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incoherentbabblings · 4 years

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Take Back the Cake, Burn the Shoes, and Boil the Rice (1/11)

Within two months there have been two murders of Gotham newlyweds moments after the ceremony. The only connecting factor was both brides wore the same designer's work. Needing to establish who exactly is behind the crimes, Bruce enlists Tim and Stephanie to have the biggest wedding Gotham high society has seen in decades, putting a target on their heads not just for the killer, but Gotham society too. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

Ao3 link here!

Hey, @thatblondeperson @our-happygirl500-fan the odyssey begins, huh? Thank you both for your help with this, I imagine I will keep bugging you with questions and pictures of pretty dresses going forward.

“No way.”

“Batgirl.”

“No! Are you serious? Look, I did the trip to England – even though I have a life here and didn’t want to – because it was like only for a semester and it was to help people… but this? No.”

“I agree.” Red Robin chimed, bolstering Batgirl against Batman. He pulled back his cowl, revealing the tired young man underneath. He didn’t look wholly invested in anything Bruce had to say. “Can’t you fake it? With Selina or… I don’t know. Zatanna or…” Tim shrugged uselessly. “I’ve already had a fake engagement! One’s enough, thank you.”

“No-one is going to believe Bruce Wayne’s engagement… They know it will all fall through.” Dick chimed up. He was sat at the batcomputer, feet up on the keyboard, eating chunks of mango and watermelon and looking completely indifferent to the outraged faces around him. He looked briefly at Bruce. “No offense.”

“Well you do it then!” Stephanie argued. “You’re a…fully grown adult. No-one would blink an eye if you and Babs got engaged! Everyone knows you’re sweet on each other.”

Dick slowed the chewing of his fruit. Looking Steph straight in the eye, he spat out seeds over the edge of the ground down in the depths of the cave. Tim watched out of the corner of his eye as Bruce folded his arms, exasperated. Finally, after a tense stare off, Dick grinned.

“Can’t. Going off world on Friday. Can’t get married if you’re not on Earth. And this case really needs to be closed asap.”

It was a shit eating grin, one that made Steph want to instinctively slap it off his face as she felt increasingly crowded into a corner. Tim meanwhile screwed up his lips.

“You seriously think the designer has something to do with it?”

“Two murders at a wedding in two months. Both bride and groom.”

“No such thing as a coincidence?” Asked Stephanie. She tugged off her cape, hair getting caught as she did so. After a brief fight with the cowl, she tossed both aside and spun back to look at Batman.

“No. Not in these instances.”

“But what’s the connection?”

“Both brides were wearing the same designer.”

Tim nodded, catching on. “So… someone either has it out for the designer and wants her life to collapse… or she’s a wedding dress designer who hates happy couples.”

“Potentially.” Bruce walked towards Tim, seeing he was less aggressively opposed then Stephanie. “All you have to do is pretend. Hire her for the dress, plan the wedding. I’ll find the truth.”

Stephanie was not moved. “Using us as decoys? Really? And with what spare time am I supposed to plan a wedding? This is my final year of college… I can’t drop it all for the sake of a lie.” She looked to Tim, hoping to implore him to side with her. Bruce couldn’t make them both agree, surely.

To her growing distress, Tim was frowning off to the side, pulling his usual thinking face when he was musing something over.

“We’d seriously have to go through with it? Like from engagement, planning…wedding. All of it?” Something sparked in Tim’s eyes, and Stephanie’s stomach dropped.

She shook her head at him, unable to beg out loud. Bruce’s large chest heaved up and down with an exaggerated breath.

“It would have to be public. We’ll be making you targets. Big ones.”

If anything, this seemed to further motivate Tim, rather than placing the pressing guilt that had formed in Stephanie’s lungs. He looked to Bruce, expression serious and earnest.

“But we’d be potentially redirecting it from innocent people.”

Dick blinked, his somewhat sadistic enjoyment of their discomfort shifting as he too noticed Tim’s expression. A sort of desperation that Stephanie recognized in a way that made her breath short.

Panic went through her then, and she blurted out a, “What if I say no?” She tried to put her foot down, but instead it came out quiet and pleading.

“Then I won’t do it either.” Tim said, looking her in the eye for the first time since the idea was brought up. “I don’t want to. Not without her.”

Dick’s expression morphed into what only could have been described as pity. Tim and Stephanie were not dating, hadn’t been for years, but everyone knew from watching that they still knew each other inside and out, better than most anyone else. For all Tim had been drifting in and out of closeness with Bruce and Dick the past three years, it seemed he had only relocated positions within the family. Always to Cassandra first, his sister in every way that counted, and, despite his initial reservations, also to Stephanie, who had taken every effort to move past the worst of their adolescence with open arms.

They had grown closer (still not close enough in Tim’s opinion) but a level of shyness, of fragility remained. One wrong step and the false peace they had put together the past few years would crumble and reveal structural faults that neither could fix.

For all Tim wanted a partner to ensure that his loneliness would depart from him permanently; for all Tim wanted Stephanie to be that partner – Stephanie in all her hard fought and earned independence – Tim knew he couldn’t force her to do anything. Neither could Bruce. Not anymore. That lesson, they had both learned a long time ago.

He had been treading on eggshells for some time now, desperate to not upset her, even if it came at the cost of his own happiness.

Stephanie knew all of this. She had watched him argue with himself and twitch in a way that indicated he wanted to move closer, and she had watched him refuse to verbalise any of it.

He wouldn’t speak; therefore, she wouldn’t speak. Ergo, their relationship was at a dead end.

Unless he could get her to agree to lie with him.

Which would make her miserable. Because he wouldn’t be talking to her. Not truly.

And the uroboros of a Catch-22 situation would continue to eat its tail.

Bruce watched the naked relief play out on Stephanie’s face that she had Tim’s conditional support. He gave another sigh, and Dick watched from his seat, knowing that Bruce was about to play dirty.

“I do not trust anyone else to follow this through.”

Tim groaned, and hung his head down, and Dick knew Bruce had won. Stephanie meanwhile, for a lack of a better term, flipped out.

“No.” She said, and she began to tear off her uniform until she was only in her black tank top and leggings, stomping barefooted back up the stairs.

Trying to not take it personally, Tim rushed to the changing area to get into his shirt and jeans and socks. Maybe if he just caught her…

Dick watched the pair go, chewing loudly on a crunchy piece of fruit.

“Sometimes you’re really cruel.”

“…I know.”

Stephanie rushed into one of the drawing rooms, grabbing her bag she had left resting on a seat to pull out her shoes, collapsing to the expensive rug. Her little purple car was parked out front, so she could make a quick getaway.

Tim practically fell into the room, having thrown on a checked shirt and jeans that made his butt look good.

Stupid Tim.

“Steph.” He breathlessly plead. She tied her shoelaces, ignoring his tone. Finding the expensive cream rug much more interesting, she aggressively tied knots in her shoes.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“We could end up saving a lot of people down the line and –”

“You know that throwing yourself in front of a bullet isn’t going to make daddy love you any better, right?”

Tim stopped breathing, and she knew instantly she had crossed a line. She slumped forward, head banging against her knees. Tim watched her shoulders heave with silent sobs. Instantly he moved to be level with her, curled up on the floor, hidden out of sight from Alfred, or Bruce, or anyone.

His hand hovered, wanting to stroke her hair, but instead he settled for her bare forearm. He felt her muscle spasm under his cold fingers and watched as goosebumps appeared on her arm. She was looking paler than normal.

“Steph I won’t... I won’t force you to do it. But, if we can make ourselves targets then we could be saving someone else, and if Bruce closes the case before we even get to the alter… It doesn’t have to be serious...” He murmured the last part, trying to hide the paranoid part of him that believed Stephanie was reacting so strongly to the idea of being tied to him again – even temporarily.

“Tim, if this were five years ago, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. And not just because there’s no-one else I’d rather do this with...”

Tim smiled, despite the general mood of the room. Stephanie, with her head pressed to her knees, did not see.

“But I’m not going to be fake marrying a nice boy from down the road.”

“What do you mean?”

She finally looked up at him, and her eyes were dry and clear.

“Your name, Tim. Bruce’s name.”

He blinked, still not comprehending. Her fingers crept forward, absently stroking the fabric of his shirt.

“If you were me... If you were just an average Gothamite, and you saw that one of the richest and most handsome guys in Gotham, the one who spends his life in the public eye... If you saw he was marrying a girl who has a father on death row, and a mother who has a history of drug abuse. A girl who he hasn’t publicly associated with before outside of days where his sister was present... A girl who got pregnant at fifteen... How would that look? A two-month engagement?”

“I’d think it was none of my business.”

“And then the marriage breaks off after a month. Or they don’t even make it to the marriage stage. What do you think happens to that girl? How do you think her life is going to be afterwards?”

Tim couldn’t help it, with his free hand he reached for one of hers. Tangling their fingers together, he felt her trembling. She squeezed back tightly, their fingers turning a little purple.

“Bruce and I wouldn’t let anything like that happen.” Tim swore.

“You can’t promise that.”

Still so jaded, under all that optimism. Still so doubtful of how kind the world actually was.

“Yes, I can. I can.”

“God Tim, you’re so naïve!”

She tried to pull away, but Tim held tight, not letting her leave. She stared at him outraged, as he tried to convince her.

“Please Steph. Bruce doesn’t make mistakes about this sort of thing. More people are going to die unless we do something.”

Pale blue eyes stared into indigo, and a long moment passed in silence, the clock on the mantle providing the only noise. Some garden birds chirped outside, and the fluttering of their wings past the window made Stephanie flinch out of the moment. She breathed unsteadily. Tim tugged their conjoined hands closer to his chest.

“You’d honestly rather do it with no-one else?” He asked, smiling crookedly.

She blinked, unable to stand the vulnerability anymore, frowned and looked out the window. “You said the same thing downstairs.”

He blushed, and she tugged her hands finally free. Tim tried not to grimace at the feeling. Steph was always warm, a beacon of tanned skin and golden hair. Without her, his fingers quickly grew cold.

He had run home once, on a cold Gotham day, when he and his dad had spent an afternoon playing catch outside. His parents had been home for two months that time, and he had run in to find his mother and beg for a hot chocolate. He had been only six, and Janet had been sat in front of the computer, dark red hair piled up in a messy bun. Tim remembered her always looking well put together, even in her messier more relaxed moments.

“Mom, mom!” He had cried, cheeks flushed red from the temperature. His mother’s stress lines had disappeared when she spied him coming her way, and she held out her arms to catch him. She had been in a good mood that day. Ready to indulge him.

She pulled him up onto her lap, and Tim had laughed.

“Feel my hands!” And he had put his frozen fingers on her cheeks, causing her to gasp exaggeratedly.

“Frozen solid!” And she had kissed and kissed and kissed him and with each kiss he felt warmer and warmer. “Cold hands mean a warm heart though Tim. That’s the most important bit.”

And his father had entered the room, and the smile had slipped from Janet’s face, and the soft moment with his mother had been over. The warmth fled him, her and the house.

Fifteen years later, Tim wasn’t sure he believed Janet’s little saying anymore. Steph was just plain warm. From her head to her toes, her golden skin gave off warmth like she had been laying in the sun all day. Like she held the sun in her chest, and her hair was the yellow rays escaping. His mother and father’s warmth had come and gone with their moods. Stephanie’s was ever present. Even when she was angry, even when she was being cruel, she seemed incapable of being cold whilst being so.

Tim blinked, realising he had completely drifted off and away from the present moment, and was daydreaming again. Stephanie sat with her legs splayed out, still upset but more reserved than before.

"I’m going to go home.” She declared. “And I am going to think it over. Give me a day.”

“You gonna talk to your mom?”

“If I do go through with it, she’ll need to know.” Stephanie shifted, putting on her other shoe. “You’re already on thin ice with her you know. Have been for years.”

Tim was going to tease her and ask why it mattered what her mother thought of him, but like Steph said, he was treading on thin ice. Even getting her to consider it was a victory in his eyes.

She said her goodbye and got up, Tim remaining sat on the floor. Impulsively, she tugged at his hair playfully. Tim may have imagined it, but he felt her hand stroke his hair, like she used to when he’d rest his head on her stomach. It had started when she had pulled him down in her room, on her little bed, to see if he could hear or feel her baby move. It had continued long after the baby had been given up for adoption. She had said his hair was nice to play with.

Stephanie paused, looking down on him.

“You really won’t do it with someone else? Just me?”

“Promise.”

She sighed and went to go. She stopped, blond hair swinging round her shoulders, and looked like she was going to say something else. She thought better of it, and gave a half-hearted wave.

“See you tomorrow.” She uttered, then she was gone.

Tim remained sat on the floor long after she left. He heard her car switch on and roll off, and he remained on the carpet. His mind was racing.

Bruce eventually found him. Out of costume, in a white t-shirt and black trousers, he sat on the loveseat by Tim.

Keeping his head down, Tim spoke.

“She said… she wanted the day to think about it.”

“Okay.”

Tim stared off, knowing Bruce was waiting for him to ask the burning question.

“Why us?”

Tim heard the frame of the seat creak as Bruce shifted. Neither man was looking at the other.

“As I said. I trust you two will do a good job.”

“And no-one else.”

“You work well together.”

“Do we?”

“Tim…”

“She said that she was afraid of how people would react. Poor girl and a rich boy get hitched quickly and all that.”

Bruce’s response was firm and immediate. “I won’t let people think of her that way.”

Tim tilted his head to look at his father, comforted by the protective nature in his tone. “That’s what I said. She didn’t believe me.”

“Hnn.” Bruce placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder, and squeezed reassuringly. “She’ll help. She won’t turn away from people in need. I’ll leave you to deal with the… nitty gritty of it all.”

He got up to leave, allowing Tim to brood alone on the floor.

“Bruce?”

Bruce turned, looking at him expectantly. Tim swallowed.

“You honestly think we work well together?”

Bruce chewed his tongue, thinking of how best to respond. “I remember, how happy you made each other, and I trust her with you. You’ll both do well in this.”

And that was all. Tim stared at the now empty doorframe, unsure of what to make of Bruce’s statement. His fingers twitched, craving the warmth of Stephanie’s grip once more.

He couldn’t decide if he was being selfish or not for wanting her to agree to such a silly idea. A silly idea that could save several people down the line. Maybe. Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to spend time with her outside of the costume. Only if she wanted it though. He wasn’t that cruel. Falling forward to the floor, butt up in the air, Tim grumbled to himself about how lovesick he was.

Stephanie meanwhile had to pull over halfway home, so emotional that she needed to catch her breath.

This was what was going to bring Tim and her together once more? Another lie?

She couldn’t bare it. To have to pretend to be happy and in love when really what she would be was miserable. But still in love.

She’d never stopped. She still craved his eyes on her (and only her), to hear him say how proud he was.

No.

No, she was past that. That was the point. The point of Batgirl, the point of returning to Gotham.

She rubbed aggressively at her eyes, sat on the layby of the road, and called her mother, unable to wait until she reached home. She put on the speaker, and set the phone on the dashboard.

Her mother had the next three days off, so with some luck she would catch her.

“Hiya Stephie.” She answered. “All good?”

“Yeah. Just driving back.”

“Then why’d you call?”

“I… mom… I’ve been asked to do something. For work.” She clarified. Her mother would understand. “And I’m not sure I should.”

“Why?”

Something in Stephanie snapped, and three years of grief came pouring out. Her mother listened, saying nothing. Stephanie knew that her mother was wary of Tim, of Batgirl, of the whole thing, but she was also the one who could give a somewhat neutral response. As she ranted, Stephanie grew more distressed. She knew from the outside she must have looked like a mad woman, arms flailing and legs kicking. As she drew to a close, Stephanie rested her forehead on the wheel of her car.

“...But I want to help people. And I want to be with him. And I don’t know if that makes me weak.”

“It makes you lovesick.”

Her mother’s tone was soft, sad, and empathetic. Stephanie didn’t know which emotion was comforting and which was upsetting. She sniffed loudly, pressing the heel of the palms of her hands so tightly to her eyes that she saw stars. Crystal was silent, letting her daughter think her rant through. A minute passed, and Stephanie lowered her hands from her eyes, feelings slowly clicking into place.

“Thanks mom.”

“You made your mind up?”

“Yeah.”

Turning her engine back on, she picked up the phone once more. “Gonna be a bit longer until I get back. We need anything from the shops?”

“Another two cartons of milk wouldn’t hurt.”

“’Kay.” She buckled her seatbelt on. “Love you. Bye.”

“Love you too, Stephie. Glutton for punishment that you are.”

Stephanie laughed, then hung up. The smile quickly faded, and she stared at her home screen. Closing her eyes, taking a breath, and flicking her indicator on, she got back on the main road, looking for a place to do a u-turn.

Alfred opened the door to find Stephanie hopping up the steps to the front door, having let her back through the front gates. She smiled bashfully at the butler.

“I’ll inform Master Bruce that you’ve returned.” He said, ushering her inside.

“And Tim?”

“Of course. Make your way to the kitchen, Miss Stephanie. There are some baked goods cooling. You can take some home for you and your mother.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Alfred.”

She perched herself on one of the breakfast bar stools, staring at the banana muffins on the cooling rack. They smelled very good.

Tim arrived first, Bruce following behind. Both men looked expectant.

There was a brief pause as Stephanie collected her words.

“I’ll do it.” Bruce nodded, and Tim, betraying himself utterly, smiled broadly. It made something in her gut jerk, and she continued despite herself. “Only to help you solve the case. You promise to protect me from bad press?”

Bruce’s eyes tightened. “We’ll need a lot of publicity to ensure we capture their attention.”

“Good publicity.”

“Yes.” Stephanie’s eyes flittered to Tim as he moved closer to her, only partially listening to Bruce. “You’ll both have the family clout behind you. Use it.”

“Fine.” She nodded one last time. Tim opened his mouth to say something, but Stephanie turned away to grab one of Alfred’s muffins. Sensing the mood of the room, Bruce left, passing ownership of the task to the two young adults.

Tim moved closer than she would have preferred, close enough to feel his warm breath move her hair, but she still couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Stephanie…”

Taking a large bite, she inspected the granite worktops, finding the little silver glimmers fascinating. Tim saw she was going to be unresponsive. Hating himself a little, he began to dictate their plan going forward.

“We’ll go on a few dates first. People have seen you, me and Cassandra hanging out, so it won’t be a total shock. When do you next have a spare afternoon?”

She bristled at being told what to do in the manner Tim had slipped into, but she answered quietly.

“Thursday.”

“I’ll pick you up from campus. We’ll go to Robinson Park.” Colour rose to Tim’s cheeks as he got lost in his own head. Stephanie continued not to look at him, finding Alfred’s baking less upsetting. He was looking at her longingly. She knew that look well enough that she could sense it on him.

“Sounds good.” She said around a mouthful of muffin.

“You still want me to teach you how to ride my skateboard?”

That got her to look at him. She shook her head, trying not to give in to his puppy dog eyes.

“Tim, not like that. Not with everyone watching.”

This is what she had been dreading. Things she wanted, things she craved, but built on a foundation of lies. She and Tim weren’t going on a real date, so why should she do something she wanted for real? She was fine with lying, she did it every day of her life, but not for this. Not when half-truths were thrown in with Tim.

Tim seemed confused. “You said it just the other day. This is a good as reason as any.” He pushed his way closer into her personal space. Frustratingly, she wasn’t unnerved by it. “Steph… It gets easier. Those guys being around taking photos... Bruce has so much hold over them they don’t come near any of us.”

“Frightened of the big bad bat?”

“More like the billionaire with a big pocket for legal fees.” Tim snorted. “Honest. You’ll forget they’re there.” His tone turned a bit more serious, a bit more somber. “I know the whole thing is…less than ideal. So, let’s try and have some fun, yeah?”

Tim thought he knew that Steph knew that he still loved her. He’d said as much. But that was years ago. He’d also tried to kiss her. But that was also years ago.

Okay, so maybe being forced to get engaged and married wasn’t the best foundation to start a genuine courtship, but Tim could make it work.

So he smiled at her, and Stephanie smiled back. It was genuine.

He could make her happy.

“Okay.” She picked up two muffins to take home. “I’ll see you Thursday then.”

Tim’s smile widened as he watched her go. Mind racing, he twirled around in the kitchen, smacking his hands repeatedly off the counter.

“So… you’re going to tell her that you want to pursue a genuine relationship once this is all over or…?”

Dick’s voice drifted over from the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, one foot resting on his other ankle. His body language was casual, but his expression was deadly serious. Tim dismissed his concerns.

“Won’t need to. I will…show her that I am emotionally ready to get back in a relationship with her, and I know she still loves me so… by the end, the lie can be over, and she can ask me.”

“She has to ask you?”

Dick sounded so unapproving that Tim’s hackles rose. He walked around to the other side of the counter, further separating him from his elder brother.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Tim shook his head, baffled. “Because I’m the one doing all the work.”

Dick tilted his head, frustrated with Tim. “Define ‘work’? Buying her a nice dinner counts as work?”

“No! But I… She’s frightened. I’ll prove she doesn’t need to be.”

Dick’s eyes tightened. Like Stephanie, he thought Tim was being awfully naïve. Tim grumbled to himself.

“Just… go do your space adventure. When you come back in two months… you’ll see. We’ll catch the bad guy, innocent people will be saved, the press will love Steph as much as I do, and we’ll be on our merry way to getting out all the bad air between us.”

“By…not talking about the bad air.”

“We’ll talk! She… she has to start it. ‘Cause I did all the talking in the past. It’s her turn now. That’s all.”

Dick chewed on the inside of his cheek. Tim picked up a muffin and threw it at his brother, unable to bear the condescension. “You have no room to judge. I’ve loved her for half my life. I’m not going to have a mission be another nail in the coffin.”

Dick caught the muffin, ripping the top off and inspecting the inside. He turned to go, knowing he would get nowhere with Tim. Once the boy had made his mind up, it took a plan exploding in his face to realise he’d done wrong.

“No,” Dick said, nibbling as he walked away. “You want a lie to be the kiss of life.”

Tim stood in the kitchen, his loneliness creeping up on him. Looking desperately around, he grabbed his own baked good, then rushed downstairs to take his car back to his apartment.

He could make this work.

#dc #TimSteph #Tim Drake #Stephanie Brown #my fic tag #sorry for posting this twice i think i prefer this format for people

21 notes · View notes

lambourngb · 3 years

Note

For the first line meme: It's later than he thought when the knock on the door interrupts another night of staring at the computer screen.

the heart is a muscle - post season 2, mentions of forlex , getting back together malex fic for you dear @jule1122, and @haloud, and @christchex.

It's later than he thought when the knock on the door interrupted another night of staring at the computer screen.

Mr. Jones and his last words to Michael, before he was forced back into stasis, still haunted him. “You really think there was just one ship? We were in formation, kid. What you should ask yourself is, where did everyone else go? Did they just keep zippin’ on their way to the colony? Or did they stop and take a gander at this planet and what they did to the survivors?”

The tiny bit of hope that this Max-lookalike psychopath didn’t represent the last of his species, had Michael diving back into his research behind the crash of 1947. The online conversations about Roswell had moved on to other topics since Michael had abandoned the message boards in the wake of Caulfield, but with some effort, he had found new threads detailing neighborhood folklore regarding newcomers with eerie talents, like the ability to grow food in droughts. Stories that peppered all over the world. Stories that might mean an alien colonist on Earth.

The thirst for knowledge about his planet and his people would never leave him, even if the actual urge to go had quieted down into just a soft whisper. Life was finally good in Roswell. After the mind games of Mr. Jones, Michael could admit now that he did have a family here, even if they weren’t related by blood. Sanders, Arturo, Mimi, Michelle Valenti had all stepped in at various times to offer a guiding hand to him, or just a quiet nod of reassurance that he was valued. Max and Isobel would always be his siblings, but now he could count Liz, Rosa, Kyle, and even awkwardly in their new friendship, Maria, as extended his family now.

It didn’t escape Michael that not even in his thoughts could he attribute his feelings for Alex as brotherly. There was still a vacant place at the head of Michael’s overflowing table of family for a partner, a spouse. That somehow, the seat even as other people came and went, only seemed to fit Alex.

Except they were still just friends.

Another knock, more impatient this time, rattled the Airstream’s door. Michael sat up, placing his ancient laptop on the counter and rolled off his bed to get to his feet. His life was had changed so much in the last couple of years that he had enough people in it, friends, who dropped by his trailer at all hours of the day, not just Isobel, that he couldn’t even guess the identity of the visitor.

Backlit from the auto yard’s security lights, stood Alex Manes holding a cardboard drink holder from ‘Bean Me Up’.

“Alex,” Michael greeted, a smile already at his lips. He glanced at the coffee and back to Alex, “Couldn’t wait until tomorrow I take it?” This was part of the new normal for Michael, meeting Alex for coffee, three or four mornings a week. It was something that had grown out of a happy coincidence, Alex’s gym was near the Boys and Girls Club that Michael volunteered at, serving breakfast in the mornings and tutoring kids in math in the afternoon.

Same place at the same time, once, then twice, became a standard thing. Not a date. Just, taking advantage of the mutual collision to talk. And at first, it was awkward to share news with each other, like Alex’s dating experiences with Forrest or Michael’s attempts to recover his memories of his planet, but later things had softened into a routine. Order coffee, find a small table, and then spend the next hour playfully fending off Alex’s attempts to foist food on Michael’s side of the table while also stealing sips of his caramel lattes.

Perhaps one day Alex would realize that Michael had only ordered the ridiculously sweet coffee drinks because he knew that was what Alex preferred to drink. It was still a damn toxic hold over from Jesse Manes that Alex still persisted in ordering black coffee with no sugar. Dating Forrest might have helped Alex be open with his sexuality, there were still lessons for Alex to learn in being gentle with himself, Michael observed. The act of indulging in pleasures, instead of engaging in deprivation, it was something he struggled with as well.

In the meantime, Michael could at least help Alex in this small way, letting him ‘steal’ his lattes.

“Alex?” Something about Michael had robbed Alex of all speech as he just stared up at Michael in response, still holding the drinks dumbly in his hands. “Are you okay? What’s wrong-”

The switch from teasing to urgent concern finally snapped Alex out of his apparent stupor. “Right, nothing, um, just- since when do you wear glasses?”

Michael’s hand went to his face automatically, realizing belatedly that he was still wearing his reading glasses. He started to pull them off, blushing in embarrassment, when Alex blurted out, “They look good! On you. The glasses. Um great even.”

“Oh.” Now that. Michael did not know what to do with that.

In the yellow-wash of light, Alex was clearly the same man from yesterday’s coffee visit physically. His soft mouth was there, but it came with his standard closed expression that he must have picked up abroad, wearing it now as Michael’s least favorite souvenir. His posture was the same too, forever changed from losing his leg, straight-backed and rigid but just then, he was someone Michael hadn’t seen in a long time. That awkward stuttering response was Alex Manes, the seventeen-year-old boy who had whipped off his visor nervously in the museum, the same boy who touched with soft gliding palms newly revealed skin before snatching his hands away at the first sign that it was unwelcome.

Aware that it was his turn to stare at Alex, Michael forced himself to smile naturally, “I guess not even my alien physiology can beat back the glare of a computer screen. I forgot I had them on.”

“Did I interrupt something? I can go if you want,” Alex stopped, probably hearing the past echo between them but not in the benign way of before. “Or I can stay and help, even if it’s with surprise coffee?” This time he lifted the tray up between them, an offer or a barricade of politeness, Michael wasn’t sure.

“I’m looking for other survivors,” Michael admitted, before looking down to avoid Alex’s sharpened gaze of interest. “On the internet, obviously, since I don’t think I can trust that I could sense them with my mind.”

It was clear that Alex hadn’t forgotten any of the various tactics Jones had employed against them, but Michael in particular. A frequent repeated taunt was about how damaged their psychic abilities were for adults, to the point no one had sensed Caulfield, but that from his pod prison Jones could hear Nora calling for help nightly right until the end. The twisted knife of how Michael had grown up waiting for someone to save him. Alex pursed his lips to object, “Michael-”

“Jones was full of shit about a lot,” Michael assured him quickly, “but I think he was right about the ships, that it wasn’t just one that crashed. I’m just combing through stories, basically internet mythology, looking for clues about strangers who might have some sort of power. It’s a lot of ‘world’s biggest cucumber’ stories right now, but hey, come in, you’re the computer genius and I could use your help and your coffee.” He placed his hands on the coffee holder, carrying it for Alex and backed away from the steps to let Alex have as much room as possible to navigate the cumbersome metal steps into the Airstream.

The seating area of the Airstream had been folded away and stored in order to make room for the drying rack of his clothes from laundry day, leaving only his narrow bed for seating. Michael had half-a-minute’s pause in reconsideration. They could relocate outside to his fire pit with the cheap camp chairs, and sit pressed together elbow-to-elbow around the dim screen of the laptop between them. Or. Or they could squeeze together on his bed, a place where that sort of contact between them had always led to sex. What was the safer option for their friendship?

His heart always strayed too far from the safety of his bones when it came to Alex.

Ignoring his pounding pulse, he grabbed the coffee cup marked “Alex” and pulled it to his lips to drink and made a gesture to the bed. At least he had made the bed up earlier with clean linens, the spread was neatly tucked into the corners, almost military sharp. That made it feel slightly less risqué to him than inviting Alex into warm mussed sheets that reeked of Michael’s skin. That rain and bourbon scent that Alex had pointed out.

“Um, your coffee was the other one.” Alex picked up the abandoned cup marked with a ‘M’ and followed him over to the bed.

“No, I’m drinking the coffee I always end up with. Your black tar juice.”

Alex smiled slightly, caught out by the observation before gingerly sitting next to Michael as Michael scooted over toward the wall of the Airstream. “Yeah, I guess I do end up stealing yours.” He brought his left leg up easily on the mattress and then passed his coffee cup over to Michael’s waiting hands as he brought his prosthetic up with both hands for balance. The smile faded, as Alex reclaimed the ‘M’ cup to sip from deep in thought as he seemed to review the history of their morning encounters. “I’m sorry-”

“Alex, come on,” he teased leaning his shoulder against Alex’s. “You haven’t caught on by now? I only order that sugar monstrosity because I know you won’t let yourself do it. I don’t even like caramel that much.”

“What? Come on, that’s what you ordered that first time-”

“I ordered that for the director at the community center.” Michael placed his coffee on the window of the Airstream and concentrated on bringing the laptop back up to rest on his knees between them not daring to look at Alex. He would never be able to confess the next bit and see Alex’s too-expressive gaze at the same time. But. As he had reminded himself earlier, he needed to work on indulging in pleasures as well, not just holding on to the pylon weight of depriving himself, of never believing he was worthy of good things. And being Alex’s friend was that. A pleasure. A good thing. The best thing.

“Once I saw you though, I kinda forgot the errand I was on in the first place. Then, I might have gone back at the same time the next day. And the day after that. For reasons.” He glanced to the side, meeting Alex’s wide eyes briefly before turning back to the laptop. “So I guess it's my turn to apologize? I might have had an agenda.”

It was quiet between them, as Michael clicked through a few different forums. He wasn’t paying any attention to where his cursor landed, he just kept scrolling through window after window as a distraction because the urge to pull back, to crack a joke, to do anything but let Alex process in silence was hard to suppress but needed. That was a part of becoming friends, learning that Alex needed extra time to formulate a response, something that came from needing to shut all emotional responses off during a drone operation at work.

“Me too,” Alex replied softly. “About the agenda. I mean, I don’t even have a membership at that gym.”

Michael frowned, the words not making any sense to him.

“That first time was dumb luck, I mean, I stopped in that morning because I had stayed the night at Forrest’s for the first time and I found out he doesn’t drink coffee. Doesn’t even own a coffee maker.” Alex scoffed quietly, before leaning against Michael affectionately, “I should have known that it was doomed from the start, just on coffee alone but what really put the nail in the coffin was the fact I pretended to go to that gym for two months because I had a bag of clothes with me when you saw me.”

“That was your clothes from staying over with him,” Michael said slowly, almost to himself, before he frowned even deeper as the connections fell into place. He didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or not, but this was a new level of avoidance of an awkward subject for Alex. It did make sense considering the timing, and maybe that was why he was confessing now to Michael because not that Michael allowed himself to show it, the early days of Alex’s relationship with the historian were difficult for him. He didn’t begrudge Alex being happy or being with someone else, but there was still an old, gnarled bit of Michael’s heart that pinched painfully at seeing the romance play out for everyone in Roswell to see. “Alex, I know you guys are dating, you didn’t have to lie about that and pretend you had gone to that gym.”

“Were dating,” Alex patiently corrected. “Pay attention, Michael. I just said it was doomed from the start.”

“Because he didn’t drink coffee?”

“Because I was engaging in a deep cover operation that involved a fake gym membership, rescheduling my appointments to the afternoon and blocking out time in my mornings all, so I could see you.” The gears were still turning too slowly for Alex’s liking as he rolled his eyes at Michael and continued, “I ended it with Forrest about a month ago. Or well, he ended it with me because I was always too busy in the morning for breakfast and I never wanted to stay over at his.”

Michael blinked, then looked down at his laptop. The ancient fan and processor were making a soft whine of effort, much like his own brain at the moment. Alex was single. Alex has been single for over a month. A month where he didn’t mention it once during their get-togethers.

Alex exhaled slowly, draining the latte before placing the cup out of range. “I’m really trying to use my words here, but you have exactly one minute to understand what I’m saying before I have to get creative-”

“Are you saying that you-”

“Yes-”

“Still want me?”

“I never stopped,” Alex reached for Michael’s hand, stilling the rapid clicking. “I came here because I wanted to be honest with you. It occurred to me that somewhere along the line, those meetups for coffee had basically become the most important part of my day. I … I was turning them into dates in my head. With you.” He licked his lips, his eyes drifting down to Michael’s mouth, causing Michael to bite his own lip in response. The anticipation between them thickened, until Alex groaned softly, his head briefly ducking toward Michael’s. “In the past, I’ve been guilty of thinking we were on the same page, and we weren’t, so I’m- Michael, I will still be your friend no matter what, but I want-”

This time, Michael didn’t let him finish and closed the scant distance between them on the bed to kiss Alex. The laptop fell to the side of their legs as Alex surged into it, pushing Michael down flat on the mattress in his eagerness. Michael opened for Alex, letting him have whatever he wanted and buried his fingers in the soft, black hair as they traded kisses.

Suddenly, a bubble of laughter burst from Michael’s chest, the lightness of the situation that felt almost too good to be real spread through his veins. “Oh my god, you brought me coffee to tell me that getting coffee together wasn’t just getting coffee for you, Alex-”

“Shut up!”

“You need a new job, nothing in intel, sweetheart-”

“I am, I did, that is.” Alex lifted his eyebrow at Michael’s too-still pause before he sweetly brushed the long stubborn curl out of Michael’s face, “Done with the Air Force as of next month.”

“Fuck me.”

“I can do that too.”

#malex fic #getting back together #this was supposed to be 5 sentences #malex #roswell new mexico #mention of forlex #malex is endgame #jule1122

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supportivespaceforsurvivors · 3 years

Note

is this Devyn's blog?

hey anon, i'm sorry it took me so long to respond to this; between insomnia, work, my birthday, and other personal issues (along with accidentally deleting my initial response in a sleep-deprived lapse of judgement..), i've been pretty low on energy - but hopefully i'll be feeling better soon?

as for your question, it isn't a complete yes or no answer. yes, Devyn is a mod on this blog, and yes, he posts a lot; but nobody 'owns' this blog. all mods are equals; both in the literal sense that we all have to have administrator privileges in order to answer asks, and also that we rely on each other to help with anything we post. we're all human, and as such, we know that we have weaknesses and blindspots; as a team, we talk to each other to help smooth over some of those wrinkles to help y'all the best ways that we can - so even when one specific person's name is put on a post, more often than not, we have all contributed in some way. the reason that Devyn answers things more often than the rest of us is because he simply has a lot more time and energy than the rest of us do, and trying to write a whole response ourselves can be exhausting when you are already low on energy; but conveying our thoughts or opinions to each other for someone else to weave into a post takes a lot less energy. as such, the rest of us on the mod team really appreciate that Devyn is able to answer more often! its not that Devyn is more committed or holds more power than the rest of the mods, just that he's been more available to answer things recently.

and as a side note: we got another ask somewhat along this line of thought, but it mentioned the name of someone who made personal posts on their personal blog - and since i don't want to risk 'calling them out' (for lack of a better term), i don't feel comfortable posting that ask, so i'm adding my response to it here.

i want to start off by saying, we do appreciate when people bring up concerns that they have! giving us feedback on things that might make you uncomfortable or bother you helps us learn how to better help y'all. without feedback, we kinda just assume that we're doing alright - so encourage anyone to give us constructive feedback (i.e., dont just say something like "i dont like [thing] about mod x, fix it" - give us suggestions on how to best fix it!) if something we do bothers you! we wont be upset; you mentioning how we can better help you means that you do care about us, and we would never get upset at y'all for that. and, as such, we do really appreciate that you brought up your issues with us! genuinely our only issue was the fact a specific person was named (which really isnt even an issue - telling us who made the posts helped us find the posts, since we hadnt previously known about them) and we just don't want to inadvertently cause problems for them. we really dont think you had meant to purposefully cause strife, so please dont think we're upset with you!

as for your ask, i get why you would feel that way. Devyn tends to answer a lot and doesn't cushion his answers as much as some of us do, but it isn't due to him not caring or simply wanting the inbox empty - Devyn does care a lot about answering things well, he just prefers to get to the point rather than writing out giant walls of text. rather than try to explain things for Devyn, i'm gonna let him finish up the post by explaining his method for answering asks - i dont want to accidentally say anything that isnt true, but i can guarentee that Devyn does care. if he didn't care, he wouldn't still be here - he does care for all of you, and he does want to help! if he didn't, he wouldn't be putting in the effort that he has been to change how he responds to things in a way that won't upset or trigger people, and he wouldn't put in the effort to try and get input from the rest of us mods. please, do let us know if there's anything else we can do moving forward to help things feel less bad for you. we don't want anyone to feel like they cant be helped or that we dont care for them.

mod berry 💗

---

Hey anon.

I wanted to make sure I also answered this in case you were looking for an answer from me directly.

Originally I had a few paragraphs here essentially echoing what Berry said, but it felt too repetitive and I ended up cutting it out.

We had another ask that we mentioned we're tacking the response to on here. I'm going to copy-paste some of the text from it for context since y'all obviously haven't (and won't) see it, so that my response makes sense:

[...] we wrote in and got a quick response from Devyn whereas previously we got really detailed responses from other mods. It felt like Devyn just sees it as a rush to clear the inbox and not work with other mods. And now this blog feels like his exclusively.

I want to start by saying I understand how how I was pretty much the only one who answered anything during September made you feel like this blog is mine exclusively, but I assure you that's not the case - it just happened to be a particularly shitty month for all the mods here. While those issues haven't disappeared, we should have more availability to answer asks currently.

Secondly, something I think will be helpful is if I walk you through the process of how I answer an ask. I was going to use this one to do that and then proceeded to get distracted and forgot and answered it, so here's a fake example ask. Let's say this ask comes in:

Let's say the question is something any of us can answer easily, like, "How many followers do you have?" That's an easy question and we can all look at our follower count and give you a number. So I click answer.

I always start answering genuine asks with some sort of greeting. Usually "Hey anon," is my go-to. Then the answer. "Oh, we have this many." Then I'll end with a well-wish and my name. Easy enough.

I think part of the issue is that if people ask yes or no questions (like "is my trauma valid?") I'd rather say something short in response, like, "Yes, your trauma is valid regardless of what it is," and sign my name than waste our readers' time and my breath answering with extra words. I just don't see the point in using more words than I need to. I try very hard to make it clear, especially in shorter responses, that I'm not trying to be hostile and am actively aware of my tone. Some answers have more words in them because I always try to make sure to explain what I feel could be misunderstood and that's not always easily done in one or two sentences.

Another thing that might be part of the issue is that Berry, for example, tends to answer asks by grouping paragraphs after which they hit enter only once, and I hit enter twice to start a new paragraph. That doesn't mean Berry's answer has any more actual content in it than mine does, it just might look like that because the format ends up looking more dense in Berry's answer.

Anyway, if someone feels like they want to answer a certain ask but doesn't have the spoons, they can save it with their name to the drafts, which is where a lot of our unpublished asks live. It's like the purgatory of the ask box, because sometimes I put an ask there and sometimes I only think about it. 😬

Asks that go to our drafts aren't ignored, that's just sort of a transition period. If the ask is slightly more complicated, we usually discuss it first in the mod Discord - which you guys obviously can't see. Sometimes if we collaborate on an ask, whoever sees it in the ask box first is the one who ends up answering it, but not always. But we usually just sign those with a single name for sake of ease. If we put all the names of all the mods who contributed any thought to an ask, most of them would have all of our names on them. Also, it's not necessarily accurate to sign my name to an ask if all I'm commenting on is the tone of an ask. Sure, I technically contributed, but I didn't say anything helpful.

If multiple people have thoughts on an ask, usually what we do is one person answers it and the others reblog with their thoughts. This ask is an exception because last time we answered an ask specifically about me that way, it escalated the situation, and we're trying to avoid that.

If none of us know how to answer an ask, we'll usually publish it for our followers' input after a week. I try to follow up about asks that are in drafts pretty often, so usually they don't sit there for a month, but like we've said multiple times, this month has been a bit of an outlier for all of us.

So essentially what I'm saying is that just because you don't see active ask collaboration happening doesn't mean it's not. It all happens in the Discord and, unless you're also a mod in our server, you're not going to see that discussion happening.

Hopefully this helps with the misunderstandings.

Mod Devyn

#ask #answered #mod devyn #anonymous

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shorkbrian · 3 years

Text

ASKS

Hello again, asks are compiled under the cut. Please block the tag #shorkbrian answers a lot of asks# If you’d prefer not to see these types of posts from me. If I haven’t answered your ask, it’s because I’m saving it for a thirst, drabble, or fic.

I don’t ignore asks, but sometimes getting around to them overwhelms me lol. pls accept my apologies lol k here we go

I am very glad, I legit was so scared that it was too long and that it’d be disappointing bc the smut wasn’t super IN YOUR FACE yknow? But man am I glad to hear that.

I’m looking directly @ you

Someone noticed omg!!! A lot of times I just put whatever song I played on repeat while writing that fit, but I have a *yandere* playlist that I listen to and it gets me going. Ty for noticing!!!

I’ve considered opening them permanently but I just... idek. I’d have to start deleting or ignoring the requests I don’t vibe with and Idk how to handle that lol. But thanks for the well wishes, hope your next few months treat you well friend!

Watermelon sugar why

Srsly you’re sweet but just wait until I start to really get going with all my nasty kinks okay, then you’ll be rethinking this strategy hunty lol!

I literally stalk @.vermiliren and @.kazooli and @.seita lol. Maybe when I get my blog more cleaned up, I’ll create a list of creators that I enjoy, along with fic recs. For now, here’s a link to my AO3 bookmarks which I read one like almost every single night bc I’m a horny gremlin.

I am the shark king. Sharks are my thing bro u don’t even know. I love them so much, they're dumb and big and beautiful and yeah I wish I was a mermaid who got to swim with them. Also I changed it bc I’m trying to make my blog more *professional* and all that so I can start being taken seriously askjakjdf

Compliments suck, if I'm being down and out honest. This does not bother me at all, I’m just unsure how to respond. I think I would prefer no comments, but I’m trying really really hard to just say “thank you!” and move on before I get uncomfortable. Having to fight with someone about how I perceive my self worth is exhausting, and especially so for the poor person that was just trying to say something nice and be nice to me.

They do make me quite uncomfortable my dear lad/lassie/lasso. Say what you wish in the tags tho ! I don’t really reply to those, so there’s no pressure on me to have to say something back. I do however, see all the tags ppl use and some of them make me laugh so hard cause they’re so spot on, and it makes my day. like “Mark me down as scared AND horny” and “Bakugou better be able to bench 165 cause imma throw my fatass in his mf lap” and it kills me.

I SCEREAMED AKDHGSYDGASJSD this is the only format I'll be taking asks in now, no compliments just a yes/no answer to if my works help u cum god bless

you used the /gen!!!!! IDK what these are called but the /S and /gen and /J save my life!!!!

Frick you’ve figured me out, I do try to put like a nail-in-the-coffin sentence at the end. A lot of times it never works right, but I cannot for the life of my figure out how to end a single post ever. If anyone knows hmu pls ty

(Also ps I checked out ur blog cause yans are my jam and it is very much Not garbage!!)

That’s very kind of you, but pls don’t stay up past midnight it’s bad for ur Brian you’ll make bad decisions bro trust me all of my stuff is written after midnight

You will lafff..... but I will tell anyways..... I was prescribed a “life coach” after I got out of the hospital, which was really just a poorly disguised softcore “make sure u don’t yeet urself” type of thing. He had me write down things I liked about myself, and when I returned the sheet of paper still blank, he wrote stuff down for me. Like five sentences of “My hair and skin are unique and special” “I like animals and enjoy being kind to them” “I am worthy of respect” etc etc. and I had to look in a mirror twice a day and say those sentences to help “boost my self worth”. It sucked so bad dude, and I like got upset about it every time it came up, until finally my therapist was like “... this aint doin this sad bitch no good” and my parents got designated for yeet watch instead.

I know, logically, that (the majority of) people are not purposefully taking time out of their day to make me feel bad. They're trying to be encouraging and loving, and I appreciate it so much. But like... what do I say? If I say thanks, it’s almost like acknowledging what they're saying as true, and I can’t live with myself thinking I’m more than I am. I’m sorry you’ve had experiences that make compliments difficult for you also, I understand bro and I hope that your future holds healing and peace for you.

Hopefully I won’t vent as much anymore lol, I’ll try to do that on my sideblog where I reblog really trigger-y memes akjdafhkjf. But thank you for your kind words bro, they’re appreciated and put in a nice lil jar.

Ah dw! This doesn’t sound like a jab. I think all of us r so sad n depressed and feel unworthy of love, so the fantasy of a Yan coming and forcing it on us and not leaving even when we lash out is just..... so attractive my heads gonna explode

me, thinking about kiri at any given moment like:

I have the next Hybrid! Kiri fic like lined up, but I’m so demotivated be I was SO CLOSE to finishing, and then wiped my computer like an IDITO

Waso, I’m taking horseback riding lessons bc my mom went:

and my grandpa told me that one of his horses was named Awaso and I immediately thot of u fun fact. But you’re so very kind, and I enjoy seeing you in my inbox. I’m never tired of u homie. You are loved and important, and it’s not an illusion. Even random strangers on the internet can feel soft towards you bro, and dats me, I’m the random stranger that likes u.

So I took Russian for a year, my dear friend, because I wanted to see if the language myth of “Russian is the hardest, Korean is the easiest” was true. I would say yes. So instead of like translating this and typing out a coherent response, I’ve resorted to google translate I’m so sorry but Виктор мог плюнуть мне в глаз, и я бы поблагодарил его. Also, the way Vitya is written in cryllic makes my heart swell it looks so cozy idek what I mean by that but it does? I treasure you man, hope to see you around in the new year and maybe??? we be good friends

Can any year be good when Kirishima Eijirou doesn’t exist?

cryface;;sad.jpg

I just imagine anyone who comes across my stuff, sitting at their computer shocked and slightly horrified, maybe turned on like

Daddy Aizawa makes me

Wait!! I have something to aid your troubles!!

ur welcome now u can be horny whenever you’d like

pls every time we talk about Kirishima I have to act surprised like

LISTEN BBYGORL I have had therapist Suga in the works since *checks notes* November. I am excited for it yeahhhhhh but sadly, I don’t think I will be continuing piano teacher Suga. The story is petered out in my mind, idk where it would go. Therapist sugarbird tho? We have some thots about this. Coming soon to theaters near you

#shorkbrian answers a lot of asks #pls block that tag if you don't want to see these kinds of posts #inbox was getting fulll #tysvm for continuing to support me

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fyeahnix · 3 years

Text

Title: Puppy Love - Part 1 Pairing: Bangalore/Wraith (Voidstrike) Other Characters: None Rating: General Audiences Words: 1875 Prompt: None Other Tags: Cute, Oblivous, Crush, Dogs, Flirting, Friendship Summary: "If Wraith had nothing better to do, she'd be lying under the air conditioning back at her apartment. But here she is out in the eternal Solace summer and misery, sans scarf, in shorts and a tank top ready to start her evening workout routine. ...Or she would have been if she hadn't received the oddest text from Anita. She stares at her phone now, rereading the messages exchanged only an hour ago."

If you like it PLEASE REBLOG. You can read it here or on AO3, via the link found in the notes of this post. Please read on AO3 if you prefer correct formatting!

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It's hot as hell out right now. The evening air is humid, a sticky and suffocating mess of sweltering heat, moisture, pollen, and biting insects. And the people? Running around and playing under the setting sun with their kids and pets, some visibly glistening with sweat. It's gross. If Wraith had nothing better to do, she'd be lying under the air conditioning back at her apartment. But here she is out in the eternal Solace summer and misery, sans scarf, in shorts and a tank top ready to start her evening workout routine.

...Or she would have been if she hadn't received the oddest text from Anita. She stares at her phone now, rereading the messages exchanged only an hour ago.

hey

meet me at the park at 6? got someone I want you to meet

Sure?

It's 6:05. She's sitting on the top of a park bench cooking in the heat, and Anita is nowhere to be found. Great. It's a fairly random text as it is, and Wraith doesn't see why Anita needed to meet now. She knows this is Wraith's time to work out.

Who on Solace is this important? Better yet, who is this person at all? A new friend? Couldn't be. Anita's fairly closed-off, doesn't make friends that quickly or easily. Getting comfortable around the other Legends was enough of a chore. Could it be a significant other, girlfriend maybe? Well, she hopes not. The thought tugs her insides. Of course, she'd be happy for Anita, but…

Whatever. It's not that serious. Whoever it is must be important enough for Anita to meet up with Wraith specifically. Wait, was she the only person asked? Anita doesn't normally send group chats, though. But… no one else is here and it's 6:07. Ugh, god, she's thinking too much about this and this weather isn't helping and it's getting harder to breathe with the nervous lump stuck in her throat-

"Hey! Come back here! Sentry!"

Anita?

Wraith turns, eyes widening as a massive black ball barrels towards her at full speed on four legs. She throws her arms up to protect herself as Anita yells again.

"Sentry, sit!"

Nothing knocks into her, and when Wraith lowers her arms, she makes eye contact with a rather large black dog not five feet away from the park bench. It's stopped in its tracks, large ears and tail standing at attention, as its face twists in a confused expression. It bows, butt in the air and tail wagging before lying down in the grass, wet tongue hanging loosely from its mouth.

Anita ambles up to the canine and kneels to clip on the leash that's wrapped around her fist. When she stands, she half-smiles in apology and leans forward with an arm outstretched.

Wraith dismounts the bench to accept the quick hug. The woman smells good, a familiar cologne gracing Wraith's senses. It's better than the heavy stench of outdoor humidity, that's for sure.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. This little knucklehead can't keep still today." Anita unravels the leash twice from her fist, relaxes. She huffs, lifting the hem of her tank top to wipe sweat off her forehead.

"I, uh-" Wraith's eyebrows raise ever-so-slightly at the welcome sight, but she doesn't allow her eyes to linger. "Didn't know you were a dog sitter."

Anita smirks, this time mischievous and lopsided. "That what you think?"

"I suppose. By the way, where is this person I'm supposed to be meeting? Is it a secret girlfriend I don't know about? Gonna pop out from behind a tree somewhere?"

Anita laughs and shakes her head as she kneels next to the dog. "First off, I don't have a girlfriend. Not yet anyway. And secondly, I never said it was a person, Wraith."

"Then- wait. When did you get a dog?"

The animal in question tilts its head at Wraith like it understands and objects to every word she says. Anita pets it, rubs it on the head and coos at it with praise before she responds. It's oddly cute. And very unexpected.

"His name's Sentry. Got him a couple months ago. Didn't wanna spill about it because I wanted some time to get used to him. And I… wanted you to meet him first."

Wraith's belly flutters at the statement. But her out of everyone they know?

She kneels next to Anita and studies the dog. Sentry's much bigger up close than she thought. He's covered in a shiny coat of short fur, solid black all over, and his pointed ears stand at attention, flicking this way and that to take in the sounds of people walking by. His eyes are a nice shade of light brown, intelligent but unfocused on anything in particular. The dog who very nearly knocked her over mere minutes ago lies relaxed in the grass without a care in the world.

"Rescue dog?"

Anita nods half-heartedly. "In a way. Got some people I know back on Gaea. Said some of their dogs failed police training and were up for adoption. This little guy couldn't stay out of trouble."

"Little? Bang, he's huge."

"Yeah, he is," Anita laughs. "First family couldn't handle his size with their kids. Apparently, he grew faster than they could keep up with. Second person couldn't deal with his temperament."

Wraith purses her lips. "Third time's the charm, I'd hope."

"Heh, yeah. It will be. Two months in, and I'm already in love with him. He's almost two. Still actin' like a damn puppy, but, god, I love him," Anita sighs, exhales, and Wraith's heart tugs at the pure emotion emanating from the woman's voice.

Wraith sits on the edge of the bench, crossing her legs. "Didn't quite take you for an animal lover."

"I think that's a stretch," Anita chuckles. "We had dogs growing up when I was a kid. Military household. Strict but fair. But… we all let our guards down for the pups." Anita moves to sit next to Wraith, leans forward to rest her arms on her knees. She stares out into the park, watching crowds of people bask in what's left of the sun. Sentry gets up as well and lies back down in front of her, panting. She loosens the leash again. "We had two of 'em.

"Two big boys. Angelo was a mutt. Probably an Australian Cattle Dog and Great Dane mix from what we could tell, maybe a little Pit in 'im, too. Loyal as hell. Healthy dog. Ghost was a German Shepherd. Same as this boy." She nods towards Sentry. "Pure white. A bit of a troublemaker, if anything, but still good. Me and Ghost… same age. Inseparable." She pauses, laughs a little, wistful. "I had a connection with that dog. Still do on some level. He died old, when we were fourteen. Right before my bro-"

She stops and scrunches her nose, screws her eyes shut for two seconds. "You know what? Nevermind. Not important."

Wraith doesn't know what to say. Anita doesn't make eye contact. Whatever she hesitated mentioning must have been too personal to share. Understandable.

"Anyway. I'm glad I brought him home. He means a lot to me. And I'm… glad you met him, too."

Why her, though? Sure, they're friends, have hung out plenty. They've had rounds at the firing range before matches, developed duos tactics together, gone out for celebratory dinner after wins and whatnot. She's sure Anita's done that with… everyone, right?

She can't imagine she's any more or less of a friend to Anita than any of the other Legends. Anita and Witt talk frequently enough. She and Ajay also hang out sometimes. Hell, she's even gotten drinks with Octavio when he can sit down for long enough. Why Wraith?

When Wraith shifts in her seat, Sentry focuses on her, rising to walk towards her. His tail wags behind him as he drags his wet, leathery nose across her arms and over her thighs. He shakes, tail flailing even harder. She can't help but crack a small smile and hover a hand over his head, which he sniffs enthusiastically.

"You can pet him if you want. Promise he won't bite," Anita says.

Wraith nods and lowers her hand to Sentry's head. She rubs him, scratches him on the forehead and behind the ears with short nails. His tail calms, and he shuts his eyes as he sits back on his haunches.

"You're a good boy, aren't you?"

He nods, tongue lolling as if agreeing as she rubs both ears with her hands.

Wraith smiles and turns to Anita. "Not to brag, but I think he might actually like me."

"Heh. Guess that makes two of us."

Wraith raises an eyebrow. She stops petting Sentry, and he whines, nudging her arm. The comment is slick and unexpected, typical Anita, but…

"I-"

"You, uh- you busy tomorrow? Thought maybe we could grab coffee or lunch or something."

That's why.

Wraith chuckles and smiles as her cheeks burn at the Voices from the Void. She gives Sentry a few thorough rubs on his cheeks. "I… actually am-"

Anita wipes a stray bead of sweat from her temple. "Oh. Well don't worry about it. Maybe some other-"

"-But. Let me… clear my schedule. I don't think it'll be a huge deal to move some meetings around tomorrow. Maybe you can bring Sentry along."

Anita finally turns to gaze at her. There's a subtle smirk gracing her features, that usual Bangalore bravado emanating from her. It's attractive, no lie.

"All right, I got you. I got a couple places in mind."

"Looking forward to it."

Anita rubs the back of her head with her leash hand as she lets out a short laugh and stands. "Well, I won't keep you. I gotta give this boy a walk so we can get out of this heat."

Sentry whines then barks once. Loud boy.

Wraith rubs him for the last time before she stands too. "Yeah, I better get to my workout. See you tomorrow?"

Anita opens up for another hug, which Wraith gladly accepts. "Yeah. I'll text you later."

This hug's tighter than the last, sets Wraith on edge a bit, but she doesn't want to pull away. Anita's bare, muscular arm feels good wrapped around her shoulders, her body warm in a way that stamps out the suffocating humidity. She can get used to this.

When the woman pulls away, she salutes Wraith and tugs on Sentry's leash to lead him away.

...Okay, so maybe Wraith's a little excited about tomorrow. And maybe she's been looking at Anita a bit… differently lately. It's nothing bad, right? The woman's tall and attractive and her personality is the type to simultaneously make Wraith roll her eyes and draw her in. She's charming, alluring, knowledgeable, helpful, and ten thousand other words Wraith can substitute. It'd be foolish to not give this a chance, wouldn't it?

She bites her lip, clutching her phone in her hand as she watches Anita fade into the distance. She needs to go workout and focus, but that'll be hard waiting in anticipation of tomorrow's lunch date. She doesn't think she'll sleep well tonight, if at all actually, but she'll certainly try, Solace heat be damned.

#Apex Legends #Bangalore #Wraith #Anita Williams #Renee Blasey #Voidstrike #writing #nix fics

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phati-sari · 4 years

Note

Hey PS I was wondering if you could give some tips on editing? I know that everyone has a slightly different process that they go through and I was really interested in knowing yours since your stories always have little to no grammatical or spelling errors! Thanks!

Hello!

I’m flattered that you would ask me!! Thank you very much for the confidence boost :)

I began a series of posts on my writing process years ago, but it felt weird to continue it. You can read it here – Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Editing tips were to be the next post so maybe this can be Part 4 :) Sorry about the long post -- I tried to put a cut here but it screwed up the entire post by somehow adding the read more link to the ask itself? (Tumblr is drunk?)

‘You might not write well every day, but you can always edit a bad page. You can’t edit a blank page.’ – Jodi Picoult

1. Time

No one wants to hear it, but the editing process needs time. The best thing would be to leave the piece alone for so long that when you return to it, it reads like something new. It’s not always possible but it’s undoubtedly the best thing. The term “fresh eyes” applies here.

The next best thing is to take a break – a few hours or a few days – and come back to it.

2. Start big and work towards the small

Don’t focus on spelling and grammar first.

Most people find it easiest to write dialogue, so write that first.

Come back and work on plot and structure. Play around with what happens and in which order.

Then work on action and emotion (what is everyone doing or feeling while speaking?).

Once that’s done, focus on the words.

3. Be ruthless

Cut anything that’s not working. Sometimes, your first and second drafts are just warm-ups for the final thing. It sounds demoralising but I promise it helps.

4. Read the sucker out aloud

This is especially useful if you haven’t got the time to take a long break between writing and editing – you know what you meant to write and sometimes you just can’t see the errors. When we read, the brain naturally fills in gaps and auto-corrects words. It’s our pattern recognition skills coming to the forefront. Very helpful in an escape room, not so useful when editing. Reading aloud helps you hear the missing words, the repetitions, the things that just don’t sound or feel right.

5. Check the tense and point of view

I spoke about tense changes in the second part of the series. Basically: pick a tense and POV and stick to them.

I always write in past tense, which means I have to be careful when I’m writing memories or flashbacks. I take extra care that these portions sound more ‘in the past’ than the action.

6. Less is more

Here are some things I look for while I’m editing:

Remove instances of “that” and “had”: Read a sentence, and then read it again without the “that” or “had”. If it still makes sense, get rid of the extra word. If in doubt, leave the word in.

For example:

Khushi said that she knew where Arnav’s laptop was.

Avoid sentence structures featuring “that that”.

For example:

She told him that that idea had come to her as she’d been watching a serial. She told him that she’d been watching a serial when the idea had come to her.

Remove unnecessary modifiers – find a better word: Look for words like “very”, “really”, “so”, and “quite” and replace them and the word they modify with a better word.

For example:

Arnav was so angry furious when he learned Khushi had washed his laptop with soap and water.

Look for redundant words and phrases : First (and second and third) drafts are often full of redundant words. Spotting them is a skill!

For example:

Tears fell from her eyes when Khushi realised she hadn’t helped by washing his laptop.

(Where else would tears fall from?)

I was only trying to help, Khushi thought to herself.

(You can’t think to others unless you’re telepathic.)

This is also where I’d look for someone putting down a book twice, entering or exiting a room twice, someone having three hands, that sort of thing. A common mistake I see is Khushi putting her hand on Arnav’s shoulders. She can’t put one hand on both shoulders, not unless she’s anatomically very different from what was shown in the serial.

Look for passive sentences and make them active: Passive sentences create a barrier between your reader and the actions or emotions of the characters. Sometimes this is exactly what you’re trying to do – keep them detached – but usually you want your readers right there with the characters.

For example:

The laptop was washed by Khushi. Khushi washed the laptop.

Sometimes, it’s a two step process:

The phone was picked up by Payal. Payal picked up the phone. Payal answered the phone.

That’s a personal preference – if I can say it with one word then I won’t use two:

She turned around spun to face him. He was sitting down on the bed.

This leads to an interesting problem. Just this week a reader told me that I use “such hard words to understand” and that they were “googling every minute to know the actual meaning of words”. The word in question, apparently, was “swivelled”, which I’d used instead of “turned”.

Take my advice with a huge grain of salt!!

You need cadence and rhythm: Short sentences have impact. Longer sentences help you build your world and characters. Join sentences together or break them up, see what works.

She spun to face him. He was sitting on the bed. She spun to find him sitting on the bed.

My writing style is economical. This is not always a good thing: I’m often told my updates are short :( But I’m not inclined to take 2500 words when 1800 will do.

6. Check for words/phrases you like using

I overuse “gaze” and “eyes”, I talk about the pulse too much, and I forget to talk about what people’s hands are doing. It’s a learning process.

7. Check for repeated words.

This one only stands out after multiple re-reads, but I try not to use words twice in one update. In this sentence, I used small twice and didn’t need “looking” to describe what he was doing:

Earlier, as he’d rummaged in the wardrobe looking for night clothes, a small yellow notebook had fallen between his feet with a small thud.

8. Check spelling and grammar

I’ve added “Arnav”, “Khushi”, “Jiji” and many other words to the dictionary of my computer. That way, the chance I’ll publish something with “Anrav” or “Kushi” is lowered.

Sometimes, the spelling and grammar check misses things – you’ve written then instead of the – this is where read out aloud comes in very handy. Other things, like the difference between principal and principle, are harder. Grammarly is free and works with Chrome. It picks up a lot of these things and I use it for all my stories.

9. Check your formatting

Are italics and bolding applied consistently? (I use italics for Hindi words but don’t use them for titles in Hindi)

Is everything aligned the same way?

Don’t use ellipses (…) instead of full stops (.)

10. Change the font or the font-size

Sometimes, our eyes or brains become used to where words fall in a sentence or paragraph. If you change the font or the font-size suddenly things fall into different places and you can find the errors more easily.

I draft in Scrivener but I always paste everything into Wattpad and Tumblr as a way of checking. The difference in font-size and paragraph width (margins) of both platforms helps me pick up errors.

Thanks for asking :) I hope that helps!!

#mywritingprocess #ipkknd #iss pyaar ko kya naam doon #Writing tips #advice: writing #answered #anon ask

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vertanimeni · 4 years

Text

the ice will start to break, the day will fade away (8/18)

Summary:

“Have you heard? The Elephant of Caocin has committed high treason!”

From Trikru’s most reputable war hero to Trikru’s most wanted traitor, Kova found themselves stripped of their titles and trapped between a clan that wants them dead and a camp of invaders - the same ones who kidnapped and tortured their brother.

But Kova was willing to do anything to stay alive and keep their family together.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake/Grounder OC

Word Count: 4,007

TW: Canon typical violence, virus outbreak/illness

A/N: Hello friends!! I’m in the middle of finals week, so I won’t be able to work on CH 9 just yet. I should be back in action by next week, so wait for me and I’ll yeet Kova right back at y’all. If you’re reading through my blog, the read more does not show up due to Tumblr’s new formatting, so please click on the post itself. I’ll be updating every other day at 12pm EST. Enjoy!!

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viii. illness.

The fear of grounders and the strange unknown past the safe walls of the dropship was enough reason for the delinquents to pull their weight around camp. That was how Bellamy developed a routine for their camp to survive, to thrive — one group cut the wood, another group used the good wood to build the walls, and another would use the bad wood to control designated campfires, while another group would bring back buckets of water to the camp to boil. Etc, etc. Since Bellamy was the only adult in the entire camp, the delinquents listened to him.

Until he brought back the grounder.

Well, he didn’t want to bring back the grounder. Octavia and Raven had sneaked them in. All Bellamy did was carry them to camp until they went batshit crazy and attacked him. And, no offense to Wells, but he only carried them because he wanted to get back to camp as soon as possible, preferably without arrows in his back. Wells was far too slow, and Bellamy still remembered the way his knees trembled under their weight, ready to give out at any moment. Bellamy couldn’t blame him — when Octavia transferred the grounder’s body on his back, he felt as if he were Atlas carrying the world on his back.

Needless to say, Bellamy had woken up the next day sore in muscles he didn’t know he had.

Don’t get it twisted, though. It wasn’t like the delinquents would ignore him or anything of the sort. But now some of them would hesitantly say they would do it later, and the bolder ones would straight up say they have too many chores on their plate.

One choice, one grounder, and suddenly his reputation changed. Bellamy didn’t know if the delinquents were losing faith in him as their leader, or worse, thought of him as soft. His hands clenched into fists at the idea of being gentle with a grounder.

And if that weren’t enough, the one night he went out with the Exodus scavenger group, there had been a conflict between Harper and the grounder. He thought he had been specific enough with the guards, but not enough, he supposed.

“Don’t let them out of this tent for whatever reason.” Bellamy told the guards. “If you have to use force, do so. If you have to tie them up to the bed, do it.”

The moment he and Clarke had been informed what happened, he prepared for another round or two of arguing, but to his surprise, not only Clarke and Octavia defended the grounder, Monty did as well.

“As much as Jasper’s my bro,” Monty sighed, shaking his head, “he was being a real dick about the situation. So was Harper.”

One grounder shaped headache turned into a Murphy shaped migraine, with his sudden appearance and capture while they were gone. And if that weren’t enough, Murphy had also brought a disease with him. Derek practically coughed up a lung before he died in the dropship, surrounded by a pool of his own blood, and Bellamy could only stare at his body while Clarke poured alcohol in his hands.

“Bellamy!”

He startled, shaken out of his thoughts. “Mmh. Sorry. What do you think we should do?"

“Quarantine. It’s the only way.” Clarke turned to Finn and dumped the rest of the alcohol on his hands. “Round up everyone who had contact with Murphy and bring them here.”

Finn wordlessly nodded and ran off. Bellamy looked back at Clarke. “What about everyone they had contact with?”

“Well, we have to start somewhere.” She responded, facing Connor on the floor. “Connor, who was with you when you found him? Who carried him in?”

The boy took a deep breath, still unnerved that he could die at any moment because of this disease. “F-First one there was O-Octavia.” He managed to stutter out.

Bellamy wished he hadn’t.

Clarke’s voice barely registered in Bellamy’s mind as he sprinted out of the drophip to find his little sister.

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Lying on their stomach, arms crossed under their pillow, drool pooling beneath their cheek, Kova woke up with one instinctual thought screaming out a warning.

‘Someone is inside my tent.’

The hair on the back of their neck pricked up. A ripple ran across the fabric of the tent. Definitely not Octavia or Clarke, based on the heavy and uncertain footsteps entering the tent. Definitely not Wells — he wouldn’t sneak into their tent in the first place.

No, whoever this may be, they wore heavier boots.

The conflict last night came to mind, with two faces at the forefront. Jasper and… Harper, was it? Although they couldn’t remember what the two gunners wore last night, Kova couldn’t think of anyone else who would willingly enter their tent, regardless of intentions.

While this certainly wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to kill them in their sleep, Kova had no intention of making it their very last time, either.

Acting as if they had been disturbed in their sleep, they shifted and rolled onto their side, grumbling bleary nonsense, and strategically placed their hand by the pile of clothes. The footsteps had stopped when Kova moved, then resumed a few moments after Kova stilled.

The footsteps approached their bed, heavier, determined.

Snatching a dagger from the pile of clothes and holsters, they flipped the handle and swung their arm back at knee-level. Just before the knife tore out a tendon, Kova caught a glimpse at the intruder’s face and stopped the swing just before the point could prick at Bellamy’s skin.

Startled at the sudden attack, Bellamy took a step back far too late if Kova had gone through with their attack. Irritation passed over his features, face tightening. All he wanted was to find his sister for fucks sake, not get shanked in the leg by some grounder. "What do you think you're doing?"

Losing momentum from the swing, Kova flopped back onto the bed and face planted into their pillow. “Tch, shouldn’t I be asking you that?” They grumbled out as they pushed themselves up. “What made you think sneaking up on me would be a good idea?”

“Wasn’t trying to.” His eyes narrowed. “How did you get a weapon?”

Kova notably froze, muscles tensing, before they relaxed and the lie easily slipped off their tongue, “Stole it. Your guards aren’t very good at guarding.”

That seemed to spark an angry fire behind Bellamy’s eyes, but before he could rise to their bait, he shook his head. “No, you know what? We’re not doing this right now. Where’s Octavia?”

“A-Oct?” They whipped their head towards him in shock. “Why? Did something happen?”

“The fuck did you just call her?”

“It’s a nickname, relax. I haven’t seen her since last night. You didn’t answer my question.”

“One of ours came back yesterday — Murphy. Your people infected him with something and sent him here. One of the guards just died from it and the one that survived said Octavia had first contact with Murphy.”

‘Ah. That name. Lincoln mentioned it before.’ Kova grabbed their clothes wordlessly and tied their dreads back in a low bun. They swung one leg over the bed and used their hands to guide the injured leg to follow.

“What are you doing?”

They snapped their head up. Bellamy watched them with confusion written on his face. “What does it look like?” They didn’t bother with the armor and kept their undershirt on, pulling their jacket on top. “I’m going. You find Octavia, I’ll help Clarke or whoever with Murphy and the infected.”

“And who said you’re allowed to do all that?” His question came through gritted teeth.

“I did.” They stuck their feet into their pant holes and stood up, wincing at the stretch of both the bandage and the cut. They stepped closer to him as they tied off their pants around their hips. “What will you do, stop me?”

To his frustration and their satisfaction, they sent him an obnoxious smirk when their eyes met, and to top it all off, they bent over and picked up their boots that were next to Bellamy before sitting back on the bed, shoving their feet in. “Unless you want your little sister running off to my bad little brother for information.”

His jaw tightened. Bait caught, fish captured. With a resigned look, Bellamy gestured with his hand for them to hurry up. Kova looked down to tie off their boots, only for an open hand to appear in their sight. Bellamy twitched his fingers. They looked up at him, confused.

“Cough it up.”

“What?”

“What else? The knife.”

“Seriously?” They gave a sigh at his glare and reached behind, passing him the dagger. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice it didn’t belong to the invaders. He barely glanced at it before he tucked it beneath his belt—

“Clarke!!”

The two shot up. They glanced at each other briefly, wearily, before they left the tent. Kova left their mask behind.

The entire camp was in chaos — the delinquents ran around in a frenzy while their friends bled out of their eyes and ears. Some had already fallen to the ground, twitching every once in a while.

Kova cursed, watching the horrifying scene with wide eyes. They snapped out of it with a shake of their head and grabbed Bellamy’s arm. “Go find Octavia and bring her to your dropship. She has to get checked out ASAP.”

Bellamy didn’t need telling twice. He ran off and Kova made their way to the dropship. They pulled back the curtain and was hit with a wave of drying blood, vomit, and death. Suppressing a gag and a wave of memories, they pushed through and found Clarke.

“Kova,” Clarke turned around, the lower half of her face covered by a handkerchief. “You have to stay away, there’s an infection—”

“It’s alright.” They cut her off as they made their way through the first floor, throwing their jacket on top of stacked boxes, carefully making sure they didn’t step on outstretched hands or careless feet. “I’ve been infected with this virus at least three times already. If this strain hasn’t killed you all yet, then it certainly won’t touch me.” They glanced at a dead body at the side of the entrance, covered with a cloth. “Who’s patient zero?”

“Murphy. How did you know—?”

“Bellamy.”

Out of all the responses Clarke would have expected from Kova, Bellamy was not one of them. “You saw him?”

“He was looking for his sister.” They explained. “I can show you what symptoms to keep an eye on, but I need to see Murphy first. I’m no doctor, but I know every strain is different, so what I’ve seen before might not apply here.”

Clarke nodded and brought Kova to the very back of the first floor, where Murphy was resting in a corner, huddled in a blanket. Kova crouched in front of him, taking note of severe visible injuries. Some, unfortunately, very familiar. ‘Tortured. By who? The General?’

Before they could bring up their wounds, the curtains of the entrance flung to the side. Bellamy entered, holding a cloth to his face, dragging Octavia close behind him. The two bee-lined for Clarke.

Kova dropped their knee and turned around. “Clarke, if she’s not visibly sick then you need to look for swelling at the roof and the back of her mouth, her throat, and around the neck. Those are the most common symptoms of this virus.”

Behind them, Murphy stirred awake. Even through his bleariness, he recognized Clarke, Octavia, and Bellamy standing far in front of him, but the person crouched in front of him was unfamiliar. That already rang alarms in his head, seeing as no sky person would be unfamiliar to him. They all grew up with one another, after all.

If their strange clothing didn’t ring the alarm louder, then the tattoos traveling up their arm and the circular welts across the back of their shoulder did. Ice flooded his veins, and he was suddenly much more awake. He kicked out with his feet and pressed his back against the wall.

This, unfortunately for him, alerted whoever was in front of him. They turned and confirmed his suspicions when he saw five dots tattooed along their cheekbone. They turned back to Clarke.

Unfortunately for them, the damage was done. They unknowingly revealed themselves. This wasn’t your average grounder, this was—

“Elephant of Caocin!”

With just a phrase, the question on Kova’s tongue died and shriveled up along with them. Bellamy never thought he would see them with a look of pure fear. But there they were, eyes wide, mouth dropped, breath hitched and caught in their throat, hands trembling and fingers clenching into fists.

Before anyone could break the icy silence, Kova whirled upon Murphy. The boy was smart enough to scramble away from them against the wall, but he must have a death wish, because he actually laughed in their face! “Yeah, that’s right!” His voice was awfully confident for someone cowering away. “I know your dirty little secret, you fucking grounder. Your general and lieutenant had a lot to say about the Elephant of Caocin, the traitor of Tri— whatever the fuck your clan is called—”

“Murphy!” Clarke warned.

“—the scum of the Earth with five drops of ink across their cheek!”

Kova lunged forward, fist colliding across Murphy’s cheek in a satisfying punch. They would have thrown another if it weren’t for two arms linking under their armpits and dragging them away, even as they thrashed and cursed and kicked their legs. Murphy barked out a laugh, even with his cheek bright red and bleeding and his eye already swelling.

“Let. Go!” They hurtled their body away and pressed their hand against the wall, leaning for support, their breaths coming in quick short successions. They had been dragged behind a wall, a barrier between them and Murphy.

They felt the weight of a hand on their shoulder blade, the warmth seeping through their clothes. “…hey.”

“What, Bellamy.” They snapped, but they didn’t reject the touch.

“Murphy’s a dick—”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“—and he’ll do anything to get a rise out of someone.” Bellamy continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I don’t know what that shit was about, but don’t forget we’re here for Octavia.”

Their jaw and hand clenched, but Kova nodded, pushing themselves off the wall. They used the back of their hand to scrub their nose and sniffed before rising to their full height. “Right. You’re right. Octavia first.”

He pulled his hand away, and for a second too long, Kova wished he hadn’t. They shook their head and made their way back, shoulders tense. They snatched a group of tongue depressors from one of the tables and brushed past Octavia and Clarke, despite the girls' soft protests. Crouching in front of Murphy, who scrambled away from them, they said, “Open your mouth.”

“Why, will you torture me just like your little friends?” The boy sneered, but his voice wavered in fear.

“No. I need to see if you’ve gotten to the peak of the virus. Open your mouth.”

“Murphy, just let Kova check it out.” Clarke said as she checked Octavia’s throat with a flashlight.

“Since when were you friends with the grounders? Let alone scum like them.” Murphy tried cutting Kova with his words, only to be disappointed that they didn’t respond. Instead, they counted the tongue depressors in their hands and tied them up.

Clarke also ignored him with a roll of her eyes and explained Octavia’s evaluation. “Okay, we’re done here. No visible signs of swelling or bleeding.”

“So you’re saying she doesn’t have it?” Bellamy asked.

While the three talked, Murphy spat in Kova’s face. Luckily for them, they had a feeling he was planning on doing something incredibly stupid and had closed their eyes and mouth just in time.

Three audible gasps came from behind the two. Kova could hear Bellamy’s heavy boots stepping close.

To the trio's surprise, Kova wiped their face calmly with their hand and opened their eyes. No one expected the resounding smack across his face, the palm of their hand striking where they had punched him before, strong enough to send him sprawling across the floor.

He sat up, holding his cheek with a groan, and just as he opened his mouth to curse them out, Kova crudely stuck the stacked and tied tongue droppers between the right side of his teeth, forcing his jaw open. Murphy’s eyes widened in panic, and just as his hands scrambled to take the object out of his mouth, Kova grabbed both his wrists in one hand and held him down.

“Clarke.” The three sky people had never heard Kova’s voice so… frigid before. “Come here.”

Clarke glanced between the Blake siblings, unsure, before she approached slowly.

Kova took the flashlight and pointed it to various areas of Murphy’s mouth. “See here? The gums and uvula are always the first to swell, and so does the back of the throat. But since he already vomited, the swelling of the throat and uvula go down first. His gums might bleed, but otherwise, he’s well past the peak already. Not surprising, since he’s patient zero. You should find something similar with the others infected.”

They returned the flashlight and released Murphy’s hands. He tried pulling the tongue depressors out to no avail. He had the nerve to glare at Kova.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want the scum of the Earth touching you, right?” The sneer they sent him was no less than pure vengeance.

Clarke passed them a bottle of alcohol and a rag. They thanked her and wiped down their hands and their face. “Is there a cure?” The sky leader asked.

A shake of Kova’s head brought all their shoulders down in distraught. “The only cure is natural selection. The virus can rapidly evolve if there were enough people, but since there’s less than a hundred people here, we don’t have to worry about its evolution. If Murphy is already getting better, than it'll take two to three days for the virus to fully pass the camp.”

“So we just wait it out?” Octavia asked.

“Essentially, yes. Until everyone clears up.”

”Bellamy, do you want to stop the spread or not?” Clarke referred to the conversation and him were having before. She rubbed a finger into the side of her temple, trying to sooth the headache forming. The idea of quarantine was difficult in such a small space, but they would have to manage.

His gaze fell over Octavia. “She’ll get sick just being here.”

“Look, I’ll keep her on the third level with the other people who aren’t symptomatic just yet. Think of it as a way to stop her from sneaking out again.”

“Screw you, Clarke.”

Kova snorted. Octavia sent them a weak hearted glare.

Bellamy pointed behind his shoulder with his thumb. “I have to get the others to work on the wall. There might be another retaliation soon. Stay safe.” He looked at Kova. “You… We’ll have a talk later.”

Oh. Oh no. Their eyes widened ever so slightly. A resigned sigh passed their lips. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” Kova tugged the bottom of their shirt to wipe their face again. “If this is settled, I’ll go clean up and bring separate water for you guys.”

It wasn't a complete lie. They were going to get them water, after they get their weapons from whichever tent the invaders hid them in.

The two left the dropship together.

Just as Octavia placed a hand on the ladder, ready to head up in isolation, a hand stopped her.

Clarke leaned against the ladder, all her energy disappearing. “Octavia, wait. I need you to sneak out again.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

So Octavia snuck out on Clarke’s orders. She was a bit peeved that Clarke didn’t trust Kova—

(Although Clarke said “It’s not that I don’t trust them, but they can’t be our only source. Lincoln might know something they don’t.” But Octavia knew that was probably bullshit.)

—but at least this meant she could see Lincoln again. She just wished it was under better circumstances.

As soon as she arrived at the entrance of Lincoln’s home, she didn’t bother knocking and walked down the stairs and called out his name a few times. He had already been waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He hurriedly lifted the sides of her hair.

It took her a moment to realize what he was doing. Realization crossed over her face, and she couldn’t help but step away from him. “You knew.

It wasn’t a question.

His jaw clenched ever so slightly. “I tried to tell you, but you never came.“

“You were too late. I found the kid your people sent to infect us.” Octavia hissed out. “My people are dying, Lincoln. Clarke sent me here for a cure.”

“There is no cure.” His eyebrows creased. “Did Kova not tell you?”

Octavia’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, but Clarke wanted to know if you knew something they might not.” Anger bubbled inside her throat once more. “Wait, so you were just going to let my people die? You were going to let me die?”

“The sickness passes quickly.” Lincoln defended himself. “There are a few who are immune. We just use it to soften the battlefield. I’m not surprised you are one of the strong.” He placed a hand on her shoulder in pride, only for hurt to flash in his eyes when she pulled away from him.

“Battlefield? What are you talking about?”

“The warriors are attacking at first light.”

“You have to help me save them.”

“I can’t! I’ve tried already, and now my sibling is a fugitive and my people think we’re both traitors.”

“Why, because of the bridge? You were just trying to make peace!”

“It… It wasn’t just the bridge.”

Octavia looked down, recalling what Murphy had been rambling about before. “The boy — Murphy — he called Kova the Elephant of… cao-something. What was…” The question died on her lips at the look of horror across Lincoln’s face. “Lincoln?”

A shaky sigh passed his lips. “He what? How did he know?”

“He said a lieutenant and a general talked about them — that they were the scum of the Earth or something. Lincoln,” she placed a hand on his cheek, encouraging him to look at her. “What was that about?”

He leaned into her soft touch. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” He changed the subject abruptly. “I’m leaving, Octavia. Soon. I want you to come with me and Kova.”

She dropped her hand in shock. “To where?”

“There’s a clan - east to the sea, then across it. They’re allies of the woods but they’ll take us in, I personally know the leader. I’ve already sent a message to her asking for a safe passage.”

For her whole life she was stuck in the Ark underneath that cramped space and then stuck in a cell just for being born only until a few weeks ago. But now she had the opportunity to travel around the Earth freely? The idea was almost tempting. But thinking of her brother and her friends, she hesitated. “I… I can’t just let my brother get killed.”

“There’s nothing you can do about that now.”

“I can warn them.”

By the Gods, she was stubborn. It was one of the many traits he loved about her, but not at this moment. “Octavia, they will kill you. If you’re there at dawn—”

“I won’t.” She took a step back, heading towards the stairs. “Just wait for me here. I’m coming with you.”

“…wait.” Lincoln held her wrist with enough strength to make her pause, but gentle enough that she could break free if she wished. That was one of the many things she loved about him — he rarely grabbed her, nor did he try to manhandle her like others.

She leaned forward, placing a quick kiss on the side of his mouth, but then he turned his head, and the kiss deepened just for a moment until Octavia reluctantly broke it off first. “I’m coming back to you.”

“…I know.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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#Bellamy blake x oc #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy x oc #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake imagines #the 100 imagines #bellamy blake #the 100 #bellamy blake fanfiction #my writing #writeblr #wip fanfic #the night our stars aligned (and our breaths touched)

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violetosprey · 5 years

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Oh, sorry for not being specific. I was referring to your post titled "Good Endings for a Yandere." There was this part: Heck, there’s a manhwa with a male yandere happy ending that I love, but whenever I think about it I’m like, “Yeah in real life that guy should have gone to jail…a LOT.” I was wondering what manhwa you were referring to.

Oh! Thank you, I know exactly what you are talking about. I was a little nervous to admit it at the time, but the manhwa I was referring to was 100% Perfect Girl.

In case someone hasn’t heard of it, I should make something clear: This manhwa is a guilty pleasure of mine. I enjoy it because it’s one of the few fairly longer media (11 volumes) where the male yandere (Jarte) is actually one of the main protagonists. This is romance focused, but of course my favorite parts are when Jarte acts more antagonistic. Yes, the couple does end up together in the end as well.

I cannot guarantee that everyone is going to like this particular manhwa.

If you like warnings or want to understand a little more as to “why,” check below.

Again, like the quote in the answer here suggests, this IS one of those cases where the yandere does several things against the S/O’s will in an effort to keep her. Things that if they took place in reality, I’m going to go, “Nope! You’re out. You don’t get to be with her after that.” But I’ve said before time and time again that I can still let fictional events slide a little if I’m enjoying the characters and/or the story. Seeing character development and reflection is always a plus as well.

I suppose I don’t feel as traumatized about things happening to fictional characters than I do real live people (usually...The Kite Runner still left a scar with me, so I will understand if some people say “I can’t stand seeing my favorite characters get hurt”).

Jarte does force himself on the female S/O (Jay) at least once or twice in the later chapters for example. It’s not as graphically depicted as I’m used to seeing, but it’s pretty obvious it was unwanted. So if that’s a hard concept for anyone, keep yourself safe and give this a skip.

Otherwise, believe it or not I’ve seen yanderes act a whole lot more hostile than Jarte eventually does. Maybe that’s another reason why it doesn’t bother me as much.

Anyways, so why I call this a guilty pleasure is because it is genuinely one of the few LONGER yandere media I’ve found that’s also strictly focused on the yandere and the S/O. I really do have a hard time finding longer yandere media. It may also help that I like it best when Jarte’s being antagonistic in the later volumes. This probably shouldn’t surprise anyone here because I’ve always said I prefer “romance turned horror” yanderes. I still view Jarte as a pretty solid yandere overall. No guarantee he’s necessarily a character everyone will like, but just because you don’t like a character, doesn’t mean they aren’t a yandere. It’s the same vice versa, where liking a character doesn’t necessarily guarantee that they are a yandere. You have to look carefully at the character’s overall actions and motivations/emotions.

I did see genuine character growth and compromise in this story towards the end, so that’s another plus.

100% Perfect Girl is...interesting to say the least. I like the drama in the story (it is ENTIRELY drama). It is over the top sometimes, but I did find myself enjoying seeing how the two characters reacted to the same situation, and how they are affected as individuals with each aftermath. There’s a point in the story too where the characters are not together for awhile (I won’t spoil why), so that gives you another view regarding the relationship. The two main characters also do TALK a lot with each other regarding their relationship. Yes, there are significant points where they withhold thoughts or don’t speak their true mind. But eventually they always place their full thoughts and concerns on the table with each other. Communication is the key in any relationship after all.

The kicker here is...all of those points I just listed as to why I like this manhwa can also EASILY be the reasons why someone might HATE this story and/or characters. Especially with the talking. You may either like how they communicate with one another, or it may be done in a manner that drives you insane. It’s hard to explain. This manhwa feels kind of unique with how the characters interact...though I’m not sure why I feel that way either.

I had a friend I suggested this manhwa to and made sure to both warn them and apologize prior to them starting the story XD I believe they got through it all the way, and they did end up hating it. I apologized again after all was said and done, haha. They made good points though on their complaints, and then we had some fun coming up with different story scenarios where Jarte’s just the flat out antagonistic yandere, and the love interest for Jay was someone else. I’ll admit, I think the ideas they came up with were actually better than how 100% Perfect Girl played out. I would have read those :P What can I say? I liked Jarte being the bad guy the most.

As for whether the good ending Jarte and Jay get is believable and warranted...well I think that’s kind of up to the individual reader. If I told you different scenes that happened in various parts of the story, the viewer could say “yes” or “no,” but that wouldn’t be a fair judgement.

If you want to read the story and decide for yourself if you accept the two being together in a fictional format, my suggestion is you take into account the entire journey and character changes the protagonists go through. In other words, judge the story and characters as a whole if you’re going to give the ending a thumbs up or thumbs down.

That could either be a lot of fun for someone to do, or a nightmare honestly. Depends on how critical of a view you have and if you enjoy the kind of story it is to begin with.

I feel like I tried very hard here to make some kind of point, but I just ended up falling flat on my face. Oh well. Haven’t written any long yandere posts in awhile. I also just wanted to cover my bases prior before someone comes running back to me saying, “Violet you didn’t say THIS would happen?!” or “How on earth did you think I should have viewed these two as a valid couple?!”

They just end up together guys XD You can decide if you like that or not yourself.

On a side note, if you read 100% Perfect Girl and like it, you could try reading another one of Wann’s (the author’s) manhwa called Give to the Heart. Sadly, I never found a free way to read this one, but there are one or two characters in it you MIGHT classify as a male yandere (who are main characters). Between the two, I like 100% Perfect Girl better. So if you read 100% Perfect Girl and DON’T end up liking the story, I think I gave you the lesser of the two evils, haha.

Fun Fact: One thing I consistently hate about Wann’s work is that I can’t tell if the characters bite their lips a lot, or that’s just the style of how he draws them >_

#yandere #male yandere #100% perfect girl #Give to the heart #manhwa #wann #answer

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jaydeiswriting · 5 years

Text

11/11/11 Tag

Rules: Answer the 11 questions of the person who tagged you, make up 11 questions, then tag 11 people to answer them.

Sorry this took so long. I'm really bad at tag games, but I do love to participate. Thanks for tagging me! I was tagged twice, so I'm going to do both.

Tagged by @liesversusjournals

1. Are you a plotter or pantser?

Definitely more of a pantser. I find if I outline things completely, I don't enjoy writing the draft or feel compelled to finish it. I have a lot of fun unpuzzling plot when pantsing and have a strong enough grasp of story structure to still produce a coherent draft.

2. Do you write using a computer or pen and paper?

Honestly, I do a lot of writing on my phone. I always have it on me and I'm a horrible typer. I do use a laptop for formatting and later drafts and I like to brainstorm on paper, but I do quite a lot of work on google docs on my phone.

3. How much writing do you get done on an average day?

Oof. I usually write at least a paragraph or poem every day so that's about 100-200 words. It usually leads to around 500 words if I'm writing prose, but not always. If I really don't feel like writing, I just don't. Which has been a lot of days in the past few months.

4. Which present work(s) are you most proud of?

I'm proud of my short story "Baby's Breath" (now called "Breathe for Me") in which a woman gives birth to a child with flowers growing in their throat, obstructing their airway. It has a ways to go, but it's fairly solid in this stage. I'm also proud the poem "Dancing to Our Deaths" which is a conversation on voicelessness in times of struggle and utilizing body language and ASL to reclaim voice without verbal speech.

5. Which past work(s) are you most proud of?

Hm, I don't know. I am proud of myself for writing and finishing things but as I look back, I see so many flaws in works. I take it to mean I'm better now, so I'm most proud of my current work.

6. Which present work(s) are you the least proud of?

Some short stories in They Leave Your Bones Behind have yet to reach their full potential. "Luminous Spaces" is basically my favourite concept, but it's not in the right place as of yet. It can be super dynamic and complex, but it falls a little flat in this early draft. It will get better, I hope, in revisions!

7. Which past work(s) are you least proud of?

I've written some really crappy stories in my childhood. Now that I think about it, when I was maybe 12, I used a site called Miss Literati and wrote a really weird romance I think is very cringe. Glad to have finished that novel, but it's like just not good.

8. Which books/authors have influenced you most?

The authors that helped me realize I wanted to write as a kid: Beverly Cleary, Kate DiCamillo and Cecilia Galante. And the books/authors that have illuminated, even in the smallest way, the niche I'd like to fill and/or the stories I'd like to tell: Kirsty Logan, Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng, Jen Campbell, Spellbook of the Lost and Found by Moira Fowley Doyle, Delicate Edible Birds by Lauren Groff, The Astonishing Color of After by Emily X. R. Pan, and Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado.

9. Describe your writing process from when you get the idea to when it's polished.

It differs from project to project, but generally I don't really outline. I write a zero draft to grasp what the story's going to be. Then, I reread and take notes about what changes I'd like to make in draft one. I completely rewrite for that draft, then from there make mostly smaller changes. It can be a lot of drafts until it feels 'polished'.

10. How many drafts do you write until you feel satisfied with a project?

It can be a lot. Anywhere from 3 to like 10 drafts. Probably 10 if I'm honest. I could go on forever, but you have to eventually concede if it's the best you can do.

11. If you could re-visit and write in any shelved project, which one would it be and why?

I have this one novel idea I've been working on for so long that I just haven't understood how to write yet, so I shelved it. If I could figure out how to get the story out, I would 100% return to it. I really like the concept and it's a slightly dark litfic novel, so it's not out of my wheelhouse.

Tagged by @softwishesx

1. What's your favourite stage of the writing process?

I absolutely adore both developmental and line edits. The story really comes together for me and I feel closest to it at this stage.

2. What's your least favourite stage of the writing process?

This is going to sound weird, but drafting. It's not that I don't like it, I just prefer having a baseline to work off of, which is why I usually write quick 'zero drafts' to start with.

3. What would you say is your greatest strength as a writer?

I think I generally do pretty well at creating interesting conflicts and maintaining tension in a piece.

4. What would you say is your greatest weakness as a writer?

I worry that I use too much repetition and over-explain concepts, undercutting the intrigue of a story.

5. What have you learned about your writing in the last year?

A year and a half ago, a post-colonial lit class cracked open the magical realism genre for me. Since then, I've found my niche in writing. I really enjoy writing literary fiction with elements of magical realism, leaning often into gothic horror and fabulism. I also prefer to write short works rather than novels.

6. Is writing full time something you would like to do or is it more of just a side hobby?

Honestly, I don't know what career path to follow. I'd like to work in literature in some way, but writing fiction full-time may not be realistic or the best choice for me.

7. Would you ever write a semi-autobiographical book? If so, would you ever reveal that it is semi-autobiographical?

Essentially, this is the role poetry takes for me. It's not always based on a specific experience, but it's often true to my emotions, fears, desires, etc. I write in a confessional style, so it reveals itself. I have, however, feared people putting experiences on me that are not my own based on their readings of my poetry, so I think I would try to be quite clear where I could.

8. What's your 'I have to write in this otherwise everything is trash' font?

I have to write every major project in a different font. They all have their distinct voices and moods and personalities, so they have to be separate. A Mouthful of Cotton is written in Garamond and They Leave Your Bones Behind is written in Spectral. I also often use Georgia and Times New Roman.

9. Do you read books similar to your WIP for inspiration while drafting?

Yes, absolutely! I've been reading a lot of poetry while writing poetry and reading a lot of literary fiction and magical realism when I can lately.

10. How many people in your real life know that you're a writer?

Pretty much everyone. No one would be surprised if I locked myself away for a while to write. I don't talk about it a lot in my life though.

11. What's one of the best lines you've ever written?

Ooh, tough question. I don't think many stories I've written recently are quotable because they're pretty early drafts and older ones have drifted too far from my voice. Here are some:

"What point was there to a magic that only worked if you believed? In a God that did the same?

We were all already grieving. If healing worked like magic, it wasn't working at all."

- "Muñeca", They Leave Your Bones Behind

"The strung up bodies of so many women made a collective wailing; they moaned stretched cello notes in a minor key."

- "Flesh", They Leave Your Bones Behind

I tag: @hobywrites @futureauthor-mabye @wolvesofarcadia @writer-jessicac @atelierwriting @delphwrites @headspace-hotel @lend-your-lungs-to-me @mademoiselleink @teacupwriter (no pressure, of course!)

What is your ideal writing environment?

Do you have any writing rituals?

What's your favourite aspect of drafting?

How do you go about brainstorming and developing ideas?

What was the most recent thing you've been inspired by?

Rainy day writing inside or sunny day writing outside?

Which themes/topics are you most drawn to?

Do you read a lot in the genre(s) you write?

How would you describe your writing voice?

Which project gave you the most challenges? How did you overcome them?

Which project gave you the most enjoyment to write?

#tag game #writing tag #writeblr #am writing

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lilietsblog · 5 years

Link

anyway I’m just going to put this here.

Full text copy-pasted under the cut.

I've put 'tinfoil' in the title, because I find it highly implausible that I actually cracked Erratic's intent here, but... still: I can't believe it took me this long to put this together. We've had the pieces for a while now.

Bard is an utterly unscrutable entity, whose intentions, plans and opinions are as opaque as they are confusing. We do, however, know of two things that were explicitly the results of her plans, and intended ones at that:

- Second Liesse; - the formation of the League of Free Cities.

Second Liesse is an event that Bard engineered both the formation and the outcome of. She prevented the elves from killing Akua before she could implement it, and she fucked with Black's head in the Free Cities to ensure the exact thing happens as a result that, in fact, did.

(I believe there's more to her intent with Black than that, but more on that later)

The immediate direct result of Liesse happening, and ending the way it did, was... the crystallization of the idea of Liesse Accords: an utterly unprecedented pact between Good and Evil, allowing Evil's continued existence yet limiting the damage it can do to its surroundings, borne out of the unique circumstances post-Conquest and Catherine's unique position between Callow an Praes and between Good and Evil.

Except is it really? Unprecedented, that is?

Book 3 Epilogue

“Oh, that touch was probably just a drop of arsenic in the wine,” Aoede shrugged. “But I made your Name, sweetcakes. Back in the days before I knew better.”

“Prokopia Lakene was rightfully elected,” the Hierarch frowned.

“Right’s a pretty broad word, when it comes down to it,” the Bard said. “She was silvertongued like you wouldn’t believe, true, but that’s where I went wrong. The moment the tongue was gone, so was the Name.”

“The League survived her,” he said.

“The League’s skin deep,” the Bard said. “None of the forces behind moved any differently after it was formed.”

There has already been an attempt to bind Good, Evil and Neutral to work together. The League of Free Cities is a unique entity on Calernia, with polities of multiple alignments forming a single larger one ready to defend itself from outsiders and willing to all listen to one Named if such emerges.

And Bard's problem with it? It's too ineffectual for her tastes.

I believe Catherine's plan, and her currently being well on her way to achieving it, to be Bard's second attempt at doing the same thing. Oh, she'll butt heads with Catherine yet: not only does she have a knack for manipulating people into doing what she wants by positioning herself as an antagonist, but also her methods are... Catherine would much have preferred had Liesse not happened at all, and all that. That's going to be interesting to see.

I'm aware this theory has a lot of questionable points, and I'm going to address those one by one.

Q: Isn't Bard "the sound of lash in the dark"? Didn't Hierarch say that?

A: He did, and I'm utterly unsurprised at that. We know Bard has extremely mixed allegiances and extremely questionable methods. This is some of her chickens coming home to roost, and the universe finding a way to turn the whole free will thing against her as it has against every single other player at the table. It doesn't mean she doesn't have good intentions; Anaxares isn't exactly a paragon of clear thinking and infallible reason, god bless him and his sleeping hole.

Q: What makes you think Bard has the free will to do things like this? Isn't she a servant of Above and Below at the same time, and thus twice as bound as every other Named?

A: First of all, see: League of Free Cities. That's not my theory that she made that, that's canon text. Second, Above and Below are fairly hands off with their representatives, as we've seen. They apply tentative pushes - Above's moral guidelines, Below's propensity for strife - to prevent their Named from actually promoting the philosophy of the other side (though Catherine manages to anyway, god bless her), but don't interfere much beyond that. Choirs are distinct from Gods Above and fairly independent, or Neshamah wouldn't have said Bard's the closest to those, considering Heroes of Mercy are known to get literal constant whispers from Ophanim in their ears. Meanwhile Bard serves both Above and Below, and so doesn't even have those limitations. We've seen enough of her POV to know that while she chafes at her external restraints, all her will and saltiness are her own. Having to run errands for Above and Below doesn't preclude her ability to do shit on her own, she is a Named for a reason after all. They're known for pulling off the impossible.

Q: So what the fuck do you think is up with her and Black?

A: I believe a large part of Bard's current plan is to push Team Practical Evil away from the "Evil" part. She can't flip Cat, but she can with a bit of effort flip Black - he's too efficient a servant of Below to be allowed to continue to be such, and pulling him over to the side of Good will not only help right the balance - which has recently been skewed in Below's favor so badly heroes are going for "let it go all the way and wait for the inevitable backlash" as a strategy - but also help cement the alliance/cooperation, given that he and Cat are going to keep being the same side in this regardless of what their Names are.

This hypothesis explains a lot of Bard's seemingly random alignment/attitude flips by binding them together as parts of a fairly specific plan.

Villainous Interlude: Calamity III

“I’d say sorry, but you brought this down on yourself,” the Bard said. “I could probably destroy you in full, big guy, but that would take time. And effort. So I’m going to give you advice, instead.”

The Wandering Bard leapt down from the rooftop, half-falling. She came close, kneeling at his side.

“Go home,” she said. “Murder your little friend in the Tower and reign until someone puts a knife in your back. You’re not as good at this game as you thought you were.”

Hatred, Amadeus thought, was pointless. A bias that brought no benefit. And yet.

“But you won’t, will you?” the other Named sighed. “You don’t negotiate.”

She rose back to her feet, brushing away walnut shards.

“I doubt we’ll meet again,” she said. “And fucking Kairos slipped one by me, so I’ll have my hands full.”

The Wandering Bard looked down at him, shoving her hands in her pockets.

“This one feels like a sin, doesn’t it?” she mused. “Remember that, when the gears start turning.”

Giving "advice" to him to be more evil, that he's now even less likely to follow than before just because she said that, then planting the suggestion for him to be more aware of the concept of "sin" and allow it to influence more of his thinking?

Yeah. Yeah, that's planting the seeds not just for his reaction to Liesse, but also for further alignment drift down the line.

Book 4 Epilogue

“Catherine got herself killed again,” the Bard casually said. “And let me tell you, now that was a show. You don’t often see that calibre of foolishness slugging it out no holds barred.”

His fingers tightened. Breathe in, breathe out. Control. The moment he lost control, the creature would make use of him for whatever purpose she needed. It might be time to consider smashing his head into the ground until he fell unconscious.

“It’s fascinating, watching you take that paternal feeling by the throat and just…” Marguerite snapped her fingers, “There goes the neck. Back into the box it goes.”

This comment of Bard's is not exactly accurate. What part of "okay, I don't know for sure that she's telling the truth, nor do I think it necessarily means Catherine isn't okay even if she is, but I'm -this- close to just smashing my head against the rock until I fall unconscious again and miss my one chance to escape, just because of how much emotion hearing this is making me feel" is "taking paternal feeling by the throat and snapping the neck"?

But it's influence. It pushes Overton's window, subtly nudges Amadeus's own frame of reference - towards being more emotional, away from the cold rationality of gears.

And it's entirely in line with what she said last time they met, when you look at the direction it pushes him in and not what she literally said.

And, y'know...

“Claimant,” the Wandering Bard said. “You can have your second shot at it, you’re owed that. But if you really want it?”

She drank deep, then wiped her mouth.

“Well, there’s always a price isn’t there?” she shrugged. “So tell me, Amadeus of the Green Stretch…”

She smiled, crooked and wide under moonlight.

“What do you think is right?” she asked.

She leaned forward.

“How far are you willing to go, to see it done?”

I don't think the "it" that he is owed a second shot at and the "it" that she's hinting he might really want are the same "it", considering the "but" there.

And she's being vague about it for the exact reason she was giving bullshit advice the previous time: Amadeus is likely to do opposite things just to spite her, so let him figure out what he actually wants himself. That's more reliable.

Q: Why do you think Above and Below would allow this? Don't they want the game to continue as it is?

A: Actually, the main reason for us thinking that they wouldn't is Bard's speech to William about preferring Heiress's victory to Squire's any day. Considering how that one went... not exactly a reliable source of information. That entire premise might be wrong.

And whatever their private opinions on how the game should go, I think Above and Below would allow whatever the fuck. Below has spared Black's life as payment for his service, and he's literally devoted his life to making Praes less Evil. Above has Laurence de fucking Montfort and the precious Rafaella. They give general guidelines, have rules about how they themselves intervene, and beyond that allow mortals to do whatever they feel like doing. They're the ones settling the wager of Fate, after all.

Q: But what about the whole free will thing? Doesn't Bard being the ultimate mastermind behind Catherine's actions kind of undermine her as a protagonist?

A: Nah.

Bard's more strictly limited than any other Named. Unlike the rest, she can't make things happen just by wishing so, she's limited by others' agency. There's a reason it took so long between the formation of the League and now: Bard needed a possibility, first, Named who could be influenced to do what she wants. Black's plan to marry Praes and Callow gave her an opening she couldn't make herself, and Catherine was one failed Name transition away from coming up with the Accords - those things matter on their own, and they're not Bard's doing, they're what she needs. That's ultimately the essence of her limitation: she can only shove around things that were already plausibly likely to happen thanks to other players at the table. Catherine's far more potent than her, in terms of agency, and Bard's more a backdrop she acts in front of than anything.

Q: What about "eat the baby"? What the fuck does that even mean, anyway?

A: One of two things, I think.

Either Bard and Neshamah are close buddies who understand each other well and are genuinely straightforward with each other, in which case Bard is giving him advice that he can pretty much go all out here while still remaining a side dish, plot-wise, to the main course of the alliance being eventually gathered to push him back into Keter. He's going to gain more than he loses, and then go back in his bottle, which was inevitable anyway.

Or their friendliness is surface deep, and Bard's giving him "advice" to overextend himself and actually expose himself to being genuinely vanquished by plot backlash on a permanent basis. Which Neshamah would catch and absolutely not do, which Bard would know and have as the actual planned for outcome anyway. Making the whole exchange pointless, so y'know, I favor that first interpretation.

Either way, Bard's advice changes little about the fact that Neshamah coming out is the very reason the Accords have a chance of working. He's the leverage Cat can use to twist everyone else's arm into agreeing to them, and as it always is with Guide and characters in it getting lucky breaks, No Coincidences Were Involved (tm).

Q: What about William? Didn't he want him to beat Catherine?

A: First of all, plans can change. Catherine pre-First Liesse and Catherine pre-Second Liesse are two very different Catherines. Bard thinks on her feet, and the idea could have occured to her after seeing Catherine's "save the city from the devils, then get myself killed for the trouble, then say fuck you to that and get myself resurrected via a heroic story" stunt.

Second, she sentimentally hoped William could survive despite knowing for a fact he wouldn't, because Contrition sucks. That's not the same thing as counting on it as a plan :x

In conclusion, this is going to be fun.

P.S. Found another quote I'd been looking for.

“Seven battles I won on my feet, and lost the war sitting at a table.” – Periander Theodosian, Tyrant of Helike, after the founding of the League of Free Cities

(Book 4 Chapter 18 "Cradle")

P.P.S. I nearly missed this myself, but Bard's Free Cities comment that Amadeus should usurp Malicia and reign as a Dread Emperor himself, followed by a surge of hatred in him? Yeah, that pretty much seals the deal that he's not going to go for Dread Emperor. Even if it's the rational thing to do, Bard has ensured that every single scrap of irrationality he has in him is going to rebel against that, and also incidentally that those scraps are going to have a lot more influence on his actions than they otherwise might have. No Dread Emperor Amadeus in this timeline.

#a practical guide to evil #liliet reads pgte #amadeus of the green stretch #wandering bard

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capitanogiorgio · 5 years

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@nicolefrann : “I don’t hate him! And I say that all the time, even if we win or lose. I just said what I think. Okay, he barely plays, but it’s about the things he do and how he do them. I just think that he isn’t ready enough. I don’t understand why you have to attack me like that. It’s just my opinion. Like, Spinazzola almost never plays but when he play he always play well, and he’s only one year younger than Rugani. People always say that he is young as an excuse and I’m done.”

Okay, maybe hate is too strong a word but saying you never liked him is not that far from the concept.

(Btw he has played 67 games in 4 years. About 16/17 a season, on average, and probably half of them were not has a starter so try and get experience from that).

It was not an attack on you, nor even an attack at all. As you said you have the right to express your opinion, I have the right to express mine and answer to your post. I am simply tired of the hate some of our players (and especially Rugani, or the defence area in general, but really especially Rugani) get when they actually are given the chance to play. Like we all have players we don’t like for no other reason that... we simply don’t like them, and it’s fine, really, you don’t have to justify why you don’t like player x or player y. However, please understand that it is the first time I have seen one of your post about not liking Rugani, in the Juventus tag, and it happens on the day of the first loss of the season, forgive me to have done the maths (too quickly apparently).

Furthermore, I’d like to point out a contradiction in your sentence. You admit that “he barely plays” but in the next sentence you think he “isn’t ready enough”. Can you see the point I’m making here ? If he barely plays, he can’t be ready so you can’t expect him to fill in Chiello’s shoes as smoothly as a dove when we are talking of our captain, a player with the 5th most appearances for the club and who is ten years older than Rugani and with an experience very few have today in Italy and today’s football to a broader extent.

You talk about Spinazzola and you’re right. Although him barely playing was more due to injury when Rugani was simply just kept on the bench (to give you an idea Rugani so far has played 13 games, all competitions and Spinazzola 5, not counting the two Primavera games. And he came back around January, again, can you see the point I’m making ?). But I’d like to point out that playing as left/right-back is not the same as playing centre-back and requires other qualities, especially in today’s football when there has been a boom of “offensive back wingers” in the last ten to fifteen years. (btw I think you meant he is one year older. Spina is from 1993 and Rugani from 1994).

Let’s come back as well on Ruga’s games. Out of all the 13 matches he has played, the team only conceded once (1) when he was paired up with Chiello. When he was paired with Bonucci, the team conceded three (or four) times. And paired with Caceres (and De Sciglio) the team conceded six times (now 8). If we were being insincere, which I presume we both are not, we could say that all these goals being conceded is Rugani’s fault and that if Chiello (and Bonucci to a lesser extent) are not here, we can’t trust our defence (which is... True on some part, we need to have better solutions than Caceres or putting De Sciglio as a centre-back when we can’t do anything else). However, we should look at another narrative : Chiellini, Bonucci and Caceres are three different players. And out of all the three, either results wise or playing wise, Rugani plays better when paired up with Chiellini. It’s just facts. Chiellini is a more grounded player and a reassuring presence on the pitch. He knows how to leave his defence and attack but knows perfectly how to come back and defence (my case in point : last Tuesday against Atletico, the Coppa Italia game against Atalanta before he got injured and many others), he covers a lot. It’s simple, when he is on the pitch, you have the impression he is the only defender on the pitch. Now, Bonucci, who has great qualities, that goes without saying, is more of an offensive defender. He goes up way more than Chiello, hence the long passes but by doing so, he covers less area and a few goals this season are on him (for example, against Sampdoria). As for Caceres, we can all agree he is here because we needed another defender who would have nothing to say about not playing a lot, so hardly an ideal partner, wouldn’t you agree ?

See here ? The situations for Rugani are all very different depending on who he is paired with. Bonucci and Caceres are not a good fit for him because he has to do twice as much work, a work he is not always accustomed to since, again, he doesn’t play a lot. It’s like you’re doing an apprenticeship and one situation you have your mentor helping you and showing you how to procede and then letting you do it, and the other, when your mentor briefly explains you stuff and then leaves you on your own devices trying to figure out how to proceede. It is very different to perform with someone who will cover for you if you ever need it than performing when you know you will probably have to face situations when you’ll be left alone to act. Not to mention that while mistakes are frustrating and (sometimes) costly, they are also (I hope) educational.

You say people always say he’s young as an excuse and you’re done. Well, but the truth is... He is ????? Like, obviously when put next to Kean who just turned 19 or even Nicolussi who has been in the group for the past three games, he isn’t. But for a footballer, and especially a defender he is still young. He will soon enter another category, sure, but when you see the longevity of defenders (especially in Italy), 24 is still young. All players have different progression rate, some are really quick to learn and establish themselves has (very) good at a young age (like Maldini or more recently Di Ligt), others bloom later (for example : while Barzagli was already a good defender in his Palermo and Wolfsburg days, you can’t deny that he reached another dimension when he arrived at Juve. And he was 30 (THIRTY) years old). Or even Bonucci, which I think would be even a better example. He arrived at Juventus when he was 23, so not so far from Rugani’s age now. It’s difficult to imagine when you see him nowadays and especially when he gives you performances like the one against Manchester United at Old Trafford, but many have forgotten that his time at Juve hasn’t been all calm river from the beginning. Bonucci made tons of mistakes in his first seasons, he hasn’t always been reliable. He only got better how ? By playing, over time, by learning from his mistakes.

Maybe Rugani won’t get as good as Bonucci, or better, as good as Chiellini, maybe he will, who knows ? Certainly not me ! But he certainly won’t have the chance to if he doesn’t play and if he’s constantly getting hate sorry, negative comments whenever he plays when, for example this afternoon Caceres was also abysmal, Bonucci, easily tricked. I’m sorry but putting the responsability of the defeat, or at least goals, solely on Rugani’s shoulders (which your post implies) is a bit rich when the whole defence (which again, has not played a lot 1) all three together 2) In a three man defence system this season) is actually at fault (and the whole team. Nobody really shone today, they were all tired from Tuesday’s games, there was a lot of turnover and the tactic was experimental so I’m not even trying to scapegoat anyone, just recognising today’s level was just bad).

In your first post, you said Juve need great players. And yes, I do agree. However we also must aknowledge that we do have youth teams and that getting into the first team has always been difficult for young players (the last one who came from the Youth teams and actually managed to impose himself as a team/starting 11 regular was Claudio Marchisio. Let that sink in). What is the kind of message you send to our kids when you barely give them a chance and don’t allow them to make mistakes and grow and learn ? When you prefer buying other players instead of giving them the proper tending to they need ? You can’t expect players to be great and at the team’s level right away. Our Primavera not being especially great these last years is another problem altogether, of course, but I do believe that this is linked. If you don’t give young players a chance, you don’t invest on them. If you don’t invest on them and no the youth sector, you can’t expect them to perform right away, and so on and so on, it’s just a vicious circle at this point and I wish the club would invest more in the formation of our young players.

tl/dr : It was not an attack. Yes Rugani has to learn and progress but please look at the bigger picture before scapegoating him

#juventus #daniele rugani #it was sitting on my mind for some time now #too bad it's falling onto you it could have been someone else #but i am tired of people scapegoating him because he's not anybody's fave while he's just not the only one at fault #and when people expect everything immediately

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deadcactuswalking · 4 years

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REVIEWING THE CHARTS: SEASON THREE (29th December 2019)

There are ten songs in this top 40 that are not Christmas songs. There are 30 holiday singles in one chart, for the first time ever. That is one quarter of the chart left that isn’t festive in some capacity. I know I said last week was the Christmas episode, Christmas chart, Christmas special, or whatever, but the post-Christmas week, the first week of the next year, in this case 2020 (The end-of-year chart will soon be released in full), will always include Christmas tracking and hence have more songs. Therefore, you could argue that last week’s #1 isn’t the true Christmas #1. I’d disagree because out of the two #1s, it is the only one that made an evident campaign for the spot, although the campaign for the second #1 is only not evident out of sheer falsity, so it really is an open question. Despite that, I’ll say that for the sake of REVIEWING THE CHARTS, “I Love Sausage Rolls” by LadBaby is the Christmas #1 for 2019. In an awful twist of fate, however, that song is now at #57. Not even LadBaby’s last #1 dropped that far on its second week. I apologise for the third season’s first episode being complete shambles, but the events kind of called for a switch of the format. We have one non-Christmas song in the top 10. It would be unwise to talk about the rest of the top 10 as it’s overwhelmingly more relevant to the Christmas section, hence I present to you 2019’s final edition of:

IT’S CHRISTMAS INNIT

Top 10 (9?)

The #1 is Ellie Goulding’s “River”, up 10 spaces, with its only festive justification other than its vague Wintry content being the fact that it’s #1 on Christmas. It’s her third #1 and first since 2015, and the last #1 of the decade – or the first #1 of the 2020s decade. You decide. Goulding’s Joni Mitchell cover was an Amazon exclusive existing purely to push UK sales for a cheap #1, as Goulding’s increasingly irrelevant music would not get to #1 that easily, especially a fluke Christmas single that I have never heard, and don’t care to. I wouldn’t like to believe this is the true #1 but unfortunately it is, narrowly beating Mariah Carey, who has been steadily at the top of the Billboard Hot 100 for three weeks now, as her more deserving classic, “All I Want for Christmas is You”, is at #2 after a six-spot boost. Why isn’t it #1 in the UK, you ask? Greedy record labels vying for worthless chart spots that mean frankly nothing other than to boost the visibility of irrelevant acts that they want to cling onto for dear life so they can get a check, that’s why. Sorry, I’m way too passionate about this, I’ll just move on. Um, “Last Christmas” by WHAM! is up two to #5, “Fairytale of New York” by the Pogues featuring Kirsty MacColl is up 10 to #4, “Merry Christmas Everyone” by Shakin’ Stevens is also up 10 to #6, “Do They Know it’s Christmas?” by Band Aid is up 10 to #7, “Step into Christmas” by Elton John is up 10 to #8. Now for our second bloody Amazon exclusive, arguably the more egregious, “Happy Christmas (War is Over)” by John Legend, up 23 to #9. Seemingly this song was made for not only false chart points but also because of the novelty of John Legend covering a song by John Lennon. Well, I can’t find a reason to cover this song other than that, as making it an Amazon exclusive goes directly against Lennon’s thoughts on commercialism, and surely making a protest song about the Vietnam war meant to raise awareness about the destruction war causes to innocent civilians a cheap cash-grab would kind of soil the reputation of Mr. John Legend over here... and I don’t even like “Happy Xmas (War is Over)”. It’s a pretentious slog on its own and it certainly did not need a rendition from one of the duller R&B singers to come out of the 2000s. Curiously both Goulding and Legend have ties to Universal Music Group. Sigh, well at #10, we have “I Wish it Could be Christmas Everyday” by Wizzard, up 19 spaces. That’s a better song.

Climbers

Let’s blast through this with no room for anger or dilly-dallying: “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” by Michael Bublé is up 13 to #11, “Santa Tell Me” by Ariana Grande is up 15 to #13, “One More Sleep” by Leona Lewis is up 10 to #15, “Santa’s Coming for Us” by Sia is up 19 to #17, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” by Brenda Lee is up 14 to #18, “Merry Xmas Everybody” by Slade is up 12 to #19, “Underneath the Tree” by Kelly Clarkson is up 12 to #21, and that’s all. That doesn’t sound like 30 Christmas songs at all, right? That’s just 16. Well...

Returning Entries & New Arrivals

These kind of blend together at Christmas; I’m never sure if the song already peaked years or decades ago, and I’m just none the wiser towards any of it, or it’s never gotten this high into the top 40 before. I had to check the Christmas specials for 2018-2019 to see what songs I’ve covered before. I actually found out I’ve already covered “Underneath the Tree”, so I didn’t actually need to talk about that one a week or two ago, but my opinion had changed so I think it’s time well spent. If I accidentally cover a song twice, I honestly don’t care, but here are the returning entries I’ve already talked about: “Wonderful Christmastime” by Paul McCartney is back at #37, “Stay Another Day” by East 17 is at #35, “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” by Darlene Love is at #33, “White Christmas” by Bing Crosby is at #31, “Happy Xmas (War is Over)” by John Lennon, Yoko Ono and the Plastic Ono Band featuring the Harlem Boys Choir or something to that effect is at #28, “Mistletoe” by Justin Bieber is at #27, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” by Andy Williams is at #25, “Driving Home for Christmas” by Chris Rea is at #24 and “Cozy Little Christmas” by Katy Perry is at #22. I know I technically didn’t “review” that last song per se since it wasn’t on streaming services at the time but it’s utter plastic garbage so there’s no benefit in doing so. Here are the songs I do have to review.

#39 – “Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!” – Dean Martin

Produced by Lee Gillette – Peaked at #12 in Canada and #15 in the US

This really could have just been called “Let it Snow”, right? Regardless, this is actually one of my favourite more traditional Christmas songs, although this is still pretty recent, being a 1959 rendition of a song written by Sammy Cahn in 1945, simply because it was a heat wave in July that year so he teamed up with composer Jule Styne in Hollywood to make a song imagining, in fact almost begging, for colder weather. Despite how controversial Martin’s cover of “Baby It’s Cold Outside” has become, he really still is a talented singer who couldn’t get that song’s framing just right. Here, he seems more in his element and despite no reference to the holiday season, since it’s snow, people just kind of lump it in with more festive hits, especially on radio. I think I generally prefer this sweet, orchestral tint Martin’s producer gave to the composition, and the strings here sound really great, despite that vague drum beat not needing to be there, as it’s honestly quite stiff. I would have preferred this without much percussion at all actually. It’s less than two minutes, so it doesn’t overstay its welcome, which is one issue I have with Frank Sinatra’s decidedly un-Christmassy version, which just sounds really ugly to me today, with its squealing brass section and twee backing singers. The bridge is especially awkward. So, yeah, I prefer Martin’s version here, although I’d like to shout out Rod Stewart’s version as well while I’m on the topic. It was actually a pretty big adult contemporary hit in 2012. Go figure. It’s actually pretty sweet albeit simplistic and I don’t even like Rod Stewart, so check that one out too.

#34 – “Sleigh Ride” – The Ronettes

Produced by Phil Spector – Peaked at #17 in Hungary and #21 in the US

I swear I’ve covered this one before, but I couldn’t find it, so uh, I like the horse neighing. “Sleigh Ride” was also composed by Leroy Anderson during a heat wave in 1948, which is an interesting coincidence. The Ronettes sound okay, but the focus was never their voice. It was Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound production, as this appeared on his Christmas album. His production is maximalist and has a massive, vibrant, colourful sound to it... supposedly. I see it in some of his other work, but this song just sounds garbage. Everything feels concentrated to the centre of the mix and it renders as sludge to me, especially when the freaking strings come in. Does this have to be three minutes also? It’s just immensely boring and goes in one ear, out the other, unlike those second-degree murder convictions... you sick, sick man. Merry Christmas, everyone!

#32 – “Holly Jolly Christmas” – Michael Bublé

Nah, screw the production and chart info. I don’t care. It’s Michael Bublé, what do you expect me to say? It’s bland radio fluff white man capitalism whatever. Here are the lyrics to “Re-Rewind (The Crowd Say Bo Selecta)” by Artful Dodger and Craig David.

[Intro: Craig David]

Re-rewind

Enter, selecta

Ehh, yeah

Ehh, eh yeah

Ehh, yeah

Ehh

Enter, selecta

[Verse: Craig David]

Making moves, yeah, on the dance floor

Got our groove on dancing yeah, real hard core

From the front to the back that's where I was at

You know, you know, the Artful Dodger do it like that

With Craig David all over your (boing)

DJ it's all up to you

When the crowd go wild

Tell me, whatcha gonna do

[Chorus: Craig David]

Re-rewind, when the crowd say Bo Selecta

Re-rewind, when the crowd say Bo Bo Bo

Re-rewind, when the crowd say Bo Selecta

Re-rewind

This goes out to all the DJ's

[Interlude]

Ehh, yeah

Ehh, eh yeah

Ehh, yeah

Ehh

Ehh, yeah

[Verse: Craig David]

Making moves, yeah, on the dance floor

Got our groove on dancing yeah, real hard core

From the front to the back that's where I was at

You know, you know, the Artful Dodger do it like that

With Craig David all over your (boing)

DJ it's all up to you

When the crowd go wild

Tell me, whatcha gonna do

[Chorus: Craig David]

Re-rewind, when the crowd say Bo Selecta

Re-rewind, when the crowd say Bo Bo Bo

Re-rewind, when the crowd say Bo Selecta

Re-rewind

This goes out to all the DJ's

[Verse: Craig David]

Making moves, yeah, on the dance floor

Got our groove on dancing yeah, real hard core

From the front to the back that's where I was at

You know, you know, the Artful Dodger do it like that

With Craig David all over your (boing)

DJ it's all up to you

When the crowd go wild

Tell me, whatcha gonna do

Making moves, yeah, on the dance floor

Got our groove on dancing yeah, real hard core

From the front to the back that's where I was at

You know, you know, the Artful Dodger do it like that

With Craig David all over your (boing)

DJ it's all up to you

When the crowd go wild

Tell me, whatcha gonna do

[Chorus: Craig David]

Re-rewind, when the crowd say Bo Selecta

Re-rewind (Ehh, eh yeah), Sel-lecta

Re-rewind, when the crowd say Bo Selecta

Re-rewind (Ehh, eh yeah), Sel-lecta

Re-rewind, when the crowd say Bo Selecta

Re-rewind (Ehh, eh yeah), Sel-lecta

Re-rewind, when the crowd say Bo Selecta

#30 –“Jingle Bell Rock” – Bobby Helms

Produced by Joe Beal and Jim Boothe – Peaked at #3 in the US and Latvia

I don’t know what to tell you guys, I really have next to nothing to say for these Christmas classics. They’re simple, catchy compositions with dated and/or cliché production but make up for it by just being infectious and jolly. This applies to nearly all of these Christmas songs. The whole genre is based on these fundamentals and it’s not like they often take a detour – well, that’s coming up. I’m just so excited to talk about the last song here, so I really have no patience for this or “Sleigh Ride” or “Holly Jolly Christmas”. I have no idea how the hell this peaked at #3 in Latvia. I guess that’s something vaguely interesting about this song. I mean, it’s tolerable but I feel no pressure to write an essay about it or anything.

#29 – “Christmas Lights” – Coldplay

Produced by Coldplay, Rik Simpson and Brian Eno – Peaked at #2 in Italy and the Netherlands, and #25 in the US

In December 2008, Chris Martin wrote “Christmas Lights”, and even performed a segment of the draft on live television. Little did he know, that in my opinion, he wrote the best Christmas song of all time! So what’s “Christmas Lights” about? Well, it paints a very vivid picture of an aggravated relationship that brutally shattered on Christmas Eve, mentioned to be one of many but the date making it especially saddening. You could see it as a family breaking up and having an argument on Christmas, which is an especially common happening; 68% of families have a row over the Christmas break. You could also see it as a simple break-up song that just happens to take place over late December, but really it can be construed as both; Chris Martin plays it vague enough to apply to different situations but doesn’t allow for any wishy-washy lyricism, with some poetic specifics that really resonate. The first verse has almost a semantic field of liquid, all of which are somewhat acidic and all of which are overwhelmingly dangerous: “flood”, “poison”, “blood”. The line “Got all kinds of poison in—poison in my blood” reveals the reliance on alcohol as well as the sheer vitriol our narrator has built up for this person during this break-up, although much like alcohol and much like poison, once you take it, it’s quick and you won’t feel anything the next morning, if you feel anything at all, but the long-term consequences will be dire. This is a lovely metaphor that is illustrated throughout the song, and our narrator’s drunken stupor is even represented in the stammering and messy, incorrect structure of his sentences. The second half of the first verse details our narrator’s solution: he can confound into the Christmas lights, which are artificial, neon decorations lacking any meaning but in his dazed and confused state, he will have to rely on the exceptional displays of Oxford Street, which is directly name-dropped in the song, to guide him to some kind of home, literally or figuratively. One narrative would be that he simply cannot see his way home, but the other would be that he finds warmth in the lights that register memories of nostalgia, so much so that he’s able to reminisce on perhaps better Christmas Eves of his youth. The refrain in the first half of the song isn’t exactly referring to global warming when Martin talks about the snow falling; rather, he could be referring to waiting for the lights to come on and the dust to settle, or for the tensions to rise or even fall. It doesn’t feel like Christmas without family, and those violent arguments are the snow. He’s waiting for them to either stop or just come to a climax as the pain leading up to it is unbearable.

In the second verse, our narrator mentions candles flickering and floating; it’s iconic Christian imagery that symbolises Jesus Christ finding light in darkness. It links our narrator’s story to religion but also stars and destiny, implying fate has led him to this dark path. He seems to disregard the candles, though, instead focusing on the chandelier of hope that he hangs onto, once again abandoning tradition for the artificial, commercialised “Christmas light”, which is fascinating but something I’ve never truly been able to piece together with the rest of the narrative here. Our narrator undermines his panicked cries for help as “like” a drunken Elvis impersonator singing out of tune about how he always loved a “darling”, but this story rings true – karaoke is a staple at Christmas, and he might have very well been an Elvis impersonator singing out of tune one Christmas evening, but he now finds himself yelling in a drunken state whilst desperately attempting to calm himself down by remembering a more fun, simple time. After one refrain, we have our song, and I figure I should talk about the actual music now. The instrumentation starts simple, with a piano melody that sounds sombre and flat, especially when Martin’s dejected delivery, full of despair and hopelessness, drowns out all remnants of the composition as he has a stronghold on the mix. The strings are still somewhat decipherable, amongst awkward, ticking percussion, but they’re barely audible at this point, so the nostalgia is gone... until that refrain, where the atmosphere rises with the strings picking up in intensity and we have our first drop, which still feels slightly restrained, until that second verse comes in, and the drums kick in to represent the stupor our narrator is in, as they’re almost hypnotising in their unchanging pattern. Martin sounds chaotic as well, with his uncontrolled falsetto singing what might quite literally be out of tune. In the second refrain, ugly, plastic guitar loops play and I would usually criticise this but if anything this shows the two sides of the “Christmas light” concept better than I can word it: sure, it’s perfect and convenient for mass audiences, but does it really mean anything? It’s also pushed back into the mix and sounds kind of like “2000 Miles” by the Pretenders, so I’m okay with it being there, especially since it assists the narrative. So we have our second drop and that’s the end; they swell gorgeously in a way I can only describe as perfect... perfect for a transition, as we are now entering the second half of “Christmas Lights”.

The “beat switch”, for lack of a better term, is mostly just an upbeat piano since the strings’ echo is slowly fading out, and it sounds like it’ll finish right there, but the moment when it doesn’t is pure catharsis. The second half of the song is much more anthemic in tone but the lyrics are even more desperate, reaching back to personal memories of the band, even mentioning where they formed: a mile away from Oxford Street, where the sea (River Thames) and city meet. This doesn’t take away from our narrative though, as the chorus is almost a prayer for these Christmas lights to strip him of all his worries, but it’s obvious from the start that his hope is dwindling, especially in the drunken panic state he’s still in. At this point, you can almost render our narrator delusional, especially due to the imagery being so mundane in modern British society. Everyone has Christmas lights, but his attachment is never fully explained, leaving an aura of mystery around our narrator, separating him from Chris Martin, and letting him become this figure that is relatable to most of the country over the Christmas break, which is supposed to be a time for joy, delight and most importantly, togetherness. That extra degree of separation isolates our narrator further, and in the second chorus, he says the oddest and least likely thing to happen: the Christmas lights bring her back to him. Who’s her? Well, we don’t know, but what we do know is that our narrator seems silly now, so we can’t take him seriously. The audience doesn’t exactly turn on the narrator, but we can take everything this drunken shell of a practically homeless man says with a pinch of salt now. He’s insane, or at least in a state that drains him of his mental capacity, and we’re forced to watch this man celebrate Christmas. It’s depressing, and he knows it’s depressing. In the final chorus, he takes a stance that is rather selfless, despite everything else we’ve come to believe about our narrator: he wishes “her” the same good will he wished the Christmas lights would bring him, and that his emotions are livened by the lights, in a great metaphor about bringing up the fireworks in him, almost as if he’s fit to burst... and he might have; “May all your troubles soon be gone” could represent the narrator, referred to here as her troubles, and our troubles at this point, being gone – dead, missing or just out of her life, whilst the lights just keep shining on, oblivious to this man’s delirious reliance on them for a guiding light. The composition here is just as sweet, with more actual rock instrumentation here that gives it a kick and a sense of stability, although the transitions between choruses are basically nonexistent, almost as if they’re another step towards his fate. The instrumental break is a short moment of realisation, and the chorus of “oh”’s, whilst acting as what is basically a millennial whoop, are the voices in his head coming to an agreement: to stop. The song ends abruptly after Chris Martin stops singing, with a dejected piano phrase stopping midway through and a loud, reverb-heavy thud. This is up to interpretation but I truly think that thud is the death of our narrator, falling to the floor, never to come back up.

This is a brilliantly-written song, and combined with the orchestration courtesy of freaking Brian Eno... This is Coldplay’s magnum opus, and an overall beautiful piece of music. It’s one of my favourite songs of all time, I’m so glad it charted, and Yellowcard’s cover misses the point entirely. Thank you for reading.

The Christmas Songs That Didn’t Make It

I am terrified by the creeping overflow of Christmas songs every year, and that I have to cover each and every one to some capacity, but since last year, there’s obviously been less to cover since I’ve talked about a lot of it already, and after 30 holiday songs, you’d think there’s no other songs that could possibly creep into the Top 40 and become part of the canon, right?

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“Christmas Time (Don’t Let the Bells End)” by the Darkness is at #42, “The Christmas Song (A Merry Christmas to You)” by Nat King Cole is at #51, “Somewhere Only We Know” by Lily Allen is at #52, “Like it’s Christmas” by the Jonas Brothers is at #53, “Feliz Navidad” by Jose Feliciano is at #54, “Santa Baby” by Eartha Kitt is at #55, “Stop the Cavalry” by Jona Lewie is at #56, “2000 Miles” by the Pretenders is at #61, “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” by Perry Como and the Fontaine Sisters with Mitchell Ayres and His Orchestra is at #63 (Thank God I don’t have to review that mouthful), “Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!” by Frank Sinatra is at #65, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” by Sam Smith is at #67, “Blue Christmas” by Elvis Presley is at #68, “Man with the Bag” by Jessie J is at #70 (I’m assuming that’s a song about Santa), “Christmas Wrapping” by the Waitresses is at #71, “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town” by Bruce Springsteen is at #72, “All I Want (for Christmas)” by Liam Payne is at #73, “Santa Baby” by Kylie Minogue is at #74 and that’s just all the songs in the top 75. There’s probably a bunch more in the other 25 spots. I’ll see these guys next year, I guess, although there is some hope as a couple more Christmas songs I covered last year (Or even just last month) couldn’t make it in 2020. These are “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” by the Jackson 5 at #46, “Mary’s Boy Child / Oh My Lord” by Boney M. at #47, the aforementioned “I Love Sausage Rolls” by LadBaby at #57, “Into the Unknown” by Idina Menzel and AURORA at #62 and “Lonely this Christmas” by Mud is at #69. Yes, I’m counting the Frozen II song as a Christmas single because firstly, if that song isn’t, what’s “Stay Another Day”? And secondly, if we’re going to strictly limit our musical festivities, the only true Christmas song here is by Boney M... because it’s a literal re-telling of Jesus’ birth, even though he wasn’t actually born on Christmas apparently, or at least there’s no direct reference to such event happening on December 25th in the Bible. I don’t think I’m going to dig myself a hole with that one. I don’t know if there will be a chart rule stopping 30 Christmas songs from entering next year, and I’m not sure if I actually want that to happen, but it’ll be interesting to see how the Official Charts Company reacts to this, if at all.

Dropouts

Oh, it was a bloodbath. I’m not going to go in numerical order but I will start by saying that the album bombs from last week fared pretty okay, Harry Styles less so than Stormzy of course, but regardless, “Lessons” by Stormzy is out off of the debut at #9, “Watermelon Sugar” by Harry Styles is out from #18 and “Falling” by Harry Styles is out off of the debut at #39. The rest of the songs from both albums mostly survived, in fact “Lights Up” returned to #48. Otherwise, “Bruises” by Lewis Capaldi is out from #15, “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd is out from #20, “hot girl summer” by blackbear is out from #21, “Lose You to Love Me” by Selena Gomez is out from #22, “Falling” by Trevor Daniel is out from #26, “Lucid Dreams” by Juice WRLD is out off of the return from #27, “This is Real” by Jax Jones featuring Ella Henderson is out from #30, “Heartless” by the Weeknd is out from #35, “Don’t Rush” by Young T & Bugsey with Headie One is out from #37, “Someone You Loved” by Lewis Capaldi is out from #38, and “Netflix & Chill” by Fredo is out from #40. I might as well note whilst in this section that there are now at least two versions of each of these four songs within the UK top 75 right now: “Happy Xmas (War is Over)”, “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas”, “Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!” and “Santa Baby”, which is also sampled in “Santa Tell Me”. That factoid was pretty useless, but kind of interesting. I guess I get it now when rockists say they think all pop music sounds the same, because there are nine in the chart that literally are the same.

What Survived

What little of the UK Top 40 chart prior has remained is not exactly hard to guess. All of the biggest and most consistent songs streaming-wise have stayed, barely. “Before You Go” by Lewis Capaldi is down nine spots to #12, “Don’t Start Now” by Dua Lipa is down 10 to #14, “ROXANNE” by Arizona Zervas is down nine to #16, “Dance Monkey” by Tones and I is down 10 to #20, “everything i wanted” by Billie Eilish also down 10 to #23 (I’m starting to notice a trend here), “Adore You” by Harry Styles is down 14 to #26, “Pump it Up” by Endor is down 13 to #36, and that’s all of the pop songs out of the way, because Stormzy has three songs on the chart still even in the true climax of Christmas music, which is kind of commendable. “Own It” featuring Ed Sheeran and Burna Boy is down three to number-five, making it the only non-holiday song in the top 10, “Audacity” featuring Headie One is down 22 off of the debut to #38 and finally “Vossi Bop” is returning at #40, for whatever reason. I’m not sure why or how but it’s here and it fills our quota for non-holiday songs. And now, I have mentioned all but two songs that are currently charting in the top 75, and for the sake of completion, “Memories” by Maroon 5 is at #60 and “My Oh My” by Camila Cabello featuring DaBaby is at #49. If you’re wondering how many total Christmas songs there are in the top 75, there are about 52. That’s 70%. I know that doesn’t seem too bad, but to put that into perspective, an album bomb is never allowed more than three songs at the same time. Surely Christmas songs are just as monotonous as an Ed Sheeran album, so why should they be under different regulation? I have a couple qualms relating to Christmas music, especially the charting of said music, but I’m nearly 2,300 words in and I haven’t even written the song reviews yet so I think I better shut up. I know this has been a long and somewhat messy episode, but I really had no option. Welcome to season three, everybody. Next week won’t be pretty, either, as all of those 52 songs will have completely and utterly disappeared.

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