#i have like. a VERY specific opinion on this that is tied up in fifteen other things which makes it a nightmare to write about bc i feel

[sparring-spirals]

you know i just had this thought, cause i saw your posts about feeling a little iffy with the whole mixing c2 and c3 characters thing, and like, if you’re looking from the standpoint of critical role as a show, and the cast as storytellers, then yeah there’s kinda this worry about past campaigns and character arcs overshadowing the current ones

but

but if you look from the viewpoint of a group of friends playing dnd, having your old characters show up in your current game and team up with the new party is just like, the coolest thing ever, no questions asked

Oh yeah, 100%! The cameo/crossover thing is exciting and lovely as is, and definitely really fucking fun for them. and us! Shared universes and crossover AU's/episodes and etc are popular for a reason!

okay, this answer got out of hand. hopefully it makes sense. my thinking is something like- yeah! bringing in caleb and beau and other cross campaign cameos and big shared universes like this is a perfectly reasonable kind of storytelling and very exciting. That said- yes, the broader story implications, possibilities, potential impacts, focus on Bells and the space for their arcs, etc, I have personal reservations on. And part of that is also tied to shared universe, MCU crossover style storytelling/worldbuilding not really being my cup of tea.

But that's not necessarily like, an indictment of what the cast chose to do or even an indictment of people (me, im people) enjoying the actual crossover encounters. Because they're fun! Exciting! Its cool to see characters you love and watched in a unique, fleshed out context collide with completely different characters who you love in a unique context. I bet this goes threefold for the cast, getting to see their characters alive ans breathing in the world, acting on their own. The point of crossovers and cameos is for this kind of joy! There's no real use to me pretending I'm not thrilled by their presence, or to not wonder about their wellbeing in past years or what other familiar faces are doing in the meantime.

The flipside is. Yes. Broader storytelling implications and concerns. That in the context of the Bell's Hells story, I want to be careful to still treat them as the main characters of this campaign, with the real estate and weight that deserves. Everything else about overshadowing and etc aside. Caleb and Beau and everyone else in the Mighty Nein had their campaign, and a wrap up and an epilogue, and my own soppy feelings about that aside, that is important. This campaign is the Bell's Hells, its theirs, and about their stories, and them. The M9 are, now, NPC's- and I have a lot of thoughts about how that is its own good ending, its about knowing when stories should be closed while letting the characters live on beyond them- but that should be its own meta fuck goddammit. And that's important. Its very important to me that I am, above all else, treating the Bell's Hells story as theirs.

The most direct example I can give, I think, is that before they intervened, I was somewhat okay with the Bell's Hells failing in some sense, Ludinus getting away with some part of his plan. Knowing that Beauregard and Caleb are involved brings up a specific feeling of wanting them to succeed, thinking about things they have waiting at home, the campaign that already went by and the epilogues I had already promised them in my head.

But- this is not their campaign, and this is not soley their issue anymore either. If I really handle them as NPC's, if I can decouple the thought of Ludinus as their behemoth to tackle, and think again about this issue in context of Bell's Hells, disastrous and loving and 50% unreliable with a moon over their shoulders- the perspective on the situation and what I want out of it and them and everything- shifts. And it's important to me I take the time to do that, as much as I love the empire sibs and am thinking fondly about their careers and loves and hopes.

but none of that is mutually exclusive with me making little heart eyes at the two of them and reblogging all the art of that scene. :)

[talenlee]

Lysen Co Reflection 1

I’m working on the card game Lysen Co! Part of how I make a game is a form of autoethnographic reflection. This reflection takes the form of engaging with the thing I made, listening to feedback, and then writing down an account of how I feel about that feedback. The point here isn’t to collect other people’s opinions, but instead to present a reflection on how I feel about what I was told.

Why do it this way?

The first thing is that I’m not just quoting a bunch of other people at you. The second is that the game is not a thing being made by a bunch of people. I’m the designer, and I have an idea of what I want the game to do and how I personally like solving problems in a game’s design. There’s always a potential problem with collecting user feedback and following it in aggergate in that sometimes you’ll get feedback about something you didn’t know or care about, and you might just implement it based on an absence of opinion. This squanders an opportunity to reflect, and to become a better designer.

Something I’ve heard recently, from Jim Davis is that the point of Magic: The Gathering is not to win the game, but to get better at playing it. I like this and how this changes my thinking — a game is not an end unto itself, but part of a collection (don’t say assemblage, don’t say assemblage), and the project is making games, better, for people I like, to express ideas and share experiences I want them to have.

Anyway, on to the dirty deets.

Reflecting on a game design’s weaknesses can involve some pretty unpleasant feelings. Specifically, I don’t like feeling like I made obvious mistakes. The very first impulse I have when I think about the results of playtesting and listening to people talk about Lysen Co is both defensiveness and a sort of pre-emptive prophlyaxis. Specifically, I’ll sometimes leap to defend a choice, not with a recognition that the other person brought up a good point, but rather the stranger thought of ‘of course I did consider that, but maybe you’re right.’ That’s immediately not helpful; I want to make sure I’m listening to concerns deeply and thoughtfully. That up front is something I know I need to struggle with and I think it’s tied to a need to always have a correct answer.

Nothing dark about that realisation about myself at all, in this case. I think I’m just used to feeling like I need to be a know-it-all. It’s a thing to keep in mind.

Mechanically, an impression that some players mentioned to me that I share is that the traitor mechanic is overwhelming. Not that they struggle with how it works, but rather that there are so many traitors in the deck that it makes them a sort of constant presence, a thing to make choices about every turn. They’re not very sneaky. I really underestimated the traitor mechanic I had designed, in my first draft of the game. Specifically, my first idea was that there would be a small number of traitors, equally distributed, and therefore every hand had a chance for them showing up. I didn’t imagine the density I had designed would make it so possible for players to wind up with multiple traitors!

At the moment, there are fifteen traitors in the deck, scattered irregularly through the numbers. In playtest games, even with thorough shuffling, these show up too often in a player’s hand in multiples. I feel that having a traitor show up in my hand is a cute weapon to hold onto for when I have the opportunity. Having two traitors in my hand encourages me to do things to get rid of them, because they’re not ways to advance my strategy.

Traitors are weapons to use against other players who are winning and they are useless for improving your own position in the game. You already need to care about the numbers on your cards, and how they work together. Sneaking a traitor into someone’s history is powerful in the late game, but not so fun if there are a lot of them flying around. I think traitors want to be both more of a penalty (minus five points, I think), and fewer.

The prevalence of traitors also play into the way the card face looks. The cards include a single large number at the bottom of the card that signifies its value, and then on either side of it are signifier numbers indicating where the nearest traitor can show up. I thought this hypothetically would make it easier for players leading the trick to know how open they were making themselves to traitors, but it also signals how common traitors are and shouldn’t be. If there are fewer traitors, this statistic becomes less important.

I think the scoring mechanics are too complicated for most cards, which bums me out a little bit. I liked the way that the junior tech created negative space, where the junior just cared about showing up and getting points for her job and therefore all the other stuff was clearly some other kind of behaviour. The marketers swapping cards around and then being worthless appeals to me as someone who thinks marketing’s main job is selling marketing. I like what they express; I don’t like the mental cost they induce. Particularly, senior researchers need you to recruit them first, then recruit juniors afterwards. This is the only type of card that cares about order, so if they didn’t do that, they’d be fine. I like the way Junior admins check for types of Seniors; I like the way that Junior Researchers care about breakthroughs and Senior Admins care about themselves. That stuff all works. Breakthroughs on the other hand introduce a moment of confusion in their resolution. I think they should grab you something out of the discard pile, or maybe they should just be straight-up a bonus for every other card you wind up recruiting (meaning you want to recruit large groups).

Also, while I’m looking at pragmatic problems with the card face, the font looks bad inverted. While it’s a lovely robust font with big square lines that looks good face-up, this is a game where players need to easily tell at a glance a 52 from a 25 on an upside down card. Big sigh, deep breath, I may need to change the font for those numbers. This a bummer.

The card back being asymmetrical is not a problem in the handleability of the design, but the upside down text is strange. Once it’s pointed out to me that it doesn’t look like a proper corporate logo (why would they put their text on their logo upside down) and it’s a half measure. The card isn’t a symmetrical back, and it probably doesn’t need to be because the game isn’t about shuffling or rehiding information in the deck. Probably wants to have the text curve around the logo, like a number of corporate logos would.

That’s the basics for things that I have noticed in the playtesting sessions I’ve done. To summarise my actionable items in changing the protoype:

Reduce the traitors to just one of each class of card

The traitor signifiers are not necessary, freeing up space

Simplify the score conditions on several cards to get rid of the need for ordering cards

Look for alternative fonts for the number value on each card to make it upside-down readable

Change the card back logo to get rid of the second line of text

And more broadly:

Try to be less concerned about getting the design wrong. It’s okay to need to take multiple rounds to make the game the best it can be without changing it to something I don’t want it to be.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 1/18/22

as a favor to me, could you all pretend there’s a funny tagline here

listening chartreuse, boy jr. a tuesdaysong in the purest sense of the word bc it references our favorite day of the week. this song wants to be three different songs but it’s trying a lot of interesting things at once and i want to commend that. sort of a bohemian rhapsody by way of sad she/they?

Drowning in your greens and blues Guess I'm just obsessed with you (with you) Drunk and it's a Tuesday afternoon Guess I'm just obsessed with you (with you)

i forgot tumblr hates to play nice with bandcamp here’s a link

ugh they have fantastic thighs

reading like fellow tuesdayposter @blysse-and-blunder , i am attempting to have fewer tabs open on my phone but mine is in anticipation of getting a new phone next paycheck. i have a policy of not doing fanfic recs on this thing, but it’s interesting to move through the strata of the last few months- a whole bunch of f/f/f for research purposes, a lot of genshin, some metropolis, a tremendous amount of starred wars.

i’m kind of fascinated with this article about “low-sodium” fan reddits? boards? groups? i shy away from reddit like a spooked horse

bc i wish this existed for some of the fandoms i do not engage with much (genshin, although it might already exist i have not looked for it) bc in some of the fandoms i do not engage with much (genshin) talking about the lore of the game world is very tied up with the politics of the game world and the politics of our real world. sometimes that’s a whole bunch of weird shit around hong kong independence. like yeah it’s pretty clear that one game area in genshin isn’t fantasy switzerland, it’s fantasy hong kong, but also you’re all like fifteen and i do not care to have a geopolitics discussion with you about what you think revolutionary tactics are.

bc this game is free to play and leans heavy on RNG and gacha, the fanbase leans extremely young and in many cases it’s baby’s first free to play. so there are a lot of unusual expectations. i just want to look at cosplay breakdowns and lore discussions. i am aware the game is a pretty puff pastry that’s also super predatory. i contain multitudes. it has a hot pirate lady what was i supposed to do

watching red river (dir. Hawks, 1948) gang ive found another cowboy movie to be completely normal about. look at these assholes. i want them to be happy.

mr cherry valance is the perfect sort of bisexual-that-hides-all-their-sharp-edges-under-languid-innuendo that is perfectly tailored for me to make bad decisions about in real life

this is very much a daddy issues film, which was less cathatric than i thought it would bc i want my daddy issues to end in a very specific way that is NOT forgiveness and pretending nothing ever happened. anyway heads up that most of the tension is from shitty parenting, and the film would not exist without it and it’s very well executed but was for me, personally, a thing to add to the doesthedogdie page.

apparently this movie got kind of sliced and diced in production bc the actors above (john ireland and montgomery clift) Did Not Get Along with Hawks or their costar John Wayne. when people make excuses about old actors like “that’s just how it was back then!!!” i would like to point to folks like Wayne, who was considered to have unpleasant political opinions during most of his working career.

please expect me to be completely normal about this some more whenever i get a copy of the novel in my grubby little hands (gifmaker and fellow cowboy enjoyer @nicolodigenova has offered to procure an ebook for me, i also found a pretty rough paperback copy on ebay for $7 so that’ll get to me uh. whenever the post office decides it does you’re doing terrific sweeties take your time)

playing nuka cola world dlc for fo4. i have realized the ideal use case for the game is clearing exactly one location on my lunch break. it has completely supplanted genshin impact. i have not played genshin since right before the last update. this is probably good for my brain long term but the thing is: fo4 is also not good.

i am having a good time running around as the silver shroud. did you know you get unique dialogue in nuka world if you bop around as the shroud???

i like the roller coaster’s reflection on the protectron’s visor even if that was very much not the direction it was facing

making my mental health is hanging by a fucking thread, and the thread is this rug. evil lair decoration counts as making this week bc i’m fuckin busy

[kidrat]

☕ moash?

so like,,, back when I first got into stormlight I disliked him bc a) I was 15 and didn't always have the best takes I will admit it lol and b) that was the Vibe you know and then a while later like, it was one of those things where you share a fandom opinion but you don't really interact w fandom so then when you do go in tags and see the Takes you're like oh you guys weren't... joking??? lol

like specifically I thought we were all saying 'fuck moash' partially for the meme and partially because he upset kaladin. and to be honest I did/do find Elhokar somewhat interesting!! He's a great case of shit person good character and it was kinda fun to be like 'yeah fuck moash' as shorthand like.. 'I understand and agree with the choice to kill off elhokar but I also wanted to see what Brandon would do with him and if he would grow as a person seeing as the series is based off that kind of arc and Also I am fifteen and it's fun to do the fandom thing of silly exaggerated grief for some rando getting killed off'

and then when I started to see more good and nuanced takes around Moash when I started engaging with the fandom again I did agree w those BUT I can tell you the specific moment I was like 'actually Moash Rights'. which is when someone in the tag was complaining that the moash critical group were referring to moash moving gavinor(?) out the way pre assassination as 'moash kicking a child' and i was like the who are what now. (again I thought we were being HYBERBOLIC and unnuanced FOR THE MEME hello???) and that was just so stupid that I decided to embrace moash apologism.

anyway. speaking of the moash brain rot bc I realise I've mostly talked about my own character development so far lol:

more characters should be involved in failed assassinations. (ik he succeeded but it's so funny it's the Second killing-elhokar-plan after the guy he'd been hyping up as a great killing-elhokar-candidate bailed) more characters who needed a plan b for their murders please. it's so good

I've said this before in notes somewhere but I'm infodumping <3 so <3 in the kaladin isn't a centrist au, I like to imagine it's either kaladin who kills Elhokar, or that Kaladin helps moash or guides his hand to the stabbing. Specifically I crave the moment where kaladin sees moash reconsider or feel apprehensive about the murder and realise moash isn't bloodthirsty or evil, that he has doubts just like Kaladin, and that in fact he is incredibly brave for doing what needs to be done despite not being a cold blooded killer at all. and kaladin just kind of softens. and now I'm just thinking off the top of my head but imagine if killing elhokar was an act of love. imagine if the enduring imagery of elhokar's murder was kaladin's arm on moash's back and an easing of moash' burdens??? imagine if it was beautiful and the sun set over them and elhokar went out quietly.

related. kinda the same point in fact but we needed a paragraph break SO i just reread that scene and it's kinda sexy that moash a) uses a spear to do it when the series has so much symbolism surrounding weapons and has associated spears so much w darkeyes and specifically the oppression of darkeyes! and then that b) he KICKS AWAY ELHOKAR'S SHARDBLADE!!! he really said 'i will take down the bourgeoisie with the symbol of my low status and then reject the symbol of their power, explicitly stating that by removing those in power I do not intend to replace them but to reject the entire system that gave them power' that slapped. and then ofc the bridge four salute which is more of the same

'He looked at Kaladin, then quietly made the Bridge Four salute, wrists tapped together. The spear he held dripped with Elhokar's blood' worm

something something rosharan communist flag but it's a spear instead of a sickle idk what the other thing wld be tho

also going back to that quote, the dynamic of an assassin working For someone in their mind without that person wanting it is kinda cool like to take a break from political commentary... fellas is it gay to dedicate your kills to a man who is horrified by them and renounces you completely despite how you are tied to each other? fellas is it also very outdoor housecat to do that? in conclusion uuuh catboy moash I think? kinda lost the track on that one

to speak on the ship I do think they're both gay idk if Kaladin has a specific crush on Moash (i think he had like a small one on him in WoK/WoR) but Moash definitely is attracted to Kaladin. Like i'm not necessarily invested in the relationship, tbh it takes a lot for me to ship anything But i like the dynamic and the potential attraction involved in the dynamic and the fact it's a Queer Dynamic regardless of if it's a queer *relationship* does that make sense??? it does

I am cutting myself off here for the sake of my remaining dignity send tweet

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

NSFW Alphabet: Crosshair

A/N: Not officially a request, but I thought I’d better cover the whole Bad Batch while I’m at it. And as a reminder, remember to REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS!!! The tumblr tags are fickle at best and it’s the only real way to support creators on this hellsite.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s always stuck between wanting to keep your body against him, but at the same time not wanting to come across as needy. He’ll probably start kissing your shoulders and neck, before nipping at the skin and telling you to go take a shower. Once you do, he’ll try to play it cool like, “you can stick around if you want, not that I care either way”. But, he does. He does care.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes your waist. Odd, but true. It’s the natural place to put his hands when he pulls you close to him. He likes the way you shiver when he runs his fingers along your skin. Not to mention it’s the perfect place to grip you as his fucks you senseless.

For himself, he likes his legs. Yeah, they’re not as thick or muscular compared to regs, but they’re distinctly his. Plus even if he’s not any taller, it helps with the illusion that he is.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

His favorite place to cum is all over your chest and stomach. Seeing you a sweating, blissed out mess with his cum sticking to your skin is the single hottest image his mind can come up with. Second only to you hazily swiping his cum onto you finger and sucking with a moan.

You better be prepared if you do that because you won’t be able to walk the next day.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has an impressive collection of dirty holos you’ve sent to him while away on missions.  He’s kept every single one.  It’s gotten to the point where he just picks a random holo and that’s the fantasy he indulges in to get himself off until he can see you again.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Like the rest of the batch, he’s had a pretty healthy string of one night stands since leaving Kamino. He actually has the most notches on his bed post which he is not ashamed to bring up whenever Wrecker is getting just a little too cocky. So, he’s pretty experienced all things considered.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Taking you from behind and against a wall. That’s the popular image of him in the fandom and I’m ain’t here to dispute it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not funny, but he’s definitely a smug asshole who can’t help but comment on every sound you make.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps it pretty well groomed down there, almost complete shaven.  Also, dark hair down below, if you’re curious. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It’s very rare for Crosshair to be emotional in bed.  He uses sex more as a way to get rid of tension or get a solid hit of dopamine.  Actually being open with someone is not something he’s comfortable with.

The most intimate he gets is when he feels he might lose you, either in the field or to another man.  Then, he uses it as a way to assure himself you’re with him and his. In that case, it can get pretty intense.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jacks off often, before and after meeting you.  He’s got a higher sex drive than his brothers and needs someway to work off the tension after a mission.  He prefers doing it in the shower when he has the time, but he’ll honestly whip it out anyplace where he can get some privacy for fifteen minutes.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Let it be recorded that Crosshair is not only a Dom, but the only true Dom in entire Grand Army of the Republic. (With the exception of Commander Wolffe.)

Seriously, the man likes nothing more than pinning you down and using your body as his personally fuck toy.  His ultimate fantasy is keeping you tied up in various positions, your body spread open and willing for him to use whenever the mood strikes him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere with a relatively flat surface. I cannot emphasize how much he does not care where he does it: bedroom, shower, locker room, bar bathroom, sparring room, between a couple of boulders out of view of the rest of the Bad Batch. He does not care.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

His ego...let me explain.

There are two ways to really get him going, but they both come down to how they effect his ego.

Number one, praise.  If you compliment him on a shot, confirm that he did, in fact, beat Wrecker at something, or rasp a dirty promise in his ear that he’s the only man who has ever made you cum that hard; that’ll get him going more than anything.

Number two, jealously.  If he sees another man actively flirting with you, he’ll all but sling you over his shoulder and carry you to the closest abandoned alley he can find to fuck you senseless.  He doesn’t care if you were interested in the guy flirting with you or not, you’re his and he needs to remind himself and you of that.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Humiliation for him is a no go. There’s the more obvious stuff, like the idea of you putting him on a leash or something equally degrading just gets him frustrated, and not in a sexy way.  But, more specifically verbal humiliation. He genuinely gets upset if you’re the one to say he’s not good enough for you in some capacity or compare him negatively to somebody else. That’ll kill the mood in seconds.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Much prefers receiving to giving.  Seeing you on your knees with his cock in your mouth his heaven.  And being able to cum all over your face and chest when he’s done? He’s in heaven.

That being said, he’s not bad at giving, he just ends up mostly using his fingers while he runs his mouth.  He can’t help it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough, like all the time.  He basically has no other mode.  Now, whether it’s more intense with pent up emotions or a fun stress reliever depends on his mood.  Either way, if you’re not a sweating, panting mess by the end of it he feels like he’s failed in some way.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yes.  He’s going to say yes to quickies.  Where ever and whenever is good for him.  But, don’t think it’s really over when it’s over.  He only considers it a preview of what he’s going to do to you once you actually get some time and a little more privacy.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s certainly willing to try different positions and kinks, but he’s not big on getting more toys in the mix.  He’s more than happy to tie you up and spank you, but he’s not so keen on adding a paddle or something like that, if that makes any kind of sense.  It’s about his body and what he can do to you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Just as good as every other clone, with a fantastic recovery time. A solid average of three rounds per night lasting as long as either of you can stand it.

That all being said, he’s in constant competition with himself on how long he can last and for how many rounds.

Current record for time is two hours before he came once with you cumming a total of five times. Current round total is him cumming five times in one night while you lost count of yours.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Surprisingly not his thing. He’s got some cuffs he uses on occasion with you, but not much else. Like I said, he’s in competition with himself, not him and a toy.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn’t tease often, but when he does, he’s an asshole.  He’ll keep you pinned down, lazily rubbing the tip of his cock against your opening, never fully going in until you’re squirming and begging him to just fuck you already.  Sometimes he will and sometimes, he’ll leave you hanging there.  It all depends on his mood.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not especially. In the beginning he keeps it almost conversational, as he talks dirty into your ear. But, it all changes when he comes to the end. It’s like whatever control he had over his vocal cords gets shut off. He curses a lot combined with grunts and borederline feral growls as he rams his cock harder and deeper into you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Crosshair has a real jealously streak, especially when it comes to regs. 

While he’s confident in his abilities, he’s aware more than Wrecker or even Tech that they’re basically a bunch of freaks the Republic likes to keep under wraps.  A funny little lab experiment.  While regs were made just as much as he was, they actually have a chance at being...well, normal after all is said and done.  He’s not sure he’ll ever be normal.  So, the fear of you realizing you’re dating an actual freak of nature weighs on him constantly.

He needs to remind himself that you’re with him, that you chose him and you’re not going to walk away.  It drives him crazy that you make him feel that way, but it’s the truth.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Just as long as his clone brothers (a solid 8-inches), but not as thick.  Not that he need that extra edge.  His talent is precision after all.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I’d say he has the highest of the batch, actually getting agitated if he hasn’t had a good fuck in more than a few days.  His hand can only do so much for him before he gets down right hostile.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I’d say it takes him a solid half-hour to finally fall asleep after sex. He’d never tell you, but he likes the feeling of you asleep in his arms. He’ll savor it for as long as he can.

[cali-holland]

How Perfect You Are- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Prompt: After a rough day, Tom’s there to cheer you up.

Word Count: 1600

Warnings!!: cyberbullying, mentions of anxiety, self-image issues/slut shaming

Masterlist   Tom Holland Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for a couple months now, and it was written way before the rumors (because nothing has been confirmed by him yet) of Tom having a girlfriend. Respect Tom’s privacy and do not send hate to him or any of the people he is connected to, romantically or otherwise.

~~~

It was a rough day. Like a really rough day.

It seemed like every single uni assignment was due this week, and work was just the worst. You had a raging migraine, and your boss even offered to call someone in early to cover you, but you refused. You needed the hours, you needed the money, you didn’t need the constant searing pain on the top of your skull like someone was trying to pierce through it with a knife.

But you pushed through until you got home. The house was silent, just like the past few nights whenever you arrived home. Tom knew you had a lot of school work to do, so he tried to stay clear of your way. Earlier this week, he attempted to keep to himself in the living room while you worked in your shared room, but he found himself wandering into the bedroom periodically. He had been away filming for months, only to return during one of the most stressful parts of your school year- midterms. He just wanted to hold you, be with you in any way he could, but that was just distracting you and he knew it.

So he made himself busy at Harrison’s place for a few hours every night. It gave you enough time to buckle down and focus on your work, with him coming home shortly before the two of you went to bed. It was hard, but midterms were a bitch and Tom wasn’t about to help you with your fifteen page paper among other essays. 

When the clock struck 11 pm, you knew Tom would be home soon and that you should probably stop working in a sad attempt to help your migraine. You changed into your pajamas (which consisted of one of Tom’s t-shirts and your own pajama shorts) and continued to go through your nightly routine. Laying down in the king-size bed, you snuggled down into the warm sheets. As tired as you were, you couldn’t fall asleep until Tom came home, knowing he’d be on his way shortly- after all, Harrison’s home wasn’t far from yours.

Waiting in your comfortably warm bed, you began to scroll through Instagram, wondering what you could have missed in the endless hours of you being offline for studying and work. You smiled to yourself when you realized Harrison had a saved Instagram live posted. Your smile grew even wider once you clicked on it and Tom appeared on the screen beside him. The time stamp of the video showed it was from an hour ago.

They were goofing about, being their normal selves and answering some questions from the comments. One question in particular caught your attention as a fan asked if you and Tom were still together- wow, so much for privacy.

“Yes, we are. She’s studying right now, working very, very hard. I love her loads, so yeah, of course we’re still together.” Tom laughed, almost disbelieving a fan would actually ask such an oddly invasive question. As Harrison continued on and answered another question, you began to read the comments that were drifting over the screen.

‘Can’t believe Tom’s still dating her’,‘They’ve got to be fake- there’s no way Tom would date someone like her’, ‘Tom’s really got bad taste’, the comments kept coming through for the next few minutes. Your eyes shifted to rest on Tom’s face, who seemed rather unbothered, like he hadn’t been reading those hurtful words that not only mocked him, but you and your relationship as a whole.

The live didn’t last long after that. You were grateful that there were no more questions about you specifically. Tom would mention you here and there, but he always did that. You were his favorite thing to talk about (except maybe, you were tied with Tessa) and so he struggled to not constantly gush over you. 

You both knew when you started dating, almost 2 years ago now, that you’d be opening your life up to criticism. You were all for bettering yourself and hearing the opinions of other people, but that was with constructive criticism to help you become a better person, not crazy fans that hated you for no legitimate reason. It was definitely a challenge, but you kept your social media all private, only allowing people you know to follow you, like any normal 23 year old would do. Tom tried to keep his posts of you to a minimum, just sometimes he couldn’t help it. He loved you, and he wanted to show you off to the world; however, he did acknowledge the uncomfortable position it put you in.

It wasn’t like you hated his fans, no you loved them. There were some, though, that you didn’t appreciate, and you felt justified feeling that way. They were just upset over seeing their idol be “taken” by you- at least, that’s what you told yourself. You constantly had to remind yourself that no, you were not fat like they said; no, you were not stupid like they said; no, you were not ugly like they said; no, you were not undeserving of Tom like they said. You were you, and you were a great person, you liked yourself.

That was the mindset most nights, but tonight was not one of those nights.

Everything was stressing you out, your anxiety certainly was not in check. Those comments did nothing to improve your mental state, and yet you still found yourself on Tom’s account, looking at the pictures he had up of you, looking at the comments underneath them specifically.

‘Attention whore’, ‘cover up slut’, ‘her dress looks like vomit’, ‘why is Tom dating her’, ‘she doesn’t deserve him’, ‘their relationship cannot be real’. Each comment stung, yet you couldn’t pull yourself away from reading through them over and over again. Your vision began to get blurry from the tears that had welled up in your eyes. You rubbed your eyes, trying to hold yourself together, and threw the phone away from you- you didn’t care where it landed, it just couldn’t be near you.

“Ow!” Tom shouted, and you immediately removed the hand from covering your eyes.

“Tom?” Your voice came out as more of a pathetic squeak. He turned on the light and you could see he was rubbing his knee, where you assumed your phone had hit him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I just got in.” He said, placing your phone on the bed and beginning to change into his own pajamas.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. My bad.” You mumbled. You picked your phone up and took one last look at the Instagram comments.

“Is everything alright?” Tom asked. He turned off the lights and got into bed beside you under the covers. You wordlessly shrugged a little and set your phone on the nightstand beside you. Tom wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer into his warm, bare chest. His brown eyes softened, sensing something was wrong. “What’s going on, love?”

“I’m just stressed.” You replied quietly.

“I know when you’re ‘just stressed’. Something else is bothering you. What is it? You can tell me.” He frowned, his hand coming up to move a few loose hairs out of your face before he rested it on your neck with his thumb gently rubbing your jaw.

“I feel like the whole world hates me. School’s awful, work’s awful. And you get to go hang out with Harrison while I’m drowning in just work, and I feel like a bad girlfriend because you want to spend time with me, but I don’t have time for anything. And then, I go online and I just see all this hate. I know that they’re your fans and you love them, but it’s just so draining. I can’t handle it.” The tears were freely flowing from your eyes at this point. Tom shifted so that you could cry into his chest, and he held you tightly, reassuringly caressing your back as he did so.

“Hey, I love you, more than anything in the world. Don’t feel bad that you can’t spend time with me right now. Midterms and work- that’s your life right now. You’ve always waited for me, so I’m going to wait for you. As long as I get to come home and see your beautiful face every night, I’m perfectly content.” He paused and let out a small sigh, “And as for my fans, I’m sorry. I wish they could just understand. I love you, you are my girlfriend, our relationship is real, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Nothing that they say about you is true. Now, who is the most beautiful, kind-hearted, mesmerizing, brilliant woman I know?”

“Your mum.” You said, muffled by his chest.

“Who? I can’t hear you.” Tom teased. You pulled back to look at him. Despite the dark room only being illuminated by the moonlight creeping through the window and the alarm clock perched behind you, you could still see his kind smile as he looked at you. “Don’t say my mum. Come on, who is it?”

“I am.” You replied, unable to stop the small smile that crept its way onto your face as Tom nodded encouragingly.

“You are the most beautiful, kind-hearted- what else did I say?” He paused with a laugh, realized he’d forgotten his own words.

“Mesmerizing, brilliant?”

“Mesmerizing, brilliant woman I know. There’s just too many adjectives to describe just how perfect you are, darling.”

“I love you.” You smiled softly, leaning in to kiss him.

“I love you, too.”

~~~

Tag List: @viagracex​ @theamazingtomholland​ @hellomoveonby​ @heyitsshrez @tomkindholland​

Tom Tag List: @quaksonhehe

[brooklynislandgirl]

For the headcanon{s}, can you talk about Beth's mental illness? How it does and does not impact her daily life, if things trigger it, how she handled this after losing Riley {in verses that are sans Riley, obviously}, and what some of her experiences have been? I feel like it's something people determinedly overlook about her, and I'd like to know!

This.

“You can’t be fuckin’ serious!”

“You keep a civil tongue in that head of yours, boy. I think I know what’s best for your sister.”

“With all due respect, sir... you haven’t known what’s best in-”

Beth is an oyster.

Vague lines and curves that are nothing remarkable perhaps to the point of being unappealing. She can only burrow into the Sand....sandy...Andy. Andy and the Admiral are outside of the room, arguing about the proper course of treatment. She can’t hear every word because she’s underwater and all the sounds are so far away as to be indistinct from the beeping of the monitor that is keeping track of her vital signs. The bandages on her pseudo-pods ~arms, they’re arms, Beth~ are too heavy. They keep her trapped to this bed where she can’t really move and she doesn’t know why. It’s all wriggling around inside of her. A parasite. One she has to wrap in smooth layers of aragonite and conchiolin. Layer after microscopic crystalline layer. Maybe if it’s smooth enough and round enough, maybe if it has enough lustre, then they will set her free. She’s so very tired but she doesn’t have her turtle, and the thin cotton gown isn’t warm enough, worn thin in places. The blankets are too scratchy and the air smells funny, too many chemicals that it’s making her feel nauseous.

But that’s all wrong. Oysters don’t have blankets and they aren’t tied down to beds and they don’t... they don’t...

“Electroshock! How can you? Look at her. She’s just a kid!”

“And your sister nearly killed herself tonight, Andrew. I am done discussing this with you. I’m your father, and a neurosurgeon. If anyone is capable of choosing a treatment plan, it isn’t a teen age boy.”

~*~

Beth was fourteen years old when she was diagnosed however wrongly with Depression mood disorder with features of psychosis, after she smashed her bedroom mirror with her fists, deeply slashing her arms from wrists to elbows. The symptoms leading up to this moment certainly were red-flags for what was wrong with her, all of them classic to the specific diagnosis: the trouble concentrating or making decisions, chronic fatigue, feelings of guilt and worthlessness, insomnia, restlessness, loss of appetite, phantom aches and pains that didn’t seem to go away, persistent sadness and anxiety. It isn’t uncommon for girls and young women diagnosed with Turner Syndrome to also develop depression. And her father felt the matter was cut and dry, despite strenuous objections from her brother.

She spent three miserable weeks in an in-patient psychiatric facility receiving less than pleasant electroconvulsive therapy, psychotherapy and was prescribed citalopram {Celexa}. Which made Beth absolutely nauseous to the point that she had trouble keeping water down, only worsened her sleeping troubles, and made her jittery. As soon as the Admiral shipped out again for a year long deployment aboard the USNS Comfort, Andy took her back to the doctor to get a second opinion.

It was then, at fifteen, that she was re-diagnosed correctly with Rapid Cycling Bi-Polar Disorder. Andy nursed her through the withdrawal of the citalopram and taking over her care regiment seemed to do his sister wonders, as she started to be the sweet and gentle girl he’d always known her to be. He’d sort out her medication by days of the week, would make sure she took the right ones at the right times with her meals, going out of his way to cook things she could stomach, letting her sleep in his bed when she wanted to, and for years after, she seemed to improve. She went months without crippling depression and her manic and hypomanic states were few and far between as well.

Then everything changed.

Beth was accepted into several universities and chose Columbia, knowing that their pre-med program was top-notch and their medical school was even better, and wouldn’t require her to change schools for the duration of her education. Having just turned sixteen in June she was starting a new life perhaps far younger than she ought to have.

There was major upheaval, stress and abject terror at leaving Hawai’i behind, going almost as far away as possible. She was not prepared for the cross-continent move. Neither was she prepared for living on her own. Perhaps she simply expected to live with Andy the whole of her life, or at the very least through her under-grad years. But after the initial first two months that it took to move into their grandparents’ apartment in Brooklyn, and Andy setting up all of her bills, hiring a cook and house keeper, making sure she got settled in as a freshman, he enlisted in the US Air-Force. She saw very little of her brother for the next two years, and the only thing that kept Beth from failing out of school was the idea that she would be sent home to live with the Admiral.

She began to notice that her medication {bupropion aka Wellbutrin} seemed less effective during this time. She was barely getting more than three hours of sleep at night, and maybe half that during day time naps. She experiences bouts of nausea that once again made eating difficult to prioritise, a feature that would last her entire life thus far, with Beth being at least twenty pounds consistently underweight. She also began to experience chronic sore throats, what she describes as her bladder shrinking down to the size of a pea, and worse...tinnitus that became co-morbid with her audio processing disorder. 

The few times during the year that she was able to see Andy, things seemed to get better....until she crashed immediately after he left again.

Beth decided she no longer wanted to take her medication.

~*~

“C’mon Beth, I’m getting married, it’s not like I’m dying!”

“GET OUT! GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!” She’s throwing things at him. She’s destroyed seven plates,six coffee mugs and at least one irreplaceable vase. There are so many tears, so much snot, it’s hard to believe his sister is almost eighteen and not eight. But thankfully, she’s still so short she can’t reach the stemware and is forced to come out from behind the island kitchen.

Which means he manages to get his arms around her, a bear hug from behind that locks her stick-figure arms to her chest. She fusses and has a fit, kicking and trying to bite him, but his training in Pararescue has taught him how to hold someone without hurting them.

“I’m not gonna leave you, jelly bean, I promise. And you’ll like Lana. She’s a real nice girl, her family’s from Jersey, and she’ll be moving in with us. You won’t have to-” “LA LA LA! NO CAN HEAR YOU!”

Beth is a hermit crab.

She can just shrink back into her shell and keep everyone out. She can hide down in the bottom of the sea and let the water of her Mother’s arms wash over her and if anything gets close, she’ll pinch them to bits.

But she really isn’t. She isn’t a hermit crab, she’s just a girl and there’s nothing that can keep everything inside of her from dying a slow and painful death. Because now Andy is not only not going to be around, but he’s getting married. To a stranger no less. But like a hermit crab, her house is too small and this woman is never setting foot inside of it. And it’s his stupid fault, because that’s what her brother is...stupid.

Doesn’t he know that no one will love him like she does? That no one depends on and needs him as much? Doesn’t he know they’re supposed to be together, forever and always? Doesn’t he know he’s the only person who truly loves her? The person who said he’d never leave her? Why does he need a wife anyway? She can do everything this Lana person can, and better. If he’d just let her prove it, he’d see!

~*~

But he didn’t. Andy ended up getting married.

Beth dropped out of medical school before completing her residency, but applied her credits to nursing. She was absolutely certain the Admiral was going to have a stroke that she had decided not to become a neurosurgeon like him, or his second choice, a cardiologist. Emergency room nursing suits her needs. She is indoors and on her feet throughout the darkness of the night when home is ever so lonely. It feeds the excessive energy that floods her system and lets her literally crash, semi-conscious during the sometimes three, sometimes four consecutive days she has off.

Life settles into a medication-less routine. Beth finally grows her final inch in height, puts on a few more pounds so she doesn’t seem nearly as cadaverous as she did before. She can blame late occurring puberty for that and for just the most brief moments of time, things seemed to have found their balance. There were no great highs. There were no life-threatening lows. Beth could finally breath.

At least until....the sun burned out and destroyed everything in a single knock on the door.

Perfunctory words that echo in her dreams.

~*~

“Miss Riley, on behalf of the Chief of Staff, United States Air Force, I regret to inform you of the untimely death of your brother, Second Lieutenant Andrew M. Riley-”

Beth Riley...isn’t anything any more.  All of everything that was bright and best within her is now a single leg and some bone fragments in a beautiful koa wood casket. It is a folded flag put into her hands. It’s the reception in the Admiral’s house and an incredibly long line of people talking and talkingandtalkingandtalkingandtalking and saying nothing at all. She can’t breath. She can’t feel. Nothing makes sense and it never will because what do you say when half of you is ripped away and gone forever? What do you do when the world stops turning and the sun has burnt out of the sky?

Beth slips out of the house without being noticed. She manages to get in her brother’s Mustang and heads into the city proper, and ends up at the bar he used to like to frequent when he was on leave. She sits at the bar and orders scotch, 25 year Macallan.

She buys the bottle. She buys the entire bar drink after drink until last call.

She lets someone take her home. Gets into his apartment. Doesn’t really feel his mouth and his hands pawing at her. Doesn’t feel anything really at all until she shoves him away. Things become blurry after that and she only really vaguely remembers calling Jay from a payphone some blocks away.

She can’t find her shoes. But that doesn’t matter.

Nothing does.

Three months later ~one hundred days, to be precise~ Beth quits her job. She turns her utilities off. Throws a few things including her wallet, her passport, and her rosary into a sea bag that she’s had forever. 

Darfur. The Democratic Republic of Congo. Amsterdam. Uruguay. Wherever Médecins Sans Frontières will let her go, to treat people living in the worst conditions. Ironic, isn’t it...that no matter where she goes, Beth always manages to make it back. That all those fears Andy had of her killing herself from neglect or inattention, or even possibly through deliberate action, and she can’t get so much as a life-threatening paper cut? It isn’t fair.

And maybe...maybe it doesn’t matter. There’s a lot of ways you can die in Louisiana.

She hears the coffee in New Orleans is really wonderful.

[heycallmeladytypewriter]

The Call of a Siren

Chapter One

She could not, for the life of her, find her goddamn charger. If she was going to make it the rest of the stupid day without music in her ears which blocked out most of the annoyances, she’d flip a table. Or she would when it was finally unloaded from the moving van on the street. 

“Cordelia, would you please come get your brother!” Her mother shrilled from the bottom of the steps. 

Delia sighed and flipped off the boxes stacked in her room who refused to give her back her charger before stomping down the stairs. Her little brother, Henry, was tugging on her mother's hair and yelling nonsense only a toddler of age three could understand. She walked past her mother and went straight to the luggage bags from the flight next to the doorway. Spotting her purple carry on, she rummaged through until she found some fruit snacks she packed but never ate. Coming back over, Cordelia waved them in Henry’s face until he took notice and reached for the snack. 

Grabbing Henry from her mother and putting him on her hip, “ Mom what do you want me to do with him? Fruit snacks are gonna last about two minutes.”

Her mother threw up her hands, “ I don’t know! Just keep him occupied until we have everything in the house.” 

Rolling her eyes, Cordelia fed him a fruit snack one at time trying to buy time until she thought of what to do with him. Most of his toys were still packed and the ones he had on the plane were of no use now as he was now done with them after a 14 hour flight from the States to Japan. Pursing her lips, she thought about seeing a playground not too far from here on the drive. 

“Mom, I’m taking Henry for a walk around. Be back in a bit.” Her mother nodded and waved her off from the kitchen. 

After wrangling Henry’s shoes and light jacket on, they set off with him still in her arms as she didn’t know where the stroller was in that mess which was her new life. Henry was lightly tugging on her hair and quietly babbling as she walked towards the small playground down the street. She already missed home. Well, previous home as she bounced around enough to never really know one place as home. Army brat problems, she thought with slight disdain. Well actually, detective/police brat? Is there even a word for that?

Her dad was former military but since the age of heroes, the military need was still there of course but not as much as it used to be. Her dad decided to go into police work afterwards when she was seven and has since climbed into a detective which made her mother happy as he was more or less off the streets but still dealt with the hardships of the job. Her mother was actually the one to want to move from the States to Musutafu, Japan. 

Thanks to the number one hero, All Might, crime in Japan has lessened significantly which made it a safer place to live in her mom’s eyes. It also helped that her mother had grown up in Tokyo when she was younger before her parents decided to move to Chicago. 

Cordelia didn’t have anything against Musutafu but it still was another move, another restart, another everything which isn't too fun when you are fifteen. 

“Del, we go swing?” A little voice broke her train of thought as she saw them reaching the playground. She smiled at his nickname for her as he couldn’t pronounce her full name yet. Sometimes it was ‘Del’ or ‘la’ but both always made her smile as it was so cute. 

“Sure, bud.” She walked over to the swings and placed him in the little toddler seat. “Ready?” Henry squealed and kicked his feet in excitement. “Ye-es!” 

Cordelia started to push him, preparing to do this for some time as Henry could be in the swing for the whole time. It definitely qualified as a workout.

“Tch, stupid Deku.” Cordelia glanced over to see a blonde boy angrily muttering to himself while kicking a rock on the sidewalk. He was wearing some kind of school uniform but all rumpled like he had some kind of fight or fall before walking home. 

“Del, keep pushin’!” Henry’s voice broke the silence. She didn’t realize she stopped after watching the boy on the sidewalk. “Sorry, buddy.” She murmured before resuming as she didn’t want to call attention to the fact she was being nosy. 

“Oi, what are you looking at?!” The angry boy had unfortunately caught that and was now facing her. 

“I’m not looking at anything. Just pushing my brother.” She replied coolly. 

“That's what I thought, extra.” 

Extra? What was that? “Actually, I was looking at you. Rough day, buddy?” Cordelia shouldn’t have goaded him, a complete stranger, but what the hell was calling her ‘extra?’

“Shut the fuck up!” 

“Hey, child present!” Cordelia waved around her brother. Thankfully, Henry didn’t seem to care as long as he was swinging. 

“Tch. He can mind his damn business too!” With that, he flipped us off. So she did too. Then he walked off, looking madder than before. Weirdly, she wanted to laugh. 

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

After they got back to the house, Cordelia took her slices of pizza that her mother had ordered and slipped upstairs to organize her things a bit more and hopefully locate her freaking charger. Her room was towards the back and furthest from anybody else which she preferred with windows facing the small backyard and back alley street behind the houses. Quiet and isolated with the ability to blast her music a bit without getting yelled at as she liked. She wasn’t a complete loner but did like her space from her nosy family. 

She closed the door and plugged in her small dinky radio in, orange and covered in faded stickers from over the years, and found a decent radio station to unpack. Placing her hands on her hips, she faced the boxes and nodded. “ Okay, here we go.” She said sternly to herself. “Don’t get distracted by every little thing and get it over with.” 

It was three a.m by the time she got done but she was much further than before. There were still a few scattered boxes she stacked in the corner to deal with later but the essentials and whatnot were out and placed. 

Figuring she earned a break, she took out a bowl of water she filled earlier and placed it on her nightstand while sitting criss cross applesauce on her bed. 

Breathing deep, she raised her fingers towards the bowl and the water lifted out and into the air. 

Cordelia took her time and played with the water, trying to manipulate it into shapes before settling on her go-to weapon: a water whip of sorts. She had earlier set up her old stuffed animals along the furniture in the room and tried to knock them down one by one. 

Unfortunately, she whipped too strongly and made a divot in the wall and cut her teddy bear's arm off. 

“Aw crap. Sorry Mr. Tubbs.” Whipping the water back into the bowl, she sadly picked up the teddy’s arm off the floor  and then looked at the damage on the wall. “Yikes. Gonna cover that up with a poster..” Her dad will kill her for practicing in the house again since she usually damages something. 

Cordelia went to one of her leftover boxes to find something to tape on the wall when she found a paper she forgot about crumpled on top. 

U.A ENTRANCE EXAM APPLICATION

Biting her lip, she looked over her application she had printed before flying here. That was the one thing she was looking forward to with moving here: to be accepted in one of the world’s top hero schools. She wanted to be a hero more than anything. Unfortunately, her family did not share that dream nor like them very much. Her eyes flicked over to her family’s picture on her dresser, taken a few months ago on Henry’s third birthday, and sighed. Her mother, a prom queen in her day, had her arms around her dads buffed up arm with her wavy dark hair in a long plait down her shoulder. Her dad stood tall and proud over little Henry in his crooked yellow party hat while her sister, Josephine, grabbed their mother’s other arm. Like her mother, Josie held a sort of grace even in a casual stance and small smile with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Delia stood slightly off to the side, hair unbound and free flowing in the wind, and was held tied to the picture by only Henry’s small hand in hers as if to keep her in place. 

Her mother had a quirk of healing small cuts and wounds with water which helped since she was a nurse in the ER. Nothing to scoff at, in Cordelia’s opinion. Her father had a quirk of weapons; particularly the knowledge of them and how they work. Again, nothing to scoff at especially considering his line of work. Her older sibling, Josephine, took after their father but instead of weapons, it was machines like a typewriter or an air conditioner. Pretty useful but she decided that a career in accounting was for her. They didn’t speak much. 

Despite having quirks, they resented them. They believed the world would be better without them and hero work was not a true profession to aspire for. Thus, a discovery of your quirk at a young age wasn’t anything to celebrate nor was it encouraged to practice and train other than the bare minimum of control. That did not stop her from wanting to be a hero. Everything about it seemed amazing. She would collect articles about them and hide them in the back of her closet along with a poster or two. She’d watch videos on the internet about all the top heroes and wonder how she could be just like them. 

 Getting her parents to agree to this...would be so hard. Hence why she printed the paper but never filled it out. 

She stared at the divot in the wall for a moment before sighing and placing the paper back in the box. 

____________________________________________________________

After only having slept a measly three hours, Cordelia gave up and put on some shorts and a tank top. She snuck outside as her parents and brother would be getting ready soon and she wasn’t ready for any human interaction yet. She was not a morning person in the slightest. 

She favorited her new home’s address in her phone since she didn't know the neighborhood or have a specific route around yet. Then she set off. 

After thirty minutes of light running, she came upon a beach. A sign on a big rock read ‘Dagoba Municipal Beach Park.’ Cordelia felt her heart explode with joy at the sight. Water was close to her. No, the ocean was close to her!

“Oh my god!” She shrieked to herself. She found her place. This is where she would practice and train and just be and just...breathe. She jogged down the steps to the sand and couldn’t stop herself from giggling from pure happiness. The only sad part was the mountain of random trash and junk off to the left of her on the beach. Hell, maybe she’d move it all just to clear more space or put in a request to the city as she saw refrigerators and car pieces which looked way too heavy for her to just lug. 

All of a sudden, a giant boom and junk flew outward causing her to yelp and duck out of the way as a toaster almost took her head off. 

“The hell..?” She marched over to the source and stopped cold. A skinny boy looking around her age with a mess of green hair stood in a clearing in the mess. Her brain could only notice that much about him as her focus was being pulled to the shock before the boy. 

All Might.

All Might was in front of her.

ALL MIGHT WAS STANDING IN FRONT OF HER.

HOLY AJKFC SHIT!!

Cordelia couldn’t breathe. The number one hero in the world was right there and this boy was familiar with him enough to have a conversation. Holy wow. Thankfully, she was hidden by some of the junk so they didn’t seem to see her. 

“..towards being a hero.”

“Um..All this?” The boy looked back worriedly at the junk piled all around him. “But..There’s so much. That’s impossible!”

“ Young Midoriya, you wanna go to UA, right?” 

“Well, yeah. Of course! You went there. So it must be the best school around, right? It’s a long shot but still..I’m going to shoot for the moon.” She smiled at the sound of how earnest he was to try. To be honest, it made her want to try to despite her family’s lack of support. 

“You’ve got a lot of spirit, fanboy! But, as I’ve mentioned before, Heroeing isn’t easy to do without a quirk. It’s not fair but that's the reality. UA is the hardest hero course to get into. So that means..”

“..that I have to prepare my body for your Quirk really fast. UA’s exam is in ten months!” 

Ten months. 

Backing away slowly, she turned and ran back to the stairs to grab her shoes before running home. 

By the time she got home, she had made up her mind. 

After her shower, she grabbed the crumpled application out of the box and a pen off her desk. 

She wanted to go to UA and just like the boy on the beach, she was going to shoot for the moon.

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

A/N: Hey guys! I decided to take a shot at a fanfiction I’ve had in my head for a while with everyone’s favorite (especially my favorite) angry boy. I could use some beta readers and maybe some coverart if anyone is willing?? Feedback is more than welcome and I plan on updating at least once a week! 

[s-mething-mbti]

Hiya! I just discovered your blog and was wondering if you could help try to type me (sorry this is pretty long)

1. I’m currently pretty torn between the intuitive introverts. I was able to narrow it down to INTJ, INFJ or INTP. I’m about 97.2% sure I use Ni. The only thing that’s giving me a bit of doubt is I find myself occasionally learning for the sake of learning which I’ve found is a traditionally Ne trait. Despite this I’m still pretty sure I use Ni as when I go down a rabbit hole and start learning for the sake of learning its always about a topic that interests me or is entertaining. I won’t waste my time learning about something I find mundane or drab. I resonate a lot with Ni’s “aha” moments where the correct answer simply pops into my head or a vision suddenly seems clear or a plot holes solution suddenly seems painstakingly obvious. I also resonate with starting out with a broader range of information/ possibilities and narrowing it down to one or two things. Another intuitive thing I highly relate to is living in the future. If almost never living in the present, and a constantly fixate on the future. I have a distinct, clear, and well thought out plan for the next 20 years (give or take).

Where I run into a bit of trouble is when I try to figure out which judging functions I predominantly use. It honestly feels like I use them all (though I know you’re only supposed to be able to use two well). For example I plan out everything, and set deadlines for myself. My desk often seems really messy to others especially when I’m doing art. This isn’t because I don’t value cleanliness, but because it simply makes more sense to keep all my art supplies out rather than having to spend at least fifteen minutes taking them out and then putting them away only to take them right back out the next day. I set goals based off of easily measurable, external things such as time, or grades. I make daily to do lists that outline everything I’ll need to do in the day, and some stuff to focus on if I have extra time. With my to do list I also plan out the approximate time each thing should take. When coming up with a scientific theory, I take others opinions/theories and test them against each other, and current scientific laws in order to formulate the most probable theory. External opinions (in a scientific/ logical manner) mean a lot to me (I don’t really care about how people that aren’t my friends think of me). To me these things seem very Te. But then I’m always smiling and am a fairly warm person. I want my friends to be happy, and I want to help others. I despise emotionally driven conflict(though I love debates), and while I’m not afraid to disrupt it if it threatens my morals/ is promoting something blatantly wrong (factually or morally) I do really harmony. These seem like pretty Fe things to me. As for Fi, I rarely share my negative emotions, preferring to deal with them predominantly alone. While I may not talk about them much I also have EXTREMELY strong morals. If something is crossing them I’m not going to simply ignore it for the sake of harmony. While I tend to be private I do try to be as authentic as possible. My morals are derived by information I’ve collected and decisions I’ve made myself, rather than being derived by ‘the groups’ collective morals if that makes sense. To me these things appear to be very Fi. As for Ti, sometimes I enjoy learning simply for the sake of learning. The knowledge may have no practical use to me but if I find it interesting or want to learn about it I can devote hours to it. I try and come to the most logical/accurate conclusion possible, and when I’m offering advice I may offer additional advice that takes different variables into account. The truth is really important to me as well.

2. Reading. I absolutely ADORE reading(specifically fantasy/sci-fi/dystopian books or research/scientific articles about topics that interest me). For reference there was a period of time when I had some free time and I was reading 2 or 3 books a day? Read maybe 50 books in the span of 20 days? But yeah I absolutely love reading. Just he way the book sucks you in and deposits you and a completely new world full of wonder and disaster and ugh it’s just magnificent. And don’t even get me started on impeccable character development and eeee. The way rereading a book feels like you’re reconnecting with an old best friend or going back to your childhood home and *sobs*. I also LOVE trying to predict plot twists and character deaths. Most of the time I can predict things correctly and idk it’s really fun to just try and figure out what’s going to happen before the big reveal. And the rush of satisfaction you get when you’ve guessed something right- it also helps me brace for character deaths (sorta. For example I knew *the* death in the final empire [by Brandon Sanderson] was coming since nearly the very beginning [I had my suspicions since the moment vin was introduced] but I still sobbed when the character died. [a tad off topic but what caused me to cry wasn’t the death itself but another characters reaction to it. This is often the case I find. A death of a character I love leaves me feeling empty but what typically gets me to cry is the others reactions- for thus reason funerals usually make me cry. I should also add that I only cry when I’m alone. I’ve cried around people (that aren’t my parents) a grand total of 1 time.]

Uh and daydreaming. I’m almost always daydreaming. Ie. if my brain was a search engine or whatever one tab would be reality and I would consecutively have at lest 20 other tabs open. Some of then playing videos (daydreams) others supplying music(if I’m not actively listening to real music my brain cycles through songs I have memorized. Occasionally does this with book scenes too if I’m bored [yes, I memorize some of my favourite scenes, word for word, so I can play them like a movie in my head when I, bored) others containing random info (just me thinking random stuff) etc.

3. I guess how to solve some problems? Wether it’s a math or science problem, or an argument between friends, figuring out how to solve things has always been something I’m decently good at. Math and science just. Make sense. And then with issues between people I’m good at looking at different perspectives (even ones that I don’t agree with) and playing out different scenarios/ possible outcomes of different approaches. This lets me come up with a solution that will successfully solve the problem with the least amount of negative ramifications involved

4. Hmm maybe being present? I honestly feel like life is passing me by and I’m just immobilized on the sidelines. Im so far into the future that I kinda forget to actually *live* every once in a while.

5. Honesty? Truth? Morals? These topics are all really interesting as they can be kinda subjective. The line between honesty and cruelty is so small. What is truth? Cause while yes, we have some set truths (such as the earth is orbiting the sun) so many ‘truths’ are simply subjective and completely depend on ones perspective. And morals my goodness. The stormlight archive is a really fun series that plays around with things like what is justice? And honour? I won’t get into it now but it brings up so many really interesting questions regarding morals.

6. Perspective . I think perspective is such a fascinating thing. Just. Different opinions. Seeing the world through completely different lenses. Interpreting the same thing in utterly different ways. When toying around with an idea I find it really fun to try and imagine opposing perspectives. While I can find different perspectives really interesting, they can also well... get on my nerves to say the least. Sometimes someone perspective is just? So blatantly wrong? And has absolutely no factual evidence backing it up? And part of me wants to just just scream and it would be so much easier if everyone just. Assessed the facts in front of them instead of making wild accusations or whatever without anything to support them. But yeah overall I think perspectives are really cool and they’re part of what helps to make the world diverse and life so much less interesting without different perspectives.

The future. I’ve found a bunch of my friends find thinking about the future stressful but if I’m being honest I find solace in thinking about the future. Having things planned out and knowing what I intend to do/ where I want to go takes off so much stress. I lowkey live in the future and I honestly cannot wait till it comes, and I achieve my goals. While I might be a bit scared the future excites me so much more than it’ll ever scare me.

7. Maybe add some more stuff about the judging functions and feelings and thinking etc . I absolutely adore science and math. I literally do math for fun. I’m currently aiming to get my PhD in astrophysics.

Not sure if this is relevant at all but my biggest (harmless) pet peeves are my grandmother’s door stopper (it always gets stuck in the door and then u can’t get it out and the door won’t close properly- I have an unhealthy amount of hatred for that thing AHAHJSEJKSMDJDJDJJ) and when people say some variant of “you did good”. Like nO NO YOU DID NOT DO gOoD. YOU DID W E L L (Anyways theres my little mini rant).

I’m my friend groups therapist (sorta). While I’m really not good with words and recycle the same three responses I always let everyone know that I’m here for them and they can talk to me without judgement etc. While I really don’t know what to say or do I try my best because I care about my friends and want to help them. I love them and so I want them to be able to be happy. Im always smiling (though this is more so because people don’t ask me how I’m doing when I look happy than because I’m genuinely happy. Most of the time I’m he farthest thing from that). I’m a pretty warm person who’s always happy to help, however I’m very introverted. I haven’t had a single conversation with the majority of people in my class (I’ve had a convo with maybe 5. Talk to 2 regularly. There are 26 people in my class). I never express negative emotions (with the exception of stress- I panic intensely in the 5 minutes immediately before taking a test as this helps me to completely turn off my nerves while I’m writing the exam. I may also make a joke or two about my negative emotions with close friends). I should also add that when making decisions I value logic more and think thinks through thoroughly, examining the pros and cons etc. While I take feelings and emotions into consideration when making decisions they’re more like an additional variable to consider rather than the main driving force that determines my decision. If I’m feeling really emotional and I need to make a decision I will postpone deciding until I feel more levelheaded. I’m really not impulsive in the slightest.

Thank you so much!!

INTJ

Living in the future rather than the present and your comfort in that sapce, your ability for and enjoyment of making predictions, your ability to really understand and try on different perspectives you don’t necessarily agree with, your focus on “ramifications” (aka future implications) while problem solving - this all points to high Ni.

You also show a Te preference - goals based on external metrics, to-do lists for daily tasks, logic based on the outer world (external opinion). When you said “While I take feelings and emotions into consideration when making decisions they’re more like an additional variable to consider rather than the main driving force that determines my decision” - that is a clear cut definition of Te over Fe preference.

Your tertiary Fi shows through here as well - willing to disrupt harmony if it upsets your morals, your morals being personally derived, needing to understand your emotions while alone. And lastly, your statement about “forgetting to live” from being in the future is pretty textbook inferior Se. 

[noobsomeexagerjunk]

Left Undone

Ted didn’t want to babysit Bill’s daughter. He didn’t like Bill, and Bill didn’t like him. Why did he have to be the only one in the office who was free for the weekend? Alice didn’t exactly want to be babysat either. She’s too old for that!

Little did Ted and Alice know how much fun they were going to have.

(AU wherein Alice has not dated Deb yet, Bill hasn’t divorced yet either; MASSIVE SPOILERS for BoJack Horseman Season 3 and Moulin Rouge! are discussed)

Friday Prologue | Saturday Chapter | Sunday Chapter | Monday Epilogue

Alice woke up fairly well-rested Saturday morning, forgetting for a second that she wasn’t in her own house.

Ted Spankoffski’s house had 3 bedrooms. One was a master bedroom where Ted slept and also did any other non-CCRP related work. Another was a room where Ted’s nerdy brother stayed for the Summer; ever since Ted got himself a house, his younger brother would stay over at his place during holidays and academic breaks.

Then there was the spare guest bedroom Alice was in where Ted had to set up for her the previous evening. It was very plain.

She went downstairs, explored a little, then found no one. She went back up, knocking on Ted’s bedroom door. No response.

Alice then decided to wash up instead, to feel fresh in the morning. She did all the work in the downstairs bathroom (Ted specifically told her to use that particular bathroom), leaving it as neat as it was before she came to the house.

She tried to knock on the door again, the increased strength of her rapping revealing to her that the room had not been locked, or closed properly for that matter.

She peeked in to find Ted who was still asleep, clutching a laptop like a stuffed toy. His shirt, boxers, and socks tied together with his slumped figure, which also seemed intertwined with the bedsheets. There were used tissues all over the bed, some on the floor making a trail to a semi-used paper towel roll. There were an empty bowl and two empty beer bottles on the bedside table. It reeked of Corona and clearly imported Honey Butter Chips.

Alice stepped in to try to wake Ted up, but the floor creaking below her was enough to make him jolt awake.

“Who the fu-“ Ted calmed down from the shock of waking up so suddenly, “A-Alice?!  Shit, I forgot you’re here,”

“I-Is there anything I can eat?”

Ted rose from his position, sitting upward on his bed, “...are you allergic to eggs? Milk?”

“No, I’m not allergic to either.”

“Good,” Ted yawned, getting up and stretching, “because my fridge is fucking empty.”

“I noticed.”

That was hyperbole...sort of. The only breakfast that could be made from Ted’s pantry was egg toast and cereal. There was enough for both of them to finish all of said egg toast and cereal.

“What were you watching last night?” Alice asked Ted, playing with her fruit loops a little.

“Hm?” He swallowed the last bite of his toast with instant coffee.

“You were crying for about thirty minutes; I couldn't sleep-”

“I-It was a sad episode, alright?!” Ted was slightly embarrassed, hesitating to take another sip of coffee, “That fucking baby seahorse will never know...”

Alice raised a brow, unaware of the reference. She ate some more cereal.

“Don’t give me that look, Alice!” That was Bill’s glare, alright, “BoJack Horseman is a very good show!”

“And you binged the whole thing last night?”

“It’s the new season. I’ve got two episodes left before I finish.” Ted then proceeded to chug down what was left of his coffee.

“My laptop died during my binge but it was late and I was just,” He blew a raspberry, “...I needed to sleep.”

“I’ve done that before, not gonna lie,” Alice place down the spoon, done with her breakfast, “Though, the show I watched was kinda...yeah, it was kinda shitty,”

“Let me guess: you’ve watched it because someone hot’s in it,”

Alice blushed, “I-It’s not just that!”

“Hey hey hey,” Ted chuckled, “I’m guilty of that, I ain’t judging.”

Alice hmphed, “Should I watch that—what’s that show?”

“BoJack Horseman?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm,” Ted then began cleaning up by taking Alice’s utensils, stacking them with his, “it starts weak but gets so much better, like real fucking better. Dunno if you’re old enough to watch it though,”

“I’ve seen some pretty adult stuff! Mom makes me watch Tarantino movies with her, at least whenever Dad's not around sometimes,"

Ted nodded at Alice’s mother’s taste in film, “Aight, but that show just...it just hits somewhere really hard when you’re in your early thirties full of regret and with no discernible life direction but, hey! If you can take it, I’d be impressed.”

Alice blinked, “What? Is it like, psychological horror? The kind rooted in some comedically timed socio-political commentary?”

“Well, arguably.” Ted then got up to bring the dishes in his hands into the kitchen.

“...where can I find it?” She asked with mild interest.

“Netflix,” The sound of dishes landing in a sink was heard from Alice’s seat, “It’s a cartoon too, and like, about a bunch of animals, if those kinds of things float your boat.”

Alice never made it past Episode 1 when she tried to watch it herself, convinced Ted’s taste was shit. Personally, she will regret that.

The rest of that morning left Alice and Ted to their own individual devices. Alice typed away some interesting plots and ideas on her phone. Ted went to finish the last episodes of that sad horse show.

An hour before the time Alice would usually eat lunch, she had been cycling around various plotlines for a potential...well, something. Alice knew she just had to write something.

She was in the living area of the house when she heard Ted sloppily walk down the stairs. His eyes were teary.

"Are you alright, Mr. Spankoffski?" She looked at him with concern.

Ted shakily neared her, hesitating to sit on the couch next to her. He instead placed a languid hand on one of the couch's armrests.

"Please don't die on me, Alice, oh my God..."

He broke into sobs. Alice could only stare at this behavior in confusion.

"Did something bad happen in the show, or...?"

"Fuck, it got worse!" He sniffled, "A-And not, like, n-not in a bad writing context--that show's writing is the shit, Alice! But fuck! F-Fuck!"

Sarah Lynn was not supposed to die, but she did die and the fact left Ted devastated. A part of him knew it was gonna happen as he saw the old man, er, horse, and the poor girl in the motel, missing the Oscars. (Then again, that show had a penchant for hollowing, tragic endings per episode.)

Even in entertainment, in his favorite shows to watch, Ted Spankoffski knew better than to hope. It was more realistic for him.

"You can sit down," Alice moved aside to give Ted space to sit.

Ted cried as he sat next to her, "God, I'm sorry y-you had to see me like this,"

"I've...I-I've had worse breakdowns over a show. I-It's all good."

TV and Movie homophobia still haunted the teenage girl.

It's things like that, whether extravagant or subtle in delivery, that prompted her to write and clarify in any way that she could if only to fight. Alice Woodward was the kind of girl who refused to despair.

"Yeah, A-Alice?"

"Mhm," She nodded, quickly writing "character gets sucked into a tv show???" in her phone's Notes app.

"What if we watched something less depressing instead? You can watch it with me, Alice!" Ted breathed, "You're not bored, are you?"

She added "literally? figuratively? ehhh let the watchers decide??? kshfukdhivg" then kept her phone.

"No! N-No, I know how to keep myself, um, b-busy," Alice then shifted herself into a more comfortable position, "What movies do you have?"

Ted paused before answering, realizing he was hungry.

“You pick,” He said, getting up, “You want pizza with that?”

Alice nodded eagerly, watching Ted head for his phone.

“Wait, what am I supposed to pick?”

“There’s a bunch of CD cases in the drawer under the center table—it’s right in front of you!” Ted's voice decrescendoed as he headed upstairs.

“Drawer?” Alice wondered to herself, bending down to inspect the described center table. There was in fact a drawer.

She pulled it open to find bunches of CD cases, charging wires, and what clearly seemed to be unusable gadgets or “e-junk” as her father would, in a terribly corny way, put it.

Alice noticed a notable amount of movie musicals in one bundle of CD cases. The one that got her attention was Moulin Rouge!, unfamiliar with the title and very taken by the red-haired beauty printed on the cover. There was Jesus Christ Superstar, West Side Story, Rocky Horror Picture Show, and a bunch of Disney Princess movies. Upon further inspection of the non-musical movies, Ted had a diverse taste in film, though it was primarily pretty basic in Alice's opinion, minus a few exceptions.

She closed the drawer, further inspecting the Moulin Rouge CD cover by reading the synopsis on the back. An aspiring writer falls in love with a courtesan but other things get in the way? Alice could not blame the writer, in fact, she was quick to identify with him, even if she had not seen the movie yet.

“Alice?” Ted called from upstairs, “Are you allergic to anything I should know?”

“No,” She called back, playing with the CD cover.

“Good! I’m getting us a Bacon Surprise,”

“Alright,” Apparently Ted chose to order from that  Witchwood Ovens Shop downtown.

“What movie do you wanna watch?” Ted asked as he went back down. Alice showed him the CD cover.

“Moulin Rouge?” He mispronounced, “I actually have that in there?”

Alice handed the cover to Ted as he approached her, “I don’t think I’ve seen this one,”

“No shit, Alice. This movie’s got prostitution; if I know your Dad enough,” He stared at the cover, trying to remember when he got it, "he would make sure you'd never see it. God, I remember seeing this in the theater, like, when I was about your—h-how old are you again?"

"Fifteen, but I'll be sixteen later this year,"

"Eh, close enough," Ted then placed the CD cover down, ready to set up the television set in the living room.

"Nicole Kidman, man..." Ted dusted the CD player, plugging the TV into it, "She was the fucking best in that thing."

"Do you even know what happens in it?" Alice asked as she watched Ted at work, "Or were you just hoping Nicole Kidman would step on you?"

"Don't you fucking shame me, Alice!" Ted gasped back as he blushed, "If you had any taste in women, you'd want the same Goddamn thing."

Ted guessed correctly, keeping the girl from returning his snark.

It was around the Elephant Love Medley when the pizza arrived. Ted was kind enough to pause for Alice as he went to get the pizza. Alice was still recovering from the exhilaration of the past few songs, overwhelmed with the crowd-like effect of the cheesy-Jukebox mashups that introduced Christian to that infamous dancehall, the gratuitous use of slow-mo effects, and the ridiculous use of that Can-Can. It was "Spectacular Spectacular" indeed!

Alice almost choked on her pizza during the Like A Virgin scene. It was also very clear to her, as they watched, that Ted must've forgotten a lot of what had happened in the film given some of his reactions. Ted cursed The Duke repeatedly, particularly at that scene when he found out about the true nature of Christian's play.

Ted believed that he should've seen Satine dying coming. He saw this movie before. The movie literally said so right at the start!

Why, as he watched, did he want that happy ending when the opposite was inevitably going to happen?!

Something about Satine charmed Ted, in a particularly nightmarish way. The idea of further thinking about it was repressed repeatedly, refusing to confront the roots of it all. Surely it was just him being a horny bastard, right? Right?

This totally had nothing to do with the fact that Satine had vibrant red hair, cerulean eyes, polished milky skin, and a beautiful figure.

This totally had nothing to do with how familiar this fictional character seemed to be, resembling someone Ted remembered with intense, bittersweet longing.

This totally had nothing to do with the sight of Satine breathing her last breath on a bed of roses reminding Ted of a memory that he swore hadn't happened yet.

Or it did happen?

Why debate when it happened when it shouldn't have happened at all? It wasn't supposed to happen, whatever that thing was that Ted didn't need to remember at the moment. And yet...

She didn't make a sound. Heartbreak was never so loud.

Alice's sniffling brought Ted back to reality. Ted put a hand on her shoulder.

"God, I-I look so stupid," Alice chuckled out from her tears, rubbing her teary eyes, "they literally say it in the beginning, ugh!"

Ted coddled her closer to him so he could hug her but Alice recoiled back.

"T-Thanks, but we both smell like pizza," Ted nodded back in response.

As he cleaned up the living area, he asked Alice, "How was the movie?"

"It was pretty cheesy," She pulled out her phone again, inspired to write, "but kinda fun? Like, you don't get fun movies with this much energy, at least, when I try to compare, well. You know what I mean."

"Yeah," Ted replied absent-mindedly, "It certainly brings back memories of, well,  certain times."

"I think it kinda comes off as an epic-like piece,"

"No need to wax academic, Alice,"

"You asked for it!"

"I asked about how it was, not for an essay about its themes and shit!" Ted straightened himself up with a chuckle, "It's just a movie, after all."

"It hits different though," She spat back, focused now on her phone.

Witchwood Oven Shop pizzas were notably heavier on the stomach compared to their competitors. Any leftover pizza the two had for lunch that day, Ted proceeded to reheat for dinner. He scavenged his refrigerator for any packs of instant lemonade, which were thankfully there, and prepared two glasses for the two of them.

It was a shitty excuse for dinner, but Alice didn't seem to mind. She was very concentrated on her phone.

"What'cha writing about?"

Alice tilted her phone as to hide it, "It's not really much yet. It's all a bunch of prompts so far."

"You can pitch me stuff," He swallowed a bite, "Which ones really get to you?"

"Well," She hesitated.

"Well?"

"I-I've got a traveling adventure in a fancy, cultured but mysterious new town..."

"Anything else?"

"Still deciding whether I should make it a horror or a comedy. Besides that, it's all gonna rest on a foundation of romance between our main character, and, well..."

"Who?"

"I don't know! It's all I got so far!"

"Hey, it's not bad," Ted sipped his lemonade, "You know, I bet with enough time, it can become something really fucking great. I'd be invested if this was a movie or a staged production of sorts, I don't know,"

"Y-You think it's good, Mr. Spankoffski?"

"Oh hell yeah," He placed the glass down, "Not to be cheesy, but romance really gets me."

"Yeah, same."

"Have you considered making it some sort of horror-comedy romance? I would love it if you could pull it off."

[griffith-ben]

My Linked[In]terview

One of my most proud accomplishments related to social media has nothing to do with learning about posting or using the online platform. In Fall 2020, I entered the internship market determined to make the best of these unprecedented times. To me this meant dedicating hours each week to revising and editing my resume to match the criteria of any internships that were remotely interesting to me. I would say on average I spent about four hours per week dedicated to the job hunt, finding listings on LinkedIn, getting inspiration on company websites, and manually creating alternate versions of my resume to best match different positions between sales, marketing, communication, public relations, you name it.  

Goals individuals place on themselves can only be one of two possibilities: a stretch goal or a comfort goal. When sending out my resume in the middle of a pandemic I adopted a “the worst they can say is no” attitude, which ultimately has led me to some immense success. I had two stretch goals that began to come to fruition in October of 2020. One day I got a LinkedIn notification from an unknown and it ended up being a recruiter for the LinkedIn Global Sales Internship role. Looking at this from my realist perspective I knew that there was some sort of artificial intelligence software in LinkedIn that was able to pull my profile as one with “relevant skills that could translate to a career in sales at LinkedIn.” Either way I felt very excited to explore this possibility.

This is where my journey with LinkedIn began. In this message the recruiter sent a welcome video where she filmed an introduction, and it was refreshing to see someone in a more normal way during this global crisis. During this week I began to reach out to my professors to gain opinions on my resume in order to give myself the best shot in the interview process. After making conversation with the recruiter via LinkedIn messaging, I was able to put in my application with confidence.

About a week later or so I received an e-mail telling me I had made it into the first stage of the process which was a fifteen-minute phone screen. We set-up time which was late for us on the east coast, but worked out nicely for the recruiter because the headquarters and where she lives is in San Francisco. Looking back at this conversation there was not much substance to it, just checking in on how the school year is going and basic questions on my experience listed on my resume. Applying what I know from my Sales Management course I know the content of this talk was not what was being evaluated. It was the soft skills of conversing over the phone which is directly applicable to the sales position being applied for.

After the call was over, I was given a timeline of two weeks to hear if I made it into the first round of interviews. I knew I had chosen a time for the phone screen early in the process so to make sure that I remained in the head of the recruiter I had to take action. Something I did that really made me feel more confident that this position was a right fit for me was reaching out to previous interns from the position. Just on LinkedIn alone I was able to strike up conversation with at least five of the previous interns and ask about their experience. I then formulated a thank you email to the recruiter and I mentioned these interactions which further showed my interest and my ability to work with others input.

This is a mostly happy story after all; I did end up making it to the first round of interviews which was extremely exciting to achieve. This call was scheduled for about half an hour and consisted of a video-chat going over those standard interview questions like “tell me about a time where you failed and how you handled it?” And the more sales role specific questions such as “why are you interested in sales?” In this conversation I prepared to have a more back and forth conversation whereas the phone interview was mostly a one-way talking style. I studied up on here LinkedIn profile to get a sense on what we had in common and was sure to use those commonalities in my answers. For example, I used my transition from the running club to the division one team to show hard work, dedication, but tied it into some she could relate to. Based on her profile we had roots in the Midwest which was a great conversation starter. In my running I highlighted the unpredictability of Midwestern weather and from this I learned she had completed a half marathon and I was clued into knowing she could relate to my experience.

In this first round there was only a week turn-around between knowing if we made it into the second round of interviews. I am usually confident in interviews because people skills are one of my strongest skills but, because of my lack of internship experience I was worried if I would be overlooked. In a confetti started email, I got the congratulations email and made it to the second round. For this round I would be interviewing with someone higher up in the hiring manager level. This interview I was preparing to answer behavioral based questions, so I began going through mental preparations to show my story in the most positive light.

For this interview it was done over a video call and lasted for about forty-five minutes. This new woman I was interacting with was inspiring and strong. She has worked her way up to being a Vice President of Sales in three companies and now works as a sales director of North America for LinkedIn. Interacting with someone so high up in an organization I thought was not going to be possible in college, but it was so cool to see how down to earth someone so successful could be. On the day of, I had to miss class, with permission, in order to attend the call. After sharing with my professor about the opportunity it was great to know how much I felt supported in achieving higher.  

The content of this second round interview with the hiring manager was definitely more nerve racking. I was glad I was dressed up in my full suit because even with the window open to a Michigan November I was still sweating nervously. In our conversation I never showed my nerves though, I was calm confident and collected and made sure to speak at a rate that was understandable and would translate well across the video call. She asked questions on my sales experience and why I think I would succeed with LinkedIn, but the question I always love to get in an interview was brought up giving me the confidence I needed to finish strong across those forty-five minutes. The question was along the lines of: tell me about a time where you were under stress and still performed well.  

My answer to this question in a spark notes version always relates to my Leader Advancement Scholar Program experience where we performed a debate course partnered with the Saginaw Regional Correctional Facility. In this experience we were partnered with men that has sentences between two-years and life, we drove to the prison, went through security, and learned alongside these men debate principles and etiquette. Internally, I was a mess. I was very stressed out about being in a prison, I had never known anyone to go to prison, all my knowledge on the prison system came from the media. Even under this stress I was able to walk away with the second highest speaker’s award for best debate and performed two wins as I stepped in for another student when she was sick on the day of her debate. The response from the LinkedIn interviewer was priceless, she said that in her four years of going through rounds of Intern interviews she had never heard a story like that and overall was very impressed.

I left the interview feeling proud of my work, but this is not to be confused with confident on the position. At this stage in the game it was obvious there were very few candidates left. I wanted to leave an impression of myself on the interviewer and share why I wanted to be apart of the Global Sales program. I was able to ask great questions on what it is like working at LinkedIn, culture differences between this job and previous ones, and growth opportunities. I was also able to share my story in an authentic and memorable way.

While this entire LinkedIn process was going on, I did not put all my eggs in one basket. I was balancing three other companies for interviews and was able to land two other offers. Upon notification of another offer with a deadline I reached out to LinkedIn out of courtesy to let them know I have a new timeline. That next day results came back from the Round Two of interviews and I was not selected to move into final round. Though I had other offers, I was devastated at this news. After spending over a month interacting with recruiters, I began to envision my internship living in San Francisco for the summer, I imagined life meeting new people from all over the country, I envisioned a job offer there after college. The world works in mysterious ways and I know that it must have not been meant to be at that time. Moving forward I have built strong connections with LinkedIn and going into my senior year I feel excited at what could be next for me.

As for the power of social media it is obvious that without its impact, I would have never earned this opportunity. Based on my profile, artificial intelligence was able to select me as a candidate with the characteristics to be successful in their internship role. Specifically, I attribute my profile having this status due to my active posting. With higher frequency of posts the AI was able to have more data points to judge me and therefore more reasons to share my name with the recruiter. Social media is often talked negatively in this day and age but this anecdote about LinkedIn is an obvious example of the great things possible.

[variantia]

BELLUM.   once again @anarchyhorde has made me write something incredibly angsty with my own two hands

COME HATE ME !!!

-

HURTS

God, it hurts.

When Elsa drifts back into consciousness, she’s staring at the bright white lights of a hospital room.

They’re fuzzy, just like her mind. It’s the familiar dizzying, floating, blocking feeling of heavy painkillers. A feeling like if she closed her eyes, she could easily just fall back asleep.

But… wait. She hasn’t been asleep, has she? If she were just asleep, she would be at home in bed. Instead she’s in the hospital, having apparently been sedated.

She rolls her head slightly to the side, and a familiar face slowly comes into view. “H… Hawks…?”

“— Elsa? Shit, thank God.” The winged hero looks down at her for a moment; try as he might to conceal any deeper feelings, concern is etched on his face, plain to her simply because she knows him so well. “Some good luck that you woke up while I’m here. How you feeling?”

“Like some jerk gave me a cookie and forgot to tell me there was pot in it,” she mumbles dryly, trying to push herself up a little. The bed’s reclined some already, but she just feels like she has to move. Her muscles are so stiff. “Think I’m coming out of it, though. Mostly I’m just sleepy. Was… was I in a coma…?”

Hawks sucks in a breath through his teeth, waving his hand in a so-so motion. “A little one.”

“How can you be in a little — aah!” A sharp cry cuts her off when she sits too far, her arm immediately pressed against her chest. “… Dammit. How many ribs did I break?”

“Just one, I think they said. But to be fair,” he hums, “it’s not like you broke ‘em. I, uh, I doubt it anyway. Watchwoman said she found you passed out and bleeding in an alley when you didn’t report back from your patrols.” He scratches at the back of his neck, frowning. “You… remember what happened or anything?”

A few memories come back. Like everything else right now, they’re kind of hazy, yet definitely unmistakable. “Yes… sort of. I… I think a villain attacked me.”

The only thing that keeps him from being too shocked is that it’s probably the answer he expected. Unfortunately, it’s the biggest occupational hazard they have as heroes. “Get a good look at the guy? … Or gal? Or, uh, y’know—”

One thing that doesn’t change is that when she raises her hand, the response is silence. “Not the best look, but I could probably identify him. I can’t remember what kind of Quirk he had. Just tell everyone that they’ll be looking for a short man with long red hair, probably in his 20s.”

“Gotcha.” If that’s what she has, that’s what they’ll work with, so he pulls out his phone to get messages going. “I’ll put it out to police and the other heroes who were in the area.”

Elsa is about to close her eyes again when a thought occurs to her. “Wait, wait, Hawks. What day is… how… long was I out?”

The weary look in his eyes makes it clear that he knows where she’s going with this. “’Bout a week.”

She groans and puts a hand over her face, making herself wince when she feels the IV line tugging at that hand. “Now that I’m awake, when can I leave?”

His wings shift, a noise that sounds so loud among the monitors beeping. And he sighs. “Let me get these texts sent. Then we’ll get the doctor and see if they can clear you for release anytime soon. Then I will take you to see Jin. But if you want my opinion—”

“I really don’t, kylling-engel.”

“— Okay, ice queen, I was gonna be nice and give you half an hour with him, but you just bumped yourself down to fifteen minutes. You need to take care of yourself before you worry about him.”

He doesn’t look at her, specifically because he knows he doesn’t want to see that crushed look on her face. “Easy for you to say. If I could flip a switch that turns my feelings off, I would. Taking care of myself and taking care of him aren’t mutually exclusive.”

His hand raises up in a placating, defensive gesture that very obviously means he’s going to drop the subject because he’s not in the mood to fight about it. It’s not a statement he agrees with, when it comes to Elsa, but he supposes she knows her own limits and ability to balance better than he does, and the stress of him arguing with her about it is something she doesn’t need right now. “If you say so. I’ll go find the doctor and we’ll see about getting you outta here.”

“… Thank you.” Before he puts his hand back down, she reaches to take it. A gentle squeeze that tells him she appreciates everything he’s doing for her. That she knows he’s just trying to look out for her. “You’re the best.”

Though he grins, it’s a tired sort of expression. He’s trying, at least. “Yeah, I know. Return the favor once in a while, wouldja?” he teases, and gives her hand a squeeze of his own before heading off into the hallway.

She takes a deep breath, relaxing back against her pillows, and stares up at the lights.

Hang on, Jin. I’ll be back soon.

-

“She’s not coming. Would you shut — yes, she is. She’s… she’s just running late. That’s it. She got… tied up with work. No, she doesn’t want to come anymore. No… she’s gonna be here. Why would she just stop coming all of a sudden? Because she got sick of pretending she likes me! Damn hero thinks she can just switch…! Shut up, shut up! She’s coming! She wouldn’t just stop coming! I’m an idiot! To think I actually wanted to trust her again, and she hasn’t been here in a FUCKING WEEK!”

If any of the guards are close enough to hear Jin arguing with himself, or watching the video feed of his room, they probably think he’s nuts.

But more than anything, he’s frustrated and hurt. He’s spent a couple of months now unsure about whether he can actually trust Elsa again. Even though he wants to, this is the millionth time he’s been stabbed in the back and he’s just tired of it. There’s that little spark that tells him he can trust her, he probably should trust her, because she’s stuck around. If all she wanted was to turn him in, she would have done it and moved on with her life and stopped bothering with him. Right?

She didn’t. She’s been here every other day if she can, maybe every three days if she’s been really busy. She comes even when she looks exhausted from work, even after long days that drain her, even when she doesn’t look like she’s feeling her best. She hasn’t just stopped coming to see him… even when he doesn’t always talk to her, or when he’s very clearly angry, or when he’s having a bad day. Getting up and leaving him regardless of what’s going on, unless the guards tell her gently that it’s probably time for her to head out for now, just isn’t something she does.

It’s taking time, but that little ray of light is trying to take hold. Her consistent refusal to give up on him is wearing him down and he doesn’t think he has it left in him to fight her anyway.

Even so, the doubt is beginning to try and crush that small bit of hope. It’s been a whole week since the last time she was here. That’s never happened before. It’s never been longer than a few days.

He tries to think back to the last time she was here. If there was something he said or did or didn’t say or didn’t do that made her decide she didn’t want to see him again. That she was just done with him.

Despite the fact that he can’t really come up with anything like that, he still thinks it must have been something. Is it better this way, then, if she pretends they never were friends at all? If they don’t talk.

“She… she has to be coming. I’m not gonna hold my breath.”

It hurts.

God, it hurts.

[itsblosseybitch]

Griffin Dunne by Lynn Geller (INTERVIEW Magazine, May 1985)

At 29, Griffin Dunne has seen the movie business from many different perspectives. Born in New York City to Ellen Griffin Dunne and television producer-turned-writer Dominick Dunne, Griffin grew up in Los Angeles and is the nephew of Joan Didion and John Gregory Dunne. Eleven years ago, he returned to Manhattan to pursue an acting career and, after roles in Off-Broadway plays, television, and “An American Werewolf in London,” teamed up with Amy Robinson and Mark Metcalf [misprinted with an e at the end] to produce the film “Chilly Scenes of Winter,” in which he had a small part. He and Amy went on to produce “Baby, It’s You” and, most recently, Martin Scorsese’s “After Hours,” starring producer Griffin Dunne in the male lead. As if this weren’t enough responsibility, the past year has also included acting roles in the films “Johnny Dangerously” and this spring’s “Almost You.” 

Looking remarkably fit for such a busy man, Griffin strode into the Lion’s Head in Manhattan only fifteen minutes late and carrying a briefcase full of future projects.

LYNN GELLER: You come from a literary family--your aunt, uncle and father are writers--were there any actors before your generation?

Griffin Dunne: Well, my mother was an actress until she had children, meaning me. I was the first. She was raised on a ranch in Nogales, Arizona, and my grandfather sent her to school in the East. My father was an actor then and he met her at a play. Actually, she hated being an actress.

LG: I didn’t know your father had been an actor.

GD: He wanted to be an actor before he became a producer. He was a stage manager and actor, studying with Stanford Meisner, who ran the Neighborhood Playhouse. Meisner told him he would never be a leading man because he was too short. When I say short, I mean my height, five-seven, five-eight. He left the profession because he wanted to be a leading man, not a character midget, or whatever he thought he would be. This was in the pre-Dustin Hoffman days. He became a stage manager for live TV, everything from Howdy Doody to Playhouse 90 in the ‘50s. When I was two, he got a job in L.A. and that’s where I was brought up. 

LG: Is that home?

GD: Well, yeah, home is where the mother is, but I’ve lived in New York for eleven years.

LG: Why did you move here--you went to school in the East?

GD: I went to boarding school in the East [more specifically, Fay School in Boston, Massachusetts, based on a New York Times article from the -late ‘90s and the Alumni page] , a pre-prep school that was very repressive. Coats and ties, whippings--if you ever saw the Lindsay Anderson movie If... you know what I’m talking about. You stay through eighth grade and then hopefully you graduate and go somewhere like Exeter and Andover. 

LG: Did you?

GD: My response was to get the hell away from the East Coast and go to a liberal arts school in Colorado called Fountain Valley.

LG: I know about that school. That was supposed to be a very wild place.

GD: Well, I was hoping it would be. It was wild in my wildest imagination. You could grow you hair as long as you wanted and you were allowed to smoke cigarettes. You could pretty much get away with anything, but I did manage to get myself kicked out.

LG: What did you do?

GD: I smoked dope and a teacher saw me through a window. The next night I was going to appear in Othello, and I never got to do the play. 

LG: So you were acting at an early age. Was that because of your parents?

GD: No. I was planning to be a writer. But a guy who taught acting talked me into auditioning for Zoo Story, the Edward Albee play. I got the part and that was the end of that.

LG: How old were you when you got kicked out?

GD: I was 17 and almost finished. They wouldn’t let me graduate, which was really depressing. It was more depressing that I didn’t get to play Iago. They felt that my performance would be tainted by the fact that I had been kicked out and I might be unduly rewarded by applause.

LG: What did you think you might do after that?

GD: Be an actor. I finally got some work. I was in a movie called The Other Side of the Mountain.

LG: Then you came to New York?

GD: No, then I got a job on a television series called Medical Story. I had about ten lines. I played a doctor, stuffing an IV in Linda Purl’s veins [misprinted as Linda Pearl] and answering Meredith Baxter Birney when she came in and said, “What’s the diagnosis, David?” I’d memorized the diagnosis, which was complicated medical jargon. 

LG: What did you use for inner motivation?

GD: My major motivation was to say the words correctly. I figured if I did it like a real scientist, I’d pull off a real character coup. Then right as we were about to roll, the medical adviser on the show came over and said that the diagnosis wasn’t accurate, we had to change the description. They changed the lines and every time we’d go for a take, I couldn’t remember the lines and I’d clam up. The director would go, “Cut. What’s your problem? What is your problem?” I said I needed five minutes, so he said, “Okay, five minutes, the kid’s got five minutes.” I went into a little room and I was so nervous about ruining my career that when I went to light a cigarette, I set my lip on fire. So when I went back to give the diagnosis I hadn’t memorized in the first place, I lisped. The director was furious. He said, “Cut. What’s the accent? Are you doing an accent on me?” Finally, the actress, Linda Purl, took out one of my pens in my top pocket and without me knowing it, she wrote out the diagnosis on her arm, where I was to insert the IV. So when they said, “Roll ‘em,” I had no idea at first what my line would be and then I looked down at her arm and there it was. It was very sweet of her.

[Based on the available information I have, the Medical Story episode that Griffin Dunne was on was titled “Up Against The World” or “Us Against The World” depending on what you check. The episode is said to have aired December 4th, 1975. All I could find on the show was a promo on YouTube.]

LG: You must have fallen in love.

GD: I did, but we never got to say goodbye. So I got the lines out, but what I realized from that experience was...nothing. Absolutely nothing, but to have a cigarette in your mouth when you go to light one. Shortly after that I moved to New York and signed up at the Neighborhood Playhouse.

LG: Because your father had gone there?

GD: I didn’t know he’d gone there until I was already in there and he told me the Stanford Meisner/leading man story.

LG: While you were studying acting, did you work as a waiter?

GD: Yes. At Beefsteak Charlie’s for a limited engagement. At Joe Allen once for two weeks. I lied and said I was experienced and I clearly wasn’t. That was enough to get me the job at Beefsteak’s. I hung in the longest there--they liked my work.

LG: Then you would go on auditions? Is that what you do when you’re a waiter/actor?

GD: When you’re a waiter/actor with no agent, you read Backstage and go out for plays that you never see in ads for openings. They never appear as productions. I went to an audition for an original play once, written and directed by a woman with a long Russian name. She thought I was perfect for the part. It was the first time a director said, “You are going to be great, you’re it.” She told all the other actors to go and took me out for coffee. I couldn’t believe my luck--I’d just arrived in New York. She took me out, we talked intensely, and at some point I realized she was stark raving mad. She had this long scarf that dragged behind her picking up dirt and pizza crust. I looked closely at her and realized she was a bag lady. I realized that anyone can hold an open casting call, a trick I haven’t really employed yet as a way to meet new and exciting people. 

LG: How much does it cost to take an ad out? As much as a bag lady collects in a day?

GD: No, these people weren’t quite bag. They have apartments and enough money to be able to decide, is it Safeway tonight or an ad in Backstage? At some point, they just cross that line. 

LG: How did you get involved in producing?

GD: Well, Amy Robinson, Mark Metcalf and I were unemployed actors hanging out together. We were working on the play Cowboy Mouth, which we were going to do for ourselves and hopefully get a production. That never happened, but the three of us had a lot of energy together. Eventually that translated into our trying to get a movie off the ground. Amy loved the book Chilly Scenes of Winter by Ann Beattie, and we agreed. That became our first project. We were all frustrated at being out-of-work actors. At the time I was working at Radio City Music Hall selling popcorn. I carried around a big set of keys as the manager of the popcorn concession. I wasn’t getting a lot of feedback on my work.  

LG: Had you ever thought of producing before?

GD: I never had dreams of producing, but I was with Amy and Mark and what we wanted to do was much closer to what I wanted to do than what I was doing. It felt as good as acting. 

LG: How did you end up doing Baby It’s You?

GD: I was in Poland acting in a TV movie called The Wall. Amy was talking about the idea for the film before I left. It was loosely based on her life, about a middle-class girl who gets involved with one of her classmates, a guy from the other side of the tracks. While I was away, she got John Sayles involved. We discussed it over the phone from Poland, the conversations closely monitored by the hotel staff. God knows what they made of it. But I didn’t have too much to do with development. 

LG: You mean in terms of the story?

GD: More in terms of getting the development deal at the studio. Amy and I have a very good relationship. We both rely on each other’s opinions and support. We were both line producers on the film. Our job was to keep things rolling and to make sure that John Sayles had everything he needed. 

LG: Are you good at that?

GD: Yes, to my surprise. I never considered myself much of an organizer, but it turns out I’m good with money and at getting along with people, making sure that everyone has what they need and keeping those needs within the budget. 

LG: Let’s talk about some of the films you’ve been acting in recently. Have you seen Almost You yet?

GD: Yes. I liked it. The characters were incredibly human and sympathetic. And screwed up. Not homicidal--but normal, confused human beings. My character in particular was a very confused fellow. 

LG: That was a movie where someone approached you with a script. What made you decide to take it on?

GD: Well, Adam Brooks, the director, had a script he’d been telling me about when he was a script supervisor on Baby It’s You. One day, when I was living in a beach house with Brooke Adams, he came up with the producer, Mark Lipson, and the script. We had a great day at the beach. Brooke cooked this great meal. After they left, we read the script and thought it was really charming, funny. Brooke and I wanted to work together and this seemed perfect. We said yes, thinking, this sweet little picture is never going to get made anyway, but, of course, we’ll do it if it does. Ha ha ha. All we did was say yes, and Mark and Adam took the ball and ran with it. The next thing I knew, we had a start date.

LG: What was the time lapse between those two events?

GD: Six months. It was shot in February. Very quick--I was pleasantly surprised. 

LG: But at this point you’re no longer living in that beach house? 

GD: Six months is also a very. very long time. A lot can happen in that time. Brooke and I aren’t living together anymore, nor were we when we did Almost You.

LG: Wasn’t that hard?

GD: It was interesting. We get along very well. We’re good friends, and we were very professional. I think we both dreaded the idea of letting the crew think there was something more to this than there was. 

LG: Do you think people see you as wearing two hats now, actor and producer?

GD: It’s hard to tell. I don’t really know. I have noticed that scripts that are submitted to Doubleplay Productions that have a character that is anywhere from 20 to 35, they say, “This would be a good part for you.” I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a lure. 

LG: Well, aren’t you looking for movies to produce that you can act in?

GD: Whatever movies Amy and I decide to do, it’s totally collaborative. I can see doing a movie that I would rather produce than act in, but it would have to be very special, like Chilly Scenes of Winter or Baby, It’s You. But doing After Hours revitalized my interest in acting, it really inspired me. So my dream is to be able to continue producing movies with Amy that I can act in.

[talix18]

November 21

Yesterday Katelyn called to see if I wanted to hang out. Katelyn is the almost 22-year-old who I call my adopted niece but she’s something more than that. I lived with K and her mom from the time K was 18 months old until she was four-and-a-half so I was her de facto other mom. I know it’s just the slightest approximation of what parenting must feel like but I treasure the memory of her being satisfied with coming to me if Mom wasn’t available. Three-year-old K running towards me when I showed up to pick her up from daycare. The memory of the Christmas when all K wanted from Santa was to see her father and her mother and I couldn’t make that happen – talk about powerlessness. Watching her sing at her high school variety show remembering how I’d been too terrified to sing in front of people…

She inherited some things from me – her opinions and eagerness to share them is probably the big one, but she also, somehow, has come to love Def Leppard (I suspect that’s her boyfriend’s influence). You already know how Def Leppard introduced me to my first boyfriend. I can tell you exactly where I was and who I was with when I heard about the car accident that ultimately took Rick Allen’s arm. I remember that someone who worked at a music store called me to tell me Steve Clarke had died. Def Leppard was my third concert (1st: Asia; 2nd: Stray Cats) – I still can’t believe Mom let me go with Allen and some of his friends at 15. Some people have made-up imaginary friends – mine were real people.

I went up to see K at her mom’s place after work (Kate’s mom and her husband of a year and a week are still on their delayed honeymoon in Tennessee) and we talked about all kinds of things. She said something about Def Leppard touring with Motley Crue, which led me to the Crue documentary I just watched on Netflix over the weekend. I was a fan – saw them open for Ozzy once; had a poster on my ceiling for a while – but the milestones in their lives were vague memories. Of course Tommy was married to Heather Locklear and Vince committed vehicular manslaughter, but that was most of what I knew.

The documentary is an unflinching portrait of the toll drugs took on the band – specifically Nikki Sixx – but that’s not the part that really got to me. I know how addiction works. I had to stop the movie to Google what happened to Vince Neil’s daughter after her cancer diagnosis, which paid off as the next scene opened on her dead four-year-old body laying in the hospital bed. So now I’m having feelings about poor Vince losing his daughter after killing his friend how many years after the fact?

On the way home, after playing a Def Leppard song, the DJ mentioned the tour with Crue and I had to call Katelyn. We are definitely going, I assured her, now that I have even more emotions tied up with these people. I am definitely not thinking about the fact that “Crue called their friends in Def Leppard” to arrange the tour because I assume that means the Leps were also hard partiers and I’d rather not consider all the sordid debauchery that follows along. (Poison is also on the bill, and we’re all down with Bret since Rock of Love. Don’t threaten me with a good time!)

K and I also watched Mean Girls, which I had never seen, and I’m always happy to patch up a hole in my cultural reference knowledge. “Her hair is so big because it’s full of secrets” is everything. Feel free to welcome me to fifteen years ago.

I have to believe the increased meds dosage is making a difference. Tuesday alone I scheduled a doctor’s appointment (colorectal), an ultrasound (thyroid), a dinner/movie date with a friend, a massage, an eye exam, and a dentist’s appointment AND I enrolled for supplemental vision insurance. It seems like a reasonable amount to accomplish in one day, but I’d been putting off some of these appointments for months. Why is it so hard to pick up the phone and call someone? I will never be able to explain it. Trust me – I wish I could help people understand! The best I can do is recognize that I’m functioning more effectively and keep track of what I’m doing that’s different.

Yesterday I committed to flying to Boston to see a friend get married on New Year’s Eve. “Black tie optional”? Hell yeah I want to go hang out in that hotel and see that venue that my amazing friend and her intended are having a black-tie optional shin-dig in! I can’t imagine my lifestyle ever affording me such luxurious splurges on the regular so I need to take advantage of the opportunities when they manifest. Besides, I already have a dress that I got for a black-tie New Year’s Even anniversary party a few years ago; wearing it a second time makes it an even better value! (We don’t discuss how much money I ultimately spend on a wrap and statement earrings.) (Ack! I need to make an appointment with Katelyn for my hair!)

I haven’t seen Karen (the friend getting married) in FIVE years, which seems impossible, but there it is. Karen is one of my original gang of Webpeeps – Webpepes 1.0! Most of us met on a news aggregate website, got to know each other in the forum (4um elites represent), and created a new bulletin board to hang out in. At our peak we had about 150 members but the core group was about 40, and I’ve had the pleasure of meeting at least 30 of us in meatspace.

The first time I met Karen (GreenBeans/GB) was at her then husband’s 30TH (?) birthday party. Rider (PsiDefect), Tim (GasMasher), and I drove my car up to Boston from Philly (Tim and I drove up from MD) to surprise this dude we’d never met, and that cemented my friendship with both Karen and Ted (Law). Their marriage broke up some time ago, which I learned the weekend she and I got together in Orlando with Catrina (CatWritr) and CJ (Hajen). Which was somehow five full years ago.

The first time I met ANY of these nerds was…I don’t even know how long ago at the original Farkoasterfest. I lived with Katelyn and Vanessa at the time and V straight up took pictures of Rider and his license plate when he pulled up to scoop me and head out to Sandusky, OH. I do know I was working at SSA and it was relatively early in my tenure, so early-2000s? It was also probably the first time I spent an entire weekend with people not in recovery since I’d gotten clean. Several hundred miles away with nearly perfect strangers – who thought that was a good idea?

It turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Some of the people I met that weekend and after are straight up some of my closest friends. It was my first experience making friends as an adult, which is startlingly difficult to do. My first group of friends that didn’t start in our hometown or on campus or in recovery – people I connected with in a realm where all we had was the words on the screen and our wit.

Places I’ve since hung out with these people include Seattle twice, Cedar Point one or two more times, Northern VA, DC, PA, and Toledo. I’ve seen at least three couples wed and have almost ten kids between them. I dated the guy in Toledo for a few years. I flew out to Seattle for Andrea (BigOrangeCat/TheOtherAndrea)’s 40th birthday party and to visit her in the hospital before she died. We helped Amy (Hisey) mourn the loss of her nearly full-term daughter. We helped Joe (ThedNeedles) deal with his ex keeping his son away from him – some of his helped him with legal aid. We watched each other’s kids grow up and have kids of their own. Norm (Zorgon) just emailed to let me know he was in town (-ish –northern DC suburb) and wanted to connect but was laden with germs – we get together for a meal very few years when work brings him this way. Never let anyone tell you your online friends don’t count.

(Logging back in to the old bulletin board to count heads gifted me with a video of Mike (BitZero) (father of FarKoasterFest) smashing up some obsolete Fark hardware. Good times!)

I reached out to CJ and Cat to see if either one was planning on coming to the wedding to offer the other side of the king-sized bed I’ll be sleeping in in Boston and I’m glad I did. CJ’s got a handful of kids so money is always a concern and I’m paying for the room whether I’m alone or with someone else. We’ll be FaceTiming Cat at midnight and maybe during the ceremony too.

In fact, I’ve been suspiciously functional this week. Monday was meh, but since then I’ve had three good, productive days in a row. I have no specific plans tonight so I could go to a meeting, or I could go home and see if any of this momentum can be channeled into house projects. Coming up with a fictional framing device has given me the opportunity to figuratively walk myself through the necessary steps to get started. So whatever comes of this writing exercise, it’s been worth doing.

[ryder-s-block]

Jaig Eyes (Ch 23)

Jaig Eyes (23/?)

Read Here!

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Chapter Twenty-Three: The Duchess

Mandalore. I'd never actually been to the planet, but Jango had mentioned it on and off. He wasn't welcome there anymore, since it went pacifist. He always scoffed at that, but didn't have enough ties to what remained of his clan to care enough to do something.

I'd ever imagined that I'd be helping the very woman he scoffed at-Duchess Satine. Still, it wasn't my choice. My newly detailed armor attested to that, all shimmering with its relatively fresh coat of 501st blue. Even my kyr'bes was the deep blue of Anakin's legion. Though, I didn't run missions exclusively with them.

The Jedi Council, hesitant on Obi-wan's offer to me, had put me under Kenobi's watch. Thus, he often off-loaded me to Skywalker. I certainly didn't mind. I loved the 212th Battalion, but the 501st was much more my speed. Daring. A bit of crudeness and light-heartedness. They matched their general well.

The massive gray doors opened before where I stood, waiting patiently for Obi-wan to return from his mission. He'd been sent to Mandalore to investigate claims that the Duchess was raising an army of her own, despite declaring neutrality. Realistically, I didn't understand why she couldn't amass an army to protect herself. Still, it's not like she was. She was a pacifist for Ka'ra's sake.

When the Jedi Council had shown the video to our group, I had immediately recognised the armor as Mandalorian. More specifically, Death Watch.

Of course, my opinion hadn't gained much traction, despite how I was likely right.

"General Kenobi," I greeted the jedi as he emerged, surrounded by Mandalorian guards and individuals who seemed to hold high status. One was a woman cloaked in green and blue garments, her blonde hair piled high above her head. The Duchess.

I bobbed my head to her as Obi-wan introduced me. "This is Kida," he said, gesturing to me. "She's been a great help on many missions. She even protected Senator Amidala for some time."

"Ah," Satine said, a fake smile on her face. "A bounty hunter, yes?" Her eyes danced over my armor, pausing on the kyr'bes. "Mandalorian armor, as well, with a Mythosaur skull."

I returned the fake smile. "Gifted to me by my father, Duchess. Now," I said, leaving her in confusion while I fell in step with Obi-wan. "Was I right, or was I right?"

Obi-wan sighed. "You were right. Death Watch was who we were looking for. Governor Vizsla was hiding them on Concordia."

I nearly tripped over my own feet. Memories flooded back, scattered, but clear. His blond hair swept elegantly atop his head. My haggard face reflecting in his vizor. The burn of his blade as it kissed my skin, the black energy hissing with sadistic pleasure.

"You call this man a coward, yet hide in the shadows."

Now who's talking?

"Are you alright?" Obi-wan asked, his eyebrow lifted as we walked.

"Fine. But you could have just asked about Vizsla."

"You knew about him?" one of Satine's advisors asked, his tone accusatory.

I lifted my hands in mock offense. "Woah there. Yes, I knew. Vizsla ran the Death Watch camp when I was there."

"You were at a Death Watch camp?" The duchess herself was turned on me now, her eyes wide.

I crossed my arms at all the suspicious glares. "I was a slave, your highness," I explained, my tone cold. "So yes. I was."

She seemed shocked, stuttering into the start of an apology when her advisor spoke again. "But as Pre Vizsla fled, we have no way of learning how widespread Death Watch really is." His voice annoyed me.

Obi-wan glanced at me, but I just shook my head. "I can't say. They weren't anything too massive when I was with them, but that was years ago. Still, I don't know if they'd have enough traction to be considered an army."

The jedi hummed. "It's obvious the Separatists are supporting the Death Watch." I raised my eyebrows, but didn't disagree. I sensed a darkness involved, too.

"I disagree," Duchess Satine said, her voice high as she turned to regard us. I took a subconscious step back under her icy gaze. "I told you, I wanted to stay out of this conflict."

"Given the current situation," Kenobi started, choosing his words carefully. "I'm afraid that may no longer be possible."

"I thought you of all people would understand my position on this matter. I will never be a part of this war!" She turned curtly, followed closely by her advisor, the both of them moving to board the Mandalorian royal cruiser.

"She may be shocked when the war comes to her anyways," I muttered, arms crossed behind Obi-wan. The jedi sighed, a small flare of a connection between the two peeking out in the force. I barely caught it before he shoved it away.

Anakin approached us, flanked by both Rex and Cody. "Reporting for escort duty, General."

"Anakin," Kenobi greeted with a sigh. "Am I glad to see you."

The former padawan huffed a laugh. "You sound tired."

"The peaceful way of the locals...wore me out."

I chuckled lowly as Kenobi joined Anakin to follow the Duchess aboard her ship. I nodded at the clones in greeting, falling into step with Rex as we joined them.

"So," a clone I recognized as Redeye started as he boarded the ship beside us. "An escort mission, eh?"

I chuckled. "All for the Duchess and her council of the neutral systems."

"Are they really in that much danger?" another clone-Mixer-asked.

"Not from us," Cody explained from the front. "From the Separatists."

I sighed lowly to myself. "Not really." The guys gave me questioning looks as we stepped into the elevator. I shrugged. "Even if Death Watch is backed by the Separatists, they wouldn't reveal that yet. Not before they actually need to."

"Why do you say that?" Rex asked, finally speaking aloud.

I tilted my head in thought. "If they didn't plan to use their reveal later, wouldn't they have already openly pledged allegiance?"

The clones hummed and nodded in agreement, stepping off the lift into the cargo bay where Skywalker and Kenobi were gathering the clones aboard. The room fell silent as Kenobi stepped forward, hands behind his back.

"You know your marching orders," he called, having debriefed with Anakin. "The safety of the Duchess Satine is of the utmost importance. The Death Watch will stop at nothing to assassinate her before she pleads her case to the Senate."

"The Death Watch may be backed by the Separatists," Anakin jumped in. "So stay sharp." The jedi glanced at his astromech. "R2, use your scanner to probe for any suspicious droid activity."

"Anything else, sir?" Rex asked from beside me. I hid my smile at his forwardness.

"No," Kenobi replied. "That'll be all."

Cody signaled to his men, the group fanning out as Rex and I stayed beside him. They mumbled gently about watches and patterns while I turned at the sound of Kenobi's wrist comm beeping.

"Yes?" he said, tapping the comm.

A voice spoke through firmly. "The Duchess and her retinue request your presence."

"Very well." Obi-wan and Anakin immediately turned to walk back onto the elevator. I half thought I was going to stay in the cargo hold until Rex's hand gently grazed my lower back, tapping me towards the direction of the jedi. He turned his helmet to look at me before nodding with his head as he walked by.

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I joined him, Cody, and the jedi in the elevator, letting it lift us up the levels. I'd have preferred to run the watches below. Hunting. Work. Fighting. Those were what I was good at. Not politics.

"I sense some anxiety from you about the duchess," Anakin said as we all stood waiting for the doors to open again. I glanced over to see Obi-wan stroking his beard thoughtfully. "She couldn't be in safer hands."

"Yes, I know."

"Then why-"

"Nevermind," Obi-wan cut him off, making everyone's eyebrows lift. "It's...all in the past."

"Oh, so you're close to her," Anakin surmised.

"I knew her." I smirked at Kenobi's defensiveness, giving Anakin a teasing look. "A long time ago," the older jedi added in a more glum tone. I saw Anakin smile gently as the doors finally hissed open.

We were quiet as we walked down the hall towards the banquet hall, the duchess' voice ringing adamantly off the walls.

"War is intolerable," she declared. "We have been deceived into thinking that we must be a part of it." For a moment, I understood what she meant. I felt obligated to fight now, but there were various reasons. Keeping planets out of the war was a way to keep down the death toll, anyways. But then, "I say the moment we committed to fighting, we already lost."

I understood what she thought of me now. The look of contempt when she recognized me as a bounty hunter. I was a fighter. Evil.

I slowed, seeing Rex and Cody stop as we neared the end of the hall. Kenobi looked over his shoulder at me, "No, come on," he urged, making me pout at the clones. "This is a good learning experience for you, should you ever have to go in my place for something. Besides, I'm curious to know what you think of all this."

"I know how political talks go, Kenobi," I whispered as we neared the Mandalorian guards. "I spent months with Senator Amidala, remember?"

The jedi merely hummed at me with a smile before turning to listen while the guards let us pass.

"Excuse me, Your Grace," her advisor cut in, his voice grating on my ears. "Are you suggesting we oppose the war on humanitarian grounds?"

"I'm going to oppose it as an affront to life itself!" The Duchess was sitting atop her pile of cushions, holding wine. She was surrounded by her team of advisors, all looking up at her like they were looking at a goddess. I lifted my brow at the scene. It all felt dramatic for some reason. "As the designated regent of fifteen-hundred systems, I speak for thousands of worlds that have urged me to allow them to stay neutral in this war."

"And yet some might argue," Obi-wan butt in from where we stood in the doorway. "That the strongest defensive is a swift and decisive offense."

I stayed a few steps behind the jedi master to walk with Anakin as we entered the room. The doorway closed behind us as Obi-wan bobbed his head at a frowning duchess.

"You are quite the general now, aren't you, Master Kenobi?" she said with a mocking breathlessness.

"Forgive me for interrupting, Your Highness," Obi-wan said easily. "I meant no disrespect."

"Really?" the duchess asked, clearly not believing him. "Senators, I presume you're acquainted with the collection of half-truths and hyperbole known as Obi-wan Kenobi." I scowled behind the jedi. She wasn't entirely wrong, but I didn't appreciate her trying to humiliate him like that. After all, he was the one who was giving me a chance, despite the Council's suspicions.

"Your Highness is too kind," Obi-wan said lowly.

"You're right," Satine whispered. "I am.

I glanced at Anakin, seeing the same look of amused confusion on his face that I displayed.

"Allow me to introduce my fellow jedi, Anakin Skywalker. Your Highness has already met Kida Fett." I winced slightly as Kenobi used my full name, raising eyebrows around the room. Thankfully, Anakin stepped forward and bowed to the duchess.

"Your servant, My Lady," he said smoothly. I hummed lowly in the back of my throat. He was an independent soul. Wild. But sometimes, you could still see his beginnings as a slave in him.

For now, the duchess ignored me and focused on my two companions. As she switched out her glass for a full one, she said, "I remember a time when jedi were not generals, but peacekeepers."

"We are protectors, Highness," Anakin argued respectfully. "Yours, at the moment. We fight for peace."

Satine laughed mockingly. "What an amusing contradiction."

"What Master Skywalker means," Obi-wan cut in. "Is that we are acting at the behest of Your Highness. To protect you from the Death Watch and the Separatists who don't share your neutral point of view."

"I asked for no such thing," Satine declared, making my nose crinkle in a scowl.

Thankfully, Obi-wan remained calm and gentle. "That may be so, but a majority of your court did." I glanced around, seeing representatives that I recognized from my time employed by Padme. Orn Fee Taa of Ryloth. Onaconda Farr of Rodia. The advisory court all averted their gazes under the inspecting stare of the duchess.

"I do not remember you as one to hide behind excuses," Satine accused Obi-wan.

"I do not remember you as one to shrink from responsibilities."

Orn Fee Taa moved between them, his blue rolls of chins wiggling as he forced a smile. "I am certain we all agree, Duchess Satine and General Kenobi have proven there are two sides to every dilemma."

I hummed from behind the jedi, earning a look from Skywalker.

"Indeed," Satine's advisor spoke.

"Now," Fee Taa continued. "In regards to the Senate vote, we think-"

The duchess cut him off. "I think a multitude makes discord, not good council."

"Right again, My Lady," Fee Taa allowed, bowing to her.

Beside me, Obi-wan spoke softly to Anakin. "There may be two sides to every dilemma, but the duchess only favors hers."

I lifted my brows at them, cracking a smile. "In her defense, so do you." Both jedi cut me a look, but I merely shrugged, watching as Satine's gaze finally settled on me.

"It's nice to see you again, Kida," Senator Farr said as he approached, taking my hand warmly. I'd seen him many times while I protected Padme. She called him 'uncle.'

"And you, Senator. I didn't realize you'd be on this trip."

"Nor did I realize you'd joined the Republic cause."

I smiled at him, nodding around the room. "As a representative of neutral systems, do you disapprove?"

Onaconda chuckled. "My opinion shouldn't influence your choices."

"I never said it would."

. "Does Padme know?" I stopped myself before looking over to Skywalker.

I swallowed, thinking about how she definitely knew, since she talked to Anakin whenever she could. "Probably."

"She's probably glad to have you back around."

"Senator Farr," Satine cut in from her plush seating. "Do you know this bounty hunter?"

"She's a member of the Grand Army of the Republic now," Obi-wan jumped back into the conversation.

"Pressing criminals into service now, are you?"

"I didn't say-"

"Hi," I cut them both off, tired of them bickering. "I'm right here." I gave Kenobi a look to make him back off before nodding slightly to the duchess. "I was a bounty hunter, yes, but I'm currently part of the GAR."

"And what rank do you hold?" Huh. I didn't actually know. It wasn't something we'd really talked about. Nor did I really care at that point.

"As a pacifist, what good is that information to you?" I replied smoothly, folding my hands behind my back. "You don't want a part in this war, I thought."

The duchess scowled at me before taking a long sip of her drink. "Master Kenobi introduced you as Kida Fett. Why did you not say this sooner?"

"Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la," I said smoothly, catching her by surprise.

"You speak the dialect they speak on Concordia," she observed suspiciously.

"That's where I learned Mando'a," I admitted, still frowning at her. "And as per your accusation earlier, I wasn't pressed into this war. Nor was I a criminal...to the Republic. I think." I glanced at Obi-wan and Skywalker, the latter giving me a smirk. "Okay, I stole a jedi starfighter once, but I gave it back, so I don't know if that counts me as a criminal."

I earned a few chuckles from the room, but Satine only scowled. "And how would your father feel about your involvement in this war?"

"I can't say for sure," I growled. "He's dead. Killed by this war."

"I heard. And you feel that following his footsteps is the right path?"

"I'm not following his footsteps exactly, Your Highness." I was struggling to keep the frustration out of my voice. "And I'm in this fight to keep more kids from losing their fathers to this war."

The duchess pursed her lips, thinking. "You think more war will bring peace?"

"I think that abstaining from joining any fight is choosing a side already."

"Which is?"

"Death." The room fell silent at my words, even the jedi listening intently. "When you're not working to help those who are suffering from war, you're letting their torturers go unchecked."

Satine quirked an eyebrow. "So you think I should join this war? That my planet, that is dedicated to pacifism and has recently started to pull itself up from its civil wars, should join yet another, far greater, war?"

"I don't know anything about Mandalore, Your Highness," I allowed, sighing. "I don't know about your economy or your beliefs. Nor do I really care. But I know that if you choose to not help others now, that when the war inevitably finds its way to your door, no one will be there to help you in return."

"And you're so certain this war will come to Mandalore, why?" her advisor cut in.

I looked at him. "What's your name?"

"Merrik."

"Well, Merrik, have you always lived on Mandalore?"

"Yes," he replied, unsure of where my questions were going.

"So you'd say you're rather knowledgeable about your world, considering you've been immersed in it?"

"Well of course."

I stepped closer to him, cocking my head. "Then understand that my life has been surrounded by fighting and death from my first breaths." I glanced at Satine. "I know tactics. And I know groups of abusers, whether they be the Death Watch, slavers, gangs, or the Seperatist armies. They all have one thing in common." The room watched me. "No matter what you do, the war will always find you."

"Which is why," Obi-wan jumped back in. "A Republic military presence is the only sure defense against the Separatists." I turned and looked at him in shock, not sure if I agreed. I understood his concern and duty to expand the Republic loyalties, but it felt like he was pushing rather hard on her free will. Not to mention the swirls of emotion he was failing to tie down.

"Even extremists can be reasoned with," Satine argued, rising to her feet.

"Perhaps," Obi-wan allowed. "If one can be heard over the clanking of their battle droids.

Satine scoffed. "The sarcasm of a soldier."

"The delusion of a dreamer," he shot back. The two were close together now, glaring into each other's eyes.

"Duchess," Merrik cut in. "Master Jedi, it's been a long few days. I think we could all use a little rest and refreshment."

"Here here!" the Twi'lek senator cheered. I glanced at anakin, seeing the jedi had scooped up his own fancy glass of liquor, smirk clear on his face. "Now, let us put politics aside until after dinner."

"Thank the stars," I mumbled, moving to stand beside Anakin.

"Fine," both Obi-wan and Satine said harshly before the latter pushed past the jedi and left the room in a huff.

Obi-wan joined us as the group began to filter out to prepare for dinner. "You seemed rather comfortable," he said to me, watching the counselors follow their Duchess out. "You've certainly fallen into your role in the Republic easily."

"My role is something we need to figure out actually," I said before changing the subject. That was a topic for later. "But while I was calling for action, I wasn't doing it to try and coerce her to join the Republic." My tone, while controlled, was somewhat accusatory towards Kenobi.

He sighed as we finally left the room, the three of us walking down the grand, curving halls. "I understand. But Mandalore has no army, all of their warriors having been banished to their moons. If the Separatists attack them, they have no means of defending themselves."

"So they either fall to the Separatists, or groups like Death Watch fight them off," Anakin led my thinking.

I sighed. "And the people turn to Death Watch, since they saved them." Something occurred to me. "Though, that could be used in multiple ways."

"How do you mean?" Anakin asked.

"Death Watch would wait for military occupation or a full-fledged assault to intervene. Otherwise, they wouldn't be painted as heroes, right?" I asked openly. "The people need to be oppressed in order to need saviors."

"Yes," Obi-wan allowed.

"So if Duchess Satine allows the GAR to occupy her planet, Death Watch could still win, this time using the backing of the Separatists as a heroic effort to free Mandalore."

Anakin hummed. "She has a point, Master." He turned to me. "But, I have to disagree. Like you said, inaction is a choice in itself. If the Republic can repel a Seperatist attack, we'll be the heroes and Death Watch will have nothing."

My lips pressed into a line, but I let it drop. "If you say so."

"So," Anakin said after a moment, clearing his throat. "You and Satine have a history. I understood why he was a bit dismissive of our last topic. It was nothing we could influence more on this trip anyways. But the topic of Obi-wan's apparent heart palpitations for Duchess Satine? That was interesting.

"An extended mission when I was younger," Obi-wan explained. "Master Qui-Gon and I spent a year on Mandalore."

I didn't lose my vision, but instead, saw...more. Apparently this was something that happened now, like it had with Cut. As Obi-wan spoke, I saw my first glimpse of who I assumed was Qui-Gon. He was tall with long brown hair and a full beard. His eyes were a vibrant blue and filled with knowledge, but incredibly gentle.

"We were protecting the duchess from insurgents who had threatened her world."

I saw glimpses of a younger Obi-wan. I nearly laughed aloud at his padawan braid and rat tail in the back. What a dweeb. Beside him was a younger Satine. She was filled with fire and passion for life. Not to mention the obvious connection their younger selves seemed to have.

We entered the elevator as Obi-wan continued. "They sent bounty hunters after us. We were always on the run."

I saw a series of hunters, none of their faces very clear. I couldn't tell if I knew any of them. If any, it would have been maybe Jango or Bane. Most of the hunters weren't old enough, nor ballsy enough, to take a job like that.

"Living hand to mouth… never sure what the next day would bring."

Emotion rippled off of him, sending with it a wave of images. He and Satine in a cave, both of them lit only by the flickering firelight. Running through the desolated wastes of Mandalore's surface, avoiding the fire of an assassin. The two holding hands in a moment of tension. A kiss.

"Sounds romantic," Anakin joked, pulling me from my vision with a snort of my own laughter.

Kenobi, in turn, gave us both a disgruntled look in an attempt at throwing us off his trail. Anakin and I weren't stupid, though. Also, we both felt that wave of emotions come off of the jedi master anyways.

As the lift doors opened with a hiss, something panged in the force. Confusion. Worry. It was coming from Rex somewhere below us in the cargo bay.

...since when did I get so attuned to Rex's force signature?

"A civil war killed most of Satine's people," Obi-wan explained as we exited the lift. "Hence her aversion to violence. When she returned, she took on the difficult task of rebuilding her world alone."

"You didn't stay to help her?" Anakin asked, my visions showing a brief flash of Satine taking her thrown, watching Obi-wan's back exiting the room. She looked sad. Demolished, even.

"That would have been problematic." We entered a room-likely Kenobi's-and I watched as he moved a chair with the force casually. I was split between amusement at his mild abuse of the force and jealousy over how effortlessly he did it. "My duty as a jedi demanded I be elsewhere."

I took the liberty of sitting on Obi-wan's desk, while Anakin leaned on the doorframe. "Demanded," Anakin mused. "But it's obvious you had feelings for her. Surely that would affect your decision."

Man, it was a full-fledged blessing from the force that this boy's secret wasn't Galactic News. He was worse at hiding his obvious marriage to Padme than I was at my mild force-sensitivity.

"Oh, it did," Obi-wan said sadly, making me turn in shock. I certainly wasn't expecting him to admit attachment. "I live by the Jedi Code."

"Of course," Anakin said, making my eyebrow lift discreetly. "As Master Yoda says, a jedi must not form attachments." While I knew that, it occured to me that I actually had no idea what the Jedi Code actually said. I only knew what I'd learned from others, none of which were jedi.

"Yes," Obi-wan agreed. "But he usually leaves out the undercurrent of remorse." Sadness rippled off of the master, making Anakin and I both aware that the attachment had not gone away. Perhaps it had lessened...hidden in some part of his mind to the point that he forgot it was there. And then seeing her again made it resurface with a vengeance.

His wrist comm beeped. Kenobi seemed glad for a change of topic. "Yes, Captain?"

"General," Rex's voice came through. "Something's wrong with Skywalker's astromech. Scared him real good, sir. We've also lost contact with two of my men."

"I'm on my way down to assist you," Kenobi said, standing.

"I'll go, Master," Skywalker butt in. "If there's something dangerous down there, the clones and I can handle it. Kida?" he stopped at the door, giving me a smile. "Care to avoid further political discussions?"

"And miss the chance of Duchess Satine hating me more?" I joked, already following him. "That's a high price."

Obi-wan watched us leave with a roll of his eyes, Skywalker and I jumping into the elevator.

"So...Obi-wan has a girlfriend," I teased, looking forward at the door.

Anakin smirked. "They don't seem to like each other that much."

"Like you and Padme never bicker." I felt his shock and panic, but it melted away slowly, making me look. "I didn't mean to freak you out."

"I knew you knew," he dismissed. "It's just...weird."

I chuckled. "It must be nice though," I glanced at him. "To not be a total secret anymore."

Anakin hummed, opening his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the opening hiss of the doors. Instead of responding to me, he walked out, saying, "Alright men, what's the problem? I'm missing dinner."

Cody, R2, and Rex stood waiting for us under the bright florescent light. "We're not sure yet, sir," Cody replied. "There's still no sign of Mixer and Redeye."

I watched Rex gesture to his men, sending them searching for the missing clones, while R2 rolled forward, beeping anxiously.

"What's the matter, buddy?" Anakin asked, arms crossed. R2 beeped and whistled in response. "I know, I know. But I'm here now. Use your scanner. See if something's out of place." R2 obeyed, nearly knocking over Cody while the droid spun and rolled off into the dim hangar.

As I followed, I could feel that something was amidst. I did my best to remember how Redeye and Mixer had felt in the force, searching for them, but nothing came up. It wasn't long until R2 led us to a container that had toppled to its side, empty.

"Well," Rex grumbled. "What have we here? Looks like the contents of this box are missing."

I hummed, Skywalker replying lowly. "Or it got up and walked away." He turned to us. "Alright. Fan out. Separate squads. I'll contact Obi-wan." The clones parted ways, all of them searching for both their brothers and whatever had come out of that box.

As Skywalker and I walked after his astromech, he contacted Obi-wan. "Anakin," the jedi master's hushed voice came through. "What have you found?"

"There's a large open container and the contents are missing," Skywalker responded. "And I still have two men unaccounted for."

"That's not good." Kenobi's voice was quiet, trying not to worry the delegates that were likely in the same room as him. "Keep things quiet. I'll stay with the senators."

"Got it." As Anakin signed off with his former master, I followed the beeping astromech, the light from his head scanning nervously.

"Your droid," I said lowly, seeing it turn abruptly.

Anakin joined me in following it. "What's up? Did you find something?"

We followed R2 down a long hall of stacked crates, approaching one of the sparse fluorescent lights. My hand touched Anakin's arm as two white boots appeared at the edge of the circle of light.

"There you are," Anakin exclaimed, relieved. "Redeye, where have you been? You've had us all…" he trailed off for a moment, feeling my anxiety upon seeing the clone's strange movements. "...worried."

"What the hell?" I mumbled, drawing my blaster from my hip slowly. Something was wrong. Anakin wasn't looking with the force, too confident in his own abilities. But I could feel that there was nothing in the body that once held Redeye. He was dead.

"Redeye?" Anakin paused for a moment, seeing the body turn slowly at us. He ignited his lightsaber. Red dots lit up behind the clone, revealing long appendages that held Redeye in the air.

"That's not Redeye," I declared, aiming my pistol at the droid.

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MANDO'A

Ka'ra - stars (ancient Mandalorian myth), ruling council of fallen kings

Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la- no one cares who your father was; only the father you'll be (bloodline is not important compared to one's own actions in life)

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Sorry for the super delayed update. I've been rather busy of late. I'll try to post more often!

As always, shares, likes, and reviews/comments are welcome!

-Ryder

[demethinkstoomuch]

The Lucky One, Pt 3

Imagine what a strange position this must be: You’re Sylvain Jose Gautier, you’re fifteen years old, and all you want is to get laid. But it was just the worst day in everybody you care about’s lives, the world is falling apart around you, and you’re completely unharmed by all of it. 

Content Warning: Blue Lions-typical Unresolved Grief

Read on AO3!

Part 1 | Part 2

You’ve been talking about your latest exploits and your carefully crafted opinions on various palace girls for a while now. If it’s helped, you really can’t tell; His Highness still looks like he’s barely there.  As one recounting comes to an end, you clap your hands together and get up. Like he’d been tied to you with a string, His Highness is pulled to sitting upright. Even that little movement has him grimacing in fresh pain.

“Please don’t. Please. I’m sorry for forcing you to —”

“Calm down. I just thought I’d ask if they can bring up some food. I don’t know about you guys, but I was on the road all morning, and I’m starving.” You’re grinning, but it’s one of your fake grins. A good one; you don’t want to have a bad fake grin for His Highness in his hour of need.”How about you, Your Highness?”

“...I’m fine. I’m not hungry,” His Highness answers slowly. “Dedue, would you like anything? Anything at all.”

“Yes, thank you.” Dedue eyes Dimitri seriously as those hard white brows knit close together. “Dimitri. Did you...truly finish your breakfast? Have you truly eaten?”  

Dimitri doesn’t answer, and it’s a big, unspoken cloud hanging in the air. Desperation’s running pretty thick through Dedue while he stares wide-eyed at His Highness, like he needs to fix this and he’s as clueless as you are as to how to do it. It’s hit you before that this big guy was a kid, from your lofty perspective of almost 16 years, but here it is again: this is just a kid. And Mr. Serious, His Highness, Dimitri? He looks so much like a lost child that it’s practically punching you. And both of them are dealing with something way more mature, more serious, than you ever could. But you’re somehow both the most and least an adult in the room. Why.

“Well, why don’t we just get extra, so we can share if His Highness gets hungry?” you offer diplomatically. That gets Dimitri’s nod, so you poke your head out. The guard looks nervous. “You’re worrying for nothing. But hey, can you maybe ask the kitchens to bring a couple of plates of something up for us? Something Prince Dimitri likes, and a lot of it.” 

“Of course! We’ve been hoping he’d get hungry.” The guard snapped to attention before hurrying down the hall in search of someone to pass this off to. 

You come back in and the three of you wait. 

“I wasn’t really specific. That a problem?” you ask them both. When Dimitri shakes his head, his next breath is taken hard through his teeth.

“I am not… do not care about such things.” Dedue’s brow wrinkles as he tries to pick his way to what he means.

"Not picky?” you suggest.

“Is that how you say that in Fodlan? Yes, I am not picky, then.” He nods softly.

“You must have favorites, though, don’t you?” Dimitri pipes up. Not trying to move much anymore, he leans back up against his headboard and the collection of pillows gathered there.

“...I do. I enjoy very spiced foods particularly. But I will eat most things. And cook most things.”

“You can cook? Nice! As for me, I’m also a guy who likes everything spicy.” You wiggle your eyebrows suggestively. His Highness looks at you with a particular brand of confused disappointment that means he has no idea what you’re implying, only that he knows it’s a you thing. You’re so glad to see a normal look like that on his face that you could just make innuendos that would fly the low, low height over his head all afternoon. “But any meal you eat with a pretty girl’s a good meal.” 

“And you, Dimitri?” Wow, they’re just breezing right past that. Way to include a guy.

“...It doesn’t really matter.” Dimitri mutters, and now you’re back to worrying. It’s not like he’s so particular he’d ever try and insist on his own tastes, but you don’t get it. You know what he likes.

“He likes warming things. Maybe melted cheese? Yeah, that sort of thing. We used to call him a little mouse when he was little; you know, your Highness, it still fits!” Even Felix has grown past him somewhat, so he was officially the short one for the time being.

“Sylvain!” Dimitri’s voice cracks over the cry. There you go. Took him long enough to pay attention. You can’t help but chuckle at your poor, easily embarrassed prince sounding more like himself.

“Sorry, sorry, Your Highness.” But that gets him at least lively enough to occasionally respond to something about food while you wait. And if he sometimes pulls a strange look or goes quiet and spent, you just dance around the topic until there’s a knock on the door.

The lunch’s quite a few little croquettes, two small bowls of soup, and slices of apple cooked in syrup. And a pot of tea. Not a bad spread, really. You have to break out Dimitri’s personal tea set from his sitting room, because someone ‘forgot’ there were three people there and only gave you two cups.

At first, His Highness doesn’t take the bait. Not even when you point out that the croquettes have a warm filling of melted cheese and meat with juices that had spread into the potato-y outer layer. But eventually, his stomach growls loudly enough for the whole room to hear it.

“Dimitri —” “Dimitri —”

“I think... I might need to eat something, after all,” he interrupts you both before you can insist. “May I?” 

 When Dedue offers him basically his entire tray, Dimitri manages a wan smile to shake it off with. “Not so much. Besides, you need something, too.”

He eyes the silverware before deciding that it’s not going to work out with only one mostly-good hand, and so he just grabs a croquette. They’re pretty good finger-foods anyway, if anyone asks you. The first few bites are slow ones, ones where Dedue’s eyes are on him like a high-strung watchdog’s. Then something switches on inside Dimitri and he finishes it like an animal, taking big, hurried bites that he can’t possibly be chewing that fast, leaving bits of cheese and potato on his face.

“Dimitri. You must eat more slowly. You’ll only make yourself sick again if you cannot.” Dedue’s voice broke through His Highness’ feeding frenzy, interrupting the grab for the next croquette.  Dimitri made a point of swallowing his mouthful before sighing.

“..You’re right. I’m sorry...For the display, I mean. I...don’t think I realized how hungry I was.” That’s when he reaches for the next one and takes a more reasonable bite, chews before swallowing, swallows before speaking again. “Are you trying to be my nursemaid now, Dedue?”

“...If it will allow me to stay here, then yes. I would like that,” Dedue answers with a real thoughtfulness. This gives His Highness a second’s pause, too, where they look at each other. The prince makes a pondering noise in his throat.

“...Thank you,” he says, and for what you can’t quite say, so you’re not going to touch it. You’re just going to have your soup. Makes the meal a little boring, but hey. You’ll live. Your eyes, thinking that, fall on His Highness again. You have something to ask, but you thought it better to ask when no one was eating. For all that energy put into it — energy spent that sends Dimitri back to leaning heavily against his pillow stack — Dimitri doesn’t eat much: just those two little croquettes and maybe half an apple, but he does look a little better for doing it.

“Hey, Your Highness… Have you been sick to your stomach lately? Because I could have asked for something a little lighter. I feel kind of bad.”

“Oh... “ Dimitri’s eyes shut for a second. “No, please don’t worry. It’s...Just hard. Right now.” With a wary and uncertain tone, he tries to find how to explain. “I just can’t seem to swallow food normally. I can’t choke it down. I just…Keep thinking about it. I just keep imagining it.”  His voice shakes, breaking down to pain-laced fragments. 

“I can still smell it. The ash and the soot and they’re still — they’re still burning —” He gags on nothing this time, hand over mouth, but he shakes his head when you try and grab him.

“Your Highness! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to think about stuff that upsets you.” You’d thought you’d done a good enough job just by not asking him when there was food in his mouth. You’d thought you were very clever, noticing the potential trap there. You just had to ask, didn’t you? He swallows thickly, a shudder racing through him. The hand that was covering his mouth clenches, more scratching at his face than holding it. The grip flails and  tightens around a series of grunts. He shuts his eyes tight, as each little sound feels like he’s pushing something back, step by painful step. Dedue, next to you, has his eyes tightly shut; he refocuses. His hand reaches out to hold onto Dimitri’s shoulder. 

“It’s fine. I’ll be...Fine. It’s down now.” But he accepts the tea Dedue lets go of him to offer anyway, letting his trembling hand be half-supported by a larger one. Dimitri sputters, but that goes down, too. And when he’s done, he goes limp against his pillows, exhaustion creeping like a shadow back into that moon-pale face. “I should not have said so much. I’m sorry.”

This, delivered to the air, could be for anyone, about anything. When his breathing steadies, his eyes close slowly as a cat’s. So you stand up.

“No, I’m sorry. But you look pretty beat, Your Highness. I bet I’ll get yelled at if I don’t let you get some rest.” He almost tries to reach out to grab you back, but his free arm only moves a little, slowly, like it’s made of lead.

“Wait. Please. Both of you. A little longer. Sit with me a little longer.” He pleads so intently that his whole body’s shaking. “Just until — just until I fall asleep.”

“Of course,” replies Dedue, who true to his word looks like he might just have been planted like an oak into his chair beside the prince’s bed; he might just live there now.  “...If that is fine.”

You sit back down and shrug, allowing Dimitri to sigh in relief.

“I certainly won’t say no. But you better actually get some — you look like a wreck. No offense, Dimitri.” In response, Dimitri lets out just a little noise that’s probably not denial. “Well, I’m pretty good for running my mouth, if nothing else.”

“You’re able to be...good for plenty, you know,” he mutters drowsily.

“Yeah, but why should I?” You chuckle and give him a wink.. “I’m good for the ladies, though, so that’s a second thing.”

You rattle into some more stories. You end up telling them both — more to Dedue, because he’s the one who makes attentive noises while you talked (you suspected more to just keep the conversation alive than out of interest — he’s not really looking at you, mostly) and has less context, and so requires more talking to lay it out for — about a festival the town near your home had held last Harpstring Moon. They’d had a pretty entertaining bear act, but then the bear’d gotten loose, and you’d thought it would impress the girl in that troupe if you went and retrieved it, and that was why you still had a scar on your chest. It’d heal, but hey. Chicks would dig a good scar while it lasted. You got the bear back, though. No one ever gives you credit for that. Maybe because you fell into an unconscious heap the moment the bear went in his pen. (Did you still get kisses? Yes, but not the ones you wanted. Not bear-collecting valor reward kisses. Or something like that.)

And as the you of the story dodges and fails to dodge a confused dancing bear, His Highness’ eyes drop lower and lower, his responses less distinct, until all the movement left is the rise and fall of his chest, and the lightest flutter of his eyelashes. There's one last, worried mutter,  just a faint little murmur on the edge of being a word, a stirring of the air. And then, quiet. The story ends immediately, and you take a breath in the silence the sleeping prince leaves around him.

“Poor guy… He’s got it so rough.” you whisper. A worry wakes up from where you’d put it to bed  to gnaw at you, looking at that hollow, drained face, its eyes surrounded by shadows, dark bags and red rims, its skin colorless; a face that feels caught here, in the moment of crumbling away to nothing. And totally lost to sleep. So helpless and so frail and so — so like he isn’t, wasn’t, all the way here, the Dimitri you know. Like he has a foot out the door. He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. The thought doesn’t keep; its real form moves its way out into the open air. “He’s not in any danger...So he’ll make it, right?”

And Dedue looks at you-- stares like you just hit his heart, his whole face collapsing like a landslide into open-mouthed dismay.

“He must.” It’s not a statement of fact or even so much a hope — it’s a plea, it’s a prayer. He whispers to himself, would have whispered even if you weren’t trying to avoid noise, “He has to.”

“He will.” With a heart full of regret, you decide to bluff a confidence in that you just don’t have. It’s pretty natural, and you fold smiling reassuringly in with picking up the now empty trays and plates. He doesn’t move, so you keep saying, “His Highness is tough, and he’s pretty brave. too. I just got spooked for a second.”

“He is the bravest person I have ever met.” Dedue’s eyes fall onto Dimitri’s sleeping face. He marshalls his expression back into order, into a hard resolve. “But that is why he needs to survive.” 

“He will, he will. Count on it...Well, I guess I should probably get going.” You aren’t going to boot the guy out — the odds of him doing something bad are, you decided, approximately as likely as Miklan giving you a hug that you would enjoy. Of course, it’s not your choice. The guard walks in the moment you’re out the door.

“Get out,” he whispers, his voice dark. The guard puts his hand onto Dedue’s shoulder to manhandle him out, but Dedue doesn’t resist. “His Highness clearly can’t see any more guests. And we can’t run the risk of more regicide from your kind.”

That’s  harsh. But what are you supposed to do, anyway? The best that jumps to mind is to at least do the most annoying thing you can think of.

“Shhhh,” you scold the guard in a hissed whisper. You try to carry the sort of ferocity Ingrid gets for that, but you’re pretty sure your delivery just doesn’t have it. You don’t do stern; sorry, big guy. But they both file out without things getting any harder. You put the dishes down to be someone else’s problem, and watch Dedue sink against the panelled wall between him and Dimitr’s chambers. He doesn’t look at the guard, and he doesn’t look at you. He buries his head in his hands and just... waits. He’s got nothing else to do.

“Good luck,” you mutter as you go, sincere as you can be. You hope it’ll all work out for him somehow. It’s not like you have any say in it, but hey.