#I mean theoretically I could start posting and still finish it I would be several chapters ahead at least

[demigod-shenanigans]

You guys have no idea just how badly I wanna keep posting preview snippets of the Orpheus Eurydice fic btw. Part of me is tempted to start posting chapters but I still have so much left to write and I need to stay strong if I’m gonna finish this

[starlightbooklove]

Omg You guys tysssm for the support to My last post, it means the world to me.

Hello again, I started writing this post last night, I'm going to try to keep the timeline of how the events happened so that everything makes sense Because I couldn't finish writing it at the time, because of how everything ended. I have 2 and a half hours of sleep, it has been a complete emotional roller coaster of the worst kind for us as a country.

So, yesterday, July 28, 2024...

This day has been fucking Legendary in our story, By midday there were already 9 million votes in the voting centers with a majority in the polls in "La Unidad" (the opposition party)

Voting is still happening and it is currently 7:54 pm

People were in lines since last night, at 6 AM the centers were supposed to open. There was a part of these that did not open their doors at the scheduled time due to people from the Chavista party, acting as if they had some power to deny them the exercise of their right to vote, which led to the hilarious uprising of several voters in several states, coming to fucking knock down Gates to enter schools (the usual voting centers)

It also happened that they did not let the voters in but they did activate the machines and began to insert an unreal amount of identity cards to collect false votes for the government, WHEN THE CENTERS DIDN'T EVEN OPEN, CÑLM Which resulted in cases of violence in several states of the country, people went to exercise their right and did not allow themselves to be intimidated by anyone, to the point that CEBIM officials (a military body of the country) had to interfere with the anti-riot squads to remove the government sympathizers who started the problem by not opening and now they were getting their asses kicked by the voters who didn't sit still. The people were so firm that they didn't care that a military official was trying to protect the troublemakers at the voting centers, yet they insulted them and tried to beat them, Wich, ngl was heckin hilarous.

This was only at one of the voting centers

At seven, as i mentioned people were still voting, But many voting centers had already closed tables and were already counting votes, so theoretically the elections would close no later than 9 p.m. The broadcast of the national electoral council (CNE) had already started, never a broadcast was so damn long (the last time we had an opposition candidate this close, The results came out at 1:30 AM..., so that in the end they took away his victory with fraud, so you see, it's a pattern).

They told the story of ALL the presidents who have governed the country, since the country was literally unified and even when they reached the end they said that the results would be known shortly

Outside, in the voting centers, the results were being recorded by the same citizens, they all had the majority of votes for Edmundo González by A LOT, and in almost all the states.

Here things only went from bad to worse. When voting, there is a tradition called taking care of the boxes. The boxes are those that have all the votes from the voting center to which they belong, the votes are counted in the centers in front of witnesses from the people, the results are stated and then those results are sent in minutes to the national electoral council. María Corina urged people to take care of their votes, to stay in the centers so that they could see clearly what they were doing with the boxes once the voting closed. Around 8, 9 pm the vast majority of the states had reported Edmundo as the winner, several went out to celebrate in the streets and the voters continued to wait patiently and calmly outside the voting centers.

One of the biggest political figures in our country and the biggest spoiled son of a bitch here started talking on TV From where his people were celebrating, as in all votes, their Victory without even finishing giving out the results.

And I think I knew what hate is that corrupts, burns and boils in the blood, because while that man was speaking, in one of the states where they were celebrating, the "collectives" arrived. The collectives are another military branch which is at the same time independent of the country's own militia, and that is known to be led by said political figure, they are known for committing crimes And not suffer the consequences, so when they get to a place, it doesn't mean anything good.

They killed a man, and began to attack the people who were there, and this began to happen in several states, they took the militia out into the streets, they began to fight with the people, armed soldiers against young and old women, against people who were just celebrating damn it, while the fucking son of a bitch said on television that it was a night to celebrate in peace the absolute victory of the political party

[butterflydm]

fic updates & WoT time skips

Next week, I'm going to be posting my post-canon story where Mat pulls his Seanchan long con (so, when I say 'post-canon', I mean... a ways into the future).

My current plans re: Voice is to probably start posting the next fic about a month after S2 has finished airing but that's pretty flexible. If S2 gives me a bunch of fic ideas, I might want to strike while the iron is hot.

But right now, I'm currently working out the detailed outline for the next fic in Voice series, and one of the things that I really had to pay attention to in the next section is the Seanchan because this fic runs through... it looks like A Crown of Swords, but the history of this AU changes the timing on the Seanchan quite a bit. And another thing I needed to think about was forkroot tea.

Spoilers through Crossroads of Twilight below

So. Forkroot tea. In the books, it was the discovery of a single person in the middle of a small village in Amadicia (Ronde Macura). Theoretically, Nynaeve & co might have run across her town on their way to Salidar, but they had no reason to stop into the shop to check in on the Yellow's eyes and ears, because they already know where they're going (due to Perrin's TAR communications with Egwene). It was Elayne and Nynaeve's encounter with Ronde that led to her sending the information about forkroot to the White Tower. Elaida then treats her horribly and she ends up despising the Aes Sedai and hooking up with the Seanchan, giving that secret away to them as well. None of those events have happened in Voice and Ronde is just... you know, chilling in her village.

Should I try to come up with a different narrative justification for knowledge of forkroot tea spreading or just let it remain one woman's secret, off in a tiny village in Amadicia? Hmm.

The other outstanding question that I am working on answering is how far the Seanchan will have progressed in their invasion by the end of the next fic. Obviously pretty important for future fics in the series!

In my AU, Rhuidean and Falme happened at the same time, which has essentially meant that the Seanchan are running two books behind where they are in canon, at least in relation to Rand's story (or, I guess more accurately, Rand is running two books ahead). But while I was looking into how I would need to take that into account in the next story in my series, I noticed an... interesting narrative pattern.

Jordan sometimes just basically puts some of our main characters in a holding pattern so that other world events can happen, but as I was breaking down the plotting, I really noticed how often that happens to give the Seanchan a better foothold into whatever their new territory is or to make the timing better for the Seanchan specifically.

Three examples:

In The Great Hunt, Rand & co flicker-flicker-flicker and lose several months, giving the Seanchan plenty of time to invade Falme and really settle into their new digs there, making them a much bigger threat for Rand to deal with.

In A Crown of Swords, Elayne and Nynaeve do their best to avoid Mat for an entire month, which means that by the time they're ready to actually find the Bowl of the Winds, it's just about time for the Seanchan to invade Ebou Dar.

Rand literally just hangs out in a manor in Tear for a month in Crossroads of Twilight, waiting for the Seanchan to reply to his message and doing absolutely none of the other plot-related things that he could have been doing during that time. This gives Tuon and Mat a chance to have their 'courtship' plot.

Now the first example isn't a choice on Rand's part -- the magic is wonky. But the other two examples feel like instances where Jordan was prioritizing his timeline events over his characterization. He wants the group to still be in Ebou Dar when the Seanchan invade, but he also knows how long it will take the army to get there, logistically, so he throws Elayne and Nynaeve's logic and common sense under the bus so that they'll be stubborn enough to uselessly do the same thing over and over for a month before finally being willing to let Mat help.

(This specific problem mostly happens, imo, because of Traveling -- Egwene takes them instantly to a place near Ebou Dar but then the story isn't ready for them, so they have to do nothing for a month waiting for the timelines to match up again to the Seanchan invasion -- if they'd needed to ride there, then they could have gotten to work right away once they arrived.)

The Crossroads of Twilight example is even worse, because everyone else gets put on hold in order for Jordan to try to make it semi-believable that Mat is doing all the bizarre things he does in CoT & then in KoD (all of which is related to Jordan once again bending over backwards to help out the Seanchan). I know this has been talked about before but it's honestly ridiculous how little actually happens in CoT. Nynaeve shows up in one scene to ogle Lan while he's training and that's it. That's all she does in the whole book! No one does anything, all so that Mat can have weeks to brood over how much he hates the 'fate' that he is actively forcing himself to chase after (just like Min does in books TSR-ACoS but at least it makes sense that Min does that, even if it makes me dislike her as a character, because Min has conditioned herself to 'help along' her viewings even while claiming to believe that they're inevitable).

Ugh, I don't think I'll ever stop being annoyed by CoT & KoD. Okay, pushing past that for now.

...

Actually, while I'm here, I think I might go over every timeskip in the Jordan books just to track this issue and see if it's as related to the Seanchan as it feels like it is (using the massive timeline here for reference: stevenac[dot]net/wot/tl0998.htm). I am including the stretches of time here where main characters just sit around and do nothing; not travel-related time. This is only covering the Jordan books, though there are a couple in the last three books as well.

TGH: First we have everyone hanging out at Fal Dara for a month. This is Moiraine's choice and is primarily about waiting for Siuan to arrive. It does give Rand time to do sword-training with Lan.

TGH: Then we have Rand's accident with the Portal Stones. This gives the Seanchan time to dig their claws into Falme but, on the plus side, it also gives Egwene, Nynaeve, and Elayne the longest uninterrupted time training in the White Tower that they ever get: almost three months pass before Liandrin's betrayal of the girls, and then Egwene spends almost two months in captivity with the Seanchan.

TDR: After the Battle of Falme, Rand chills in the rough area of Falme for the winter, roughly four months. This gives the girls (and Mat) time to make the journey back to the White Tower and lets the Seanchan begin to regroup. In-book, this is justified by Rand spending four months arguing with Moiraine.

side note: it takes girls (and Mat) over five months to travel from Falme back to Tar Valon. They leave in "November" of 998 and arrive in "April" of 999. I'm guessing this travel time is a large part of why Jordan has Rand just hang out for a winter instead of acting sooner.

TFoH: Roughly a month passes between TSR and TFoH, which gives Rand some time to train with Asmodean but he's actively doing Something there and not just hanging out.

ACoS: A month into their stay in Ebou Dar, Elayne and Nynaeve finally get around to mentioning the Bowl of the Winds to Mat. There is a lot of plot stuff that happens to the other characters here, so it's not just about letting the Seanchan further progress their invasion, but it really is a nonsense plot beat for Elayne and Nynaeve's storyline that Jordan gets away with by having it happen off the page between books.

ACoS-WH: A wall falls on Mat, injuring him badly enough that he will be stuck in Ebou Dar until the second wave of the invasion arrives. Other characters do progress their own storylines while this is happening, which kinda makes it feel like taking Mat out of the action here directly results in everyone else getting put on hold later so that Mat can catch back up to them.

If Tuon had been in the first wave and Mat had been not so badly injured, then Mat's storyline could have happened at the same time as everyone else's (during TPoD), and Rand wouldn't have needed to hang out and do nothing for a whole month in CoT. It also would have fixed the awful Winter's Heart plot hole of everyone's vow of silence about telling Rand that his best friend was left to rot behind enemy lines (because Mat would have escaped by the time that Nynaeve and Rand saw each other, so she could have been honest with him but the color swirls would have reassured him that Mat was already out of Ebou Dar).

CoT: Speaking of! Post-cleansing, Rand spends an entire month doing fuck-all, and so does pretty much everyone else, all so that Mat can get stuck in his second abusive relationship, this time with marriage vows included (maybe his third, if you count Melindhra).

So, yeah, three separate timeskips happen in the books ACoS-CoT that seem primarily about trapping Mat into the Seanchan.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 135

I think y’all are in for a treat with this one. I won’t spoil it, though, other than to say that @baelpenrose and @charlylimph-blog thought this chapter was hilarious.

Think about that, please. Charly and Arthur think this chapter is hilarious.

Eyeah. That’s all I’ve got to say about that. I do not take responsibility for any injuries sustained.

As always, please don’t forget to check out the podcast! I will plug it shamelessly, so you may as well.

“Where are they?” Alistair murmured while he searched our shared office thoroughly.  Had it been anyone else, I would say he was being calm, but the fact that he was searching for anything, at all, tagged it in my head as a downright frantic pace.

“Where are what?”

“Nothing,” he dismissed, despite continuing his search.

I furrowed my brows. “You haven’t even had your tea yet. Or your breakfast?”

A pale hand waved me off. “I am aware.”

Shrugging, I gave it up as a lost cause and went back to the list of evacuees that Tyche and I had drafted up. After whipping up a preliminary list of who was assigned where, we were doing a more thorough second pass to ensure no conflicts of personality.  Deep in thought, I paid Alistair no attention until Parvati and Hannah arrived fifteen minutes later.

“Alistair, they aren’t here, so you can stop looking,” Hannah grinned as she took her accustomed seat.

“I am sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Surrrrre you don’t. Just like I’m sure you don’t know why several of the paint pens ran out of pigment,” Parvati assured him in the most sincere tone I had ever heard. My former therapist would have been proud.

I fought back a smile as he straightened and finally stopped his search, even going so far as to tug his shirt to get any wrinkles out. “I know no such thing.”  With that, he turned his back to all three of our snickering faces, requesting his usual tea and scone from the food console.

Composing my face, I tried to be serious for a minute. “You should eat fast, because our appointment with Arthur Farro is in about fi - “

My door whooshed open. Speak of the devil.

“ - ve minutes early, apparently,” I finished.

Unperturbed as usual, the subject of my previous suggestion strolled in with his usual air of confidence.  Just as he was going to take a seat beside Parvati, he leaned across the table. “Aww, no kiwi or pomegranate on your clotted cream this morning? Poor fing,” he said with a mocking pout.

“I am baffled why everyone believes such things of me,” Alistair grumbled into his tea with a scowl.

I sputtered. “You were using the pens on your breakfast?”

He didn’t even bother denying the chorus of confirmations from those around him, taking the higher road of sudden deafness. “Farro, I am still not entirely sure why a former warlord is necessary for discussions of an evacuation plan.”

“Warlords are generally just berserkers if they don’t have anyone to be ‘lord’ of.” Farro shot a dazzling smile as I supressed a groan. “But then again, being British, I’m sure you got confused, what with all the lords that were there in the last century without even land to their names.”

It really was easier sometimes to do things without either of them. Time to step in. “Gentlemen,” I purred in my most annoyingly ‘motivational’ tone possible, “the bathroom is right through that door, if you would like to continue your pissing contest.  However, some of us have actual work to do, so whether you fuck it out or fight it out, please do so on your own time.”

Both mouths shut with an audible click, and both men looked away from me. But at least they were quiet. Sophia: 1, Whatever-the-hell-this-was: 0.

I forged ahead while I had the chance. “Arthur, thank you for taking time to meet with us regarding the plans for fortifying the safety points. I’m sorry that Tyche couldn’t be here, however she scheduled her stay-cation several months ago and frankly deserves it.” By which I meant I had bribed Derek with a nauseating amount of bao to disable any communications to or from this office from going to her data pad until the start of her first shift post-vacation, and threatened my entire family within an inch of their lives to keep them from bringing up work around her for the next week. “However, I do have her concerns and suggestions ready, I assure you.”

With a scowl, he glanced at me and stood, calling up the emitter-map of the Ark. Quickly, he sketch circles around each of the ‘bunkers’ we had designated. “Xiomara had very sound judgement in the locations she chose for safe-zones, and I honestly expected it. Between her and Evania, there is a frankly terrifying amount of strategic prowess in what is theoretically our Health and Safety office.”

“You can’t be healthy or safe if you’re dead,” Hannah pointed out.

He tossed her a wink and grin. “Touche. However, none of them are perfect. This location,” he leaned to tap and zoom on a mess hall, “is fortified, has access to food and drink, even if you have to furiously call up non-perishables and potable water, and only has one entrance/egress.  A huge entry/egress, unfortunately: the door is ten meters wide.”

Parvati tapped a couple times on her datapad before chiming in. “It does close, however. And it locks.”

Arthur shook his head. “In two panels, each five meters wide. If even one is blown, the gap is indefensible. Both, everyone in there is free for the taking.”

“You are suggesting we ask Miys to narrow the aperture of the door?” I groaned when I heard Alistair leverage his overly-formal language.

It didn’t get any better when Arthur nodded. “Worst they can say is no, but the size of the door is simply for ease of access and to assuage anyone with proximity issues. Now that we all have these handy alerts - “ he tapped his temple for emphasis “ - it isn’t nearly as necessary. Noah? Bud? What do you think?”

The buzz from the ceiling was clearly amused. “I am amenable if this is a solution. As Arthur pointed out, the width of that door is no longer necessary.”

“Annnd there we go,” Arthur shrugged. “The boatwright said yes, if that’s what we want.”

My jaw nearly hit the floor when Alistair nodded firmly and stood. Swiftly, he highlighted three more areas. “These have the same potential concern. We should include those in the proposal.”

‘We’? ‘We’ whomst??? Since when were they on the same side?

“I agree,” Arthur continued enthusiastically, causing my head to start twinging in pain. “According to the engineers and the chemisists on board, the material of the Ark is remarkably fire-retardant despite it’s organic nature - let’s hear it for advanced civilizations - so there is no additional need for fire doors. There is however a possibility of concussive damage to the actual doors in any area, despite how thick the actual walls are.”

“Tyche recommended shock-absorbent material on the exteriors of each door, dropped via internal trigger and held taught by wires rather than any sort of scaffolding,” I suggested, recovering my focus. I flicked the concept at the emitter, where it was displayed alongside the schematic of the Ark. “Using wires would allow us to also store it in a roll at the top of the door, and allow pulleys to draw the wires embedded in the bulkhead down to cover the entire door.”

Hannah nodded thoughtfully. “The materials she suggests are a good idea - definitely maximizes shock absorption as much as possible. My only concern is that we can probably double the flame resistance of the materials for only a ten-percent loss of effectiveness.”

Calling up my datapad, I smiled as I quoted. “ ‘However, Hannah is a professional weaver and seamstress, and therefore I defer to her on any suggestions regarding materials used, provided there is no more than twenty-percent loss of efficacy’. Apparently she did the calculations and had Charly and Conor both check behind her - anything below twenty percent loss, and the blast would blow the doors.”

“And when did the more sensible Miss Reid learn engineering?” Alistair asked in what sounded like genuine curiosity.

“Tuesdays - I think?” I scrunched my face and searched my memory. “It was something very important when we were cosplaying.”

Arthur snorted, but gestured an apology when Alistair affixed him with a downright lethal glare.

Hannah ignored them both. “Wool… We should be able to synthesize raw wool, instead of the plant based materials here. Best of both worlds - fluffy, incredibly flame resistant, and disperses concussive force like nothing else. Line it with silk for shrapnel? We should be good.”

“Fortress defense via quilts. I like it,” Arthur grinned savagely.

“There is a reason tapestries were so important in the Middle Ages,” Alistair snarked at him. “Both flame resistant and insulating, both very good qualities when you see by torches and candles in a drafty residence that echoes like a cathedral.”

Arthur held his hands up in surrender. “Not arguing, no worries… Genuine respect, swear.”

“Better…”

“Annnnd forging on from whatever-the-fuck-that-was,” I interjected, trying to focus on the topic at hand rather than… well, whatever the fuck that was, “That’s overlarge entries and concussive force taken care of. What other concerns did you have, Arthur?”

“Frankly? Camouflage,” he told us sternly. “The best way to protect against an invading enemy is to make it so hard to find you that it isn’t worth the effort.  All these defenses are good an all, but… they’ll stick out like a sore thumb and practically scream ‘Hey! We’re in HERE!’ “ I stifled a laugh when he hopped and waved his arms furiously.

“Very dignified, Farro,” Alistair sniffed as he stood to get more tea.

“I know, right? I’m so classy…”

Rolling my eyes and still regretting having them both in my office at the same time, “We actually have the camouflage solved for.” You could have heard a pin drop, all four of them frozen, mouths open. “It came through this morning from Zach.” I swiped the fortress-quilt specs down, and popped up the plans for the camouflage. “We’re thinking on the visible spectrum, since humans are sight animals. Zach went with a ‘most common denominator’ approach - scent, infrared, acoustic, everything but electromagnetic vision.  The quilts cover the infrared and the majority of the acoustic issues: if any body-heat shows through fifteen inches of fluffed wool and a bulkhead door, we’re doomed no matter what.” I highlighted a line of data. “Scent, likewise: Zach is suggesting aeresolized, low concentration sulfur throughout the majority of the Ark, excluding the safe-zones. The safe-zones will also have one of Miys stationed in each one, acting essentially as an air scrubber. This will minimize acoustics from active air filtration, while also adhering to Miys being a non-participant: they will be present to ensure our comfort due to minimizing body odor, nothing more.  This was already planned, the fact that it will protect us from being detected by scent is just a lagniappe.”

I waited for the thoughtful nods to pass and decided I did not see the glance that Arthur and Alistair exchanged. As long as they didn’t draw blood during the meeting, I would let it slide. “Where it gets sticky is neuroelectric. Zach, it seems, took a page out of Charly’s manual-of-mischief.” I zoomed in on the specific line of the prospectus and waited.

“He wants to what?” Hannah asked, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh I like this,” came the ‘devil’ in ‘devil’s advocate’.

“How would it even work?” Parvati asked, genuinely curious.

I chose that one to respond to. “Just like the microfilament wires that will support the quilts, he wants to cover the walls inside several false locations with a mesh and electrify it to mimic human synaptic energy. Needle in a haystack theory.”

“Wait,” Alistair held up a hand to interrupt. “Are you also proposing that the doors to these false locations will be covered in the quilts?”

“Absolutely,” I confirmed. “Given how far from prospective entry points all of the safe-zones are located, they would run into several false locations before they encounter a real one.”

“And if they decide to tear into all the locations, even the false-positives?” Arthur poked, trying to find a hole in the idea. Which, I had to concede, was why he was even here instead of sending me messages for this.

“What if they decide to tear into every mess hall? Or every door? We can’t plan for everything.” I shook my head. “However, we can factor in a few things that seem pretty consistent despite species - Beings who don’t have legitimate work and take slaves are generally prone to laziness, despite somehow working harder to avoid work than I have ever actually worked a day in my life.  Point being, give them enough false positives on the way, they won’t actually search everything no matter what they say.”

“Speculation and hearsay, not admissible in court.”

“Au contraire, mon frère. Charly did the sociological analysis on all the species most likely to be pirates in the region of the galaxy where we will exit relativistic space, and her estimates are that the plan has a sixty-to-eighty-percent chance of success in the event that all human combatants fail. And I, personally, agree.” 

He conceded a low whistle. “Damn. If I didn’t like Evan so much, I would say Charly is being wasted with Huynh. Objection withdrawn.”

“Quite,” Alistair agreed smugly. “Miss Harper’s plan is a sound one. The Archives, however - “

I interrupted, still irritated about the topic. “You will be stationed immediately inside the doors to defend against any intruders who make it that far, while Tyche will be defending the y-junction between the speculative fiction and historical fiction categories to prevent intruders from reaching the actual people.”

“But the religious studies section - “

“Has already been scanned down to a molecular level to preserve the information, even if we can’t restore any actual artifacts,” Parvati advised in a profoundly bored tone. “You do realize that anyone who reaches that section will not be able to reach the actual people from there without doubling back, right?”

“Miss Fletcher, there is a Gutenberg Bible on this Ark, potentially the last one in existence.” The tone was icy enough to send a shiver down my spine.

“Phee,” Arthur threw out, guaranteeing my irate attention, “Is there any issue with moving the Gutenberg to the Speculative Fiction section until we meet with the Ekomari fleet?”

“Are you seri - “

“Not to placate the Monarchist, I swear. Just - that is a profoundly important historical artifact, even if I agree with nearly none of the contents. The start of the Information age! Literature in the hands of the vulgar masses! Your field of study would have never existed in the form it was without that achievement. Who cares if the first use was to print the frickin’ Bible?”

Before I could object, Parvati added her prodigious two cents. “I do not have to be Christian to appreciate the illuminations in a manuscript, any more than I have to be a Muslim to be brought to my knees by the beauty of a mosque. We can appreciate the significance of something regardless of whether we agree with it or not.”

“This is probably where Charly or Tyche would point out that I am a huge fan of laws against animal abuse, despite firmly believing that Hitler was evil incarnate,” I sighed. “Yeah, we can move the Gutenberg Bible, provided - hang on, stop cheering - PROVIDED - “ I paused to make sure they were all paying attention, “that any other works of significant cultural or historical significance are moved as well. Any first additions, significant religious texts - or in lack of ‘significant’ religious texts, just a copy of each that is agreed to be acceptable by all who follow that religion. A copy of Frankenstein, The Tale of Genji, et cetera.”

I knew my request brooked exactly zero argument from Alistair, as his eyes visibly shone when I added more books to the list. What I waited for were any objections from the other three.

Sure enough, Hannah tentatively raised her hand. When I nodded, she spoke up. “I think we should do a kind of Voyager-plate: a copy, even just digital, of all our texts around music, crafts, technology, mathematics… Art, fermentation, food preparation and the history of it. Not just for this scenario!” she insisted urgently, “For any worst-case scenario. Keep a copy, or several. And put those copies, along with all the relevant artifacts that we have on board, and keep them with the people in the Archives, in the safest part of the ship.”

“Where it would take a black hole to destroy it,” Parvati whispered.

Just as the tears were threatening my eyes, Arthur flopped back in his seat and kicked his boots up onto the table. “Jesus fuck, you guys are depressing. Right, but depressing. It’s doable, though. We just transcribe it into the most common language for each version of ‘language’ in the Galaxy…”

Alistair snorted. “You warlords and your short-sightedness. Clearly, the resolution is to transcribe it into the most common language in the Galaxy with instructions on how to translate it further down.”

“No, you limey-ass bastard,” Arthur growled. “Too much is lost in translation - there is a reason the Qur’an and the Sefer Torah should never be translated to be considered valid.”

Nope. I wasn’t dealing with it. We had covered all the necessary topics, I could message the rest. I twitch my head at both Vati and Hannah, at which point they both rose from their seats. Neither was noticed by the arguing men.

Arthur was mid-sentence when a quick strike from Vati to the top of his spinal cord rendered all his words gibberish. Rather than realizing this, he glanced down at his suddenly-tingling fingertips in confusion. Hannah simply hauled Alistair out of his seat and ignored his squawked objections, her shorter but sturdier frame more than a match for his tall, slender frame and brain that was very much against violence towards women but undecided about how to stop them from chauffeuring you out of a room.

With exactly zero ceremony, both men were deposited in the corridor, to the satisfaction of all three of us. I waggled my fingers in a farewell. “Fuck it out or fight it out, I don’t care. But not in my office. Ta!”

I could not hold back the smile anymore when both started pounding on the door for entry, not realizing I had disabled their permissions right after the first volley had been thrown.  It was almost habit, at this point, to disable their permissions to my office when they started bickering, only to restore them when they decided to act like adults.

Clearly that wasn’t the case this time. Oh well, maybe in a couple hours. I would need to ask Xiomara to do a ‘sensor test’ of the gym and med bays to be sure.

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[official-weasley]

The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley: Pt. 5, Ch. 9

PART 5: THE YEAR WHEN EVERYONE FIGHTS Chapter 9 - The O.W.L.s and a Letter

Nova

The morning before my first O.W.L. which was from Care of Magical Creatures, so I couldn't help to be a little nervous as I still held Kettleburn by his word that I could take care of a Salamander if I get an O on my O.W.L., I made my way down with Tulip for breakfast. Bill, Charlie, Penny, and Tonks were already there and they greeted us as we sat down.

“Nervous, you three?” Penny asked, looking at Tonks, Charlie, and me.

“Nope.” Charlie and I both said at once.

“I think that I have third wheeled with these two enough to pass the class.” Tonks pointed at us.

“What do you mean third wheeled?” I asked puzzled. I looked at Charlie who just chuckled. I still haven't managed to figure out what was different about him. He has always been a tranquil person but ever since we made up he seemed so okay with everything and if something happened that made me confused he just chuckled like now or winked at me. And I knew that was new, as Charlie was too shy to wink at an animal let alone to me, or any girl for that matter.

Before any of them could reply it was time for Owl Post and I saw Pip searching for me.

“Hi, Pippy!” I greeted him and took the letter from his beak. He made his way to Charlie at once.

I stared at the envelope, without knowing what to do. I haven't gotten a blue envelope with a golden stamp since my dad passed away.

“What's wrong?” Charlie knew something wasn't right immediately, placing his hand on my shoulder.

“It...it's from Egypt.” I was still holding on to the letter and now we all stared at it as if it was going to open itself.

“What do you reckon is about?” Penny asked as gently as she could.

“I have no idea.” I replied. I looked at Charlie and he nodded for me to open it. I turned it around and broke the seal. I took out the parchment and started reading. I appreciated that Charlie pulled away from me so I could read the letter in private, even though I would've shown him the letter anyway.

Dear Nova,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I don't know if your mum told you but we are still unable to fill your father's position. The interns we got this Summer were nothing compared to the boys he trained last year.

We decided to go through his files and found a recommendation letter in the folder of William Weasley.

If I recall correctly, he is your friend and he got the internship because you told your father that his ambition is to become a Curse Breaker. Upon looking through his file, we were quite impressed and your dad wrote and I quote “he is a rising star in the Curse Breaking community”. Upon seeing his birth year, I would assume he is in his books studying for N.E.W.T.s right now but just in case I have miscalculated something, I was wondering if you would be so kind and give him this letter.

We would be delighted to hear from him and offer him your father's position if he is still interested in working with us. Of course, he would have to go through several training exercises and the whole procedure like everyone else, but I don't want to bore you with the details.

I greatly appreciate your help and know that despite what happened, you still have family here that you can visit.

A warm greeting from us all here in Egypt,

Robert

A tear ran down my cheek, as I finished the letter. I looked up, everybody was still looking at me.

“It's for you.” I looked at Bill and gave him the letter across the table gently smiling. Tulip and Penny, sitting next to him, peaked and read it with him.

“They're offering me your dad's job?” Bill couldn't believe it. Charlie took the letter from him at once and read it along with Tonks who sat next to him.

“What are you going to do?” Charlie asked, pulling me in a half hug after he was done reading.

“What do you mean what will I do?” I looked at Bill. “Bill has to reply to them not me.” I smiled.

“Are you sure, Nova? It's your dad's position.” He asked.

“If it's up to me if you get the job or not, I wouldn't want anyone else to take his place but you, Bill.” I stood up and walked to the other side and hugged him.

“Nova, I don't know what to say. How will I ever repay you?” Bill was in shock. He squeezed me so tightly, that I let out a small sigh.

“You don't need to repay me, Bill. You're my friend and the amount of help I have received from you over the past 5 years makes us even, don't you think?” I smiled at him.

“Nova, thank you.” He still couldn't grasp the fact that he just got his dream job.

“Just stay my friend and promise to write to us and send me pictures from Egypt.” He hugged me again.

“Oh,” I pulled away and cupped his face, “and please, stay safe.” He nodded and for a second I could swear I saw him tear up.

He went to the Gryffindor Tower immediately to gather everything he might need to send with his answer.

“That was so nice of you, Nova.” Penny wiped a tear off her cheek.

“I didn't do anything. He deserves it, he has been working so hard for this and I remember when my dad told me how impressed he was with him. I wouldn't have it any other way.” I didn't feel like I needed credit for his hard work. Yes, I got him the internship but he wouldn't have received this letter if he didn't show hard work, talent, and determination.

“Thank you.” Charlie suddenly pulled me into a tight hug. “It means a lot to me that you did this for my brother.” Suddenly, I couldn't help but take a bit of credit for the whole situation, as it meant the world to me that I made Charlie happy.

—

To say that Charlie and I aced our Care of Magical Creatures examination was an understatement. We walked out of there like we were the best wizards in the world and we didn't expect anything less.

I have to say that so far I was very proud of how I did on my O.W.L.s. I do have some doubts about Potions and I am not sure about a few questions on the Herbology theoretical exam, but other than that I think I have nothing to worry about. Charlie had some mixed feelings about his Potions practical exam because he forgot to add an ingredient to his potion but he is pretty content with everything else.

Tulip said that based on the fact how little she studied, she was doing pretty good. Jae was doing just fine as well and apparently, those two had a really good chat in the Kitchens about their careers as Tulip didn't worry about it at all after that day.

Penny was beaming when she left the Great Hall after the Potions' practical. Of course, we weren't surprised at all that she would ace that. She worried about Defense Against the Dark Arts as she forgot the proper wand movement for the Blasting Curse but we reassured her that that is not a big mistake.

Tonks was doing rather well. We made a plan to take extra precautionary measures so that she wouldn't run away again: we gave her Pip. He was the perfect agent! She felt obliged to look after him and he kept her company when she studied and she revised with him and he hooted cheerfully at her and so far she has been doing great. She is confident about her performance so far and we are all very proud of her. Especially Penny! Every time she sees Tonks studying she bursts into tears of joy.

We were heading down to the Great Hall for our last O.W.L.: History of Magic. On one hand, I was glad we had the subject saved for last as I didn't worry about how I'll do on the examination at all but on the other hand, I couldn't wait to be over with it as it lingered in my mind.

We were sad to find out that we would receive our results in the middle of the Summer. Tulip and I promised each other that we are not going to open any of Penny's letters until we get the results as we knew that would be all she would write about and that she is going to panic until the very last moment when she realizes just how perfect her results are.

—

I got a letter from my mum in the last week of my Fifth Year. I wasn't even that surprised when she told me that she was bombarded with work and probably won't be able to spend as much as two days with me because she took so much time off last Summer. She suggested I talk to my friends if I can stay with any of them because she couldn't bear the thought of me being alone in our house.

To be perfectly honest, I was okay with her letter. She had the entire Summer off last year and I was so happy that we were able to spend it together that I didn't mind if I couldn't spend this one with her as well. And besides, I knew I was going to make one redhead Dragon lover very happy by not going away with my mum.

Penny was very pleased to announce that this year, there will be the Official Haywood Muggle Vacation so I knew I couldn't spend the Summer with her even if I wanted to. Tulip was going to Asia with her parents to visit some relatives. Tonks was going away as well and for the first time, she looked happy to go somewhere with her parents. I think she finally realized that they love her and want the best for her. She even announced that her first name might not be so bad.

Tulip and I were both grateful that she didn't say that in front of Penny as we both knew she would jump to Tonks for a hug and start sobbing about how proud she is of her for finally growing up.

—

I decided to surprise Charlie with the news that I am spending the Summer at the Burrow. I know how upset he was that I wasn't there last year. I decided to write a letter to Molly to politely invite myself to their beautiful home. I knew she would say yes as Bill already asked me weeks before if I will be able to visit them because Ginny and Ron miss me so much.

A few days before the end of term, Pip greeted me with Molly's reply, when we were having breakfast. I opened it, hiding it from Charlie, which he found very suspicious and it made him want to read it even more.

Nova dear,

you know we would love to have you for the Summer. Ginny and Ron are going to be thrilled when I tell them! The twins miss you too and I know Charlie would want you nowhere else.

See you soon! Arthur and I will pick you up at the Station along with the boys.

Love,

Molly

“Hey, Char.” I looked at him, grinning.

“Yes?” He was still eyeing the letter, curious to know who wrote to me.

“Guess who's spending their Summer at the Burrow!” I exclaimed and showed him the letter. He read it, his eyes moving quickly then he looked at me, the most serious expression on his face.

“I don't understand, who's coming?” I blinked at him as I couldn't see how the letter didn't make it obvious.

“I'm kidding, Nova! Of course, you're coming! You have to make up for last year.” He started laughing, seeing the expression on my face.

“For a second I really thought you didn't want me there.” I felt relieved. Every year he was complaining about how I don't spend enough time with him during Summer and now all of a sudden I thought he didn't want me to come.

“Nova, I always want you there.” He winked at me and smiled in a way that I have never seen him do before and I felt something turning in my stomach. I knew at once that he was over the roof about me coming to the Burrow but in a way that wouldn't completely give it away to those who didn't know him as I did.

What was he doing to me? It was a completely new side of Charlie that I have never seen before and I am not going to lie, I was attracted to it. It was as he was two people in one body. One was my loving best friend for who I would give the world for and the other was this cool, calm young man with strong arms and soft hair.

“Earth to Nova, you alright?” He chuckled.

“Yeah, right here.” I smiled at him, feeling the heat on my cheeks. “I was just counting the times I will beat you in Quidditch.” Nice comeback Nova, nice comeback.

“Oh, we'll see about that.” He pulled me into a half hug and I couldn't stop my lips from curving when I smelled honeysuckle on him. It was my favorite scent.

—

When I came to the Weasleys, the house looked like they had a party that lasted for 3 days. I guess the older the twins the bigger the mess. Ginny held me in a hug for solid 5 minutes before Ron told her to bugger off so he could have his turn. He started telling me about his new chess strategy immediately and even though I already knew I was going to lose, I couldn't help but be excited for him to show it to me.

The twins asked me at once if I would like to see something in their room and when I looked at Bill and Charlie, both shaking their head, warning me that I rather shouldn't, I politely declined, even though I knew they were going to show me whatever it was sooner or later.

Percy went upstairs at once but came back down with a book and sat on the sofa to read for a change. Which to me was quite an improvement since I don't think I ever saw him for more than 10 minutes, even when it came to breakfast or dinner.

The day to receive our O.W.L.s results finally came. Bill got his N.E.W.T.s the day before and he was so calm about it since he accepted the job Robert offered him that I was curious how nervous would he be if he didn't know he had a job secured. Nevertheless, he had nothing to worry about as he received a total of 6 N.E.W.T.s which was 2 above average and even though the results didn't matter anymore, giving the fact that he could now officially call himself a Curse Breaker, he was proud of himself.

Charlie seemed completely unphased by the results as he was confident that he did well in most of his subjects and I wasn't that nervous either. I just wanted to see an O next to my Care of Magical Creatures so I could adopt a Salamander next year!

We got our results delivered first thing in the morning. We each grabbed our envelope and much to everyone's displeasure, we decided we wanted to take a private moment and share our results only with each other first. We sat on the bench in the garden and opened our letters.

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS

Pass Grades:

Outstanding (O)

Exceeds Expectations (E)

Acceptable (A)

Fail Grades:

Poor (P)

Dreadful (D)

Troll (T)

NOVA IO BLACKWOOD HAS ACHIEVED:

Ancient Runes E

Astronomy A

Care of Magical Creatures O

Charms O

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Herbology E

History of Magic A

Potions E

Transfiguration O

“How did you do?” Charlie asked me and I knew he did well just by his tone.

“9 O.W.L.s! 4 Outstandings!” I exclaimed.

“3 Outstandings and 8 O.W.L.s!” We exchanged results.

CHARLES WEASLEY HAS ACHIEVED:

Ancient Runes E

Astronomy E

Care of Magical Creatures O

Charms O

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Herbology E

History of Magic P

Potions A

Transfiguration E

“History of Magic is nobody's strong suit.” I tapped his shoulder. He looked at me, trying to be serious but I could see he was going to burst out laughing any moment now.

“Oh, no. Whatever will I do!” We started laughing as we really couldn't care less for the subject and ran inside to tell the Weasleys.

I sent my mum the results at once and that afternoon I received an owl from Penny which I was expecting and would worry if I didn't. She wrote that she got all her 9 O.W.L.s from which she got 6 Outstandings and 3 Exceeds Expectations and I had to remind myself that the next time I see her I have to say 'I told you so' as none of us expected anything less from her. She also added that Andre did really well on his exams and that he got an E in Potions and she wrote that he is thanking me because he passed Transfiguration and that they were going to meet up next week to celebrate as Andre was very grateful for Penny's help.

“I bet he was.” Said Bill who was reading the letter over my left shoulder. I didn't see his face but I knew that he had a smirk on his face before he took a sip of his coffee.

“Do you reckon they're doing it?” Charlie, who was leaning over my right shoulder, asked as casually as Tonks did only a few months ago. I knew he only posed the question so he would make Bill spit out his coffee and I knew what the look on his face was when he succeeded.

Tulip sent me an owl the next morning and she got 7 O.W.L.s which was 2 more than she expected and said that even her parents were okay with her results.

We didn't hear anything from Tonks that day or the next day for that matter. Charlie and I got worried so we decided to send her a letter with Pip.

He returned with a letter in his beak the very next day and in it were Tonks' results.

NYMPHADORA TONKS HAS ACHIEVED:

Astronomy A

Care of Magical Creatures E

Charms E

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Divination P

Herbology O

History of Magic P

Potions O

Transfiguration E

“SHE GOT AN O IN POTIONS?” For a second both Charlie and I thought that we were seeing wrong or that the results belonged to Penny as we stared at the O next to Tonks' Potions result. We couldn't believe it and we now understood why she didn't send us an owl the very day the results arrived. She was probably just as shocked as we were.

We knew Penny will probably cry for a week out of happiness and will never forget it. And I could already see her throwing it in Tonks' face if she freaks out about exams next year “Tonks, you have nothing to complain about. You got an O on your Potions O.W.L. last year!”

We all got very good results and we were pleased with them but I think Tonks outdid us all and I couldn't wait to sit with my friends on the train back to school when she tells us how in the bloody hell, did she managed to do that.

END OF PART 5

[bettsfic]

march pinned: ending the sex project

in the march edition of my lowkey writing-related newsletter, in addition to my writing-related post roundup and upcoming consultation availability, i have personal essay recommendations and a segment on the definition of a project!

for more information on my creative coaching services, check out my carrd.

if you want to receive my lowkey writing-related newsletter directly, you can subscribe here.

full newsletter below the cut, or you can read it here.

fuck february, amiright?

i thought january was bad. but february. february was the stuff of nightmares. my cousin passed away from covid (you can read about her here; she was really an amazing person and i feel so lucky to have known her). i was finally formally diagnosed with PCOS (bittersweet, i guess). my car broke down. i took two (2) days off and it took me two and a half weeks to get caught up again. i can only hope march treats us all a little more gently.

the good news is, i finished revisions on my short story collection to send to my agent, finished workshop submissions for the semester, and now i can return to my first love, fanfiction. that i am constantly working through original fiction to return to fanfiction has been making me think a lot about the nature of a creative, capital-p Project. so, this month’s BTALA (been thinkin a lot about) is going to inspect the concept of a “project.”

new resource

last month i unveiled a folder of my favorite short stories which i’m pleased to hear several of you have perused and gotten some inspiration from. this month i’ve compiled my favorite personal essays. there are fewer essays than there are short stories because i’ve broken them into two groups: personal and craft. next month i hope to have the craft essays compiled.

i’m always looking for more things to love, so if you have recommendations for your favorite short stories and essays, i’d be happy to hear them!

writing-related posts

how to physically maneuver the revision process

the difference between M and E ratings of fic

resources for worldbuilding (check out the reblogs for more!)

a couple syntax/prose book recs

how to break a long work into chapters

march availability

unfortunately i have to cut my coaching hours down a bit, so i don’t have any openings left in march, but i have some availability in april. if you’re interested in a writing consultation, please fill out this google form!

you can learn more about my services on my carrd.

what i’m into rn

for the past year, i’ve basically been trapped in a 10x10 room, and my health is definitely reflecting that, both mentally (does anyone else feel like they’re living in groundhog day? just, every day being exactly the same except fractionally worse than the day before??) and physically (i reorganized the kitchen and could barely move for two days).

reader, i have discovered something called “walking,” in which i put on real human shoes and go outside. it feels strange, bestial. neighbors wave hello to me. a harrowing experience.

while doing this, this walking, i’ve been listening to the lolita podcast which a friend recommended to me, a ten-episode series that dives into everything lolita: the novel itself, its context, adaptations, greater cultural responses, and — as a sticker on my laptop says — vladimir “russian dreamboat” nabokov. as far as i can tell it seems well-researched and presents the many perspectives of lolita in a fair way. i’m only a few eps in, but i’m entranced so far. highly recommended if you, like me, have a complicated relationship with lolita.

i’ve also found myself mildly addicted to a mobile otome game called obey me, which. look i know it’s like the definition of cringe but it’s also mind-numbingly fun and if i want to spend my minimal free time pretending 7 demon brothers are all vying for my affection then that’s between me and god. it’s a lot of what i loved about WoW: frequent events, bright colors, a daily to do list of simple but satisfying tasks, many many rewards, and it doesn’t take itself very seriously. and if i have 4k fic written of mammon/reader that’s nobody’s business but mine and my longsuffering ao3 subscribers.

i’m telling you this because i don’t know anyone else who plays it and am desperate to trade headcanons. so if you play, or start playing, hit me up!! i will give u mad tips and daily AP.

been thinkin a lot about

the project. the project. even the word “project.” PROject (noun). proJECT (verb). what is the project? “project” comes from the latin pro and jacare which means “to throw forward,” or projectum which means “something prominent.” a projector throws forward an image. to project onto something means to throw your perspective onto something else. to embark on a project is to make something prominent in your life. the concept of “the projects” comes from public housing projects, the government throwing forward affordable housing.

what is the project? in joseph harris’ essay “coming to terms” he says that “to define the project of a writer is…to push beyond his text, to hazard a view about not only what someone has said but also what he was trying to accomplish by saying it.” harris’ perspective is that of an english teacher encouraging his students to read critically, not just to summarize a text but to find its project, its greater purpose. and while i first read this essay in a seminar on composition pedagogy, it stuck with me as a writer. it made me reconsider the greater nature of the creative project.

how many of us, if asked to describe our writing project, would begin with a plot or character premise, the nuts and bolts of a specific story? maybe even the working title? but i wonder, is breaking out the plot really the project? is the discipline of sitting down and typing really the project? and when the story is finished, is the project over? what is the project?

in 2019, i wrote 86k words of a novel. i began revising that novel last fall, and i’m finding that i’ll probably keep maybe less than 10k of that initial draft. i’m not bothered by that. the novel i wrote before that started at 125k, then i rewrote the entire thing to 200k, then i whittled it back down to 160k, and next i’ll be tasked with paring it back down to 80k. i’m not bothered by that either. in the past five years or so i’ve written about 2 million words, and i’ve only published 20k of them. only 1% of what i’ve written, i’ve published. in the words of lauren cooper (catherine tate), i’m not bothered.

i used to see publication as the birth of the project, and writing it akin to a long gestation period. then i saw publication as the death of the project, and its life was lived in its drafting. now, publication seems irrelevant to the project. the confines of a story and its many revisions are also irrelevant to the project. the beginning of a story is not the start of the project and the end of the story is not the end of the project. the project is larger than the story, its revisions, its publication, and its eventual readership.

i think it took me so long to see this because for so many years i was still in my first project, the sex project, an exploration of trauma and sexual identity, which began in 2014 with destiel fanfiction, endured through many fandom shifts, my MFA, years adrift as an adjunct, all the way through 2020 with the completion of my short story collection. i used to wonder how anyone could write about anything other than sex. to me it was the only topic worth my attention. i was certain that i would spend my entire life being a sex writer and i’d never find fulfillment writing a young adult sci fi adventure or a highly literary novel about complicated family dynamics. i was baffled by people who were interested in other things, who could write entire novels without using the word “cock” even once.

then my sex project ended. i don’t know when exactly it happened or why, but suddenly i realized i never wanted to write another artful description of an orgasm or find a tactful euphemism for a vagina ever again (personally i prefer “wet cunt” because not only is it blunt, i find it phonetically pleasing). obviously i’m still writing explicit fanfic but it doesn’t feel the same as it used to. sex feels more sidelined to me, even if it’s still the center and drive of a fic. i no longer get any personal satisfaction from writing it, although i do get satisfaction in sharing the work for readers to enjoy.

it’s like i’ve somehow solved the biggest puzzle of my life. or i guess made peace with my meanest monster, that extremely complicated double-mind of desire that some non-sex-repulsed asexuals feel: you want to feel desire you can’t actually feel so you write it into fiction, to try to understand this thing you can’t have and which society tells you you’re missing, and you don’t even know if you don’t have it, because you still feel desire for affection and intimacy, and maybe even a desire to be desired. and for those of us who are asexual and have c-ptsd, sex you don’t actually want (but don’t know you don’t want, because maybe you’re ambivalent and mildly curious and touch-starved) and an unrelenting drive toward people-pleasing can be a dangerous combination. how can you ever know what consent is if you always put other people’s desires above your own?

maybe i’m alone in this. maybe i’m not. maybe for most people, wanting sex is a light switch: yes i want it, or no i don’t. but for me, i had to write a whole lot of words to figure out things like desire, consent, intimacy, forgiveness, the shape that good love takes. the lengthy theoretical flowchart of “i might be interested in having sex if this and this and this and this and this happens in this exact order and under these exact circumstances.”

it was hard to write something into reality that i have never seen except in pieces, in subtext i clung to with no lexicon to give it shape and meaning. te lawrence in lawrence of arabia. some of tarantino’s early work. the film benny and joon. and weirdly, the star wars prequels (that one’s hard to explain; i’ll spare you). i don’t think the sex project was about coming to terms with my asexuality as much as it was trying to organize my thoughts and feelings by continuously rendering my own experiences within a greater, shinier ideal — like how you sometimes have to unravel the entire skein of yarn to find the loose end, and only then can you get started.

i guess i’m in the infancy of the power project now. i’m moving toward themes of control, infamy, greatness. the exact circumstances in which atrocity occurs. how people rise into leadership and fall from grace. the consequences of success. i don’t know why this project has come to me, or what, if anything, it has to do with me. i’m not famous and have no intention of becoming famous; i don’t have social power or influence, at least not beyond my little corner of fandom, and i’m not interested in having it. and yet, here we are, already hundreds of thousands of words in.

my fics digging for orchids (tgcf) and a standing engagement (the hunger games) deal with the detriments of fame. and even float (breaking bad) to a degree is about the aftermath of being so close to power. my novel cherry pop, loosely based on macbeth, is about an ongoing power exchange between two teenage girls. my other novel, vandal, is about a girl who believes she has magic powers and casts a spell on her neighbor to fall in love with her. and i’m in the very early stages of a novel called groundswell, a cult story i’ve been wanting to write for years. i had no idea why i couldn’t write it until i realized it wasn’t yet my project. i’m not even to the stage of developing characters, let alone a premise or plot. i’m still just building my aesthetic pile (i discuss the aesthetic pile here, as well as vandal in more detail), watching documentaries on cults, reading books, finding inspiration, marking down ideas as they come. it may be years before i’m ready to sit down and write it.

now that i know what the project is, i have more patience with myself. it doesn’t bother me to rewrite a novel from the beginning, or to scrap novels altogether, because the story isn’t the project. the project cannot be diminished by cutting words, sentences, paragraphs, entire chapters. the project does not have a product. the project cannot be published. the project is in the practice, in dragging the impossibly large into clear, acute existence, so you can see it. so you can see the very center of what you thought was an unknowable thing.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Capt. Syverson- Chapter Three: Therapeutic Activity

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Tensions reach a boiling point during treatment one evening, Shane goes to her own veteran for advice, and takes the first step toward happiness…hoping beyond hope that everything doesn’t blow up in her face.

Masterlist with links to all parts HERE!

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: None, yet… ;) But maybe I should be putting language warnings in here…there are some bad words. And not to spoil but…there might be a bit of kissing in this one…

Author’s Note: Guys, I cannot stress to you enough how much I am enjoying telling this story. My goodness. To sort of combine my passions of writing and Henry with something I know so well like therapy (I’m a secretary like Heather, not a therapist), it really just makes me happy. The next chapter is already done, also, it was initially part of this chapter, but it felt too long, so I’ll be posting it separately later. I know, I’m a tease. Have Henry spank me. Lol.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

"This sounds…kinda dumb…" Sy expressed his thoughts on today's warm up with Shane.

"Oh, trust me, it looks even dumber than it sounds. But it works. And it's easier on your knees than doing it the right way. You ready?" he looked at the treadmill, inclined at 3% grade as if it was Everest itself, and looked back at her. "I'll start slow." she raised her eyebrows at him.

"You know just what to say to a girl." he teased as he stepped up, still gingerly, even after eight weeks of therapy. Crutches mercifully jettisoned two weeks ago. He was on his way to being his fighting fit self. With a foot on either track beside the belt, but facing away from the control panel, he waited for her to press start. He took a breath and nodded.

"Test the belt with your bad foot first, and then when you're ready, step down with it. Remember what I've told you about which foot should lead when ascending and descending stairs or hills?"

"Good go to Heaven, Bad go to Hell. So I go up with the good leg and go down with the bad leg."

"A+ student. Okay, when you're ready…any time…Sy, this is an hour session…I have to kick you out in 55 minutes…chop chop." she cajoled him, but he wasn't budging.

"It feels…weird going this way, Shane." If she had been a less kind person, she would have called it whining…she called it nothing, instead.

"I know. Do you need to walk backwards around the clinic a little more to get you used to that sensation?"

"Hell yeah. If that means you're gonna spot me like you did before…felt kinda like dancin'." it was a perfectly legitimate and above-board treatment strategy. They stood back to back, Shane guiding Sy as he practiced walking backward and pushing off with the extensor muscle group, which had been weak. Sy had suggested holding hands, but Shane had compromised with the idea to link arms. Not that she wasn't dying to hold his hand…she was. But that had not been the time. The time was still weeks away. At least.

"I was thinking I'd have you try it with Jordan. He's got a free hour right now. And I can assess your technique. How does that sound, Twinkle Toed Romeo?" Immediately he placed a tentative foot down onto the slow moving belt trying to adjust to the odd sensation of walking up a hill backward.

"Ah, so I now know that all I have to do to get you to do something silly is threaten you with Jordan. Filing that away for a rainy day."

"Come on, you're breakin' my heart, sunshine."

"Aww, don't be ridiculous. I've seen therapists do way more embarrassing things to their patients in the name of treatment."

"Tell me!"

"Sorry, but it's classified information. Protected under the Health Insurance Privacy and Portability Act. I could literally get fired for telling you, and there are way cooler things to get fired for!" She'd always said it. And she meant it. She didn't fool around when it came to HIPPA, and there was no way she was gonna lose her job over a stupid slip like that.

"Any examples of things you'd rather get fired for?"

She thought for a few minutes. She used to have a list.

"Hmm, telling off my bitch of a boss," he looked shocked at her use of a bad language word, which he'd never heard from her. She nodded. "Telling off an asshole patient," sleeping with a patient…

"What about sleeping with a patient?" It was late in the day, the only person still there was Heather in the office, and a few therapists still documenting. Nobody in the gym to hear him echo the thoughts in her head. As if he could read them as clearly as a page in a book. Large print. She looked at him in shock.

"Sorry. That was over the line."

"It was…but…"

"But?"

"But…it would not be the least cool reason to get fired."

"It wouldn't?" she shook her head, reluctantly.

"Especially if the patient was…amazing, and kind, and…fucking gorgeous…"

"Young lady, that language today, I have never!" he exclaimed clutching at his broad and beautiful chest.

"I know, but, Sy…this is all hypothetical, and theoretical, and IF I was GOING to get fired how would I CHOOSE for it to happen and WHAT policy I would go against. People don't just CHOOSE to be fired, you know?" she was nervous and rambling.

"You know what people also don't choose? Who they care about, and have feelin's for. Who they--"

"Don't finish that sentence, Sy." She couldn't hear him say the word he was going to say. She couldn't let him start that. Not when there was too much complicating their situation.

She walked off to her treatment room, needing some space.  Some time.

She didn't get that space or time. Sy hobbled in behind her, looking like a man on a mission. And she knew from his war stories that his missions tended to be successful…even the one that got him his walking papers wasn't a total loss.

"Sy, you still had like, five minutes on the tr--"

His big hands found the sweet spot where her neck met her skull. He took a big breath and closed the distance between them, his lips landing light as feathers on hers, her soft skin welcoming the roughness of his beard, though everything else about the kiss was terribly gentle. Almost chaste. Even his beard wasn't so rough that she worried about beard burn…she'd be filing that away for later, as well. Against her willpower and better judgement but in full cooperation with her desires and instincts she began kissing him back, daring to deepen it by opening their mouths a bit, and sliding her hands up the back of his red tee that sported a black skull. All of his shirts were entirely too tight, but you'd never catch her complaining. Even after several months away from active duty and really, most activity at all, his body was still so solid and powerful.

"Ain't that a daisy…Fuck, I've wanted to do that since my first appointment." he chuckled, lightly.

"Sy…"

"Don't. Don't try to argue or tell me you don't feel it. This energy between us. I've seen it in your eyes, Shane. I've felt it when you touch me. It ain't nothin, sunshine. It's a whole lotta somethin'."

"I know, but I need this job. And I WANT this job. Being a therapist is the only thing I've ever wanted to do. Helping people. People like you. Getting them better. It's what I was meant to do. And there's no place like this in the area for me to treat such a diverse clientele and build my skill set. It's not without it's problems, but it's where I'm meant to be."

"I get that. And you should do what you were called to do. You're too good at this not to do it. But Shane, isn't it worth pushing back on some policy if it could mean you get to have some personal happiness, too?"

"I'm worried they'll make me choose." Actually, it was more than that. She was worried about which choice she'd make. Giving up a ten-year career with excellent benefits despite its pitfalls, or giving up someone she could hardly stop thinking about, who made her heart pound when he smiled, and who was rapidly shaping up to be someone she could see herself sharing a life with…making either choice terrified her for very different reasons.

"You shouldn't have to choose. Any boss who'd make you deny yourself what we could have just because of some ridiculous policy…well, they ain't worth the gas that brought 'em to work today. Y'understand me?"

She nodded, smirking at his idiom, "You don't know my boss."

"Well, maybe I oughta GET to know her, if it's like that. I have a way of throwin' my weight around, case ya hadn't noticed." he shot her a smug grin.

"Ya don't say?" she retorted, brimming with sarcasm, literally still wrapped in the evidence of said weight in the form of his muscular arms, warm and thick, encircling her. Even though she felt like her life was up in the air, she had never felt more safe. "I'll try to have a chat with her about it this week. Our schedules rarely align, and usually that's how I like it, but I'll try to move some things around if nothing naturally falls into place."

"I'll be happy to lend my voice or even come talk to her, if need be." he offered, ever the gentleman.

"I appreciate that, Sy, truly. But I think it would be best not to involve you unless it becomes absolutely necessary. We have several more treatments to get through today, though. You didn't finish on the tread mill, do you think you're warmed up enough?"

"Oh, darlin', I'm plenty warm." he grinned down at her sliding a hand down her side.

"Shit, am I gonna have to start being extra careful with what I say to you until this gets sorted?"

"I really doubt it'll matter, Shane. Ain't much you can say I can't make dirty." she could tell by the satisfaction on his face that this was a point of pride for him.

"Lay down and shut up."

"Yes, MA'AM!" he complied with a little too much enthusiasm. She didn't know whether to roll her eyes with amusement or grow increasingly feral…apparently there was room for both as long as she didn't act on the latter. Yet.

~~~~~~~~

She dismissed Sy for the day, instructing him to behave himself until she gave him the all clear, and even then, if she got the green light to see him outside of therapy, sessions would still be about getting him stronger, and not flirting. Or at least mostly. They settled on a 90/10 ratio by the end. She was a weak woman.

She went into the office where one of the senior therapists, Anita, was still charting and snacking on some pretzels.

"How was your day, Nita?" she asked affectionately. Anita had been her mentor since she started with the clinic over ten years ago, and was now part time, flexing toward retirement. She'd miss her.

"Oh, long, Miss Shane. As they tend to be more and more these days. What about yours?"

"Ah…just…nothin'." she shouldn't go into it all until she talked to Susan, their boss.

"Mmm, that's no nothing nothin', that's a something nothin'. Come on, kiddo. Spill." she offered Shane one of her pretzels and kicked out the chair next to her. Again, she was a weak woman. She took a pretzel, sat, and chewed it for a moment, collecting her words.

"What do you think about…starting relationships with patients?" she searched her reaction for any snap judgement or emotion, but only a narrowing of her eyes occurred.

"Is this about that Captain Sexypants who just left?"

"I'm going to kill Heather. I'm not the one who came up with that nickname and I'm not the one who started the whole having feelings conversation. I was going to be miserable until he was discharged, at least."

"Why would you need to make yourself miserable, Shane?"

"Because the policy. About dating patients."

"Technically the policy only says you shouldn't treat family/close friends if you feel you wouldn't be able to maintain objectivity or would be uncomfortable yourself. But that you should disclose any relationship to your supervisor for review."

"See, what's Susan gonna say?"

"Who cares? The policy is the law. And the board of directors governs the policy. Not her. Tell her in an email if you can't work out a time to talk to her before you see him next. Hell, I sent my boss a memo back when I started dating Ron. And look at us now! 20 years strong."

"No way!?" Shane was flabbergasted. She had never known that Anita's husband Ron had once been her patient.

"Oh yes. I wasn't long out of PT school, my first husband had passed away and I needed an income, so I got my PT license and about a year into working here, Ron got put on my schedule. I knew from the eval, he was meant for me. So I typed up a memo, sent it to Morton, our boss at the time, and told Ron I was free on Friday after work."

"Sy just…I don't know, we have this…connection…a spark. I've never felt it with anyone else."

"Are you concerned that seeing him socially would affect how you treat him here?"

"I'm more worried keeping my feelings for him bottled up while I treat him will get so distracting I'll become less effective."

"Well, then, if you get any push back, tell Susan that." Anita said. "Just be forthright. Honest. And speak with integrity. She'll have no cause to refute it, then. And send it tonight."

"Okay. Thanks Anita. You're the best."

~~~~~~~~~

Shane spent too long, probably an hour, at least, drafting her email to Susan. It read:

To: Susan DeForrest

From: Shane Benton

Subject: Re: Treatment Policy

Susan,

I wanted to bring to your attention a situation that has presented itself with one of my patients. I have been treating him almost exclusively for several weeks now, apart from my week on PTO, and he has progressed to both of our satisfaction as well as the ordering physician. However, we have come to be quite friendly and he has expressed great interest in seeing me outside of therapy. This is something that I too would like to engage in, and I plan to accept the next time I speak with him.

From my understanding of the policy, the only thing that would prevent me from treating him as a social acquaintance would be my own comfort level and ability to remain objective. I have every confidence that my objectivity regarding his case will remain intact. I am also completely comfortable with it, and if that changes, I will transfer him to another therapist. Furthermore, I have no doubts that I will be able to maintain the highest level of professionalism throughout our treatments.

Thank you, and if you feel we need to discuss any of this further, please let me know.

~Shane Benton, DPT

And send…whew. She needed a big glass of wine tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Up Next: Chapter Four- E-Stim

[yellowocaballero]

Cod(a) Monkey

Forgot to post this earlier. Epilogue to my Half-life story Code Monkey , which is a 90s stoner comedy flick except Black Mesa. Probably understandable without it, though. Not canon to that story, but consider it a sort of alt ending. 

Written because my friend was upset that Barney and Gordon never got that beer, so it’s dedicated to @magickkart. The Half Life 2 story is still in the works! It’ll be a bit long. 

Rest under the cut. 

“I don’t feel pain,” Gordon said. “So no. But I went to a concert, and it was very heavy on bass and drums. Good vibrations. Kind of like a gun’s vibrations, but more purposeful.”

“The symphony of violence,” Barney said with a straight face, using the sign for ‘abuse’ and passing the finger past the fist very empathetically, several times, as he always did whenever he felt the need to describe the way Gordon killed things. “Is the mosh pit where you learned the Rambo thing?”

“Sure, Barney. Sure it is.”

“Because I really don’t think you were born a superpowered killing machine -”

“There’s no superpowers involved. I really don’t know how else to explain it to you.”

“You cannot just be a genetic assassin -”

“Guns aren’t hard, Barney. You just press A.”

“What does that mean -”

“What I don’t understand,” Barney said that night, over clammy mugs of beer and sticky wooden tables, “is what Black Mesa was going to do with the world once they took it over. I mean, they were already a shadowy government agency in the most powerful government in the world with unlimited funding that basically did whatever they wanted. What were they going to do, increase our salaries?”

If it wasn’t for the fact that Barney had learned a lot of esoteric vocabulary just to be able to talk to Gordon for hours about his alien and Illuminati conspiracy theories, Gordon reflected, then they really would have been in trouble at Black Mesa. 

“That would have been nice,” Gordon said contemplatively, gently sipping at his beer. He was far from a lightweight, but he had to be careful not to overdrink when he went out with Barney. Guy could drink the entire bar under the table and barely even get dizzy. It was almost unnerving, and raised the question of if anybody who was an ex-employee at Black Mesa was a normal human being, but some Pandora’s Boxes should just stay shut. “I liked my salary.”

“Yeah.” Barney sadly chugged more beer. “I’m not going to miss that job, but I feel like I’m going to miss having a job, you know?”

Mittens licked one of the onion rings sitting in a basket on the table. Gordon stroked Mittens on her head as she pressed up against his hand affectionately. 

This wasn’t their usual bar. Their usual bar was on Black Mesa property, and Black Mesa was currently having a bad case of the crabs right now. When Gordon casually mentioned that to Barney his shoulders started shaking from laughter, but he refused to explain what was funny. So far, Gordon already missed their old bar. It was well-lit, making it easy to talk, completely sterile and anti-bacterial, and had hazardous waste bins. And everyone always knew your name. 

But it wasn’t too bad, for a random bar. They let Gordon and Barney sit on the patio with Mittens in a secluded corner, and it was well enough lit that they could still talk. Random people kept on staring at them, sometimes for an uncomfortable amount of time, and while Gordon was fairly used to it Barney wasn’t. Barney had hesitantly asked if it was because the white lab coat Gordon still wore was dyed half-red with blood, but as that was the natural state of a theoretical physicist’s labcoat Gordon really didn’t see the issue. 

“What other job can I even get?” Barney griped. “My degree isn't good for anything. I was just a rent-a-cop for the last three years. I’m homeless, at least for right now, since my dorm is infested with murderous aliens. I can’t even go back there to get my stuff until the military kills off all the aliens. This sucks.”

“It’s a common Gen X problem,” Gordon said, with a straight face as he scratched Mittens’ ruff. Her purr vibrated happily under his hand. “Divorce, MTV, and reduced adult supervision made us incomplete adults.”

“I miss MTV,” Barney said. “Man, that was just like, high school. The memories, man. We’ll never get the 80s back.”

“I was never really into MTV.”

“Really? You never watched it? Not even for the babes?”

“I never really understood the appeal of babes,” Gordon said, with a straight face. 

“Yeah, I forgot, sorry.” They sat there for a little bit, not talking, as Barney both chugged his beer and seemed to be thinking really hard about something. Finally, he said, “Cute dudes on MTV too. Like, uh...Prince.”

“Prince.”

“Michael Jackson, you know.”

“Yeah, I know Michael Jackson.” Gordon gently freed an onion ring from the cold embrace of Mittens. “College roommate at MIT showed me Nirvana, actually. I liked it.”

“Really? I can see that. Very inner pain.” Barney squinted at Gordon. “Do you have inner pain?”

“I don’t feel pain,” Gordon said. “So no. But I went to a concert, and it was very heavy on bass and drums. Good vibrations. Kind of like a gun’s vibrations, but more purposeful.”

“The symphony of violence,” Barney said with a straight face, using the sign for ‘abuse’ and passing the finger past the fist very empathetically, several times, as he always did whenever he felt the need to describe the way Gordon killed things. “Is the mosh pit where you learned the Rambo thing?”

“Sure, Barney. Sure it is.”

“Because I really don’t think you were born a superpowered killing machine -”

“There’s no superpowers involved. I really don’t know how else to explain it to you.”

“You cannot just be a genetic assassin -”

“Guns aren’t hard, Barney. You just press A.”

“What does that mean -”

It was at that moment that a waitress, looking somewhat startled by Barney’s incredibly expressive and sweeping signing, approached them and asked Barney something. They chatted for a bit - judging by Barney’s smile and the woman’s easy grin, he was flirting with her again, like he did with every waitress. 

“She wants to know if you want a refill,” Barney reported. 

Barney tilted his fist, pushing the mug that he hadn’t realized was empty to the waitress and giving her his best polite smile, which made her flinch in fear and take the cup, disappearing quickly. Was it the lab coat, or was Gordon really just that bad at looking polite?

“But you’re changing the subject,” Barney said, when she ran off, seemingly uncaring that Gordon had torpedoed his flirting attempts. “Why would Black Mesa make a deal with the alien armies to take over the world? And what musicians did you have a crush on as a kid?”

“That question is so esoteric and obscure that the answer is almost unfathomable.”

“Stop using complicated signs, asshole, this is my fourth language.” After a second of translation, Barney followed that up with, “Okay, which question was that in response to?”

“Yes.”

“Now you’re just being an asshole,” Barney accused, and Gordon surprised himself by barking a laugh. 

“Maybe I am an asshole,” Gordon teased, unfamiliar with the concept but willing to give it a shot, “but I’m your asshole.”

For some reason, that made Barney flush very red, and finish his beer very quickly before moving Mittens aside to stuff some onion rings in his mouth. Finally, after Barney seemed to collect himself, he weakly offered, “Never thought I’d see Gordon Freeman admit that we were friends.”

“Some things you can’t experience together without admitting that you’re friends, and defeating an alien hoard is one of them,” Gordon joked. Wow. Two jokes in one day. Might as well put on the face paint and the red nose, he was becoming a comedian. Maybe all of the crowbars to the skull had cracked him. 

But Barney just squinted at him. “Are you quoting something?”

“That kid’s book that everyone’s talking about?”

“What?” Barney snapped his fingers in thought, before lighting up. “Oh, Harry Potter! I keep meaning to check that out. My little sister keeps talking about it.”

“They’re pretty good.” Gordon read it in case someone asked him what bonding activities he did with his fake son. “I’ll lend you my copy.”

“When your dorm’s no longer full of aliens.”

“Yeah. When my dorm isn’t full of aliens.”

“But that’ll be soon,” Barney said, smiling hesitantly and hopefully and fearfully, “right?”

“You know, Barney,” Gordon said, picking up Mittens and putting her in his lap as she purred gratefully, “I really think all of this will just blow over. And everything’ll go back to normal.”

“That’s good to know.”

And it was. 

[sincerelyreidburke]

Alright so, Could you please entertain me with how Nando would react to seeing Quinn in stage makeup?

Yes.

//

freshman year | march

  If there’s one thing Nando has learned after several months of dating a theatre boy, it’s this: the drama club does not fuck around.

Like, as in, Quinn was already in rehearsal when he woke up this morning and now Nando’s game for the day— AKA his sole Saturday obligation— is finished and they’re still there . It was a matty game, but still . Quinn has literally been in the auditorium for, like, eight hours.

Nando knows why, though. Six days from now is opening night for the show. And today, as Quinn explained to him several times, is ‘load-in followed by a double run’, which is apparently drama club code for We Are Going To Be Here Literally All Day.

He understands, though. He knows. They’re busy. They have a whole musical to put on next weekend, and the weekend after that too. And Quinn himself is super busy, because, well, he’s the big cheese! He’s the lead. He’s putting the Evan Hansen in Dear Evan Hansen.

Nando is a ridiculously proud boyfriend.

Also, he cannot wait to finally see this show next weekend.

All that stands between him and that is what today signals the start of: tech week. Quinn has had some things to say about it. He’ll probably have more things to say about it. Nando wonders if he’s going to be nervous this week.

He’ll help him if he is; he’ll be here for him.. He’s going to blow this show out of the water. Nando knows it.

They win the game 6-1. He leaves the rink to an outdoor temperature which, miraculously, is something besides absolutely freezing. The sun hasn’t set or anything yet, but it’s getting later in the day, and it’s overcast and sort of gross out. “Hey,” Ben says, bumping against him as they walk. “Where are you headed right now?”

Nando glances at his phone. It’s 4:45. Theoretically , Quinn is supposed to be done at 5:00. But Nando also knows by now that the Kiersey drama club is notorious for breaking their rehearsal end-time promises.

“That’s… a good question,” he replies, looking up at Ben. “Where are you going?”

Ben shrugs. “I might hit the Beech, if Rem’s up for it.”

Nando nods. “Sweet.”

Ben tucks a loose strand of sweaty hair up into his bun, watching expectantly like he’s waiting for Nando’s answer. But he seems to read his mind, because a second later, he asks, “Is Q still in rehearsal?”

“I think so.” Nando grins a little. “They have him under lock and key.”

Ben smiles fully, and jostles his shoulder. “Duuude,” he says. “You must feel deprived.”

Nando knows he’s being chirped, but Ben never misses an opportunity to chirp him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I do miss him,” he says. “But I’m so excited to see this show.”

“Oh, he’ll kick ass.” Ben pauses. “I can’t imagine that guy doing anything at less than a hundred and twenty percent.”

“You’re right.” Nando’s insides are mush. He wants to see Quinn. They should watch a movie tonight. Or something. As long as he can hold him. “Are you gonna come see it?”

“Yeah,” Ben replies. “We can do student BOGO night.” He winks. “I’ll be your date to make him jealous.”

Nando laughs at the gray sky. “Yeah, okay.”

From behind them come rapid footfalls, and then Remy appears at Ben’s other side, half out of breath with hair still sort of wet from the showers. “You guys suck,” he announces. “You left me in the dust.”

“Dude, I thought you were with Marc,” Ben says.

“I was .” Remy pauses and looks over his shoulder. Nando glances behind them, too— Jordy and Sam are a few yards back. “But I meant to catch up with you. Where are you going?”

Nando is hungry, and he has an idea. “I think,” he says, “I’m gonna go get food and then intercept Quinn on his way out of rehearsal.”

Ben flicks his wrist and makes a whip-cracking noise. Nando shoves him, and they laugh together.

“Okay, well, you have fun with that, lover boy,” Remy replies. He looks to Ben. “Beech?”

Ben nods affirmatively. “Beech.”

They part ways at the corner; the rest of the guys head for Beech Street and the hockey house, and Nando makes a beeline for the Bluegrass Café. He likes this, the balance in his social life— his friends chirp him to no end, but there’s always plenty of friend time and boyfriend time. He loves the team, and he loves Quinn too.

Of course, he hasn’t, uh. Said that yet. He wants to let Quinn say it first, so he doesn’t rush or pressure him.

He walks across campus to Bluegrass, where he picks up a to-go order— Swiss and rye grilled cheese, with a serving of fries, a cookie, and a hot tea with plenty of honey. He’s sort of hungry, too, but Quinn never finishes his fries. And plus, there are snacks back in Quinn’s room.

From the café to Beckett, the performing arts building, it’s a five-minute walk. The Nando of fall semester would be bitching about the wind chill, but today it’s really not so bad. The scarf Quinn knit him for Christmas has proved to come in very handy.

He carries the paper bag of food in one hand and the tea in the other. When he gets to the auditorium lobby, there isn’t a theatre kid in sight— which means they’re all still inside— but the good news is that he can’t hear any music in there, which means they’re doing notes.

And yeah. He knows theatre terms now. Like ‘doing notes’.

He really, really loves his life.

He sits on his standard bench, where more than once this musical season he’s sat to wait for Quinn after a rehearsal. When it gets to be 5:03 and there’s no sign of anyone leaving, he digs out his phone, puts the tea down on the arm of the bench, and looks through his Instagram to pass the time. Parker, their captain, posted a picture five minutes ago, of himself with David and Ville, taken after the game today. They’re all in their jerseys, just off the ice. It’s really wholesome. His caption is road to playoffs!!!!!

Nando is going to miss the seniors so much.

There isn’t much else in his feed, which is kind of boring, but he’s too preoccupied trying to wait for a sign of life from the backstage door that it doesn’t really make a difference. Finally, at 5:14— which really is not that late— a small group comes out of the stage door, chattering away. Among them is Quinn’s friend, Maggie, who Nando is at least ninety percent sure is playing his friend in the show. She spots him and waves. “Hey, Sebastián!”

“Hi!” He smiles. If there are people coming, Quinn can’t be far behind. “How did it go?”

Maggie grins back. She was one of the first drama club kids to be nice to him despite his jock-ery, and for that he’ll always be grateful. “It was fun!” she says. “Quinn’s coming. He was just talking to the director.”

“Sweet.” Nando has sort of been waiting all day for this. He feels the takeout bag, and, thank God, it’s still warm. He waves as Maggie leaves. “Have a good night!”

“See ya later!”

More cast and crew people start to filter out the stage door after Maggie and her group. They all go in different directions, some talking, some singing, some arguing. Some acknowledge him, and others don’t. He knows it’s sort of a scandal that their prodigal freshman is dating a gross hockey player.

He’s getting just slightly restless when, finally, a strawberry-haired cutie emerges from the door he’s been watching. Quinn is in a white cotton scarf and looking at his phone, and Nando grins a little, leans back on the bench, and plays casual while he waits for him to look up.

A few steps out of the door, he does, and Nando watches a smile cross his face as they meet eyes across the lobby. “Oh,” Quinn laughs. “I just texted you.”

Nando grins. “Hey, baby,” he hums, and then stands to go greet him. His phone buzzes in his pocket, which must be the text.

He meets him halfway across the lobby and wraps him in a squishy hug. Quinn is so small in his arms that he can rest his chin right on top of his head, and he gives him a good squeeze.

“Oh—” Quinn’s voice is muffled in his team jacket. “Be careful.”

“Careful of what?” Nando asks, pulling back to meet his eyes— but right as Quinn responds, he sees it.

“I’m wearing makeup,” Quinn says, and— and yeah . He is.

It’s subtle, Nando knows this much. And he’ll be the first to admit he knows absolutely nothing about makeup, let alone stage makeup, but— but. Quinn is definitely wearing it. There’s some kind of powder, and he’s pretty sure there’s also blush, and eyeliner, and— mascara? Or do his eyelashes just look like that? Nando has no idea, but—

— but he looks— beautiful.

He gapes down at him for what must be a slightly abnormal amount of time without saying anything, because Quinn arches an eyebrow, a question in his eyes. God , he has pretty eyes. They’re blue-green, entire oceans, and Nando could lose himself in them, and how did he ever get so lucky ?

“ Wow ,” he says finally, and adds, “You look—”

“I know, I know,” Quinn replies, waving a hand in the air. “It’s… a feat, but it’s just part of the process. It was a full dress today, so—”

“Wait, no,” Nando amends, shaking his head. “I meant— that wasn’t a bad ‘wow’. I— you look—” Nando is too gay to function, apparently. “ Pretty , baby. You look pretty.”

A smile quirks on Quinn’s lips, and Nando really wants to kiss him all of a sudden. “Oh?” he replies. “I didn’t realize you’d enjoy this look.”

“Yeah, neither did I,” Nando laughs, cupping his face in his hands. “C’mere.” He kisses him gently, and Quinn laughs a little against his mouth.

“Hi,” Quinn mumbles.

“Hi.” He runs a thumb over his cheekbone. He’s definitely wearing blush, actually. “I missed you today. How’d it go?”

Quinn lets off a long breath, closing his eyes; he’s still smiling a little. “It went very well,” he starts, “but it was a long day.”

Nando pulls back a little, takes him by the hand, and starts to lead him to the bench. “I brought you dinner,” he says, gesturing to the bag and the tea. “And something for your throat.”

Quinn makes a gentle noise of either exhaustion or gratitude, and he squeezes his hand. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

Nando kisses his cheek. “I wanted to,” he replies, then hands him the tea. “I can carry the food. Where are we going? You need to make any stops?”

“No,” Quinn says, leaning against him as he lifts the cup to his lips. “Next stop, my room.”

“ Nice .” This is exactly what he was hoping he’d say. Nando watches him take the drink, then exhale deeply, like it’s essential oils or something. He tries not to let his eagerness show on his face.

“This is perfect,” Quinn says, of the tea. “I’m serious, Sebastián; thank you.”

“Of course, baby.” Nando is still sort of lost in the sight of his made-up face. It’s not so different from regular Quinn— maybe it’s just the whole theatre thing, the knowledge that this is how he’ll look next weekend, the pride in what his boyfriend is doing. But also, his eyeliner. Who knew he could rock eyeliner?

“You’re staring,” Quinn laughs.

“You’re cute!” Nando whines, and wraps an arm around him to kiss him again. Quinn squeezes at his forearm, and Nando keeps it sweet but also not obnoxious for a public place. They have this down to a science.

“C’mon,” Quinn says, once he releases him, and holds out his free hand. Nando takes it and follows him; he leads him towards the door that will lead them toward the dorm. “Before whatever’s in that bag gets cold.”

Nando falls into step next to him. “Seriously, how did it go?” he asks. “Tell me about your day.”

Quinn squeezes at his hand again, and when he looks up to meet his eyes, there’s something of a twinkle in his gaze. Nando just about swoons on his feet. “Come back to my room,” he replies, “and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Nando is more than happy to comply.

He’s kind of pretty sure that he’d follow this boy anywhere.

[scarletfern]

Is Roman really dead? - a theory

I know what you’re thinking, but just bear with me. I can back this up.

Less than five minutes after 3x22 ended, I was so deep in denial that I had actually started making a list of ways that Roman could still be alive. I even wrote a one-shot back in 2018 based off the first idea on that list. (#1 - Jane hallucinates Roman’s death.)

But that first idea required a slight deviation from canon - Jane losing consciousness.

In fact, every idea on that list required a slight (or not so slight) deviation from canon.

All except for one.

This one theory accounts for everything.

The strange phone call. A way that Roman could have survived the gunshot wound and not bled out. Jane really and truly believing him dead. Everything.

And it fits seamlessly into canon.

But first, let's talk about season 3.

Season 3 was the season of faked deaths.

Jane. Avery. Borden. Dr. Roga.

And three of those faked deaths have a common denominator.

Roman.

In 3x01, Roman supplied Jane with a syringe containing a chemical called succinylcholine, the antidote, and instructions on how she and Kurt should use it to fake her death, collect the bounty, and remove the hit.

They explained that succinylcholine would reduce her heartbeat to an undetectable crawl and that she would need the antidote within 90 minutes.

When Kurt came clean about Berlin, (during the “you should have stayed” conversation) I’m pretty sure he told Jane that Avery didn’t have a pulse. (I’m not quite there in my rewatch, but I’m like… 97% sure.)

((Also, this is Kurt Weller. If she’d had a pulse, he would have saved her or died trying.))

But… Avery wasn’t really dead. So how did she get rid of her pulse?

Succinylcholine.

And who masterminded the entire Berlin/Avery-fakes-her-death thing?

Roman.

Now, we didn’t know about Dr. Roga until season 4, but timeline wise, her death was faked either early season 3 or pre-season 3. I don’t remember the details, but Roman did help her fake her death.

He helped all three of them fake their deaths.

And then he faked his own.

But how did he do it?

You’ve probably already guessed that I’m going to say succinylcholine.

(And you’re right.)

But hang on. Roman was bleeding to death, right?

Right.

Wouldn’t injecting himself with a drug that would significantly reduce his heartbeat, to an undetectable crawl, when he’s already bleeding out, just kill him faster?

Not necessarily.

See, here’s the thing about the human body. The beating of the heart is what circulates blood throughout the body. If you’re in pain or panicking, your heart beats faster, which increases blood flow. This can actually make you bleed more if you’re injured.

And gunshot wounds bleed. A lot.

But corpses? They don’t bleed.

If you stab a dead body, you may see some blood, but the wound you made will not actively bleed in the way that it would if the person were still alive.

Why?

There’s no heartbeat, so there’s no blood flow.

(When I was like 8, I was really, really into forensic science/pathology. Don’t worry, I haven’t been going around stabbing corpses to test my Blindspot theories.) ((Just thought I should clarify because all that sounded super shady.))

If Roman injected himself with succinylcholine, it would have reduced his heart rate so significantly that the gunshot wound would have stopped bleeding - or at least been seriously reduced. Theoretically, this would have bought him enough time to get the antidote and medical attention without bleeding out.

But we aren’t quite done yet. How did Roman know to have a syringe of succinylcholine with him in South Africa? And how did he get the antidote?

Remember that USB drive with the cache of medical intel on ZIP that Roman gave to Jane just before he died?

He took that USB to South Africa with the intention of giving it to Jane, but when the FBI rolled up at the orphanage, Roman took off. That must mean that he planned to meet up with her again later.

But he couldn’t have just given her that USB drive without getting himself killed or arrested.

Roman was always 5 steps ahead of everyone else. There’s no way he went to the final showdown in South Africa, knowing that it was the final showdown (“one last game, sis?”) without an escape plan.

Now, here’s the theory.

The USB drive wasn’t the only thing he brought to South Africa. He also brought a syringe. A syringe full of succinylcholine.

His original plan was to somehow fake his death in front of Jane with that succinylcholine, that same drug that he used to help both Jane and Avery fake their deaths earlier in the season, and present her with the cache of ZIP intel on his presumed deathbed. He had every detail planned, every single thing accounted for.

Except for the one thing that he never could have guessed would happen.

The team up of Blake Crawford and Tasha Zapata.

After Blake shot him, he must have realized that he didn’t have long. And, of course, he knew that Jane was looking for him.

The phone call he made was a signal. Remember, he still needed that antidote. He had to have had an accomplice.

Who the accomplice was is up to interpretation.

It could have been Dr. Roga, since she must have been in on the entire thing.

It could have been the third kid from the flashbacks.

Back when the Roman-has-a-twin theory was going around, I was particularly fond of the idea of his identical twin sneaking up to his body in the morgue and injecting him with the antidote. (There’s something about that image that I really love for some reason.)

I have one half-written fic where the accomplice is Mayfair, but I won’t get into that right now.

And, of course, he could have just paid someone off to slip him the antidote.

Or, since this is fiction (we can suspend our disbelief a little bit, right?), Dr. Roga could have modified the drug so that Roman wouldn’t even need an antidote. She was, afterall, the scientist that invented ZIP. (And the lab Roman set up for her was Patterson approved.)

Anyway, he had the syringe of succinylcholine concealed in his pocket. He waited for Jane and, after giving her the USB containing the information that would save her life, he secretly injected himself.

We don’t know what happened in South Africa after Roman “died” in Jane’s arms because the show jumps straight back to the team being in New York. So where/how Roman got the antidote is also up to interpretation.

But basically, we have 3 possibilities.

Ambulance, hospital, or morgue.

We also don’t know what happened to Roman’s body. Or, at least, what Jane and the rest of the team think happened to his body. Y’know, since this whole post is about me convincing you that there isn’t a body.

But, again, it’s up to interpretation and we have several viable options.

Personally, I love the idea of Jane making arrangements for him to be buried in South Africa. It seems like that’s what he would want.

Other options?

Misplaced body.

Accidental cremation.

Or just cremation in general. They would never know the difference unless they ran tests, and why would they run tests? He died in Jane’s arms, right?

Okay, one last thing.

This is probably where I’m really wrong… but I can’t not throw it out there after typing all of… that.

The 5x01 episode synopsis mentions that Jane “gets a strange message from an unknown ally.”

Most likely, that ally is Afreen, Keaton, Weitz, or even Briana. (The sneak peek we got yesterday makes me almost certain that it’s Afreen.)

But in that season 5 speculation fic I started writing (and never finished :p), an unknown person called the team and let them know about the drone strike right before it happened. I never wrote enough of that fic to get to the reveal, but I always planned for that unknown person to be Roman. (I might finish it sometime… I mean, I definitely wasn’t going to kill any of them and after this, we’re gonna need all the fix-it fic we can get.)

I doubt that speculation was right, but I have the tiniest sliver of hope. *applies clown makeup*

But either way, we will find out tonight (yay!) and *cough* RomanTotallyFakedHisDeath *cough*

(Also, this is like 1.5k words, my writer’s block must be gone. :D)

[kth1]

Hii I just read the imminent and can I just say your writing is beautiful I love Royal aus because the dialogue is just so posh ams sophisticated and you delivered that perfectly I'm also an absolute sucker for anything and everything supernatural and this was so perfectly indulgent and sinful that I was hooked since the beginning this seokjin that you wrote up is one of my favorites that I've ever read

I do have a few questions if you don't mind 😅😅

Firstly, Was there any significance to the portrait and the finishing touch jin added because well he's demon why does he care what happens to oc after he's got what he's wanted so why go the extra mile of the portrait.

And secondly, doesn't demons usually take what they want and then banish the souls to hell or consume the souls and don't care about the body so why did jin not only take her soul but also her heart and the ending tells me that she's not banished to hell but is going to be near seokjin???

I'm sorry if it sounds interrogative it's a wonderful fic and I can't stop wondering about the world and the characters you created in this fic😅😅😅

Hello! Ah thank you so much! I’m so very happy that people are enjoying the fic! Ajklsdhjytj, I don’t know too much about “where” I wanted to place the royalty (like timeframe - where dialog may be vastly be different) but I do like the “high-class” speech patterns, the respectful sentence patterns, etc. :D Also the taboos of royalty always peeks my interests ;)

I feel you on the supernatural things, I love supernatural so much! top tier au’s hehe! oh, im happy you love this demon!jin :D i’m glad he left a great impression!!

I AM GOING TO ADD A READ MORE IN CASE PEOPLE DON’T WANT TO READ SPOILERS!!!! it’s a long post ngl

I don’t mind questions at all! I tend to leave out plot points and clarification through fics sometimes hehe; but that gives the readers more time to ponder and question things! such as yourself, muhaha!

Question 1: The significance of Jin’s portrait? Or OC’s? I wanted OC to show her fascination of figuring out Jin’s true form, so she doodles/paints/draws several pieces of “demonic” creatures that may or may not be in reference of Jin. Jin’s portrait of OC is initially the portrait he was creating in passage one, and he leaves it there among her sketches because well... it’s her beautiful face among scattered creatures - representing her being surrounded by them as if she was Hell already. The finishing touch (the blood transfer in the canvas) was more of sealing a piece of herself in Earth for her family. He is a demon, but with some class. After all, the family had no clue that the Princess would evidently go missing so what is left of her as she is gone? Not much besides her works of art - which none were of her. So Jin created it as part of his hobby, to have the most recent version of her left (for the family), and to capture the image of her surrounded by demons within the room. 

Question 2: Well, demons and au’s fluctuate and it all depends on the worlds in which writers make up. Not all “rules” apply in each fic. For example, a werewolf fic could be written as if a bite/mark is trademark to their mate. But also, other bites in other werewolf!aus indicate transitioning, turning one into the creature. So as for my demon, I didn’t really have too many set of rules dedicated to him. As a writer, I can craft whatever elements I want. (Not trying to sound rude! I’m just discussing, hehe!) So with the whole soul banishing, heart snagging thing; I don’t have an answer directly towards that because my demon wasn’t revolving around those indicators. I attempted to try and create a selfish, greedy, possessive aura of this demon prince. where he does as he pleases, takes what he wants with no questions but also he is gentlemanly in his ways. kind of clean cut, precise with his stuff. OC’s soul already was signed over to him over to him from the deal, he just had to wait the seven lovely years to officially snag it from her. He bids her farewell, and says that he’ll see her in hell because that’s exactly where she is going. (As her body is kinda sending off in the way of particles of her started vanishing, the room around her already cracking) Hopefully to show that she was already leaving the Earth realm as she was fully giving herself away. Her body doesn’t get left in the Earth realm, it disappears basically, like how Jin weaves in and out of the veil between the worlds. So like, to her family she will just be completely gone, another reason why i thought leaving a portrait of her would be nice. 100% OC is going to hell, Jin’s hell, and as his first and only princess (as he is a prince), he basically is building up his kingdom.  Now coming to the heart part, i had envisioned this death for SO MANY MONTHS that there was no way I was going to not write it hehe. I had to. I wanted this moment! (First death of a main character I have written) The way I see it is that OC is still mortal, cannot go into the other realm until she is dead. Hence why he kills her in a blissful orgasm. The soul of her that theoretically would release from her body at that point... already belongs to him. That’s how he collects his souls; he murders you. So killing her was the way he obtains the soul, in which he will bring down to Hell with him and have all the fun with OC down there. 

I hope these answer your questions! And shine light on some blurry areas of the fic! Sometimes hidden meanings pop up outta no where and I don’t even realize them hehe!!

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 32

Catch up on AO3

~*~Sebastian~*~

The train was pretty crowded with people commuting into the city. I can't imagine spending three hours going back and forth to work every day. But right now, I thought an hour and a half with headphones sounded ideal. Processing didn't feel like the right word. I usually think of processing as something you do to deal with a negative or incorporate some insight you just had. Emma certainly wasn't a negative. But I guess process is the right word. A lot had happened in the last four days.

About fifteen minutes out of town my text alert went off. Emma sent me a picture of her in her classroom in front of a bunch of words. I doubt her pointing at baby, boy, and blue was accidental. I sent back the first thought that came to my mind, "Damn."

Next thing I knew I was at my station. I had not processed shit. I'd sat staring at her picture while my music played. Maybe that was processing?

I ducked into a shop to buy a bottle of water before hitting the gym. I was the last to arrive. I was going to get shit for this.

"Mr. Stan, glad you could join us."

Len looked at Don," Leave him alone. He slept in."

"I've been up since five-thirty, but thanks for the support." I dropped my bag close to the wall, "Got a train back from Beacon at seven."

Jackson crinkled up his face, "What's in Beacon?"

"Parents moved there. I was helping them unpack."

I must have smiled or something because Brad jumped on me, "I don't think that’s all you were doing."

I could feel my cheeks turning red. I joined them stretching out. "I did meet a woman"

There was a chorus of, "Oh yeah", from the four other men.

"Don't be like that," I admonished. "I haven't had a real date in forever."

George laughed, "We know. You'd given up."

I laughed too. I'd forgotten about that conversation. It had been George's twentieth anniversary and I'd commented I'd given up getting a date, forget about getting married. "I guess I was too hasty with giving up."

Len put his hands behind his head and thrust his hips, "If you're rusty and need some tips just let me know."

I covered my eyes with my hands, "Thanks, but I’m doing fine."

Hours later I walked into my apartment. Fuck, was I tired. Hadn't gotten much sleep the last couple of days. I smiled thinking about why. Checking out the picture on my phone again, I headed upstairs to shower. I wanted her face. I asked for a closer picture, put my phone on the charger, and hit the shower. Still wet, I fell face down on my bed and was out, not waking up until my manager called. We were going to have dinner tonight. I hung up and I saw I had a text. I closed my eyes and said, “Please."

The look on Emma's face in the picture was sweet with a touch of sexy. Her smile showed off her single dimple, but the slight quirk of her lip was like she had a secret. If I kept thinking about that I was going to get hard.

I was surprised when she responded to my text. It was a short conversation. I like how she'd brought up skipping past the when is it ok to call or text part. I suck at that shit. I think everyone does except assholes who like games. I don't have the time or inclination to figure out if I’ve waited long enough to contact someone. What happens is I'm waiting for the appropriate time, something happens, and I’m outside the window. Which, oddly enough, is exactly what happened with me trying to kiss Emma.

While I say I suck at this shit, I don't suck at all of it. Honestly, I'm a good date. I'm attentive and can be romantic. I like romance. I like how Emma and I started. The touching and talking were refreshing. It was like time stopped. There was nothing but she and I getting to know each other. I know that's not completely true. There were bumps and anxious moments, but that's part of it, part of life. I like how I felt as we maneuvered the bumps. I didn't feel alone. Feeling anxious feels alone. It feels like stuck in your head and you don't want to let the thoughts turn into words because it makes it real. If you don't say it out loud it’s not real. Good and bad with that. If it's not real, it's not real, but if you don't say it out loud no one can help. That’s a double-edged sword too. People think they're helping when they flood you with reasons you shouldn't feel how you do. If only anxiety disappeared with logic. Some people understand, some even know how to help. Then some people use it against you. I’ve known all three types. Even fell in love with the worst type.

The point of all that is to say Emma made it better. Without a pause she did the thing, said the thing, to make it better. By itself, not such a big deal, but when you combine it with everything else. She's smart, beautiful, fun, articulate, kind, sexy, and she makes me feel good. I feel like I've hit some kind of fucking jackpot.

There is an assumption that being famous is a sex buffet. Yes and no. Do you get offered anything you want and a few things you don't? Yes. I got talked into going with several of the Marvel guys to Vegas. I'd heard the stories. There were places one could have no strings sex and little to no risk of anyone talking. I'm not talking about brothels. I mean clubs frequented by locals who knew how to keep secrets. More than one of the guys had "usuals". There is money involved, but it's for discretion, not sex. Yeah, I know. I don't see the difference either. I went, but wound up out of my mind drunk with the faithfully married men. Wasn’t for me. Honestly, I got laid much more in college and the early years. Because once people knew who I was and the offers started I never knew if they wanted me, a story, a name crossed off their "to do" list, a photo op, or were a gold digger. Not that I had any money back then. When you’re shooting somewhere you're not running around fucking locals because you’re busy. And tired. I get up about two hours before call time, so I'm a human being before I get to set. What I'm saying is it's complicated and not easy. A buffet would be easy.

I'm more of a serial monogamist. I like relationships. I like being part of a couple. There are dry spells. There are dates with sex. And there are dry spells. Most recently there's been a friend with benefits. She picked today to call. After the texts with Emma, but before dinner with my manager. We haven't seen each other in, I don't remember exactly, three or four months. It's been a while. Dry spell. Thankfully, this arrangement was not complicated so when I told her I was seeing someone she was happy for me.

The dinner meeting with my manager, Emily, went well. I stayed focused despite the little part of my brain that stayed acutely aware of the time. Volleyball practice was over at nine. Theoretically. It’s a bar league and timing might be loose. She has work in the morning. Probably won't be too late. I should probably stop thinking. If she can't talk she won't answer. Just like all day today when we texted when we could. You know, like functional adults.

Sebastian ~ You home?

Emma ~ Yep

I hit call and waited to hear her voice. "No, no, no."

Click.

Not what I was expecting. I pulled my phone away from my ear and looked at it like it was a foreign object. FaceTime popped up. Oh, okay. I answered and her face filled my screen, "Hey."

Emma smiled, "I'd much rather see you than only hear you."

"This is better." Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was without makeup. She looked like the day we met. "You're beautiful."

"Thank you." She laid her head to the side and shrugged her shoulders, "Why'd you think I wanted FaceTime?"

I pulled my eyebrows down and pursed my lips, "So I could tell you I think you're beautiful?"

Emma shook her head with a grin, "Because I wanted to see your handsome face."

"Thank you." I inclined my head slightly. "How was practice?"

"Brutal." She laughed. "Sand absolutely everywhere. I miss gym floors and shoes. A lot of drills and some three on three."

"Keep going." I liked listening to her talk. She went into more detail while I listened and watched her facial expressions. She was animated with small movements that brought her words to life. I was especially aware of the quirk of her mouth. I was missing her hands and how they talked as much as her words.

"And how was your morning at the gym?"

I raised a hand, palm up, "Didn't you see my Instagram post?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." I had posted a picture of the group with me lying face down. "You looked tired."

"It was a heavy weight day." I entertained her with some of the day’s antics. The comradery made it less exhausting. We worked hard and we laughed often. "I took a nap before dinner with Emily."

"How'd that go?"

"Good." I nodded. "We've worked together for over twenty years now. I start filming in Rome end of July."

"That will be warm."

"Yeah, it will be. June will be the longest I've been home for a long time."

"Lucky for me."

"When's school out?" I was making plans. Pretty global and unstructured, but plan.

"We have through next week to finish up with work. Then it's fun and games. Celebrations of art and music to show off the projects we've worked on but haven’t sent home. Then there’s a day of outside athletic stuff. Relays, three-legged races, carrying eggs, tug of war. All sorts of things to celebrate sending our fifth graders away and the others flying up a grade.  All three weeks away. School ends on Wednesday. Closing ceremony for staff Thursday. Then Friday I am going home to Alpharetta for a few days. then back to do some curriculum work."

"I thought it was summers off." I was a little disappointed. I, like many, assumed teachers were really off during the summer. This wasn’t working with my as yet unmade plans.

"Depends on what’s going on. The last winter we had so many kids out with flu and an ice storm closed school. We decided we wanted to have options like video lessons on YouTube or Google Classroom. Right before school started, we got our curriculum cleaned up. Figuring out what are the necessary things we need to make sure we teach. Then over the school year we've been recording lessons.  After faculty meetings, we’ve spent time organizing them. This summer we just have to finalize and work with IT do develop the web site."

"Wow, sounds like a huge undertaking."

"It has been, but it will be so helpful if a student is out for them to be able to see the lesson that goes along with their makeup work."

"Are all the grades doing this?"

"Eventually. First and third did this year. We’ll help them to learn from our mistakes."

I got an idea, "Does that mean I can watch videos of you teaching?"

She laughed, "If I enroll you in my class. You'd want to watch that?"

"Maybe. I mean you like watching me do my job."

"Ah, Sebastian. Leveraging a movie to be able to see me teach.”

"I'm not going to promise I'll be in class every day. Never was. But I'd like to see what you do? Someday you'll go on set with me and see how boring most of it is." What did I just say? I’m not shooting anything for almost two months. How very optimistic of me.

"Well, there's an offer I can't refuse."

Good answer. "I've got a photo shoot in a couple of weeks. I think it’s the same week you're going home."

"Ooo, where are you going?" Her face lit up with excitement.

"Toronto. It's promo stuff for the film festival."

"I feel like I should know what you have showing there."

I wanted to reach out and wipe away the annoyed curve of her lips. There was no way she could know unless she was poking around the internet. I liked that she wasn't. "I'll catch you up. It’s a love triangle kind of thing. I'm the bad choice." I told her about filming, how much was improv, and the basic plot. She asked questions to clarify and I enjoyed explaining. I never felt like I was being interviewed. Emma wanted to learn about me.

With the conversation, I'd lost track of time. Again. When I glanced at the clock it was much later than I'd thought. I ran my fingers through my hair, "It's like our first date all over again. Talking for hours."

She smiled, "Its a theme for us. I hate to, but I need to go to bed."

"Believe it or not I’d planned on watching the time, so we could both get some sleep. I, at least, took to a nap." We shared a smile, "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"OK. Good night, Sebastian."

"Night, Emma" She disappeared from my screen and I wasn't very happy. I wanted to keep talking, to keep seeing her expressions. Her green eyes weren't as vibrant on FaceTime, but my memory could fill in the details.

Wednesday was text free and my phone rang at three-thirty. "The children were horrible today."

The exasperated look on her face made me smile, "Could it be their teacher was extra tired today?"

She huffed out a breath, "It’s possible.” Her lips turned to a smile, "Wouldn't change a thing."

"What do horrible children do?"

"Tommy used his folders as frisbees. Annabelle and Brooklyn gave each other tattoos during recess with Sharpies. No one could sit still for lessons or story time. And finally, Marta threw up all over the table and we had to evacuate the room until the custodian got it cleaned up. Room smelled like vomit and Glade the rest of the day."

I had been cringing since the tattoos. "Sorry about the definitely bad day."

Emma nodded, "What did you do today?"

Not much. "Um, long run this morning. Lighter weights today. More core and flexibility. Picked up some Thai food on the way home. Took a shower. Then I started reading a book on female spy units. You called. Now, I’m mostly trying to figure out a way to climb through the internet so I can kiss you. We've still got some catching up to do.”

[demieddiebuckleydiaz]

Tldr: me word vomiting lots of random emotions and thoughts I’ve been having about my life. Would put under a read more but tumblr mobile is shite. Ignore if you wanna, I just needed to throw this into the world cos I’ve been so socially distant from everyone in my life that I haven’t spoken to anyone about this, and I’m not sure I would’ve even if I actually replied to my friends more than once in a blue moon

...............................................................

Me: honestly convinced I’m never gonna find romantic love cos I’m ace and probably aro - at the very least I’ve never been attracted to/interested in someone enough to want to date them and the whole being sexually attracted to someone and looking a people and wanting to have sex with them sounds fake and doesn’t resonate with me at all.

Me: is theoretically a very sex favourable and positive person but the idea of sex with someone I’m not dating is just so weird to me but damn do I wish there was someone who knew me and my likes and dislikes to be intimate with

Me: is super duper disappointed to not experience love/sex but is simultaneously doing literally zero to create opportunities cos I just don’t speak to anyone outside of my family and colleagues, and the one single guy I had any interest in at work is gay and has left.

Me: reads fanfic constantly and I’m now wondering whether it is beneficial in distracting me from my loneliness or enhancing it. I think both. I think I need a break from fanfic at the very least but honestly don’t know what I’d do without it cos it’s been my go to hobby for so many years and I legit read for 30+ hours a week and that’s soo much time to fill???

Me: really doesn’t want to have kids in the future cos I don’t understand kids in the slightest and pregnancy is terrifying and I still feel like a child myself and I know this is something which may change in the future but I don’t think so and my mum bringing up wanting grandkids on a near weekly basis recently is kinda starting to put me on edge cos I’m already starting to feel like a disappointment cos I’m an only child and I’m the only opportunity for grandkids - which I know is ridiculous but it how I feel and that’s valid

Me: with my grandad in hospital (he’s gonna be fine, he would be out of hospital if he actually did what the doctors and nurses said about doing exercises etc) it has made me think about the family I do have which is: my mum, my dad, my grandad and my uncle. That’s it. I have two other uncles and several cousins etc who I see maybe once a year but they don’t really count.

Me: has a handful of really amazing friends who I haven’t spoken to in months and I don’t even really know why. They’ve all messaged me and I just havent replied. I’m not trying to actively push them away like I did with a friend in the past who I just felt drained with in the end whenever we interacted, but honestly every time I get a message I just feel exhausted at the prospect of ongoing social interaction. And it’s silly cos I know exactly the kind of thing I could message people about to start a conversation, like I could talk to Emily about finally watching Hamilton and how it’s been two weeks and I’m still listening to song on repeat and how she was right about how good it is and yet it’s been a week and a half since I’ve thought about sending that message and yet I haven’t and just uggghhhh @me

Me: is horrified by the idea of being alone for life romantically, and knowing that between my ever dwindling family and me not talking to my friends that being alone if more likely that I ever want to think about

Me: wants to live a happy life of my own but don’t know how to. I want to move out but can’t afford to on my own and it’s super impractical when I can live with my parents for £20 per week for food. But god forbid if anything happens to one of my parents I’m gonna be stuck at home forever cos I have so little family and my parents have literally no one else to turn to.

Me: wants to do a masters in gender and sexuality studies writing about representations of asexuality on screen but I know I could write and entire book which would be great for phd level but I missed the deadline to apply cos June was crazy and all I’ve been doing recently is working 6 days a week then working on my car for a day before working another 6 days. And even if I did a masters and maybe eventually a phd I have no idea what I’d actually do with it? I have so little ambition for anything right now and the future is just a void of mystery in which I don’t even know what I want???

Me: is starting to think I might actually be kinda depressed. I’ve thought it on and off for longer than I’ll ever admit but I’d do quizzes online and they’d say I wasn’t so I didn’t really think too much more about it (and yes I know an online quiz is shit and means nothing but there’s no one I would want to talk to about it cos I feel like I have to be strong for the people around me and shit but yeah). I know I’m not happy, but that doesn’t necessarily equal depressed. All I know is I’m uninspired and I feel kinda empty. Doing stuff I do enjoy, if I actually do it, just makes me feel tired half the time so I end up trying to nap instead but then I don’t sleep great either, waking up in the night or when my dad is getting ready for work so I very rarely get a solid 8 hours of sleep. I’m irritable a lot too...

Me: even if I am depressed what does it matter? Like it does matter ofc, but my mum is on media for depression and it’s taking her weeks to get an appointment with the doctor to try and get a different dosage. I’m not a danger to myself or others, I’m unhappy, but who isn’t with COVID going on and there are people who need mental health services more than me. Which is really hypocritical of me to say cos I’ve told my best friend so many times that trauma and mental health etc aren’t competitions of who has it worse but it’s the truth. Also my mum and colleagues access the only mental health resources in town and I do not want to deal with interactions with people I know whilst trying to improve my mental health.

Me: I don’t know how many times I’ve said it in posts like this but something needs to change. I was set on a good course at the start of the year. I was getting out, socialising, doing new things, inspired to cook, learn to new music and change my lifestyle, and then COVID happened and since all of that has slowly drained away and I need to find a change to revitalise that. I’d hoped getting back to having driving lessons and working on my car would be a start, and to be fair it’s been less than two week since I restarted doing that, so maybe I can find a new spark of inspiration still. Within a couple of months I will pass my driving test. Hopefully it won’t take much longer than that to get my car finished and on the road (hopefully it’ll take two weeks to finish putting the rear end back together so we can finally get my car back on four wheels, then it’s just lots of little jobs which hopefully won’t take too long). The weather is supposed to be decent this week so I might work up the effort to go for a walk down the fields which always seems to relax me a little. And the cinema reopens at the end of the month so I’d finally have an excuse to get out of the house (I know COVID is not over and things should not be going back to normal any time soon, but I need to do something other than go work for 4 hours everyday and spend 90% of my time at home and most of that time in bed because I have nowhere else to go). I don’t know what else I can be hopeful for in the coming weeks but that’s a start and just listing them out here has made me feel a little better so.

I keep thinking about Patrick from Schitt s Creek, leaving his hometown to escape a life which didn’t fit him and finding everything he needed in a tiny town in rural Canada, and wishing I could do the same, but I know I’d just end up even more alone because I am not a social person in the slightest and don’t kno how to be despite knowing that me making changes is the only way to improve myself.

And then a line from Hamilton about death is easy, living is harder, and I want to make it abundantly clear that I do not in any way, shape or form want to die, but living is hard and I have an easy life. I have enough money that I was able to loan my dad the money to buy a car, and still have more savings after that than he does, I have a good that if not particularly well paid I do enjoy and I’m good at, my family live me in their own way, even tho I feel that part of my social distance and reluctantance towards others is because no one in my family is particularly socially inclined.

Maybe I just really need a hug.

I don’t even know where I’m going with this anymore but I just had so much build of of words in my brain that they had to go somewhere and this has turned into my go to word vomit place

Things will get better. I don’t know when or how but they will. But they won’t if I don’t get enough sleep for a starters. So off to bed I go. If you’ve read all this thank you, I guess, for listening cos I’m not sharing this with anyone irl just yet. And I’m sorry this is so long but tumblr mobile doesn’t let me put in a read now but I want this out in the world even tho no one will see it

[gaijinhunter]

Monster Hunter World Iceborne: Review

I haven’t had the time to edit a video review so here it is in text! 

Iceborne came and I got though Master Rank, through the last boss, and got to mess around with the end game in the 45 hours I have put into the game. Here is my spoiler free review. A shout out to Capcom for giving me a review code to play.

First off, I’m working off the assumption that you know about Iceborne and all the features it brings to the table so I’m not going to cover everything.

Main Story

While the main World story took about 40-50 hours, Iceborne will take about 30-40 depending on how you play. The story never felt like it was too much, and for the most part the flow was good. The story itself, like world, is nothing to write home about but it does add context to what you are doing, and also helps to explain why the new area opens up in parts.

Things I liked about how they handled it this time. First, all the major quests in the Hoarfrost Reach start out as expeditions, so that means if you are geared up enough, you could just beat the story monster in expedition mode, meaning you can cart more than twice and you won’t fail the quest.

Second, there is a large enough roster that if they tried to make you fight all the monsters as assigned quests, the game would be paced bad and the difficulty curve would be hard to control and I think they did a fine job of selecting the few monsters that did get featured as story quests and the difficulty goes up very nice and smooth from start to finish.

Seliana

The town of Seliana has the benefit of Capcom realizing what did and didn't work well in Astera and the result is a lovely town with a lovely main theme song. The layout is so well done, you won’t ever want to go back to Astera, and if you use the main functions of the hub town, I’d go as far as saying Seliana is a killer feature that makes Iceborne that more worth getting. 

The thing I liked most about Seliana was the attention to detail especially when it comes to the felynes. There are some goofy things added in, which is something I felt World needed more of.

The customization options to your room are really fun and makes exploring maps and doing some of the less hardcore things really worth it. I also love the new slot machine mini-game in which you can earn tons of useful items, including a rare ticket which can be exchanged for precious master rank Pallium. No, there are no micro-transactions in this game, this is all in-game fun for fun’s sake.

Monsters

Iceborne has to my knowledge 8 additional monsters they haven’t publicly revealed, 5 you will encounter in the main game and 3 are special goodies for post game. Then of course they will add new monsters via DLC. All of the new monsters are memorable and fun, and more than world, monsters will appear in all sorts of maps, which makes the hunts against them more varied and enjoyable. Turf wars seem to be a huge feature of the game and luring monsters into each other so they can help shave off a few thousand hit points is a useful strategy you can employ in each hunt.

Mechanics

The game really focuses on using the clutch claw and for the most part it works well. The monsters do fatigue for a few seconds quite often but they are also tank like in how much health they have, so the addition of the claw and these new moments of opportunity don’t make the game easier. In fact, hunts take longer this time than previous games, which I think a lot of players might like. I still suspect the end of Master Rank hunts are taking too long for my comfort at about 20-25 minutes, but I think they might be adding this buffer to account for all the end game mechanics for buffing your weapons. Either way, the hunts are longer, the additional difficulty levels work especially 2 player, and the hunts are fun.

Weapons

Monsters being fun to hunt is good since since they fine tuned the game so that elemental weapons are meaningful again, so you’ll want to get a nice non-elemental weapon to stick with as you start to collect the other ones for the weapon or weapons of your choice. They don’t have a lot of choices for weapons so there isn’t any confusion on what to make or debate on which is the best elemental weapon to make. But weapons is  one of the few things that remains very disappointing.

While some monsters like Zinogre saw most of its original weapon designs return, some of the weapons still are just ore or bone weapons with some monster material slapped on like a decoration. It hurts even worse this time, because there are so many iconic monsters that have returned. Capcom seems to have no clue that part of our memory of these monsters were the weapons we made from them. Looking at the Brachydios lance, I can’t see anything that excuses this design, and as a fan of these monsters, it feels like a slap in the face. What makes it worse is there seems to be no rhyme or reason for which weapons got to retain their iconic design and which got the ugly treatment, which just adds to the frustration because we don't even know why. This actually takes away some motivation for me to make more weapons and thus is something I need to be blunt and critical about here in my review.

Armor

The new armor is okay I guess. There isn’t a lot of variety but I think they are keeping it low to start so they can add in event variations and stuff, so it’s still too early to judge. I am disappointed that transmog hasn’t been introduced because some sets are still rubbish due to the focus on decorations. Take the Master Rank Odogaron set. First, the design is nice. But the set bonus is protective polish, which you can get in a single decoration if you get lucky, meaning that using 3 or more pieces form this set is kind of a waste. They could have made this version be called True Protective Polish and added in an attack or affinity boost, or something to make it different than the decoration, but they didn't. And ebony and basic odogaron have the same skill which was disappointing.

None of the new sets really screamed out to me as something I really wanted to get, and most of them come with random skills that I simply don’t want. In most cases it’s better to just get the beta sets since they have more slots, but the same can be said for world. One thing that is nice that they did was introduce new set bonuses for some monsters that raises the level cap of a specific skill, like say you want to have even more slugger KO damage, which normally goes to level 3, well if you trigger the diablos set skill you can raise it to level 5. The new decorations are simple and nice in that they are 4 slot decorations that have 2 skills or multiple levels of a single skill, so you could just theoretically grab a master rank weapon and terrorize high rank tempered monsters to collect a bunch of the core decorations you might be missing.

End Game

I won’t go into end game details but it’s certainly going to be something that people can sink several hundred hours into, so it’ll be fun to watch streamers play and do it, and it does give Capcom a new way to introduce new monsters later down the line. With world being a console game I probably won’t sink much time into the end game personally but I am still very happy with the overall package and I can always go and join other people on their quests so it’s not like I’m missing out on anything.

Overall:

Iceborne does a great job of building off the strong foundation that world gave it, fleshing it out with more monsters and things to do, and all the new mechanics feel and look great. The new hub town is a delight and master rank quests, while they can be a tad long, I bet most people will appreciate that instead of going in with 4 players and destroying a quest in 4 minutes. The choice to make some weapons look like a basic weapon with decorative material baffles me and I hope enough people will voice their unhappiness so that Capcom rethinks this artistic direction. But even that can’t change the fact that Iceborne is a fantastic addition that really completes the monster hunter world experience and in my opinion is more than worth its price-tag, I just feel that it holds it back from true greatness a little.

I hope you guys enjoyed this review, and and until next time, happy hunting!

[renaroo]

Some Times (Time and Time Again) (3/8)

Disclaimer: Booster Gold, Blue Beetle, and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Warnings: Canon shaken not stirred, Heavy canon references to Booster Gold (2009-2011) and Blue Beetle (2016-2018) Pairings: Boostle Rating: T Synopsis: Booster Gold and the rest of the Time Masters are still straightening up things in the wake of the most recent universal Rebirth. But Rip Hunter is still missing in the aftermath, leaving Booster in charge with Skeets, Michelle, and Rani. But there’s a distraction for Booster, one he can’t keep himself from ignoring.

Ted Kord, miraculously, is still alive. And that makes everything more complicated than Michael could have ever imagined.

A/N: So look. First of all, I apologize to everyone who were looking forward to this fic before I took a very long hiatus this year. It’s a weird journey to go over, but basically I became a public school teacher and got a job in the middle of this year and the time flew by very fast. Ironically. 

Does that mean I want to leave you guys hanging for months like that again? No, but stuff does happen. I’m trying to use my winter break to write as much as possible while still getting stuff ready for my kiddos, but priorities will lie where they lie and I’m sorry if that means leaving you hanging again. I totally get if you want to check out until the final update so that you can read the whole fic. Hopefully I’ll plan out better and write it all before posting to start with. So hindsight is.... 2020 you might say. 

Special thanks to @fred-astairs-dark-impulses, @shibascarf, @mcbangle, @spiralcass, sinkburrito, @secretlystephaniebrown, starchaser22. doingsuper, Ithildyn and ivettxwrites for the support and kind words! That means so much to me, and I cannot apologize enough for being one of THOSE fanfic writers which I most certainly am and leaving you hanging for so long.

Little Girl Lost

Rani doesn’t necessarily intend to go against Michael and Michelle’s attempts to get her to sleep. Sometimes, things simply happen and there is no stopping it.

For Rani, it’s the need to make certain her adopted family — her new and most recent adopted family, that is — are still safe, alive, and not leaving her alone again that she cannot stop. 

With her eyes only closed for a moment or two after hitting her pillow, Rani springs awake, ignores the colorfully decorated bedroom that is exclusively hers, and barrels out without so much as slippers on her feet. 

Huffing and puffing, Rani races down the corridor toward the laboratory and kitchen of Time Lab. She only slows to a stop once reaching the disarray of the laboratory and overhearing the close by sounds of Michael and Michelle talking to one another. 

Her heart races despite the calming assurance that she’s not alone. There should be three adults in their home instead of only two, and that causes a pang in her chest she barely knows what to do with. 

Taking a deep breath, Rani glances around to the broken up laboratory and thinks about how upset poor Boppy would be if he was still around. 

Rani bites her bottom lip until it hurts. She hates thinking of Poppy in the past tense. She hates it. And she can’t stop it. 

She has played this game too many times before already despite being so young.

“Rani. I don’t believe you should be wandering around the laboratory. It is still a danger zone for the time being,” the familiar drone of Skeets comes as the tiny bot flies into her vicinity. 

Looking to the golden sheen of Michael’s trusty assistant, Rani can’t help but feel that something is off. Something more than usual for Time Lab. 

“Skeets, would you know if Boppy came back?” she asks.

“Doctor Hunter would likely make himself known to us if and when the time was right for his return,” the robot answers methodically. 

Rani’s brows knit together. “So… you can’t do it?” 

“That is not what I said,” he answers without answering anything at all.

Biting her lip once again, only now more in thought than in anxiety, Rani thinks about Boppy — Rip — and how he would make himself known. 

With a slight hum in her throat, Rani walks past Skeets and makes her way to the large chalkboard still standing amongst the ruins of the Time Lab. She reaches the board quickly and begins scanning the blank slate for any signs of change — any at all. Her eyes fall, rather quickly, to the bottom right corner where a scribbled message causes her heart to race again. This time not in fear or worry, but in precious joy and excitement. 

“Boppy!” she barely musters over her own gasp as she reaches for the board and touches it cautiously with the tips of her fingers. 

Ted Kord is the key. 

A chill runs down Rani’s spine, a thrill overcomes her pattering heart. 

“Boppy wanted me to know…” she surmises. Her eyes squint in thought. It is her corner of the board, where she has been caught a few times sketching unicorns and butterflies. For Boppy to write there out of all the space on the board, surely means the message is for her and her alone in that moment.

And Ted Kord. That is not any name, that is someone very important and special. He is Michael’s most important friend, the one he talks about in his biggest and wildest stories to Rani, and the person whose name comes up the most often in the history books when she searches for information about her dear Mikey. 

Rani thinks, just maybe, she understands what she needs to do. And for the first time since the big explosion, Rani feels calm and excited. She has a direction to go in and it means all the world to her. 

It probably means the whole universe if it’s important enough for Boppy to leave it on the board for her.

“I should immediately tell Booster about this!” Skeets determines in a flurry, beginning to zip off.

He doesn’t make it far in the direction of the kitchen, however, because once he sees that Rani is going deeper into the lab, he changes course.

“Rani! Please, the laboratory is still very dangerous. We haven’t gotten very far in the cleaning process so… Rani. Rani! Michael would not be happy with this. Please return.”

For the first time, Rani thinks she might understand why Michael ignores so much of what Skeets says. 

“It’s not a message for Mikey,” she informs the robot with a prideful huff. “It’s for me. Boppy wanted me to do something so that’s what I’m doing.”

“Whatever this is, I believe it is a terrible idea,” Skeets announces.

Despite her near constant quivering and skittish nature after the explosion of the Flashpoint, Rani is constantly aware of her adopted family around her. As much help as she isn’t in the cleaning and retrieving process, she knows that there are several things Michelle and Mikey have yet to contain.

Like the wormhole in the cupboard.

Rani’s knowledge of theoretical physics was far less than her knowledge about every episode of Zoo Crew Michael had gotten her on DVD. But she did know that one time, while working on the time sphere with Michael, Boppy had shaken a wrench and talked about using wormholes for transport.

And what did Michael and Michelle use to leave the Time Lab when they needed to? Transport.

It only makes sense. Even to her under ten mind.

“Rani,” Skeets is beginning to wind up into yet another speech just as Rani’s fingers brushed the steel frame of the cupboard.

“It’s okay, Skeets,” Rani assures the robot as she opens the door. “Mikey said it would be okay.”

“That is not quite reassuring,” the robot retorts just as they enter into the whitish glow.

Skeets, unfortunately, is wise beyond his years as it turns out.

Rani feels a pressure build up against her body the moment the light engulfs her. It’s pressing on her, stopping her body from breathing or screaming, compacting her, squeezing her. She immediately feels blood flushing to her face, heating up and making her eyes swim in their sockets as tears begin rolling out.

This isn’t even close to what she had been expecting when it came to transport and wormholes. Mikey and Michelle never mentioned it.

“Rani!” Skeets’ electronic voice carries, even as Rani’s ears pop with the pressure.

It’s hard to see with the blurring whiteness, but soon the golden swatch of Skeets is upon her. A silver arm extends out from a slot on his underside and Skeets begins reaching out.

The pressure feels like it is building up behind Rani’s nose and into her mouth, but she focuses just enough to reach out and be snatched by Skeets’ extended hand.

The moment they connect and make contact, the whirling of the wormhole around them comes to a stop.

All the pressure that had built up against Rani releases with a terrifying POP and she not only can scream, but she can hear herself scream as her butt hits a cold concrete floor and slides to a stop.

She’s shaking uncontrollably and her scream is cut short into an unexpected but high pitched wail.

Even with daylight filtering into the room she is in and bulbs on overhead, the new place Rani is in might as well as be a pit with the sudden change from the wormhole’s eerie glow.

Her body is no longer pushing against itself or into places, it feels like jello against her bones, and if it weren’t for Skeets actively holding onto her wrist she might have already collapsed.

All in all, the transport may have taken five seconds. Perhaps not even that.

Rani huffs and chokes on air as her vision adjusts. She knows she’s in a new place, she knows that her transportation experience is over, but everything else is a painful and terrifying reality.

Skeets lowers his hovering and comes close to her line of sight.

“I apologize, Rani,” Skeets says in his familiar robotic tone. “Transporting is not easy on smaller bodies like yours and mine. And without a direct destination somehow directed to it, it can take longer than expected. I am sure with your claustrophobia and neuroticism about destructive forces this was not an easy or simple journey—“

Not even waiting for the tiny robot to finish, Rani flings her arms around his metallic body and draws him in for a a calming hug. She feels his cool siding against her cheek and catches her breath finally.

Skeets seems to sputter in place for a moment, a whirring noise coming from his internal gadgetry.

Then, affectionately, the same metallic clamp that had held Rani by the arm before pats her back.

There is calm between them, if only for a moment.

It ends when a heavy door pushes against its hinges and hit the metal walls on the other side of the room they’re in. The lights immediately turn on, heavy and loud, as a man’s voice carries.

“No, I’m telling you, it was weird,” the voice says as boots walk across the concrete floor. “How weird? I don’t know, Bea, weird enough for me to call you and ask about it.”

The hairs on Rani’s neck prickle and she looks wide eyed into the direction of the noise as she lets go of Skeets. Her heart picks up even more from its already frantic pace as she sees the daunting shadow of the man walking across the room. It has been a very long time since she has been this close to anyone who wasn’t Mikey, Michelle, or Boppy. And the last one had been a Nazi, which means super duper bad person from her understanding.

Her regrets of leaving are building up rather quickly.

“No, I don’t know how you can get a hold of him, it’s just… I’m worried. And…” The man stops and stares right at her and Skeets.

He’s not a tall man compared to everyone else in the Time Lab. Not short like she is, but not as tall. His hair is a mousy brown, sticking up in several places but especially underneath the yellow goggles on his head and over his ears in a way that reminds Rani of Boppy just a bit. His face is full of expression, big eyes and a roundness to his cheeks that makes Rani want to see him smile.

And every wrinkle on his forehead is gaining length as his eyebrows race quicker to his hairline.

“Hey, uh, I’ve gotta go,” the man says  into the phone pressed to his head. “Yeah, I know it’s sudden. But there’s like…. A child in my lab. And I’m mildly freaking out about how weird my day is. Tell Tora I said hi.”

After a moment, the phone pressed against the side of the man’s head stops glowing and he’s left in place with a paper bag that smells much better than Mikey’s cooking in the other.

“Okay,” the man says, taking a deep breath, “strange child staring at me in my lab not saying a word…”

“Skeets?” Rani whispers, turning her head ever so slightly toward the robot without taking her eyes off the man.

Skeets whirs in that happy way that seems like a recorder starting before circling in the air once and making it to Rani’s other side. “Rani, this is Theodore Kord, formerly known as the Blue Beetle. He is the CEO and prime technologist of Kord Industries, begun by—“

“Whoa whoa whoa!” the man calls out, holding out his hands with as many fingers as he can spare extended. “First of all: Skeets? What the hell? I just saw you. Second of all: ixnay onyay ethay eetlebay, okayay?” He then lowers his hands as he shifts toward looking squarely at Rani once again. “Of all the third: …hey? Are you okay? You uhh… seem to be a child in my super unsafe and barely halfway managed laboratory. Which is probably as new for you as it is for me.”

Rani, finally catching her breath, pushes up from the floor. The wheels are turning in her head as she holds the gaze of this mystery man. “Blue Beetle…” she gaps in wonder.

He lets out a grunt of frustration and glances at Skeets. “Now, see? You’ve doxxed me, Skeets!”

“It is not a difficult task, Mister Kord,” Skeets retorts shortly.

“Well, I went to a Big Belly Burger dressed like this, so I see your point! BWAH HA HA HA!”  

Rani is unsure of herself and concerned until that laughter hits the air.

It’s not like any laugh she’s heard before, like a rumbling explosion from deep inside someone. The kind of laughter that can’t wait to escape someone and infect everyone around them.

One time, while tucking her in, Mikey had told Rani that his best friend Ted had the greatest laugh in the whole world.

And, now, Rani is hearing it.

“Ted Kord is KEY!” she remembers the message out loud.

The former Blue Beetle abruptly ends his rumbling laugh and glances toward Rani curiously. “I’m what? OOF!”

Ted’s question is barely out of his mouth before Rani is crashing into his waist, wrapping herself around him tight and squeezing with all her might. It’s the kind of hug Mikey gives her, and she hopes Ted Kord can tell it. The confusion in his utterances suggests that he probably can’t tell.

“Okay, help me out here, Skeets, I’m mildly freaking out,” Ted says.

“Thank you, Mister Kord,” Rani says with jubilation. “Thank you for having the best laugh in the whole world, and being the bravest man, and for being Mikey’s bestest friend ever!”

“I guess this is where I say… you’re welcome? And then ask you your name or something,” Ted responds.

Looking up, smiling the best she can, Rani answers, “I’m Rani.”

“You’re Rani,” Ted repeats. Suddenly, there’s a glint in his eyes and he sets his bag and his phone down on the floor behind him. “Rani… Rani… Booster’s appointment or whatever earlier. And you’re with Skeets. Who is not being helpful whatsoever, by the by.”

“I apologize, Mister Kord, but I am limited by the… uncertainty of many factors currently,” Skeets admitted. “I do not believe Booster Gold has tested the effects of this meeting yet.”

Ted’s brows squeeze together, causing worry lines to surface on his forehead. “Tested? Booster? I didn’t even think he tested the products he shilled for.” He then puts a steady hand on the top of Rani’s head. “And you, pipsqueak—“

“I’m Rani,” she reminds him firmly.

“I’ve never heard of you before. What’re you doing hanging around with Booster?”

Rani blinks through her confusion. It’s such a strange question. And certainly nothing close to what she has thought of before. She’s with Booster and at Time Lab because… Isn’t that where she belongs now? With no planet and no adopted family and no—

Her breath catches in her throat and she’s shaking slightly. She catches herself doing it, but she can’t stop it.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Ted says, lowering down to one knee in front of her and getting to her level. His jovial face is all scrunched up in concern now. “Calm down there, kiddo. I didn’t mean to get you worked up.”

“I am afraid she has been through a lot, Mister Kord,” Skeets excuses.

“Apparently,” Ted says, a tinge of something more scrutinizing and suspicious in the corner of his eye.

Taking a deep breath, Rani grabs hold of Ted’s shoulder. When he looks her in the eyes, Rani says gently, “Mikey takes care of me. And… I take care of him.”

Ted looks her over before offering a soft and genuine smile. “Sounds like tough work,” he says solemnly. “But you seem pretty tough.”

Rani considers the ways her teeth chatter and her heart races and her chest tightens so much and so hard. And she thinks that tough is like Boppy or Mikey saving the day or Michelle defending their home. “Really?” she questions.

“Absolutely,” Ted says. “If you’re looking for Booster, Skeets should’ve told you that you’re late by quite a bit.”

Warmth spreads through Rani’s chest and she feels her shoulders roll back more confidently than they’ve been in a while. She is pretty tough when she thinks about it.

“Say, I actually ran through this grease bucket called Big Belly Burger to get the fries with Booster’s stupid pretty face on it,” Ted jokes, throwing a thumb back toward the brown paper bag. “A joke for… whenever he gets back here. I can’t eat that kind of stuff anymore… but something tells me if you’re hanging out with Booster he’s put you on a strict diet of whatever your adorable face asks or something.” He pauses for Rani’s giggles and, with a soft smile, adds, “So do you want something to eat?”

“I didn’t know Mikey was on food…” Rani admits, grabbing for the bag as Ted Kord offers them to her.

“Wow, I feel like that’s the only thing most people do know about him!” Ted laughs at the irony. “For a good minute there, it felt like it was the only thing I knew about him, too.”

Rani downs the fries quicker than even she expected. They’re greasy and gross like a lot of the food from this century that Mikey complains about. But that’s also kind of good about it in a way.

By the time she’s licking her fingers, Ted is on some strange, boxy device, fiddling with the buttons and lights on it.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“My Justice League communicator. The old version,” he admits. “I’m trying to get a hold of Booster and… uh… figure things out.”

Confused herself, Rani tilts her head. “But why don’t you know already, Ted Kord?” she asks him suspiciously. “You’re supposed to be the key!”

“To what?” he asks right back, looking up from the communicator with a brow on high alert. “And what do you mean by this key stuff anyway? Is that something Booster said to you?”

“No, it’s on Boppy’s board,” she answers firmly.

“Caution, Rani,” Skeets chides, floating in on the conversation. “You must remember the rules. Who knows what dangers can be unleashed on all of reality by testing them.”

With a gasp, Rani claps her greasy fingers over her mouth.

“Hey, now, that’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid, Skeets,” Ted argues. “And what are you even going on about?”

Uncertain of what to say back, Rani bites on her bottom lip and looks at Skeets. But the robot does not seem to be all that concerned about answering.

“It will be best if we wait for Booster Gold to answer,” Skeets assures her instead.

“I hope he brings drinks like we promised,” Ted mutters with a roll of his eyes. “After all this excitement today I feel like I earned it.”

Rani’s tiny heart races in her chest for a moment, regret and worry building up as If she had been taking stock for her anxiety to unleash in that moment. Boppy left her his message, she is doing the right thing. Right?

The excitement in her frame doesn’t have time to subside, however, as a large boom and flash occur in the same room as them.

Ted covers his eyes and tries to turn in the direction of the excitement. “Booster?” he calls out.

“For the good of all reality,” a booming, yet hauntingly familiar voice calls from the light as it dulls around them, “and for the survival of the multiverse…”

Once the light is dulled significantly, Rani blinks and can make out the slick black armor of the tall and imposing man across the room from them. And, more importantly, she can make out the shape and direction of the gun he is holding as well.

“Oh, fu—“ Ted says, getting to his feet.

“… Ted Kord, you must die!” Black Beetle snarls before pulling the trigger.

[pilferingapples]

@alicedraws-kostyalevin

mentioned you on a post

“Sketching Les Mis Chapter 3.6.3 - Effect Of Spring 1. I didn't like...”

@pilferingapples It's a few months that takes him to leave! although it didn't /seem/ to be winter at the time.... I don't want to do math either so maybe we can ask around if someone knows at what age someone can graduate law school and work from there?

okay let’s get to it and do this mini-Marius timeline darn it, I hate not being sure:

first off we’re told flat out in 3.5.3 (Marius Grown Up) that he’s 20 by the time he’s out of school and sort of settled--that is , before he starts really noticing Cosette. So that’s a definite, you’re right!

As for the time in between, using @akallabeth-joie​‘s amazing timeline to look up chapter refs here: 

3.3.4 ,when Georges Pontmercy dies: 

The conclusion of Marius' classical studies coincided with M. Gillenormand's departure from society... In 1827, Marius had just attained his seventeenth year. One evening, on his return home, he saw his grandfather holding a letter in his hand.

So this suggests to me that Marius turns 17 in 1827 (which of course means he’ll be 17 for part of 1828). Also , his “classical schooling” just finished-- that means his pre-college stuff. So he’d be enrolling in the law school the semester after that. He’s already in the law school when Georges dies in this chapter-- he “resumes his legal studies” after the funeral, not begins them-- and the 17-yo age marker is given in this chapter too, so I’m guessing Marius has a summer or fall birthday and is only just 17 when he’s starting college?    ..Or maybe he’s starting in the spring semester? And turns 17 then? It was accepted to start law school at 16,  if you’d made your entrance exams and so on. 

3.3.5, an indeterminate amount of time passes--probably no more than a week or two?, and then Marius meets Mabeuf

3.3.6, Marius starts researching his father’s career and Napoleon from the law school library.  He’s starting to use “hunting trips” as an excuse for long absences; if I knew there was a season when that wouldn’t have been a plausible excuse I could narrow things down more, at least theoretically, But Alas ><

3.3.8

(after the same trip where Theodule saw Marius at the grave)

Marius returned from Vernon on the third day, in the middle of the morning, descended at his grandfather's door, and, wearied by the two nights spent in the diligence, and feeling the need of repairing his loss of sleep by an hour at the swimming-school, he mounted rapidly to his chamber, took merely time enough to throw off his travelling-coat, and the black ribbon which he wore round his neck, and went off to the bath.

So it’s definitely not winter, when the schools and baths would be closed!

And then our next specific time-cue comes in with 3.4.1,  “ any one who had listened to Courfeyrac in 1828 would have thought he heard Tholomyes in 1817″

but of course Marius meets with Bossuet right after he leaves his grandpa’s house; it’s very early morning when he goes to the baths and then that afternoon he’s kicked out and ambling around with name-labeled bag

SO , options: 

Doyleist :  Hugo just forgot what year he was planning it to be and either accidentally made Georges die a year early or made the Amis show up a year late. Possible, but irrelevant for trying to figure out what the timeline we are thus stuck with actually is :P 

Watsonian:  

Option 1: Georges dies in the fall; Marius spends several months learning about his father and Napoleon and making his occasional trips-- enough to carry him over from fall 1827 to spring 1828. Not too hard, really. He has his fight with Gillenormand in early 1828 and meets Courfeyrac then.  

Option 2: Marius meets Legle and Courfeyrac in 1827; he spends some months with Courfeyrac before being introduced to Les Amis in 1828.  This actually might work too with his rent situation; we’re told Courfyerac “answered for him”, that is, vouched for him as a client, so if the rent’s collected quarterly then Marius might not have been expected to pay rent until the quarter was up. This is tricky with the swimming season thing, but I think we can all agree that Marius is totally able to spend several months just going to school and talking to one (1) friend, until Courfeyrac introduces him to the other Amis around the start of 1828. 

His time in school isn’t very helpful to us here, of course; a complete, basic  law school degree with no interruptions might take two years,or it could  stretch for over a decade:P We’re told Marius spends three years looking for Thenardier, presumably before he sees or at least before he really notices Cosette in the garden, and we know he’s spent some indeterminate post-school time just enjoying being underemployed and having time to himself. So..that still doesn’t help really narrow it down, but it maybe sets the range?