#they are mostly piloted by muscle memory. they know not of what drives them to do the things they do

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

That nosleep post about the lady who killed her husband who came back six months later is making me think things

[cyclopstm]

                         DISABILITY && MENTAL HEALTH

This post will cover items such as disabilities, mental health, PTSD and trauma in relation to Scott. These are things which are either canon for him, or headcanons I want to pay more attention to on my blog.

I do not have any personal experience with any of the items I will address in this post, which means that most (if not all) of my information is gained through reading and research online. If there are items I missed out on or have described incorrectly, you may contact me about this to kindly help me figure out a new/better way to put things into words. It’s in no way my intention to upset anyone, or bring forth wrong information.

To me, it just feels like Scott is a good opportunity to improve the representation of characters and people who deal with visual impairment because the narrative that disability is binary caused that most blind characters in popular media have no vision at all. Blind characters in heroic roles like Daredevil, have powers that completely compensate for their blindness while blind people who don’t have these compensations are usually portrayed as helpless.

As a team leader and a superhero, Scott offers a good opportunity to include people who are visually impaired, yet often ignored or left out of the heroic narrative.

Needless to say, do NOT reblog this post && don’t interact with it if you’re not a RP blog.

                                             _____________________________

TABLE OF CONTENTS : 1. Scott’s brain trauma and injury 2. Scott’s PTSD during his youth 3. Symptoms and signs of PTSD for Scott 4. Scott is (legally) blind 5. Scott cannot distinguish colours 6. How Scott deals with his visual impairment 7. The X-Mansion and dealing with trauma 8. Additional notes

                                      ________________________

1. SCOTT’S BRAIN TRAUMA AND INJURY When Scott was a young boy, he went on a travel with his parents and his little brother Alex. The family’s private jet was ambushed by an alien Shi’ar scouting ship. The boys lost their parents on that unfortunate day and in the crash, Scott took a hit to the head after his mutant powers manifested for the first time and allowed Scott to break his fall and allow him and Alex to survive. The head injury Scott suffered on that day would permanently disable the part of Scott’s brain which would have enabled him to control his optic blasts. Additionally, Scott (as well as Alex) suffered traumatic amnesia regarding the accident. Unlike his brother, Scott was forced to remain hospitalized for up to a year.

As a teenager, Scott began to suffer from severe headaches and he was sent to a specialist (Mr. Sinister in disguise) who provided him with lenses made of ruby-quartz. Scott’s mutant power erupted from his eyes as an uncontrollable blast of optic force and the only means to control it ever since have been the ruby-quartz lenses Sinister gave him. Sinister knew the lenses would help due to experiments and research he had been doing on the boy while Scott lived at the orphanage where Sinister had feigned being the owner.

2. SCOTT’S POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER DURING HIS YOUTH After losing his parents and waking up alone at the hospital after the plane crash, Scott was placed in the State Home for Foundlings, an orphanage in Omaha (Nebraska) where he was subjected to batteries of tests and experiments by the orphanage’s owner, Mr. Milbury (alias, Mr. Sinister). He placed mental blocks on Scott and took on the role of ‘Lefty’, who was Scott’s roommate and bully at the orphanage. During his time spent at the orphanage, Scott was subjected to several occasions which would leave him traumatized — such as the attempt of one of the other orphaned boys at taking his own life, and Scott’s failed attempt at saving him. Any time anyone came close to adopting Scott, Sinister intervened.

At some point, Scott demolished a crane with his optic blast, by accident. He had saved a crowd of people by using his blast again to destroy the crane before it would crush the people, but they believed he was out to kill them and chased the young mutant boy. Scott woke the attention of a mutant criminal who sought to use Scott’s powers in his crimes, but abused the kid when Summers refused. At that time, he had also attracted the attention of Charles Xavier who tracked down Scott and took him in as the first of his team of X-Men...

3. SYMPTOMS OF SCOTT’S PTSD — Reliving the traumatic event (during his childhood) :: as a boy, Scott was fond of airplanes and dreamed of becoming a pilot himself one day. But when he was taken to an air show by one of the orphanage’s nurses, he had a violent traumatic reaction in the middle of the show, reciting things he otherwise doesn’t consciously remember. — Negative Thoughts and Feelings :: Scott often deals with feelings of anger, guilt, fear or numbness. He’s prone to blame himself for things going wrong on missions with the X-Men. When someone comes to pass, he’s quick to take up responsibility and the blame for it, and occasionally even deals with survivor’s guilt. Scott also feels cut off from his friends and family and hardly keeps much interest for day-to-day activities. He hardly does them to relax, but rather only when they become necessary. — Avoidance :: Scott feels like he has to keep busy at all times, he doesn’t want to think or talk about anything in relation to his past, feels emotionally cut off from his feelings, struggles to express his emotions or affection towards others and thus comes across as numb and cold and very serious and occasionally does risky things which could be self-destructive or reckless. He’s often the first in line to sacrifice himself for the X-Men not only because he’s their leader, but also because he has little to no value for his own life. — Disturbed sleep and lack of sleep. — Taking risks and hypervigilance. — Intrusive thoughts. — Nightmares. — Trust issues. — “No one understands.”-mentality. — The sense of never being at peace.

4. SCOTT IS (LEGALLY) BLIND While Scott was born with perfectly normal eyesight, and perfect vision, he no longer has the ability to see without his ruby-quartz lenses ever since his optic blasts came to manifest. Only ruby-quartz can keep the optic blasts under control, meaning that any other means of vision such as regular glasses or lenses would not be of help for Scott. Scott literally can’t see without his ruby-quartz shades. Opening his eyes would prove incredibly destructive to his nearest surroundings.

Someone who is completely blind can’t see any light or form. Of the people with eye disorders, only about 15% can see nothing at all. If you’re legally blind, you can still see, just not that clearly. Normal vision is 20/20. That means you can clearly see an object 20 feet away. If you’re legally blind, your vision is 20/200 or less in your beter eye or your field of vision is less than 20 degrees.

In addition to being unable to distinguish colors due to the red tint in his glasses, they also reduce his low-light vision, which means Scott deals with low vision.

5. SCOTT CANNOT DISTINGUISH COLOURS I’m not using the term colorblindless in this post for the main reason that Google gives me too many search results in relation to racism, and I do not intend to use a term that has a double meaning that could be taken the wrong way.

Scott’s ruby-quartz lenses cause him to see the world through a veil of red. The lenses are tinted in red which alters Scott’s general, every day perception of the world. He sees the world in shades of grey, white, black and red and can no longer distinguish any other colours. Maybe rather than ‘colourblindness’, Scott deals with something alike to monochromacy. Though, Scott’s monochromacy is perhaps not of a kind that has been officially diagnosed in real life cases before.

The comics and movies rarely acknowledge Scott’s eyesight aside from him claiming to have an ‘eye condition’ as an excuse for him to wear sunglasses all the time. Scott’s adaptations to being unable to distinguish different colours would be mostly rather subtle and maybe it doesn’t inherently add onto the story a comic book or movie wants to tell, but they shouldn’t be ignored in how I wish to bring Scott in my writing...

6. HOW SCOTT DEALS WITH HIS VISUAL IMPAIRMENT — High contrast text and browser extensions for reading. — Color coding his outfits. He labels them with what color they are and organizes his closet by items that go together. — As a prodigy at billiards, Scott has a special billiards set adjusted to his specific needs. — Large prints for letters, books, digital fonts, etc. — Increased brightness on any of his devices’ screens. — Assistance from ‘self-driving’ tech when flying the Blackbird or riding his motorcycle. He knows the majority of controls through muscle memory by now. — Assistive technology to improve contrast, especially at night. — Scott owns a touch-based Rubik’s Cube. — Help from his closest friends.

7. THE X-MANSION AND DEALING WITH TRAUMA Scott and Ororo both (among others), are hyper aware of the traumas some of their students have experienced. They recognize behaviours and reactions in trauma survivors because they have been in such a position themselves as well. They made sure the school has a clear set of rules and policies on the safety and comfort of students. The school faculty received training in mental health first aid, there’s places students can retreat to when they feel anxious or suffer from power meltdown.

People like Scott, Jean and Rogue would know how to handle students who have gone through different types of abuse. As trauma survivors themselves, they’d take extra steps to reassure students who have every reason to distrust adults. They would announce themselves when approaching students from behind, maintain wide personal space bubbles and refrain from initiating physical contact such as hugs or touching students without asking them first. They see there’s no use in raising your voice to the kids, and won’t tollerate any kind of jokes about trauma. Scott is rumoured to be very strict on the rules of the house concerning mental health.

8. ADDITIONAL NOTES While Scott is aware that there is no shame in any of what he deals with every day, he still keeps it under wraps a lot. He doesn’t ever want for his visual impairment or his trauma to become his only and main personality trait other people associate with him. This is why a lot of people may not even know that he is dealing with these things on the daily. He’s very subtle about everything and only those who get to know him better may begin to see and notice things which indicate that he’s disabled. Scott has grown so adjusted to living with his disabilities that they commonly no longer cause him trouble.

The only people who know Scott is visually impaired because he told them himself are Charles (confidant and father-figure), Jean (lover, the person he maybe trusts more than anyone else), Hank (as the resident scientist), Ororo (as his fellow team leader) and Emma Frost (as his therapist).

Scott has been able to take therapy sessions with Charles during his early years, and later on with Emma Frost. Jean has also helped him an incredibly great deal on coping with his trauma and PTSD, lack of self-esteem and dealing with his emotions and expressing them more openly.

To this day, Scott still suffers from migraines and occasional moments of memory loss. His brain injury does not always allow him to maintain or store knowledge accurately. His migraines are a result of his optic blast building up surplus energy. When Scott can’t use his optic blast regularly, he will build up a surplus energy which manifests into migraines.

[starkeristheendgame]

middle of it the avengers alarm goes off. The argument spills over during the battle (and of course everyone can hear them and is trying to ignore it) and it ends with one of them saying they should just break up. Then something happens and they make up lmao

So there seems to be a part missing to your ask, but I pretty much got the gist! I hope this is okay, and that you enjoy! Ages are ambiguous so let your imagination run free. Its mostly angst but at the end there’s hopefulness for a brighter future. Tony is kind of portrayed as a bit of an ass in this, but we all know he just struggles with relationships and emotions so I hope you won’t judge him too harshly.

TW: Angst | Fighting | Temporary break up | Very brief note of minor injury.

Tony’s words still ring like Church bells through his head, even hours after they’d been spoken. That harsh spitfire tone, the broken fury in his eyes as he spat the words in the midst of battle, launching that anger against their enemies. Tony’s eyes, normally rich brandy that made him think of warm nights in front of a fire, had been been inferno and rage all day.

“We’re better off without each other”.

He flinched at the echo memory, staring dully off into space as he held the pack of cooling gel against his bruised side, the taste of copper drying on his tongue. His bruised sides were his own fault; his blind rage and anguish at their fighting had transgressed into the battle. His hits had been sloppy, unkempt, and it had fallen to the rest of the team to try and hold together their splintered edges.

Even now, the rest of the team are as sullen and awkwardly tense as the seething, newly un-coupled pair. Even Steve, normally so brazen and uncowed, sits grim in the pilot seat, jaw set and gaze on the miles of clouds before them. Clint, nursing a leg and his checked pride, is a comforting but ever silent presence at his side. No warm jokes, no lopsided smiles.

Tony is the worst. Cold and impassive at the rear of the jet, working on his Gauntlet with silent fury. Peter wondered what would happen when they got back; he’d more or less moved into the penthouse with Tony by this point, their lives entangled. Peter had no idea about post-breakup protocol. Tony had been his first real relationship, the first one to have any true weight and meaning.

The aching tiredness of war had settled in. His body felt leaden and tender, and on any other day he would have curled up against Tony’s side and napped the journey home away. Now, he leaned back on the bench and closed his eyes, focusing on keeping his breathing measured and even. The battle he’d just fought seemed nothing in comparison to the fight that had began this morning and had broken like a storm on the battlefield.

“You’re unseasoned! You’re a child. Our worlds have been nothing alike and neither are we!”

“You’re half a lifetime behind me, Peter. Sometimes, I think that’s how it should be. Apart.”

“If you hadn’t been bitten by that spider, me and you? We wouldn’t ever be in the same circle”.

When he opened his eyes again they were wet and they stung, and they were home.

No. Not home. Not for him, anymore. Peter accepted the hand that Steve offered him, and followed the rest out in stony silence. He wondered if this would be the end of it; the legacy of his time as an Avenger. His entire relationship put on blast over the comms, his friends and childhood heroes unable to look him in the eye.

Medical cleared him with two cracked ribs and his own teeth imprints on his tongue. Two painkillers and a glass of water later, and he itched to be out of the suit, to be clean and to curl up in a soft bed. His only clothes were in the penthouse, however, and he reluctantly shuffled to the elevator, head low and arms wrapped around himself for comfort more than to relieve the pain.

He crept cautiously into the open space, ears perked and eyes alert. He couldn’t see Tony anywhere, though, and by the time he reached the small staircase that led up to the balcony-style second floor, he was relaxed.

A fool’s act. No sooner had he rounded the corner, light-footed on the plush carpet, he stopped. Perched on the edge of the bed, with one smartly dressed Pepper Potts between his splayed thighs, was Tony. He had his head tucked down against her stomach, arms loose around her waist, and though he could see only her back, he could tell she was running her fingers through his hair.

Heart clenching, Peter turned away and fled before they could notice him, taking the elevator down to the foyer. It was easy enough to ask for a car to drive him home, the wide eyed receptionist sympathetic and astounded by his presence. The driver who pulled up was not Happy, but he was soft and cheerful, and roused Peter gently from where he’d fallen asleep against the window on the ride home.

His bed was cold and empty, a sore trade-off from where he would normally be. But the shower was warm and a balm to his aching muscles where the painkillers had stemmed the pain but not cut it off completely. When he was dressed and beneath the sheets he turned his cheek to his pillow, and let his mind wander.

“I’m - Not - Helpless!” He snarled, kicking furiously at the robotic figure that tried to swing for his jaw. He obliterated it, pieces flying in all directions as he waded through the outburst and onto the next, his partner’s bitter tone a soundtrack to the splintering of metal before him. He lashed out again, ducked, used a web to throw the sentient steel away from him.

“You’re untrained! You’re green! You’re a fucking colt amongst stallions and I won't stand by and watch you get hurt!” Tony’s eyes were wildfire like his voice, and any other moment his appetite for war would have made Peter’s thighs squeeze together and his teeth catch his tongue. Then, it terrified him, enraged him, and saddened him. They spat fire at each other and used it to fuel their defence, and they both steadfastly ignored the pleading protests of their colleagues over the comms, tuned in to their every word. The shame had only made Peter angrier.

He awoke with it burning inside him, smothered quickly by the sight of the bare pillow before him. No sleep-warm brown eyes looking back at him, just the residual stiffness from his injuries and the bitter taste of loneliness. Peter shifted and pushed himself to his feet, forcing his morning routine. He dreaded the text that would ask him to pick up his things, or the call that would tell him Happy was on his way with his stuff.

It never came. But neither did any other call. His phone was silent from any Avenger, none of the usual post-mission calls to fill in paperwork or check-ins from the others. No Steve asking if he wanted to jog together on Wednesday, no Tony asking him to come to the lab with sexual emojis.

Only Ned, MJ, Aunt May, even Flash. Though the latter was just another request for Tony's attention. No matter how many times Peter secretly prayed each time he picked up his phone, it was never the name he wanted. By the 6th day, he'd well and truly come to realise that was it.

It was over.

They were over.

He sniffled into his ice cream. The past six days had melted into scrolling through his old messages, bawling, and watching Elle Woods get her happily ever after. He'd taken her example in the first film and had stomped silently to the grocery market to buy several litre tubs of ice cream in varying flavours. He'd put the Spidersuit under his bed and hadn't looked at it since.

Except by the next Saturday he'd run out of emotions to cycle through and messages to cry over and the itch to be out in the nightlife, sailing between the stars took over.

Putting on the suit felt like a punch to the gut and a glass of cold water at the end of a desert.

He stood on the roof of the apartment complex, swept his gaze slowly over the cityscape, then stepped off the ledge. The drop made his heart skip a beat and the adrenaline crash through his veins, and flicking his wrist with a web at the next building felt like salvation. He dropped, swung, pulled and sailed until he was panting behind the mask, arms quivering as he roamed steadily from the lower city level to the skyscrapers and business buildings, towering above the rest like sentinels and watchmen.

He ignored the nagging memories of doing this with Tony. The two of them laughing through the comms, of clinging to each other above the clouds where nobody could see them. He focused on the ache of his muscles as he climbed higher, higher. The Stark Tower was the tallest building in New York, but the Reach Building was a close second, and empty at this hour.

He threw a web and let the momentum take him, swinging a steep arc and letting go so that it tossed him high into the empty darkness, the cool breeze buffering him as he raced in the sky, baring his stomach to the stars above, arms spread and head tipped back on a delighted, breathless sigh.

One moment, he was gazing at stars, twinkling and careless above him. The next he was rolling backwards, over, and what should have been cityscape became two slats of neon blue, surrounded by peony red and rich gold. He startled, jerked, and they fell in graceful tandem. Peter's heart thumped behind the bars of his chest, and he was left breathless as he stared, the fall ignored for the jarring reality that Tony was here.

The cityscape rushed up towards them and solid arms slid around his waist, driving the breath from his lungs. The firm press of metal was something Peter had resigned himself to feel only in his memories and dreams, and he couldn't remember how to breathe in at the feel of plated fingertips digging into his hips.

They free-fell down, plummeting fast. A shift of Tony's leg and they tipped, rolling gracefully until they were upright and then Peter's entire body tingled as he heard the thrusters of the suit engage. Falling became flying upwards, held safely against warm, solid metal, though he didn't dare to lay his cheek against Tony's chest as he might've before.

He did turn his head away and close his eyes though, relishing in the feel of their bodies together last he suddenly wake up and realise, not for the first time, that it had all been a dream. It was only a cluster of seconds, but it felt like an eternity before he was being set down as gently as if he were glass, held tight by an arm around his waist as Tony's reached up, tugging off the mask as his own faceplate flipped up.

"I can't ". Tony's voice broke over the word, breathless and agonised as he clung to Peter, holding him tight. Shock rendered him speechless and he simply stood lax in Tony's grip, on his tip-toes and leaning back into the solid arm around him. Tony's eyes were dark and red, glossy like he'd been crying mere moments before they landed. He looked sleepless, exhausted.

"I can't do it" he repeated, slower, weaker. "I can't be without you. I hate myself for it, because you deserve better. Because being with you automatically means risking losing you. But I can't lose you like that". He slumped at the end of it, defeated, and Peter finally managed to swallow the knife that had lodged itself in his throat, robbing him of his words and leaving tight pain in its wake.

“You don’t get to dictate what I am and aren’t capable of doing anymore. You don’t get to keep comparing me as weak or useless against the rest of you” he breathed, tears stinging at his eyes and turning Tony into a large, red blob. A red blob that hesitated, before nodding. “And you don’t get to break up with me because you’re being a selfish ass” he added after a pause wherein both of them were too afraid to say or do anything else.

“I can’t promise I’ll be perfect. I’m undoubtedly gonna fuck up again at some point. But... Fuck, I want us to be able to fight about it, and stay together. I want you to tell me I’m wrong and I want to fall asleep next to you in the same night, because I haven’t slept since you left. And-”

Peter sucked in a breath on a sound between a laugh and a sob, wiping heavily at his eyes before he reached up and pressed his palm over Tony’s mouth, muffling whatever tangent he was about to spiel off into. The prickle of Tony’s signature stubble against his palm was a sensation he wouldn’t trade for the world in that moment.

Tony stopped, breathed in a puff of warm air, and watched him with docile hope as he leaned forwards, slowly and carefully, ducking his head out of the way of the faceplate. Tony’s eyes shone with broken adoration as he removed his palm and tipped his head, pressing a brief, weak kiss against Tony’s mouth. His legs felt weak for it and he moved his hands to Tony’s shoulders, clinging to the burnished metal.

“Come home” Tony whispered against his mouth, fingers flexing into Peter’s sides, and he nodded immediately, ducked his head down to Tony’s chest as the faceplate snicked shut and they soared towards the stars.

It wouldn’t be perfect. But that was okay, because they’d work through it and keep loving each other anyway.

[somuchfuckingsalt]

Why Bucky Staying Frozen for Years at a Time Doesn’t Make Sense

First and foremost, this was triggered by me reading that someone thinks Bucky should be low on the best MCU fighters list in terms of technical skill because he was only pulled out of cryo a couple dozen times over fifty years and he would have as much training or experience as other fighters. While I am not and will not ever get into a fight over whose the best fighter, the statement also made me think about a number of things about Bucky’s skillset and time as the Winter Soldier that either doesn’t make sense or is glossed over in the MCU. 

The first thing I want to point out is that while Natasha says he’s only credited for a couple dozen kills, she also (in that same breath) says that most of the intelligence community doesn’t think he exists, so the majority of his kills wouldn’t be tied to him. Plus, as we saw with the Starks, he is capable of making deaths look like accidents to the point where until Natasha’s info dump absolutely everyone not-Hydra thought the Starks died in a car accident.

Right. Now.

Hydra would have regularly taken Bucky out of cryo for training otherwise he wouldn’t be able to do half the shit he does.

For fighting, as time went on standards for military and law enforcement training got higher and higher, which would mean Hydra - in order to keep Bucky has the best of the best - would have had to make sure Bucky had incredibly intense knowledge in multiple martial arts. And I can guarantee they wouldn’t have been cool with their master assassin knowing one type of martial art so they would have pulled him out more than once to diversify his skillset.

Do you know how long it takes to master a martial art? Even where he’s learning for sixteen hours a day it would still take a few months. Why? Because fighting is like 80% muscle memory.

Which brings me to my next point; they would not have been able to leave Bucky in a freezer for years a time, defrost him, immediately send him out on a mission, and have him be a top fighting ability.

The reason why my taekwon do instructor had me practice the different types of kicks by repeatedly kicking the air in a slow and controlled manner when I was first learning was so that when I had to do it fast and hard the movement would be so ingrained in my head I could do it properly without thinking about it.

The reason why field agents with the FBI and whatever need to spar on the regular is because when you don’t spar for a while your body starts to forget and you get worse at it.

So yeah. Hydra either would have had to unfrost Bucky regularly for training and practice or they just straight up should have kept him out of cryo.

Another reason why they wouldn’t have been able to keep him under for long periods of time is because assassins aren’t all fighting, they need various other skills as well. Mostly, they would need tech knowledge.

We clearly see in TWS and CW that Bucky has piloting skills and learning to become a pilot in the military takes a few months for basic training, let alone the level of mastery that Hydra probably required Bucky to have. He would have had to be out for a while to learn to be a pilot and then every time there was a technological upgrade they would have had to pull him out again in order to teach it to him.

Same goes for weapons. They would want him to know how to be deadly with literally anything and every time someone came up with a new type of weapon or an upgrade he’d have to learn to do it.

Other small things Bucky would have to know in order to be a good assassin:

Get past security systems

Going off of that, probably some basic computer hacking skills. You’re telling me they never once decided to kill two birds with one stone and have him steal info and kill someone.

Speak multiple languages

Drive various types of vehicles and probably the basics to fix them as well 

How to fix his own arm and how to fight without it when he can’t fix it

Various ways of electronic and radio communication

Poisons and their antidotes (for accidents)

(Many of these are based on the idea that Hydra wouldn’t have always been able to send him out with a team)

What would be an extremely hilarious fic concept is Bucky knowing how to hack through intense computer security systems and yet having no fucking clue how to use a microwave.

Anyway, this is long and winded but my point is that keeping Bucky frozen for extended periods of time makes no sense and that Bucky should be acknowledged as being terrifyingly good at fighting.

[roswelldetails]

RNM 2x10 - American Woman

EPISODE SUMMARY:

SECRETS OF THE PAST — After uncovering a cryptic message from the past, Alex (Tyler Blackburn), Isobel (Lily Cowles), Max (Nathan Dean), Michael (Michael Vlamis) and Maria (Heather Hemmens) set out in search of answers at the reservation where Alex’s mother grew up. Meanwhile, Cameron (guest star Riley Voelkel) encourages Liz (Jeanine Mason) to reach out to someone from her past after Auturo (guest star Carlos Compean) gets detained. Marcus Stokes directed the episode written by Rick Montano & Vincent Ingaro & Jason Gavin (#210). Original airdate 5/18/2020. 

DETAILS:

Tripp brings Louise to the Reservation in a body bag where the Navajo doctors are able to save her life.

"Your message said that you were gonna bring two women that would be no trouble.  This looks like a lot of trouble."

"I must have gotten the codes wrong."

"No, don't give me that Manes man nonsense. Not here in my own home."

"Her name is Louise. I promised her friend Nora I'd protect them. My brother triggered an ambush before I could get them here. And Nora…"

"Wait, what does the Air Force want them for?"

"They're not from around here. They're from...up north."

"Yìiyáh. No. She can't stay here… What if your brother comes here and finds a fugitive.  I can't put my people at risk for a white woman."

"Please. You're the only person I trust. If she doesn't make it, it was all for nothing."

"I'll have you remember that I was the one that saved your ass in Okinawa. I don't owe you anything. I'm only doing this because you're my family. And because I'm a damn fool."

A few notes on this scene:

--I don't know why Tripp pretends he got the codes wrong.  Unless he's spiraling and talking about the timing of the attack.  But it seems like he means the message that he was bringing them to the reservation.  Clearly things didn't go according to plan.  Though, it is always possible that we're still missing bits of the story.

--OG Easter Egg.  "They're not from around here.  They're from up north." For anyone who didn't watch OG, this is almost exactly how the exchange went when Max told Liz he was an alien in the 1999 pilot.

--Yìiyáh - I found nothing on this word.  I'm assuming that it's a curse word or general exclamation of negativity, but literally got zero results on google. It's possible, of course, that it's misspelled in the captions.  There were a lot of errors in the captions in this opening scene.

--While there really isn't any overt statement that Alex is half Navajo and this town is part of Navajo Nation (which has been in the news a lot lately and therefore is a good place in this country to be aware of), there's lots of clues or subtle enough statements that I feel like it can be accepted as fact, since: Harrison is a codetalker, the necklace is Navajo, tsela is a Navajo word. So I did a little peeking and it could work.  The closest Navajo town is about a 4 hour drive from Roswell.

Navajo Nation: 

(side note - Navajo Nation has extreme poverty but also is utterly gorgeous. And the Tribe gets income from tourism. Just a few places there that I'm dying to go? Monument Valley, Antelope Canyon, Shiprock.  Check it out.)

Liz comments on Max's irregular heartbeat, with literally no acknowledgment of the fact that she's straddling him and has a history of causing his heart to race...and other forms of lack of control (think 1x03).

"I'm excited about this though. You know Alex dug up all that info on our bio Mom. You sure you can't come?"

"Got to take my dad in for his blood tests. I want to check on Jenna too.  Cannot believe she's back in the hospital again."

"She's been in pain for weeks. I have no leads on the mysterious hunting van, and Charlie hasn't made contact."

"Hmm. To be fair, I do hear that phone service is a little spotty in flying saucers."

"Okay, I get that. You think my alien abduction theory is bogus."

"I know you're worried that this has something to do with you, but I don't think this is an alien thing."

"Cam and I had fractal burns on our necks. We had no memory of what happened. That's alien stuff. I just want clarity on something."

--Note that it's past time to abandon all hope of anything resembling a defined timeline for this show...once again we have weeks passing between episodes. This is the second time this season that the time passing has only been generically described as "weeks".  It's been at least a year since Liz came back to Roswell (per her conversation with Diego), but a year would be summer (late May or early June, specifically), and in this episode Isobel mentions that it's winter (which would be a year and a half).

Maria's pitch:

"In conclusion, esteemed members of the Roswell Tourism Board, while the Pony is normally a sanctuary for locals during CrashCon, I think that my plan to turn it into the Contact Cantina Pop-Up Bar will be a hit with alien fans."

"We're talking more money than we first speculated, aren't we now?"

"You know, Mayor Bernhardt, I forgot to tell you about our new morning cocktail… It's coffee, vanilla cream, and our best bourbon. Let me get you a double."

Note: so this is the famous Mayor Bernhardt. Funded by the Long family. Doesn't like immigrants. Had a racist relative who wouldn't give first prize to the black man.

Maria's vision…

Herself, younger, sitting at the Pony bar. 

"You have to let me go! You're just crazy! And I'm trapped!"

And then she runs from the bar crying.

She's not wearing the necklace.

Describing it to Michael:

"I had a vision, but it was more like a memory. Of a fight I had with my mom when I was younger."

Isobel interrupts Michael and Maria to pick them up for the road trip. Just a few relevant excepts from this scene:

"Pack your bags. We're going on a family road trip."

"Is this why Max wanted the day off?"

"In the photo of Max and Isobel's bio Mom, there was a water tower. Alex recognized that water tower from the town where his mom grew up. You should come with us."

Alex and Forrest talk in the Crashdown:

"Hope that limp isn't from a paintball injury."

"Nope. Those bruises have mostly healed. I just got a new prosthetic. Takes a minute to get used to. You working on your book?"

"I write my book on my computer.  However, I write my angsty emo poetry in an angsty emo journal."

"I'm actually working on some poetry myself. Well, song lyrics, technically. It's a lot harder than it was in high school."

"Yeah, writing was easier for me when I was a kid too. Feelings...we bury 'em now. You just got to find that thing inside of you that doesn't have a voice. Lend it yours. You know? Listen, I have like, zero musical talent, but if you need help with the worst part, we could, uh…"

"Actually I'm leaving tomorrow for a few days to go talk to some recruits."

Michael interruptus, and the conversation goes casual.

--What happened to "angsty nerd isn't really my type." Or...was it FORESHADOWING!!!?! 😂

--Oh hi there clear shot of Forrest's clearly Deep Sky logoed ring…

Cam has been having debilitating migraines that have been keeping her bedridden since the abduction.

Nurse Kate is a badass. she tries to keep ICE from getting into a patient's room. Liz hears her and hurries to the waiting room, where there's more ICE activity. Liz panics and tries to get Arturo out of the hospital, but she caught the attention of the ICE officers. However, Liz knows her rights.

"He has applied for his green card. I'm his sponsor, okay? This is his G-1145 right here."

"You can show that to the court."

"It's okay. Call the lawyer."

"No. He is a diabetic. It is illegal to detain a patient."

"Exigent circumstances. Move."

"No. Hey, this is an unconstitutional arrest and the ACLU will be all over you."

"Elizabeth, we respect the law in this family. If you're in trouble, who will take care of the mouse?"

--G-1145 is a request for confirmation that your green card application has been accepted:

--The timing of this all. Liz has been prepared for this moment all her life and would fight it to the point of getting arrested herself, if not for Rosa. Rosa's safety is the only thing that convinces Liz to step aside.

--As an only semi related note, this is a really interesting contrast to how they wrote Jeanine's character out on Grey's Anatomy.  

--Also feel like it would be remiss of me to not point out Liz's reactiveness and fightinf mentality is mirroring how Liz initially reacted to Max pulling her over in the pilot.

"Okay. So the Deputy on call says there's one detention center in the county. Here's the info."

"He doesn't have anything left in Mexico. No one. Nowhere to go."

"You can't think like that right now."

"I think like this always. Rosa and I used to recite our escape plan for if our parents got deported and we got separated in foster care. I begged my parents not to tell Santa where we lived because I was afraid he'd ask for papers. My whole life was built on a fear of this day coming, and it's here. If I'd have kept better track of his health, he wouldn't need these tests. I should have made him move to California. I thought we were safe being outside the hundred-mile zone, but after this election I should have known better. And I should have made him wear a sweater this morning because it's freezing out there. And what if he…?"

"...okay think. Is there someone we can call?"

"Kyle's at a conference, but I can have him call his mom."

"Do you know anyone with some real power? You know, Federal muscle?"

Cam gets dressed to take Liz to the Detention Center and Liz calls Diego for help.

The road trip group arrive at the reservation and meet Gregory Manes.  He says he remembers them all from high school.  He takes Max, Michael, and Isobel to learn about Louise while Alex and Maria go jewelry shopping.

Meanwhile Gregory is taking the Pod Squad to Louise's grave, but pauses for some flirting:

"You're still the Isobel Evans who convinced the basketball captain to pull four different fire alarms to get out of AP Gov, right? Yeah, legend. Here she is."

"Oh my God, it's covered in flowers.  It's winter."

"Rumor is they grow year-round unattended. She was a healer. I'm told she helped with trauma, addiction, that sort of thing. All without speaking."

"This another grave?"

"She was pregnant."

"Louise arrived gravely injured. And the baby didn't survive.

--Louise died the same day the Pod Squad came out of the pods, confirming that she is probably the old woman on the reservation that was described in 1x09.

--Michael found the mysterious purple flowers growing on Louise's grave.

Alex and Maria at the trading post.

"Are you okay? Seem a little off."

"I had a vision during a meeting this morning. It almost cost me a deal that could save the bar. Maybe I should just wear the necklace. Go back to being a social media guru. Slash barkeep. Slash magical trope in our redneck mayor's fantasy."

"So why did you really come today? Your ideal day off isn't fighting for the radio silence with Isobel Evans, so…"

"This is the back of my necklace. The word stamped in the silver says Tsela. The necklace is Navajo, so I thought maybe that was the jeweler, but no one I've asked here seems to know who made it. I just want answers."

"Well, there's a ton of silver jewelry for sale here. So why don't we just keep looking for something with the same stamp?"

Pod Squad sharing a bottle of acetone by Louise's grave.

"Noah said our planet was war-torn. But the hell they found here can't have been worth it."

"Do you think that Louise's baby died from her injuries or do you think maybe it was never going to survive?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I was pregnant. When you died. Obviously I'm not anymore. I just can't help wondering if that was my last chance. Assuming that humans and aliens can't procreate because they're different species. Maybe that little baby wasn't viable."

"You almost died during the abortion, didn't you? I could feel it. Noah almost killed you again, huh? Oh, I need a minute."

After Max leaves Michael offers to be a sperm donor for Isobel if she ever wants to have a kid.

Liz at the Detainment Center

"It's Ortecho. Arturo Ortecho. He's my dad. And he needs gliclazide and beta-blockers. I brought both."

"We can't take contraband here, but there is an infirmary on-site, if he's here."

"You know, out of curiosity, did Nebane Abienwi visit an infirmary before he died of a brain bleed in your custody? What about Johana Medina León? She was 25 years old, okay? People walk through those doors and they die...Who's your supervisor? You need prior approval before conducting enforcement in a hospital. There was a compliance memo."

"Right, a memo, which is just like a law only not. Unless you calm down, I'm gonna arrest you for obstruction."

"Okay, Liz, maybe sit down.  Sir, I'm Deputy Jenna Cameron, and we appreciate your interpretation of your guidelines, but we have an urgent health concern about an inmate here, if you just wouldn't mind checking the system."

Jenna goes with the agent…when she returns...

"Do you have a court case next week for a vandalism charge?"

"What? Yes, but I didn't do it. I'm just gonna plead guilty and pay the fine. It's nothing."

"They denied your dad's green card application because of a misdemeanor on your record. You can't be his sponsor."

Jenna's headaches overtake her. Meanwhile, the ICE agent comes back with news:

"Here just came up. Ortecho is being transferred to El Paso for his deportation hearing. You can see him there around Tuesday."

--Liz's misdemeanor is taking the fall for Rosa's vandalism from when she was arrested by Sheriff Valenti in 2x02.

Gregory takes the Pod Squad to see Harrison who is on his death bed.  Manes boys are always welcome here, the woman tells them. Harrison is the only one Louise ever spoke to on the reservation.

"He met my great uncle Tripp Manes fighting in WWII.  Harry was a code talker."

Michael gets Gregory to leave with him so that Max and Isobel can go inside of Harrison's head. Their conversation:

"You look like her."

"Harrison.  You look different."

"That was a lesson I learned from Louise. How to take your mind to a better time when you're in pain. Come on. I haven't seen the sky in a while. I'll tell you about her...I taught Tripp the codes in the Pacific. That's how we set up the rescue. He was supposed to snuggle Louise and Nora here, but the plan fell apart."

In the past between Harrison and Tripp:

"You've changed. The man I met on that ship obeyed orders."

"Guess I saw what happens when good men fall in line with bad orders. I'm a Christian, Harry. When evil itself tells me to kill a woman with child, I disobey. Even if the evil looks just like my brother."

A nurse rolls Louise into the room in a wheelchair.

"Did you find a family for her?"

"There should be music where you take her. I think she's a dancer."

"You can give her a house full of music, Louise. Nora wanted me to protect you so that you could protect the child."

"No. He's coming for me and I can't even move. No. When the devil comes, I won't be able to fight for her. Please. It is hard to be a woman on your planet.  It's only gonna be harder still for her. Roy Bronson believed in meeting hatred with compassion. And I want her to be like him. A light in the darkness. A little star on the ground. I want that for both my girls."

"Where did he take the baby?"

"Can't say."

"No. Tell us where our sister went."

"She isn't your sister. Louise rarely spoke, but when she did, she spoke of two daughters. Two stars on the ground. She had no sons. You aren't hers. You came from something else...She lived for decades longer than she should have, trapped inside of a body that could no longer dance, waiting for a sign that you would be all right. She loved you."

Jenna wakes up back at the hospital.

"I asked them to run a new test. Your headaches are spinal headaches. Because there was a hole torn into your spinal cord."

"I'm sorry, what? My kidnappers gave me a spinal tap?"

"Do you mind signing off so I can look at your tox screen?"

"Yeah, of course, but, Liz, you don't have to do this, okay? Your dad, and…"

"I need a distraction. I can't leave for El Paso until tomorrow, and they're not letting him have visitors other than his lawyer until Tuesday, so...thank you for being here. You used your privilege to help me. I'm furious that I needed it, but I needed it."

--Reposado is a type of tequila

--Spinal Headaches:

Isobel and Max on what they learned from Harrison:

"You've always been different than me and Michael, okay? Always. You were the leader. From the start. I mean, you're the special one. You're the healer."

"I was. Now I can't even sneeze without my heart skipping a beat. All my life, no matter how weird things got, I never felt alone. Because I was your twin. Maybe I'm different. Maybe I'm a freak...I can't stop thinking about being chained up when I was a kid. It didn't feel like someone bad chained me up. It felt like I was the someone bad."

"Max, you're not dangerous."

"Saving people destroys me. But killing Noah? That felt good. I was high. And whenever I think about what he did to you, I want to chase that high. I wish I could kill him a thousand times. Louise mentioned the devil. Maybe something evil was chasing them. And maybe that something was me."

"Okay. I want to show you something. You see this hand on her shoulder there? See, Michael thought it was just someone who got cropped out of the photo, but no. Any female would recognize that body language. She does not want that hand on her. Louise said the devil would come. I think something evil was after them, but it wasn't you. I want to find out who it was."

Alex and Gregory:

"Hey, I just wanted to say thank you before we go. I also feel like I should congratulate you on getting out."

"Of the Navy?"

"Of the family. Getting out from under Dad."

"You got to break free of him, man."

"Do you feel free?"

"I don't think I get to be free until you are, Alex. You know, you're my brother. I wish that I would've stood up for you more."

"You know, I think he's actually getting a little bit better. It's like the stroke melted away the psycho in his brain or something." 

"If you can forgive him you should. Cast off the stone. Let me hate him for you. I owe you that much."

Back at the trading post with the whole road trip group.

"We scoured the store for jewelry that said Tsela on it, but nada. Although I did manage to spend an entire week's worth of tips anyway."

"Tsela?"

"Yeah it was printed on the back of my grandmother's necklace. I thought I might find some answers here."

"Well, apparently, it is Navajo for star on the ground. So, you guys ready to go?"

"Star on the ground.  Maria? What year was your grandmother born?"

"Uh, '48, I think?"

"Was she adopted?"

"Yeah. Oh my God."

"Your grandmother was my sister."

Note: The direct translation of Tsela is stars lying down. Interestingly, it's often a name in Navajo. When I googled it, the top results were names for Navajo boys.

Diego and Liz's conversation:

"Diego, I never would have reached out if it weren't an emergency. Thank your mom for me."

"The Senator was more than happy to call in a favor. She's always liked you."

"I like her too. We need more people like her."

"Look, we got lucky your dad got out at all, much less without an ankle monitor. And you pissed a few people off back there, so it's not likely that this is the end for you. Who's your lawyer? Or should I make some calls?"

"No, you've done enough. After what I did, I can't even believe you listened to my voicemail...How did you get here so fast?"

"I was at the airport in Phoenix when you called. Just had to reroute real fast."

"And how have you been?"

"Well, my fiancée left me. I'm kidding. No, I'm seeing someone.  It's getting pretty serious, so…"

"Good. Me too."

"Good. We can be friends...And don't take this the wrong way. Please tell me you're not wasting that incredible brain of yours writing alien hamburger puns."

"I am working on a few projects. Nothing I can talk about, but, I'm not wasting anything."

"Well, all the coolest studies make you sign NDAs anyway, so…"

"You know what? There actually is something...Do you know what butyricol is?  Worth a shot. It's this chemical I found in my friend's tox screen. I had never heard of it."

"Maybe you're slacking, Ortecho."

"I am sorry, it has only been a year. Did you literally forget everything about me?"

Note: I'm very pleased to say that when I googled butyricol, half of the top results were RNM related.  Definitely not a real drug.

Malex fight in the bunker:

"We're closed!"

"Hey, that alien console piece that Jim Valenti left me...You still have it?"

"No. I sold it on eBay."

"You didn't attach it to your console."

"I tried. Doesn't fit."

"So, Tripp left this for my dad before he died. My dad thought it was a code, but this is a reference sketch of this exact piece. My dad's been looking for this thing for 30 years and Jim Valenti had it all along...I'm gonna give it to him. I want to see what he does with it once he's got it. Look, if it didn't fit in your console, then it fits somewhere else. My dad could lead us there.""Your dad hunts aliens, Alex. He'll lead my family right off a cliff."

"I've protected you so far. That's not changing. Besides, he's different these days...I don't trust him, Guerin. I just…I'm asking you to trust me.""When we were kids, you believed people were good, despite humanity doing everything to prove you otherwise. And, God, I loved you for it. But what was charming when we were 17, it's just stupid now. How do you not see that? You believe there's some good in your father?"

"Yeah. Yeah I do. God forbid I have faith in people who don't give me a good reason to."

"That's not fair."

"No? Why is your hand covered? You miss your injury because you want to hurt. Your anger made you feel safe. I will always hate my father for what he did to you, but I don't want to live in that toolshed for the rest of my life. I don't want to walk around thinking that people don't change, that one day everyone's just gonna let me down, 'cause I am not building a damn rocket ship in a hidden lair. There's one way for me off this planet. And I need to believe in a reason to stay. I promise I'll keep you safe."

"Can't let you leave with that."

"What are you gonna do? Fight me for it?"

And then Alex leaves and is kidnapped. Hit over the head by an unknown assailant. The note from Tripp blows away.

Max and Liz are talking back at Max's house while Max drinks a lot of bourbon.

"You know, you never told me why your parents immigrated here in the first place."

"My dad wanted a family, but not in Juárez. There was no opportunity, no money. Women were disappearing there all the time. He didn't want my mom to be one of them. So he fled. You're wondering why your family came here."

"If I even had a family. I know so little about my own story. And the parts I thought I understood are just unraveling."

"Max. Family is the one area where I am certain that biology does not matter. Look, when I found out that Rosa was only my half sister that didn't change anything."

"This is different...There are only three of us on this planet, as far as we know. I mean, feeling disconnected from them makes me feel completely alone."

"Completely alone? I'm right here."

"When you needed a rescue today your Mensa society, old money son of a senator ex was there to answer your prayers. I couldn't even answer a call. You didn't need me."

"Oh my God. Okay, so would you prefer that I did need you? Would you prefer to come home to find me crying into my dad's windbreaker so that you can swoop me up and drive me to El Paso for his deportation hearing in the morning?"

"That's not fair. You wanted me to talk about today."

"Yes, okay. I'm sorry. I want you to feel better."

"Well, you think maybe you could go back in time and not meet someone as handsome as Diego? Seriously. He's like if someone mixed a cologne ad with a Kennedy. It's ridiculous. I will never feel adequate again."

"You're wrong. Max, let me be clear. You are objectively better in bed...And I never woke up on a Sunday morning to him singing Hank Williams in the shower...He never snuck unreasonable tips into my dad's checks. Or quoted Henry the Fourth. Coming home to you at the end of my worst days and my best days is the only rescue I need."

I actually found this background on the Ortechos to be fascinating.  In case you don't know Juárez is a pretty big city directly opposite the border from El Paso. It does have some huge crime issues. But it also is one of those border cities where the border is a little thinner. Like San Diego and Tijuana.  People live in Juárez and work in El Paso and vice versa.

If you want to see a really dark & gritty portrayal of Juárez, I'd highly recommend you to check out the American version of the show The Bridge.  Which literally deals with an investigation related to disappearing women.

Isobel and Maria at the Pony:

"She looks so determined."

"Yeah, neither of us would be here if she hadn't been. You know she was paralyzed 50 years and she still managed to use her powers to help ease troubled minds. You know how hard that is? To take on someone else's suffering? I mean, it doesn't just disappear. She would have been carrying all of that."

"She suffered so much loss."

"I don't know how to be worth it."

Michael on the bracelet.

"The beads are made with pollen from the alien flower. I found another plant growing at Louise's grave. Okay my working theory is that they grow from alien remains. There's this UFO lore about that Libyan desert where the flowers have been discovered before. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to. I know better than to think I can save Maria DeLuca. I hope you decide you can save yourself."

Max is still drinking after Liz went to bed.  At 4:04am Diego calls and wakes her up. 

"I made a call, about that toxin in your friend's system. Butyricol. It's a drug. It's a memory eraser. It was developed by a private organization and purchased by the military for weaponization. There's no approved application outside of violent combat."

Liz tries to call Alex, but he's too busy being unconscious in the back of his SUV.  So his kidnapper pockets his phone.

Max has a memory flash. There's fighting, weapons clashing, a woman's voice...all while he's chained down in the cave. Louise appears and kneels down to touch his shoulder.  He looks afraid, but she's trying to comfort him (even though she has blood splattered all over her white clothes). She smiles and nods and then cuts Max free of the chains with her alien weapon. She offers him her hand, but before he can take it a figure in white appears and he and Louise fight. Max cries out and hides his face.

Present day Max is visibly shook by the flash.

MUSIC:

1.  Shelly Fairchild "Worry No More"

2.  Powerslide "Just You And I"

3.  Will Fox "Against The Tide"

4.  Tommee Profitt feat. Sam Tinnesz "Bullet With Butterfly Wings"

[thebritishblabbermouth]

Peaceful storms

Heyya beautiful people!!

Its been a year since ive been active on tumblr and my gosh a year through med school has been insanely exhausting! Glad that’s over

This piece is a little hello from my side.

I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think! 

I love you guys and thank you for sticking with me for the year

Feel free to message and just say hi :3 

SUGA FANFICTION 

I’d pick your thunder and your rain over anyone’s sunshine any day – anonymous

The pastel green wall clock struck 2 am, the wind stood steady and calm as the moon hid between dark clouds that hung like blots of ink in the sky. There was no light in the living room, just me and the darkness. Just like it had always been without him. 

6 months ago, I was living a dream. My boyfriend, my job, the weather. What I wouldn’t do to go back to those 3 days. He’d just returned from their most recent stadium tour, hungry for me and for our time together. 3 days of love, food and a whole lot of sleep. But mostly, it was 3 whole days of Yoongi. The peculiar smell of fresh laundry and citrus that I had grown to associate with him, the way his warm eyes crinkled as he smiled, lingering touches and promising words. The sun had beamed down on us, soft clouds in the sky, and streaks of light playing games on our skin as we held each other. Perfection in its prime.

But, 3 days of extreme happiness obviously had to match with 3 days of stormy nights. It had been a misunderstanding, something trivial as it always is. Tour dates or a spontaneous fan meeting on the other side of the world. Something to take him away from me again, something to keep him from my arms and the safe haven of our apartment. Perhaps it wasn’t fair, perhaps it was meant to be. The long distance, the time difference, the lack of trust, empty phone calls with broken syllables and dried tears. Maybe that was all we would get, raging skies with angry clouds- thunder and lightning appearing as we hurled words at each other. Words that held no meaning – just remorse and regret.

And, 6 months after those storms, on this peaceful night. It felt like the storm was inside me. It wasn’t that things no longer made sense, wasn’t that I’d forgotten how to function. Rather, it felt like every breath I took was pointless- for there no life in my being. I was numb to everything, almost frozen with time.

I wouldn’t have noticed him entering the room for I had not heard the keys turning the lock or the shuffle of his heavy boots against the hardwood floor- I was too busy listening to the crickets and the dull voice inside my head, rather it was the lamp he’d switched on that shook me from my trance, its light, bathing the space in a moody yellow.

Auto-pilot mode. That’s what they call it. When you do things without thinking about them. That must have been it. I hadn’t realised id walked over to him until his eyes met mine- steely and tired.

‘’I haven’t…haven’t washed my hair in 2 weeks.’’

His voice was gruff, but not quiet. The noise pulled my from the numbness, jolting me into action. I am not entirely sure what it was he said. But it had been words and apparently I knew what I had to do.

A bath.

Min yoongi had somehow managed to make his way into the shared bathroom, hovering at the door way as I set up the large round tub with a pink bath bomb. Rose and tea tree drove away the smell of disinfectant and surface cleaner, the noise of the tap filling the tangible silence of the room.

He stood in front of me, waiting, watching. Noticing my moves as if he expected me to do something new. He wasn’t in luck.

‘’Unbutton.’’

I thought I’d forgotten how to speak.

Huh. I guess not.

I watched him sigh in retaliation- his slack arms and worn face highlighting his fatigue. The dark circles seemed defined under the vibrant lighting, usually rosy lips devoid of makeup and bruised at the edges- the constant biting having taken its toll on the soft skin.

‘’Too tired.’’ He said, his chin tucking into his chest like a little school boy. Was this defeat? Was this him coming back to me? Was this him tired of running away?

My heart sped up at the thoughts, my own grubbing mind had suddenly been startled awake by the act of Suga casting away his defences. What was this man doing to my sanity? Was he stripping me of it or teaching me how to live? I didn’t know. And at that point, it couldn’t have mattered less.

I began unbuttoning the baby blue dress shirt, my hands trembling as we stood close, breathing the same air. Our eyes too afraid to meet. The shirt was stripped in seconds and his dark slacks pooled at the tiled floor. He stepped into the water timidly, checking the temperature with is pale toes. Suga was ever the baby boy- his fans understood him spot on. But I’d always wondered if I’d ever understand Min yoongi the same way.

It was unspoken I wouldn’t be joining him in the bath, I had another task at hand. His hair. Currently dyed at a marron red, at least this time it hadn’t matched the colour of the bubbles in the bath. I smirked inwardly at the memory and sat down near his head as it perched at the edge of the tub.

‘’It’s really dirty Yoongi.’’ I said, soaking his scalp with warm water. This would take at least 2 large pumps of shampoo and perhaps an extra dollop of conditioner.

‘’You called me Yoongi again.’’

I am not sure what I had expected in reply, perhaps a smirk or a defence. But his words brought a shiver to my spine and I halted, his eyes were wide open- boring into my own as he watched me- gauging for a reaction. I tugged at his hair, the distraction successful as he groaned and turned away- momentarily forgetting the interaction I had not yet prepared for.

Washing his hair should have been relaxing for him- and it probably was because I was sure I heard a snore 10 minutes into the second rinse, but for me it was heaven. The strands were rough and dry from years of hair colour and damage but they felt soft in my palms, the shampoo working its magic as I watched his face in peace, memorising every contour and dip, the way his eyelashes curved and his nose twitched as I massaged his scalp, the slight overgrowth of a moustache he so hated and the acne that remained from years ago. It was imperfect and untouched yoongi at his most natural form. My yoongi.

‘’The water’s getting cold.’’ He said, once again driving me away from my thoughts, but this time as I watched him, I noticed his eyes flood, his bottom lip nipped between his teeth as he struggled to maintain composure. Had he been crying? Right in front of me? How had I not noticed?

I nodded and he swiftly retched away from my hands. The white towel wrapped around his waist, hair dripping wet and cheeks flushed as he realised that I’d noticed his reddened face, the tinge to his waterline implying unshed tears and unsaid words. My hands were still wet and he hastily wiped them down with a small rag, his fast movements leaving my still slow mind confused.

‘’What? What are you doing yoongi? You’re going to fall!’’

Suga attempting to multitask was a sight to behold, he failed drastically- often paving way for multiple scratches and gentle kisses to take the pain away. Attempting to wipe my hands and his hair, all the while trying to find a pair of his old boxers from the shelves- ones I hadn’t had the heart to throw away.

‘’We need to get to bed now.’’ He said, grabbing my wrist and pushing me out of the closet, leading the way to the bed.

Had I been anticipating this? Somewhere hidden within my subconscious, he was back in the apartment and id just washed his hair? Why? It made no sense. Had I no self-respect? No life beyond this reckless man? Was I going to let him destroy me all over again?

My thoughts clouded my actions as my back lay against the cool sheets, his hot hand snaking its way around my stomach, teasing the skin as he pulled me towards him. My back melted into his front, head tucked under his chin and arm propped out as my personal pillow. His bangs dripped water into my own hair as I sighed deeply against his skin, breathing him in as I did.

‘’You’re right. I am reckless and this whole thing is crazy.’’

I tried to turn against him, tried to stop this whole vocal declaration but it went to vain, I couldn’t budge. Had his muscles grown in 6 months? Can muscles grow that fast? How does he know what I was thinking about? I took to curling into the pillows and his hand stretched out to touch under the swell of my breast. My breath hitched as he moved, gentle and slow as if he were coaxing me out of my doubts.

‘’I shouldn’t be here. In bed with you, it makes no sense. I swore I would walk away. It was the right thing to do. You were miserable. It hurt.’’ His voice rose an octave has he spoke, words almost trembling.

‘’But I am selfish and clueless and there is nowhere else I would rather be than right here.’’

‘’that’s a terrible combination.’’ I said, rubbing my thumb over his calloused fingers.

Perhaps it didn’t make any sense. Perhaps it didn’t need to. Why he was here and what we had been thinking all those months ago on that stormy night. I didn’t actually remember a word he had said. What was that fight about? I didn’t know. It hadn’t mattered then and it doesn’t matter now. But this, my heart that was finally beating again.

This felt like it mattered. Yoongi and his citrusy smell that came back to fill the room, the damp hair and his warm skin scorching my own under the thin cream covers. His legs tangled with mine as he spoke. This moment right here, this feeling, this would never be replaced.  

‘’it’s a good thing I am both of those things too.’’ I whispered into his arm, wrapping my hands around its width and pulling it towards me. He curled into my form and relaxed, his muscles loosening as he did.

Nothing more had been said that night, as it seemed no words were needed, we fell further into sleep and into each other as the skies broke and rain thrashed against the windows, the violent streaks of lightening falling against our cuddled limbs, playing against the exposed skin as it did with the thunder of the storm.

[spnfanficpond]

March 2019 Pond LiveChat Recap

We had a great time chatting today with @bamby0304! Thank you so much, Amber, for joining us!!

We talked about Planners (writers who outline and plan out their stories) vs. Pantsers (writers who fly by the seat of their pants), and had some great questions and answers from everyone who joined! A rundown of the chat, as well as the usual general Pond news, is below the cut.

Michelle: I love attending writing panels at comic cons, and at one, the presenter said there are two kinds of writers, and that each type has their strong points. Planners have tighter storylines, but pansters tend to have stronger characters because they start with the characters and the story writes itself. (This is a broad generalization, so there are always exceptions to this rule.) As a pantser, it made me feel better about my writing, because I felt like CRAP because I can't outline for shit. Before hearing this, I thought, “My writing is crap and it’s always gonna be crap because I don’t outline and plan,” even though readers told me they liked my writing. Hearing that how I write is a valid process and there are successful writers like me really helped me to embrace it and feel better. We can always learn from each other, though, which is why we’re here!

Amber: I do find that sometimes diving in head first, with no thought, can result in a more interesting story. While most of my fics are planned, I do sometimes just get an idea and run with it. Having an outline can be a little restricting at times...

Q: Amber, how do you keep track of all your work in progress?

Amber: I have a doc that lists all my past, present and future fics which is very detailed. Everything is color-coded and alphabetized!

Q: For the pantsers, how do you end a story? I started writing my story as a series of one-shots that accidentally connected, and now I have a 15-chapter story that needs an ending....

Michelle: When I write, I always have an end goal in mind, like a road trip. I know where I want to go, but not necessarily which roads I’ll take to get there. Only once did I not do that, and it was just crack, with me just trying to stuff a lot of ridiculous crack into it, and it doesn’t have much of an ending, really. My advice for where you are, though, would be to sit down, close your eyes, and put yourself in every character's shoes. Think about how they feel about what's been happening, and disregard all of the other characters. Think about what they want and what they might do next. When you find the characters with the most interesting motivations and potential actions, there's the rest of your story.

Q: Amber, are you a planner in other aspects of your life, too?

Amber: I'm a planner with everything. My dad has a saying that's been drilled into me since birth: Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. He also says: Better safe than sorry. So I guess I've just always felt the need to be organised and prepared. I'm at least half an hour early to everything. My books and DVDs are in alphabetical order, my wardrobe is colour coordinated... I'm all about organisation

Q: Michelle, do you find that your end goal gets lost in the middle? Like, if you don’t plan the small stuff, do you take a left turn instead of right and end up losing your original plan?

Michelle: Oddly enough, I don’t. There have been times when the story made a left turn, and after a short while, I got blocked. Every time I get blocked, it's a sign I made a wrong turn. If I go back to the turn and start fresh, it always works out. In my recent NaNoWriMo fic, I was on day 3, and suddenly, I lost all urge to write it. Nothing was coming to me. It was all crap. I went back, threw out almost an entire day's worth of writing, and then forged ahead. It was nerve-wracking, because it put me behind on my daily word count for the month, but it worked.

Q: Amber, did you learn how to outline from someone, or are you self-taught?

Amber: At first I was a full time pantser. I was a shipper who just wanted Elena and Damon together, and I didn't care how they got there. Now, though, I think about pretty much every step I take... well, almost every step I take.

Q: Are your outlines in complete sentences or just points you want to make in each chapter?

Amber: Depends on the story. With Wolves just had dot points for chapters, but The Hart has a full doc of details. I would jot a few words down for With Wolves, because I also try to stick to a word count for each chapter so sometimes the idea would spread into multiple chapters

Q: Is sticking to a word count per chapter a thing that you do for yourself for pacing, or for your readers so they don't have long chapters?

Amber: Mostly for pacing. Most of my reader insert fics are 1.5k-2.5k words long. Except Her Saviours... that's 3.5-5k long. I like things to be uniform.

Q: I can't get past 1k would outlining help with that?

Amber: Outlining could help, sure. But you need ideas to outline, first.

Q: Do you have a writing schedule that you stick to, where it's your priority for that time to write, or do you just write when you can?

Amber: I started uni this week, so now it's more of a do-it-when-you-can kinda thing... but I like to write in the evenings. I make a cup of tea and sit myself down, and make myself write. Often I don't wanna... but I have a posting schedule to keep up with, so I don't have much of a choice.... I also put on SPN when writing that fandom. I specifically stick to the season that might go along with the plot of that fic. I can't write in silence.

Michelle: I can't write if there's anything AT ALL happening anywhere in the world that I might find remotely interesting. Silence, no music, no TV, nothing good on my dash, it's terrible. Literally, anything is more interesting than writing for me, until I get going.

Q: Do your stories ever break from your outline?

Amber: All the time! For instance, in Her Saviours (sorry about name dropping my fics, but I just like using examples) Sam is misbehaving big time. He keeps on doing things I don't want him to do, which moves the plot along faster that I'd like.

Q: How do you even start an outlining process?

Amber: it might be a slight OCD thing... because I'm organised with everything... but a lot of my planning is motivated by the fact that if I don't plan I'll lose interest in my stories and give up. 

Followup Q: I want to try, but you made it sound a bit overwhelming.

Amber: It's really not overwhelming. You get the idea for a story and then you want to write... so jot that idea down. Then jot down other ideas that go with it. Set up a timeline. Dean wants pie Dean goes to get pie Dean meets girl at bakery They laugh, have fun He buys her pie Turns out it's magical pie that people get addicted to Dean has to decide whether he ganks witch (pie girl) or not. Just write simple stuff like that.

Q: Do Pantsers lose motivation easily?

Michelle: Sometimes. If I don’t know what I want to write next, it’s really easy to get distracted and not write. I need a writing schedule that I stick to. I used to have one, but I've filled it up with being tired from having a life.

@manawhaat: Yes and no. if I lose the motivation, it's because the story isn't there or i'm not having the right thoughts to help that story along. Like if I generally know what the fuck is going on in a story, I'm probably not writing it because I already know it. It's the ones that are a mystery or Mr. Toads Wild Ride that I end up writing bc I'm actively motivated to figure it out.

Q: Do you have a posting schedule? And if you do lose motivation, does that affect said schedule?

Michelle: I do not have a schedule. I have an order in my head of what I want to write next, but unless it's for a challenge, no due date to write it by.

Mana: I have never had a posting schedule because I am not the schedule type person and will 100% abort from the plan and not stick to it at all. Even signing up for challenges, I'm wary of time frames because I'm more likely to drop out if I can't figure my shit out within that time. I'd rather drop out of a challenge than pump out something that isn't really what I want to write or doesn't tell the story I need to tell.

Amber: I pace myself with posting. I give fics certain days (like today is Spanner in the Works day) and I post them weekly on said day. I choose the days by title most of the time... I like alliteration, so Spanner in the Works is posted on Sunday S + S.

Q: Are you really a pantser, or a planner in denial? Do you just not realize somethings you do are baby steps into becoming a full time planner?

Michelle: When it comes to writing, I've tried to plan, and I just can't. If I plan too thoroughly, then I feel like I've already written the story, and I lose motivation to write it out. But I'm more of a planner in life. I have a calendar and a routine that I follow, simply because there are days when I'm not cognitively aware enough to make actual decisions. If everything is muscle memory, I can run on auto pilot and not crash. To use the road trip analogy, when I go on an actual road trip, I figure out the route and all the bathroom breaks ahead of time. Completely different than when I’m writing.

Tips gleaned from writers at writing panels at comic cons:

As you're writing, keep an "outline" of your chapters with only a sentence or two describing each chapter. This helps you if you need to go back and reference something later, and helps you see the overall story arc.

Naming characters - Try to avoid naming characters with the same first initial. A reader's eyes will sometimes only hit the first letter of a name, so keeping track of character names helps. Write the alphabet on a piece of paper, and write down every name as you go along.

If you're stuck, or feel like your story is meandering, try to picture in your mind what the movie trailer for your story would look like. What makes this movie more interesting than similar movies? What is driving your story?

If you've got a good flow going, and then it suddenly dries up, go back to when you last felt confident, and move on from there. Something you did since then wasn't right, and you'll see it when you start again.

Thanks to everyone who was there! It was a great chat!

General Pond Updates and Reminders

Angel Fish Award nominations are accepted all month long! No need to wait to tell us how much you liked a fellow Fish’s work!  If you have sent in a nomination, but have not received a private message confirming we received it, we didn’t get it. Be sure to use Submit instead of Ask!

Don’t forget to submit your stories to be posted to the blog! When your stories are on the blog, then they are easier to nominate for Angel Fish Awards!

SPNFanFicPond Season 14 Weekly Episode Writing Challenge - New prompts go up after every new episode, and there’s no deadline! Check out the prompts and rules at the link!

Say hi to February’s New Members!

Check the Pond CALENDAR to see when Big Fish will be in the chat room and other Pond and SPN events are happening! Know of something that’s not on the calendar, send us an ask or submission with the deets info details!  The calendar offers a lot of features, such as showing you when things are in your own timezone! Since we’re an international group, that’s a definite plus!!

In April, we’re going to chat with one of our Big Fish, @deanscarlett about writing in English when it’s not your first language! Hope to see you there!

[e350tb]

Steven Universe: Marooned Together - Chapter Thirty-Eight

(special thanks to @real-fakedoors for proofreading!)

Together, the polished linoleum floors and the all too-present buzzing of overhead fluorescent lights burned an impression into those who anxiously occupied the waiting area; it was distinctive and decidedly uncomfortable. From the skin beneath their fingernails, down to the core of their gems, to the press of nervous teeth into bottom lips -- the whole place was tempered by an aurora of unease.

Stevonnie paced in the hospital hallway, their eyes trained down at the floor.

They had brought the drone - cyborg, more accurately - to the hospital, the best place they could think of to strip it down. The doctors, Lenny and her peridot friends were now performing an unpleasant autopsy, and Stevonnie, Lapis, Jeff and Peedee were left outside. Amethyst had gone to the Diamond’s Lament - she had said she didn’t want to have to dwell on the horrific thing they had discovered - and apparently Peridot needed to work on the Crystal Avenger’s engines.

Stevonnie suspected she didn’t want to know the specifics of this infernal machine either.

At last the door opened. Doctor West emerged, his weathered, wrinkled face deathly pale.

“I’m not going to lie,” he declared, “That’s one of the worst things I’ve ever had to do in this hospital.”

He sat down, burying his head in his hands.

“Did you identify them?” asked Stevonnie, notably tense.

“There’s not much left to identify,” he replied, “And very few records left to compare the body to. But we found an inscribed ring - they’re washing it off now.”

The door opened again. A Ruby in nurses scrubs walked out, holding a ring in her hand. Behind her followed Lenny, C and X, all looking uncharacteristically shaken.

“I never want to do anything like that ever again,” said C hollowly, “I like tech, but… that…”

“It’s wrong,” said X simply.

“The machine… it… it uses parts of the flesh,” explained Lenny, “The muscles, the brain, pieces of the heart and lungs. It p-pres-preserves those and… the rest rots.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think the… pilot had any awareness,” added Doctor West, taking the ring from the Ruby nurse, “There wasn’t enough left of the brain left for that. The frontal lobe is completely sheared off, and…”

“We don’t need to hear this.”

Stevonnie’s voice was uncharacteristically sharp.

“I… of course,” replied Doctor West, “You want to know who it is.”

He turned over the ring in the hand, looking at the inscription.

“Nothing,” he said, “It’s not a name. Just… ‘with love.’ Maybe a present from someone, but…”

He sighed and shrugged.

“I got nothing,” he said, “We can’t identify them.”

"No! There has to be some way to tell who it is, a scan or -- or dental records or something, right?" Stevonnie carded a hand through their curls, utterly frustrated by Doctor West just giving up. "They were a person, Doctor. They have a story and they deserve better answers than that."

"Stevonnie..."

In the fusion's periphery, they sensed rather than saw Lapis move closer, a hesitant hand outstretched in a move of comfort. They tried to keep themself calm so as not to lash out unnecessarily, and took a steadying breath.

Doctor West wore a patient, understanding expression that was... well, it was actually even worse than if he was just being a defeatist over the whole thing, if you asked Stevonnie. They wanted to be angry over this. Didn't they have that right, at least?

“Isn’t there anything else you can do?” snapped Stevonnie, their fists clenching, “Anything else? You’re supposed to have technology here, can’t you just… hook them up to something or use some kind of gem tech to… or maybe there’s a record and you just haven’t found it, and…”

“Stevonnie.”

Doctor West spoke up again, and they caught his eyes. The deep sorrow within them stopped them in their tracks.

"I'm sorry, really. If there was more I could... I would. No one deserves... that. I'm sorry."

Like a cymbal crash on hollow metal, the hallway tensed as the doctor's voice caught, tears welling in his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

Stevonnie swallowed, a lump in their throat. Then, without warning, they turned and ran down the corridor, pushing past the door and into the street.

“Stevonnie!”

Lapis turned around, wings bursting out of her gem. She jumped up and soared down the hallway after Stevonnie, leaving the rest of the group behind.

Jeff shook his head, looking down at the ring in Doctor West’s shaking hand.

“Whoever they were,” muttered Jeff, “They didn’t deserve this.”

Lenny closed her eyes.

“Nobody does.”

Stevonnie sat in the corner of the barn, the evening light leaving them in shadow. They had sat there for some time, staring at the wall, trying to escape the deeply nauseating feeling that had twisted  their stomach into knots. Their thoughts ran at a million miles an hour; two voices, not entirely distinct, spoke within their being.

Why would they do this? Who… who deserves that? And I can’t…

...there’s nothing I could’ve done. I can’t dwell on it…

...but what if it was someone I knew? Wouldn’t I want to know it was them? Even if it’s horrible, they were… they were someone’s family… what if was Uncle Andy, or Jamie, or… or even Kevin?! I…

...I know, I know, but I can’t do anything. And it sucks, but…

...yeah. It just sucks…

“Is there room for one more?”

Stevonnie looked up. Lapis stood over them, one hand behind her back and holding her other arm. Wordlessly, they nodded, and Lapis sat down.

“Why would anyone do this, Lapis?” they asked, “I mean, everyone says Homeworld is evil, but… it can’t just be that! They have to think they’re doing the right thing, they can’t just…”

They clutched their hair.

“I can’t comprehend it!”

Lapis bit her lip, gazing up at the ceiling.

“Maybe they just don’t care,” she said.

Stevonnie didn’t reply, so she took that as an invitation to continue.

“Maybe they just think… well, New Earth’s a ‘problem,’” she continued, “And they have all these humans they took off the Earth, so… maybe they just think of them as resources. I mean, that’s all they cared about in the first colonisation of Earth. Anything else was just… in the way.”

Stevonnie nodded slowly.

“Just things,” they muttered, “How do you get to that point, Lapis? Where you don’t… you just don’t care?”

Lapis shrugged.

“Well, you just don’t think about it,” she replied, “I mean, not that long ago… I never thought about it. I just… even when I lived in the barn with Peridot, I cared about Steven and basically that was it. I guess it’s easy not to care.”

“Sometimes I just wish I could just teach the Diamonds how to… feel, I guess,” admitted Stevonnie, “Like, the Steven part of me thinks I can, but the Connie part of me thinks I can’t. It’s sorta confusing. Can I change the Diamonds? If I could, should I? Do I even want to?”

They sighed.

“Do they deserve it?”

“Well, on one hand, maybe they’ve gone too far,” mused Lapis, “On the other hand, maybe you can change them… like you changed me, I guess.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t put corpses in robots,” said Stevonnie flatly.

“Yeah, true.”

There was a brief silence - then, a small smile crawled onto Stevonnie’s face.

“You did do one thing, though,” they said.

“Wh-what? What did I do?” exclaimed Lapis.

Stevonnie put an arm over her shoulder.

“You stole my heart,” they said.

“I… aw, you!” Lapis chuckled and blushed as Stevonnie leaned in, giving her a peck on the cheek.

“Sorry,” giggled Stevonnie, “Couldn’t help myself.”

They pulled Lapis into a hug, both breaking into laughter.

“Wanna go out and watch the sunset?” asked Stevonnie, “I think I need that after today.”

“Yeah,” nodded Lapis, “I’d like that… honey.”

“Honey?”

“I heard Jeff call Peedee that,” shrugged Lapis, “Is it… is it okay?”

Stevonnie beamed.

“It’s absolutely fine, Lapis…”

“If you two ever do that with the warp drive again, I swear I am leaving this crew!”

“Sorry, Zircon.”

Amethyst suppressed a laugh as she switched off the intercom in the captain’s cabin, slipping her jacket back on as she sat down on her bed. Peridot lay next to her - her own attempt to cover up her laughter had failed completely.

“Okay,” said Amethyst, flopping onto her back, “Next time we do the non-solid warp thing, we tell Zircs first.”

“Yes,” nodded Peridot, “But holy smokes, that was an experience…”

“We gotta do that again some time,” declared Amethyst, “Man, it takes a load off…”

She sighed, blowing a hair out of her face.

“Still sucks, though,” she grunted, “They couldn’t even tell who the guy was, y’know? Can’t even put a name to ‘em…”

Peridot rolled over, snuggling close to Amethyst.

“C’mon, Ames, there’s nothing we can do about it,” she replied, “Why dwell on the memory?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Amethyst sighed, “Can’t dwell.”

She smirked.

“Besides,” she said, “It kills the mood.”

“You know, Ames,” whispered Peridot, “I could stare into your vision spheres all day…”

“Well, that makes two of us,” replied Amethyst, “But I’d much rather taste those sweet green lips of…”

“Captain! Captain! Are you there Captain?”

Amethyst sighed and rolled over.

“Zircon, I’m not gonna turn the warp drive on again, okay?”

“No, it’s not that. Peedee just called - do you want me to send him through?”

“Yeah, patch him in, Zircs.”

There was a brief crackle, and the voice on the intercom changed.

“Amethyst, it’s Peedee. Lenny thinks she’s worked out where the drone came from.”

Amethyst sat up.

“Where?”

“A mining colony. Mostly iron ore, titanium, a few metals that didn’t exist on Earth… anyway, if they’re building the drones there, maybe we can knock it out?”

Amethyst grinned.

“Say no more, Peedee,” she declared, “The Crystal Avenger is on the case. Need us to pick a team up?”

“No, keep it small. The Home Guard aren’t ready for this yet, and we need to keep ‘em around in case another drone arrives. Grab Stevonnie and Lapis if you need to, but otherwise, keep it quiet.”

Amethyst mock saluted.

“On it,” she replied, “Amethyst out.”

The intercom crackled out.

“I suppose we don’t get to snuggle now?” grunted Peridot.

“Nope,” replied Amethyst, “But we get to kick some Homeworld assholes in the butt!”

She grinned, putting an arm around her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“I’d say that’s a pretty good date, huh ‘Dot?”

The first sign of trouble the Ruby detected was the sudden tug against her collar and a hand over her mouth. She flew back into a dark tunnel of the mine, her four comrades disappearing into the inky blackness. With a loud crash, she was pushed against the wall, a large, growling form filling her vision.

“Don’t hurt me!” she squealed, “Please!”

“Who’s in charge down here?” demanded the figure, her face shrouded in darkness, “And where is she?”

“Please! I don’t want to be here, I hate this place!” the Ruby shouted, “They only sent us here a week ago and it’s dark and it’s scary and all the other Rubies laugh when I say I’m scared and…”

The figure’s grimace disappeared, replaced with a look of bemusement.

“Uh…”

“...I just want to go back to a world where there’s light and it’s warm and…”

“...okay, I…”

“...and now I’m gonna be shattered and I don’t wanna be shattered and…”

“Okay, okay!” The figure chuckled, and the Ruby stopped babbling, “I’m not gonna hurt you, alright? I just need to know who’s in charge right now, alright?”

The Ruby nodded.

“An a-agate,” she replied, “O-Orange Agate.”

The figure nodded, carefully putting down the Ruby.

“Tell you what, Roob,” she said, her voice surprisingly kind, “I’ve got a place for gems who’re sick of all the missions and bowin’ down to the Diamonds. If you want out, follow me.”

The Ruby glanced back down the tunnel, towards where her squad had gone, and then back to the figure. Hesitantly, she nodded.

“Who… who are you though?” she asked.

The figure grinned.

“Name’s Bismuth,” she said, “I’m a Crystal Gem.”

(before you go, why not read this tie-in story by my very good friend @captainjzh?)

[justjensenanddean]

When I worked on Dark Angel I created a character, one of Max's missing siblings, who as a child was the mythmaker of the group. He kept them from losing faith in themselves by telling stories in the darkness of the dormitory, stories with heroes and spirits and demons, and now that Max is all grown up and the group is scattered and in hiding, she finds that people are being murdered according to the mythological details of those childhood stories. Her beloved storyteller has grown into a serial killer. This was a tough role to cast. You needed someone you could believe was a genetically engineered human; who could, when necessary, radiate both intelligence and menace; who could be scary one minute, and who could give you a lump in the throat the next from his sheer vulnerability when he admits to Max that he's broken and begs her to kill him. I sat in casting as actor after actor came in. It was one of those evenings when you listen to the words of the script and wonder how they can sound this horrifyingly bad -- dear god, am I truly that wretched a writer? Then Mr. Ackles walked in. The first scene involved his character sitting handcuffed as he tries to convince Max to let him go. It was tonally challenging, because although he's cuffed, you have to have the impression he's extremely dangerous -- that in fact just listening to him is dangerous because he'll screw with you psychologically. "Mind if I sit on the floor?" he asked calmly, in the voice of one who's worked it all out ahead of time. He put his arms behind his back, did that scene, and wow. Young Hannibal Lecter, hello! Then he did the death scene, made my eyes tear up, walked calmly out, and we looked at each other. This was exactly the character I'd envisioned. It was clear to me that if anybody else got this role, I would have to commit ritual suicide. Fortunately everyone else wanted him -- except one highly placed producer. Now, although Hollywood as an entity has issues with women, my personal experience on writing staffs has been almost uniformly positive. This producer happened to be an extremely rare exception -- and it's not that he was in any way meanspirited; he was a perfectly nice guy, kind and gentle, but sometimes your head snapped back just listening to him. He was upset by the fact that the people in casting that night had been mostly women; that we all liked Jensen Ackles; and that he was a good-looking actor. Because, clearly, that must be what was influencing us. "Something very disturbing was going on in that room," he insisted. Leaving his opinion of our emotionality aside, I asked what his issues were with Ackles -- hadn't that been a terrific reading? He admitted the reading was fine, but -- "He doesn't have muscles." "What?" "He doesn't have muscles, he doesn't look like a soldier. If he was genetically designed to be a soldier, wouldn't they make him strong?" My head spun for a moment. I said, "Our heroine is Jessica Alba." And yes, she'd worked out pretty hard for this role, but she was still a slender-looking, gorgeous young woman, who was usually shorter and much lighter than the men we regularly showed her throwing around with such abandon. I said, "Clearly whatever genetic manipulation was going on involves strength that's not determined by the sheer volume of the muscle." I'd reached this conclusion the moment I saw the pilot, and thought it was unarguable, given what we'd been portraying on screen for the past season. But he had a reply to that: "She's a girl," he said -- clearly bewildered that I would even bring this up. Sigh. But the angels smiled for a moment, Jensen Ackles got the role, and though my script was rewritten it did still retain a certain amount of what I'd been going for. The direction was tight, the acting full-throttle, and the episode was so well-received that the series was sold for a second year on the idea of "more like this!" I, however, had moved on to Smallville the following year. There, we discussed casting for one of the early guest roles. "Jensen Ackles!" I said. The executive producers went away, returned, and I was told with compassion, "I'm sorry, Doris. He's just been booked for the year." "Really? Where?" "Dark Angel." Yes. The producer who'd been so opposed to him? After seeing his work in that episode, he hired Jensen as a regular. And apparently he also made him bulk up -- because boys need muscle. I said, "But we killed him!" "He's back as a clone." Damn you, science fiction, and your wicked genre ways! Someday, Jensen Ackles, I muttered. Time passed and I found myself on the second season of Tru Calling. We had a character, a medical student, whom we first meet as a sort of golden boy -- a nice guy, funny, the sort who tries to do the right thing. Brilliant, but with some self-esteem issues that have kept him from his full potential. Tru and he become friends, and as time passes, they start to become more deeply involved. Then, partway through the season, he dies; and Tru, who's had enough of death, resolves to stay awake until someone somewhere asks for help and her day rewinds -- thereby allowing her to save Jensen as well. (Yes, shockingly, he ended up with the name Jensen. I think it was my sheer repetition doing subconscious work.) I'm going to quote here from an earlier post: ============== But Jensen's soul is already committed -- it can't return, but his body, memories, and the habits of his personality continue after the time he "died." The idea was that over the course of the arc we would gradually see anomalies of character develop -- unsettling moments, as the imprint of Jensen's personality disintegrates, at the same time it becomes fascinated with death, in an almost wistful way. This would be pretty damned creepy, coming as it does alongside Tru's growing physical intimacy with him. Jane Espenson wrote a beautifully disturbing scene that I'm sorry you'll never get a chance to see -- on one level, it's just Tru and Jensen talking on the sofa during a movie, and on another level, oooooh. As the arc plays out, we hear the jarring comments he'll occasionally make, the way the things that used to mean something to him -- like his need for his father's respect -- are just no longer vulnerabilities. We see scenes that suggest a growing involvement with violence, in an unsettling but ambiguous way, so Tru can't be sure it's there or not. Till one morning Tru wakes in bed with Jensen and goes about her day, which rewinds over the murder of Jensen's father. Just before the rewind she learns that not only did Jensen do it, he's been behind a string of recent killings (born of his fascination with learning about the thing he's apparently been barred from -- i.e., death). She rewinds -- and wakes up in bed next to him, knowing now that he's a monster. And that she created him. This was once a young man who won her with his generosity and understanding, his good humor and sweetness. He's still bright, he's still clever, there's no evidence against him. And he'll be creating a lot more victims, starting on this rewind day with his father -- unless she takes the responsibility for putting an end to him. So she finally turns to the person with experience in ending people's lives: Jack. =============== Now, obviously this was going to be the kind of role where you can't count on a pretty face to pull you through. (And sometimes there's pressure to go with a pretty face, even when the necessary screen power is not behind it. This doesn't make sense, because it means the audience will never spark to that role the way they should, but sometimes executives think the fact they can promote the show using a particular actor's name makes up for that. The unfortunate truth that you can get people to watch once, just long enough to drive them away permanently if the goods aren't there, doesn't always sway the decisionmakers.) We needed someone who could say long words as though they know what those words mean -- and I'm not being sarcastic here; that's harder than you think. But someone who could also be funny. And sweet. And boy-next-door. Oh, and also turn on a dime and scare the beejeezus out of you. "Jensen Ackles!" I said, pretty much every time the subject of casting came up. But the process ground on a bit slower than we anticipated, and one day I was informed -- again, with compassion -- "We're too late; he's booked elsewhere." I asked where. "Smallville," they said.Smallville? Those bastards, how dare they listen to me? Who told them to respect my opinion? This was clearly my fate -- to make so much noise about Jensen Ackles at any show I'm on that they'll grab him first chance they get, which will inevitably be when I'm at my next show trying to get him. One of the writers, hearing this news, turned to me and asked, "Are you solely responsible for this guy's career?" The answer to that would be no. Clearly he doesn't need my help, but you have to admit that the aura of Ackles doom I bring to each production is amusing, at least. At the time I said to myself, sour-grapes fashion, "Well, I hope that Smallville role is as interesting and layered as this one will be," and went on with life. As it turned out, we were fortunate at Tru. Eric Christian Olsen took on the role, and it was clear from the very first look at his reel that we were in safe hands. (In fact, when I first saw his work I had that sense of awe I always feel in the presence of good acting, because it is so very much something I cannot do. Really, I have no idea what button actors push to suddenly convey, "This is real," but I know it when I see it, the way Robert Graves says you know a true poem when you hear one. Recently I was talking with a medical consultant and mentioned that I'd just come out of a read-through of a script. "It's always cool to hear the script at a read-through," I said. "Why?" he asked. I was surprised at the question. "Because they do that magic actor thing," I said. Why else?) In any case, I'm sorry you never got to see the character's turnaround, because I have no doubt he would have been compelling. And as it turns out, since the show was cancelled mid-season, maybe Smallville was the better bet after all. And now I'm at House, and surrounded by such talent that it would be the height of ungraciousness to do more than note that Mr. Ackles has a show of his own this coming season. And while it's not mine, I'm forced to admit that that might not stop it from being, well... good.

[ Doris Egan, Posted on 2005.08.18 ]

[mx-fawkes]

This Homemade Pork Rub Will Have Everyone Squealing With Delight ...

Thank you @sillyscrunchy for your continual support! 

I went with Junkrat taking care of injured Roadhog because I live for that good stuff .

It was Junkrat's fault.

A simple job he'd said. Just stroll into an unguarded building, set up a bomb, and blow it up. The people paying them didn't want anything stolen, just wanted the records in the building destroyed.

Couple timed bombs in the server room would take care of that, and they could be safely on their way before anything started to detonate.

That was before he'd seen the safe on their way out. It was probably just some petty cash, but they'd agreed that no score was too small for them. It wouldn't take long to blow the lock, they could still easily make it out in time.

They were pulling out the loot when the first bomb went off, eyes meeting in panic before sprinting for the door. The second explosion sent Junkrat tumbling to the floor, and Roadhog didn't hesitate to throw himself over his partner,  shielding him as the ceiling began to cave in.

It came down all at once, a sudden blanket of pain.

Roadhog couldn't move, muscles frozen in place and shaking with the effort of holding the weight of the rubble above them. Shale and plaster slid to the floor, invisible behind clouds of dust.

He almost didn't notice Junkrat wriggling around underneath him, barely heard the small explosions as Junkrat tried to clear some of the debris surrounding them. It wasn't until Junkrat fully crawled free that he collapsed, the weight above too heavy to even draw a breath.  

Everything was fading out fast, and he couldn't find the strength to push himself free. Was he really going to die like this, surviving a hundred police shootouts, surviving the apocalypse, just to die in a shitty office building because they were too greedy to run from a ticking time bomb?

Eyes sliding closed, he resigned himself to his fate.

Hopefully, Junkrat had managed to get himself free and had the sense to start running.

The blast above snapped his back into alertness, as his Junkrat's panicked screeching as he pushed the remaining rubble from Roadhog's broad back.

"No! No! No! Get up!"

He felt Junkrats hands pat him down until they pulled a canister free, shoving it into his mask with a soft hiss. Desperately pulling in shallow breaths he could feel the gas start to take effect, body twitching as he coughed wetly. His mouth tasted of blood.  

Another canister clicked into place and he took deeper breaths, feeling joints snapping back into place as he slowly pulled himself upright. Junkrat slipped under his arm, helping keep him upright as they made their way to the bike. slower than either of them would have liked, but even with the gas Roadhog felt like he'd been hit by a truck

Collapsing on the bike with a wheeze, he started the engine with Junkrat clinging to his back. They were moving by the time they heard the first sirens, Junkrat shouting directions right into Roadhog's ear as he drove on auto-pilot muscle memory handing the driving while his brain hadn't quite caught up after the near-death experience.

He made it three steps into their hotel room before collapsing on the bed. Junkrat hovered nearby, nervous energy radiating from him.

"Roadie? You still with me?"

A grunt.

"You want some more gas?"

He slowly shook his head. He wasn't wounded anymore, just tired and sore.  

"Alright, You get some rest, I'll-"

It felt like he'd only closed his eyes for a moment, but when Junkrat shook him awake the sun had risen. Junkrat had changed too, scrubbed mostly clean and wearing the baggy hoodie and trackie-daks he wore when they pretended to be citizens.

"How ya feelin'? Went out to pick up a couple of things. Figured I'd try and, well, I ran you a bath."

Roadhog sighed. Sleeping had helped, but now he was alert enough to feel how filthy he was. He raised a hand, letting Junkrat pull him from the bed.

Clothing and armour fell to the floor, leaving outlines in the thick dust covering his skin. He looked like a tanning session gone horribly wrong.

The en-suite bathroom was the best part of this hotel, a large green room with a bath big enough for even Roadhog to fit in comfortably. It looked inviting, steam rising through the thick layer of bubbles.

He was about to climb in when Junkrat put a hand on his shoulder. "Want your mask off? I can wash your hair."

What was this?

He nodded, closing his eyes as Junkrat undid the straps and pulled it off. When he opened them Junkrat was looking at him with a pained expression. Blood was spattered all over the inside of the mask, he could imagine how bad his face looked.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the strangely spicy scent in the air before the steam flooded his lungs, leaving him clinging to the wall as he hacked up what felt like half a lungs worth of blood.

"-need more gas?"

"I'm fine."

The bathwater was almost scalding, and he slowly sank into the tub with a heavy sigh. It had been a while since he'd had anything other than a quick scrub down in the shower, they rarely had time to rest and recover.

"I got some bubble bath that said it was good for muscle pain, also got you some good shampoo and- Oh!" Junkrat bolted from the room, nearly slipping on the tile. Three steam filled breaths and he was back, carefully carrying a glass of orange liquid. "Thought I'd get ya some juice too, might make you feel better?"

Honestly, he'd rather have a beer, but the cool sweetness of the drink was welcome, washing the taste of blood and dust from his mouth. He handed the glass back to Junkrat, closing his eyes and trying to relax.

It was a little difficult when he could feel Junkrat's orange eyes boring into his skull. He cracked one eye open, staring back.

"Do you want me to help you clean off or anything? You can just relax and let me take care of ya."

Roadhog nodded, zoning out while Junkrat grabbed a loofah.

He'd gotten hurt on heists before, and Junkrat was rarely this attentive afterwards. The last time he'd gotten like this had been... Italy maybe? When they'd started that oil fire in the kitchen. When Junkrat found out that Roadhog had been burnt he'd been beside himself with worry. It wasn't serious, not even worth wasting gas on, but he'd insisted on applying burn cream every day, constantly asking Roadhog to remind him when it needed doing.

Then there had been the time back in Australia when he'd crashed his rip-tire into a pile of scrap in the middle of a fight, bringing the whole thing down on top of everybody. Back then he thought Junkrat's attempts to help were born from fear that Roadhog would end their partnership, throw him out of the farmhouse and leave him to fend for himself.

He wasn't so sure now. Junkrat trying to himself feel better about his mistakes, or an attempt at an apology he would never say aloud?

Either way, it was nice.

Junkrat was humming something as he carefully pulled bits of debris from silver hair, a soothing half-waltz. It sounded familiar, and if he had the energy he'd ask what it was.

By the time he was clean, the bathwater had turned into a cold grey slurry. Junkrat gave him a quick rinse with the showerhead before helping him to his feet, towelling off before they headed for the bedroom.

"Want me to give you a rub before we go to sleep?"

What.

His confusion must have shown on his face, Junkrat barking an embarrassed laugh before looking away.

"A massage, just a nice friendly massage between mates! I've done 'em before, I know what I'm doing."

Doubtful, but he followed Junkrat's instruction to lie on his front anyway, shoving a couple of pillows under himself. He always found lying on his stomach awkward, worried about putting too much pressure on his lungs.

Long fingers trailed over his exposed back, and he shivered. There was the snap of a bottle cap, and oil was poured onto his back. He recognised the smell, the ginger oil Junkrat used on his own muscle pains.

Exploratory fingers spread the oil out, roaming over muscle groups to find the places where the muscles were at their worst.

They found a spot to the left of his spine, pressing harder and rubbing the muscle until it relaxed before moving on.

The slow unwinding of his muscles felt both amazing and terrible. Junkrat seemingly knowing just how far he could push without causing actual pain, moving to different spots as soon as it got too much. Had he always been so tense?

"Should do this for you more often."

That sounded good.

Roadhog had no idea where or when Junkrat learnt massage techniques, he seemed unlikely to land a job in any of the places in Junkertown that offered the service.

"Had a mate teach me." He was never sure if Junkrat was able to read him that well or if his chatter just happened to align with Roadhog's thoughts.

"He did it for a living, helped me with the muscle pain when I first got my prosthetics. Returned the favour for him whenever he had a bad day."

Junkrat continued to work away the ache of the day and the tension of years. Groans of pleasure began to slip from Roadhog's lips, too tired and relaxed to fight against it. He felt like he'd melted into a puddle. Even when Junkrat moved away he just lay there, idly watching his partner put things away and missing the feel of those hands on his skin.

"What do you say we order some food in and figure out where we're gonna go next? Reckon we can find somewhere that does those dumplings you like."

"Sounds good."

Roadhog pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard. "Thanks."

[foxsdomains-blog]

Character Sheet

Alright. So I realised a bit late that I hadn't really given any critical information on characters; appearance, very general likes/dislikes, age, height. You know, the important things. So here we go,

Jeremy Height: 6'1 Age: 26 Appearance: Short, brown hair. Brown eyes. Normally built, not massive muscles, not noticeable if wearing the right clothing. Clean-Shaven. Likes: His family (the FA), the current base (is his favourite so far). Dislikes: when people fuck with his family. For now. Car: White with blue racing stripes, Ford Mustang gt 2005 (cause he really likes the car. Don't question it, will comp up later.) Bit of information: Jeremy is a disgraced military man, alongside Ryan. He participated in a mission, his team of five, including Ryan. This mission ended in a failure, with all but Ryan and Jeremy dying. Jeremy took the blame, being dishonorably discharged. This led him and Ryan to find Clair, and form the Fallen Angels. Jeremy became the leader, due to already having experience leading his team.

Ryan Height: 6'2 Age: 26 Appearance: Medium length, brown hair, tied in a ponytail he likes to keep around his shoulder. He is almost never seen with his hair undone. Kind, green eyes, just with a hint of 'crazy'. Built similarly to Jeremy, and is nearly always seen wearing a black leather bike jacket. Clean-Shaven. Likes: His family (the FA), his bike (no one fucks with his bike), his guns. (Cause, you get it.) Dislikes: Cars (he absolutely hates riding in cars. Bad memories). He hates anyone who fucks with his bike (he nearly shot Nines when he touched his bike) Bike: Matte Black custom Ducati 1098s, with a gray FA symbol painted on the left side. Ryan got his bike custom made so it would reach faster speeds than a standard Ducati, and cause he wanted matte black. Bit of information: Ryan was a member of Jeremy squad that were in the failed mission, being the only member alongside Jeremy to survive. He knew Jeremy for years prior, being the first member to join his squad, and going through basic training with the man. He was originally not discharged, however he sided with Jeremy completely, nearly going so far as to attempt to kill the officials who made the decision. Due to this, Ryan was discharged alongside Jeremy, but also being declared a criminal for attempted murder.

Clair Age: 25 Height: 5'8 Appearance: Long straight blond hair and kind blue eyes. Very beautiful, which assisted a large amount to her work. When lazing about, she ties her hair up in a ponytail, but when working she will tie her hair up however her contracts like. Likes: Rook (as a sister). Sexual relationships (but not with contracts). Teasing Nines however she can. Dislikes: when contracts do more than paid (of which she doesn't hesitate to tell them, often moving ahead the plan and assassinating them quicker). When someone hurts Rook and in any way. Car: Polished, pearlescent purple/pink Porsche 991. Comfy leather seats, and top of the line radio in the dashboard. Each time a new items is released, she gets it installed to keep her car up to date. Bit of information: Clair, before founding the FA alongside Jeremy and Ryan, worked as an infiltrator with the United Kingdom government. During this time, she worked, infiltrating both male and female organisations, becoming 'friendly' with the leader, and assassinating them when she had the chance. She would normally leave them for a while, to use them for her own personal gain. After joining the FA, she continued her line of work, but more for informational purposes. Gaining contacts she would later use for the purpose of information gathering for the FA.

Rook Age: 22 Height: 5'6 Appearance: Long, slightly wavy, black hair and dark grey eyes. Wears thin-frame, black glasses. Leaves her hair out, messily, almost never styling or taking care of it (Clair will sometimes style Rook's hair for fun). Likes: Her computers (she has many). Nines (Secretly). Angel (very much). Dislikes: When Clair teases her (mostly about Nines, but also about her non-drinking). Drinking (she doesn't like not being in complete control of herself). Car: Doesn't have a car (She can't drive. This will be a chapter later.) Bit of information: Not much is known about Rook. She tends to keep things to herself. The FA only recently learned her birthday, for crying out loud. What is known however, was that before joining the FA, Rook was hired as a hacker under the Australian government, but when hired didn't know anything about a computer. After a few years, she learned more about a computer than most adults, and now can hack into whatever she desires. After joining the FA four years prior to the story taking place, Rook has fit in perfectly, albeit a bit still distanced. Rook developed feelings for Nines (which I haven't really tried to hide, but if you didn't know, than there you go) after he joined, but hasn't told anyone, however Clair still managed to figure out.

Nines Age: 22 Height: 6' Appearance: Short, brown hair that he either leaves however it was when he woke up, or styles with a side-part (though he rarely does. He's lazy). Has a beard that he maintains. Wears a leather jacket (now that Rook has bought it for him). If he's doing nothing, he will wear whatever is most comfortable, but if he goes out, he will (try to) look after his appearance. Likes: His car (similar to Ryan, is mad at anyone who touches or bad-mouths his car). The Silver Angel (Doesn't let anyone near the cockpit of his bird). Rook (same as Rook, secretly. Only person who knows is 'I') Dislikes: If someone bad mouths his family, his bird, or his car. That's mainly it for now. Car: Matte Black, fully-bullet proof (and yes I know nothing is truly bullet-proof, but it's very resistant to bullets, okay?) 1970 Chevelle SS. Bit of information: Before joining the FA, Nines was a normal person. Weird, yeah? An accident struck one day, and Nines was introduced to the FA. Due to some more incidents, Nines was taken to an old FA base, and introduced to the gang. After a few days, he decided to join the FA, Rook wiping his old profile, and instead taking up the letter 'N', later becoming Nines (his choice). Also, when Nines was in highschool, he knew 'I' and 'B' personally, and were good friends with both.

'I'

Age: 22 Height: 6'1 Appearance: Darker skinned. Short, black hair that he keeps short (unless he decides to grow it for some reason). Likes: 'B' (his wife, so of course he likes her). Nines (close friends again, after what happened. (mwahahaha, MORE PLOT!)) Dislikes: (Not gonna lie, haven't really fleshed out his character too much. So, this one may not have too much in it. He's a new character to this story's life, alright? More will come up when we delve more into our characters.) When 'B' and Nines hate on themselves (which does happen often though 'B' has gotten much better. Nines still hasn't though.) Car: Deep Blue 4x4 Ford Ranger Bit of information: When in highschool, 'I' knew Nines and 'B', and were part of a bigger friend group. An incident occurred, and Nines left. Years later, 'I' and 'B' got married, and became 'I' became a cop. Seven months before the story takes place, 'I' and 'B' meet Nines again, and after a mission intrigues 'I', he revisits the FA base. This leads him to forgo his place in the police force, and bring 'B' to join the FA. Unlike Nines, Rook hasn't deleted 'I's profile, instead leaving it but

'B'

(Alright, so not gonna lie (again), 'B' is the character I've fleshed out the least. So, here we go I guess." Age: 22 Height: 5'7 Likes: 'I' (Husband. Honestly.) A little separated still, but close to everyone in the FA. Dislikes: (Not fleshed out enough. We'll get there, trust me.) Talking about 'the incident'. Car: Shares 'I's car. It's their car. Bit of information: (Honestly, newest character to this story. When I first wrote this, she was a side character. So, forgive me for not having much. But, like I said, we'll get there.) 'B' knew 'I' and Nines in highschool, and after an (the) incident, hasn't talked to Nines before meeting him (as Nines) years later. She follows 'I' to the FA, solely because he decides to join, she later questions this decision, but ultimately decides it was the right choice. (chapter 2- will be extended on later).

So, that's the FA cast! Now, whatever isn't told isn't known yet. So, just wait and more will be revealed, including 'the incident'. A few things I should mention about the world, that were kind of mentioned, but not well enough (I don't think so at least).

For instance, it's set in the year 2022, but, a bit different. For starters, technology, like that of car computers, are extremely common; homes, even more so in planes and helicopters, pretty much the same in cars honestly. Stuff like that. Umm, guns are pretty similar to current day weapons. I know a few guns, but not a large amount, so if I get something wrong, please do correct me. Oh! Also. The Silver Angel. I called it the FC-112, right? Well I did a search, and found out that a 112 helicopter, is a rescue helicopter. That isn't what the Silver Angel is. I don't know exactly that it is, just that it's got six seats in the back, and one pilot seat (Nines got rid of the other one because of course he did), and two rotors on opposite side of the helicopter, that rotate to allow Nines to do what he does in it (basically, I just came up with something that might work for what I had planned. I'm not sure if a thing exists, but it's set in a few years from now, so meh.)

That should be about everything for now. Periodically I'm going to post update versions of this, when more information comes out, just to jog the memory of the characters. Hope my story is going well so far, and I do want to hear any comments you guys may have! That's all for now, bye!

[low-keylonely-blog]

ATTENTION!!

hello, I am a 16 yr old white girl from southeastern Wisconsin. very vanilla, I’m aware. in response to my “WANTED: cute boy” post, here are a list of my physical and mental traits, so that you can determine if you would like to talk to me.

PHYSICAL: ☆ 5'6" ☆ brown curly hair, about shoulder length. THICC HAIR. ☆ brown eyes that are lighter in the center (there’s a freckle on the left one) ☆ relatively skinny, not very strong. a bit of a tummy, but I suck in so you’d never notice. ☆ chewed nails. I’ve mostly stopped tho. ☆ braces! w/ rubber bands! somewhere between February 2017 and June 2017 the braces come off and I once again enjoy having a bright and happy smile! ☆ 4 very light birthmarks! the one on my knee looks like an archipelago. ☆ a bit of acne, but only on the forehead. ☆ STRONG BROWS ☆ bigger bottom lip, thinner top lip ☆ pouty, but only bc of braces ☆ large knuckles bc I used to play basketball. if I try, I can make it impossible to let go of my hand, bc my knuckles touch and form a barrier. ☆ tiny wrists. both pop when I turn them one way or the other. ☆ bumps on my arms. it’s genetic. they’re non contagious and not like acne, so popping them doesn’t work. ☆ left tit is a tiny bit bigger than right tit. ☆ relatively high cheekbones ☆ “innie” belly button ☆ weirdly lumpy hips. I’m pretty bony. ☆ legs as long as the sky is blue. ☆ relatively cute butt. not bony. ☆ stretch marks at the top of my thighs, just under my booty. not sure where they came from. ☆ usually bruised knees, especially in summer ☆ scar tissue on left ankle from when my dad dropped a ladder on my foot. it scraped the bone in my leg as it went down, so the scar tissue reminds. ☆ my doctor when I was a baby said I have popsicle toes! the 2nd-4th are double jointed ☆ hyper flexible overall. not as bendy as I used to be, but still pretty bendy. ☆ my dad’s parents were both German, but both were very dark looking for German. therefore, my dad can pass as Italian. it just means I turn dark orange when I tan, and tan very quickly. ☆ some eczema on my chest, but it is cleaning up. ☆ very out of shape. I can not run for more than 20 seconds without wondering if I can stop yet ☆ squishy?? I lack muscles so I’m very comfortable to snuggle, especially bc I’m flexible enough to fit anywhere but squishy enough to function as a pillow, especially my tummy and tits.

MENTAL/EMOTIONAL: ☆ A.D.D. easily distracted. ☆ easily confused, but quick to understand once everything is explained to me. ☆ guilty of savior behavior like you wouldn’t believe ☆ possibly anxious? parents don’t have time to get me diagnosed tho ☆ desperate to please people. I have limits, but I LOVE making people happy. ☆ I’m rlly fuckin funny ok most of my jokes are specific to my close friends or my childhood but once I’m around you for more than 3 months I’m rlly rlly funny bc we have memories together and I know you well ☆ very paranoid. overactive imagination led to some rlly freaky nightmares as a child, some of which are recurring. ☆ afraid of being forgotten, not good enough, my closet, the dark, inanimate objects coming to life and coming after me (especially doors and anything with legs, like tables and standing mirrors), and being killed in the shower. ☆ easily scared. can’t stand suspense or horror movies. ☆ semi obsessive?? like my friends and my hypothetical potential s/o are so cool and I love them and talk about them often. ☆ redundant. my life is boring. ☆ very very talkative. it’s a little annoying. ☆ easily bored, especially when I want to travel or get sick of how things are going. ☆ kinda rude? but not intentionally? I try to be kind to everyone but sometimes I come off as salty ☆ very passionate ☆ very defensive, especially of friends and s/o, and usually family ☆ loud :-/ ☆ easily excited ☆ interested in what you have to say, but will probably cut you off mid sentence bc my social intuition is lacking ☆ chronic liar >:-( definitely my least favorite trait, but one I haven’t been able to shake. they range from little white lies to just pretending things didn’t happen or that they’re fine. ☆ the last 3 years of my life have absolutely fried my brain. I’m very tired and very wounded. ☆ attaches quickly ☆ separation anxiety, but moreso just afraid of losing people I care about ☆ very self-centered :-/ ☆ relatively bullheaded. I don’t often think things through. ☆ if I have to face the music, odds are I’ll stick earplugs in and run away ☆ usually very positive! the world is a cool place with some very cool people in it!

LIKES: ☆ film, the art of ☆ cry movies ☆ and a bit of Beyoncé, catey shaw, lana del rey, halsey, … ☆ g-eazy, blackbear, childish gambino, frank ocean, watsky, drake, john mayer, sting, mansionz, relient k, one direction (including all solo work), twenty one pilots (but not rlly blurryface), washed out, a bit of fall out boy and panic! at the disco, arctic monkeys, troye sivan, a bit of the 1975, walk the moon, … ☆ the music from downton abbey and victoria and poldark ☆ history, especially sociology and foreign cultures and mythology ☆ politics, even tho I get too heated about it ☆ sci-fi! soft stuff is ok, but the hard stuff is rlly rlly good. ☆ fiction! ☆ writing non-fiction! ☆ slamming biased news outlets (r.i.p. bill o'reilly) ☆ working backstage crew in theater! my sister is majoring in stage management, so it’s a family affair. ☆ plants! flowers, succulents, cacti, even trees and shrubs! ☆ DOGS ☆ my bird, Elsa. we named her after Elsa in frozen bc her tummy matches the color of the character’s dress ☆ slam poetry?? I’m a dork ☆ activism! get out and get loud! ☆ volunteer work, especially through my church (I’m not sure if I’m gonna stay catholic but it’s how I’m being raised rn) ☆ shopping. it’s so satisfying to bring home something beautiful off the clearance rack. ☆ concept art for film and fashion ☆ interior design and architecture ☆ THE PROPERTY BROTHERS ON HGTV ☆ Steven Universe?? it’s actually a rlly good show. it makes me cry a lot. ☆ Grey’s Anatomy. another good cry show. ☆ purple anything. it calms me down. ☆ soft blankets and pillows ☆ laying down for the night. ☆ meditation and yoga! ☆ photography! I live next to the woods on 2 sides of my house, so it’s the perfect place for photoshoots. ☆ coloring books! the pretty ones, not the kids ones. ☆ reading! I’m usually too busy but it’s so nice when I have time ☆ CRYSTALS AND MINERALS AND PRETTY STONES. I have a growing collection, 95% I found on my own. ☆ driving on empty country roads. ☆ swimming, even tho I’m afraid of deep water ☆ hiking! ☆ chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream ☆ purging old clothes ☆ Internet friends! long distance romantic relationships are awful, but the platonic ones are always fun ☆ learning things you never thought possible ☆ speculation lmao ☆ hugs and physical contact ☆ pressure. I enjoy feeling close to things. I sleep with a billion blankets at all times bc I like the feeling of the weight on me ☆ the concept of Atlas in Greek mythology ☆ in depth discussion about almost anything! I love talking to people! ☆ barbecue chicken pizza from California pizza kitchen

DISLIKES: ☆ people who refuse to acknowledge global warming, white supremacy, sexism, or any fault on either end of the political spectrum ☆ unsolicited dick pics ☆ 99% of country music ☆ metal or screamo music ☆ slut shaming ☆ ignorance in any shape or form ☆ watermelon ☆ Brussel sprouts and asparagus and peas ☆ fish that isn’t fried or marinated in bourbon or teriyaki ☆ oranges ☆ bananas ☆ pop music ☆ slapstick humor ☆ most comedic movies (see above) ☆ cleaning ☆ zara larsson ☆ feminists who hate men (girl we are EQUAL not ABOVE) ☆ the fact that the USA does not have separation of church and state ☆ cold weather ☆ sand in my shoes ☆ most movies featuring talking animals (not counting Dumbo, the Lion King, Babar, Finding Nemo, and a couple others) ☆ those who put others down ☆ those who refuse to listen to both sides ☆ the fact that every Earth year the moon moves 2 inches farther away from Earth and it’s eventually going to be flung into space and we’ll never see it again ☆ white males in positions of authority. your turn is over, pal. ☆ Christopher Walken’s face ☆ John Travolta ☆ the entire movie/musical Grease ☆ when radio stations play the same 10 songs all day long ☆ overused slang ☆ dead memes that are still in circulation ☆ repetition from year to year ☆ bad school photos ☆ pineapple on pizza ☆ basic pages on Instagram ☆ dog types that have been bred to the point of inherent or genetic medical issues ☆ carpet that isn’t soft ☆ bad paint jobs ☆ jumbo tattoos. I love the tiny ones you don’t expect to see. ☆ costume jewelry ☆ asymmetry ☆ bad habits ☆ when everything is black and white ☆ when it’s a gray area ☆ the porn industry as a whole ☆ massive corporations as a whole ☆ people who use deadnames or the wrong pronouns on purpose ☆ driving stick ☆ pulling weeds ☆ vacuuming ☆ loud noises (the unexpected ones) ☆ same old, same old ☆ people who don’t bathe often ☆ when my hair grows too long but I can’t get a haircut for weeks ☆ people who won’t try new things ☆ when anything or anyone dies ☆ the feeling of not being in control ☆ not knowing.

feel free to message me if you’re interested! there’s much more, but this is all I could think of for now. congrats if you made it to the end!