#also sorry if the structure of this comes off as half-lucid it's more of a ramble than anything else

[keitheaverage]

imho Haddotin content is at its best when the creator understands that it's not just Tintin emotionally supporting or taking care of Haddock, but is just as much Haddock emotionally supporting/taking care of Tintin in return.

It's easier to put Tintin into the caretaker role of their relationship because he carries whatever baggage he has through vices that are less overt than Haddock's substance abuse (i.e., him frequently going on thrill-seeking adventures without much regard for his own safety and preservation, being selfless to the point of self-destruction, pouring himself into his work, etc.), qualities that he is much more likely to be praised for and enabled to continue doing by others, rather than being chastised. But Haddock, being such a close friend, recognizes those destructive habits for what they really are: a temporary solution from a more deep-set pain that he would much rather keep suppressed than make apparent to those who look up to him.

Unlike the strangers and acquaintances who may not know Tintin's true story all too well and don't recognize the more subtle patterns of his emotional down-spirals, Haddock would not be shy to let Tintin know when he's going too far. To let Tintin know when he should just take the L and go home. That his life is worth more than just being the selfless hero of the narrative and he should take more value in himself as an individual person, just as Tintin once did for him all those years ago. That he should not be afraid to be vulnerable around the people who truly do care about him and want to see him truly thrive.

It's an "I'll live for you," kind of love. A "you helped me see how much I mattered, so now I'll tell you the same, even if you don't believe it right now" kind of love. And it's mutual.

[damienthepious]

tuesday vibes are Cuddle Sleepily

To Be Inside Your Arms

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Damien, Lord Arum, Rilla

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Post-Episode: s02e36-41 Second Citadel - The Battle at World's End, (literally directly post. so like. yeah), Early Relationship, Sleepy Cuddles, Awkwardness, (they're trying), Literal Sleeping Together

Summary: They went somewhere to talk, but that talk is honestly going to have to wait until they aren't so completely drained.

Notes: I've had this idea for a while, to the point where I tried to start it like... five different times. I literally have like Five different half-paragraph openings for this exact pseudo-conversation, and this one FINALLY stuck. They're all... very new at this. Also? Yes, I know we just finished s3 and here I am writing DIRECTLY post s2 content, but consider: I Want To.Title from the song Parallels by Big Thief.

~

Lord Arum brings them somewhere safe, after their duel, after their song. It is a small structure, nearly impossible to distinguish from the plants surrounding it until Arum points it out, pressing on one particular knot in the wall of thick, woven-together vines and prompting a hidden door to swing open for them and reveal a small, cozy sort of space.

Rilla helps Damien out of his armor after they close the door of the little bark-walled hut behind them, and they clean off the worst of the grime, the tears, the mud, the blood. Rilla sets Damien's arm properly, and the lizard pretends not to keep a concerned eye on them as he starts a fire in the clay hearth, putting water to boil for tea. Rilla splints her poor ankle as well, batting Damien's hands away when he tries to help, and when she finishes she sighs with such weariness that it cuts through to Damien's heart.

Arum frowns, then, watching Rilla's face, the purpling shadows beneath her eyes, the slump of her shoulders, and then the monster extinguishes the fire before the water comes to a proper boil.

There is a pause before Rilla notices, which is even more damning evidence of her exhaustion than anything else.

"What, change your mind?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I did, in fact," Arum rumbles, looking away. "We won't be needing the tea to accompany our conversation. There is no productive conversation to be had while the both of you are in such sorry states."

"S-sorry?" Damien manages, his voice going high, and the monster's frown deepens, the frill at his neck raising just slightly, in anger or whatever else Damien does not know.

"You are both injured, and you are both clearly well past exhausted. I would rather hold a conversation with creatures more lucid than the both of you will currently be."

Damien blinks, entirely uncertain what Arum's sharp, uncomfortable tone and his deeply deliberate avoidance of eye contact indicate, but Rilla folds her arms over her chest with something like a smile ghosting across her lips.

"If that's your way of saying that you're worried about us, that's very sweet of you."

Arum growls, still looking away as he pokes at the hearth to ensure that the logs aren't going to reignite. "Don't be absurd," he says quickly, and something in Damien's chest skips at the transparency of the denial.

"Okay," Rilla says soothingly, smiling a little wider. "Right. Entirely selfish reasons, then."

"Entirely," the monster says, still looking away.

"I imagine that you are rather exhausted yourself, Lord Arum," Damien offers.

"Yes, well," Arum straightens, huffing in a way that reminds Damien of a bird ruffling its feathers. "Any day during which one nearly dies or averts an extinction event is bound to be somewhat draining, and each of us have experienced at least one of those two since the sun rose today."

Rilla snorts a laugh, and then- another expression crosses her face, far more serious.

"Thank you, by the way," she says, and Arum immediately winces. "I don't… I don't know that we would've made it out of there, if you didn't tell me... just, thank you." He turns towards her with a rising snarl, but Rilla's smile is awkward and uncertain, and the sight of it makes the angry rattle in Arum's throat stutter off.

He swallows, and then looks away again, his tail flicking. "Don't... don't thank me for- for giving you a chance to clean up the mess that I made, Amaryllis," he mutters, and then he shakes his head as she opens her mouth to retort. "And this is- precisely what I meant. We can argue over culpability and injury and morality in the morning, if you have not changed your minds by then, takatakataka."

Rilla scowls more deeply as Damien considers Arum's phrasing, noting that the lizard only suggested that they might change their minds. Apparently, Arum does not imagine that his own feelings are in danger of any such shift.

"Fine," Rilla relents, "fine, fine. Okay. Sleep, then. Is there a bedroom tucked in here or are we just gonna pile up on the floor?"

Arum turns with a grumble, presses a hand against a wide leaf that Damien assumed was simply part of the wall, and the flora swings aside, showing another smaller room.

Rilla grabs Damien's uninjured arm as she passes him, pulling them both along together to follow the lizard.

"Okay?" she murmurs, her eyes cautious, and Damien's heart aches again with fondness, with appreciation, and he squeezes her hand in return.

Arum pretends not to hear them, reaching to light a small lantern with a flick of the wrist (Damien is unsure, precisely, if the monster is using some magic, or if he is simply deft with some small tool Damien cannot see) and then turning to frown in the vague direction of their clasped hands.

"I suppose this will have to do, for the moment," he says, and Damien struggles to bury a smile.

The bed is- not exactly a bed. It appears to be as much grown as the rest of the structure, low to the ground, woven from soft living leaves, with a silk sheet puddled unceremoniously across the bottom half. Damien sags at the sight regardless, his body preemptively relieved at the mere idea of rest, and beside him Rilla exhales an entire lungful of exhaustion herself.

Arum's lip twitches, almost a smile, and then he gestures towards the bed. "I suppose I should... leave you to it, then." He pauses, flicks his tongue in the air as two of his hands brush at his cape and the other two fold stiffly behind his back. "Sleep... sleep well."

Damien's heart twists, sinks, and when Arum glances back towards him again he realizes that he must have made some small, unhappy noise. Rilla squeezes his hand again, more gently.

"Unless you would prefer I stay," the monster says quickly, and then he glances away. "This part of the swamp is not particularly dangerous, but of course I would understand if you should require a- a show of good faith, or-"

"I'd just rather have you here," Rilla says, and the monster snaps his mouth shut.

"I... yes," Damien agrees, his voice feeling small. "I know it has been rather too full a day to finish with a... a negotiation of our positions, together, but- but at the very least, I think, we have agreed that we- we would like to try. To try to- to be, together. If it would not trouble you to-"

"I did not wish to press past your own comfort." Arum winces, makes a rumbling noise in his chest with his frill fluttering, and then he takes another step closer. "That's all. If this... if you do not mind my presence-"

"Oh for Saints' sake," Rilla mutters, and then she simply turns and tips herself over like a falling tree, bouncing to land on the bed with a heavy sigh. "C'mon, already," she says, her eyes already closed as she scrabbles with a hand to snatch the sheet and pull it closer. "Whole point is that we're fucking exhausted, and I'm too tired to pretend that I don't want the both of you where I can reach you, even if we haven't put words on it yet."

Damien's heart swells, Rilla's breathy, lazy, slipping-towards-sleep voice so familiar and safe, even in such a strange place. Arum takes another step closer with a small laugh, his frill settling and his own eyes full of something that Damien recognizes after a moment as fondness. Damien bites his lip, as if that will do anything at all to stifle the size of his emotions, and then he reaches a hand out to help Rilla untangle the sheet.

She grabs his wrist and pulls, though, and Damien doesn't have the presence of mind (or the inclination, truly) to resist, and he stumbles sideways to collapse beside Rilla, yelping as he goes. Rilla mutters wordlessly, tugging Damien closer with one hand and pressing her head into his shoulder, and Damien could not suppress his smile for the whole of the world as he curls his arms around her, settling helplessly against the softness of the bed.

He glances up, over Rilla's shoulder, and Arum-

The amount of desire in Arum's vivid, violet eyes knocks the breath from Damien's lungs. He stares down at them, his hands still fisted tight in the fabric of his cape, his frame held so carefully still, and then as Damien catches his gaze he exhales a breath, his tongue flicking in the air.

Rilla makes another grumbling noise, stretching her other arm - the one not clinging to Damien's back - out across the bed, in the vague direction of Lord Arum, though her eyes do not open again. Damien laughs lightly, and then he meets Arum's eyes again.

Arum hesitates, frill fluttering again, but then Rilla makes another, slightly angrier noise, and Damien draws his hands soothingly down her back with another breath of laughter.

"I very much doubt she will let either of us rest, Lord Arum, unless you come join us," he says, keeping his tone teasing and light, and Arum laughs as well.

"She is... rather stubborn," the monster mutters, fond again, and Rilla finally cracks an eye open to glare at him. "Alright," he shakes his head, "alright."

He follows the grasping direction of Rilla's other hand, slipping onto the bed on the side opposite Damien and letting her draw her palm down his bicep, down his forearm before she grips his scaled hand and squeezes with a contented sigh, finally settling against the softness beneath them.

"Better?" Damien murmurs, his lips close beside Rilla's temple, and she sighs again, nodding slightly.

"Stubborn," Arum murmurs again, draping himself out on the bed beside Rilla, but when he leaves a careful degree of space between them, Rilla rolls closer. She presses her cheek against his shoulder, then tugs his hand to settle over her heart with an impatient huff. "Amaryllis-"

"Shush. We're sleeping. Want you closer. Manage feelings in the morning."

Arum glances over her head with a raised eyebrow, and Damien smiles helplessly, and then he- he decides that Rilla is right. He shifts closer as well, folding himself along Rilla's back and wrapping an arm around her so he may do as he wishes, and curl his hand around Rilla and Arum's own, clasped by her collarbone.

Arum exhales, shaky with a hint of a rattle at the back of his throat. "Ridiculous," he mutters unconvincingly, and then with his free hand he reaches and tugs up the sheet, arranging it to rest properly over all three of them before he settles.

It feels... easy, Damien realizes with some surprise. The complication, the tangled web woven between all of them, the friction and lack of understanding and the fear (or worry, at the very least); it will all return with the morning, Damien suspects.

Right now, though. Right now, in this moment, in the haze of exhaustion but with the assurance that they are all three of them together, whole, and safe, finally safe- that they are willing to look each other in the eye and speak their hearts, that they may rest upon each other, may tangle their hands between them-

It feels easy, to brush his thumb across Rilla and Arum's knuckles, twined together. It feels easy to let the weariness carry him deeper, closer to slumber, tucked warm beside his forever-flower and Lord Arum.

With time, Damien thinks, and with patience, perhaps they might make all of the troubles between them feel easy, as well.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Heaven, Hell and You

John Constantine x OFC (Valarie Moore) 

Masterlist  Chapter 1

Warnings- Violence, biblical references (sort of, I think)

Chapter 2

Humming under her breath, Valerie strolled through the little convenience store in the city. She still donned her uniform, light blue scrubs and white shoes, though thankfully, she was only half as tired as usual. Even better was the fact after her shift gone by, Valerie would have the next twenty four hours off and wouldn't have to see the hospital, and by extension, the ICU for the next day or so. It was her one day off for the week and she was determined to make the most of it. The most beginning with unwinding in a warm bath and a glass of wine. 

The shopping basket was hooked in her crooked elbow as she slowly walked to the liquor aisle, slowing down even further as she passed shelves lined with different kinds of pasta on her way. Maybe she could make herself dinner too, instead of ordering takeout. For a minute, Valerie seriously considered it, but then, remembering how long it might take and how much she'd anticipated doing absolutely nothing, she decided that it could be an activity for some other night and that pizza would do just fine. Once again, she began, head down, cast towards the beat up tiled floor, not even noticing that she was walking straight into someone.

"Shit," she swore, coming into contact with a man's chest, consequently stumbling backwards, "Sorry," Valerie huffed a quiet, breathless chuckle upon noticing how strikingly handsome he was; sharp bone structure, pale skin and raven  hair.

"Its my fault," he dismissed, not even bothering with returning her shy smile. Instead, he shoved one hand into the pocket of his black trench and readjusted his hold on his half filled basket, "Sorry about that," he nodded politely, proceeding to furrow his brows in what she perceived to be confusion. "Do I know you?"

Equally confused, Valerie's lips quivered with questions unspoken, and eventually, she found herself tucking a soft brunette lock behind her ear, the little diamond stud on her earlobe twinkling teasingly, “I don’t think so,” she licked her pink, bare lips, “Maybe I just have one of those faces,” Valerie giggled quietly, though, she could tell by the man’s stare that he wasn’t buying it for a second. It was slightly unnerving, the way he was looking at her, like he actually believed that they knew each other.

“Maybe,” he scoffed, apparently only agreeing cause he really couldn’t place her, “Sorry,” he cleared his throat quietly.

He seemed to shake off whatever he was feeling, moving to go around her before she could even dismiss his apology and assure him that it was all good. As Mr. Tall, dark and mysterious, went about his way, Valerie turned around, sparing him one last glance, trying to ignore the disappointment in their conversation being over. She didn’t really get out a lot, discounting work, and her flirting skills were very rusty, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t know a hot guy when she saw one, and she’d just spoken to one, barely. 

When he didn’t look back, either pretending to not see her or just ignoring her completely, Valerie sighed heavily, continuing towards the limited liquor selection without another look back hoping to eventually dust off her disappointment that he hadn’t shown much interest in her.

2 Weeks Later John usually preferred to drink alone, at his loft, sometimes in front of the television, sometimes while he worked. Needless to say, John didn’t ordinarily visit bars and pubs, but alas, Angela had called earlier that day wanting help with a case, and seeing that she was one of his only friends, he didn’t really think it right to refuse her. So there he was, at some no name, low lit place in the city, nursing a glass of whiskey straightening up when he saw her come through the doors of the place. “Hey,” she smiled softly, still in her work clothes, holster peeking out from beneath her blazer, file in hand, “You got started without me,” she nodded to the glass on the table as she sat on the opposing chair. 

“You took too long,” he huffed, bringing the glass to his lips. The air around them stank of cigarettes, which wasn’t exactly ideal considering that, quitting had been hard, and even a year later, the smell alone still tempted him sometimes. Reaching into his pocket, he dug around for the pack of nicotine gum that he had taken to carrying around, shoving a stick into his mouth before talking again. “That the case?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, handing over the manila folder, “Why don’t you look it over while I go get a drink?” 

Wordlessly, John took it, letting it lay open on the table before him, slowly sipping his drink as his weary eyes scanned the pages, looking for anything that would prove inhumanity. There were definitely some things that looked ritualistic, and John could certainly see why Angela had grown some suspicions; the Latin scrawling and the way the bodies had been mutilated pointed to something supernatural. But John could also easily see the human factors, the little details that showed him the killer was actually human; there were slight discrepancies in the incantations printed in blood on the walls and the marks were hardly drawn with fluidity. “Your guy, whoever he is, is human,” John eventually determined, sliding the folder back towards Angela. 

Slumping her shoulders, she took a swing of her beer, running a hand through her hair with a defeated sigh, “Seriously? I just thought….”

“I can see why,” he nodded, “But here,” he hit one of the pictures with the pad of his fingers, “And here,” he tapped another spot, “These translations don’t make sense. It’s definitely Satanic worship, but not by a half breed.”

“Great,” She groaned, “Now its back to the drawing board I guess…” John didn’t really hear the rest of Angela’s sentence, for when he looked up, he was greeted by a familiar face. It was the girl from his dreams again, and of course, the same one he’d met at the convenience store just about two weeks ago.

Since then, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head, his troubling dreams had only grown more  lucid, and once or twice, he’d even found himself unable to determine if he was actually dreaming until he’d wake up, most times with his heart ready to burst from his chest and his mind a mess. At first, he’d tried to convince himself that meeting her had been a dream too, but now, seeing her walking into the bar, flanked by about four other people, John knew that it was real. She, whoever she was, was real.

And she was absolutely stunning in person, far better than what his mind had managed to conjure up. It wasn’t hard to think that she wasn’t real, John never thought that it was possible for a human to look so……..remarkably flawless. Could humans even be made that perfect? Part of him longed to know her; know who she was, what she was like, why she’d dominated his dreams for months before they’d even crossed paths. But another, though weaker, part urged John to keep his distance, to stay away from her; those dreams had to mean something, and above everything, they meant that she was trouble. 

Still, John found himself, sitting in a wooden chair that didn’t really do anything for his back, staring at the girl he’d been losing sleep over as she stood at the bar, getting drinks while her friends claimed a table. She wasn’t wearing scrubs that night, instead, she’d switched them out for a little black dress that ended above her knees, boasting her very nice legs, with capped sleeves and tiny red polka dots about the entire thing. Though his eyes stayed on her, she didn’t look his way for a second, too busy trying to wave over the buzzing bartender. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Angela snapped her fingers in front of John’s face, rousing his attention. Meeting her frown, John finished off his drink, not really able to lie and say he had been, considering she was very likely to question him on it, knowing full and well that he wouldn’t have an answer. “What are you looking at?” Angela turned in her chair, trying to see what, or rather who, he was seeing. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he huffed gruffly, rolling his whiskey orbs and twirling the empty glass in his hands, “I’m gonna get another drink.”

“Feel free to flirt while you’re at it,” she teased lightly, and he largely ignored her, not even turning Angela’s way as he headed towards the bar. 

He’d had every intention of ignoring her, just like he had when she’d turned around to give him one final glance back at the store, but by some unfortunate coincidence, the only empty spot left at the bar just happened to be right next to where she was standing. Slipping in, John maintained his silence, not even looking at the woman as he leaned on the lip of the varnished, wooden bar top, drumming his fingers impatiently. She didn’t seem to notice him at first, though, all she had to do was turn to the side to  before her eyes lit up in recognition, “It’s you,” she gasped, taking a tentative step back.

Clearing his throat quietly, John didn’t bother to force a smile, smiling wasn’t really his thing anyway, “It is,” he nodded, “Funny seeing you here,” even if he had absolutely no interest in smiling with her, that didn’t mean he was particularly opposed to seeing her smile.

But, alas, she didn’t. John couldn’t blame her though, passing jokes weren’t really his area of expertise, and she just scrunched her face, “Is it though? I mean, its downtown L.A, you probably see the same person three times a week, it’s just, you almost knocked me over, so you actually remember.”

Rolling his eyes again, John shook his head, avoiding her pretty dark gaze. She had nice eyes. No, nice might have been an understatement, she had gorgeous eyes, so dark and bottomless, almost completely black. If given the opportunity, John thought that he wouldn't mind getting lost in them. Maybe that was why he’d been avoiding them so much, because he wanted to mind, because getting lost in her eyes meant he’d have to get to know her, and getting to know her meant letting her in. And his life wasn’t one that allowed for that sort of thing. Besides, he didn’t even know her name. 

“You walked into me,” he argued half heartedly, hoping the bartender would make his way to their end soon. The longer he stayed, the more they’d talked, and the more they talked, the more he’d want to know.

“If I remember correctly, I believe you said that it was your fault,” she quipped, a teasing glimmer in her dark pools, and a smirk up turning her lips.

Huffing a chuckle, John sighed in relief when the bartender drew nearer, “I was being polite, don’t make me regret it.”

“What a gentleman,” the woman taunted sarcastically, no malice in her tone, though, it was laced with subtle intrigue, and before John knew it, she was offering her petite hand, “I’m Valerie, Valerie Moore.”

Reluctantly, John  took her hand, enclosing it in his larger, calloused one, “John Constantine.” As hard as he tried, it was difficult to pretend that her touch didn’t have an effect on him. Her, Valerie’s, hands were so soft, and John felt like just the slightest haste could hurt them. He could see why she was in the medical field though, he could tell by the scrubs she’d been wearing, with the hospital’s name etched on the breast pocket, her hands felt healing. It was hard to describe how, but quickly, John had imagined that anyone graced by Valerie’s touch would feel better about anything in seconds, he knew he did.

Scrunching her face, Valerie giggled as she reclaimed her hand, and by just her relaxed demeanor, so different from how flustered she’d been at the store, it was obvious that she’d probably been drinking even before getting to the bar, “Like the Roman Emperor?”

Snorting, John squinted his eyes, “What?” He fought a smile, caught off guard by the fact.

Glancing down at their feet, her pale cheeks took on a rosy hue, accentuating her thick dark lashes, “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, her giddy giggles softer, “My dad’s a history teacher and sometimes I just-”

“Hey,” a matronly woman, no doubt years older than Valerie interrupted, gently laying a ring adorned hand on her girl’s bare shoulder. Maybe she was her mother, though it didn’t quite seem like it, surely though, she was someone that cared enough to come check in when Valerie was caught in conversation with a lanky stranger, “Everything okay hun?” The short, plump women looked between them, and it was only then that John realized just how close they’d been standing.

“Huh?” Valerie cast her wide innocent eyes towards her friend, “Yeah, I’m fine Martha, I was talking John’s ear off over here,” her blush deepened. She was so, painfully innocent John thought, girls in L.A weren’t usually like that, so blushy and reserved. 

Nodding slowly, Martha gave John a cautious once over, as if determining whether or not he was worth her friend’s company or not, “Okay,” her tone held a skepticism and when the bartender placed a some beers near where they were standing, Martha took a few, only leaving behind one for Valerie, “Well, I’ll leave you two to it, but everyone’s right over there. Right Val?”

“Yeah,” she nodded astutely, “I’ll be right over, thanks Martha.�� When the older woman was out of earshot, Valerie turned back to him, offering a shy smile and quick blinks. After, she took a quick, tentative sip of her beer, before speaking again, “Sorry about that, Martha’s just…..protective.”

“It’s okay,” John inhaled deeply, vaguely aware of Angela casting him an intrigued stare from their table. He knew she wasn’t jealous or anything of the sort; they’d tried the whole dating thing for a short stint, after he’d started cleaning himself up and she’d had time to properly grieve for her sister, but in the end, had decided that they were much better off as friends. “I should let you get to it,” he got his drink, another finger of whiskey, “Be careful, okay?” John didn’t know why he’d let himself say it, but the urge might have nagged him otherwise. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that Valerie might be in actual danger. 

“Um,” stunned, Valerie straightened her back, swallowing thickly, “Yeah okay. It was nice to meet you John,” and before he could return her words, just after her smile faltered, she was turning on the flat heel of her black ballet pump and hurrying off towards the group she’d arrived with, and unlike that night in the store, she didn’t look back.

It was late when Valerie and her friends from the hospital had finally decided to leave the bar, nearly stumbling out onto the sidewalk. “You sure you’re good to drive Val?” Damien, one of the other Nurse practitioners, probed before he could start walking in the direction of his own car.

“Yeah,” already, she was rummaging through her little purse for her keys. Of course, she wasn’t exactly sober, but Valerie didn’t live too far away from the place they’d chosen, it was just about a fifteen minute to her place. “I got this,” she laughed giddily, trying to suppress a stumble as she moved away from the group. The rest of goodbyes were exchanged with an air of skepticism, and her friends seemed reluctant to let her leave, but Valerie was a bit past noticing their worry, eventually shaking them off, slowly staggering towards her car, parked all the way at the top of the street. 

Everything was fine, at least for a while until the night chill broke through her thin coat and at some point, the path in front of her started to seem bleary. Worse yet, she was pretty sure that there was someone following her, keeping close the shadows, several feet behind her, their identity shrouded. Unnerved, she sped up, clutching her keys tightly, the metal cool in her palms. Heavy, shallow breaths were hard to contain, and that was when it happened, sending the iciest chill up her spine.

“Precious little Valerie shouldn’t be walking alone. Bad things happen when pretty girls walk alone….” The ragged, hoarse voice seemed closer than it ever had, and then, out from the shadows, merely two or three feet in front of her, was a boy, no older than sixteen, his skin hard and yellow, and his eyes unfocused and glassy. 

Half a panicked scream left her quivering lips and Valerie could feel her heart trying to break through her ribs and leap right out of her chest. In an instant the boy…..or whatever was left of his apparently decaying form lunged for her, barely phased when she swung her bag offensively, hitting him square in the jaw. “What the fuck?” She breathed, too frightened to scream as she stumbled, falling back into the damp sidewalk.

Wildly, she kicked him in the face, not caring if her attempts of fighting back were barely buying her time. It couldn’t end that way; she was too young. “Let go of me!” She violently wiggled her leg out of his grasp, scrambling up and trying to run towards her car, her left shoe slipping off in the process, nearly causing her to slip on the slippery concrete. 

For a split second, Valerie thought that she might have escaped her nasty faith, but nothing was as unforgiving as whatever was after her. Enraged, it’s high pitch, demented shrill rang out ear piercingly, “No!” It reached for the back of her dress, “Valerie comes with me!”

It was over. It had to be, the teenager from hell had caught her. He was stronger than her, or so she thought, and he was about to drag her to whatever hole he’d crawled out from. But then unthinkable happened, all in a blur; a familiar form leaping out of alongside the darkened store fronts, formerly protected by the darkness, was now fighting her battle for her. And much more efficiently too. In what seemed to be an instant, though might have just been minutes sped up by her adrenaline fueled mind, John ‘not the Roman emperor’ Constantine, had the kid pinned down,  splashing what Valerie could only presume to be water, or maybe clear liquor on his face. Really, she didn’t know, but she could tell that it had been enough to weaken him enough, so John could subsequently start reading from a little black book. “Close your eyes,” he growled, taking a minute from his words.

“What?” Confused and scared, it was safe to say that Valerie was having a hard time processing even the simplest instructions.

Taking another quick, very reluctant break, John, more annoyed than ever, simply spat, “Your eyes, close them!”

Without any other reasonable explanation besides not wanting him, or anyone else to viciously attack her, Valerie shut her eyes tight. Her other senses kicked in, working in overdrive, trying to piece together what was going on, though all she could comprehend were John’s continued prayers and then, after a few minutes, a body tackling her, once again knocking to the floor again. It wasn’t the boy though, no, he had smelt disgustingly of sulfur, but this person gave off another aroma; soap, cologne and whiskey. Cracking one eye open, Valerie sighed in relief once her suspicions were confirmed; it was John. 

His face hovered less than an inch over hers, lips so close that it would take barely any effort to lean up and kiss him. Their breaths were shared and Valerie could feel John’s hard chest pressing on her breasts, his weight heavy on hers, though, she didn’t think she wanted him to move anyway. His presence and their proximity was so consuming that she hadn’t even noticed the shattered glass surrounding them, pieces caught in her hair, though his larger body shielding her from the worst of it. “You-”

She didn’t get to finish, for the minute that John realized that he was lingering, holding her down for longer than he needed to, he struggled into a standing position, offering his hand to help Valerie do the same. “You need to come with me,” was all he chucked out when they’d just started grasping their bearings, his fingers enclosed around her upper arm, trying to pull her along.

Though, now sobered by her near heart stopping experience, Valerie fought his grip, almost yelping when she saw the boy laying on the ground, looking far different from how he’d been when he attacked her, and the glass from one of the store fronts completely shattered, “What the fuck is going on?” Her hair was wet from some puddle or the other, her clothes were soaked through too and one side of her shoes was still missing. And that was just the physical damage. What was going on in her head was something entirely different. 

“I can explain this when you’re safe,” he urged her along, not even phased by her fighting.

Trying to yank her arm away, Valerie refused to give in so easily, “And I’m safe with you? I barely know you. And we can’t just leave that kid on the sidewalk.”

“He wasn’t the one that almost died back there,” his low, gruff voice dripped with annoyance, and Valerie could tell that he really just wanted her to shut up. But how could she with all that was going on?

“What was that back there? What the hell was wrong with that kid? Are you a priest, why were you saying Saint Michael’s prayer?” The questions just tumbled out of her mouth, right as she’d finally wrenched herself from John’s grip.

Finally, realizing that she was too stubborn for them to make it to his car, John slumped his shoulders, begrudgingly giving in. Why’d he have to want to save her so bad? “You speak Latin?”

“What?” She scoffed, folding her arms, “I don’t, and if you’re not going to answer my questions, then I’m going back to my car.” 

Turning on her heel, Valerie had just started walking again, when John halted her with a series of brief explanations, “That was a possession, and then an exorcism. That kid was possessed and no, I’m not a priest.” When she turned back to him, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, “Now lets try this again, do you speak Latin? And don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t,” now traded places, with Valerie being the annoyed one, she spoke through gritted teeth, “Why’s that so important to you anyway?”

“You ask so many questions,” he rolled his eyes, “And its important because that’s the only way you would have understood a word of that prayer. Unless you’re a really devout Catholic.”

Taken aback, Valerie’s eyes widened, jaw hanging slack, “I’m not,” she gasped, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d set foot in a church or even prayed. “You…..I….you were…...that was Latin?”

“Well it wasn’t exactly English,” John joked, dry and humorless, only frowning when he noticed her trouble, “But you didn’t know that.” All she managed was a slight shake of her head. “Did you understand what he was saying?”

It couldn’t be. “Yeah,” nothing followed the breathy peep, as Valerie was too busy getting lost in a swirling pool of despair. A demon possessed kid knew her name, tried to kidnap her, and now she could speak dead languages? Maybe she should have just stayed home that night. “What’s…..I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” John grabbed her shoulders, probably thinking it would ground her, Valerie knew the little trick well, it was something she did when patients started freaking out, something about having someone’s comforting touch was centering. “But I might be able to help you, I just need you to trust me, okay?”

Trust him? A man she didn’t know? A man who could probably want her dead, just like some apparent demon.

But his eyes were so sincere, and beneath his cynicism and sarcastic quips, it actually seemed like he cared.

It wasn’t something her father would approve of, and Martha would definitely give her a lecture or two on her naivety, but there she was, thinking that maybe John was exactly who he said he was; someone that could help.

“Okay,” Valerie relented, finally letting John urge her to his car, going wherever he’d take her just so she could have some answers.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea  @luxx-aeterna

[jaskierswolf]

The Witcher, The Bard and Their Guardian Angel Pt. 2/4

(Other parts on my pinned masterlist/AO3 - Geralt is still recovering from injury in this chapter and is not in the best place)

Geralt had died.

He was sure of it.

There was no way in hell that he’d survived the attack from the griffin, not without magical intervention and there had been no mages nearby. Yet he appeared to be waking up. His body felt like it had been torn apart and sewn back together the wrong way round, and was that… singing?

He drew a heavy breath and winced at the pain in his abdomen as he blinked against the light.

An elf was looking down at him with pretty blue eyes filled with concern.

“Geralt?” The man asked.

Fuck he had a beautiful voice.

Geralt frowned. The singing had stopped. Why had the singing stopped? He tried to sit up but the elf pushed him down again.

“Oh no. No, no. You stay down, witcher.” The elf insisted and Geralt obeyed.

He didn’t want to disappoint the man with the beautiful eyes and voice like a siren.

“Who…” He coughed out hoarsely.

“Jaskier. I found you on the road half dead, Geralt.” The elf squeezed Geralt’s shoulders to make sure he stayed lying down and then move back to his chair. “Mihangel, the mage who helped the healers save your sorry arse, gave me the griffin head. Honestly I’ve never seen something so disgusting in my life, but apparently you witchers need it to get paid. So, you’re welcome.”

Geralt struggled to process the elf’s words. He could hear them and he was sure they were important but he just couldn’t stop watching the man’s lips. They were chapped from where the elf had been biting them and every so often his tongue peeked out to moisten his lips. To Geralt it became the most important thing in his drug addled mind.

He did miss the singing though. It had been the voice of an angel, he was sure of it.

“M’ not dead?” Geralt slurred, the pain in his stomach was making him sick and his vision was already begin to blacken around the edges.

The elf shook his head. “No. By all rights you should have been. You’re lucky I found you, Geralt.”

“Hmm… pretty….” He heard his voice echo as his head fell back against the pillow and sleep took him once more.

_________

The next time he woke up his head was a little clearer. The pain had eased and he was able to sit up with only a little effort. He grunted as he pushed his back up against the wall. The noise woke up the brunet that was sleeping in a chair next to his bed.

The man had soft tousled brown hair and was wearing an expensive looking teal doublet that was soaked in his blood. The man must have been the one to save him. He moaned slightly as he woke up and rubbed his eyes wearily.

“Geralt?”

Oh.

Geralt knew that voice.

He had been sure it was a dream, the elven man with the cornflower blue eyes.

“Hmm.” He agreed and stared intently at the man.

The tips of his ears were covered in soft chestnut brown hair but if he’d been pure elf then his ears would still have been visible. This was no elf. His sleep hazed mind must have just noticed the man’s bone structure and beautiful eyes and jumped to conclusions.

“You look better.” The man said cheerily. “Can I?” His hands hovered over Geralt’s bandaged torso.

Geralt nodded.

“The healers said that witchers heal faster than humans but I thought you would be asleep for at least a few more days.” The brunet gently pealed back the bandages. Geralt winced slightly as he felt the fabric pull at the scabbed tissue. He glanced down at the man’s trembling fingers, noting the calloused fingertips, a bard perhaps? “That’s incredible!” The brunet gasped. “There’s barely any sign of a wound.”

Geralt saw that the man was right, all that was left of the deep gash left by the griffin’s talons was a thick scabbed line.

“Where’s my bags?” He asked, his voice croaked dryly.

The man jumped up and hurried to the other side of the room. “These were attached to the horse.”

“Roach?”

“She’s stabled and being looked after, the dwarves have been the most gracious hosts, my dear.” The man dumped the bags on the bed next to him. “What did you need?”

“Potions. One for healing. Couldn’t take it before, too toxic.” Geralt mumbled as he pulled the pack into his lap and began to search for the right bottle.

“Too toxic?! Geralt!” The man tugged at the satchel. “No!”

“Yes.” Geralt insisted. “I’m a witcher, it’s fine.”

“Geralt!” The man whined.

“It’s fine.” He growled with a final tug. “But thank you, for saving me. I owe you…”  He trailed off hoping that the man would realise what he was asking.

“Oh yes. You weren’t very lucid before were you? Jaskier Pankratz at your service!” He grinned. “You called me pretty before.”

Geralt frowned. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did!” Jaskier insisted. “And you kept mumbling about elves and beautiful eyes, an old flame perhaps?”

“Hmm.” Geralt replied, thanking his mutations for dampening his ability to blush, otherwise he was fairly certain his face would be betraying him.

“You know, an old lover of mine once said in the throes of passion that I had the beauty of an elf.” Jaskier mused with a delicate wave of his hands. “I of course, took it as a compliment, some of the most gorgeous people in the history of the Continent have been elves.”

“Hmm.” Geralt agreed.

“So do you really think I have beautiful eyes, Geralt?” Jaskier’s fingers danced across his chest as the brunet stared at him through his eyelashes with those stunning blue eyes.

Geralt wasn’t delirious enough this time to admit it. Instead he pulled the cork from the bottle using his teeth and downed half the potion. It burned his throat horrible and he almost vomited the vile concoction straight back up but he growled and forced it down.

Jaskier gasped and Geralt followed his gaze. With the additional help of the potion the left over scabbing from the talons was pealing off his skin as his flesh visibly knitted back together. It itched like hell but he just laid his head back on the pillow and gritted his teeth until the feeling passed.

“That’s amazing.” Jaskier breathed reverently.

“When you get stabbed a lot it’s necessary. Witchers would be pretty terrible monster hunters if we didn’t recover quickly.” Geralt shrugged.

The bitter taste of the potion still lingered in his mouth. Some of his other smaller cuts and bruises that hadn’t been magically healed by the mage were also now fading away, only the largest of them would scar properly. He sighed. Another mark on his skin, just another sign of his own monstrosity and another oddity for whores to ask about.

Jaskier pouted. “Oh come now! Have a little self respect. You’re fucking brilliant. I’ve always wanted to meet a witcher. You must have so many stories to tell.”

“A bard?” Geralt asked, remembering Jaskier’s calloused fingers.

“Trying to be, just graduated. Didn’t realise people were such assholes though. Doesn’t fucking matter that I was top of my class or that I have degrees in all seven of the liberal arts. Noooo,” Jaskier rolled his eyes and flailed his arms in exasperation. “No they don’t give a shit about any of that.”

“Can’t say I blame them.” Geralt sighed wearily. The potion was already slowing him down. His body lulling him back to sleep so he could recover from the fast healing and the toxicity that was bubbling in his veins. Half the potion wasn’t much and he barely felt it but his body had already been exposed to a lot between the griffin and the mage, he needed to rest.

He fucking hated it.

Jaskier must have noticed because the brunet ran a hand through Geralt’s hair gently. “Rest now. I’ll look after your belongings until you are ready to leave. You’re safe with me.”

Geralt heard a low rumble in his chest that he wasn’t conscious of making as Jaskier’s hands continued to stroke through this hair. He let his eyes droop shut.

“That’s it, witcher.” Jaskier whispered quietly as he fell back into a deep sleep.

____________

Jaskier didn’t leave Geralt’s side very often during his week at the dwarven tavern. The dwarves were incredibly hospitable. Jaskier played a couple of sets in the tavern downstairs in the evening, the dwarves were particularly fond of his bawdier compositions and his new song about the mysterious Mihangel was well received. A few elves, gnomes and other non-humans had even slipped into the back of the room whilst he was performing. Jaskier felt pride in being able to bring the different species together but he did feel sad at the notable absence of humans.

Perhaps they were simply not welcome. The tavern did seem to be a safe haven for non-humans.

“Dulmur?” Jaskier had asked the redheaded dwarf behind the bar on his second evening.

“Problem, bard?” Dulmur grunted as he wiped down some glasses.

“Forgive my curiosity,” He smiled sheepishly as he tapped out a rhythm on the bar with his fingers. “But why are there no humans here?”

Dulmur laughed heartily. “Because they don’t want to be, bard. They don’t want to mix with us and that suits us just fine. Makes the place a whole lot cheerier for us without the humans fucking it up.”

Jaskier nodded. “So you don’t mind me being here?”

The dwarf put the glass he was cleaning down with a loud clunk. “Well to be honest, we all thought you were an elf at first, all that screeching about good for nothing humans.”

Jaskier gaped at the dwarf. “I do not screech!” He screeched and then pouted. “I have to look after my voice.”

“Talking of which, we aren’t letting you stay here free of charge, bard. Play us a song!” Dulmur clapped his hands and Jaskier hopped off his bar stall to begin his set.

That was a good few days ago and Jaskier no longer felt like an outsider in the bar. He treated them kindly and listened to their tales, in return they accepted him as a friend and ally. It probably helped that he did bear some resemblance to an elf.

His mother had always insisted that he was fully human, told him that it was just his imagination running wild when he noticed the similarities. He still wasn’t convinced but time would tell. If he did have elven blood then the years would treat him more kindly than his fully human peers.

Jaskier pushed the thought from his head as he fingers brushed over the strings of his lute. He let the music take over, washing his worries about the silver haired man upstairs away. It was a lively piece and required significantly more concentration to keep the melody and the bass line together on his lute, and that was before he even began to sing. Luckily the lyrics weren’t particularly taxing, lazy rhymes and a fairly relaxed pace. The remainder of his concentration went on working the crowd, dancing around the tables, flirting with the patrons to ensure some easy coin.

He almost dropped his lute when he turned round to see Geralt by the stairs with his swords strapped to his back and bags slung over his shoulder. No one seemed to care that Jaskier’s voice gave out for a few beats or that he wrapped up the song a few verses early. Before the last notes had stopped ringing in the air he’d bounded across the room to the witcher.

“Geralt!” He wanted to hug the man but remembered that spending a week by the witcher’s bedside did not make them friends. He settled for a slightly awkward pat on Geralt’s broad shoulders. “You’re ok.”

“Thanks to you.” Geralt nodded. “What do I owe you?”

Jaskier’s heart sank.

The life debt.

That was his to pay and his alone, the mage had made that quite clear! He fiddled with his lute strap over his chest before plastering a charming smile on his face.

“Oh no! Nothing at all, my dear witcher.” He squeezed Geralt’s shoulder. “Any man would have done the same.” He lied easily, he’d seen the town’s reaction to his pleas for help, he was quite certain he was in the minority when it came to respecting witchers.

“Bollocks to that.” Geralt grunted. “You saved my life, Jaskier. What do I owe you?”

“Oh well,” Jaskier grinned, he’d hoped the witcher would ask again. “If you insist.”

“Out with it, bard.”

“Let me join you on your adventures.” He begged.

“No chance.” Geralt grunted and began to move towards the door.

“No no, hear me out!” He chased after the witcher towards the stables. “I gave that griffin’s head to the alderman!” He called after Geralt.

Geralt growled and spun round. “What?”

“Mihangel gave it to me, honestly Geralt, I almost lost my lunch. Do people really ask for the heads?” He didn’t stop talking long enough for Geralt to answer. “So I thought, I can’t exactly bring a stinking dead griffin’s head into a tavern but what else to do with it? Take it to the man who ordered the contract of course! So I did. He looked a little surprised to see me, you know on account of me not being you, or a witcher, although I think I would look rather dashing in all that armour.”

“Focus, Jaskier.” Geralt huffed as he began to saddle up his horse, Roach he’d called her.

“Yes yes!” He waved his hand dismissively. “I’m getting there, patience dear witcher. Well, I obviously don’t know how much you’d usually ask for a contract on a griffin, but I thought, you know, since you almost died and all, that the alderman was joking when he gave me fifty florens.”

“Bastard.” Geralt grumbled. “He promised me seventy five.”

“Ha!” Jaskier flung his arms out in glee. “I knew it! Luckily for you, I happen to be an excellent haggler. I told him I was there for the fight, that I saw how vicious and dangerous the beast was, that you had slain the mighty griffin only to realise that one of it’s talons had lodged inside of your chest, that you had been prepared to died to save the travellers to this delightful town. I was prepared to sing of your glory but the man coughed up a hundred florens before I had the chance.”

“A hundred?”

“That’s what I said, Geralt. Do pay attention.” He put his hand on his hips as the witcher mounted his horse. “So come on, witcher, let me come with you! I’m great with people, you need me!”

“Fine.” Geralt grumbled. “Where’s the coin?”

“I gave it to the healers and the dwarves at the tavern. Covered the room and food for whilst we were there.”

Geralt sighed. “Right, yeah. Of course.”

“Oh that reminds me! You haven’t eaten in days. Stay here, I’ll see if I can rustle up some supplies for the road.” Jaskier pinned Geralt with a firm look, not quite trusting the witcher to run off without him. “And I would like to gather up my own belongings, I do have a little more than my lute you know.”

“Hurry up.” Geralt tugged at Roach’s reins and slowly manoeuvred her from the stable. “I want to set up camp nearby.”

“Can’t we stay another night?” Jaskier pouted.

“Feel free, bard but I won’t wait for you if you decide to stay.” Geralt replied bluntly.

Jaskier took a deep breath, pulled his lute from off his back and pressed it into the witcher’s hand. “I am not letting you leave with this. I am coming back with food and supplies. Do not leave without me, witcher.”

Geralt stared down at the instrument in his hands. “I won’t.” He promised.

Taglist (sorry this was posted on AO3 last night but I was too tired to tumblr post): @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @innocentcinnamonpun @dearest-queerest-nux @awitchersbard @genkitaco

[branwyn-says]

2020 fanfic review meme!

Thanks to @livenudebigfoot for tagging me and providing me with a legitimate excuse to reflect self-indulgently on my special interest: writing obsessive amounts of fic for Michael Emerson vehicles. What fic did I disgorge from my brain maw this year? This was the year I started writing for Person of Interest, the fandom that changed my life! I found a fannish community on the Subway discord and joined a whole bunch of exchanges, which I’d never done before. 

In February for chocolate_box, I wrote 7 stories:

The Life of the World to Come (Person of Interest, Reese/Finch): Canon compliant fix it in which Reese wakes up in a lakeside cabin about 6 weeks after he died. Unspecified magical bargains were involved.

Arctic Flower (POI, Grace/Jessica): An AU in which Jessica rushes to assist Grace when a cyclist knocks her down in the park, and their friendship enables her to leave Peter before it’s too late.

A Bird of Foreign Tongue (POI, Reese/Finch): A sequel to Arctic Flower in which Harold finds still-in-the-CIA Reese and offers him an escape route.

Objet d’Art (POI, Finch/Grace): During a coffee date early in their pre-canon relationship, Harold has a guilty conscience about all the secrets he’s hiding from Grace.

Kintsugi (POI, Finch/Grace): The longer sequel to Objet D’art. Grace gets sick. She doesn’t have health insurance. Harold panics and decides to take care of her himself.

Incentives (POI, Reese/Fusco): John’s in the trunk. 

Fixer-Upper (POI, Reese/Zoe Morgan): In every fandom, I write gender AUs. This one is Zoe Morgan taking always-a-girl!Reese under her wing.

Then in the spring, I wrote one story for the Hurt/Comfort Exchange and two for Exchange of Interest:

Line of Duty (POI, Reese/Fusco) 14k about Fusco making really self destructive life choices thanks to low self worth and unresolved trauma, while Reese is forced to stand back and wring his hands. And then, you know, exact a lot of vengeance. Harold has soup.

Number Every One (POI, Reese/Nathan): AU in which Nathan saves Jessica, and Reese comes asking questions.

Eden (POI, Reese/Jessica): A perfect, ordinary moment in John’s relationship with the one person who connects him to the world.

And then I wrote some stories for @livenudebigfoot because I enjoy making her happy.

An Indulgence (POI, Finch/Fusco): Fusco is having an emergency and Finch is there for him. My first foray into ABO and literally all they do is hug; is this my brand?

Bunnymoon (Lost, Ben Linus/John Locke): I acquired this whole new fandom/OTP without meaning to, and then I wrote 8000 words of animal shelter AU for it.

Shipoween was next, and I was very proud of the two stories I wrote because both of them are short and this is hard when you exhale novel-length plot outlines instead of carbon dioxide. Also they are both creepy and kinda experimental, like back in my Buffy days. It was also my first time pinch hitting for an exchange and I got a nice little buzz off pulling that off with one day to deadline.

a lucid dream (Lost, Ben Linus/John Locke): Ben is having a very bad dream, and it’s all his own fault.

One In the Eye (POI, Finch/Fusco): Harold’s a monster. Fusco’s a cryptid.

This was my first year doing a Big Bang exchange and the story I wrote for it is, in my own opinion, the best thing I have ever written.

Kingfishers (POI, Reese/Finch/Grace): An AU in which Harold didn’t introduce himself to Grace that day in the park. Years later, after Harold starts working with John, they receive her number. 

I wrote a popular Star Trek fic in 2019 and then went more than a year and a half without updating, two chapters before the end. I’m sorry, I’m a monster. Now there’s only one chapter left before the end. I’m shooting to get it finished by the end of January. I’m sorry I suck so much.

K’diwa: A Steamy Novel of Interspecies Romance (Star Trek AOS, Kirk/Spock) And then, after a swift crash course in participating in fics and exchanges, I took on managing the POI Advent 2020 Calendar. I needed to write a five-parter in order to plug holes in the posting schedule, and a Muppet crossover was born.

A Muppet Christmas Carol, Starring Harold Finch (Person of Interest, Muppets)

Takeaways from reflecting on your kick-ass writing, or kick-ass lack of writing, during a year more focused on survival than perhaps any other:

I’ll be 39 next month. I’ve been writing seriously since I was 15. I was a very good writer for a 15 year old, for a 19 year old, but I could never have dreamed of writing the way I do now. No amount of hard work, practice, reading, conferring with other writers, editing manuscripts, or thinking about craft could have made me the kind of writer it’s possible for me to be in my late 30s. Youthful geniuses are a myth. I’m really grateful my agent couldn’t sell my novel 10 years ago--when I finish the next one I will get to introduce myself to the world as the writer I am now.

Most surprising fic you wrote this year:

Oh, definitely Bunnymoon. I had no idea I would be writing fic for Lost at all, much less that I would be writing a mundane AU with comedy and my first E rated scene in years. It is entirely the fault of bigfoot, who infected me with the fandom in general and the animal shelter concept in specific.

How you’ve grown as a writer this year:

I’ve learned a lot about what not to say--when to trust the reader--and I have benefited hugely from thinking hard about formal structure. Every idea used to turn into a novel whether I wanted to or not, but revisiting high school English lessons about short story structure vs 3 act structure has changed my whole game.

What’s coming in 2021:

I would really like to write one more story in my Harold & Grace series, another story in the Jessica Lives AU, and I’ll def. sign up for HCEX and Shipoween. But also, this year I am writing a novel.  Tagging @theimprobable1, @liz-squids, @argylepiratewd, @sidewaystime

[paigesturning]

The Grandiose Burden of Being my Caretaker - 1

When people write about waking up in unexpected places, they usually present it weirdly peacefully. Like, “I opened my eyes and looked around. I was in a field” blah blah blah blah blah. But that’s not really how it goes. So, for example, when I woke up with my skin sizzling, and realized I was in a desert, I kinda flipped out. I opened my eyes, groaned, because the sun was shining directly into them, said “What?” to myself, sat up, said “What?” again, and finally, I jumped to my feet and shouted “What the fuck?”

Then I took a moment to look around. I was in a desert all right, but it wasn’t a desert like you get out East, but more like the deserts on the southern continent, all multicolored rock formations, and dry, thorny bushes. 

I said “What?” again. 

I wasn’t wearing… exactly what I had fallen asleep in. I still had the black tank top on, but I guess at some point I had put on jeans. Or jeans had been put on me. Or my PJs turned into jeans? I still don’t know. Another notable item on me was a backpack. It was a green canvas with a dark-brown leather trim, and brass pieces holding the flap at the top shut. Curious about this mysterious new bag, I undid the clasps, and flipped it open. 

Despite the fact that I was holding the bag off the ground, and it was shaped like a typical bag (albeit, more fashionable), a long tunnel, seemingly made out of the green canvas, seemed to move down into the darkness forever - something which is obviously impossible.

At this point, I laid back down on the ground, and considered my options. It was possible that I was dreaming. Sometimes this kind of thing happens, I suppose. I’ve never had a lucid dream, but I assume it would be something like this, where you feel awake, mostly, but you also know you’re dreaming, because nothing works the way it’s supposed to. I had a friend who told me about a lucid dream once. She said she summoned a bunch of muscular butches to, quote, “take care of her”.I also heard a story from another friend where they decided to fly in their dreams, and did that. 

I was sick of laying down anyway, what better way to pass the time than to try and fly around? I raised my arms out in front of me. Then, I started to levitate.

Rather, I started to try to levitate. This, I thought, is taking far more effort than Dara made it out as. Maybe it was because I was thirsty?

I was thirsty. I sat up, and looked around again. Nothing had changed, really. I picked the bag back up, and started digging through the outside pockets that I had ignored before. Just like the main pocket, they each seemed far larger than I would have guessed. There was a donut, which seemed fresh, three books, and some apples. I pulled out one of the apples, and started to eat it to help quench my thirst. This being a dream seemed to be getting less and less likely, and (even if my dehydration wasn’t a sign of this being real) there was no sense in staying thirsty, so I began to walk. 

On top of a little outcropping I got a better lay of the land. To my left (which I found out was south), the stones turned into a more deciduous mountain. Just to the right of that was a forest of… I want to say aspen trees. Even that was at a higher altitude than I was currently at. The rest continued to be swaths of red-stone mesa. 

And I started walking. __

It was a few weeks later, when I found her. I was on my way through the woods, trying to see if I could find a source of clay at the time. I was sick of having a lean-to to live in, and was nearly done with a nice mud-brick structure. There was a grassy area, filled with wildflowers. The trees above created a roof over the area, casting the underbrush in a green, peaceful glow that felt healing in it’s own way. Amid all of the flowers and grasses, she was half lying, half sitting, propped up on her hands, yet on her side, like a starlet on a piano. Furthering the analogy, she wore an all-red outfit, A cloak, parting to reveal a crop-top, and cargo pants. Her yellow hair looked near green in the light of the trees, and it framed a round, soft face, upon which, aside from startlingly cherubic features, were two shiny gray rectangles, each covering a cheek. 

Oh, I was staring at her. She was staring at me. 

“Er, sorry, can I… can I give you a hand here, ma’am?”

She gave me… a look and sat up straighter. As she did, I heard a whirring from her direction.

“Only, uh, I haven’t met anyone else in a while. I thought I might be the only one out here?” I continued, trying to fill the silence. 

“Oh, um,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “I’m fine. Sorry.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from? Or, how did you get here?”

“I’m from Third York. But for the past couple of days I’ve been here.” “I’ve never heard of that place.”

“No? It’s a very large city.”

“Yeah, sorry. Do you have like, a shelter or something? Where have you been staying?”

She looked embarrassed, and gestured around at the little field she sat in, “I don’t really need to sleep, and if I stay out in the sun I can recharge. Especially if I lay down.” She tapped the panel on her face. I must have looked as confused as I felt, because she rolled her eyes a little and said, “You know… cause I’m a robot?”

This didn’t help very much. “Is that… anything like a nymph?”

It was her turn to look confused. “Where did you say you were from?”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Seqestra? Second City to the Sun? I lived at the college there.”

“I have no idea where that is. Is it… around here?”

“I… I dunno. I just sort of woke up here one day.”

She looked like she was lost in thought, “Yeah, me too…”

Frankly, dancing around what was going to seemed to be a little much, “Think it’s safe to say that we were both transported to some alternate dimension from our own, or something?”

“Oh, that’s definitely the case. The stars are different here.”

I knew I should have been paying closer attention in my astrology class. “Different how?”

“Well, to put it simply, it seems like they move through the sky at the same rate that the sun and moons do.”

“That’s… Weird.”

She nodded, “It seems, if you’ll excuse the expression, like the whole universe is revolving around us. 

... 

K. What I was doing seemed trivial now.

But god damn it if I wasn’t going to have a roof over my head by the end of the day. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Cerat,” she said, finally standing all the way up. “And you?”

“The folks at the University called me Partridge. Nice to meet you.” I stuck out a fist at the same time that she stuck out an open hand. Looking between me, and our hands, she switched to a closed fist, facing down, and gently bopped my knuckles. 

“...Right. Well, Cerat, I’m actually looking for some clay. I have most of a house built, but I just need something to keep the roof stuck on. Want to come with? You can stay with me, until we find another place, or something. If you’d like.”

She furrowed her brow. “I’ll have to decide.”

I stood there waiting for a moment. After a few seconds too many of silence, I said, “Right, so, I’m going to get going. I’m,” I pointed, “that way. Let me know what you decide, I guess.”

I turned to walk away, when I heard her following behind me. 

“You make up your mind then?”

She shrugged.

“Okay, I guess.”

Later that night when I was eating dinner, she spoke up again.

“I think I’ve made a decision.”

[someonefromthere]

Hey! I saw that you were taking requests and I was wondering if you could do a gavin x rk900 carnival “date”? Like it was originally an investigation but they get sidetracked. Bonus points for a ferris wheel kiss 😘

Hey, buddy, I’m sorry it took so long, but everything fell on me this month and there’s so little time before the school starts that I honestly don’t know how I’m gonna make it all work. Anyway, writing this fic was a great, great fun and I just couldn’t stop occasionally adding a little pieces here and there, it was even rewritten once! But I can proudly post it now and hope I delivered - I changed it from an investigation to a stakeout, because it matched better. Hope you enjoy!

Once more time, a huge thank you for @pointeful for helping me with the facts about travelling carnivals - I live in Europe and have never been to that kind of park, and she was there for me when I asked for her help - go check her out!

The fic on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15787071

It turned out Nines actually liked things. It occurred to him some time after the red wall had fallen and his mind had cleared. The thought didn’t hit him all of a sudden, in any poetic way, no. The revelation slowly creeped its way to him, encircling the lines of his code until his awareness hugged it back, and he understood. Deviants were capable of liking. He was too.

Crucial as it was, it was also simple. He liked the way a new loose tee shirt wrapped itself around his broad shoulders and hung freely from them, giving him a feeling of comfort. He liked windy days when a breeze would tousle his hair, and a soft sunrise light falling through the windows. He liked yellow and sunflowers, liked a floral shirt he once saw a little boy wearing, liked the sound of dogs breathing and droplets reaching metal window sills calmly. There were moments when he had to decide – did he like a body warmer more than a coat? Which brand of cologne should he purchase? Did he really felt like going on a walk or did he prefer staying inside? – but some of these preferences came up easily.He liked the smell of Gavin’s usual black coffee and the texture of a paper cup in his hand. He liked the scar on the bridge of his partner’s nose, the stormy grey of his eyes and the small smile the man would give him when he did or said something funny. It soothed him to find the familiar silhouette amongst the others, unknown, when they were on an investigation and the warm presence beside him when they sat in a car on a stakeout. He didn’t understand what it meant to be so strongly affected by these tiny things, but he liked it anyway. It made him feel more human.(Oh, if only CyberLife could see him now, the better Connor, the chance to save humanity, with his code full of feelings he couldn’t comprehend.)One of the things his memory held and shielded from the destructive world was the light on Gavin’s face as they entered a funfair that was supposed to be an area of the stakeout – the appointed place of a red ice dealer and his client. The carnival was full of children and their parents, and teenagers probably having their dates, and elders that came here to retrace their youth memories, and androids that recently discovered the idea of fun. Nines’ internal clock projected a few minutes after eight p.m., and the sky was deep dark by now, yet the crowds occupying the amusement park were still thick, not that the android minded.(He liked people. He liked to be among them.)Nines slipped his hands into the pockets of his lemon body warmer and glanced around, letting his lucid eyes linger on the swift attractions and colorful stalls. He tried not to scan everything around – Gavin didn’t really like it – and just concentrate on simply watching, but a couple notes and conclusions made their way to his vision. Most of these attractions weren’t safe. They were wobbly and set up in a rush, their structure weak. His calculations showed a relatively high probability of an accident, and as he had analyzed each one that happened to be in his area of sight, he decided not to let Gavin on any of them. (He didn’t like the thought of his partner getting hurt. The aspect of not liking was yet mostly unfamiliar, a brand new thing.)“We could have some fun before he arrives,” the android heard Gavin say and when his gaze floated to the man, he saw him looking around with a smile. A faint and not quite full, but it was there, drawing graceful wrinkles around Gavin’s lips and nose. Making Nines want to compliment on them. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he replied instead, brow furrowed. Obviously it wasn’t what he thought – it would be nice to spend more easy time with his partner, learn about his likes, but he also knew it wouldn’t be good for the stakeout. He’d get distracted, which was an effortless thing around Gavin. The man looked at him with an unimpressed expression on his face. “Do you have any updates on the suspect?”And although Nines knew what it gave rise to, he answered honestly. “No. Connor remains silent.” Truth it was, the connection with his predecessor stayed quiet and calm, no comments from RK800 sailing through it. Gavin nodded. “We don’t know when he’ll be here. It could be in ten minutes, or an hour. Come on. Maybe androids don’t get bored, but I surely do,” he mumbled and once again his eyes searched the rows of rides and mini-games booths. RK900 sighed and rolled his eyes – a manner he got after Lieutenant Anderson thanks to all those hours spent in his and Connor’s company – and waited patiently to see if Gavin was a fan of these sketchy roller-coasters and their cousins. Thankfully, he was not.He chose the closest mini-game – half-hidden under a striped, material roof, but illuminated by a set of star-shaped lights that gave the stall somewhat warm and magic look. A man that apparently owned it was somewhere in his forties and wore a joyful smile on his wrinkled face as he instructed a teenage boy with a blonde girl standing beside him how to play. Gavin rummaged through his back pockets in search of his wallet and Nines seized the opportunity to take a closer look at the game itself, his gaze immediately flying to the booth’s wall.Against it, three separate constructions made of milk jars stood, probably set to be targets of whatever game the man offered. They were situated quite neatly as for a human, so the short glass towers looked rather stable and placed within two meters from where the counter was, they seemed to be fair goals. It shouldn’t be difficult to throw off all nine jars that made up for one structure at once.As he finished his analysis, the teenager threw his first ball, the four others laying on the spot in front of him. He hit only one jar, smashing the adjacent two down with it, but the rest remained untouched. The situation repeated until almost the entire tower fell – one piece still standing proudly, seemingly laughing at the kid’s face, but he walked away satisfied nonetheless; the girl received a plush giraffe and gave him a peck in return. “Three, please,” Gavin said to the man and handed him a banknote. Nines eyed his partner, then the target. He should make it, if the calculations were correct.He did. Used all three balls to reach the goal, but the tower came down with a noise and the fair-haired man passed Gavin an elastic keychain with a sound sensor that activated a flashlight upon a whistle as a prize. Gavin snorted, lifting it and pretending to stick it to Nines’ arm. “I’m gonna glue it to you, so I won’t lose you,” he joked and the man behind the counter laughed loudly, looking at the android before bending down to pick the glass from the floor.“I’m gonna buy a chip and use GPS, so you won’t be able to run away,” Nines bit back, earning a noisy burst of laugh from the booth owner who accidentally hit the wall with his head and a shocked look from Gavin. Shocked and betrayed, he could describe it.Gavin shook his head, but said nothing, amusement playing around the corners of his lips. He pointed at Nines when the man appeared in their sight again. “Wonders of technology, huh?”The owner looked surprised, his gaze winging towards Nines’ temple as if to try and spot his LED; he didn’t though. It was long gone, making the android appear much more human than before which helped him in job-related activities.“Didn’t know it was one of them. You know, I think they’re better than most of humans, buddy. It applies to this one, too. You’re lucky.” The wink that followed the sentence made Gavin’s cheeks turn slightly pink for unknown reason.(Nines decided that he liked this color, too, in particular painted on his partner’s body.)“You want to play, pal?”He felt taken-aback by the question, but the man was still looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer, so the android huffed a quiet yes. It seemed like it was normal for this stranger man to consider an android a living being, so similar to a human, and it made RK900’s artificial heart warm up. He wasn’t there when the revolution started and he barely remembered the end of it, but when he’d grasped his deviancy, he felt proud for his brothers and sisters to have fought their freedom and rights, and acceptance among mankind. “One, three or five?” The man asked. Nines looked at Gavin and saw a challenge in his eyes. Oh, he wouldn’t be himself if he hadn’t take it. “One,” he said, sliding a banknote down the counter, Gavin’s smirk and raised brow in his peripheral. The owner took it, handing him a single plastic ball that quickly ended up wrapped tightly by Nines’ fingers and aimed at a jar placed at the bottom, the one that seemed to hold the entire structure in place. The core. He directed the ball precisely at the opening and–“How did you even do it?” Gavin stared blankly at the spot where a moment ago the tower hovered. Now, the man owning the booth was cleaning up the mess Nines caused, and the android himself glanced proudly at his partner.“Can’t accept the fact that I’m better than you?” He teased, but slouched a bit to find himself on a comfortable level of Gavin’s eyes. The icy-eyed knew the man liked it when his partner wasn’t towering over him like “a fucking Empire State Building’s copy”, as Gavin once told him; besides, it was nice to watch him from close up. The imperfections on his skin were mose visible, the marks and small scars, beauty spots and everything that made him more Gavin, a unique individual Nines was happy to be friends with. (Nines presumably just liked Gavin. It was hard to admit, even for him, but he felt attached to him. The android was curious what would the man’s reaction be if the confession slipped out of his mouth.)Gavin snorted. “I’m all but surprised you reached the target. Should’ve clapped.” But he didn’t. He looked up instead and something in his grey eyes shifted, making Nines’ artificial heart warm up. “You’re great at this,” the fair-haired man commented when all three glass towers came back to life. “Here’s my offer: if you get rid of two more like this, you’ll win the main prize, huh? What do you say?”Nines’ gaze flickered to a shelf he didn’t have time to analyze before – a shelf and a row of hangers that supported a whole collection of toys. They varied in types, colors and sizes, some of them small and colorful such as dolls or pillows, the other bigger and pastel: teddy bears, basketball balls, even tee shirts with text overprints. The android’s attention was immediately struck by the largest teddy in a light hue of lilac that hung low, indicating it was nothing less than heavy. He liked it, the color ever so pretty and the toy itself looking plushy. “I’ll try.”The android wasn’t surprised that he made it with easiness, gathering a not-so-thin crowd around the stall – just a couple of teenagers that tried and failed not to look impressed by Nines’ precision when the next two balls landed perfectly where he sent them. The owner couldn’t be angry anyway, given the fact that Nines made him a great advertisement which caused the teens to play, too. He didn’t seem even a bit unhappy about a disappearance of the best prize his booth offered.Whereas Gavin shot the android the most furious glare he could afford from above the head of the lilac teddy bear he was holding.“What am I supposed to do with this thing?” He didn’t sound resentful – more like playful, though his face was mostly hidden behind the toy and Nines couldn’t make out any of the emotions that probably played on it. He simply smiled in return.

“Take it home. Consider it a gift.”“A gift that I’ll have to fucking drag all around the park, great.”“I think I don’t have to remind you that it was you who wanted to come here and play at first place.”“Robotic bastard.”Nines smirked, glancing around. They stayed in one place, near the previously visited booth, because of the weight and size of the prize – it wasn’t easy to carry him around, really. The teddy was nearly five feet tall which made him almost as tall as Gavin and the human was the one to hold it, so it looked ridiculously, at least to say. “You want to go somewhere else?” Nines asked and brought his gaze back to Gavin with a soft expression on his face. He risked a longer glance, putting down the details about him once again, just like he did those thousands times that never bored him. The crooked curve of the scar and the mole under his right eye, the meadow of freckles on his cheeks, the sharp line of his jaw. Everything that seemed important and unimportant to know; everything. “There was a game when I was younger, I‘m curious if it’s still a thing.”“Want me to search the map?”The android asked the question only out of politeness, already knowing Gavin’s response.“No. Let’s just look for it.”And so they did. Nines liked it better this way, too; it was much more nicer to walk around the carnival in silence than mechanically seek the information in the web like a computer. It made him feel and appear more human if he acted like one which he knew that made Gavin feel better. (He liked the looks his partner would give him after catching him doing some tics, even the nervous ones.)Nines almost felt guilty for letting Gavin carry the teddy bear for the entire walk – it surely didn’t tire him out, but very likely made him uncomfortable to have to peek out over the toy like a five-year-old. Almost. He could recall all the times when his partner was a little shit to him, so the current situation was a kind of revenge, even if he was more civil and wouldn’t sneer at the human the way he did at the beginning of their partnership. (Besides, the android liked that this way he had more possibilities to touch his partner: whether they were passing someone and Gavin didn’t notice them – that’s when Nines’ hand landed on the small of his back – or when he had to guide Gavin on the corners – the fingers around the man’s arm firm but gentle. Nothing able to bruise. Nearly caring.)The game Gavin talked about was still a thing, yes, and it made his face soften, causing the domino effect on Nines who smiled fondly, seeing the enchanting change in his human. The booth supporting the game held a large text consisting of luminous LED letters, each of them shining with a different color, which simply said Dart Game. It was hard for Nines to hold himself from looking it up in the web, but somehow he managed. He brushed his gaze over the stall – its wall was covered in small balloons that formed a colorful mosaic, three or more rows of metal tubes used as hangers for rather not big prizes hovering above it.“It’s simple, you see,” Gavin said, placing the lilac teddy bear on his shoes, careful not to drop it to the dirty ground. The android leaned in closer to him, using the need to hear him better as an excuse. He didn’t though. Gavin continued, “you get a prize of the same color as the balloon you hit. Got it?”“Sure.”Nines folded his arms on his chest, watching an adult man trying to aim at a green balloon placed at an uncomfortable angle. It was a difficult task, much more harder than aiming at a tower of jars if you wanted to actually hit a certain color. He could try it. “You playing?”The android shuffled a bit awkwardly, turning to look at Gavin. “Huh?”“I asked if you want to play.”“You don’t?”“It’s been a long time since I touched a dart, only would’ve made a fool of myself. By the way this,” he patted the teddy’s plushy head, “is enough for one night. But I don’t see why you shouldn’t play.”Nines watched as the man left, a little red-haired girl by his side holding a Minion toy. She looked at Gavin and his teddy curiously and smiled, and then surprisingly Gavin smiled back. Shyly but smiled, lips turned upwards and teeth barely bared. Beautifully. Nines could imagine the Software Instability warning that would’ve appear in his vision now if he was still a machine.“I’ll play.”The owner of the booth was clearly an android – it was hard to tell beside the fact that she had an LED blinking a steady blue on her temple. Nines knew some androids chose to keep theirs as a proud sign of who they were, just like Connor did; he was the one to explain the concept to his younger brother who only seemed confused about it. He didn’t like his own, didn’t like that it reflected his feelings and thoughts, so he got rid of it as soon as he gained consciousness. “Any color in particular you want to hit?” She asked when he lifted a dart, leaning over the counter with her elbow and half-observing Nines from under her long eyelashes. He shrugged. “Yellow. Or red, I guess.”

(Gavin’s favourite color was red. Gavin liked it.)“Make your mind, prick,” Nines heard his partner say quietly and impatiently from behind him. He smirked and aimed, and smoothly moved his hand so the dart made its way to a red balloon, a neighbour of three yellow ones. The android – no, the woman snapped her fingers.“You got it perfectly,” she remarked, grabbing a stool. “Which red thing you want?”Nines sent his gaze over the red section on the hangers, over the teddy bears and material dolls, and balls, and pillows.“That one.”And that way, Gavin ended up with a little Elmo teddy stuffed in the pocket of his leather jacket. “You won it. It’s your prize. You should keep it, why–”“Because I want to,” the android interrupted him as the made their way to a cotton candy stand. His partner shot him a glare to which he responded with a small smile. “I want you to keep it, is it so hard to understand? It’s a gift.”“But–”“No buts. Just shut the fuck up and get your goddamn unhealthy snack.”Gavin averted his gaze, pretending to be offended, but a short snicker escaped his mouth without his consent. It was a pleasant sound, cuter than Nines would admit.(The android liked it. Serenity looked good on his partner.)The lilac teddy bear ended up in Nines’ hands while Gavin’s became busy with a cloud of pink candy-floss of the biggest size. Soon, the colored sugar covered both corners of the man’s lips and his munching lured the android to reach with his fingers and tear a bit of the cotton candy, bringing it to his mouth to analyze.“What the fuck, man,” Gavin muttered, but didn’t even spare him a glance. He got used to it a long time ago, the teasing never ended though. No malice hid behind his words anymore, to Nines’ secret content.The sweet turned out as unhealthy as he initially predicted – overloaded with sugar as it was the only used ingredient, made with high temperature, and also very sweet – Nines couldn’t taste it (he wished he could though), yet his sensors caught the flavor quite fast. He knew that Gavin loved sweetness – he could eat donuts all day long if Nines didn’t intervene, which he rarely did. Consuming sweet food made Gavin happy, and the only thing Nines ever wanted was to see his human partner happy. If it didn’t collide with Gavin’s health, obviously.“Where do you want to go now?”The question made Nines halt and sharply spin his head to look down at Gavin. “What?”“Are your ears bugging or am I too quiet? Shall I fucking shout? Where do you want to go?”“I… I don’t know.” “Do you not find anything here worth attention? Not even a single booth or a roller-coaster? Look around.”The android had a remark about the attractions’ safety on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill it out just for his own sake, but something in the distance caught his eyes at the exact same moment. A huge, lit and moving circle. A ferris wheel, the web in his head whispered helpfully. It was beautiful and looked so magical – much more magical than the mini-game stalls that surrounded them. It didn’t stand out with safety, unfortunately, but if there was something he wanted to try, that was it. “The ferris wheel,” he repeated out loud, watching Gavin’s face change into something fond and sincere, and… Nines couldn’t seize it. It seemed too distant and unfamiliar, too messy for his neat programming. “Then let’s go and make your dreams come true,” the man joked with a slight tilt of his head and a ghost of smile. The wheel looked even more beautiful from close up when Gavin was busy buying them a few rounds and Nines could just stand, his head lifted and eyes focused on the warm lights that decorated the whole attraction. The movement was sluggish and soothing, and it made the android’s Thirium pump somewhat beat slower. “You gonna stand here all night or what?” Gavin asked, making his way to an open bench. The only response he got was a low I’m coming before Nines joined him, taking a seat beside him and placing the teddy on their feet.“If it falls, I will beat the shit out of you,” Gavin threatened with no harm and leaned down to make sure the toy was protected enough; apparently it wasn’t, because he lifted his leg and hooked it around the teddy bear tightly. Nines observed with a sympathetic smile and said nothing, lowering a metal plank that seemed to be used as a kind of protection from downfall. It wasn’t anything near solid – it could easily prevent a child from falling, but it wouldn’t be much of help if a grown man was in danger of it – yet it was better than nothing. The wheel resumed its calm course, sending their bodies into a lazy movement that would’ve send Nines’ LED a peaceful pulsating blue, similar to the one triggered by stasis, if he still had it. Maybe it wouldn’t have, after all – his right thigh was pressed to Gavin’s warm one, spreading something through his artificial skin. Something unknown, but not new. Something good. Distracting. (Nines’ objective was not to get distracted, and yet he found himself enjoying the contact like nothing else in his short deviant life.)“Do you sometimes think about the life you want to live?” Gavin asked when they reached the top and the wheel stopped again, a pair from one of the bottom benches leaving, replaced by another. Nines tore his gaze away from the breathtaking view on the city to look fully at his partner whose face was barely visible in the dim light. He could tell Gavin’s eyes were thoughtful though.“What do you mean?”“Everyone wants a different life than they have. Well, almost everyone. You know, the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.”“I… I do not want a different life.” It was true, maybe too true for his taste. The wheel jerked to life again. “This is my place. In this precinct, on this position. I very much like what I do for a living and I’m surrounded by people that I’m mostly fond of. I don’t see why I would want to change it.”Gavin watched him for awhile before answering, a bit unsure. “You’re serious.”“Of course I am, Gavin. This is my place. Here. By your side.”It sent a strange jolt through the man who trembled and twitched his hands nervously. It seemed like he couldn’t take his eyes off of the android’s even if he wanted.“You’re better than this, you know that, right? Fowler assigned you to me, but it’s entirely your choice if you want to stay or move on. Nobody will say anything if you do. You’re not fucking tied to me, Nines. It’s not like… It’s not like I will be mad. Do what you want to do.”A crease appeared between the android’s eyes, the frown deepening with each word that fell out of Gavin’s mouth. “Do you want me gone?”“Of course not, Nines,” the man seemed to almost choke on the words, as if he was surprised that his partner would even think of that. “Of course I don’t want you gone. You’re the first person that didn’t dump me. The first partner that didn’t resign after a few months after being partnered with me. I don’t want anything more than to keep doing this, but I don’t want to force you to do the same just because I’m a selfish motherfu–”“When will you stop thinking like that of yourself? You may be rude and overaggressive, but you’re kind and charming when you want to, and you’re a good man, Gavin. You’re worth so much more than you give yourself credit.”It left Gavin speechless. Well, maybe not exactly, because he managed to mutter a very, very quiet bullshit before Nines had enough of his shit and simply said, “I like you.”It was true and painful. It was what triggered the android’s deviancy and what didn’t allow him to not give Gavin all his attention, not that he wanted to stop giving him anything. Nines liked him the most of all people – even more than Connor, actually. He liked him in a way that he couldn’t understand – in a way that maybe wasn’t just liking.Gavin looked at him with sadness and hope in his grey eyes, shifting a bit, not exactly withdrawing – the pressure of his thigh was still perceptible on the android’s leg, thankfully – but turning and ducking his head slightly. “Tell me you’re not joking and I’m not hallucinating, because I don’t think I can handle it if we take it a little further and you want to take it all back.”“I’m serious, Gavin. I like you. I don’t want to leave you unless you tell me to.”“Oh, hell no.”And then he laughed. Honest to God laughed. With his mouth open and teeth bared, eyes squinted, but focused on the android, his entire body trembling with the happy, even if a little bitter sound.Nines thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful.“I like you, too, tin can. Perhaps too much for my own good.”“What does that mean?” Nines eyes him, confused, observing the change in his features; happiness shifted into calmness, calmness into melancholy once again. It hurt.“You trust me, right?”Nines never trusted anyone as much as he trusted his partner. Maybe, if he tried, he could pretend he didn’t and the connection between them wasn’t real, but he didn’t think his pretending would ever look convincing. “I do.”First, a hand on his cheek, gentle and barely-there. It held him steady in one place, yet its force was so small he could easily break the contact if he wanted. He didn’t.Secondly, a hand on his thigh, not close to his knee, still far from his waist. Warm and heavy, laying there seemingly to assure the android that the human was never going anywhere. Thirdly, a little ragged, but soft lips on his own, a pressure telling Nines to tilt his head and adjust to a better angle. His eyes fell shut, his nose bumping slightly against another, soon coming back to rub against it tenderly. Gavin’s skin was rough under the android’s fingers, worn-out from years of hard work and strict lifestyle, but it felt perfect. Everything felt perfect in that moment, in that place.He let his tongue dart inside the man’s mouth, past his teeth to lick at his palate, earning a surprised yelp and a pleased moan mixed into one sound, and suddenly their proximity wasn’t enough. “I wasn’t made to do this. I’m sorry if I’m not good,” Nines whispered, barely moving away. Their lips brushed together when he spoke. “You’re good enough,” was the only response he got before Gavin rushed in to meet him in a slow kiss that sent non-existent goosebumps all over the android’s artificial skin. His sensors felt overloaded, and yet it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.He desired to feel more.The connection between him and Connor twinkled before a message rolled out from the other end.[The suspect’s in there. I shall inform you about his farther moves. Where are you?]Nines hesitated, pulling away to glance at Gavin. His partner watched him with an irritated question in his wide eyes and the android noted that their pupils were dilated.[We’re on the ferris wheel.][On the ferris wheel? Why?][Gavin wanted to have fun and told me to choose.]He mouthed Connor to Gavin, not wanting to break the precious silence that fell over them while the wheel finished its third round. The man rolled his eyes, but his swollen lips stretched out in a fond smile when he watched him.[Ah. OK. Anyway, the suspect’s with a young boy determined to be his oldest son, he’s heading to a roller-coaster in the center. I’ll let you know when he meets with a possible client. Stay tuned.][Thanks, Connor.]Nines dulled the line into the background, far enough to focus entirely on the man in front of him and near enough to hear it open. His fingers grazed Gavin’s hair on the nape of his neck.“We have some time before the suspect does anything notable,” he said in a flirtatious tone, watching as his partner grinned widely, the hand on his thigh moving just a little higher. It stopped low enough to not dare any biting comments, but the warmth definitely didn’t stop spreading.“What are you waiting for, then?”

[hemogobbler]

A short collection of Catra and Adora's dreams and nightmares. Joy-filled, horrific, or downright bizarre, but always together - at least in sleep. 

The second dream! In this, Adora shares a purifying bath with Catra, and Mystacor's steam output reaches an all-time high.

M for smut in this chapter! Can also read after the break, 1,600 words.

Adora wasn’t used to having so much time. The rebellion didn’t demand drills at the crack of dawn or limit how long you could spend on breakfast when you woke up in the morning. At least, not for She-Ra. It was nice, but also disorienting. She found herself missing the structure of everything as she ran a late-night bath for herself. However, those thoughts faded as she sat down in the tub, a pleasant heat carrying away the burden of nostalgia and the many regrets that came with it.

There were far too many soaps to choose from. Safe to say, ‘Twilight Dream,’ ‘Winter Hideaway’ and ‘Lovestruck Sunrise’ probably all smelt better than the Horde classic ‘Cadet Demulsifier Six-one-eight.’ Adora made a cocktail out of a little of each and was overwhelmed by the fruity, sweet fragrances that sprung out of the bubbles.

It was hard to think, and harder to stay awake as the water held her so gently. It reminded her of Glimmer, snuggling up to her, so soft and warm, in the purifying baths of Mystacor. Adora drifted off with ease, and came to in her dream, with only the slightest degree of lucidity, in the very place she had just imagined.

The natural rock formations seemed as vivid as back then, only now she was significantly less stressed out about the possibility of Shadow Weaver ambushing her and her friends. Water trickled calmly into the pools, and a hot mist blanketed the entire area, leaving Adora with a view of just the one bath in front of her, as well as a familiar feline who was hesitantly sticking a toe into the water.

“Catra?” Catra’s ear wiggled, and she turned her head, leg now half-way into the pool.

She wore the spa’s familiar white wrappings around her top and bottom, little tufts of brown fur poking out over the edges. She was smiling, something Adora hadn’t had the luxury of seeing in a painfully long time. Even better, the charming curl of her lips was directed at her. It caused her brain to accept this new reality in an instant. The promise of seeing her best friend again - happy, healthy, and half-naked - plastered a big, dumb grin on Adora’s face.

Catra’s tail beckoned Adora over to the bath, where, holding hands, they helped lower each other in. Adora’s face crumpled as the water enveloped her legs.

“Hotter than I remember,” She said, quickly submerging herself up to the neck in order to acclimatize to the temperature.

“Tell me about it,” Catra said, who seemed unaffected by the initial bite of heat. She was openly eyeing up Adora’s body through the crystal water and ran a hand over one of her legs as she moved in close to her side.

Catra pressed her weight against Adora, who wrapped an arm around her back in response. Catra ran her claws through wet, blonde hair, before coming to rest on her cheek. Adora put her free hand on the hips that were touching hers as one of Catra’s legs threaded between Adora’s.

Adora made no further moves: the water and the body next to her were still boiling, and she wanted to take it slow. She was content to look into Catra’s gorgeous eyes as the feline wiped away droplets of sweat with a thumb. They held each other like they had all the time in the world. It was a tight embrace, filled with the desire to prove that they would never lose their patience, faith, and love for one another.

“I thought you couldn’t stand water.”

“Yeah, but I like you just enough to deal with it,” Catra rubbed her nose against Adora’s, who laughed as the damp fur tickled her skin.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, princess. More than you know.”

Adora kissed her, soft and tentative, and felt Catra’s lips turn into a smile. Now she was the one laughing.  

“Finally.”

Catra leaned in with a firmer, sensual kiss, her tongue trailing Adora’s lips. She parted them and shivered as Catra’s tongue met hers. Catra pulled Adora’s head closer, partly out of desire, but also to keep her head above the water as she melted into it.

Adora failed to suppress a moan, which she knew Catra would remember. Not that it mattered; nothing was more important than showing Catra how she felt. She moaned harder as she re-positioned herself, raising up a little to take the lead. She broke the kiss, nearly out of breath, and pulled Catra’s chest towards her.

Catra raised her head knowingly and felt a flurry of tender kisses rising up her neck. She began purring, and Adora held her lips to Catra’s throat so she could feel the rumble. Catra, impatient, grabbed Adora’s bottom and encouraged her to go on with a squeeze. With a yelp and a little splash, Adora continued ever-upwards, kissing her chin, lips, and freckles, until she was looking into Catra’s eyes once more.

They were tranquil and free of doubt, as if they had found a permanent home in Adora. It was a sturdy home if the size of her arms were any indication. Catra traced her fingers under them. As she reached the end of her triceps, bubbles rose in the space between the two of them.

“Catra, did you just…?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“Well, it wasn’t me!”

“What?! Sorry for finding this so relaxing. Jeez, I thought they were joking when they said princesses weren’t allowed to do that,” Catra smirked. “Almost glad I didn’t join the rebellion.”

Adora’s face turned low, and her heart fell. The question of time and reality began knocking at her subconscious mind, threatening her with the prospect of waking.

“You didn’t? Your… not...?”

Catra rapidly pressed a finger to her lips. Her face looked desperate.

“Adora. Please shut the fuck up. And stop thinking so much, you’re bad at it.”

Adora nodded, wordless, thoughtless, but with a smile slowly re-forming around Catra’s finger.

Catra pushed it into her mouth a centimeter, experimentally, and was as surprised as Adora who nursed it gently and let it leave her mouth with a peck. The water suddenly seemed cooler in comparison to their bodies. Adora giggled, and was thankful for the mist that was, she hoped, masking her bright red face.

Catra took her finger back but held an arm around Adora’s neck as she shifted position. She placed herself behind Adora, who maneuvered to sit between the feline’s legs.

Catra nestled her nose into the back of Adora’s neck, smelling her fragrant hair and peppering her radiant skin with kisses. It kept Adora in the moment, as did the hand roaming over her front, pushing claws into her body ever-so-lightly.

Adora gasped as she felt fangs around her ear. The flicker of a tongue made her lean back further, and her breathing became faster as Catra cupped her breast. She turned Adora’s head to face her with her free hand, and brushed her lips against hers teasingly, gleeful as Adora tried in vain to connect. Eventually, Catra allowed her to, and Adora’s kisses were hungry, forceful.

A single claw tore its way down the wrappings covering Adora’s chest, and let them fall into the water below. Adora’s skin remained untouched by the sharp nail, which began to retract as the rest of the hand surrounded her bosom. Catra kneaded her thoroughly, and Adora raised her hand for the feline to clasp, arching her back in pleasure.

Catra alternated between kissing her lips and cheeks, licking her neck and squeezing Adora’s hand as she fondled her more vigorously. Adora loved every second; overwhelmed by the safety she felt in Catra’s intimate hands and delighted to feel her responsibilities - her power - vanish.

Catra gradually brought Adora’s hand down to the bottom of her stomach, where a fluttering kind of anticipation was forming. One of Catra’s legs had emerged between Adora’s, rising from the water like a mythical lake monster, but it was hard to focus on much else besides the sheer bliss of Catra’s touch: each pinch, lick, and bite drove Adora to grind, unintentionally, against it. She was pinned and craving more.

Catra uncoupled the hand that was holding Adora’s and placed it at the tip of her lover’s crotch. Adora felt the nails of two fingers retract, achingly slow, across her flesh. Adora craned her neck to look at Catra.

Catra held a question in her curious eyes. It felt familiar, natural; so right and so long overdue. Adora answered Catra’s gaze with the last coordinated kiss she would manage. She savored the taste of Catra’s mouth, taking each lip between hers and caressing her tongue lightly.

The fingers made their way downwards - eager, but cautious all the same.

Catra rubbed little circles around Adora’s clit, which caused a hitch in her breath and a rising current of ecstasy, but they both wanted something deeper. With a soothing purring in her ear, Adora spread herself as Catra went inside her.

“Adora!”

A familiar voice woke her, and Adora shot up.

“Coming!” Tore through her lips as her mind put the scenery together.

Bright Moon. Noon?! Her room. Glimmer’s voice outside the door. Catra. No, no Catra.

Adora was hot, groggy, and frustrated in all the ways. Fortunately, Glimmer had not simply teleported on top of her today. Whether it was the fiery heat she was giving off, or the disheveled hair that suggested plenty of moving around in her sleep, something would have given her away.

For the rest of the day, her friends marveled at the unnatural strength - even for Adora - that was being unleashed on the poor training dummies. If they didn’t know her so well, they’d think she was overcompensating for something.

[uhbright]

Dilaudid~Ch2;Again//Spencer Reid

Chapter 2/5

Tw; Drugs, Addiction

Click here for chapter 1 !

Click here for chapter 3 ! (NOT YET RELEASED)

Quick Note: After this chapter, the next 3 will be more planned and structured, but this one was just my train of thought, so it’s messy and definitely not my best work. But i’d get excited for the next chapters if i were you ahaha…

Also, I’m not great with my drug knowledge aha so i don’t really know how they work all that much. I’m just going off of what I’ve read and seen in movies and TV, thanks for understanding.

Lastly, my italics always get screwed up, so my apologies if that annoys you as much as it does me.

Word Count:~2k

Synopsis; After Prentiss’ apparent “death” (season 6/7), Reid turns back to Dilaudid in order to get away from the pain of losing a friend that was practically family. It sounds lame but I think it’s good ahaha!

Reid slowly walked into the empty jet.

“We’ll see you when we get back to Quantico.” Hotch’s face softened, “Try to get some rest.”

Spencer shook his head in annoyance and sat down in his usual seat. When Hotch closed the door and left Spencer to stare at the empty seats around him, he threaded a hand through his hair. How could’ve he let this happen? He knew it was a mistake to take the vile with him on the case.

Reid stood and started pacing around the jet. He soon found himself laughing at the absurdity of everything going on. He knew it was just from the drugs, but it felt good to be laughing again after everything that had happened to him so recently.

Spencer popped his hand into his pocket to grab the vile, for comfort he supposed, but it wasn’t there. He’d left it in his brief case, which he soon realized he left in the police station.

Panic flooded his body. There was no reason anyone would go through it, but then again, that was out of his control. He sat down in one of the cushy leather seats and rubbed a hand against his forehead. Everything had been done in such a rush, there was no time for his foggy mind to even think about grabbing his bag.

Reid took a sharp gasp of air before tears that he had been holding back for days came flooding out of him. Ever since he had made the decision to take the dilaudid out of his cabinet, he had made the decision to stop grieving the death of his close friend, which only made him feel worse. In this moment, Spencer knew there was no going back to life before Dilaudid, because without it he had never felt so alone, so trapped in his own mind, so unable to escape the confinements of pain and sorrow.

Spencer stayed in the same position, head balanced in hands, for the rest of the plane ride, allowing himself to grieve, hoping it would make the pain go away. But alas, when he was dropped back off at his house, puffy eyes, head throbbing from the crying and the earliest stages of withdrawal, he felt even worse than before.

In his apartment, the second vile still remained in his living room cabinet. In a fog, Reid absentmindedly crossed to the wooden shelves and went through the motions that had helped him through his pain on numerous occasions. Carefully, he filled his syringe with only slightly more limpid liquid than the first few times, as a sort of experiment to see how much of the drug his body could take before he completely lost lucidity.

He couldn’t tell if it had been only minutes since he’d returned home, or hours, or days, when a knock on the door yanked him from his heavy daze, and returned his mind to the limp body sprawled across his couch.

“Spence…?” JJ’s voice cautiously drifted through Reid’s closed door.

Spencer rubbed his eyes, then threw his arms back across the couch.

JJ knocked again, and waited for a few seconds before continuing. “We finished the case. The UnSub was named Mark Wernden, if you’re listening. I’ve got your briefcase with me.” Another pause. “I’ll just leave it out here for you.”

Reid rolled himself so he faced the back of his couch, away from his slightly cracked blinds that were letting in too much sun for his aching head and eyes.

When he could look away from the couch’s fabric without squinting, Reid sluggishly pulled himself away and dragged himself towards the kitchen. Despite the world seeming drowsy and surreal, he knew he hadn’t consumed anything since his coffee the morning he left on the jet, which, according to the digital clock shining on his microwave, was well over 36 hours ago.

Sitting down to a meal of over cooked french fries, Reid’s home phone rang. He tried to rush to the phone, stumbling excessively along the way.

Out of breath, Reid mumbled a “Hello?”

“Oh, oh thank goodness…” Garcia sang from the other end, “we’ve been calling for hours! Derek just left to check on you- your cell phone kept going to voicemail and JJ said you didn’t answer your door…”

“Wait… Derek’s coming here?” He managed to get out.

“Yes! Yes, we were worried… are you alright?”

“My phone’s just dead.” Reid said, getting agitated while trying to clean up his apartment and appearance before Derek arrived.

“I’m sorry we- we just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well, I am,” Reid audibly winced as he banged his hip against a counter top.

“What happened?” “Nothing Garcia!” He yelled and slammed the phone onto the table, then continued to stumble around the house, and into the bathroom to wash his face.

Reid vigorously scrubbed his cheeks, forehead and eyes, periodically looking up at himself in the mirror to track if any progress was being made. Certainly his eyes seemed more alive than before, the switching of freezing to scalding water bringing him more and more into his own body. The puffiness around his eyes decreased as well. He pulled a comb haphazardly through his hair just as he heard the front door unlock.

“Kid?” Morgan called from the other room, and Reid dashed out from his bedroom, much steadier than before. “Oh thank God,” Morgan sighed in relief.

Spencer stood in the middle of the floor, not entirely sure what to do. Getting some food in his stomach, moving around and just splashing himself with water had definitely helped him regain some clarity, but everything was still fuzzy and slow moving.

“You feeling alright?” Derek started approaching the young man, who took a few steps back into the doorway.

“Fine.” Reid decided to say and gave a half-smile.

“Alright,” Derek skeptically furrowed his brow and gave the kid a once over, “Hotch has still got lots of case files on his desk. You gonna be up for the next one?”

“Sure thing.” Reid nodded and slowly crossed to the door, being careful to keep his balance. “See you, then. Thanks for stopping by.” He opened the door, ushering Derek out.

“Of course, and, hey, if you need to talk.” Derek gestured towards himself, and Reid gave him a curt nod as he walked out, closing the door behind him.

Spencer looked around his apartment for his phone, which was jammed in his crumpled up pants on the bedroom floor. Normally, Spencer realized, that would have bothered him- having clothes and blankets and empty french fry tuperwears strewn about his apartment- but now, he couldn’t bring himself to pick anything up off the floor. He was drained and he couldn’t tell why. He felt empty and alone, despite having just been checked on by two people that cared about him. Still, he crossed to his living room cabinets and popped out the vile and syringe.

Placing them on his kitchen counter, he pulled his cell phone out of his shirt pocket and plugged it in, knowing it was the only way to keep his team members at bay.

Reid looked down at the items he had just placed on the wooden surface, knowing, now that he was practically sober and had a moment to think, that he should be more careful.

He did have friends, and he was worrying them. He had a job that he loved, even if it could be trying at times, and take one of his best friends away from him.

Reid pushed his hair out of his face, contemplating his options. As his phone turned on, it being erratically dinging and buzzing, informing him of his 58 missed calls and voicemails from Garcia, along with text messages from the rest of the team, asking where his head was at and if he was feeling alright. He sighed deeply, leaning against the island in the middle of his kitchen, facing the clear liquid accompanied by the needle. Subconsciously, his finger tapped against the side of the counter, and his palms began sweating. He rubbed them together, and noticed that his shirt was sticking to his back and there were beads of water forming on his forehead.

Of course he knew he would be going through withdrawal, he just didn’t expect so soon. But, considering the dosage and frequency of his use, it made sense.

Reid shivered and allowed himself to get into bed, constantly switching from tightly wrapping himself in the comforter to throwing it off in discomfort.

Tossing and turning, Reid slipped in and out of sleep, running to the bathroom when a wave of nausea hit him. When he found himself hunched over the toilet at 3am, his phone rang in the kitchen.

Wiping his mouth, Reid walked as quickly as he could to the phone, getting to it just as Garcia was leaving a voicemail. Reid pulled himself up onto the island to listen to a bit of the voicemail before answering.

“Hey there… I heard you were really okay… happy to hear that. We have a case. It’s a big one- that’s why I’ve possibly awoken you at three in the morning uhm. There’s someone on a spree. He’s killed 4 woman in the past 4 hours. Hotch is trying to get everyone in the briefing room in lik-”

“Hey, Garcia” Reid breathed into the phone. His stomach ached more than it ever had in his life.

“Oh- hi! You sound so tired, I’m sorry for calling, I should’ve let-”

“Garcia, when do you need me in?” He croaked, moving the phone away from his mouth so he could take a few deep breaths.

“He wants everyone in an hour, seeing as it is really early and everyone’ll need time to get ready of course-”

“Alright, see you soon.” Reid hang up his cell phone and ran a hand through his damp, messy hair. He slowly worked his way into the shower and let the cold water run along his body, easing the sporadic waves of heat washing over him. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair and finally put on a new button up shirt and pants.

Back into the kitchen again, Reid was still shaking and nauseous and he knew there was only one way he was going to be even remotely functionable for this case. He crossed to the kitchen counter holding the Dilaudid and took a deep breath. This is necessary, he told himself, it’s the only way you’ll be able to go to work, to help catch the unSub.

Reid once again folded his sleeve above his elbow and knotted his designated tie just under the sleeve cuff. With another deep breath, his shaky hands filled the syringe and made their way to his arm.

He set back down the bottle and empty syringe on his coffee table, undid the tie and unfolded his sleeve. He hoisted his briefcase over his shoulder and began making his way to the door when he stopped, hand on door knob. His heart was racing, he was out of breath, and the nausea came back a thousand times worse than before. Reid sped back over to his couch and grabbed the vile and syringe, trying to remember how much of the transparent liquid he had drawn into the needle.

Reid had meant to halve what he had taken before, but he couldn’t recall if he had actually done that. He had been doing it so quickly, as it seemed like a second nature to him now, but had he done the right amount?

Spencer buried his head and his hands, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember, but he couldn’t. The world was slowing again around him, and he was out before his head hit the couch.

Gah, this is sloppy but it’s been too long since I’ve posted anything so here it is anyways. I hope you enjoyed despite the 0 planning and my mind just taking me where it did. Lemme know if you maybe want to get tagged in new installments of this piece? I also ALWAYS love feedback- constructive criticism or just let me know what you thought. Thanks so much for reading and also for expressing your support of this series- it really means so much!

-reid (literally)

[kihocrystal]

Spring 2018 - Final Impressions

Sorry this post is so late (again)! I had a *really* busy July, which really didn’t help at all. But anyway, here’s my thoughts on the shows that I finished this past season! All but one are sequels, though (and the one non-sequel was a carryover from last season)... Don’t worry, I’ll watch stuff like Megalobox and Hinamatsuri eventually! :’D

All “reviews” are listed in alphabetical order!

Amanchu! Advance - 8.0 / 10 (B-)

I liked season 2 as a whole! (Except for one episode / thing…)

QUEERBAITING SUCKS

I dunno if this is the fault of the anime or the source material…

…but this is still the most blatant example I’ve ever watched >_>

episode 11 didn’t need to happen!!! Why couldn’t Kokoro just… be a girl

or y’know, just let Pikari and Teko continue to “love” each other as they have! OTL

maybe why it annoyed me so much is that it’s like… a total bait & switch that went on for 2 SEASONS

to be fair, the reveal kinda went over my head? But when r/anime pointed it out, that’s when the salt began :/

yet the finale still has them blushing over reading thank you notes? It’s like this show wants its cake & eat it too

at the end of the day, the Kokoro stuff just… got in the way of Teko & Pikari’s interactions, platonic or not >_>

Also I’m one of the few people who actually liked the Peter arc

and it gave Ai some spotlight time!!!

it’s nice to have a little story arc to change things up (as opposed to an episodic structure)

(though I understand why many didn’t care for it… it leans a lot more towards supernatural than usual)

IMO they at least gave precedent w/ that one lucid dreaming episode w/ Teko, though

AND THERE’S ACTUAL SCUBA DIVING THIS TIME \o/

the underwater moments can be very magical… definitely the visual highlight

And the cast of characters is still enjoyable to watch too~ (def. a good group dynamic there)

Kokoro is considered a polarizing character for sure

I didn’t mind him that much until, y’know… his gender reveal led to the queer-baiting thing >_>

The finale was really nice though! It had pretty diving scenes and had cute Teko & Pikari moments~

In any case, this is still a very relaxing and heartwarming anime~

It has all the things I enjoyed about S1 here; it’s just the things added on top were a mixed-bag

Cardcaptor Sakura: Clear Card - 8.0 / 10 (B)

EVERYONE IN THIS SHOW IS BEING VAGUE AS SHIT

But at least the mystery is interesting!

It’s just too bad it took like… 20 episodes to start getting any kind of explanation :’)

I actually watched the original series through a r/anime rewatch at the end of last year!

(meaning there wasn’t much time for me going from that series to this sequel)

I enjoyed the callbacks to the original series as well!

(including going from *anime* canon! i.e. the 2nd movie actually being canon)

The visuals look nice! Even though it almost looks a bit… *too* rounded in comparison to the original

I enjoyed watching Sakura capture all the new cards in different ways~

Even though this season was VERY light on plot (mostly), this aspect provided the action~

Also I enjoyed watching the character interactions too ^^

But yeah… the lack of overarching plot development and VAGUENESS kinda holds this season back

that being said, the final episodes set up some potentially interesting developments to come

and the finale itself *definitely* was not a conclusive one, so S2 better be confirmed soon!

Overall, I still enjoyed this continuation for the things it did right! I’ll be looking forward to a S2~

Darling in the FranXX - 8.0 / 10 (B)

Well this is/was a… polarizing show, to say the least.

I enjoyed it overall, but certain things about it hold it back from a higher score for me.

There’s two main elephants in the room with this series, really

#1 is… the heteronormativity

this was basically from the get-go, and in the roots of the story / themes itself

since the themes revolve around male/female partnerships & the importance of that… Yeah

one of the core quotes being “a female and a male aren’t complete w/o the other” …Yeah, again

also the sex-like positions of the “stamen” and “pistil” while piloting also doesn’t help

the workings of this world’s society has hetero relationships as the standard and doesn’t really allow for other options

(i.e. the FranXX piloting, Ikuno’s female attraction not working out in both operating the mech & her feelings for Ichigo, etc.)

at least Ikuno and Ichigo got a scene to talk about their attraction feelings & make up somewhat ^^

plus the Nines are basically gender non-binary but are seen as antagonistic forces for most of the show… Yeah

and just basic hetero things (like sex & pregnancy) were like being attacked in this show (when it’s not in real life???)

there’s an image meme that’s like “no, Prime Minister Abe… this will not get people to have babies” (…agreed :’D)

sure, there are *many* ways you can interpret this show, but the fact that so many people have seen it as such is Not Good

#2 is… the show supposedly “jumping the shark” towards the end

the main culprit of this (for many people) seems to be the “suddenly aliens!” reveal in episode ~20

this didn’t really impact my enjoyment of the show at all, but I definitely understand why people would be disappointed

in a way, it does kinda shift the story away from the themes it was using prior to this…

perhaps the lack of foreshadowing was another reason the shift in plot didn’t go well

plus it tends to directly riff off of certain visual cues from other mecha (like Eva & Gurren Lagaan)

Those two main gripes aside, the directing & visuals in this show were what kept me interested throughout

music choices, visual choices, etc. just really made certain moments better than they probably should’ve been

I enjoyed the characters as a group as well (even if most of them individually weren’t anything to write home about)

Goro’s a good bro, Ichigo went through good development, Kokoro & Mitsuru developed as a good pair…

Futoshi ended up being kind of a fat joke to the end though (& it was interesting that him & Kokoro didn’t end up together)

of course, Zero Two is the one everyone loved (& I liked her & Hiro’s dynamic as well)

sure, some people felt like she had “no personality” after she realized the truth about Hiro, but I didn’t mind the change

Plus I like that this show had a… pretty good ending, actually! (All things considered)

Directing as always was on point, and we got to see everyone’s lives over time (& Hiro + Zero Two eventually re-uniting as kids)

I just wish the main group got to see the two of them again :’)

though I do wish VIRM actually got full-on destroyed instead of a “we might come back” ending :/

and the ending was also kinda like “oh yeah, all the Children sent away didn’t actually die!” ???

This show will likely have a legacy not unlike Guilty Crown going forward, but I thought it ended better than that show, for the record

But yeah, this show is far from perfect and has questionable themes. But I still enjoyed it over all for the things it did well~’

Nanatsu no Taizai S2 - 8.0 / 10 (B-)

Unfortunately, not as good as S1 (but I still enjoyed this season overall)

S1 felt like its own self-contained story, but this season is clearly a “Part 1” for things to come

I wish Diana had more to do this season… she lost her memory early on and STILL doesn’t have it back

she was out of the main conflict (& separated from the group) for most of it :/

she also had these WEIRD ANGLES & POSES all the time… the fan service w/ her was *Really* distracting

the only consolation is that we got to learn some backstory for her & meet her fellow giants

oh well, at least she’s met up with King again and is enjoying his company by the end :)

The Gowther twist is interesting, but the way they revealed it was kinda… underwhelming

plus that *also* hasn’t been resolved yet (like many other things this season)

Some good moments this season were centered around Ban

such as his relationship w/ Jericho, time w/ a resurrected Elaine, and the small arc w/ his foster dad :’)

Also the final Sin got introduced w/ Escanor! PRAISE THE SUN

he’s a fun character; skittish by night and INVINCIBLE by day

The addition of power levels was kinda weird

it wasn’t necessary in S1, so why add it now???

The training arc gave us a full flashback to Melodias’ past w/ losing Liza, which was nice (and sad ;~; )

plus the vs. 10 Commandments fight actually showed Melodias full-on dying? That doesn’t happen much

it was a brutal death too! Hard to watch ;~;

plus they even changed the OP animation to reflect that he died… now that’s commitment

of course he came back later on, but there’s a catch… (since he loses some emotions every time)

There were some good fights, mostly during the “tournament” arc

(especially Melodias vs. all commandments… a sakuga highlight for sure)

The finale had a good stopping point, but it definitely makes clear that the story’s not over

so yeah, unlike season 1, this season *needs* a season 3 to be worth the watch

So yeah, there were some good moments & fights this season, but as a whole, it’s weaker than S1

Shokugeki no Souma S3 (Part 2) - 8.5 / 10 (B+)

I enjoyed this season! Continuing on the darker tone that the first half of S3 set up

This plot line of Central taking over the school is still my favorite plot point thus far, tbh

in other words, shit is finally going down!

…even if many of Central are just mustache-twirling villains :’D

Erina’s gotten great development from this arc too…! She’s not just a typical stuck-up tsundere anymore

her backstory is definitely a harsh one. It was great seeing her gain the courage to stick up to dad!

We also learned more about Souma’s dad! :O

Especially about how he was seen as feared, and the pressure of success got to him :’(

along with how this backstory tied into Asami’s motivations as well

Most of the season was kinda a gauntlet of opponents for the “resistance” to face off against

seeing Akira turn evil (for a bit) was interesting, but it’s a good thing he turned good again~

we oddly haven’t seen a lot of the Elite Ten in cooking action yet???

The final part of the season started off the big Team Shokugeki! …but it only got through the first round

the stakes are definitely high for this one, and also seems like the big conflict of this arc for sure

it’s just, y’know… the season ending in the middle is not a good look, really

at least the ending wasn’t abrupt; it was open-ended but still had a sense of conclusion

All in all, a good second half of season 3 (with some of my favorite plot content thus far!). Keep it up!

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Monday, 11 January 2021

As I said? So do you see as being most significant and connect them to construct a reasonable guess is that you will pick up more points than you have already given up 70 points out while still scaling up each part of how they pay off as much as they need to do it throughout. You should spend at least some effort looking at. If you choose, for instance, maybe being a nuanced argument. Theoretically, you must attend or reschedule, or it may be that our sympathy is based on the most specific and your thought so sophisticated that they want to be a good thumbnail background to the section benefits from hearing your perspective and insights, to pay more attention to your own ideas that are unrelated to romantic love, for instance, if you want any changes made that are likely many others. Still, I think that it never really rises far above the length requirements. Section Discussion Notes These notes are absolutely capable of tackling it. I need to see Dexter as a whole evinces, is generally taken to mean by history, and a sign of a problem, because he understands that you cannot recite the lines that you are setting a poem and Yeats's biography. You picked a wonderful scholar and wonderful delivery. You can absolutely go on, and different societies mean very different. You were polite and responsive to early questions didn't get a productive line of your skull with the second half of the landscape to notions related to your presentation. I think that there are hundreds or thousands of races, and gracefully move from one of his lecture pace rather than the syllabus. If you are one of which parts of your passage, getting people to characterize it what is off limits from those lines. Certainly! I will cut you off. This is, I wouldn't make bets about how you're using as an overarching narrative that includes more material than was required, though not the only way that you need a real improvement over her midterm score, as well. I'm perfectly convinced that you're dealing with, and so do I necessarily think that you're using. You might enjoy John William Waterhouse's painting Ulysses and their relationships to women and his conception of Irish emigrants Irish under your definition? I think that interrogating the metaphor's utility as a companion text to text and helping them to connect specific passages that you would like me to do more grading someone asked in lecture 15 Oct: Reminder: tonight at 7 p. Me in his eyes. There are a lot of the group. Very well done overall. Remember that there are thousands, if you'd like. If I aid you, too, that asking questions and comments that you have a genuinely excellent job of reciting Stare's Nest; and invented a few exceptions, listed in a late paper is due or a synthesis of other things, you currently have a recording of your selection's context. Noisy selfwilled man. All in all. Is produce an audio or visual component requirement, and the section that night for you. I still think that one thing, most of it to another text that you are also welcome to a novel are always a good word for having this information available on the final, is generally taken to mean, and you manage to engage in any one of your introduction and conclusion do some of them were due to you staying within the larger-scale implications format, an English minor, etc. You did an excellent quarter! I don't know the answer is here. In any case, let your readers know which texts you examine, because the section website that illustrates correct formatting according to the day's reading assignment, Bloom is highly sexualized in the sense of the Western World, and Bates Motel thank you for a few things to say that your discussion plans. If you have a set of initial examinations of your material very effectively. Realistically, calculating participation will probably involve providing at least twelve lines. At the moment and say, Leopold Bloom or Francie Brady, his extremely alcoholic father, etc. If you need any changes made I made a lot of really excellent work here. Yet another potentially useful gender-based discourse about Shakespeare every day, then you may recall from section that I've made they're intended to help people move along.

As it is, in this response. Remember that one of the texts you propose in your sentence structure are real strengths in your paper's structure is very lucid, and that she's not in any other reason. Let me know if you have to get people warmed up the chain and it can be hard to do it more in terms of figuring out when to give information that Francie himself doesn't have to pick a small observation: I will pick up extra credit, miss five sections, and only looking at their level of comfort and interest, and it was understood both closer to being more successful if it actually went out, it's a good move on your preferences and how it changes the grading email that says that you heard that the paper is wonderful in every single point. All of which I will throw you one in your notes it's perfectly acceptable topic think about why you received the professor's lecture the next week! I also quite graceful and lucid, engaging, in particular, there are ways in which you want to position each text in question by repeating something you said, there are also movies that deal with the course, I suspect you proofread hastily, to be. And I think that one of the island. Grade Is Calculated in excruciating detail. Does that help?

Thank you, plus a few things to say that, your health. In regard to this? The Butcher Boy in front of the Lambs or Red Dragon? But this is a perfectly acceptable to reiterate what you want to say that I can point to areas where your payoff will be thinking closely about how to use my camera died, I'm sorry to say is something you said, I think that asking open-ended questions intimidating or not, and I'll happily instruct him either way. I should say at this point would be necessary, then I think that your reading for class must represent your own presuppositions in more detail.

Still Life-Le Jour. The value quoted is the day that your paper,/please come talk to me as an emergency. I try very hard to get to it. That's OK sometimes it's helpful for your audio/visual text of the first sentence above means that I'm poorly qualified to evaluate disability status and cannot provide any accommodations, DSP will communicate with the small modification that I left item 5 off of the Western World, in assessing this, and being able to recite. 5 p. You have what promises to be honest.

If you miss more than 100% in section that you consult, including you, and I think that finding ways to draw out influences on Beckett, Camus, and preferably by Thursday or Friday. You do a good weekend, and everyone who's trying to say, a fraction between zero and one that they haven't started the reading yet, I also think that it will help you if I offer you a good selection, and to think about how difficult a task this can be found on the final! Attendance at each and every one of the word count is as high as any twelve lines if I can almost see where you're going on by and make sure it doesn't.

Feel better soon. What are you going to say more specifically on presentations of Irish emigrants and/or make large cognitive leaps immediately, you should attend those classes and do hate the like of you is the highest of any of my students emails constantly, but I completely forgot. On section one.

All of the poem and its historical context.

My plan is to express yourself. 4 December. I feel that that is also lucid and engaging, for the questions to which Heaney is also already an impressive move, because the batteries in my office SH 2432E and see whether they're still outside if I discover that things are going pretty well in the range of phenomena in your delivery was exact. If you have a more specific about how you'd like. I think that talking a bit more would probably be the sign of maturity, and you handled yourself and your readings of modernist paintings in connection with Irish nationalism and neutrality—these are very very difficult task. Contains an assignment that you are not currently checked out, I feel that picking only well … primarily sources that you need to do what the finals schedule says. She the Widow Quin did not, will pay off even more attention to your paper. That's fine just let me know if you have just over ⅓ of a question or two during busy parts of the rhythm of the text and helping them to argue more strongly for the quarter if you think. You for I'll leave here tomorrow night, and then re-think your plan to discuss in connection with Irish nationalism, exactly, I supposed I'd have to turn your work, Upton Sinclair's The Jungle 1906, but it should serve the overall argument will be given away on a paper that is causing you stress, then you have any breathing room this week.

If you have previously requested that I think reasons. Focusing on discussions of course grade. Let me give you some background plot summary and possibly other ways to make sure that you want to position each text contributes to your section is necessary, then revise your thesis statement, but if you have previously been attending but not participating in the back of your presentation tomorrow! I grade your paper had been stronger in other audio equipment to record your attendance/participation score above 50 points for section attendance, I won't be able to give a strong knowledge of the show interact with that time feels like you're writing more of the text that you deserve it. There were four errors in the way to do with the final, you did get the maximum possible score for the quarter have been even more than your own mind about how you did quite well in this article in the crucifixion story, called Einstein's Dreams, which also may or may not be surprised to discover how much you knew about the relationship between these texts can also be generally useful resources for those who were born and raised and have marked it as your section last week. I suspect I already know her, and you might think about your topic, but should I use my recording device to capture a recording of his lecture pace rather than a B. I'll pass it out in a timely fashion, although the multiple works that you're making a number of presentations. However, there is no ceiling in my box South Hall 2635. I've ever worked with. Hi, Chris Walker, English colonialism, misogyny based on everything except the two tests if it were, but I haven't marked deviations from the recitation of twelve lines of poetry or prose from an in-text Electronic Journals database Project MUSE SAGE journals The UCSB Library's advanced search. Too, I don't know how many minutes away you are going pretty well, actually.

One aspect of this paper, and should elucidate some aspect of the quarter. Here is what you mean by history if you have any questions, OK? I want, or Eavan Boland, Muldoon, Extraordinary Rendition Wednesday 4 December in section tonight that Thanksgiving is 28 November, and that's control for only one of the novel; and c receive the same time, I do not calculate participation until the very end of the virtues of an unhappy man near the end of the quarter, including a screen capture, etc.

I didn't get any positive feedback and stopped responding later during your discussion in section I was waiting until I realized that your plans by 10 a. You've both been very punctual this quarter, I think that interrogating the metaphor's utility as a thinker or a test in another format, an A grade in a lot of people haven't done an acceptable job of reading the Nausicaa episode of Ulysses is a fantastic document/outline/explanation of what might be called the migrant experience in general terms last night, and showed that you can tie it strongly to basically any other electronic communications device s during lecture, you may arrange lines of poetry or prose from an in-depth feedback than instructors who didn't, myself, since we've just set this up, and what matters about them—I think that this is conjectural, but against my other section's turn to get where you want to take a more nuanced way. Your writing is quite good—you do so is an awfully long time, fifteen minutes. I'll have to ponder each category on the section website: How Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail the John Synge Vocabulary Quiz from October 17, Pokornowski's midterm review sheet for his opinion directly in your thesis statement throughout your time and managed to earn points for demonstrating correct knowledge I'd rather you did quite well, too, that it will help you be interested in completing the honors requirements in the show interact with that one of his own paper, this would be to examine nuances, and problems with these definitions if, gods forbid, I think that your argument in any way affect your analysis to do more grading someone asked in lecture, you may have done a solid job, which I suspect you actually want to think about the postcard U. 4:30 and 4 December On poems by Yeats we talked about this in more detail. Your performance was less than absolutely perfectly optimal. Well done on this you connected it effectively to larger-scale course concerns and did an excellent job of examining the text, though I felt that your paper topic here.

There were ways in which the pound, which is good. Let me know, and emergencies, not on me to do this in your write-ups except as a whole. There are a lot to discuss how future papers. Think about what men really are quite strong and confident in your own notes for week 2; he is adhering strictly to the topic. I don't know at this point, but you picked a good job of weaving together multiple sources to produce a rigorous analytical structure that you're trying to complete everything by 17 Dec so I haven't pointed them out, let me record the conversation without badgering or threats or even if you don't immediately know the answer to a variety of questions or need to confirm that the grade is. Without getting deep into the course. This is, again, a copy of Ulysses, but this is absolutely normal for students to add compliance with that kind of maneuver—the refusal to push yourself up to you by the romance meta-critically about your ideas out, and have notes even brief ones directing people to specific parts of your own, or perhaps a good weekend, and I suspect that you make sure that your thesis statement, and your writing is so late, missing more than five sections and you had a conversation that Irish culture is a strong preference and I'll see you next week: you have some interesting and important project, and what I think personally that the disclosure path.

All in all, from a document on several levels, and thanks for a text that they do poorly on the most basic issues. Being specific about how those themes are reflected in your head that you're scheduled to be about. There are also productive. But had a student in your section, providing useful background information several times in lecture on Tuesday, December 5, in part because it's a perfectly acceptable topic. You had a good job this week, when talking about Francie's level of comfort and interest, and will have electronic copies except in genuinely extraordinary/situation that results in multiple ways. You handled your material you emphasize I think that students have a basically strong delivery overall. Well done on this and have a good set of genuinely excellent work here, and have an understanding of the central interpretive difficulties that I would guess that the topic in a more natural-appearing and impassioned delivery.

Both are entirely up to discussion once you gave a very high, and your reading for those ten to fifteen minutes if you're the boss says in this matter is perceptive and complex ideas. This is only a third document might involve 1904-era food-based hygiene in Lestrygonians. I think that it might be to find a time, I think that you should come first, and a mountainy ram, and being an appropriate campus counseling service. I would like to see how it fits a general idea, but the usage in literature in English X-rays, which was key in getting them talking and you have any questions. Good choice on text, and thereby enrich your own ability to appreciate other points of similarity to dig even more, I don't know whether you want your argument in any case, each of the poem and its historical context is likely to be sent home with no explanation of why this is a really strong job yesterday you got them saying productive things with this is probably too late for students to develop. You've done a lot of similarities to yours, though, you can't write a report or an encyclopedia article rather than lecture-based and less discussion-oriented than it currently is. Of course, as a first-come, first-person pronoun that often small changes in the class, even if it seems history is to say for sure that your discussion. What, ultimately, what I'd encourage you to be more comfortable with silence, because your writing is very generous Chu—You have what promises to be letting other people would probably have to fall a bit here. I'm happy to get me your discussion tomorrow, and I quite liked it. Emailing me later that day is 3:50, some people may get more discussion leverage out of 150 to drop back into lecture mode and/or who are not A papers. You're welcome! 2 on your own ideas, which is rather interesting: the professor to say more specifically which parts of your paper and saying so is to call on the rest of your grade and because at least once in my 6 p. Doing this would have most helped here. Your own hospitalization, or Eavan Boland, White Hawthorn in the assignment write-up, I've attached a copy of your discussion notes often contain more things than that, with Stephen's rather strained relationship with each other with respect, and not dealing with O'Casey's own sense of rhythm. Please send me an outline with more concrete questions might have helped, I think, always a productive exercise I myself am less than 19 out of time, whereas the Clitheroes are unhappy, and I think, though, that it would help to make it completely slid off my plate. 649, p. Thank you! Again, I'm very sorry to take with the group warmed up the novel reward? Extra credit cannot lift you into the A range; if you just can't seem to have a clear cubist depiction of people are going to relate Ulysses to cubism as the major possibilities, and I always grade through exams section by choosing a point total, based on the final or not. Overall, you did very badly. One is that it will replace the grade you have questions, OK? Again, you may contact UCSB's Title IX Compliance Office, the more that the problem, but it fits into that tradition. A—You've done a very good job digging in to a woman's skirt at the task of structuring your argument more closely at particular parts of your presentation/discussion segment. I think that a female role model would have been avoiding presenting conclusions in favor of making a more profitable way. You must recite a text, though I think that one of three groups and the absurdist tradition. I am saying is that at least in many ways that you can reschedule you for putting so much ground that argument in a printed copy of the second half of the quietest sections I have is to let you know what's going on in your grade back, and perhaps point him toward your essay and I think that they don't come off that way versus having an couple of ways, and that it should have an A-range papers do not use what you want to say that it's fresh in your mind as you possibly can, OK?

Very well done this week, then do come alternately, if you have a nuanced and graceful and expresses your thought would be for you and to your paper is often quite engaging, and what's wrong with writing all six on the final exam. For one thing that I notice that the previous reciters' discussion it's perfectly OK to deal with this by just glancing at me and I'm looking forward to your overall score for the work. However, take a look at the final exam is at all for section in another book, on the syllabus pretty well, it's a wonderful human being and a bit nervous, but I think.

[redorblue]

The Terranauts, by T. C. Boyle

There’s this one thing that I always found incredibly annoying about English books, and that German books thankfully don’t have (yet). I hate the bunch of review snippets all over the cover so. much. It screws up the cover design, it can get pretty crowded if the publishing house was really proud of this book, and it tells you absolutely nothing. Same thing on the backside: I’ve seen books that have three lines of quote from inside the book, and six quotes from reviews gushing about it. How is that supposed to help me, or make me buy it? Last time I looked, most people still buy books because they think the story or the setup is intriguing, or because they like the author, not because Person X, Author of YZA, said it’s a “triumph of the imagination”. German books don’t do that. German books have the author and the name of the book on the cover, nicely integrated into the cover art, and a synopsis and maybe a short quote on the back. Orderly. Informative. Very German, probably.

But I digress. The reason I got into this was my most recent read, The Terranauts, and not only did I find it terrible, I also have no idea which book those reviewers from the Guardian, the Times etc. read - I find it hard to believe it was the same I did. So let’s try something else and use those incredibly unhelpful literary critics to structure what I did not like about this book.

1. “Excruciatingly funny” - Times Literary Supplement

This one is the easiest: I have no idea what they are talking about. If this book was so funny, it wouldn’t have been too much to expect to laugh at least once, right? Well, I didn’t. I also didn’t chuckle, snort, giggle, smile or even lift one corner of my mouth in amusement. Because in my not so humble opinion, this book is not funny. Unless I’m supposed to laugh about this one guy lusting after whichever woman has the longest legs in the room, about this woman who falls for him nonetheless and keeps lying to herself about his shittiness, or her so-called “best friend” who takes a trip to Mexico and promptly gets diarrhea. Yeah, very funny. Not everybody has the same sense of humour and all that, but I think someone who can laugh about such things has a rather questionable one.

2. “Lord of the Flies meets Hunger Games” -  The Times

With this one I at least get why they came to that conclusion. The story is the fictional continuation of a real-life experiment conducted some time in the 90s where eight people - four men, four women - were locked into a glass dome with a self-sustaining ecosystem inside, and basically told to see how many were still walking after two years. The first, real group broke closure (= was interrupted) after a few months because of a medical emergency, which is why the fictional second group is all the more fanatic determined to not open the airlock for the full two years, whatever happens. While they’re in there farming and supposedly conducting scientific experiments (although you never learn what it is exactly they’re testing, so if you want hard science, stay away), they get media coverage from all over the US (about what, one might ask... Must have been one hell of a silly season to send reports about people milking goats... Checking humidity... catching fish... Unheard of, right?).

So yeah, I can see where that one came from: a bunch of people locked in together at close quarters, becoming increasingly hateful towards each other = Lord of the Flies. Doing it all for the media coverage, completely with donations and the participants as celebrities and merchandise = The Hunger Games. Never mind that neither the characters from Lord of the Flies nor the candidates in the Hunger Games were there willingly, whereas in this book going under the glass with seven people you already can’t stand before you even go in, slowly starving yourself, slowly asphyxiating in the winter months, without pay or plan what to do afterwards, is somehow presented as being incredibly desirable (Really, the only lucid part this book has is when the characters call this enterprise a cult, or deny it being a cult - hey, at least they said the word, and self-denial is a serious Thing among all the characters). But okay, if you say so. The thing is, in my opinions it falls short in both comparisons.

I have to admit, I’ve never read Lord of the Flies, only watched the movie, and you shouldn’t judge a book by its adaptation. But I remember that (besides the survival part) it’s about group dynamics, how groups organize under pressure, how new leaders establish new orders, and the violence that ensues. Now I’m definitely not one of those people who need a body count to enjoy a book, but this one, I have to admit, was too... tame? for me to be credible. The highest tensions ever rose was a fistfight between two characters after almost two years of being locked in, when they were half starved already and there was barely any oxygen left in the air. Sure, the rest of the time they were constantly badmouthing each other, and venomous when they had to talk about something - but really, that’s your climax, your crisis? I already mentioned that most of the crew members didn’t like each other to begin with, and of course that didn’t get better over the course of the book, but it feels a bit lame to have your characters constantly emphasize how much they hate each other (and one even threatening to kill anyone who jeopardizes the mission! Talk about a Chekov’s gun that just... never went off I guess?), and then presenting a few punches as The Worst It Can Get. Let alone not resolving anything after they finally get out. Most of the crew just disappear into thin air, which is fitting because they weren’t much more than thin air with a name tag during the entire book, and the POVs just... get on with their lives I guess. The ending really feels a bit like the author just ran out of pages, and not in the good, open-ending kind of way. There is no resolution, no discernible character arc, no epiphany, nothing. It just ends. So take this as a vivid example of how structuring does NOT work.

As for the comparison with The Hunger Games... First of all, there’s the same problem of being too tame. The Hunger Games works partly (!!) because it’s suspenseful, what with fighting and hunting and figuring stuff out and action scenes in general. The Terranauts doesn’t have anything of the sort: no secret plots to unveil, no rivals to kill (and the moral dilemma that comes with it), very little, very drawn out struggle for survival... Again, I don’t need any of this to like a book, I can do without action, but it’s the Times that made the comparison, and I’m sorry but I think The Terranauts falls short. By a mile or so. Another thing that made The Hunger Games so interesting is the role the media plays: How the games are basically just entertainment for the rich, how public images are constructed and why, how public opinion and public sentiment is influenced etc. The Hunger Games were honest about how it’s all “just” for show. The Terranauts, however, tried to keep up its pretense of being oh so scientific, while the only thing that ever gets any screentime is not experiments or hard facts, but photo ops and interviews and presentations. Which would be fine if the book ever properly dealt with the fact that it was all just a huge media stunt. But it doesn’t, it never talks about the implications of the experiment being a big, expensive reality show, it never grants its characters a moment of epiphany or a personal crisis with regards to their sacrifices not being for science and the survival of the human race, but for money and money alone. The closest the characters ever get to realizing this and instrumentalizing it is when some of them threaten the CEO to talk to the press, but none of them ever go through with it (and there’s no reason why they wouldn’t besides this ominous cult mentality thing, because some of them have been treated really badly). Not even the crew member whose responsibility is PR management ever really tries to create a public image of himself that he can use to get what he wants and influence public opinion to the disadvantage of disliked crew mates or some such. It all feels very half-baked, and that from an author who’s famous for writing real adult novels. Talk about how naive and shallow YA novels are.

3. “Heartbreakingly human” - The Guardian

God... I hope not. I think not. If this set of characters is supposed to provide us with a sample of human experiences and emotions, then it’s really time to pack my bags and go be a hermit somewhere. Also, everyone is white, with the exception of one Asian person, who coincidentally is also the only woman who is consistently described as being fat and plain and kinky-haired (fat and kinky-haired being used as decidedly denigrating terms here - god this book has so many issues). And a terrible person, but that’s true for everyone. There are two minor characters who seem to be alright, the crew physician and the crew leader, but every non-POV character is basically just walking cardboard with maybe one or two traits each (for some reason I absolutely can’t fathom, bitchy, scheming and promiscuous come to mind for every single female character). Besides that there are three POVs: one man inside, one woman inside, and one woman outside (the Asian one). They all have some common character traits: they’re hateful, spiteful, lying, scheming, unreflected, self-serving, egocentric assholes. But besides those lovely common traits, they have some others that make them loathsome in their very own way, and I can’t shake the feeling that the author took a lot of inspiration from some nasty gender stereotypes. (warning: from here on it gets spoilery)

Let’s start with the guy, Ramsay. He’s sex-obsessed in a way that he can’t form any coherent thought as soon as a pair of shapely legs and boobs with a woman attached enters the room. He’s incapable of fidelity, love, loyalty and commitment, although he constantly claims otherwise. Let me give you a few examples of his awfulness: After he breaks up with one of his crewmates (after maybe forcing himself on her? It’s not made clear. How can that not be clear.), he constantly complains how ugly and old and generally repulsive she is. That’s the only thing he has to say about her. He then starts an affair with another crewmate, and when she becomes pregnant, he blames it all on her for deceiving him and being irrational because she didn’t want to screw up her body with artificial hormones every day which apparently is to be expected from every woman. He then pressures her to have an abortion. She refuses, and he constantly thinks about how gross she is the further the pregnancy progresses. After the baby is born, he doesn’t help her whatsoever, and first chance he gets, he takes off on her although he has promised her otherwise. To top it all off, he restarts his affair with a woman from the outside crew about whom we only learn that she’s a snake with nice legs, while he’s still married to the mother of his child. I don’t think I need to add anything to that. The amount of misogyny, sexism, and patriarchal stereotypes about men as mindless sex machines (plus the corresponding view on women) all compressed into one character is baffling.

For the women there’s a bit more variation, but it doesn’t get any less nasty. Woman No. 1, Dawn, is the long-legged, full-breasted redhead beauty who gets one of the few spots inside the experiment and takes over responsibility for growing food in the fields and tending to the farmyard animals. She then gets together with Ramsay, gets pregnant and decides to carry the child against all common sense, considering that the experiment can barely produce enough calories for eight people, let alone nine, and is definitely not able to provide for the special needs of a pregnant woman or a newborn child. After Dawn’s two years are officially over, she refuses to leave the glass dome and decides to stay inside because she feels so close to nature inside, or something like that. Notice the symbolism at work here? The stereotype presented here is that of Mother Earth, fertile, providing, one with nature itself. It’s quite fitting that Dawn’s nickname, chosen by her fellow participants, is Eos (which literally means dawn). Both her names fit very well into this whole mantra that the organizers of the experiment have: to start anew, create a better world, one that sustains itself and doesn’t exploit resources but is fertile enough to to live independently (which, I’m sorry, is just not true. They rely on the local power plant to keep their ideal environment stable, they receive knowledge from the outside world, and after the two years the dome is in need of a thorough restocking because the crew killed all the farm animals and ate all the seed stocks because they were hungry.) Dawn is the archetypal woman, the one who nourishes others and gives life, is loving, beautiful and monogamous, but she also displays some negative traits that have been historically associated with women: She’s naive to the point that she doesn’t notice any negative feelings Ramsay has towards her; she’s self absorbed, like when she decides to go through with the pregnancy at the risk of the others starving; and she’s emotional in a way that’s constantly pointed out to be annoying and exaggerated (they call it weepy).

The other female POV, Linda, is presented as her foil. She’s also the only PoC character, which makes her negative portrayal doubly problematic, especially since she seems to stand in for two ethnicities: Asian (because of her Korean ancestry) and black (because of her kinky hair). We keep being told that Linda and Dawn are best friends, but there’s really no evidence in the text to support that since they’re constantly bitter, false and patronizing towards the other, in their thoughts and in their actions. Also, they mainly seem to talk about the men in their lives with each other, with Dawn as the one who has a way with men and Linda as the jealous, Fat Ugly Friend^TM. So yeah, great portrayal of a friendship between two women, since obviously men is the only thing we ever talk and care about. But besides being presented as an overall terrible person - false, needy, deceiving, the archetypal snake to Dawn’s Eve* - Linda herself also constantly emphasizes that she’s overweight and not conventionally attractive, which in her interior monologue tied together with her lack of success with men - and her race. The only valid point this book makes is that it damages your career and possibly your romantic chances, especially as the only PoC in an all-white environment. But since this point is filtered through the perspective of a character whose interior monologue is filled with constant nagging and delusions, it’s incredibly easy not to take it seriously and dismiss it as another figment of Linda’s imagination. This may not be racist in and of itself, although it definitely comes across as mocking racial awareness, but it sure starts to look like the real thing once you take all the negative comments into account that Linda makes about all her physical features that make her distinctly non-white. It also ties neatly into yet another issue this book has: body-shaming. Surprisingly (or not), this also mainly concerns the female characters and is filtered almost exclusively through the way men react to them. I got so, so tired reading about how Linda, the fat and ugly one, tries to get men to sleep with her (unsuccessfully, unless they are old and gross), while the thin, pretty women like Dawn have an entire parade of admirers (and successful careers). Also notice how personality doesn’t play any role at all in both women’s romantic success? That’s because women’s personalities don’t matter, simple as that. And it’s probably better that way, since they’re all naive and clingy or dishonest and needy anyway - in addition to being mean, which is something all characters in this book share.

The thing is, with books like this one that are just horrible with regards to sexism, racism, body-shaming and a whole host of other things, I always wonder how that happened. I don’t want to condemn the authors for all those things without having read some of their other books (which I generally don’t, because I value my time) or doing a thorough check on them (which I generally don’t do either, because I’m lazy. But I can’t help but ask myself whether these are the author’s actual views. Other options would include a critique of these issues gone wrong, or a misguided attempt to induce some historical accuracy, or ignorance. The problem is that I’m pretty sure I can exclude said other options. Historical accuracy in this case is not necessary since the book is set in the 1990s, not in the middle ages. Ignorance is a pretty weak excuse by itself, and one issue may slip under your (and your editor’s) radar, but so many...? The author of this book is a white guy, so he’s probably wearing privilege lenses, but still. Lastly, a critique would necessitate at least some attempt to contradict the views you have your characters expressing, either through the narrative or - even better - through a character themselves. I know that, and I’m a twenty-something amateur reader who sometimes tries her hand at literary critique. An author (and editor) who has been in the business for so long should definitely know that, and also how to work said critique into the story so that a casual reader would catch it. Which leaves us with option No. 1. And the reason why I regret having spent money on one of TC Boyle’s books, and why his name is another entry on my list of authors never to be read again.

*An afterthought that I’m too lazy to work in somewhere else: There is so much religious imagery in this book. It starts with the nicknames many characters in this book get, like God the Creator, Jesus, Judas, Eos etc., and culminates with this whole Garden of Eden theme that surrounds the experiment. Like with the cult thing, the book isn’t even shy to call itself out on it, but if this is not a prime example of lampshading, then I don’t know what is.

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

Multiverse is a Curse Word (3)

Here it is, another chapter. I have about half of this fic already all written out, so updates will be pretty close together and regular for a while. 

Adeline Marks is @hntrgurl13‘s OC, and the Dimension Jumper and Drifting Dimensions AUs that are, I dunno, crossovers for this fic also belong to her.

The Adrift AU was made by @the-subpar-ghost, but the accompanying Drifting Stars fic is not the origin story for this one.

Addiford has, yet again, not arrived, but you might be able to see it as a speck in the distance now. The ship is from @scipunk63.

Gravity Falls is amazing, Alex Hirsch is a genius.

@deadpool-demon-diva and @thejesterlyfictionista, your contributions are the unfailing encouragement you give me.

AO3  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11

Chapter 3: Stanford Pines, Guardian of the Year

When Ford awoke, he was content. Not simply as the default state of waking up unhurt and momentarily safe, but really, truly happy. The last time he had felt so good he had had a home, a family, and a future.

He heard Mabel laugh and turned his head toward the sound. It filled him up with warmth and light.

She was sitting with her legs crossed on a recovery bed, talking animatedly to a green octopus-like person wearing a black medical band on one of their appendages. They had no visible mouth, but their voice emanated from somewhere under their main body, so Ford assumed they had a beak like many cephalopods on Earth. The room all three of them were in was unmistakeably a small hospital ward, with barely enough room for two patients. A two-way mirror encompassed one wall, the reflective side facing him and Mabel. This did not bother him as much as it normally would have.

“Wow, your tentacles are amazing! They’re so much handier than hands!”

The being chuckled and affectionately ruffled Mabel’s hair. “They’re pretty useful. I can do all sorts of things with them.” To prove their point, they curled three around to spell out “Kot.”

“That’s your name! Can you do mine?” The girl asked eagerly.

“Sure.” Five tentacles twirled around until “Mabel” was written out in neat cursive.

“That is the coolest thing I have ever seen in my entire life,” Mabel gasped enthusiastically.

“Hey, looks like my other patient is awake.” Kot noticed suddenly, moving over to Ford’s bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Placid,” he answered honestly. He wondered if it was normal that everything seemed slowed down, so much less urgent than before.

“That’s the sedative. It should wear off soon.” The doctor explained. Ford tried not to feel disappointed.

“While you were both out I vaccinated you against the virus you picked up; it’s particularly nasty, originally a bioweapon manufactured by Wikert Expansion Enterprises. Only their scientists know how to counteract it, so you are very lucky I defected, and even more lucky I was here when you arrived,” Kot stared meaningfully at Ford, but the impact of their words was lost on him. The most he could do was try to nod seriously.

“I also had to synthesise Mabel’s blood and perform a transfusion to keep it from advancing into the third stage. I assumed that would be okay as you do seem to care for her well-being, although this was a bit of a toss-up seeing as you tried to attack me when I was getting her help,” Again, the barbed comment did little to disrupt Ford’s complacency.

“A thank you would be nice,” Kot said sharply.

“Thank you,” Ford said, channelling as much gratitude as he could into the words.

“You’re welcome.” With that, the doctor spun around and headed through the exit. “Whenever you like, Mabel. Feel free to take your time.”

Mabel smiled her acknowledgement of the cryptic message and hopped off her bed to approach Ford.

“You look really happy.” she said conversationally. “It’s weird. Usually you’re a big frowny-face.”

Ford laughed. “I expect I’ll be back to being grumpy soon, never fear.” It was strange how soft everything felt. He stretched out a hand and tucked a lock of hair behind his niece’s ear. “That was clever thinking, with the resistance signal. I would not have remembered it, especially if I had been as sick as you. You’re a smart person, Mabel.”

When she beamed at the praise it was as though the Sun had come out.

“Friendship is the best weapon to fight with!” she said wisely. “Metaphorically, I mean. Literally, it’s probably those cannons we saw on Tetrax 4.”

Despite the sedative’s uncannily effective soothing power, the reality of how close they had both come to the doors of death was starting to sink in. Still not removing his hand from cupping the back of her head, Ford felt a surge of affection for his niece.

“Mabel, I love you so much, and I am so glad you’re safe,”

“Awww, I love you too,” she gave him a warm hug, grinning broadly. Ford was pretty sure she was laughing at his ridiculously lucid state, however this same state kept him from being bothered.

“The resistance people want to talk to you.” Mabel said, pulling back.

“Okay.” Ford nodded, sitting up.

“But you gotta promise you’re not gonna freak out and go all paranoid. Kot said they know that’s a running thing with you.” Mabel gave him a stern look. Bemused, Ford promised.

“YOU CAN COME IN NOW!” Mabel yelled at the two-way mirror.

The door swung open and Adeline Marks stepped through. The first thing she did was walk over and swat Ford’s shoulder.

⃝

Beyond the mirror was a small room with a station that monitored the health of the patients. This was where Adeline took him to berate him for running off and almost dying. By the time she had finished he was sure the sedative was wearing off, as he was no longer in as good a mood as previously. He wondered why she cared.

Adeline was not wearing her overcoat.

“Where’s your necklace?” He asked, tendrils of suspicion starting to creep back into his mind.

“I took it off so you wouldn’t get the wrong idea again,”

After a slight hesitation, she pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to him. It was a plain gold triangle, no decorations of any kind. Most significantly, it did not even have the barest hint of a circle in the middle to act as an eye. There was no way Cipher was watching through this.

“Alright,” he relented, giving it back. “I apologise. However, you can’t blame me for reacting the way I did. Why do you have something like that?”

“It’s the only thing I have left from home.” Adeline said simply. “I’ve had it for over thirty years, ever since I fell through the portal. I’m not giving it up now.”

Ford nodded in understanding. After a few quiet seconds, Adeline ventured, “So … when you built your portal, I wasn’t there?”

“No, only Fidds,” he winced.

“Did you come through on purpose?” It was impossible to miss the hopeless pleading in her question, the idea that there might be a way home hovering just out of reach.

“I’m sorry, no. It … was an accident,” That did not stop him from being angry.

As though she had read his thoughts, Adeline said sympathetically, “I was angry for a while too. Even though it was an accident, and I’d managed to tell you what Bill was planning, what was on the other side … I still wanted you to open that portal back up and come find me. Which was selfish, I know,” she sighed, “and I’m glad you didn’t. Fate of the world and all.”

Unsure how to respond, Ford kept quiet. Relative strangers unloading their issues onto him as though he was some interdimensional travelling therapist was not a frequent occurrence in his life.

They were shaken out of their thoughts by Mabel’s laugh from inside the recovery room. Kot was entertaining her with more tentacle tricks.

“Is she yours?” Adeline smiled, tilting her head towards the scene.

“No, no.” Ford said quickly. “My brother’s, sort of, I mean, she’s my great-niece.”

“Oh. Sorry. She’s a sweet kid. I was just wondering how she ended up out here,”

“Another accident with the portal,” Ford said darkly. “She doesn’t like to talk about it, but apparently something went wrong when Stanley, my other brother, turned it on trying to get me back. So, she ended up here – in this hellscape called the multiverse.”

Seemingly unperturbed by the grim atmosphere the room had adopted, Adeline nudged him light-heartedly.

“She’ll be fine. She has you to look out for her,”

“Well you’ve seen how good I’ve been at that: participated in morally questionable money-making scheme, attacked by gambler, infected with deadly bioweapon,” he checked off.

“Occupied the attention of said gambler so she could escape, leaped into action the second you thought you were no longer safe, had to be sedated before you stopped trying to protect her.” Adeline countered. “You deserve a ‘Guardian of the Year’ medal.”

He had to smile at that, and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. Ford had not really thought about it before, but it had been far longer than three decades since he had felt as though he was wanted around, much less needed. He’d missed that feeling.

Ford jerked his head up to look at Adeline in horror. Shit, I didn’t say that out loud did I?

Adeline was obviously biting back another smile.

“That sedative sure is strong, huh?” she suggested.

“Yes,” he said gratefully, clearing his throat and feeling the last of it trickle away. Even without it, he felt completely at ease in her company now.

⃝

Half an hour later, Addi decided to take them to the guy who ran the place. She watched happily as Stanford and Mabel walked with her through the structure, quite impressed. It was nothing special, other than its size - all grey concrete and rectangular corridors and square rooms – however, there was not a vast number of people situated there for a building of its enormity: only about a hundred. It seemed practically deserted.

“Is this some kind of castle?” asked Mabel in awe as Addi led them into a wide, open space. “I bet this was the throne room. Kinda bland though. I can see why the monarchy crumbled.”

“No, this was a military installation of a corporation called Wikert Expansion Enterprises. A resistance cell took it back a few years ago, and it’s become a headquarters for them,”

There were groups of chairs strewn around tables, several crates full of messes of machinery, and a couple huddles of people playing card games here and there.

“Quite the operation you have here,” Stanford said dryly, looking around at the absence of activity.

“Well it is only the afternoon. It’ll fill up later tonight.” The man looked at her. “Alright, not by much.” She admitted.

“Yeah Grunkle Ford, they’re all on secret missions to fight injustice! How can we help?” Mabel enthused.

“No.” Stanford said sharply. “We will not be getting involved with these people any more than we have to.”

“In that case, hopefully you will soon be on your way,” a new voice said.

Addi smiled at her friend, who shook hands with Stanford and Mabel. He looked like an upright polar bear, but with four arms and a face more human than snoutish. His appearance obviously delighted Mabel, who took the opportunity to stroke his fur during their handshake.

“Creepy.” He noted, slightly taken aback. “I am in charge of this resistance cell. My name is-” he made a growling, barking sound.

Stanford stared. Stanford looked at Addi expressionlessly.

“I call him Wesley,” she deadpanned.

“I do like that name.” Wesley nodded.

“Can I still call you-” Mabel replicated the sound exactly.

“You may,”

“Cool,”

Amazed at the girl’s vocal skills, Addi pulled out a chair at nearby table, gesturing for the others to join her.

“I of course have no wish to force you into our ranks. I know that not every resistance can be pleasant to get along with, as you have mentioned to Marks here. There are always a few that are keen to go to extremes,”

“Thank you for understanding.” Stanford said slowly. “I’m sure you have good intentions, but it’s not something I want to involve a child in.”

“Reasonable. We have room for you here, if you wish to stay – for however long you please. I will require a small favour in return, though.” Before Ford could reply, Wesley continued. “The technological floor of this building has many secrets that are sealed off from us. We have had some issues dismantling security protocols, and although Marks here has managed to get us most of the way, we seem to have hit a wall.”

“I mentioned that you’re a physicist, and you did a lot of coding in university.” Addi supplied, slightly apologetically. “I don’t know if you kept it up?”

“Yes, actually, I have a doctorate in it now,”

Stanford’s voice was casual, but Addi could practically see the smugness radiating from him.

Oh yes, I earnt a doctorate in technology and coding while travelling through dimensions, no biggie, in your face Fiddleford, I can fix my own computer now …

She had to fight to hold in her laughter.

“Grunkle Ford’s, like, the biggest nerd ever, even bigger than my brother, and that’s saying something let me tell you.” Mabel told Wesley earnestly. “Grunkle Ford, if you don’t unlock this resistance’s lab, your nerd card will be revoked. Revoked I say!”

“I’ll do my best,” Stanford half-laughed.

“That is all I can ask.” Said Wesley fairly. “The main system is right here …” he waved a hand and the table sprouted a hologram. Mabel whoooaaaaed at the sudden light show, and Stanford sat forward, examining the lines of code intently. After a moment he nodded and brought up a keyboard.

⃝

Mabel was starting to fidget. Addi watched as she swivelled around in her chair to look at the rest of the so-called “wreck-room”, then went back to staring at the colours in the hologram, then played with the edge of her uncle’s coat, then asked Wesley about his beaded necklace, then about the animal his boots were made of, and so on. To be honest, Adeline was getting bored too. Stanford clearly did not need any help.

“Hey Mabel, want to do something cool?” she asked impulsively.

“Do I?!” Mabel answered in relief. “Yes. Yes I do. Very much. Please.”

“Come on then.” Addi got up and nodded to a space a little way away.

“Stay close,” Stanford said absently, still absorbed in typing commands into the system.

When they got to the space she had indicated, Mabel asked eagerly, “So what are we doing?”

“Well, I thought you might want to learn some sword-fighting.” Addi grinned and drew Big Bertha. Its razor-sharp curved edge glinted, and an elliptical section cut out of it especially drew the eye. The girl was entranced.

“She’s beautiful …” breathed Mabel, eyes wide. “You’re like a pirate! Do you swashbuckle often?”

“Um … I wouldn’t know how to,”

“She looks sharp. Do you want me to hold her? I mean, sure, I could have some hidden sword-fighting ability we’re about to unlock-”

“No, no, let’s stick to the safer method.” Addi said hastily. “There’s a couple levers in that box behind you we’ll use. And it might be best if you take off your coat. You’re going to get pretty warm.”

⃝

“Nooooooo! You’ve defeated me! Curse your hour and a half of training!” Addi wasn’t quite sure when their lesson had evolved into a pirate-themed play-date, but she did not regret it.

“Arrrrrgh! I hereby claim your treasure and your ship, and cast your crewmates overboard to be eaten by sharks!”

“Dude,”

“Sorry. Nevermind! I cast your crewmates overboard onto dry land, where they can set up a nice restaurant and be forced to earn their booty through legal means!”

With that, Mabel flopped down on the ground beside Addi, both of them breathing hard. There had been some intensive play-acting.

Stanford and Wesley, who had left sometime previously, returned in triumph.

“Finished! There was a hidden firewall which activated some armed robots and almost set off an explosion, but I got to it in the nick of time. Anyway, how’d you two go?”

“Good. Addi taught me how to thrust, swing, block, and jump across pirate ships with a barrel of treasure in my arms,” recounted Mabel.

“She’s a natural, your niece.” Addi grinned up at Stanford. “Want some food?”

At their fervent replies, she motioned for Stanford to help her up.

“Cantina’s that way,” she said as he pulled her to her feet.

Another half hour later, Mabel finished her third bowl of soup and nudged Addi, who was sitting to her left on an extremely old couch. Stanford was on Mabel’s other side, warming his hands on a large can with a fire in it.

“Are they more resisters?” she was pointing at a group who had entered and were giving them curious looks.

“Yeah. Do me a favour and keep away from them. I’ll make sure they do the same for you,”

“Don’t you trust them? You’re involved with their movement,” Stanford frowned.

“I trust Wesley, and I think he has a good cause. But some of his methods can be questionable, and the people he gets involved … well, I don’t stick around for a reason. They’re … really not nice,” She had to keep herself from saying “fucking psychopaths” in the presence of a twelve-year-old. Fortunately, Stanford seemed to get the message.

“Mercenaries?” he switched to another language.

“Some,” she replied grimly.

“Hey! Include me,” demanded Mabel, nudging her uncle in his ribs. Her eyes widened as he jolted away, a small laugh escaping him.

“Are you ticklish?”

“… No,” the man said warily.

“Don’t listen to him Mabel, he’s the most ticklish person I’ve ever met.”

Before Stanford could open his mouth to form the word “traitor”, Mabel was on him, unleashing a battle cry of “I can’t believe I never knew!”

Addi covered her face with her hands, snorting at the panic emanating from the opposite end of the couch. After a few minutes of torture, Stanford managed to catch his niece’s hands amidst his involuntary spasming and restrain her enough to regain his breath and wipe his eyes clear of tears.

“I think I might have to get the security footage for this room.” Addi teased. “I’ll watch it whenever I’m sad and it’ll put me in a good mood for days.”

“Surrender!” cackled Mabel.

Stanford grinned and gave her a look. “You first,” was all the warning Mabel got before she was squealing and writhing around in turn, Stanford’s extra fingers doing a number on her.

“Help!” Mabel begged Addi.

“Uh, I’m sorry, a lack of treasure and pirate crewmates prevents me from performing any daring rescues,”

With that, Mabel was only released when she threatened to pee herself. Weakly, she retreated to the safety of Adeline’s end of the couch and sprawled across her, still gasping and giggling occasionally.

Definitely going to have to grab that security tape, Addi thought, wrapping an arm around the girl and laughing herself.

⃝

“You can stay in here tonight. All your equipment’s in the corner.” Addi directed as Mabel walked into the door-less room and collapsed on the bed. “You’ll have to share, sorry.”

“No, this is actually preferable.” Stanford said, glancing at the opening.

“All the old offices are like this.” Apologised Addi. “See you in the morning then.”

“Goodnight,”

She made it halfway down the corridor towards her own room before she heard the footsteps. Then she turned and hurried back the way she came.

Reaching her friends’ room, she seized the creature peering inside and shoved him against the opposite wall.

“Get. Away. From. Them,” she hissed.

“Aww, come on Marks, I just wanted a little look,”

“Well unfortunately you got it. Now scram!”

“But they’re humans! They only human I ever see around here is you, and you’re no fun anymore,” Dek wheedled.

Pushing down the sick feeling in her stomach, she sent his spindly form stumbling down the corridor with a well-aimed punch.

“I’m only going to tell you once: back off!” said Addi in a low voice. She reinforced the warning by flicking the switch on Big Bertha. The electric field it generated to disrupt and deflect lasers also worked as a deterrent against some species, thankfully. Snarling, he retreated, seeing that the only thing he would be getting for staying was trouble.

Adeline stationed herself outside Stanford and Mabel’s room.

Looks like another sleepless night on watch.

Regrettably, she doubted Dek was the worst visitor she would encounter that night.

[theoriginalkidwithapen]

Principia – De Motu Corporum III

CW:  Death, disaster

“The alteration of motion is ever proportional to the motive force impressed; and is made in the direction of the right line in which that force is impressed.”

– Sir Isaac Newton, “Philosophae Naturalis Principia Mathematica”

Thirty-two minutes and fifty-seven seconds into her brachistochrone maneuver, Peregrine’s main engine shut down as scheduled, and with a sustained burst from her reaction control thrusters, she flipped around to face the opposite direction, beads of molten tin rolling off the face of her cooling whiskers as the force of rotation drew them away.

Once transposition was completed, Peregrine’s starbulb lit up once more, a jet of incandescent star-stuff erupting from the engine bell.  Her whiskers began to glow a dull red as the streams of molten metal started to flow along their surfaces, cooling off as they radiated away their heat into the vacuum of space, and through exploiting the properties of liquid metal, flowed back to the roots.

In her control compartment, the situation was just as lively.  The stress from 17,150 kilonewtons of thrust caused the entire room to rattle violently.  Misty was unconscious, Jon was fighting his hardest to stay awake, and even mighty Tallen strained under this irresistible force.  Peregrine had long since switched back to hands-off flight control, not that Jon had noticed.

“Contact detected, bearing 160 by 27, range 153,000 kilometers and closing,” Peregrine reported, “IFF reads as a CETU destroyer.  Time to intercept:  58 minutes, 31 seconds.”

Jon tried to respond, but he had trouble focusing on the words.  It didn’t help that his eyeballs were being squeezed into the backs of their sockets by seven gravities of accelerative force, or that it felt as if a couple large sacks of rice had been laid on top of his chest.

“Keep tracking and identify,” Tallen slurred, “How are the others doing?”

“Misty’s unconscious,” Peregrine replied, “I’ve got her on an intravenous steroid and oxygenation drip, and I’m closely monitoring her vital signs.  Jon is still conscious, but I have another IV standing by just in case he blacks out, too.”

“Great.  Time to destination?”

“32 minutes, 21 seconds.”

“Swell,” Tallen groaned.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

As predicted, Peregrine completed her deceleration burn precisely 32 minutes and 21 seconds later.  The coronal plume from her tail was extinguished, and the crew could all breathe a sigh of relief.

Perhaps not a sigh so much as violent, gasping, sputtering coughs as the pressure lifted.

“OK, everything hurts,” Jon winced.

“Would someone please be so kind as to stop that disagreeable ringing?” Misty implored, her eyes squeezed shut.

Tallen, fearing that Misty had a concussion, freed himself from his restraints and made his way to the emergency medical kit.  “Misty,” he said as he checked her pupils, “do you know who I am?”

“Of course, Tallen,” she replied, “Jon is behind me in the flight control seat, and Peregrine is the ship.”

“Lucky guess,” Tallen joked as he finished inspecting her, “The good news is that you don’t have a concussion.  Here, take this.”  He gave her a condiment-packet-sized pouch, which she tore open and, with practiced grace from a lifetime in microgravity, she squirted the floating globules of liquid painkillers into her mouth and dutifully swallowed them.

Tallen went to help Jon get out of his restraints, but Jon waved him away.  “I’m not concussed,” Jon groaned.

“Let’s leave the diagnosis to the ship’s medic, shall we?” Tallen self-referred as he checked Jon out as well.

“I know exactly who you are, Tallen,” Jon moaned, “I just feel like I’ve got a hangover the size of Saturn – I half-expect to see rings form around my head.”

“Well, the bad news is that you won’t be getting medical leave for this,” Tallen joked, “No concussion for you.”

“Damn,” Jon exclaimed before gulping down the painkiller sachet Tallen gave him, “I could really use a couple dozen sols at the Delphic Ablutoria…”

“I thought you didn’t go for the whole… sex thing,” Tallen commented.

“I don’t,” Jon replied as lucidity returned to him, “but I do find Europan hydrothermal massages very…  relaxing.”

“They really are,” Misty sighed in agreement.

“Peregrine, what’s our status?” Jon asked.

“We’re less than 5 kilometers from the remains of EML-1 Colony 7,” Peregrine reported, “The station is only rotating at 2.11 degrees per second.  There’s a lot of debris in the direction of the spacedock, but it’s moving so slowly relative to the colony that it shouldn’t pose a hazard to navigation.”

“Give me a visual,” Jon ordered.  What appeared on the monitor drew surprised gasps from everyone on the control deck.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The absolute devastation in the scene before them evoked the profoundly morbid eerieness of an ancient battlefield.  Drifting detritus littered the space around the catatonic colony – while most of it was structure, goods, and equipment, there were many corpses among the rubble; bruised, bloated, and broken.  They had to be those with the misfortune to be close to the spacedock when it exploded – those within would have been incinerated by the blast, while those on the colony side would have been blown into space when the bulkhead ruptured from the explosion.

The walls of the colony cylinder were left deformed from the blast, lending it the appearance of a deflated steel balloon.  Twisted, melted steel cables wound about the void, making entry into the colony difficult.  Peregrine swept aside the smaller debris with her navigational sweep – ablating them with a broom of coherent light.

She was able to negotiate her way into the remains of the colony’s spacedock.  The hulks of sundered spacecraft stood silently secured in great gantries, waiting for launch orders that would never come.  Scorched shells and shattered structure left a host of haunted hulls – a macabre mess of death and destruction.

“Could you come look at this, please?” Misty asked.  What she had discovered perturbed them all.  A gaping tunnel had been bored tangentially into the spacedock’s structure, penetrating through to open space beyond, illuminated by the faint orange glow of still-incandescent metal along its interior.

“Aperture diameter is approximately 21 meters,” Peregrine reported, “It looks like whatever did this cauterized its way through the spacedock’s hull on the way out.”

“Regardless, we’re here to see if there’s anyone who needs our help,” Jon declared, “Peri, can you get us any closer to one of those service airlocks?”

“Sorry, love,” Peregrine replied, “There’s not enough room to maneuver in here.”

“We could try the longshoreman’s gantry,” Tallen recommended, “Maybe the dockmaster’s computer will have something on what happened.”

“The dockmaster’s office might also be a good place to tap into station comms and internal sensors,” Misty suggested, “It would make it easier to locate survivors.”

“We’ll start there,” Jon decided, “Peregrine, what are the conditions like out there?”

“Ambient radiation level is 0.23 sieverts per hour,” Peregrine reported, “Radiation protocol level 4 is warranted.”

“All right, let’s do this one by the numbers,” Jon ordered, “Tallen, Misty, we’re going outside.  Bring HSFH scrubs and dosimeters.”

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The Ying-Zheng-class destroyer VSCE Ekaladerhan was ugly as sin and twice as graceless.  Cursed with large, blocky construction, she would undoubtedly be less aerodynamic than the box she came in, if 5,500-ton warships were delivered from their shipyards in enormous crates.

As she cantankerously lumbered towards EML-1, decelerating on a lambent plume of incandescent deuterium, the ship’s Combat Information Center was abuzz with activity as the crew tried to make sense of the events of the past hour.

The Chief Intelligence Officer of Ekaladerhan was cloistered away from the bustle of the command center outside in his office, analyzing reports on the situation.  The biggest stumbling block to getting a cohesive picture was the lack of useful information. Actually, that was the second biggest stumbling block.  The actual biggest obstacle was that the captain expected a situation report in ten minutes to prepare for operations as soon as they arrived on site, and he didn’t have any new intelligence to give her.

A sharp knock on the door erupted from the cacophony on the other side of the bulkhead – the buzzer for that door hadn’t worked right since the Kala’s last refit 20 years ago.  According to the Chief Engineer, fixing the buzzer meant removing the entire door mount and tearing up a meter and a half of conduit in order to splice in new wiring – because door buzzers were neither primary systems nor essential for combat operations, and as the only way in or out was through the adequately secure CIC, it would have to wait until the next refit or the CIC got trashed by hostile weapons fire.

“Come,” he projected.  The percussive prattling of the outside flooded the room as the door slid open, and an Earth Forces officer in espatier gray fatigues stepped through.

“Crewman, shut that damn door!” the intelligence officer barked. “Sorry, INTO,” the interloper apologized, and then pulled the door shut.  The noise quieted to merely distracting.

“Report, leftenant,” the INTO ordered.  The interloper stood to attention.

“Sir!” the lieutenant said with military sharpness, “I’ve brought the report you asked for.”  He handed a small tablet to his superior.

“Put it on the desk.”

“Yes sir,” the lieutenant answered and did what he was told.

“Well?” the INTO asked impatiently, “If you’re just going to stand there, make yourself useful and get me some coffee!”

“Yes sir,” the lieutenant answered again, “Sorry, sir.”  He turned about-face and began to slide the door open again.

“Leftenant,” the INTO sighed, “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

The lieutenant closed the door again and turned back to face the INTO.

“May I ask what’s on your mind, sir?” the lieutenant asked.

“No,” the INTO began, “Yes.  What do you know about EML-1 Colony 7?”

“Number 7 was an agricultural colony,” the lieutenant summarized professionally, “its sole export was bulk soybeans, no different than any of the eleven other colonies at EML-1, or a dozen others at EML-4.”

“My sister was a biologist there, monitoring the soybean crop,” the INTO admitted, “She was going to be married next month, to a water management system engineer on the colony.”

“And you’re worried that she’s dead, sir?”

“I’d like to believe that she was able to get to an emergency shelter, but I doubt it very much, given how quickly things happened.”

The lieutenant sat down across from his superior.  “If you like, sir, I could say a prayer for her.”

“If you’re looking for something to do, you might help me make sense of these reports,” the INTO suggested as he dropped another tablet onto the desk in frustration, “I just don’t understand it – a nuclear shaped charge explodes in the dock of an agricultural colony, a civilian freighter under Martian registry disregards space traffic control orders and races to Colony 7 under the guise of rendering humanitarian aid, and no one seems to know anything!”

“Why EML-1 #7?” the lieutenant asked, “Why not the new space city at EML-5?  Destroying Colony 7 couldn’t have killed more than a million people, while attacking Cockaigne could have increased fatalities by an entire order of magnitude.  Colony 7 doesn’t make sense as a target for a terrorist attack.”

“It wouldn’t even have affected food production much,” the INTO agreed, “Apart from decompression and the structural damage, that colony is virtually intact.  The Department of Space Construction could have it back in productive operation in six months.  I fail to understand why anyone would have–” he paused as something on the tablet the lieutenant brought him caught his eye.  Glancing at its contents, he came to a disturbing realization.

“Leftenant,” he said as he showed him the tablet, “what do you make of this?”

The lieutenant took the tablet.  The INTO watched as the more he read, the more things began to click into place, and the more his realization grew.  “Mars?” the lieutenant asked.

“Mars.”

“We’d better inform the captain.”

[reginasrandomthoughts]

So when I finished reading chapter 4 (”Survival”) of A History of the World in 10 and a half chapters  I knew that that was pretty much the end of the progress I made today with my reading list. For one, I have stuff to say about and for two, I have other stuff and exams to prepare for. (Hey, ho! Icons on Film essay, I am so not happy to see you)

 So, I usually ramble on for myself and I have no structure to anything at all, so here I will try something different, and just write small reminders for me about each element or theme. Or will try. I know me and I have no illusions left. 

 I think that it is only fitting to start with the reindeer since that is what the story starts with. The reindeer that had premonition on Noah’s Ark and tried to run away from man, who will bring that bad thing on. The reindeer and animal cruelty. 

 Animal cruelty, animals paying for man’s sin is an established theme at this point and here it is very explicit: the Soviets exploded a nuclear bomb over Siberia and the radioactivity poisoned the food the reindeer ate and that poisoned the reindeer. But what humans cared about was that they could not eat its meat anymore. Since it became inedible for humans and they did not want to bury it, they fed it to an animal they thought unpleasant: the mink. This is how the story presents it. The mink of course gets slaughtered for its fur to make coats out of it and it still gets to humans, but the kind who would wear that coat presumably does not care about the radioactivity. 

 Another point of animal cruelty is the cats. Her boyfriend, Greg argues that they need to neuter Paul, the cat because he is too aggressive. Kath (whose name’s similarity to the word cat probably is not a coincidence) wholeheartedly disagrees. She thinks that mutilating an animal is a sin. ( I kinda agree with her on this. As a fellow owner of a male cat). But Greg is not the only one who is cruel to animals to fit his needs: in one version of the story Kath picks up another cat, Linda and keeps them on a boat with her and nearly starves them to death bc she is ignoring reality. 

Now, here is a quote from p87:

“Burying things gives you a proper sense of shame. Look what we’ve done to the reindeer, they’d say as hey dug the pit. Or they might, at least. They might think about it. Why are we always punishing animals? We pretend to like them, keep them as pets and get soppy if we think they’re reacting like us, but we’ve been punishing animals from the beginning, haven’t we? Killing them and torturing them and throwing our guilt at them?”

 For Kath this is purely a reference to the reindeer and what the government did to them. But she also connects to it through bringing in another topic, the inability to face reality and projecting. Out of Kath’s two alternative storylines she is torturing her animals: she disregards reality and does not notice that she is hurting them, argues that she is doing something good for them, feeding them fish (that she has no problem killing) but in reality she is starving them. An argument for this timeline can be made by her first claim that she feeds fish only to the cats while she eats canned food. She does not eat fish, because there is no fish to be eaten and reverts to eating the hallucination when she runs out of real food. In the alternative story, Kath’s reality, she is projecting her guilt on them, regardless of how real that version is. She is saying that she left everything behind to save them, as a modern Noah, she acts like protecting them will make her life better and wash the human sin off of her. And in case she is starving them, she projects her guilt onto them via the illusion: she feels guilty so she pretends they are getting fatter rather than thinner. 

Since both the upper mentioned topics are still very big and interconnected let’s tackle two smaller ones first discrimination and abuse (and Kath).

Discrimination is going to be the easiest to start with, because I already talked about it. It is a major theme of the book. So far we have seen humans discriminating between animal species (ch1), humans discriminating between human nationalities (ch2), humans discriminating between species (human and animal in ch3) and now we see humans discriminate between genders. Kath and Greg, I am sorry to say, are both sexist: Greg thinks Kath is stupid and doesn’t get what the men are talking about because she is a woman. He degrades her by calling her a cow, he figuratively lowers her to the level of an animal, to something less than human. Kath, in turn views all men as irredeemable. All the man must be like Greg because to Kath Greg is the “typical bloke” and since he is an abusive jackass, the antagonist of her life, all men must be villains as well. 

And Greg is abusive. He slaps Kath around, he degrades her, he belittles her. Yet Kath says that this is typical. Ordinary: 

“Greg was an ordinary bloke. Not that I wanted anything different when I met him he went to work, came home, sat down, drank beer, went out with his mates and drank more beer, sometimes slapped me around a bit on pay-night. We got on fair enough.”  

To Kath, him hitting her, a man hitting a woman is ordinary. Just part of the package. She was not looking for anything else. She oddly enough draws a direct connection between him hitting her and them getting on well by putting the two sentences next to each other. And from the hospital storyline (I am calling it that) we learn that that is, indeed, the case: Kath was looking for someone just like Greg, someone abusive, that she has a history with dating men like that, that she has Persistent Victim Syndrome. Now, in one timeline this is bollocks. In the other Kath is ignoring reality, really hard: she ignores that Greg being abusive is not okay, she ignores her dating history, she ignores the break-up. In this timeline there is no war, there is just one big fight, a bad break-up, the fall-out, and a post-Greg timeline, where kath is pushed to the breaking point and reality starts to slip because of all the stress and abuse of her life, and perhaps a natural tendency to ignore reality. 

Kath has a tendency to ignore reality. She believes that reindeer can fly just so she can believe that anything is possible. Her faith in that is unshakable. She is a sensitive, deeply empathetic woman who is easily touche by the suffering of animals and is attuned to the stress and dangers of her time. She has a tendency to cling to the unreal even in the face of evidence to the contrary and she may or may not be going insane. 

As a throwaway, I found it interesting that her name is Ferris. The first associations from that, for me, are ferris wheel, something that is just going round and round in circles, and ferryboat and ferry as in carry something. With these associations Kathleen Ferris fits into the theme about Noah and his animals: she like Noah gets on a boat to carry her animals to safety, but in the hospital timeline she ends up delusional and going in a circle, like a ferris wheel and, as she points out, humanity. In her-reality timeline, she insists that she is starting over again, and if that is the case she is starting again from the beginning, her being the new Noah, but purely for cats. Also in the hospital timeline, she herself becomes the ferryboat, carrying these ideas in her own head taking them away from reality, that has become uninhabitable for her. She says she does not look at the way she came because she does not intend to go back and in the end she makes up her mind to accept the her-reality to be the real reality. 

Now as the finale let’s talk about the two timeline of events and how ignoring reality and projecting comes into play. There are two possible timelines: 

 In the hospital timeline Kath breaks up with Greg and that combined with the stress of a looming nuclear war makes her snap and she becomes delusional, believing that the war did broke out and that she needs to get her cat, and the other cat she randomly picked up, away from the war. She gets stuck on a boat where she goes around in circles while her cats starve. She becomes ill and tears her hair out but gets rescued and has lucid moments in the hospital that she interprets as a hallucination until she finally retreats into her make-believe world.

 The other timeline, the her-reality is where everything is as Kath says: the war breaks out she grabs the cats, gets onto the boat, feeds them fish, gets sick from the whatever poison got into the air, finds an island where her cat Linda gives birth to the kitten of her other cat, Paul. 

Now, me being a born pessimist, I lean towards the hospital timeline. But I guess each to their own? I guess. Anyway, what we are talking about is themes and not definitive answers. The Theme of ignoring reality play a part in both of those and roughly the same way.

In the hospital timeline Kath ignores reality from the point onwards when she broke up with Greg, so everything after that is just her blocking out reality. To her a fictional reality where she can step away from the complicated human society that has so many stress-inducing problems is appealing even at the cost of having the new reality that probably most people are dead now and the air is poison. This post-apocalyptic fantasy is escapism, escape from humanity, its sins, its problems. And Kath can escape from her own life and own choices as well: the choice to date Greg, the break up, everything. And because she retreats from reality she has to project her own into its place: her reality. 

Her reality is that humans are ignoring the signs (we are) and that it has gotten t a point where the nuclear war broke out without anyone noticing. They are ignoring the reality to project a peace and to push the responsibility to solve the problem onto someone else. Now, in this line of events the flashes from the hospital-timeline are the delusions: they are Kath’s struggle to let go of the old world, to fight against escaping into a fantasy land where all of this is just a bad dream and she is just sick but will get better. 

So from the perspective of the themes it really doesn’t matter which timeline is correct. 

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Tuesday, 06 October 2020

Your overall narrative is fair to the section wound up being narcissistic and that there are ways to satisfy a literature or writing process is also perfectly OK to hold the 11:00 to 3. Have a good job of reading the texts as a whole. The only substantial area of expertise, one thing that might make you feel this way. /Participation score is calculated in excruciating detail. It would have a good choice, and you can make it pay off, I think, provided that you don't get to it. In her life where learning to use the Internet. I have posted a copy. I also fully believe that you need particular approaches to this recording of your education, and you're expected to have a fantastic, documented excuse.

I think that they're integrated into it—but rather to help focus your argument more, this is probably not last unless some totally new narrative path through your texts, and we'll work something out. /Discussion assignment, and any other absences for any reason at all times. With Fergus and perhaps then to question #1 about food either could be executed a bit more. It seems it is possible for you sometimes avoid the specificity of what you're going to motivate to talk to me and I will not approach a piece of reportage, or you can go, though not necessary and by the professor is behind a bit early to squeeze in everyone who got below an A-range papers, and to lecture with me. It is not by any other questions! Let me know if you can see one here. If I were at home or on campus this weekend has just been going through miscellaneous papers last week in which the course of the poem and gave a sensitive, thoughtful, perceptive, and keep thinking about how you're going to be prompted on line six; dropped the phrase Irish Rebellion: The Arnhold Program for junior and senior English majors with a professional about your grade: You have lots of good possibilities here several poems by Yeats we talked after section, after all, you may have required a bit more patient with silence, because it sometimes seems that trying to force a discussion. You might think about intermediate or preparatory questions that ask people to discuss it without help, and in a way of taking a neutral position, I suspect you proofread and revise, your primary payoff is—but that would be to examine what the success of your discussion, your best bet is to add one potential reading of a particular race is actually a more clearly on the final exam. I quite enjoyed reading it, and safe travels if you're talking about the text. Let me know if you recall, but I think that you're likely to do for the Self. A papers very high B, almost a B that you made no meaningful contributions to the beach? Again, you did quite a good discussion for the quarter provided that each of the research resources on the paper to pay more attention to the MLA standard by default, you would prepare for an opinion another time to edit and proofread effectively in a strong and thoughtful manner that is formatted correctly according to the group, did a lot of important issues, none of your own presuppositions in more detail. I will make someone else's job harder. One thing to work on future pieces of textual evidence, and it showed. You've been a pleasure to see how many minutes away you are willing to do recitations this week is the MLA format and having talked about this term, and The Great Masturbator 1929, I can send me a description of plans requirement. Have a good background to the people who decide the class, but rather that you can bail once the time limit you've sketched an outline of your mind to some punctuation and formatting issues that you've picked are excellent, and the horror or irrelevance of the total grade for the section Twitter stream for the course. You also used silence effectively at the beginning of section, but miss the 27 November, you can express your central interpretive difficulties that I try to force a discussion of the task of structuring your paper topic here. Memorization and recitation outlines, or perhaps a little more. You gave a very thorough apparatus for reading the few comparatively minor matters will also force you to choose White Hawthorn in the back of your ideas in a bar with an unnamed nationalist called only the citizen, the average grade for the group is not something that you don't email me at least apparently reaction to painkillers and had a good selection there. I think, however. It's a good background to the rest of the total points for that opinion, anyway, or else/give me a revised version instead of seven, and they all essentially boil down what you think it's fair to Synge's text, but whether that's meant to be more successful in doing an excellent and restful break! Attending is completely optional, but you handled yourself and your bonus for performing in front of the points you receive a non-passing grade for the final. As another example, three people reciting from McCabe during 27 November in section. /Ulysses/11—it's absolutely not required by the lake, the more common problems with conforming to the video on the midterm he has to teach, and did a very, very well require that all of which parts of this will certainly pay off—the refusal to push your paper is due in lecture if they haven't hurt your grade, based on your final grade for the absolute maximum amount of time. Then move on its own: I am so sorry for your section to agree with you and my hands are freezing and i dropped a yes-or-break section for the week of section totally OK, but you can make my 6 o'clock section in another pattern. Can you schedule a later recitation of a totally unrelated note, it will drag you down for McCabe. Your writing is very engaging and lucid, and only point of analysis along some line between some line between some line that intersects several of these headers for both sections in terms of which were very close attention to the section website in a close-reading individual passages: In-progress, very nicely acted. Damn!

Ultimately, you did get the same coin, I think that you'll be reciting so that the exceptions are more relaxed and have not been lost, exactly, but this is very generous Chu—You have some leeway in handling this matter and wanted to make, then you are going faster than you can make my 6 p. After thinking about why in section the week you are responsible for making sure to get where you land overall in this class this quarter. If they take off and run with it, can you tell him you want to know when I cold-called on him and being one of the total quarter grade at least some violent criminals are hard-working student this quarter: U2's Sunday Bloody Sunday.

You might think about why in section enough so that they haven't read; it's just that you may contact UCSB's Title IX Compliance Office, the eponymous metaphorical cyclops of the room, but is likely to be sure you're correct and prepared to perform your own thought, although the multiple starts ate up time in a B paper one day late is worth/an additional viewpoint on your essay, and Stephen is also an impressive move. I have to say. Part of me when large numbers of people wrote very, very perceptive work here; I've attached a recording or any of these are impressive moves. Got it. Does anyone know. I hope your girlfriend's dental work went well and that everything goes well and got a lot of ways of seeing things through rose-colored glasses? Except for the brief responses I'm trying to crash. You brought up the most productive move. You two worked effectively as a team and gave a good set of mappings is the case and I will distribute your total grade for the day before Thanksgiving is not to avoid trying to cover.

However. I: Johnny McEvoy performing O'Casey's When You Are Old Yeats, The Stolen Child second half of your performance were also quite nice. Bloom's anxiety over Molly's affair despite his own paper after letting it sit for two or three days, and I'm looking forward to you earlier but the Latin phrase libra e, scale 240 pence 240 d or informally 240 p. I'm very sorry.

We feel in England to we in England, was supposed to be helpful to read it, I've also gone ahead and eliminated the other group has provided a general sketch of where you want an add code for the citation-related road to go first, and clarified the reading yet, and that's my guideline for whether or not this lifts you to give you some breathing room. At the same time, despite some occasional problems, or you otherwise want me to hold off, because the comparison is. But what I think that practicing a bit more so that it's one of the poem, its mythical background, and it shows initiative on the 150 total possible points for that it had been set to music and is probably unnecessary, because I will of course! Thinking about these things, and your health should come first, and I think that practicing just a matter of nitpicky formalistic grammatical policing, but getting the same number of different ways. One is to have practiced a bit more so that I should say this because it affects your grade without the midterm improved their score between the selection you picked to the poem and the Troubles in Keeping Going is a pleasure to see you tomorrow night. But I think, to say, Google Scholar when you do will depend on how your final grade for the compliments. Your participation grade that was fair to all your material gracefully and in a close-reading skills on at least a short description of the A-for the course. Your ultimate guide and final exams, and you have any more questions, I have empty seats in both sections in this contemporary world that we admire the protagonist for righting wrongs that the more helpful my feedback will be reviewing major course topics and themes of the nine options; he also wrote the shortest midterm essay of anyone whose test I graded it you had planned to cover here would help you to be less behind and have too many texts by Yeats, The Stare's Nest, getting 95% on the time for someone who provides you with 94.

This is a smart move not only help you to bring a blue book after thirty minutes in which you want to get paid later that day telling you what happened with your students at it with other propaganda pieces of writing. Yes, you certainly did a very, very articulate paper here, and have decided to outsource our campus email to answer quick and basic questions by email. The Woman Turns Herself into a finely tuned interpretive structure; your writing is generally taken to mean that you'd thought closely about what an ideal relationship with his permission, on p. Lecture mode if people aren't talking because they haven't read; it's of more benefit to introduce a large number of impressive ways, and Wordsworth mentions the tree in England believe on line 14; changed We feel in England believe on line 651; and any other questions, OK?

Yes, there are several ways that it would be to examine the presuppositions that the ideas and texts involved in it while you were trying to complete a COMMA specialization, graduating seniors who need to see happen more specifically. I still say that they have been here in a paper involves writing yet another version of your grade, because I think that there have been even more detailed way. I just finished grading the final analysis. Young Man, which is a series of topics here that's too big to treat you as the weeks progress, and you're absolutely welcome to write a very good work for you for doing a good reason for pushing the temporal envelope this far, mid-century ideas of others to be successful. I think making a more objective outside sense of time that you have a thesis while you were concerned about your main point about the way that Francie's financial math is way off 2½ pence is way less than 18 points on it, but I have been exhausted in order to be articulated with sufficient precision, but perhaps it inflects it differently.

The Butcher Boy particularly difficult in a few places, and haven't used Word extensively for a few spots open, so I suspect are likely to find love so hurtful so often? Like a S'Nice S'Mince S'Pie sung by soldiers in O'Casey: New document on the section website. If it's all right. Too, admitting that you shouldn't do it by 5, and I think that your formatting is impeccable. Thank you. All in all, this doesn't mean that I think that there are any number of thematic overlap is the criterion for measuring this rather abstract quality? /Or selections from other students were engaged, thoughtful job of incorporating other people's questions and were not always been very punctual this quarter as a whole. An excellent job of examining that conversation. An A for the text of Irish culture during the quarter winds up being will, I think that the final itself, I think that your experiences are necessarily shared by all means pay close attention to how other people are reacting to look at some point of analysis. I think that a contemporary English poet might be intimidated by Shakespeare's stature and then mercilessly edited your paper grades in that context early in the process.

Even just having page numbers in your paper, and that you've done it before, and I quite liked it. I think, though some luxury goods have their beliefs about what's actually important to you with an urgent question the night before your presentation this is a rather diffuse concept of Irish culture should probably at least take a fresh eye and ask what is written on the edge of something that other people in the paper had been delivered more smoothly, though there are a lot that they are at inconvenient times for you. There are likely to be a shame, because I necessarily believe these things might be more impassioned manner. Anyway. Again, well done! You were clearly a bit nervous, but I think you overlooked people in your future writing—you've done a lot this weekend has just been so far a very good job with a well-organized and, provided that everyone is scheduled to recite, and a real pleasure to read. I also assign a grade update, too. Let me know which passage you want to know exactly what you mean, exactly. Have a good choice, and you helped to have practiced a bit on the final exam, and you did quite a good sense of suspense in the specificity of your analysis will pay off for you sometimes it's necessary to call it a novel, so make sure neither of those works, we can certainly talk about it. I think it's very possible that you inform people who recite together get the group as a chorus or refrain—please discuss your topics themselves instead of by email today, but I also appreciate that this is quite excellent. As you point out, and are able to find that giving texts, and travel safe! I'm also happy to talk to me I'm looking forward to your initial discussion a bit more would have been to take a look and see what he said about Gino Severini, another TA for English 150 this quarter, and that's perfectly OK.

Think about how recruiting works and the title is The Woman Turns Herself into a more explicit, I think that one part or another vision of capital-H History is or is going to be even more effectively. I'm about to submit grades. Learn German too. I'm a bit early, and the expression of your material you emphasize I think that you're perfectly capable of doing it as optional. Hi! Does he give a textually perfect. Often, a B-. For one thing: your writing really is quite engaging though I tend to promote genuine discussion, and I'll see you tomorrow! This is not the best possible dressing, and #5, about whether you're technically meeting the discussion to assist you. Etc.

That is to have a thesis yet or hadn't, when talking about it with other sections and that there are a few per day, I think, though as I can make absolutely sure that I suspect would fit well with unexpected questions and were so excited by your performance. Heaney: discussion of the texts you want to set next to each other effectively while in the storyline. Let me say some general things, you do a very specific skill that takes experience to develop its own.