Eliot realizes, he’ll be completely alone. They’ll have won, but at what cost? Is he really willing to sacrifice them for victory? If he ready to take that leap into the world without at least Margo at his side?

I Won’t Let You Go - Eliot’s never been good at being alone. Neither has Quentin. 

Eliot approaches, murder in his eyes, and Quentin takes a deep breath, swallowing. His breath quickens with each slow step he takes towards him. He looks around the cottage from where he’s pressed up against the wall, searches for an answer, but all he see’s is blue dancing across his vision. And then his jaw drops, and he looks back at Eliot.

He pulls away from the wall, and starts casting the most powerful spell he can think of, can remember.

Eliot tits his head, “You think a spell will save you?”

The Woods - Who thought hiking was good bonding activity?

“Okay, that’s it,” Eliot pants, shaking his head as he comes to a stop, hand waving in front of him as he doubles over, trying to catch his breath. “That -,” He raises his head enough to look at Quentin, pointing at him as he gulps down air, “Is it!”

Quentin frowns, crossing his arms across his own heaving chest. “We’re just a little … lost. We’ll find the trail -,”

Margo steps in between them, pointing a perfectly manicured nail at both of them, “No,” She says, breathless as well, though she doesn’t seem to be sweating at all. Quentin wonders if it’s because she cast a no persperation spell or something. “We’re done,” She growls between gritted teeth. “Do whatever - you do to summon Penny so we can go home!”

Diamond Kisses - “Did you steal that $100,000 diamond?”

Quentin runs a hand over his face before eyeing the bulge in Margo’s skirt pocket with disdain. His eyes dart up to her face, which is a bizarre mix of smug innocence, and then over to Eliot - her clear accomplice, who also has a ridiculous mixture of elite smugness and something that Quentin figures is the closest Eliots able to come to innocence.

“Margo,” Quentin says, slow, as he drags his eyes back over to her. She tilts her head, lips twitching as she tries to hold in her grin. “Did you steal that $100,000 diamond?”

Little Lamb - It’s Quentin’s Birthday. Never underestimate Eliot’s willingness to make him happy.

Remarkably, it’d been Margo’s idea to head into the city and take Quentin to an arcade for his birthday. “He’s a nerd,” She said, “Nerds like games. And if it’ll make him laugh, at least, why not?”

And Eliot wasn’t about to argue, especially with Quentin curled up on the couch downstairs, pillow tucked up against his chest and gaze lost off in some fantasy of Fillory. At least with this they were able to help get him out of his head.

Petrichor - Quentin and Eliot have a moment alone in the rain. 

“Q,” Eliot murmurs, leaning into the doorway, shoulder up against the hard wood. “Why are you standing in the rain?”

Quentin looks over his shoulder at him, shrugging with a soft smile. “I love the rain,” he whispers, the sound barely making it to Eliot over the rushing water. He turns his gaze back on the backyard, watching the rain fade into the ground.

Stupid Tattoo - Quentin has the dumbest tattoo. 

Roots - (WIP) Soulmate AU.

“What did you do?!” Margo cries out from her place next to the coffee table, curled up with her arm hugged tight to her chest. She hefts herself up over the table to glare at Quentin, “You absolute baffoon, what did you do?!”

He’s pressed up against the bookshelves, head digging into the door of the secret nook, where he’s holding his own arm against himself. He works his mouth open and closed for a moment, before shaking his head, dumbfounded. His eyes work around the room; Penny’s passed out by the front door, Eliot’s just now coming to on the sofa, and Alice is still unconscious on the jean chair. The sound of pounding footsteps and panicked screams above him tell him the rest of the house is starting to wake up as well.

Read Me To Sleep - prompt: who reads to who? 

Home - Eliot’s finally home. 

i been looking at the stars tonight (and i think, oh how i miss that bright sun) - Quentin and Eliot acknowledge they missed each other. 

Operation Friendship - Todd has a puppy. 

Fillory - Margo takes Todd to Fillory. 

Purple - A spell reveals all. 

Quentin’s an idiot.

It’s what everyone’s thinking, but god, he can’t help but agree. Because, while practicing his class work (which is somehow he always finds himself in ridiculous predicaments) he manages to … accidentally nab everyone in a spell that has nothing to do with his classwork.

Which is to say.

He may have accidentally cast a spell that makes everyone turn the color of their current mood.

oh my god they were roommates - Quentin and Eliot are roommates.

“Oh my god,” Margo says, smirking at Penny as Quentin lifts another box.

He doesn’t expect Penny to play along, but he does. “They were roommates!”

Quentin narrows his eyes at both of them, as he moves past them to set the box on the counter in the kitchen. Eliot closes the door of the refrigerator, and grins all cool and ease. “You could help,” Quentin mutters, heaving out a breath.

Eliot shakes his head, “Oh, no, dear. I don’t move. I observe. Manage. But I don’t move.”

The Path We Follow - is Eliot even alive beneath the monster? 

The day they all find out is a harsh juxtaposition to the solemn heartache in the air. The creature is off playing a game with Quentin, to give them a chance to get their answers. But the sun is shining, and there’s a soft breeze blowing through the trees surrounding the playground they’re huddled up under.

“You’re sure?” Kady asks, soft.

Julia nods, wrapping her arms around herself tighter. “I asked. Then I asked again, and then I asked two more gods. They all say the same thing.”

Because - Quentin gets his memories back and makes a realization. 

It’s Margo, because of course it is, that helps him remember. She practically flips a switch, and the parts of his mind–the Quentin within–that were off, are back on, and everything he was and isn’t is all there. Like it’d just been waiting for him to remember.

And he looks between her, and the creature, and back.

There are a lot of things to process. So many of them, in fact, that it’s overwhelming on literally every front his brain even tries to approach. Except one.

codependent - Jane and Fogg set the loop further back. 

Jane and Henry realize three of their group of idiots are somewhat intrinsically linked. So much so that they hatch a plan. It’s dangerous, and so much more than either of them have ever planned—but going back twenty three years and rearranging their lives — while a hassle, isn’t so much so that they can’t do it.

And, honestly, Jane loves a challenge (that doesn’t risk her life).

never send me roses - Eliot discovers a surprising allergy. 

Quentin’s curled up on the couch in the cottage when Eliot bursts in, nose red and runny, eyes puffy. He looks positively furious, as he slams his way through the cottage to the small kitchenette to drop off the take from the village. Quentin watches him, unmoving, opting to let him work out the hissy fit of anger before even thinking to ask him what the fuck happened.

Rupert’s off at a friends in a village down the stream, and they’ve opted to take the weekend off from working on the mosaic. It’s been weeks without a break, and ultimately, the world has waited this long, it can wait a little longer for them to live their lives around it. He glances at the stack of tiles on the table by his socked feet, tilting his head for a moment. Maybe Eliot’s angry that the mosaic isn’t done.

Holiday Blues - Quentin’s got a classic case of the holiday blues. 

Eliot peeks out the cottage door, tilting his head at Quentin, who’s solemnly sitting in his chair, staring off into the distance. It’s a very Quentin thing to do. Pretend to be okay when Eliot’s near, but as soon as he thinks nobodies looking, he lets all the sadness and everything take hold, and capture him like–well, Eliot’s not sure like what.

All he knows is it’s Quentin’s first christmas without Rupert since, well, since Rupert’s first christmas.

Eliot clears his throat and makes his way out, holding a cup of tea in each hand. Quentin jumps, forces a smile on his lips, and quickly wipes at his eyes like he doesn’t think Eliot will realize he’s been crying like the sad sap he is.

Walk With Me - Inexplicably, Quentin wants to go on a hike.

“You want to do what.”

Eliot shouldn’t be surprised that Quentin’s finally cracked. They’ve been out in the woods for six months, and of course he’s lost his mind. Honestly, it wasn’t ever really completely there in the first place. Look at half the shit he’s done at Brakebills, and his history, for an example of how not there Eliot’s second favorite person in the world is.

Okay, he’s tied for first, but for the love of all that is good in the world don’t tell Margo. The last thing he needs is Quentin’s death on his hands. Though, if he’s being honest, Margo wouldn’t hurt Quentin. He’s her second favorite person, too.

stargazing - Quentin wants to comfort Eliot. 

Eliot wakes up to Quentin leaning over him, a soft, sad smile on his lips. He wants to be angry for being woken up, but then Quentin moves away, and he can’t help but sit up. And then Quentin’s hold a hand out to him, eyes hiding something tht Eliot can’t quite decipher. But, as always, he can’t really say no to Quentin, so he takes his hand, and allows himself to be lead through the Physical Kids cottage, through the backyard, and across campus, until they’re right there where they met for the first time.

He doesn’t realize Quentin has a blanket, until he silent lets go of Eliot’s hand and flaps it open until it falls flat against the grass, right in front of the stone BRAKEBILLS sign, Eliot spent twenty minutes trying to get the perfect pose all the months ago on. Eliot blinks down at the blanket, sleepily looking between it and Quentin.

TADA - They’re about to graduate from Brakebills. 

The cottage isn’t where it’s suppose to be. Which isn’t weird, exactly. But usually, Eliot can just, kind of … sense where it’s at. Find his way to it. But it’s gone. The front and back lawns are still here, with the fire pit and the grill and the flowers and walkways. Almost like the cottage is still here, just invisible.

But it’s not, because Eliot’s walking through the big gaping space at the center of it all and he hasn’t walked into any invisible walls yet.

He’s not going to admit it, but he’s getting frustrated. This is his last day here. All of their last days. They’ll get alum keys, but it won’t be the same. They won’t be apart of the cottage anymore. He won’t be a part of the cottage anymore.

Take Me Away - Quentin and Eliot give up magic for a chance at happiness. 

They meet in a little coffee shop. It feels set up, when a tall man with curly hair bumps into Quentin, and spills his both of their coffees all over them. Quentin can’t even freak out, beyond staring at the stain seeping through the mans white shirt, and the soft, billowing curls of his hair.

There’s somebody about him that seems familiar. But it doesn’t matter, because the man is freaking out.

“Fuckity fuck fuck!” He spreads his arms–his long, long arms–wide, and shakes off the coffee clinging to his fingertips.

Rainbow Sprinkles - Quentin hates rainbow sprinkles. 

Rainbow sprinkles? I asked for chocolate.” Quentin looks up at the ice cream bar with a frown.

Margo snorts through her spoonful of mango sorbet. She twists her spoon as Quentin looks up at her.

“What?”

Her eyebrow quirks. “What, what?”

“Why’d you make that sound?”

She smirks around the spoon before pulling it out of her mouth with a soft pop, and reaching for more sorbet. “Oh,” she says as she scoops some into the spoon and eyes him mirthfully, “I just think it’s funny.”

The Point (of No Return) - Quentin doesn’t take well to getting his memories back. 

There’s a point, Quentin realizes while everyone’s off doing their own thing. There’s a point to all the pain and anguish they have to go through. All the loss. Magic comes from pain, right? To be strong they have to lose everything. He gets it. As much as one can really get that they have to lose everything to amount to anything.

But there’s a point beyond all that. A point that he can’t hide from.

He’s sitting on the roof of Marina’s building, staring up at the stars, wondering how they all got here. The monster is off masquerading in Eliot’s body who-the-fuck-knows-where, and Quentin’s got to find the strength to face off with him one day. When the others track him down. When they figure out how to kill it.

Let These Hard Times Pass - fuck the season four promo. 

Crossroads - Eliot and the Suicide Fountain 

They open it back up in the spring. When Sunderland makes the announcement during class, Eliot merely rolls his eyes, and carries on pretending to do his work while a first year finishes up both of their projects. But he saves it. He’s not sure why he does, isn’t even sure it’s a conscious decision. But it’s there, ticking like a time bomb at the back of his mind. He finds himself staring at it as he walks across campus. They’re all trying to pretend everything’s normal, but he killed Mike; Mike didn’t even know—He’s not doing it consciously. Really. It’s just . . . there’s something about it that pulls him in closer. Something that makes him see it, in a way that he never has before. Maybe that’s the danger of it. It wins.

These Goodbyes (Dance Like Fire) - Eliot visits a grave. 

Eliot walks down the path, careful to avoid stepping on the grass, with a clear destination in mind. The ground beneath his feet is wet, and gives way with each step, but it doesn’t deter him. Only urges him forward, even as mud cakes the sides of his shoes.

When he arrives, he stands there for a few long moments, gazing down at the one thing he’s been too scared to come face to face with. He’d missed the funeral, in his grief. Missed the wake, when the stone replaced the little plaque--too guilt ridden to even get out of bed. Margo came back after both, shedding her little black dresses, and climbed into his bed. She didn’t say anything, but when she curled up around him, he felt her silent sobs shaking her.  

Even now, he’s cheating. He’s here, but not really.

He licks his lips. “Hi,” he says to the plot in front of the stone.

Oh, Brother - Todd is Eliot’s brother.

He sits at the bar in the kitchen. At least here when he looks out over the kitchen, clutching the coffee cup close to his chest, while he feet dangle over the side of the chair, he isn’t faced with an empty house. The steam floats up, fills his lungs with sweet, sugary warmth, and he lets his eyes fall closed.

His jaw clenches unconsciously.

They left him again.

Ease My Mind - rarepair challenge -- Todd/Eliot

Look. When your friends, who are too socially maladjusted to admit they’re your friends, ask you to watch your not crush while they go conquer some great evil across the planes of existence—you do it.

You just. Need to ask more questions than Todd did.

“When will you be back?”

Margo’s hurried response of, “Can’t say. Just—read him what we wrote. He’ll start remembering when the fairy spell wears off and then demand you leave his presence for all of eternity. Just like normal.” hadn’t really been all that helpful when it comes to calming Eliot down.

And it figured that Quentin and Margo had dashed back into the portal before Todd could even raise a finger to point out that maybe he’s not the best person for the job.

--

Prompt: Character A gets temporary short-term amnesia. Character B gets bored of constantly updating them on what's going on, so they start telling bigger and bigger lies to see what they'll believe.

Familiar Taste of Poison - Quentin’s reaction. Post 4x05 drabble. 

Coming Home - Post 4x05 Eliot decides to be brave.

It’s over. It’s finally over.

Quentin stands in the doorway, watching over Eliot’s sleeping form, still somehow at awe of the rise and fall of his chest. There’s still a stressed furrow between his brow, even though he’s been unconscious for hours. But, Quentin’s sure it’s something that’ll fade with time. Or, he hopes, it is. He crosses his arms, and rests his head against the door frame. God. It’d been so close.

He swallows thickly, and tries not to think about all the times he almost lost him.

Always and Never - Quentin tells Margo that Eliot’s alive (and other sad stuff)

Quentin twists at the waist, side to side, slightly swaying, before mumbling, “We need to talk.”

Margo closes her eyes for half a second, exhaling slowly, before saying, careful and concise, “Q. I have an entire world to rule over. I don’t have time to help you mour—“

“Eliot’s alive, Margo.”

She stops. Sets down the pen in her hand, and turns to face him full on, clumsily reaching up to cross her arms. Whether it’s a way to defend herself, or because she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, Quentin doesn’t know. “What do you mean, he’s alive?” Quentin’s gaze darts away as her lip twitches. “You told me he died.”

Unhinged - Todd finds out Eliot’s alive.

Too Much - Quentin has a panic attack. 

The glass shatters in slow motion.

Quentin feels the world shift, something cold and dark and familiar settling in his chest. Heavier and heavier the closer to the ground the glass gets. The further the pieces of glass spread. Time stops being linear, flashing forward and back—between the moment the glass slipped out of his hand, and the second it hits the ground. As the bourbon seeps into his pant legs, and the sound finally breaks through—it’s like something else snaps.

Something he’s been fighting to keep a hold on for months.

It cracks, and webs up through his heart, his soul—his chest, fast forward and aching. Blistering agony seeping through his veins at the speed of light. And he finally hears it—

The startling cataclysm of the base of the glass crashing into the floor—finally feels the warmth of the bourbon on his pants. Finally feels.

Feels everything.

how to dance in time - Eliot and Quentin are very in love. 

A rush of warmth shoots up into his heart, and his feet move of their own accord. Quentin must sense him enter the room, because he looks up, and his chest heaves as he breathes in a big gust of air, and the small smile on his lips slowly softens to just a tiny uptick of the corners of his mouth. But his eyes are wide and shining, and he’s not moving. Just. Watching Eliot approach.

Julia makes a face, smiling but not really, and as Eliot comes to a stop beside them, she clears her throat and shoves up from the couch. “I’m just gonna—“ She breaks off as Eliot shakes his head, barely able to take his gaze off Quentin.

“No,” He says, waving a hand at her, “We need some privacy, anyways.” He glances at her, even as the thought of looking away from Quentin feels like too much of a loss. He reminds himself that he has another lifetime to do so. That this isn’t the end. That they finally managed to solve the problem, and that there aren’t any more apocalypses on the horizon. That he and Quentin have another chance to spend a lifetime together. That he can spare a few seconds without looking at him, because he’s got billions left.

She quirks an eyebrow, but shrugs a shoulder, dropping back down onto the couch. “All right,” She says, turning to look at Quentin. Eliot follows her gaze, feels his breath hitch.

Quentin’s hair is just as messy as it always is. But for once, instead of forcing down the fondness, Eliot embraces it wholly. Feels his cheek twitch with it. He reaches out, holds a hand out for him, and tries not to look too expectant.

with no space between us - Quentin and Eliot are reunited and a little desperate.

Quentin drops to his knees, wide eyed and awe struck. His chest heaves as he tries to catch a breath, but that’s all automatic, because he can’t care less about what his lungs are doing. Because there’s a glint of simmering hazel peaking out from beneath curly black hair—there’s a nose and a mouth. And before Quentin can really be sure he’s done it, long, lithe fingers are pulling him in by the lapels of his shirt, and clumsy arms are making their way around the back of his neck and around his waist. He freezes, just a moment of hesitation, before all the air his lungs keep trying to collect whooshes out of him in one big burst and he’s collapsing against a familiar chest. All warmth and ease.

He squeezes Eliot with all the strength he has in him. Grips his fingers into the back of the monsters jacket, holds on for dear life. All the desperation that’s stacked up on his shoulders moves down; seeps into the air around them as Eliot pulls him in impossibly tighter.

“You did it,” Eliot whispers into his ear, twisting his chin around and catching it on Quentin’s hair. He inhales, deep, and breathes him in.

Quentin shakes his head, but makes no move to pull away. “El,” He mumbles, his words dancing along the skin of Eliot’s collar bone, lips dragging in their wake. “If you think I’m letting go—“

“Don’t,” Eliot interrupts, shaking his own head, closing his eyes. “Don’t let go. Not yet.”

not said to me - quentin’s favorite color is purple.

Quentin’s favorite color is purple.

It hasn’t always been, but there’s a lifetime between when it wasn’t, and now. Years upon years, and moments upon moments.

Quentin’s favorite color is purple. Not just any shade of purple, though. Not like the plums Arielle used to bring to the mosaic before she became a part of their lives. Not the pale, pastel of the magic mushrooms Eliot once found lining the river. Not even the deep royal purple of Teddy’s first girlfriends dress. It’s a particular purple. He doubts anyone else even remembers it.

on a sunny tuesday afternoon, with the sunlight glowing in your hair - Eliot relives a memory.

He’s hit with the taste of opium, and the sweet, hickory scent of the Fillorian woods. Magic swells up within him, dances along his fingertips, and up into the air all around him. He feels his smile inch wider; even more so when he looks to his right and see’s the meadow. And beyond that—the cottage. Three little kids are running around chasing one another in the front of it, and Quentin’s sitting on the ground with a baby, smiling hopelessly at her, while she gurgles and laughs, tugging at his beard. Teddy comes from around the side of the cottage, holding a stack of freshly washed mosaic tiles, his wife trailing after him, content smiles on both their faces.

This is Eliot’s happy place.

He swallows, before making his way over. The leaves and twigs beneath his feet crunch and crack, giving him away. And before he knows it, three excited screams are directed at him, and he’s got a child attached to each leg, hugging him tight like a viper, and one holding her arms up at him, hands opening and closing; yelling for him to pick her up.

The laugh bubbles up out of his chest of its own volition as he leans down and picks her up, pulling her in. She tucks her head under his chin, giggling breathlessly and wrapping her arms around his neck, while he secures his hold on her by wrapping his hand around her thigh. It’s almost too tight, her hold on his throat, but in a good way. Content suffocation, is what he calls it. Not enough to strangle, just enough to remind him that he’s here. Enough to make him think he’s alive, and that this is real.

as a hello - Eliot makes a wish. 

El . . .” Margo says from behind him. She’s being cautious, which is fair, because he’s holding a coin over the most powerful magic in all of Fillory, ready to make his wish. “Just—remember. That these things never turn out how you expect.”

He knows. His thumb brushes over the face of the coin, his eyes fluttering shut. ‘Be careful,’ the questing dog had said, ‘for the wishing fountain grants the wish in the way it so chooses.’ Not like the winters doe—who’s gone missing—but with a twist. Sometimes it grants what’s beyond the words, resting on the veins of the wishers heart. Sometimes it senses evil, and grants the opposite if not worded precisely. It’d been the only reason Martin Chatwin stayed away. One wrong word, and Eliot could blow up the entire universe and every living thing that inhabits it.

So, of course, the entire trek up he’d thought about his wording. Simple. As few words as possible, but clear enough. Precise. No room for the fountain to take it the wrong way. Made sure to keep all his feelings about Quentin’s death bubbling up on the surface so the fountain can’t even think that his heart isn’t in it when he makes the wish.

Truth be told, Margo and Julia had spent the entire quest sharing side eyed glances as the tears quietly slipped over his cheeks. He’s sure they’ve wanted to tell him to turn back a dozen or more times. But they got to say goodbye. They got closure.

so we keep waiting (as restless as an avalanche) - Penny and Quentin have a chat. 

“Uh, hey.”

Quentin looks up from the book, blinking away the sleep dark that threatens at the edges of his vision, and narrows his eyes up at Penny standing in the doorway. He’s got his arms crossed like he’s uncomfortable. Which means Quentin’s about to be uncomfortable. Well. More uncomfortable. He hasn’t not felt uncomfortable in weeks. Months. Years, even.

The one time he can think back on being comfortable is on the worlds most uncomfortable couch, filled to the brim with easing spells, straw sticking out the sides, while he lay across it horizontally with his legs dipping over the side, and his head in Eliot’s lap. Eliot’s fingers scratching mindless patterns in Quentin’s scalp, getting tangled in the unkempt mess. All while their son laughs in the other room, a giddy little manic joy that only a child can possess. The comfort, then, had been easy and real. Especially when he opened his eyes and found Eliot watching him with a soft smile that he’d reserved solely for moments like these.

hot water on wool -- Quentin takes a shower. 

Like the fucking world is doing to him.

He steps out of the his pants, and toes off the wet socks. Looks at himself in the mirror again.

He’s not—emaciated. Unhealthy. No, he’s just. Pale. Shivering. Even as the steam settles on the edges of the mirror, spreading in. Like a tunnel closing in on him. He lets it. Let’s the steam fill the room, fog the mirror. Let’s himself fade away beneath it, until he’s nothing more than an unrecognizable blur. Then he turns, reaches into the shower. His hand settles beneath the spray.

Hot.

Hot, hot, hot.

Too fucking hot.

He—he feels like it’ll set him aflame.

(i’m) coming back to you (wip) - turns out Penny made a bet with Hades that quentin wouldn’t go through the archway.

Quentin stops just outside the archway, and looks down at the metro card in his hand. He mattered to them. It’s okay. They’ll be okay. He just needs to--to walk through the door.

But.

“Something wrong?”

He blinks down at the card, turning it over in his palm, and quietly says to it, “You never did answer my question.” He looks up from the card, and twists around to turn his gaze on Penny. His hands are tucked in his pockets, and he seems mostly surprised that Quentin hasn’t gone through the door yet. “Did I? Kill myself?”

Penny stares at him for a long moment before taking a half step towards him and rolling his shoulders. “Does it matter?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? His friends were mourning him--he mattered to them. His life wasn’t this meaningless disaster he’d always thought it was. And for once, his brain isn’t compounded by countless thoughts of ‘what if I--’s. For once in his entire life, it’s all just silent, and it shouldn’t matter how it happened. He should just turn, and step through the door and--

“Yes.”

rage, rage against the dying of the light - Eliot’s pissed after (4x13) and rightfully so.

“Where are you going?”

He pauses by the refrigerator, tries not to notice the sticky note with Quentin’s handwriting stuck to a menu on the freezer door--though, it hasn’t worked the other six times he’s been in the kitchen, so why would it now? “Well,” he says, reaching up with only a minor twinge in his gut, to scratch at the edge of the menu. “Everyone’s getting their happy ever afters. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.” The words come out softer than he intends, but he’s too busy following the anxious loop on the y of Friday with his eyes, while the crisp cardboard of the menu falls into the crook between his nail and skin.

“Eliot.” It’s all command seeped in worry.

And if he weren’t already so sick of people pretending to care, he’d play along.

--

Or, Eliot's sick of the "pretend everything's okay" game.

Lucidity - Eliot’s mourning, the others are Questing. Cupid makes an appearance. 

Margo barges into his room on the eve of day ninety, glares at him with a trembling jaw and says, “We’re going to save Quentin Mother Fucking Coldwater from the other god damned side, and you are going to help us.”

He blinks owlishly up at her, before the words finally register and he scrambles so he’s sitting upright in his bed, wincing only slightly along the way. “What?” He asks. “How? What?”

“I’ve respected your mourning period because I’m a great fucking friend. But Julia and Josh and Penny and I have taken this as far as we can. It’s your turn.”

She looks kind of angry, and he’s just. He’s confused.

Clarity - missing scene from Lucidity. Quentin and Eliot talk shit out.

They’re curled up together, lying face to face in Eliot’s bed with their hands interlaced in between them. Eliot blinks quietly, index finger tracing the vein overtop the back of Quentin’s hand, and swallows heavily as Quentin’s lips tilt upwards, eyes following the motion. It’s been a week of this. Of warm beds and soft skin and calm ease. Of reacquainting and allowing themselves to say everything they’ve spent years too afraid to even acknowledge.

He swallows again as his palm flattens out over the whole of Quentin’s, edges extending out onto the boney expanse of his wrist, and fingers curling over the tips of Quentins. Quentin’s eyes flutter shut, and Eliot weaves his fingers in through the space between Quentin’s. It’s strange, still, how easily and perfectly his hand fits in Quentin’s. How even after a lifetime of memories of doing nothing more than this for near an hour every morning, it still sends an electric shock down his arm and spine, and jump starts his heart for the day.

to love and back - Eliot rescues Quentin from the afterlife.

It’s not what he expected to lie on this side of the door. For the peace and ease of it all to be so all consuming that he’d just. Not want to go. But, the door’s still there, can feel the rope wrapped around his waist scratching at the corner of the doorframe whenever he moves, and he doesn’t even care, because he’d walked through, and Quentin had just been standing there. Almost like he’d been waiting for him. And for the past however long it’s been, if he can even quantify time in a timeless expanse of everything, they’ve been unable to unravel from one another.

“Is this the afterlife?” Quentin asks, a moment later, breath gushing out of him, and forming a small cloud above them. It’s not even cold. It’s just this place; everything they do creates color or planets or clouds. Every breath, and every movement. There’s a tree forming at the edges of the clearing--which stills feels eerily similar to the one Quentin and Eliot spent a lifetime together finding the beauty of all life in—creaking and crackling; Eliot pretends not to see the fresh bark as it crackles to life, and flutters to the ground; not quite ready for the growth spurt that spawns it.

(i’m) coming back to you - fuck you, Quentin’s not perma-dead.

Quentin stops just outside the archway, and looks down at the metro card in his hand. He mattered to them. It’s okay. They’ll be okay. He just needs to--to walk through the door.

But.

“Something wrong?”

He blinks down at the card, turning it over in his palm, and quietly says to it, “You never did answer my question.” He looks up from the card, and twists around to turn his gaze on Penny. His hands are tucked in his pockets, and he seems mostly surprised that Quentin hasn’t gone through the door yet. “Did I? Kill myself?”

Penny stares at him for a long moment before taking a half step towards him and rolling his shoulders. “Does it matter?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? His friends were mourning him--he mattered to them. His life wasn’t this meaningless disaster he’d always thought it was. And for once, his brain isn’t compounded by countless thoughts of ‘what if I--’s. For once in his entire life, it’s all just silent, and it shouldn’t matter how it happened. He should just turn, and step through the door and--

“Yes.”

Anything (& more) - Eliot’s a big ol’ romantic. 

Two days after everything settles down, and a week after they get Quentin back, Eliot tells Margo to have Quentin meet him where they first met.

He’s wearing the same outfit, though he’ll never admit the fit has grown a bit snug, thanks to the monsters dietary habits. He’s in the same position he was when Quentin first came stumbling back up to him—lit cigarette in one hand, a hastily made card with Quentin’s name in the other—while he lounges across the stone. All poise and confidence—even, if he’s being honest, right about now his hearts definitely arguing the confidence of it all. If the way it’s pounding anxiously in his chest is anything to go by, that is.

But, it doesn’t matter, because he remembers that first day perfectly. And for the bits he didn’t, Margo had been gracious enough to cast a remembrance spell, because, ‘Like hell I’m leaving this all in your hands, El. You have a tendency to screw up when it comes to Q.’

Happiness Begins - Eliot of the future barges in on Quentin’s first moments at brakebills.

“Quentin Coldwater?”

Quentin blinks up at the man in white, an angel in his own right, as he glares down at him, contempt and mild interest battling it out on his face. All Quentin can do is nod with a, “Uh-huh,” because the words can’t seem to find him anymore than his heart seems capable of slowing down.

The man’s eyes narrow, before his gaze sweeps over Quentin’s body, sending a chill down Quentin’s spine, and a malease of how beautiful the angel is, and what he must see when he looks over him. He swallows thickly, and the man jumps down from the stone, a soft little smirk settling on his lips. “I’m Eliot. You’re late.”

Quentin blinks again, not quite sure what to say, but the man turns on his heel, and Quentin stares after him. He’s talking, but he can’t quite register any of the words with the sudden summer sun blaring down on him, and the cool breeze ruffling his hair and sweeping away the nervous sweat building along his hairline. He takes a step, moves to follow after the man, not quite ready to let him go, when a warm hand wraps around his arm from behind, and spins him around.

Dancing in the Dark (WIP) - Eliot recreates the happy place for some time with Quentin, but not everything it as it seems. 

“Hey, old man.”

Eliot smiles softly to himself, glancing across the room. “Q,” he murmurs. He hadn’t meant to conjure him just yet, but he’s not exactly upset to see him, either. Especially like this. Happy, and old. And, god, that’s more than he probably could have even hoped for from this spell. Exactly like his final memories of him from the life that never happened.

Quentin grins; his smile lines are deep enough to hide a lifetime of laughter. It pulls at something in Eliot’s chest, the way the wrinkles and grey hair only seem to make Quentin all the more endearing. “You seem surprised to see me.”

(this is not a) Temporary Love - there’s a use for the vial of blood. Also, letters. so many letters. 

There’s a layer of dust coating everything in the cottage, like nobody’s been here since them. A thick white film, almost the perfect representation of what their lives ended up being. He swipes a finger along the counter as he goes, a thin streak left behind, as he marvels at the fact that it’s exactly how they left it — despite never having actually been here. Even the lines along the doorway to the kitchen, where Quentin had insisted on marking Teddy’s height; Eliot pauses here, to press his nail into the tallest mark, a soft smile dancing along his lips at the memory of Quentin pouting when they finally had the proof that Teddy had officially grown taller than him.

He swallows down a lump and moves down the short hallway. The door to the bedroom is closed, and he hesitates for a moment, before reaching out and wrapping his hand around the knob. He freezes, a memory flashing of Quentin.

Uncle Jerichos boat - (this is James/Q) James shows off his uncles boat.

Written for the covenant house drabbles thing. 

First Date Flirting - Margo & Alice go on their first date.

written for the covenant house drabbles thing.

Quentin’s Wards - Penny overhears something in Quentin’s head. (Penntin)

written for the covenant house drabbles thing.

if not by fate, then by fire (not to me) - another i love you.

There’s a webbing of magic there, glinting in the sunlight. He squints his eyes and tilts his head, moving to sit on his knees to get a closer look. It looks like wards; ghostly equations dancing in the air and letting the wind gently guide them back and forth. Like a flag on a gentle summer day. He watches it, almost like he’s caught in a trance, for a moment. Almost starts swaying with it.

And then he gets up, and follows it.

Lets it lead him. And when he approaches it, settling a hand in the air a breath away from making contact, he takes a deep breath, and looks up over it towering over him. Still swaying, like a dance to say hello and remind him he’s alive. His lips falls into a soft smile, and he presses forward. Expects a shockwave or for the magic to refuse his entrance. But his hand pushes through, and then his wrist with it’s magic rune, and then his arm and shoulder and before he knows it, he’s blinking up into a cloudless summer sky.

Relief - Quentin and Eliot have a talk (andthensome)

“You’re missing your own party.”

Quentin startles, flipping around so his back against the balcony wall, and bringing a hand to his chest as Eliot steps out onto the balcony with him. He’s watching him expectantly, a strange little smile on his lips, and Quentin swallows, attempts a sheepish shrug. “It’s a lot,” he says after a moment, carefully turning back around to look over the city view the penthouse grants. He reaches up and clutches the bars on the wall, fists tight and knuckles burning white.

The sound of Eliot’s shoes tapping against the concrete beneath their feet fills the silence, until Quentin can feel him, warm and real, standing just behind him.

In Case You Don’t Live Forever - Quentin and Eliot decide to get Help. 

“I had a dream,” he murmurs, letting the words drift, directionless into the air around him. He doesn’t expect Quentin to reply. How could he? He hasn’t said more than a handful of words since Eliot woke up, barring the quiet, ‘I’m glad you’re not dead’ whispered into his bed while he thought Eliot was sleeping.

Eliot twists his neck, catches the tail end of a too quick movement of Quentin purposefully looking away—back up to the sky. Swallows down the hurt that suddenly fills him up with the residual panic from his dreams. “I think it was more a nightmare, actually.” He pauses, but Quentin only blinks, his Adam’s apple bobbing; the barest hint of a shadow movement beneath the moonlight. “Can I tell you about it?”

Tell Me You Love Me - Penntin, the first i love you.

Quentin Coldwater realizes he’s in love with his boyfriend on a Tuesday in the middle of June. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t be an issue. He could keep it tucked up in his head, this quiet little longing all for himself forever if need be.

Except his boyfriend can read minds. And Quentin’s wards, despite his best efforts, are crap. Add to that his inability to tell a decent lie, and well.

Penny Adiyodi finds out Quentin loves him on a Wednesday morning in the middle of June.

timekeeper - Eliot uses stoppards machine. 

(written for the covenant house drabbles)

“How the fuck did I agree to this?”

“I think the better question is why didn’t we stop Eliot from knocking Stoppard out,” Julia murmurs, staring down at Stoppard's sleeping body. “That’s definitely something we could have done.”

Eliot looks over his shoulder at them, his hand slipping from the edge of the window. “Would you two stop wasting time and tell me how to work this fucking thing?” When Penny turns a glare on him, Eliot simply offers a glare right back and motions towards the mirror. “Please.” He adds obligingly, when Julia pointedly raises her eyebrows at him. His hand slowly falls until Penny sighs and moves around him, gently shoving Eliot out of the way.

in awe, the first time you realized it - another i love you.

They’re lying on the grass not far off from the mosaic. Quentin’s laying on his back with his arm tucked up under his head, pointing up at a cloud, claiming it’s making a shape it most certainly isn’t, and Eliot’s lying next to him on his side, a fond little smile on his lips as he lets him ramble. He’s making up a story about the cloud, how it’s a fierce dragon, fighting its way to victory across the skies, seeking out its mate. Or the knight meant to slay it. Quentin adds this bit with a slight shake of his head, glancing at Eliot just long enough to make sure he laughs. He does. Because it’s ridiculous.

Eliot plucks a blade of grass from between them and rolls it between his fingers. His knuckles brush up against Quentin’s stomach, and Quentin stumbles along what he’s trying to say. Smirking, Eliot leans in and quirks an eyebrow. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, Q. You’ll have to start over.”

a whisper in the ear - another i love you.

Quentin’s sitting in the living room, reading a book — something new that Kady had tossed to him when she came back from the library to help him “find a new obsession preferably not created by a pedophile, yeah?” — with his legs tucked up underneath him. His hair falls from it’s place behind his ear, and he reaches up to tuck it back into its place; a fruitless task but a habit that he’s not likely to break unless he cuts his hair. He shuffles further into the cushion of the couch, brow furrowing as the protagonist in the book hears a strange noise and decides to follow it. He shakes his head at her — never fucking following the strange noise, Patrice, god — but turns the page anyways.

The sound of the front door opening and closing fills the room, but it’s not enough to break his concentration. The books great, and the characters in it don’t make the best life decisions, but he can’t help but think that that’s why he relates to them. He still jumps when a creature jumps out of the closet and bares it’s teeth at Patrice. Still tries not to cheer, when a couple paragraphs later, she jabs the broken leg of a chair through its chest.

Still I come back to you - 4x13 never happened, but Quentin and Eliot still manage to be disasters.

He’s able to sit up for the first time on a Thursday. Has been weaving in and out of consciousness for the better half of a week. Flanked by Margo on his left, Quentin on his right, and a revolving door of characters at his feet. Visitors who come and go and sometimes come back. Like Penny and Alice and Julia. Or who come once, stay for a few minutes, and then disappear to never return. Like Dean Fogg and Kady. Nothing more than courtesy drop by.

He doesn’t mind. Quentin squeezes his hand tight like he thinks he might, though, so he just nuzzles his cheek into Quentin’s shoulder and opts not to mention that he has all he needs right here. Pretends not to hear Margo’s judgement when she huffs out an amused breath. Squeezes her hand as if to say not now, Bambi.

dance with me - another i love you

What was it he’d said in his happy place all those months ago?

Oh, right.

He promised to be brave.

One moment of bravery for a lifetime of happiness. Quentin had been brave, back in Fillory, when he’d kissed Eliot that first time. And the culmination of that one moment had been fifty years of ups and downs and — Maybe Eliot just has to be the one to take that leap this time.

Family Ties - Eliot finds Quentin’s mom after his death. (WIP)

They’d spent nights under the stars, lying beside one another, revealing little bits of themselves in ways they’d never felt safe before. Until every part of their lives laid out, open and bare for the other to hold and protect.

It’s why when Julia and Alice both each volunteered to do this, he couldn’t let them. Why when Julia, watery eyed and jittery, sitting beside him in the infirmary, said, “I have to tell his mother.” He squeezed her hand.

And said no.

here’s to the so much better - another i love you

They’ve lived the so much better. They fought and died for the so much better. They literally went to hell and back and if that wasn’t for so much better than what the fuck was it for? Longing glances across the room but an unwillingness to act on feelings they both know are there? A lingering touch in the kitchen when Eliot reaches the top shelf and hands the cup to Quentin? Falling asleep on each other in the living room because they’re too comfortable and too cowardly to go upstairs together?

Fuck. That.

Golden - Quentin pines. Eliot’s oblivious.

“What do you think it looks like?” He asks, voice barely loud enough to pass over the soft rustling of the trees.

“It’s called the Golden Tile, Q. I imagine it’s golden. And a tile.”

Quentin rolls his eyes and looks back up at him. “I meant the beauty of all life. What do you think it looks like?”

delicate - Quentin just really loves Taylor Swift.

Quentin blanched, eyes going wide as he took an annoyed step backwards. “Taylor Swift released two new albums while I was gone and you didn’t tell me?” A hand came up and rushed through his greasy, unwashed hair as best it could with the tangles, and he shook his head. “How dare you.”

perspective - Quentin and Eliot have a talk after Quentin’s resurrection.

Eliots down here somewhere — he knows, because he’d checked his room first. Because not long after Margo went to bed last night, Eliot, beautiful, kind Eliot, lit by the glow of the dimming fire set by Quentin’s magic-clumsy hands, and in a searing moment of deja vu, pulled Quentin in and pressed a kiss to his lips.

Now That the Chips are Down - Quentin claws himself out of a grave. (WIP)

He’s bleary eyed, stumbling along the sidewalk, lights from the city glaring down at him, chest heaving with every aching, heavy breath. He can still feel the dirt between his teeth, the coarse texture of it lining his throat from where he’d breathed it in. His fingers ache, cuticles bleeding and tender where the dirt lines them. He glances down at them, vision going dark for a moment before phasing back in. His hands stretched out in front of him, palm out. Hands are so dirty.

Ghost of You - Eliot keeps seeing Quentin die. Resurrection fic.

“I see him,” He says, voice crackling like a fire struggling to stay lit. “Every night when I go to sleep. I see him die. It’s never the same. And then I see his ghost, and he never goes away.” He offers her a wry smile, finally looking away from Quentin to meet her eyes. “I’m literally being haunted by the ghost of my past and there’s no escape. Sleep only makes it worse. Being drunk makes it more vivid. Being high makes me nauseous. I can’t fucking escape it or him or how much it fucking hurts.” He waves a hand. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He half expects the world to burst into flames around him. But no fire singes his skin. Kady just narrows her eyes, lets go of his knee and stands up. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He’s too tired to move. “Couldn’t if I wanted to,” he says.

Too tired to breathe, sometimes.

[amisbro]

yo! random question but I was wondering what your thoughts are on the current state of the utapri fandom? Specifically all the new gen fans coming in from Shining live and the like? Also are there any utapri youtubers ye follow? I know you mentioned having a channel yourself so I was curious If there were any ye follow currently heh :3

I’ll answer the UtaPrituber question first:  I don’t really follow any but I know there was a channel with the name “Michael Wenger (or was it Wagner)”?  Anyways I pop by that channel every so often cos its an interesting one.Now for my answer to the other questionsI have never had a problem with how people come into something.  Some people come in from one form of media that might not be the “source material” so I never had an issue there.Speaking from experience when I came into UtaPri it was from the Anime (Seasons 1 and 2) and then I moved on to the games and specifically the original “Music” games that were on PSP.  I originally played the games through a PC emulator but for some reason my computer couldn’t really handle the frames so until I got a PSP I was kind of S.O.L.Now let’s remember I never touched the VNs at this point up until I got a PSP and played Repeat so a lot of the stuff that was in the game I didn’t know (and to this day I never read translations...I’m weird like that) so for me when I started to try and play those it was interesting especially trying to figure out which choices I had to make to get  a certain ending.  Now because the games are on the VITA and there are trophies its easier with a trophy guide for sure...especially with the exams!When it comes to new fans coming into UtaPri through Shining Live I have no issue especially considering some of these people MIGHT be coming in from say...”Love Live” or even maybe “BanG Dream!” which have English games so having that group come in isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  One issue that some that are of the “old guard” is that some of them might seem...”taken aback” because of the idea that people are coming in and playing this game and not understanding the “deep lore” which...I hate to break it to people but not a lot of us played the games for that...I never did and I’ve been in the fandom for almost 5 years!Now we could also discuss the idea that sometimes when it comes to UtaPri I feel like there is a level of “gatekeeping” involved and not just about the “deep lore” but the concept that ,unless you support the “Main 11″ (my term for STARISH and QN a.k.a. the “Original 11″) people do tend to shout you down.  I remember a time someone made a rather innocent post on here asking HEAVENS fans what they would want for their boys in the game.  What ensued was that someone went on Anon (which can’t be done with me) and seemed to give them a hard time about “Why would you ask a small part of the fanbase this?”First off like it or not UtaPri has three units...not a lot of people on this site support HEAVENS outside of me and a select group of people but HEAVENS is a unit that deserves to be loved and supported equally and I think I have made that point at nausea to the point a lot of people tend to probably treat it like “white noise” which...fine!I haven’t said this before but I firmly believe that ,as an Anime it would NOT have been as successful after its original season if STARISH was just doing what they wanted and not have other characters around them.  Now they have had QUARTET NIGHT for just about 3 full seasons and HEAVENS for 1 full and then the 4 episodes from Season 2 so...17 episodes.  Imagine if like the first season was STARISH debuting and then S2 was just one of them confessing right?  Real talk I’d fall asleep!One other thing I have never liked when it comes to the stance about HEAVENS is that “Their role was to make STARISH better” and the fandom subscribes to this blindly because...some weird reason I don’t get yet!People have gotten on me and criticized me for having a “HEAVENS Bias” and I kind of do but its because we don’t get to see them have the support on here or even facebook (twitter is a different story altogether) that say a STARISH or QN would.  I think you saw my tweet about mocking Broccoli because of the fact that HEAVENS won’t have a stage probably (which sucks cos I would donate to a flower stand for it in a heartbeat) but then again I wonder how many international fans would support that!Alright damn this turned into an essay BUT if you asked me about the state of the UtaPri fandom I think it would be a lot better IF ,across all social media platforms, we all came together and maybe the STARISH or QN fans asked people like me“When was it you realized you liked HEAVENS?” and I am sure people could give a very detailed answerI apologize for this essay but I appreciate your ask my friend

[xinchaostudy-blog]

hello! anna here. i am here to show you guys-- more specifically high school seniors-- how you plan and pave the path to higher education! i was lucky enough for my high school counselors to provide us with a list of things to do when preparing for college. when i used that list at the time, it was able to help me out a TON, so i want to pass on that knowledge to you guys! even if you are not an incoming or current high school senior, you may use this reference too! 

FALL SEMESTER: 

congrats! you’ve made it to your last year of high school! now there is no time for fun and games because this is where most of your planning goes. if you don’t start preparing for college during this time, you might fall behind. 

narrow down the list of colleges between 5 and 10

because it is only fall, it is still okay have a lot of colleges you plan to attend. but make sure you narrow them down in time when applications start to open

download college apps and financial aid forms

plan to visit as many colleges as possible

create a masterlist or calendar with:

tests you plan to take, with their fees, dates, and registration deadlines.

college application due dates

required financial aid applications and their deadlines.

financial aid applications may be due before college applications.

other materials

recommendations

transcripts

etc..

take the sat or act

ask for a wavier from your counselor to save money on testing fees

have your test scores sent to the colleges you want to apply

complete the fafsa

if you are currently a senior, the application opens on oct. 1st, 2017 so you still have time to complete the fafsa

for incoming seniors the application will open on oct. 1st, 2018

complete the css (college scholarship service)/ financial aid PROFILE

PROFILE is an online application used by certain colleges and scholarship programs to determine eligibility for their aid dollars.

PREPARE !

early applications

nov. 1-15 = early application season, get it done !!!

ask counselor or teacher for letters of recommendation

when applying for college, they recommend that you have a least one recommendation in order for you to be accepted. use this time to figure out who you would like to write a recommendation for you!

write the first drafts of your college essays

get help with your english teachers and be yourself when you write your essay! remember, it’s all about you!

ask counselors for:

transcripts to be sent to colleges 

give counselors proper forms at least two weeks in advance before colleges actually require them. 

WINTER OF FALL SEMESTER

hooray! you made it this far! but that does not mean you should start slacking oh no no. you still gotta stay on the grind. keep up the good work!

save your college essays

you’ll never know when you need them again. save them just in case you need to apply to more colleges or if you ever plan to transfer in the future.

have your high school send in your transcripts to your college 

you might not have your official transcript yet, as you have not completed the semester, but that’s okay! having your high school send in transcripts now will let the college know how well you are doing so far in your academics. 

if you applied early around november, you should receive your acceptance letters by december-january.

SPRING SEMESTER

graduation is right around the corner! time flies by fast and you should be getting your college application results in by now, so now its really time to prepare for the next big step. you got this!!

be active in school

colleges want to know what you have accomplished between applying and the time you learned of its decision

whether you’ve been accepted or declined, that should not discourage you from not doing your best in high school. you still have time to bring your grades up and participate in school activities. 

visit final college before applying

attend your college’s orientation and see what the campus is like and register for your classes. 

acceptance letters should arrive mid-april (if you did not submit an early application)

inform your colleges of acceptance or rejection

let colleges know that you intend to enroll by may 1st

send in your deposits to ONE COLLEGE

take any ap exams

are you waitlisted? 

if you have been waitlisted by a college, let the admissions director know how you can strengthen your application

if you are needing more financial need, ask whether funds will be available once you are accepted.

ask high school to send in financial transcripts to your college 

review financial aid rewards

 it is important to choose the financial aid that is best for you and your family 

note what you have to do to continue receiving financial aid from year to year and how it might change over the years.

that is all for my info post! thank you so much for reading! i hope this will help you along the way to higher education. if you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask!  ♡

[daughterofanarchangel]

The thoughts of a sixteen year old part one - FRIENDS

On this blog there is AJ Winchester, a fictional character created as an OC in the Supernatural universe, and there is the mod/owner of the blog aka me. And I believe that I haven’t posted on this blog since before the season 12 premiere which makes it ideal for me to just say stuff that I need to say and work out without certian people seeing it before it’s time. So let’s get started.

The first issue is friends. And before I start I want to make it clear that I love my friends and they are some of the greatest most awesomeness people I know. But as everyone should know, everyone has problems and my friends are no expection. And neither am I. I should probably start with myself.

As a young kid I had two really close friends. They are Lara and Sarah M. I use their names because as far as I know they don’t have tumblr and will probably never see this post because of reasons that I will explain later. Lara, Sarah M and I saw each other on a regular basis; we all went to the same church. We’re all the same age with me being the oldest. At our church at the time of my early childhood we were literally the only ones our age; both Lara and Sarah M had older brothers and Sarah M and I both had younger brothers. I guess it was out of nesscessity that we all became friends. And we were really close. I mean for our fifth birthdays we got matching kiddie purses (although mine and Sarah M’s were “from Lara” and Lara’s was from her parents) how much closer could we get? I will admit looking back that I was probably closer to lara than I was Sarah M. Anyway during the summer when I was seven, Lara’s family moved away. I had gone on holiday for Christmas thinking I’d be able to see Lara one last time when I got back. When I got back she had already gone. We never really said a propper goodbye. My friendship with Sarah M soon became nothing. I still see her regularly - it’s hard not to when you both still go to the same church every week and go to the same high school. Lara and I have seen each other since she moved with the latest actually being just under a year ago. Our dads are friends on facebook so I occasionally hear how she’s doing with her rowing. But that was my first real lost with friendship.

In my first two and a half years of primary school (half a year of Year 0, with the other two years being Years 1 and 2) I don’t recall having any real close friends that I kept for long. Our short friendships lastest a few months and strangely enough the two friendships I can remember I now know their grandmothers and one old friend’s grandfather because I play the same sport as them. Towards the end of Year 2 I made a few friendships with people who would later become my friends for the rest of my time at primary.

These were Gemma and Sarah W. Again I was the oldest. At least I was until we became good friends with Jess who was three weeks older than me the year later. Jess and I being in the same class for Year 3 while Sarah W and Gemma were in the same class. We had other people come and go from the group but we were good friends. In Year 4 I was the only one who wasn’t in the same class as everyone else. Year 5 was another repeat. These two years I was alone in class but I knew I had friends who liked me and we remained friends. Year 6 being our final year at Primary, I was finally in a class with all my friends bar one. Our friendship was strong enough that we remained friends despite rarely being in the same class. But it wasn’t perfect. Looking back, Sarah W was abusive. She would often hit us and once she threw an apple at another friend’s head that made the apple split into pieces. I think younger me knew what Sarah W was doing was not right because I remember that she gave me a chinese burn so hard that I yelled at her with tears in my eyes that I no longer wanted to be friends with her because she hurt me for the last time. I didn’t speak to her for a few days but I ended up becoming friends with her again. I don’t remember exactly when this happened, because I try to block as much memories of primary as I can and I also have little memory of this time anyway, but I do remember that one day Sarah W and Gemma told me something that I still find to sting a little today. Let’s get something staright - I’ve never been popular and that hasn’t really bothered me. But it did when Sarah W and Gemma told me that they gave up their popularity to be friends with me back in Year 2. Their comment made me realise how unimportant I was to them as well as how unpopular I knew I was.

I didn’t stay friends with that group. The next two years were Intermediate and they were great compared to Primary. In Year 7 I made a great guy friend who really boasted my confidence. He was also my first lgbt friend. Back then I didn’t even know what lgbt was (i grew up in religious home and my parents never told me about gay people. They also never gave me the birds and the bees talk. Yep that’s right, I had shitty ‘health’ lessions, which literally had one lesson on the sex part of sex ed and all the other lessons about emotions and stuff which is important and all, teach me the birds and the bees in Year 7 at age 12 and even then it wasn’t until Year 9 that I really learnt anything sex ed). And while we remained friends in Year 8, I became better friends with a girl in my class in the year below me whom I still friends with today. I will mention her as Demon in future.

Year 9 was my first year of High School. For the first two terms I was almost basically a loner - I had a guy friend in the year above who sat with me and we watched the first season of Geronimo Stilton on his ipad. Then I become friends with Squirrel. Squirrel and I bonded over our mutal love for Supernatural and Teen Wolf. In Year 10, Demon joined me and Squirrel as friends, with Angel literally joining the group the next day.

We’re all still good friends today. We added Squish and Small to the group last year in Year 11. Then there’s Home. Home is a friend of mine who I’ve been friends with since I was 10. They’re home schooled but know Squirrel, Demon, Angel and Squish because of me. So what I started out with one friend became five, six when you include Home. But I don’t feel like its going to keep like this for 2018.

Angel had a fucked up childhood. Its left her with scars and believe me when I say that it’s still messing with her now three years after she left that toxic environment. As much as I care about them and love them, sometimes they bring me down. They were one third of what I like to call my emotional overload around the time of my practice exams. It’s not their fault that I feel the way I did - it’s mine because I don’t have a good handle on what I’m feeling.

Squrriel has recently opened up about her problems that I should have noticed or at least picked up on a little. They’ve decided to not sit with us this year as they are taking care of themselves because we weren’t there like they were for us. I dont blame them for that decision - we created a toxic environment and to be honest, especially towards the end of Year 11, I always felt that this was going to happen anyway since it seemed back then that they were always sitting with their other group of friends and to be fair that group of friends is a lot more mature (it seems) and less toxic than our group of friends.

Demon. There’s a reason I gave them that name. Demon is a little piece of shit. In light of Squirrel’s confession, they made their own. They admitted that they were a piece of shit, walking the fine line between joke and insult. Having been frends with them for almost four years now, I’ve learnt to take all the insults they give as jokes. At the end of last year I wrote her a four page essay letter about my feelings about some stuff that I needed to say to someone but I couldn’t go to my usual person because they’d asked not to get involved. That was the first time I ever really had a deep and meaningful thing with them.

Then there’s Home. Out of all my friends I’ve known her the longest. But last year in particular I started feeling like we weren’t going to be friends for much longer. There were some things said, written and unsaid (thankfully) between us that really got to me. Although now I feel we’ll continue being friends for a long time, I still have a small scab from that time thatI occasionally pick at.

I don’t have any problems with Squish and Small because we haven’t been friends for all that long.

I’m also a problem. I’m most definitely an introvert - always have been. During breaktimes I generally have something to do like read or scroll tumblr while only listening into my friend’s conversations, and saying a few words here and there. In the group chats or in one-on-one chats I am mostly silent and if I do take part in a conversation I usually end up ignoring notifications because I don’t want to talk.

Some day I hope that I can work out what to do because I don’t want to be truly alone. I’m scared of losing the group of friends that are so important to me and are probably the best group of friends I’ve had to date. I don’t want to lose them but sometimes I wonder why I’m even friends with them

[inhersweetdreams]

To all the students in the place with style and grace...

...because why not quote Biggie during exam season?

‘Nadège, I wanna create dope things and live off of my creations.’ My friend said to me the other night. ‘I’m not sure’, I said. ‘I don’t think it’s about getting paid off your creations, I think it’s about getting paid off your vibration.’

Abundance is effortless. What you do can bring in money, but the way you are attracts wealth. Through clumsy money errors, I have learnt a lot about money in the last year; I have learned that it’s not about how much, it’s the way you use what you’ve got. And when it comes to studying, like money and many things, it’s about the way you do it. Which is why my approach to education is inherently playful.

On weekdays I tutor young women who have fallen through the cracks of mainstream education. Currently, I guide them through GCSE’s in English (language and literature), Maths, Science, Art (design and photography) and Spanish. I wrote tips for my student to help her prepare for her English Literature exams she will sit in a fortnight and I'd like to share what I wrote with you...

1. Post-it. Everywhere

Those small sheets of paper that find themselves everywhere? Plain at front, sticky at back? Use them. Find quotes from all of the texts you are studying (for example, Macbeth, To Kill a Mockingbird, A Christmas Carol, your poetry anthology). On the side facing you, write the quote (something short enough to roll of your tongue), on the sticky side write the name of the speaker and where it is found in the text.

Here’s the crucial part; write a minimum of 10 quotes per text (one quote per poem in your anthology) and stick them everywhere. Yes. Everywhere. What objects do you use frequently? Post-it In-line with your face on your mirror, maybe. Or wrapped around the handle of your comb. What place do you run to when you come home, and where do your eyes first wander when you wake up? Drop post-its there like you are dropping blossoms. Each time you go to this place or pick this object, consciously read the quote out loud, until it is crystallised in your subconscious mind.

Note: My students have found it useful to colour co-ordinate their post-it notes and pens according to the text in question (for example, Macbeth quotes written in red, A Christmas Carol quotes written in blue, so on and so forth). Imagine it's a game and you are shooting targets. See if you can guess what post it is located where, who the speaker of the quote is, and where it is located in the text.

2. Re-read

Find a chapter, scene or poem that you feel less confident about. Read it over, when doing so underline and highlight. Make notes on what occurred, who was in it, and interesting language features. What semantic field was used? How was the protagonist and other characters in the scene or stave portrayed? If poetry or Shakespeare, what metre was it written in? Does the poem comprise of rhyming couplets? Quatrains? Octaves? Find out, make note.

3. Seek new poetry:

In the UK AQA GCSE English Literature syllabus, students must compare a poem they have already studied with an ‘unseen poem’. Consequently, your inference and analysis game needs to be sharp. Poets are alluring, and they say a lot by not saying very much. Do background checks on the authors in your anthology, search for more of their work, it will give you a sense of their style and who they are, this will help you write more fluently about them in your exam.

4. Use your resources:

The tools are that you have at the tips of your fingers? Unparalleled. Your smartphone, the internet, books, apps, libraries. If you dig deep enough, you will find questions similar to the ones you will be asked in your exam. Find them and do them. Again and again, and again and again, and when you think you’ve done enough, do one more- for luck.

5. Spelling, grammar and structure:

Some of us struggle a little more with spelling and grammar and for those of us who are dyslexic, I know it can be difficult to wrap your head around the formalities of punctuation, so you’ve got to be slick. If the question is:

‘Some readers consider the final scene in which both Romeo and Juliet die to be triumphant. In addition to the families being reconciled, how is the final scene triumphant?’

An examiner will not forgive you if you spell the word ‘triumphant’ incorrectly. If there is a word, phrase or sentence that you are unsure of and it is already spelt out for you on your question paper, copy it! If you forget to plan your essay before you start (as my students often do) write it out when you remember- the examiner will never know.

6. Have fun with it! When you wrap your study inside a creative activity it feels different. What I often do with my students to help them familiarise themselves with characters is play ‘Guess Who’. We each choose a character (this can be from a novel, play or even a poem) write the character down on a piece of paper, place it on the others forehead, and we have to guess by asking questions that can only be answered with the words yes or no. Ask the kind of questions that require your opponent to understand the character intimately.

And that’s all I got. Wishing students all over every success in their exams.

Dège x

[oldtumblhurgoyf]

A Pseudo-History of Hypereconomic Diplomacy

So I corresponded with someone way back in 2009 who ran a game of HED way back in the 70s. I don’t remember at all how I found this wonderful man, but he scanned a bunch of the stuff he still had and then I took those scans and typed them up into the rules and tables I posted earlier. Even better, he helped me figure out where the original scans were incorrect (as they were from a game in progress and some stuff had changed) as well as sent along the maps which allowed for someone else to make the maps I posted earlier.

Anyway, I went back through my email and still had all of them we had exchanged. Below I’m pasting them bulk of them, which contains a bit of history of the game and how he did things back then. This is actually a series of emails he sent, often prompted to some extent by questions I had asked. I present it here as one big essay on the history of Hypereconomic Diplomacy as he remembers it.

Also on the off chance that you know the following gentlemen who were in some way involved in this game back in the 70s (they’d mostly be around 60 now I think and were all from Britain by the sounds of it), I’d love to chat with them and get some scans or maybe even pay postage for some old hard copies of HED stuff:

Don Miller Pete Ansoff Steve Norris Martin Feather Stephen Agar Frank Kopel

A little history then.  Hypereconomic Diplomacy Mk I was designed by Don Miller (the man after whom Miller numbers were named) in about 1972.  The earliest Diplomacy variants (I think Youngstown was the first) date from around 1967.  Don created some of the basic economic systems and ran the first game in a zine called Aux Armes in 1968.  You can see a run of Aux Armes at http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/oldzines/aux10.pdf which also shows the relative simplicity of the game at that stage.  It folded after about a year for unspecified reasons. I know that Don went blind at some stage in a life which is a bit of a drawback in running a zine.

The idea got taken up by one Pete Ansoff re-worked to create Hyperec Mk II and Pete launched it as a game, housing it in a zine of its own called The Siberian.  Pete ran The Siberian for 15 issues (1971-73).  But he was a law student and needed to actually pass some exams so he handed the reins on to Steve Norris who ran the zine for the next 5 years.  Doug Kent’s archive reckons the last known issue as number 51.

In Britain we had one player who’d started playing in the game and he introduced me to it in 1973/4.  At the time I was 17, running a sub-zine, studying for ‘A’ levels (the British equivalents of SATs) and planning a university life.  I joined in Steve’s game and inside a few months was busy redesigning the game.  Steve knew that there were flaws in his game that neither he nor Pete could by that stage correct and so they both contributed some changes whilst I did likewise and made the rules more coherent.

The zine I created for it was Hyperion.  As well as being a pun on the game, it’s an allusion to a poem by Keats, and turns up in an SF book by Richard Cowper.  What can I say?  I was 17 for God’s sake and 80% geek to 20% hippy.  The game started in 1974 and ran for 9 seasons in total.  I did 5 seasons and I then went to University and discovered life, alcohol, women, sound and lights for visiting rock bands, running discos and anything but studying.

The game stopped.  I eventually got it together enough to hand it on to a guy called Martin Feather who ran the game for 2 seasons (Martin now works at the Jet Propulsion Labs in CA and is a very high-end computer person).  At the end of my first year in Uni, I got chucked out as they seemed to resent offering a college course to someone who didn’t actually go to lectures or study.  How unfair - and in hindsight there are other things I should have done about it, but didn’t. 

I move back home and as Martin was struggling with it, retook the reins, GMing the next couple of seasons, but then I moved back to live on people’s floors at my Uni and had a sort of surrogate 2nd year.  It was never going to work to run a zine from that kind of existence and the thing died in a messy fold in 1977.

I got back into publishing a zine in 1981 once my life had sorted itself out and ran Home of the Brave for around the next 14 years and 130 issues.  But that was just a calm dip zine with nothing special.

GMing Hyperec was hard.  It took around 50 hours to GM a season’s play.  There were around 55 players, 1 for each country in the world in 1900.  The game revolves around 4 aspects of a country’s existence – Manpower, Agriculture, Industry and Money.  So in 1900 China has lots of Manpower, reasonable Agricul ture and no real Industry.  Holland has Industry and little Manpower etc etc.  You have to trade these factors around and buy Stuff with them.  Stuff includes the military units that are then able to fight the wars that inevitably result.

Money is a different thing because the game has a system that says that money is never spent out of existence.  If you buy something from someone else, the money transfers to them.  If you (as the US player say) spend money, it goes into the US economy and a proportion of it returns to your stockpile each turn.  The total amount remains the same.

The game has a whole set of banking systems that support this system and which can be used to ‘grow’ money if the money is put to one side and not spent.  And there are a whole load of other transport, research, fishing and other systems that form part of the game.

In 1975 I had a pocket calculator that I’d built myself, which was so slow that if you asked it to calculate a mathematical function it would think about it for 20 seconds.  And there was lot of calculating in Hyperec as you’ll see.  In a way I was running a PBM country management game.

The game developed quite a life of its own.  As well as the actual zine itself, people published their own newspapers for propaganda purposes.  One player sold his country (Peru) to the Bolivian player and used the money to actually play as a bank rather than a country.  The combined Perivia was the dominant country in South America by the time the game folded.  Maybe it’s no surprise that the guy playing Bolivia ended up in real-life politics and is now an MP and a possible member of Gordon Brown’s government in the next reshuffle.

I thought at the time that what I was doing was indulging in some damn stupid hobby.  In hindsight if I’d have had a sense of application it could have been a living in itself.  PBM games for computer adjudication got quite popular in the 80s as computers became a more established part of life.   What I have found is that the skills I used to develop the game and to run a zine actually turned out to be useful life-skills.  These days I have a small accountancy firm (www.emtacs.com) and the communications techniques and basic abilities to use language as a tool are enormously useful.  The abilities to organise large systems, hold stuff in your head and to recognise patterns are all just good business skills.

The game in a modern context would need a serious revamp but it would be a relatively simple thing to use Excel to present reports, do the maths and control the mechanisms of the game.  I’ll be quite happy to lend a hand if you ever threaten to get another game off the ground and I could even round up 2-3 players from the old game to join in!

Right - time to go hunt stuff in the garage and the attic. I'll get back to you.

OK – some progress to report, but I’m afraid they come with a bit of a story and a mumbling apology.  The good news is that I have a set of rules for Hyperec which will be coming your way.  The bad news is that I think I have less in the way of material of the passage of the game than I’d like and the better news is that I know where to get hold of copies.

I have been delving into my garage where old zines, unused toys and books etc are living and unearthed a ring binder and a folder with Hyperec written on them.  I dragged them back in the house and sat down to read. And went “oh yes, now I remember.”…..

To carry the story on from where I left it, Hyperion folded and I dropped out of the hobby in 1977.  The game died with no-one remotely able or willing to take it on.  I kept in distant touch with a few people and then returned properly to running a zine in 1981.  My finds in the garage prodded my memory that there was in fact another attempt at running a game of Hyperec. 

Martin Hammon was a good friend who’d played in my game and vanished at a similar time to me and was returning when he had the idea that he’d like to run a game of Hyperec because he had had so much fun playing mine.  He set up a zine called Stuart and asked me for help.  And so I bundled a lot of stuff, copies of Hyperion, the rules and much more and sent them to Martin.  His game lasted for a shorter period than mine.

It’s 25 years back now and so I’m afraid I can’t remember why the game ran aground.  Martin was a bit of a chaotic and it may have been his (a) separation and divorce, (b) his kitchen-fitting business folding or (c) ill-health or (d) he just couldn’t hack it.  When I handed on the stuff I probably said something about having it back and I may have more stuff to find in my garage. 

Regardless – Martin died about 5 years ago (dodgy heart, about 48-50) and I’m pretty sure that’s a dead end (no pun intended).

What I do have are some relics of my running the thing – a couple of the set-up issues, a couple of the zine I used to publish between main deadlines (Japetus) and a whole lot of stuff pertaining to the game Martin ran and a set of the rules which Martin rewrote to incorporate some of the changes.

I’ll mail you over a whole lot of this stuff in the next day or so, but what I can do tomorrow is try scanning a whole chunk (including the rules) and emailing it over to you.  I would scan it here but my home scanner doesn’t seem to want to play right now, but I’ve another scanner in the office and I’ll be in there tomorrow. I’m a little worried about the quality of the printing and whether it will stand up to scanning and reprinting, but we can try.  I’m worried most about the maps but I can probably recreate these if necessary.

And I should thank you for taking me on a trip into the past.  My younger daughter, Steph (19) was fascinated by the whole thing and the idea that I did this kind of thing when I was 2 years younger than she was.  The whole idea of being able to write a zine of probably 10-15,000 words in the course of a long weekend, without a word-processor is quite scary.  He most accurate comment when confronted with it all was “God you were such a geek, Dad”.  You’re not wrong there girl, but it didn’t harm me in the long-term.

The other source of material is the UK Zine Archive run by an old friend of mine, Stephen Agar who has issues 1-8 of Hyperion and which he can either lend me or scan for me.  If you are ever to run this thing as a reality then you’d probably find it fairly invaluable as a template to create a game report for the thing.  I’ll talk to Stephen about that.

So – browse the rules and I’ll send you the rest of the stuff on Monday.  I’m not sure if you gave me an address so give me it again.  Have a think about it and then if you decide you’re serious I’ll give you a hand with setting up.  I think the rules may need a bit of tweaking since issues 1-6 of Hyperion were full of rule changes. 

There’s no doubt that Hyperec would make a fascinating test case in a new millennium.  I ran it in a world where the only practical way to communicate internationally was to send an air letter and wait 10 days for a reply.  I can quite see it being a big success.  I was saddled with having to create the game reports every issue and spend hours working with fiddly numbers that would be a piece of cake done in Excel.  It cost me a lot of money to produce something, print 65 copies of it and deal with a bulk mailout.  You’d have none of these problems.

In terms of the number of people playing you ideally need around 60!  The catch is that you need people who can be encouraged to be sufficiently in love with the concept that they are happy to play Nicaragua (not relly that much of a superpower in 1914.  The trick is to have a kind of hierarchy of standby players.  If Turkey misses a turn, then the following turn you invite the player of Nicaragua to send orders in for their country and for Turkey.  Then you'll be able to offer someone else the chance to take over Nicaragua if Turkey dsrops out altogether.

As you'll see - a little inactivity in the minor countries doesn't matter too much but having an NMR from the UK or France is a bigger problem.

Some of the printing on the tables is a little bit faint and these are the ones I worry most about in a scanning sense.  Let me know how they turn out your end.  If there are a few missing ones I can fill in the blanks but if they're just illegible I can retype.

The more I look at this the more I realise that this is such an online accessible game.  The tables and the maps were things I had to redo and redraw from scratch every turn or two.  These days you'd just have an Excel sheet or 6 that hung on to this data and you could amend it as appropriate and then permit online access for all players.  It would actually need an active website and the ability to update that website on a very regular basis.  How are your HTML skills then?

The rules and everything are a little bit dry and I'll try and drop you a line that explains how the game plays in a more coherent way.  My friend Stephen Agar has said he'll dig the copies of Hyperion out of the UK Zine Archive and stick them into pdf's that you and I can read and which will not require them to cross the pond.  That's a big help although I will send over a whole bunch of stuff anyway.  I don't think the postage cost will be hideous so don;t worry about that.

I think some of the maps and provinces may be 'in play' items.  The rules permit subdivision and recombination of provinces so some people's actions will have produced different provinces.  They all started as pretty straight.  But then Bolivia and Peru agreed to merge into Perivia and some people started to label the newly-formed provinces with fun names - hence Midgard (which was the name of a free-form RPG of the 70's, or a book, or something), Doc's Pleasure Garden and Rivendell.  Some peope went to an atlas and come up with the Cianares, Hejaz etc.  This game taught me a hell of a lot about the geography of the world.

There's a number of changes to the first spreadsheet brought about because this version of the tables must have been compiled from the game-in-progress.  A distant bell of memory is ringing to tell me that I put these tables together to simplify things.  I think they once were a part of the rules at the relevant point but I separated them into a 4-page document which contained everything because that was what people referred to once the game was in progress.  The game had one or two strange turnings.  Different countries swapped bits of one another - hence anomalies like Greek Sumatra, Aden being a province of India, Brazil having renamed itself Rivendell etc etc.  Plus a stab at humour here and there.

So - Doc's Pleasure Island was a renamed half of Haiti (named after Papa Doc Duvalier who ran the country for a long time with voodoo and a secret police).  Perivia was the renamed combination of Peru & Bolivia, Rivendell I hope you'd know, Cyrenia was a half of Cyprus and Leazes End is named after one end of Newcastle United Football Club's ground.  Hejaz was floated into a new nation, and divided between Benson & Hejaz etc etc.  The investment performance table of countries in the various regions has been badly affected by this and is seemingly cocked-up anyway.  I have tried to correct this and re-labelled a couple of the regions but in essence, it doesn't matter.  Some countries are blessed with being in more than one investment return area for bank purposes.

What else?  The Public Works thing is a strange iterm that just seems daft.  It's really a means of transferring money into the escrow (economy) of a particular country.  That can have a logic but I've forgotten what it was!

Having a bit of a browse trying to track down people who played in the first game led me to the NA Variant Bank that tells me there is a Hyperec 4 and a Hyperec 5, but I can't find any details of these nor do I have any idea if the NA Variant Bank is still intact.  It didn't help me track down Pete Ansoff, Steve Norris or Frank Kopel who were leading lights of my game.

[ditadevil]

Tulu - an amazing woman!

People who know me well also know of my obsessive love towards my Mother. Over the last 30 years, my Mother has been omnipresent in my mind in different ways. I get bouts of memories from my childhood to growing-up days where I have seen Ma being in the situations that I now face while adulting. Over the last few years, I have always thought of penning down how she has been more than a Mother to me and finally this lockdown triggered me to write this down. So, here it goes… Disclaimer: It might seem as though my Dad is missing in all these things but let me tell you that he is the sweetheart of our lives and someday there will be a separate write-up about him. 

It all begins with one of the early memories that I have from childhood; but I am going to set up a bit of context first. My Dad has been working in Bhutan (since 1987). Ma and Baaba decided that both their daughters need good education. Thereby the arrangement was that my Didi and I will stay with Ma in Calcutta and Dad would pay us a visit every 3-4 months. 

My Dadu and Thakuma (Grandfather and Grandmom) also stayed with us back then. Ma taught Bengali in a Primary school just to make sure that the houses’ needs were met independently, as my Dad’s monthly money-order sometimes took a lot of time to process. So, one of my first memories take me back to this day when I was sitting with my Thakuma in the backside of our house. The backyard had many plants that my Dadu had grown. It also had a dark green coloured tube well and two nylon ropes where clothes were to be dried. I was enjoying the cool breeze and Thakuma was having cha (tea) from a small cup. Suddenly, I heard a thud which came from my Dadu’s room. He was an aged man who was bedridden. I nudged Thakuma to tell her that let’s go and check on him, but I don’t know why she ignored me and chose to not get up. That was also probably the first time that I remembered something which Ma would always tell me. While leaving for her school she would say, “Take care of Dadu and Thakuma when I am away.” So, I went and peeked inside my Dadu’s room and saw that he was lying on the ground and holding his head which was bleeding. I then ran to the kitchen and filled a steel glass with water to its brim and ran back to give it to my Dadu, leaving a trail of water behind my path. I don’t remember much of what happened after that. But I do remember that after a few weeks, my Baba came home as Dadu had passed away. More than the despair of losing a grandparent, I was more excited that my Baaba was visiting us. I started noticing things around me after that. I observed that my Thakuma used to be mean towards my Ma and when I used to tell this to Ma, she would just tell me, “Your Thakuma is old and there are many people who are mean to each other. That doesn’t mean that I have to forget my kindness and you shouldn’t too.” Later, I joined the same primary school where my Mother used to teach. Relating one funny incident from those two years. One day, back in school after the Kali Pujo (or Diwali) holidays, my classmates stood in a group and were trying to outdo each other with stories from their holidays around firecrackers. I too wanted to share my story. I told them, “Do you know what I did? I took a bunch of kaali-potka (the red firecrackers) in my palm and let it burn till the end!” The kids were amazed and that’s when I felt a tug on my shoulder. It was Ma. She told all of the kids, “Erokom kichu hoe ni… tomra baari jaao (Nothing like this has happened. Please go home now).” She took my palm (the same one which had made me immensely famous just a while ago) and we started walking. We got out of the school gate and were going back home. She said, “Baabi (Baabi and Moom i.e. wax-like are my daak names), why have you started lying? What if they try this out at home and get their hands burnt!” I wanted to justify my exaggerated story. I wanted to say, ‘what about their exaggerated stories?’ But I let it be. In reality, I have always been scared of firecrackers. I have even given up on fitting into the group of firecracker-bursting and noise-making enthusiasts of the world. 

One of the next memories I have is when Baaba started to build the first floor of our house and Ma left teaching. I just started telling myself that “We are also boro lok now (rich people)”, although the rest of the family didn’t share the same enthusiasm. Anyway, there was this empty plot next to our house which my Ma used to say belonged to our estranged Uncle (the second brother). He neither intended to make a house there, nor did he agree to sell it to my Dad. They were three brothers and my Baaba is the youngest one. I still haven’t been told about the reason behind why this uncle decided to part ways with the rest of us. All I knew was that he had a drinking problem. Often, he used to come outside our house and yell at the top of his voice. What I could only understand is that he was drunk and he is yelling at Ma, calling her names. I would hold on to Ma and not let her proceed towards the verandah as I used to be really scared. She would move me aside and that’s when I started noticing this other side of my Mother - The stern one. The face which has seen a lot and will not take up any unnecessary drama. In a minute or two, I could hear my Ma roaring at my Uncle.” At the end of these conflicts, Mejo Jethu (Uncle) would leave and my Mom would turn back, lock the doors and gates. Her face still red, flushed with anger. But I found her to be beautiful even then. In her floral cotton sarees, gold hoop earrings, long braided hair and her red face not saying anything but reflecting a face of someone almost powerful as Ma Durga herself. I couldn’t say anything to her but just take her aanchol (pallu) and be at awe of her amazing bravery each time! The streaks of bravery were often displayed in different manners. It happened many-a-times. Slowly, I started observing how my Didi started reflecting both my Ma’s powerful stance to my Baaba’s selfless mannerisms. The following episode was one such incident. I used to both love and hate ‘monsoons in Calcutta’ – Loved it because of the thunderstorms and moments enjoying harmonious rains on our terrace. Hated it because of the creatures it brought with it. 

This was one of those nights in the monsoon season when Ma, Didi and I were watching TV post dinner. Then Didi and I went on to make the bed. I was spreading the night bedsheet and my Didi was putting up the moshari (mosquito net). Ma went down to lock the doors and while coming back, between the ground and the first floor level, she noticed some movement in the water drain outlet. She called out to my Didi and I knew it then that there must be a snake. With a hush voice, I kept pleading to them to stay inside the bedroom. I said that we will lock the door and just be there. They didn’t pay any heed to me. My Didi asked me to stay safe inside the mosquito net and instructed me to not come out. I joined both my hands and kept praying to different Gods. After 10 minutes or so, both of them came back laughing and started making fun of me. They said that they have gotten the snake upstairs for me. I could smell something burning. It was the bunch of red chillies that they burnt and kept next to the outlet hole so that the snake climbs down the drainage pipe. I went and hugged Ma and my sister came in hugging me from behind. I realized that now I stay with two Goddesses! 

I was not a topper from my school, but I would get by. Ma never asked me to aim for being the topper but just requested that there shouldn’t be any complaints about me. Otherwise she would have to go and mingle with other parents, which she didn’t want to do. So, I made sure that I never let that happen to her. She had to visit school once a year, only to collect the report card. There were phases though when I decided to study throughout the day. I would not let Ma go out and meet people as she had to be around me when I was preparing for my exams. I wouldn’t let anyone come home as well because that would disturb me. Those used to be the best times. She would watch TV or read a magazine, and I used to rest my head on her lap and keep reading. She says that those times were the times when she had to endure my ‘otyachar’ on her. 

Now in the times of lockdown when I call her, I hear that she is alone at home and just watching TV. In my mind, I join her right there and I feel like I am with her, just lying next to her, reading a book or playing the snake game on her Nokia phone. I am glad that she chose to not be on any social media. But this lockdown has gotten her wishing that she wasn’t so stubborn. At least not refused upgrading to a smartphone. She knows that if she wasn’t so stubborn, then she could have video called her husband and her daughters. I don’t remember exactly, but when I was in class 3 or 4, I once got the highest marks in an essay writing competition. The subject was ‘If you can be something/someone for two days, what/ who would it be.’ While the entire class was buzzing with future astronauts, Presidents, Doctors and so many other great answers, I simply wrote about how I wanted to be like my Mother. I thought that she is a living example for me, with all of the superpowers one would strive for. 

My answer will not change even today. 

My Mother’s name is Tulu. She’s an amazing woman.

[kieutrangtinhdau]

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[hoangmytinhdau]

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Harry fucked up.

Now was it a tremendous fuck up? No, nothing life altering and terrible would come from it other than hard hitting embarrassment and shame if anyone were to find out he were lying. It was something he could probably weasel his way out of too, since he'd perfected the art of weaseling his way out of things in the past few weeks, but the fucked part is, is that he can't truly weasel the way out of his weasel, if that makes sense. Harry's dug himself into a pit that he's stuck in either way he goes about it -- damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.

See, Harry has been going through a period of time this year where he just liked being alone. Just liked staying at his flat and chilling out, after an outrageous Sophomore year in UNI where he had just exhausted himself of partying and balancing his academics on top of that. It seemed like a good idea to just cool down for a while this summer -- to just take a breather, recollect himself and his thoughts, maybe pick up knitting, or finally finish that Bukowski book he'd started midwinter and set down on his nightstand to not be touched since.

Though he had a group of friends who really didn't take that as an excuse to quit partying. It was their vacation after all, they're supposed to be living it up and having a blast while they can -- Harry included -- so if he wanted to get out of something he needed an excuse. A good excuse too, "I'm tired" didn't cut it with them.

So Harry had fabricated a girlfriend. And he knows, god he knows it's dumb, and childish, and he shouldn't be lying about something like this but it was the easiest way out! Ducking out of plans with the ol' "Ah m'sorry Mate, the missus' wan's to visit this Tapas restaurant," or "I would but m'staying in for a cuddle and as much as I love you lot, m'getting head tonight," always worked out smoothest. They never asked much about her, or at least Harry didn't really give them a chance to before he was off the phone. Sure he'd made up bits and pieces here and there that would make it seem like he really won it with this one and had them (especially Niall) thinking he's got the  perfect girlfriend. One who he rarely argues with (unless its playful), is just a freak in the bedroom, likes to pig out with him, smart as hell, gives great back massages, is funny as all get out, and smells sweet too.

Which was good for a while -- it was a safe, clean fib that he was getting away with. Or at least it had been, until he's put in a group chat with the lot of them talking about a cabin they've rented out an hour or two away for a small summer getaway. He gives it his best, he does, tries to wiggle out of it, but they beg and they plead with him.

We haven't seen you in sooooo long

right it's been like a decade !

cuz he's so whipped for his gf he's forgotten about us :(

just bring her too then, ffs, we haven't met her yet, this would be the perfect time to

Yes!! Bring the girl you've been gushing about, been wanting to meet her

u dont even have to pay for the cabin it's all squared away, it'll be so much fun H, u gotta

How was he going to say no to all of that? How could he say no and then explain that he's been lying this whole time, that there is no girl, and he's just been avoiding them all because he's tired? That'd sure start a ton of shit he doesn't want to much deal with.

So he responds without thinking it through to the full extent. Says yes, that they will go, and asks for all the details and times and whatnot, what he should bring and what he shouldn't. They're all stoked, so happy to see him and he can't say that it doesn't feel good that he's wanted -- it's a nice feeling it is, but he's got one aching problem that the love of friends just won't fix.

Harry's got to find a girlfriend that suits everything he's ever said to them in the next four days, or he's going to make a fool out of himself.

                                                                         .                        .                        .

Finding a fake girlfriend was a lot harder than he thought, more so since he'd told the boys that they wouldn't know her. So this requires a lot of digging, a lot of asking one night stands what they're doing in the upcoming week, a lot of asking old friends from Holmes Chapel to fly out so he didn't look like an idiot,  lot of panicked late night drafting, deleting, and redrafting a Craigslist ad. He was willing to offer money too, just for the sake of it and as the final selling point. He was starting to wish he hadn't said much about this fake girlfriend at all, so a fake boyfriend could've been a possibility too, but he hadn't thought that far into the lie.

Harry was just in the midst of realizing how much of a sad, dramatic Disney movie his life was turning into when he gets an alert on his phone. It makes him jump, it vibrating just towards the edge of the counter so he slaps his hand down atop of it to stop it from slipping off the granite. His heart is drumming from the adrenaline of saving his phone when he sees who it's from.

Heyyyy, I was wonderin' if I could have my pen back? I know its been a minute and I said you could have it but turns out that was my fav pen not the copy of my fav pen. I've got your cute flower sticky post-its to return to you too, so we could do a trade off.

Y/N was a girl who sat besides him during his Bio lectures this past semester. Really, she was the only thing that got him through it because he zoned out way too much and she always let him borrow her notes, partnered up with him when they had labs or projects, and always read through the final draft of some of the essays they had to put it (not just for Bio, but for some of his English courses as well). They'd bonded some, but she was one of those friends that really just stayed within the realms of school -- never ventured out of that.

During their exam they had to write a constructive response in pen and Harry hadn't brought one so Y/N let him use hers and in return he gave her his flower sticky notes so they would remember to give each thing back to each other. Neither did, however, and Harry had pretty much forgotten he had it until he came across it the other day. He'd been meaning to text her about it, but he'd left it on his coffee table and sort of just forgot about it again.

Now that Harry thinks about it, he wishes he would've kept in better contact with her. Y/N was a good laugh and nice to chat with -- made the two hour long labs seem like a breeze and the professor just adored her so they always got a damn nice grade. She was pretty amazing too, way fucking smart, and smells really nice -- like vanilla -- and sometimes she would bring in a big homemade bag of these fancy seasoned pretzel sticks that she let him dig into.

Well, now that he really thinks about it, she sounds exactly like the girlfriend he told the others about.

And well, fuck, it was a long shot, but Y/N might just be his best fucking chance at getting out of this scrape free. Y/N's pretty chill with a lot of things, goes with the flow, and is laid back when the time calls for it. Has their old Bio professor thing she was an absolute angel that the heavens bestowed onto this earth, so she was a pretty good actor as well.

He can't imagine this working out in his favor but he isn't just not going to ask. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and he's willing to give her any amount she wants for a week and a half of her time.

So he messages her back for a place and a time and when she offers the coffee shop a few blocks from his house he agrees, takes one more spoonful of the fruity pebbles he'd been cramming down his throat before closing his laptop and setting his phone down atop of it.  The goal right now is hopping in the shower and making himself smell all nice, fresh, and like a "Tropical Thunderstorm" that will hopefully aide in persuading her. All he could hope for right now is for her to agree easily -- hell, he'd even buy her coffee and one of those cute little strawberry hard shell cakes to buy her out.

Blowing a raspberry at the air, he stretches out his limbs towards the sky and the ground, before rolling his arms back. It looks like he's gearing up for a fight but he's just readying himself. This is quest he has to conquer or he's just absolutely, positively fucked.

                                                                                .                       .                      .

"Okay."

What? 

"What?"

Harry had met up with Y/N, bought her a coffee as planned and got them a booth in a comfortable little nook of the coffee shop. They served it in these huge mugs that she was both gushing over and bashing ("This is the most hipster shit I've seen in my life, but s'got such a cute little bunny on the side, I'm in love.), she slid him his sticky notes and he slid her the pen. After a suitable amount of chatter, like how their summer's have been going, and Y/N telling him a very intense story of how she had to help her friend escape from a club so her boyfriend didn't see her (they hiked her up through a bathroom window), Harry tried to bring it up cautiously and carefully. Explaining his dilemma the best he could, from the wanting some personal time to himself to cool down and relax, to the counterfeited girlfriend he'd conjured up, and ending with the fact that now he's expected to go to a cabin with said "girlfriend" to meet his buddies.

So he asked her, trying to keep himself from cringing at his own proposition.

"Would you pretend to be my girlfriend so I don't make a fool out of myself?"

And, well, she just said okay without a second thought at all.

"I said okay," her brows a furrow and a smile tugs at her mouth, "You aren't asking for a kidney, and the amenities include Wi-Fi, running water, and actual bedding as you informed me. Doesn't sound like too bad of a time either."

This went a lot smoother than Harry thought, and he's still blinking at her, wide eyed but  a grin is broadening across his cheeks, "So you'll do it? Really?" Y/N nods, and Harry just about jumps from his seat, stretching across the table to wrap his arms around her in a tight hug, "God you're a life saver! Thought you would tell me to fuck off or something." She returns the hug easily, which is good he thinks -- he hopes this means Y/N's good with being touchy feely, the way she squeezes him to her.

"S'no problem, really, what was I going to do this week anyways? All my friends took a trip to Australia and I refused because of the creatures they have living down there, so I just have loads of TV dramas queued up and candy I shouldn't be eating." She releases him as he settles back down into his seat, "So what kind of girl did you tell them I was -- like how should I act? M'I shy or outgoing, soft and sweet, or loud and brash, please don't tell me you gave them an eye color because I'm shit with contacts."

Harry is just positively giddy, wiggling in his seat as he takes a sip from his latte and tries to recall the nitty gritty details he's told them about her, "You're soft, cute, smart and really funny, so you don't need to work on anything there," he says cheekily and she rolls her eyes, tossing a crumbled up napkin at him, "We eat a lot together and ya give great back massages."

"I eat a lot on my own anyways so this is good." She chimes in and Harry makes a fist in triumph, "I dunno about the back massages, but I can work on my skills, surely. Anything else?"

"This ones the most important," he says, leaning in close, lowering his voice and she leans in as well in response to it, "We are very, very, very in love. We gotta sell this, do you think you can?"

Y/N waves at the air like she's brushing it off.

"Easy as pie."

                                                                          .                    .                     .

Harry is a jittery nervous and excited that he can't really explain. It's like -- he's pumped to see his friends again, he realizes he's missed the dolts after being a shut in for the few weeks he's had been. He's excited for them to meet Y/N, who isn't his real girlfriend but it's nice to finally have her to prove to them he's not lying (well, sort of), because this was sure to quash any doubts. Plus spending time with Y/N outside of Bio wasn't so bad either -- she's proven to be just as much of a good time as she was in there, in the outside world, so he worries none about the two hour trip driving down there nor pretending to be in love.

He's attempting to tidy his house some -- she's coming over tonight with her bags and everything packed so they can leave early-ish in the morning, and they need to go over a few more details before he forgets. They also have to practice being a couple. . .doing coupe-ly things, like cuddles, and hugs, and they can't make it look like it's been the first time they're touching each other or his friends would see through them right away. By tidying though, he's really just shoving things where they fit, stacking papers and cramming them into a book before slipping it beneath his chair, fluffing out his throw blanket and actually lying it on the back of the couch.  

[trieugiangtinhdau]

The Positive the Bad and Help in Essay Crafting

The Great, the Bad and Help in Essay Publishing 1 excellent method is in becoming a professional or something disrupt. Lots of people are a little a lot more comfy with thirdly person, last tighten. To sum up, it is really significantly less aggravating for helping get the end result if you're currently employed in the customers. The project could very well be granted accompanied by a distinct content or pupils could decide upon it from an assortment of one of a kind styles. The complete most prominent dilemma dealt with by pupil would be the shortage of wisdom and capability to researching with a specific issue. Pupils must effort and carry out such type of chore on their own in order to receive proficiency which is likely to be the job to their achieving success. Is You've Been Informed About Help with Essay Creating The doc should really be clear, comprehensive and dispersed over the organization enterprise. You might also find the advice and you will definitely more than likely know, that you're presently not the only 1. Essay guidance is just among the most normally looked for categories of guidance and school assistance in the area of academia.

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