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aenxiome · 3 years

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Chapter 2: Chilled Conversations

As soon as I opened the front door, the sound of shouting and explosions greeted me. I made my way up to my bedroom to drop off my book bag and then headed to Jazzs' room. I entered without knocking and found my sister sitting on her bed with headphones in and surrounded by homework.

"Jazz," I called, trying to gain her attention. When she doesn't acknowledge me, I try calling her name a little louder, "Jazz." Not being in a waiting mood, I walk closer to her and wave my hand in front of her face. She continues staring at the page as if nothing is there. I look towards my hand just to make sure I didn't accidentally turn intangible on the way over.

I couldn't keep in my sigh when instead of my hand being at the end of my arm, the only thing there was an empty sleeve. For some reason, my powers have been slipping away from me more often recently. I thought I was over this stage of the ghostly experience already. Focusing on becoming tangible, I waited until my hand came back into existence then gently pulled one earbud out of her ear.

As soon as it came out, I had her full attention, " Little brother," she greeted. Then, she looked at me, signaling that I should tell her what I wanted so she could get back to her work.

When I didn't answer her right away, she pushed away from her things and patted the side of her bed, allowing me to sit down. I readily take her invitation as I flop down onto her bed and lay back to stare at the ceiling. She studied me for a moment and let out a sigh, "what's wrong this time? You haven't hurt yourself again, have you?" I don't answer for a moment as I try to get comfortable before answering, "It's nothing like that. It's just.." I pause, thinking of how to go about this before deciding that it wasn't worth it, " Never mind, it's been a long day, that's all." She turns back to her work and gathers it all together before placing it on the floor and laying next to me.

" Okay, and?" she says, prompting me to go on. I thought about not telling her about anything at all, but the silence broke my resolve. I put a hand up to my face and rubbed my eyes before telling her about my day, leaving out the ongoing argument I have with Sam and Tucker about my ghost powers and the talk with Mr. Lancer and Ms. Tally.

I would rather deal with the lingering anxieties about both of them than come clean to Jazz. She always means well, but she can be a bit of a mother hen. I don't know why she does it, but she constantly analyzes all of my arguments, and if I told her about the meeting, I would be doomed to relive the whole thing. She is always asking questions. I blame the fact that she is a budding psychologist.

As I tell her about the hallway incident, I notice Jazz slowly turning red. It wasn't long until her face resembled her hair. Once I got to the fact that I had to stay after school because of my tardiness, she was scowling and had a fist full of bedding. " You told her, right? You told Ms. Tally why you were late, didn't you?" she interrogated, I shook my head no, and she let out a sound of frustration. " You can't keep letting Dash and the others do you like this! It isn't right you do understand that don't you?"

"Well, what else was I supposed to do?" I mumble to her. She sat up quickly, starting to lecture, "Tell somebody! But, seriously, Danny, if you let this go on, you're going to be in more trouble than detention." I couldn't think of anything to say; she is right after all.

" I said that I didn't tell Ms.Tally during class, not that I didn't say anything at all." Jazz looked relieved as if I finally got some reason in my brain. " So what are they going to do?" she asked impatiently."The teachers are going to keep us separated in classes, but besides that, I'm not sure what else they are going to do." she looks put out, " that's it?" I nod my head, yes, and she lets out a small groan, " well, at least that's better than nothing."

Even though this is a good thing for me, it is still worrying. What if other people start getting messed with? What if the next person that gets picked on can't take it? I would rather be the A-Lists punching bag for the rest of high school if it means that everyone else is left alone. I'm left by myself to my worries as Jazz goes back to her homework, and I go to grab mine. I end up doing my homework in her room with us both, enjoying each other's presence and silence.

By the time dinner comes around, Jazz is finished with her things, and she comes to look over mine. The only things that she was unable to help me with are astronomy, math, and science. Unlike me, STEM classes aren't her area of expertise. She can breeze by any other type of class no problem, but these classes are something she has to try to excel in.

Once Jazz is satisfied that my work is up to par, we head down the stairs into the kitchen. When we get there, it is empty. The only sign that anyone else is home is the array of sounds from the lab connected to it. I open the lab and take a peek inside. My parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton, are hunched over a table filled with different mechanical parts.

I go down, double-checking to make sure I'm completely visible and grab their attention. " Hey, Mom, what's for dinner?" She startles and drops the part in her hand, then looks up at me. " Oh, hey sweety, when did you get home?" Unfortunately, the lab doesn't have a clock, so I can only estimate when I answer, " A couple of hours. It's almost nine O'clock. Are we going to have dinner?" By the time I am done answering, Mom has already gone back to her parts. I stand there for a couple more seconds before interrupting again, " Mom?" Finally, she answers me absent-mindedly, " Maybe later, go upstairs. We will talk about it later."

I rush back into the kitchen, look at my sister, and give her a solemn nod, and then we get to work. We go back and forth between cabinets, the fridge, and the stove as a well-oiled machine. It doesn't take long before dinner is finished and is hitting the table. While I wish we could make dinner as a family, I can't help but feel that only Jazz and I should handle the food. Dad can't make anything more complex than a peanut butter sandwich, and Mom, well, let's just say her cooking is a bit unique. Just about every time she makes something, the food ends up having some kind of side effect. The food is either glowing or has come alive.

I suspect it's some kind of weird ecto- contamination.

While everyone is supposed to decontaminate themselves before leaving the lab, if they have messed with ectoplasm, Dad has difficulty remembering to do so when fudge is involved. At least when Jazz and I make it, there is at least an 80% chance that it comes out normal. I may have once or twice accidentally contaminated food when I was sick before, but since then, I have been extra careful not to do it again. I don't like having to fight my food for dominance.

This time Jazz went down to the lab and brought back our parents for dinner. As usual, dad stuffed his face as soon as we sat down, and mom brought back her latest gadget to fiddle with. We eat in silence until, "So, Mom, what did you do today?" Jazz asks, attempting to make small talk. Mom hums in thought for a short moment before, " Mostly just working in the lab today. We were trying to figure out how that ghost has managed to get our Fenton Thermos to work. He was at the Nasty Burger today; you should have heard those poor people over there. They were convinced that menace was there today to save the day!" She looks between Jazz and me and tells us seriously, " Just you two wait, it won't take long now for that thing to mess up. Once people start to see its true ways, everyone will know that all ghosts are evil."

I discreetly make eye contact with Jazz and signal that I want this conversation done with. A look of understanding is in her eyes, and she steers the conversation away from ghosts to some psychological thing that I don't understand. I quickly finish eating and head to my bedroom. It doesn't take more than ten minutes before Jazz comes in and shuts the door behind her. She leans up against the door and looks at me accusingly, " So the Nasty Burger, why is this the first time I'm hearing about this?" I started my defense immediately, " I told you about school and what was wrong earlier. It's not like you asked for a play-by-play of my entire day." She continued to glare at me until I mentioned that it was only the Boxxy.

" I don't see why you give him that ridiculous nickname, you're only getting him madder." I looked at her with fake surprise, "I make Boxxy mad oh no, it's not like I want to annoy him or anything." She gives me a look, and I roll my eyes back at her, " come on, it's not like giving him a nickname is going to hurt anybody. Maybe lose a couple of boxes, yes, but I make sure to bring them back." Jazz turns around and leaves with a huff.

I spent the rest of the night going back and forth between playing doomed and chasing the odd ghost that has made its way out of the zone. Since my parents have been held up in the lab, I have been unable to let go of the ghost I had previously caught throughout the past day or so. So finally, just before midnight, I make my way to bed and hope to make it through the night without any more interruptions.

I wake up hours later, feeling ice running through my veins. When I open my eyes, I see a pale blue mist escaping my mouth and into the room. I groggily sit up and look through my window to see the mechanical ghost rushing towards the house.

I let my transformation bubble over me and phase through the wall just as an ectoblast flew past me. I create an ecto-shield around myself and rush out to the middle of the street, away from FentonWorks and closer to the ghost. This ghost is immediately recognizable, with his armor being a staple piece of his being.

"Ghost child," he says in greeting, while I respond with my normal amount of displeasure, "Skulker." He prepares his weapons while spewing out his regular monolog, " This will be the day I, Skulker the Greatest Hunter in the Ghost Zone, claims your pelt welp." He pauses for a moment as if imagining something and then says a little out of character, "You know you would look perfect hanging in front of the fireplace. Maybe I'll only put half of you at the foot of my bed." He hums to himself while I stare dumbfounded, "decisions, decisions, oh never mind, I'll figure it out later. Prepare to die welp." He starts shooting his ecto-rockets and regular ectoblast immediately, hardly giving me the time to dodge them.

" I have been telling you this for months, first off EWW," like, gross, " Second, what is your problem it's like 3 in the morning!" Skulker just laughed and kept shooting. I noticed how much damage was happening to the neighborhood around us and did my best to lead him to an empty lot not too far away. It didn't take long as we were flying at speeds around 100 mph ( 161 kph). We exchanged ectoblasts and kept our shields around ourselves until one of us either lost too much energy or broke the other's shield.

My breath was quickening, and I was becoming less energized. The back and forth went on for a while, and both of us were tired. Both of our shields were starting to show some wear and tear, with small cracks running through the ectoplasm. Skulker's shield broke first, shattering like glass and leaving him defenseless.

I rush forward with the Fenton Thermos in hand and get ready to suck him up when he sets off another ectoblast that grazes past my face. The pain makes me hesitate, and Skulker pushes away from me, creating distance once again. I huff in annoyance, causing a spike of ice to fire out of my mouth and into the ground. Skulker and I both look towards the ice, me in shock and him in apprehension.

"W-What was that?" I ask breathlessly, still in shock; Skulker didn't look any better, gaping at me. I go up to him and slap him in the face, grabbing his attention. "What Is that?" I asked him again. He looks back and forth between the spike and my mouth and then goes closer towards the spike. He pokes it and then immediately takes his hand away. "It's solid ice," he informs me, "just touching it brings chills down my spine. How did you do it? " he asks in wonder.

"I don't know," I stammer out, " but can I guarantee you I plan on finding out how." We float in the middle of the lot for a few more moments before I ask, "Truce for the night?" He nodded his head, yes, and then I brought up the thermos once again. Skulker looks at me with dread, "Any chance you will let me get back to the Zone on my own?" I smirk at him and let out a small laugh, " No," I laugh once more, "Not a chance." I say as I suck him up into the thermos.

As soon as he is back in the thermos, I stop laughing, and my face turns into a grimace. My cheek is bleeding out a mixture of ectoplasm and blood, while the rest of me is in the middle of blooming into an array of bruises.

I look back at the ice and break a piece of it off, planning on taking it with me to study it. However, once it breaks off, the ice starts to turn powdery and crumbles into my hand. I look at its tiny crystals, mesmerized as it melts away. Before leaving the lot, I take a survey of the damage. Most of the ground has burn marks covering it, and the area around the spike is frozen over. I look away in shame at the damage before flying away.

On the way home, I turn over, floating on my back, and look up at the stars. With my enhanced eyesight, I can see them better than the naked human eye, almost as good as a low-quality telescope. The stars have always mesmerized me, taking my breath away. Every time I see them it's as if I get lost in their brightness, their shine. I would give just about anything to be among them. Instead, I take my time floating on home, trying to enjoy the sight for as long as possible.

Once I get to the Fenton Works sign, I float back to my room intangibly and drop through the floor to the lab. I empty the thermos and look around for the first aid kit, then go back upstairs. Luckily for me, my parents have already gone to bed, so my presence wasn't noticed.

I bandage the side of my face and check the rest of my body before heading back to bed, hoping to get some more sleep.

Unfortunately, by the time 6 AM came around, I had no such luck. Twice more, I had woken up by my ghost sense going off. Even though they were just a couple of octopuses and other animals, they still took some time to gather up.

Once I get ready for school, I rush to Jazz before she heads out the door and persuade her to let me ride in her car to school. Once we were settled in, I fell asleep, but it didn't take long for us to arrive, but I was gone to the world. Jazz had to resort to poking me in the ribs to wake me up.

"Late night again, little brother." She says, already knowing it to be fact. I let out a cautious yawn and rubbed my eyes, "What gave me away? I ask groggily. She runs her hand through my hair in a calming motion as she replies, " well, between wanting a ride and the new injuries," gesturing to my face, " it wasn't hard to guess." We sat there in silence for a little bit, with Jazz running her hand through my hair and me leaning onto her. We don't leave the position until we hear the warning bell ring and hurry out of the car.

I wave to my sister, " have a good day." She smiles at me and tells me the same, but before we separate, she grabs my arm and turns me around to face her. "Remember to remind your teachers about the A-List," I nod to her, " if they don't do anything when the class first starts," she tells me seriously. "Okay, okay," I reply, "come on, we're going to be late. Jazz gives me a quick hug then rushes down the opposite hallway.

I'm almost to English when a hand comes out of nowhere and knocks me into the wall. The impact had my body crying in agony as it put pressure on the bruises going across me. I look up with pain in my eyes to see Dash and a couple of his cronies boxing me in. I try to see past the jocks looking for a teacher, but I couldn't see a thing with them towering over me.

Dash didn't even say a thing before he delivered the first punch. I take a couple more as the other two keep me in place before we hear the shout of, "Detention!" The others turn around and move just far enough apart to see Ms. Tetslaff the P.E teacher coming towards us. She is a tall, intimidating woman with light brown hair and blue eyes. I don't think I have ever seen her out of gym clothes, and she lives to keep the A-List in trouble.

Once she comes in front of us she corners me while I start sputtering excuses, " well you see-" I started to explain before she cuts me off. " Get to class Fenton, now you Baxter are going to follow me to my office," she turned to look at the others, "You two as well." All of us looked at her as if she had lost her mind, but Dash still looked to be in denial as he showed no sign of worry at being in trouble.

I rush off to class trying to make my way to class before the bell rings and Ms. Tetslaff changes her mind. I make it into the classroom just as the bell rings and go towards my normal seat as Mr. Lancer Calls out to the class, "Before you all get comfortable I need you to gather your things and move to your new assigned seats." The class let out a sign of displeasure. Everyone went up to the podium and another set of groans were heard. I take a look and see that all of the A-List were separated. I checked for my own name and to my joy Sam, Tucker, and I were still grouped together with the only difference being that we were brought up to the front of the room.

This is going to be a good day.

All of my classes containing students from the A-Lists were given new seating arrangements giving me a new hope for my grades. So far classes are quieter but nothing else has seemed to change. Many of the A-List were called out for making a scene in class and hopefully things keep getting better.

It was at lunch that my luck ran out as I once again came face to face with Dash Baxter. " You must have thought that was so funny, didn't you Fenton?" He says accusingly, I tried to stay neutral but I still couldn't help the look of mirth that is planted on my face. Finally he is being held accountable. Dash was getting closer to me when one of his buddies called him off reminding him that he was in trouble and that he doesn't need to get into anymore.

Half way into lunch was when Jazz appeared. She sat down at our table, put her elbows on it, and laid her chin in her hands. She looked at me with the fakest smile that I have ever seen and said in a sing-song voice, "Oh, Danny, is there something you forgot to tell me about yesterday?" I started to pale as she went on, "Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that you told Mr.Lancer and Ms.Tally about a little ghostly occurrence?" If her look could kill I would be a pile of mush.

"Danny," Sam interjects, " what is she talking about?" looking at me suspiciously while Tucker is stuffing his face looking between the girls I start to crack under pressure. "Whaz et uhg detesuin yezteraay?" Tucker inquires with his mouth full.

" well you see… it wasn't exactly a detention," Sam and Tucker give me a betrayed look, probably thinking the worst, " I thought it was, I swear," I tell them sincerely. " Ms. Tally brought me to Mr. Lancer's office and wanted to ask me about my attendance, grades, and stuff." I Look at Jazz in the eye trying to convey that I didn't see any harm in my words, " I didn't know they would talk to you I swear! I was only trying to be honest." Her anger lessened at my words but the hostility is still there. " I only told the basics, nothing in detail I swear!"

"What exactly are you going on about?" asked Tucker, having his mouth free of food for once. Sam nodded her head agreeing with Tucker wanting an explanation. I put my head in my hands and said, " All I did was say that the house is loud and that it can be hard to sleep, and that some of the ghosts have an unhealthy obsession with us." Sam looked thoughtful, " Well that doesn't sound too bad," Jazz amended ", but then again I guess you could have done worse."

"Hey," I exclaim offended, " you're the one who said honesty is the best policy. It's the truth… not the whole truth but not a lie either."

Jazz gave me a look telling me that I am all forgiven but said, "Next time a little heads up would be nice."

"I'll keep that in mind."

#danny phantom #danny fenton #jazz fenton #skulker #Maddie Fenton #jack fenton #fanfiction #fenton family #fanfic

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tlou-1 · 3 years

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Her Own Worst Enemy | Chapter 8 | Reverie. (Joel Miller Fanfic)

Ada woke in Joel’s bed the following morning. The spring brought the brighter mornings and the sunlight was managing to just break through the curtains of Joel’s room. She turned to the other side of the bed to see Joel was still sound asleep, she didn’t want to wake him it was rare to be able to sleep in. She looked to the nightstand and saw a book about space. Picking it up she thought some light reading might keep her occupied until Joel awoke.

However she couldn’t focus on the words on the page, she read the same sentence over and over again

‘Space exploration is the ongoing discovery and exploration of celestial structures in outer space’, her mind thought about Joel’s rough hands on her as he pulled her dress over he head in one full swoop.

‘Space exploration is the ongoing discovery and exploration of celestial structures in outer space’, she thought about the feel of his mouth and tongue against her inner thigh and then higher and higher until her hands grasped at his hair in pleasure.

‘Space exploration is the ongoing discovery and exploration of celestial structures in outer space’ and the sound of Joel saying her name.

“Good Morning” she heard Joel chirp breaking her train of thought as she quickly closed the book.

“Enjoying a bit of light reading this morning?” He continued.

“I didn’t want to wake you, figured it’s nice to be able to sleep in when we get the chance. A space book though?”.

“Ellie is big on space, talks about it all the time. Would be nice to know what she was actually talking about”

That made Ada smile, she put the book down and crawled closer to Joel.

He took her hand in his and brushed a kiss across her knuckles, “You on rota today?”

“Just a short shift in the greenhouses and then I should be done for the day”

“Meet me for a drink after?” He asked and she agreed jokingly asking if this was the real date, he didn’t say no.

It felt like a longer shift than usual at the greenhouses today, Ada wasn’t working alongside Dina like usual so she had no one to keep her amused whilst she tended to the harvests. This gave her time for her mind to wonder too much, she thought about Joel a lot, he said he was out on patrol with Tommy this afternoon which set her mind at some ease, he was with his brother, out of town and further away from Abby today but what was she doing? Was she on patrol? Helping out some other way? Ada knew she was going to have to do something sooner rather than later but how to go about it, she didn’t have the right answer yet. “That’s it for the day everyone, put your feet up for the rest of the day. You’ve earned it” called someone.

Ada made her way after work straight to the bar to meet Joel, she had some mud on her jeans but she didn’t seem to think Joel would mind. Her eyes scanned the room but they couldn’t find him, she must have been the first to arrive. She ordered them both a drink and a meal, if she was hungry she could only imagine how much Joel was looking forward to something to eat. Seth dropped off at her table two large beers and two warm stews, Ada was tempted to sink her spoon into the bowl there and then but she thought it be rude not to wait a couple extra minutes on Joel. The chair next her was pulled out from the table but when she looked up from her food it wasn’t Joel sat across from her.

“Who are you waiting for?” Abby asked pulling the chair in closer to Ada but Ada didn’t answer her question.

“What are you still doing here Abby? You can’t seriously think you can hurt him without getting yourself killed”

Abby shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe it be worth it”.

“That’s just stupid and you know it too” Ada scoffed at Abby’s casualness about the whole situation.

“You care about them don’t you? I saw the way he was dancing with you”

Ada was silent, so Abby continued.

“You were all too happy to attend a trip across the country to kill him a few months ago, in that space of time did you just forget what he did?”

“I was happy helping friends not get themselves killed, you needed me, until you all didn’t and left me behind. What happened before had nothing to do with me Abby, that was your crusade.” Ada could feel the sternness in her voice and her glare on the woman sitting across from her. Abby’s eyes broke away from hers “Oh and as if on queue, here comes the old man. Have fun you two” she says sadistically and before leaving dips her hand into Ada’s bowl of food and steals a bit of bread.

“I am sorry I’m late, patrol took a little longer than I thought” Joel began apologising.

“Everything alright?”

“Just a few more infected than we would have hoped but nothing I couldn’t handle”.

They began digging into their food while it was still warm, they barely spoke until they had finished.

“Abby keeping you company while you waited?” Joel asked after taking a sip of his beer.

“Mhmm” Ada hummed not wanting to talk about Abby after their unsettling exchange.

“Seems like a nice girl. She’d be great out on patrols, has some amount of strength behind her”. Ada must have made some face along with a noice that sounded unconvinced at Joel’s statement because Joel holds her hand on the top of the table and asks “My god woman, do you trust anyone?”.

“I trust you” Ada sighs, squeezing his hand, “…and Ellie, Dina, Jesse and Tommy, Maria-“

“Alright I get it, I get” Joel laughs before raising her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to it. It was the most affection they had displayed in view of others ever and people had taken notice. There was no point in hiding it now, if Abby knew it was hardly a worry that the town would know.

“So you two kiss and make up then?” Tommy laughed patting his older brother on the back. Joel looked bashful, which was unusual for him. Ada’s mouth hung open in surprise, “What? How would you even-“.

“You think I couldn’t tell by the way you two have been looking at each other?”

“Oh well I am glad you knew because up until a few weeks ago I thought we hated each other” Ada laughed. It felt nice, not having to hide how she felt, being able to enjoy and share these moments with the people she would now consider ‘friends’.

Once Tommy left the two of them in peace to finish their drinks Ada decided to ask, “Go back out on patrols with me?”

“Is that you asking me or telling me?”

“It’s me asking and hoping you’ll say yes” Ada continued, if she could also be set up on patrols with Joel it could mean she could keep a close eye on him herself if Tommy wasn’t around.

“Sure, I mean how can I say no to the woman with the best shot in town” He smiled before they headed home for the night.

She was lying in bed later that night, next to Joel who was looking up at the ceiling, he looked pensive.

“You good?” asked Ada softly.

“You know what, I am… For the first time in a while, things feel good”.

#the last of us #tlou #the last of us part ii #the last of us part 2 #the last of us fanfic #tlou fanfic #joel miller #ellie williams #Joel Miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #Joel Miller fanfic #The Last of Us Fic #Abby Anderson

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

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Welcome back, everyone!

A quick note before we begin: after the previous recap a couple of lovely friends and anons explained to me some discrepancies in my work, mainly about how Fox's semblance functions and how much info we’ve gotten on that previously. They're worth a read if (like me) you haven't read After the Fall and would like a more accurate picture of this whole project. However, I have to admit that sadly past!me didn’t think through the usefulness of those posts and tag them appropriately... so they’re just somewhere in the mess that is the “rwby” and “mymetas” tags. Still, I wanted to acknowledge their existence, both for your potential use and as another disclaimer along the lines of, “I’m reading what amounts to a sequel and recapping as I go. Prepare for a bumpy ride.”

We're on chapter five now (of twenty-two! Holy god I’m slow!!) and truth be told I actually enjoyed this opening. We're in Yatsuhashi's head this time around and he's likewise enjoying Vacuo's Meeting Spot, an "artificial oasis" that reminds him of his mother's healing gardens. I wonder what "healing" means in this particular context. A generalized benefit to your body, mind, and spirit in the form of meditation? Or a more literal, magic-based healing with its roots in aura use? In a world with RWBY's possibilities, a healing garden that someone like Ozpin might run—let's take time to settle ourselves and reflect—vs. one that someone like Jaune would create—let me use my semblance to literally heal your wounds—are rather different things. I'd be interested to know which category (or another) Yatsuhashi's mother falls under.

Regardless, it's a satisfyingly quiet scene. Yatsuhashi comments on both the beauty of the oasis as well as how that beauty, in turn, raises the desert in his eyes. Nothing like not having to deal with a hard landscape to make that landscape seem more bearable, alluring even, and this moment managed to capture that feeling rather well. The only downside is that, in a recurring theme, I once again got whiplash upon realizing that Yatsuhashi is not standing alone in the peace of the early morning, like the description had led me to believe. Apparently Velvet is there. As well as the whole freaking student body! Myers* has this strange habit of writing one kind of scene only to suddenly reveal that the scene is actually radically different from what his writing had encouraged you to imagine. Yatsuhashi is going on about healing, natural beauty, and the peace of an early morning. What's peaceful about dozens of students speculating beside him? Have you ever met a school of sleep deprived young adults dealing with a surprise announcement before breakfast? That’s as far from peaceful as humanly possible.

Mood, kid.

(*Also yes, we're working to write Myers' name correctly this chapter. If I'm going to drag his work so much the least I can do is not add an additional 'e' to his name lol.)

Along with the entirety of Shade Academy to break the peace, Yatsuhashi tells us about dromedons and mole crabs. The former, according to the wiki, is a "camel-like Grimm that can spit acidic venom" and also sports an armored hump. Fun! The latter, according to Yatsuhashi, is a "horrifying" creature that "slept just below the sand and could cut a person in two with their massive claws." And they're the normal, non-grimm animals! Screw Salem. Humanity needs huntsmen just to keep people safe from the everyday wildlife. Crabs cut people in two, Zwei is capable of being set on fire and launched at a mech... it's a miracle that anyone ever steps outside their home.

I do write this with full knowledge that Australia exists, but still.

As Yatsuhashi moves away from thoughts of killer crabs, we begin what is easily the strangest bit of repetition this chapter. Yatsuhashi's shoulder is sore from having tried to break down the hideout door and I'm going, "Wait no, you used your sword” and frantically flipping back through my PDF. To Myers' credit, there is a detail that suggests Yatsuhashi uh... rammed the door? I think? Last chapter he "Stepped forward and Fox heard him grunt with exertion." That's the only thing I can think of that would explain his shoulder unexpectedly being sore hours later: if he'd charged it instead of doing something insane like, oh, I don't know, trying the doorknob first. Odd choice of continuity, but okay. What's super weird though is that Myers repeats the detail again:

Yatsuhashi crossed his arms, then grimaced as a fresh pain shot through his shoulder. Come on, Aura, he thought. Do your thing.

I'm sorry, how badly did you hurt your shoulder? Why does a supposedly intelligent student immediately resort to what is apparently somewhat serious self-harm when faced with a closed door? Why is Myers choosing this of all things to tell us about? Is this incredibly random shoulder injury going to hinder Yatsuhashi during the test? Spoilers: I don't think it does considering that I searched for "shoulder" in my PDF and there's just a lot of hands on shoulders coming up, but nothing that, at first glance, seems to make this kind of set up necessary. So I say again: weird.

Meanwhile, weirdness doesn’t even acknowledge the continued inconsistencies with aura. Jaune heals a cut on his cheek instantaneously, but hours later Yatsuhashi needs to gripe at his aura to hop-to already? So either Jaune’s aura is far more powerful than the average person’s (never established outside of Pyrrha’s “You have a lot of it” comment), or Yatsuhashi really hurt his shoulder that badly. Hard enough that with the rest of the night and early morning to heal him, his aura is still working overtime.

Alrighty then.

So the whole student body is just kind of hanging out, striking up casual conversations. Velvet asks how Yatsuhashi is doing and he says he's fine, "Thanks to you." Wait... what did Velvet do? I mean yeah, she was there last night and she's here now, but so is the rest of the team. I don't really recall her helping Yatsuhashi in any specific way. As is the norm now, I remain mildly, endlessly confused by this novel.

But we don’t have time to delve into the gratitude attached to events I’m not actually sure happened. There’s more chit chat going on as everyone tries to figure out why they've been summoned so early in the morning. "It's not always about us," Velvet says and I nod along in agreement even though I know, as a reader, that it's absolutely about them. "As I'm often reminding Coco."

Coco fires back with how it "could be about us," noting that it would be pretty coincidental if something else was going on right now, plus Rumpole may have realized they were out last night. (Remember, Yatsuhashi wasn't subtle about trying to break down that door). This is one of those moments where I agree wholeheartedly with Coco's logic, but kind of hate to encourage the 'It's all about us' attitude. Velvet might be smiling, but as previously established this is an ongoing theme within RWBY's characterization that it could really stand to do without.

Yatsuhashi then offers some "unsolicited advice" about how Rumpole could afford to slow down some and "let things come at their own pace," to which I respond, "Huh?" Where in the world did this come from? Previously the whole group—including Yatsuhashi, considering he didn't speak out against it—was concerned that Rumpole wasn't doing enough to track down the Crown. That is, do more, move faster, get it done already. You haven’t gotten it done? Okay, we’ll do it instead. Now he's providing this subtle criticism in response to a meeting, as if that's an inherently odd or bad thing for a headmistress to do. You want the woman to do extra work faster but slow down when it comes to her actual job?

It reads to me like Myers is trying to put a lot of wise-sounding dialogue into Yatsuhashi's mouth—you know, the Asian character who keeps bringing up things like meditation and mindfulness—but hasn't bothered to think about whether that dialogue makes any sense. Of course, we then immediately backtrack to reveal that his comment was really about Coco not pushing the team too hard, but... that's not what he said? And Coco clearly didn't get the message. And the hidden meaning of the words didn't come across too well if your reader is squinting at what was said until the author has to straight up go, 'This is what Yatsuhashi actually meant.' Maybe just... have him say that? Give us some significant looks towards Coco, at the very least. Something to clue us in here that Yatsuhashi is (weirdly) blaming Rumpole for Coco's flaw.

Then he just ruins the whole scene further by mentally commenting that if all this extra work was hard on them, "what would it do to SSSN?" Ugh, look. I don't even like SSSN very much. I didn't shed a tear when they left the main series and would shrug if they ever came back, so you know the story is ragging on them too much when I'm standing up for the group at the bottom of my Character Adoration list. The duality of 'SSSN is so incompetent I don't even know how they're alive' and 'That, in comparison, makes us the best team ever' got old forty pages ago, yet I have the distinct feeling it won't be letting up any time soon.

Headmaster Theodore finally arrives to break up this thrilling conversation and the students erupt into thunderous applause. "It was what [he] expected. It was what he inspired whenever he appeared." That... is absolutely hilarious. This guy is so much of a showman, so insanely over the top, that he expects people to treat his everyday appearance as a spectacle worthy of praise and they agree. You know who he reminds me of?

The king himself, Alex Louis Armstrong. I'm digging this already. It's absurd and I will forever question RWBY's ability to balance comedy with its darker tones... but I'm counting this one as a win so far. There's got to be something to praise about this book.

Just as important, we get a description of Theodore's positively insane outfit. I immediately googled to see if someone had drawn him and the fandom did not disappoint. I'm not going to include the image here in case the artist, Edisu, doesn't want their work reposted like that, but I highly recommend you check out the link and get a visual.

The only thing left to say about this fashion monstrosity is that he has a "flowing gray-blue cape, the color of a stormy sky." I'll let our favorite textile engineer make my point for me:

Honestly, between Ruby's cape and Weiss' hair someone is going to end up in trouble one of these days.

In this world free of horrific cape tragedies, we've segued into a flashback which is, frankly, kind of boring compared to the others we’ve gotten. It's just the group meeting Theodore, information and characterization that could have easily been distributed to the audience in the present. It's starting to feel like the structure of including a flashback each chapter is hindering Myers somewhat, just because every chapter doesn’t necessarily need one, but that’s far from the biggest issue to tackle.

We learn that Theodore (really Rumpole) did a bunch of research on all the students involved in the Vytal Festival and they're very pleased that Team CFVY has joined them now, despite the horrific circumstances. We again hear about how judgmental Coco can be, that her judgements are rarely wrong... but if they are wrong she's the last to admit it. So really that's less of a 'This character has good instincts about other people' and more 'This character is just, as said, judgmental and then stubborn about it when she’s wrong.' Theodore, however, seems like a cool dude:

“Ah, she speaks!” Theodore strode toward Velvet. His voice softened. “You didn’t fail, my dear. You fought. You stayed, far longer than anyone would have asked or expected of a student. And now you’re here. Do you want to be here? Will you fight for Shade the way you did for Beacon, Velvet Scarlatina?”

This is great. This is the kind of reassurance I would expect from a headmaster who, thus far, has received a fair amount of praise. Unlike his students, Theodore understands the risks Beacon students took and when it was time for them to make a life-saving retreat. He's inspiring while also being empathetic and honestly? That's the most I've had that 'You're a good person' sense from RWBY in a very long time.

Now watch Theodore turn out to be evil lol.

He cuts the tension of the serious conversation by proclaiming that if any of them doubt whether they should be here, they should take it up with him via a fight. Theodore announces this while striking a pose. I say again:

We then get some more reflection on how Theodore compares to Ozpin:

Ozpin had believed in you before you did, almost like he knew your true potential, despite what your transcripts or fighting abilities looked like. Theodore believed you had potential, but you had to earn it and prove yourself to him first.

I agree with that and I'm pleased to see that this time the comparison didn't involve criticizing Ozpin in an effort to build Theodore up. It’s likewise a useful description and I think it provides us with at least one interpretation of why the RWBYJNR group has discarded Ozpin so thoroughly. The addition "despite what your transcripts or fighting abilities looked like" implies that Ozpin sees potential in everyone. It doesn't matter how presumably flawed you might be—in physical strength, like Jaune; in morals, like Lionheart— Ozpin will see the good in you and give that good a fighting chance. That's why he's the one tasked with doing something as crazy as uniting the whole world because he's the one person capable of seeing that potential in literally everyone. That much is true. But the flipside of this is that, unlike when in interacting with someone like Theodore, no one expects to have to work for Ozpin's faith, his praise... his trust. With Theodore you have to "earn" the respect he gives you right from the start. With Ozpin it's free! So surely that means such faith extends to every possible situation, right?

Which is when you run into trouble. When the situation is no longer "I'll give you a chance in my school" but something much more serious like "I'm risking the whole world on your character." Ozpin is an optimist, but he's also cautious as hell (with good reason), so though he sees the potential in everyone he knows he can't let his own hope for humanity blind him to reality. That person might betray you. They might turn on you. They might give up and hurt you in the process... even if you want to believe that people are simply better than that. Wanting doesn’t make it so.

If someone who had as little interaction with Ozpin as Team CFVY did nevertheless developed such a strong sense of, "Yeah, he believes in everyone!" then it seems likely that Team RWBY, already sporting a special connection with him, thought they were shoe-ins for every possible secret and task they might ask of him. Their time at Beacon was defined largely by both intentional favoritism and coincidences that could arguably be read as such. Ruby gets to go to Beacon two years early. She gets to be team leader. The sisters stay together despite teams supposedly being random. Team RWBY goes on missions not meant for first years. Team RWBY is given a nudge-nudge-wink-wink about The White Fang so that they can do what they’re able to help. Team RWBY was friends with Pyrrha, next in line for the Maiden powers. They got used to Ozpin simultaneously solving all the real problems that showed up and letting them play at being important, all while the rest of the school had to follow normal rules. They’re special. But then Beacon falls, the game is over, and they're blindsided by having to earn trust and privileges in the real world. Playing at huntresses in the safety of your headmaster’s school is over and Ruby in particular never got that there was a massive difference between that and a real war where the fate of the world hangs on your trustworthiness and ability to keep it together. It’s why she announces to the Argus guards that she is a huntress while attacking the people she’s meant to protect.

Which would be a fantastic arc to give them if the show ever had someone sit the group down and tell them how childish and selfish they're being. Instead, they're still being handed that trust and privilege—you can go into Atlas despite stealing from the military, you get your licenses years early, you get to carry an incalculably valuable relic around—while likewise still getting mad that the adults around them don't give them more. This comparison here, though realistically just a throwaway passage in a novel rather iffily connected to its original series, starts to highlight the excellent situation RT set up... and then didn't do anything with.

But I've gone on about this long enough. There are just two other things I'd like to point out about this flashback. The first is that it may help us get a handle on Ozpin's age (if we're willing to accept these books as canon, despite their other inconsistencies). Earlier we're told that "Headmaster Theodore’s whole style should have been ridiculous for a man likely in his forties, maybe older" and here, in describing their different approaches, we get "Headmaster Ozpin, who had been younger but seemed much older." So that could potentially put Ozpin his his late 30s if he's noticeably younger than Theodore in his 40s. Or, in his 40s if the "maybe older" part is right and Theodore is in his 50s. I can’t imagine that Theodore is in his 60s. Not much to go on, admittedly, but I'll take whatever I can get. The interesting thing is that if Ozpin really is that young and Qrow is now (presumably) in his early 40s, wouldn't that have made them basically the same age during his Beacon days? Perhaps even giving us an Ozpin who was younger than his oldest students? I don't know. It's really less of a definitive piece of information and more messy speculation to add to the pile—which is par the course for RWBY nowadays.

The second detail I wanted to point out was that despite all their supposed differences, Headmaster Theodore and Professor Rumpole have a very Ozpin-Glynda relationship going on. For all the cosmetic changes it boils down to the same dynamic. Both headmasters are powerful, quirky men who at first glance appear to be rather useless at their jobs, requiring the confident headmistress to swoop in and manage the daily running of a school. Those two do the heavy lifting while their bosses work wonders from behind the scenes (a la The Wizard). When I read Rumpole chastising Theodore for claiming he investigated the students, or when she reminds him that there isn't time to have an impromptu duel with his students, I couldn't help but think about Glynda reluctantly letting Ozpin invite Ruby to Beacon early, or cleaning up the cafeteria while he shrugs off the mess. To be clear, I don't necessarily mean this as a criticism, just an observation. In truth I'm not sure how I feel about it, but it adds to the overall sense that Shade is just Beacon with a slightly different coat of paint. As I've mentioned previously, for all the text's insistence that Shade isn't like the other schools, the story hasn't done a good job of demonstrating that cultural difference in any meaningful way and similarities like this only add to the feeling that this isn't really a unique Kingdom—or at least not one with a firm enough identity to be persuasively unique. Same rule breaking team sneaking out on their own mission. Same secondary team who’s talented, but not as special as the protagonists. Same strange man with his responsible woman running the school. The details differ, obviously, but the structure feels largely the same.

As mentioned above, once the flashback ends Theodore tries to spar with one of the students but is quickly shut down by Rumpole because, you know, they have a meeting to hold. Apparently there have been complaints lately from the local security about Shade students interfering with official huntsmen business.

“I told you it was about us,” Coco muttered.

Coco, when you hear that people are pissed that you, an unlicensed student, are disrupting the careers of professionals every night the takeaway should not be, 'Aha! I knew it was all about me.'

Yatsuhashi at least provides a more nuanced perspective. "This wasn’t right, though. If they hadn’t interfered, those Huntsmen would have kidnapped an innocent person." He's right. They did help someone, but what they've failed to learn is that an individual good deed does not excuse the unlawful steps they took in getting there. If Team CFVY had just been out on the town and happened to spot some shady characters pulling shit, then put a stop to their kidnapping, that's fine. That's heroic. What is not heroic is them going out with the express purpose of fixing a situation that trained professionals told them they should not be trying to fix—key word being “trying,” given that they all understand Rumpole’s worry that they’ll make things worse. It was enough to send them back home last night... after Yatsuhashi failed to break into the hideout. The problem is not the "I helped someone who needed it" part but rather the "I'm arrogant enough to think that my presence is necessary" bit.

If having students conducting investigations was wanted or necessary, it would be a part of the curriculum: acknowledged or otherwise. AKA yes, Ruby. It would be very helpful if you'd head on off to Mountain Glenn, under the observation of a seasoned huntsmen, and report back if there's any dubious activity going on over there. Ozpin said, 'Yes please' to the extra (highly controlled) help while these professionals are saying, 'No thanks.' The fact that Team CFVY acts is if they're justified in continuing this investigation—and worse, that the story keeps validating those feelings—undermines their otherwise heroic actions. RWBY really is a series that struggles with giving its protagonists compelling reasons for getting involved in the fight. ‘Because I want to help’ might be a noble motivation, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you should. The Mountain Glenn mission was like a chef allowing a talented, aspiring teen to help them with a dish, all of it done under their tutelage. Team CFVY’s investigation is like the teen sneaking into the kitchen after dark to doctor all the prep for the next day’s cooking under the assumption that they’ll make it even better. Hell, maybe they will! But that’s not the point. Your help was not invited — explicitly denied, actually —and there’s a very good chance you’ll mess something up.

So because this group of eight continually insists that they know best, the whole school is required to stay on campus after nightfall. Huzzah!

It’s just too bad these consequences hurt others just as much as Team CFVY. The other students are pissed about this. I would be too! Team CFVY remains adamant though that they did the right thing, no guilt here, relying on the reader inaccurately comparing ‘saving lives’ with ‘losing free time off campus’ in order to come out on Team CFVY's side. They still fail to understand that helping people is not the reason they’re being punished.

Theodore and Rumpole reiterate that they are working on a solution and that no one else should be getting involved. Team CVFY is no more persuaded by this speech than they were the previous ones. The announcement then segues into discussion of the former Haven students which produces... boos from the audience?? My god, what is wrong with this school? I mean I get it, school is brutal—both in real life and fiction—especially when the social dynamics of your school are written much more like a high school than a college, but usually if characters are going to drag new students it's in the semi-privacy of a bathroom or an empty hall. Groaning over the existence of war survivors in front of your headmaster is a level of confident cruelty I didn't expect.

Then again, RWBY is the show that gave us Cardin pulling on Velvet's ears in the middle of the cafeteria, so perhaps I shouldn't be surprised.

Theodore quickly bypasses the whole 'A decent number of my students hate these other students' issue and instead acknowledges that it is "difficult to adjust to a new school, an entirely new group of classmates, and most of all to life in Vacuo. Yet some of you have been separated from your original training teams.” Which is a nice way of saying that a good number of these teammates are dead. So what's the solution here?

Reinitiation Ceremony!

I'm sarcastic, but in all honesty I don't hate this idea. Far from it. Partly because I have a strong love of competitions in shonen-esque stories. Tests, trials, the obligatory tournament arc... they've always been some of my favorite parts of a series, largely because they allow the author to develop whacky and creative challenges that show off important characterization. See: Killua using a skateboard during the tunnel run before deciding that if Gon can manage running it, he can too; or Izuku using the mines and a piece of scrap to blast himself ahead of Bakugo and Todoroki. The structure of such tests forces characters to demonstrate creativity and critical thinking skills alongside strength, and that in turn reminds us of why they're our heroes. RWBY managed this a little bit with the Vytal Festival, but overall I don’t think the teams did anything particularly impressive to win. Team RWBY worked together, Nora hit people really hard with her hammer, Weiss' injury pissed off Yang enough to tap into more power... it was all stuff we had seen before and very little of it required planning or creativity. The Vytal Festival functioned more to set up the plot developments of Volume 3, which is fine, though for a while I had hoped that we would get a huntsmen license exam to do this sort of work... which obviously didn’t happen. Disappointing, but we’re at least getting something like that here.

So I love the concept. I even love the general reasoning behind holding the ceremony at all. Anyone who had spent five minutes on this blog knows that I think the groups need to learn to play well with others. Yet I also can't deny that the team dynamics provide stability for these characters, even if they've come to rely on that stability to an unhealthy degree. We've got students whose teams were presented to them not just as a professional tool, but their primary support system. You live with these people, attend all the same classes, spend your free time together, and survive life-threatening situations on a fairly regular basis. It's work, family, and friendship all rolled into one, so if the headmaster suddenly says that you get a new team, that's a whole lot more devastating than just learning that you've got a new project group to deal with. It shouldn't have come to that—a school looking to teach a profession that requires working with a wide variety of individuals should never have told four students to rely one each other and each other alone—but now that we're here you can't just break them apart with no notice. Especially with a traumatic war going on. It's hard to come to a new school, meet new people, learn a new culture... so let me rip away the one piece of familiarity you have left.

Of course, I don't really think that the teams will be broken up irrevocably, if at all. Rather, I simply want to acknowledge that despite my appreciation for these kinds of stories and despite my desire that the teams get some distance... it shouldn't be done like this. Even more-so when it’s abundantly clear—to us if not the instructors—that this little stunt is causing their students to re-live a whole bucket load of trauma. Yatsuhashi thinks about how this feels like an “out of body experience” and “It reminded [him] uncomfortably of the evacuation of Beacon Academy… He felt his breath catch in his throat.” Coco’s order to stick together “[brought] him back to the moment,” re-emphasizing that he was lost in the past for a while there. He’s clearly struggling.

Now, to be fair, this could all fall under the category of flawed characters. Meaning, anytime something awful happens in fiction we can interpret that as a skill on the part of the author: they wanted to write a scenario where the teachers are screwing up and unintentionally hurting their students. Or they know they’re hurting their students and consider that to be an acceptable sacrifice under the justification of ‘They have to get over Beacon at some point!’ There are lots of ways to paint this as Myers/RT writing complex, human characters who make ambiguous choices—a testament to their ability to write “realistically.” But to be frank I don’t really buy it. Simply because I’ve had a lot of experience now with how RWBY handles subjects like trauma and it’s only rarely been written respectfully and engagingly. I could be proven wrong as the novel continues, but it seems more likely that Myers wrote the instructors coming up with this test, wrote Yatsuhashi panicking over it, and intends to continually imply that these two things are separate plot points. Bringing both together in a narratively useful way would require acknowledging the instructors’ motivations—Why this test? Why now? Do they realize the harm they’re causing? If so, do they think it’s worth it?—and then coming to some sort of resolution, either via some recovery on CFVY’s part due to the instructors’ choices (this test did help us move past Beacon), or the instructors learning something about empathy and trauma via CFVY’s reaction (we never should have done this). I highly doubt we’ll get either.

Thus, everyone is (justifiably) horrified. The teams are gone and either the shock of that made Team CFVY prioritize feelings of safety over strategy, or they're just not going to demonstrate any of the intelligence I look for in this kind of arc, because they immediately start obsessing over staying together.

He needed to keep his team close to him. Especially Velvet. If they weren’t separated, they couldn’t be assigned to different teams.

Yatsuhashi, that is not at all what Rumpole told you:

“It’s already begun,” Rumpole said. “Everything you do from this moment forward will factor into your evaluations for new teams.”

Where in the world did you get the idea that you wouldn't be assigned a new team so long as you stuck with your old one? If I were one of the instructors here that choice would make me more likely to separate them. "Everything you do from this moment," Rumpole says, meaning that how they respond to this information is a part of the test. The team that panics and refuses to separate is the team that either can't function without one another, or at the very least believes that they can't. They're not willing to work with others and thus they're precisely the type that needs to learn this skillset. You're the ones they'll want to give new teammates to.

Of course, fate has different ideas about how things should go down. And by "fate" I mean "A completely ridiculous plot device." Team CFVY is separated because... the crowd is large I guess? It’s ridiculous. Four fighters already standing beside one another and who are now hyper-focused on staying together are not going to get swept away by a Shade size crowd who probably also want to stick with their own teammates. There are far better, far more convincing ways to keep them apart. Ozpin shot students one-by-one into the forest! Literally anything other than what we got, really.

Still, that’s what we wound up with. Yatsuhashi and Coco both try to keep the team together only for the immense power of other people existing putting a stop to their plan. Alrighty then. Before they’re dramatically swept away on different ships, however, we do get two other noteworthy bits of information that I'd like to end on. The first is Rumpole’s announcement that “When you reach your destination, your goal will be to locate a gold figurine and bring it back to the school” to which Fox replies, “Great. Glad this is fair for everyone. Who can see.” And you know what? He's right. Maybe Fox and I will both be proven wrong (I feel like I'm writing that a lot this chapter...) but unless there's some miscommunication here or a surprise in store, a goal of "locat[ing] a gold figurine" is indeed a sight based challenge and, when placed in a test that is deliberately separating Fox from his team, puts him at a severe disadvantage.

The second is simply that the year levels of the students will not be a factor in the creation of new teams. “What year we are? Yatsu thought. This can’t be right. How could a first-year keep up with fourth-years?” to which I respond, "Um... that's the entire show?" The webseries RWBY is about how Team RWBY, starting out as first years, has surpassed everyone around them, to the point where they're now beating the best team in Atlas. Time-wise they're still second years—far as I can figure out, anyway—so if second years can beat elite military operations, a first year can stand toe-to-toe with second, third, and fourth years. More crucial to Yatsuhashi's thought process—because as an in-world character he doesn't necessarily know what Team RWBY has been up to post-Volume 3—he's still seen how well first years did at Beacon. Ruby was let in two years early. Pyrrha is such a phenomenally talented fighter her face is on their cereal boxes. A first year, Yang, went on to compete in the Vytal Tournament final (even if it was rigged. Yatsuhashi doesn't know that), and Team CFVY fought beside a number of first years at the Battle of Beacon. Now, you all know that I think education and experience are damn important. I'm not saying Yatsuhashi is flat-out wrong to question whether there would be any issues attached to slamming, say, a first year, two second years, and a fourth year into one team (especially when you consider practical questions like going to classes), but the general takeaway of "How could they keep up?" seems a tad strange. You know first years can keep up. You watched it happen, both in your former school's curriculum—first years get to go on an upper-level mission—and in real life battle. This knee-jerk response reads as even worse after five chapters of looking down on Team SSSN. Team CFVY really thinks highly of themselves, huh.

Honestly, it feels like our authors didn't pay a whole lot of attention to the implications of the dialogue/thoughts they’re giving to the characters which is, again, par for the course at this point. Like the questions attached to the test, this feels less like giving Yatsuhashi a flaw (he, as an in-world character, hasn't bothered to think through whether his knee-jerk assumption about first years is supported by his experiences) and more like a flaw of the creators. That sounds like a legitimate concern—in the same way that Yatsuhashi's advice to Rumpole sounds generically wise—but poke at it a bit and you start finding a number of cracks. An author who is well aware of the world they've built and strives to adhere to it might have had Yatsuhashi acknowledge some of the amazing things he's seen first years do and still conclude that there are problems with this decision. That's legit. As it stands, Yatsuhashi just sounds ignorant and (again) overly confident, which I don't trust to be a moment of character insight as opposed to an authorial blip.

Which is about where we end. The team is split on different airships, no one is happy about it, and we're left with this somewhat unsettling image:

Headmaster Theodore was waving and whooping, like it was all some terrific game, while Professor Rumpole watched silently, her hair whipping around in the wind and an unsettling grin on her face.

This gives me some hope that the story will treat the problems attached to this test respectfully. The description of Theodore acting "like it was all some terrific game" is a mark against his character and Rumpole straight up has an "unsettling grin on her face." Is she one of the baddies? Potentially. Will I ever again get adult characters who aren't depicted as inept, traitorous, or just so flawed that they unwittingly cause great damage to their students? Probably not. These two desires remain constantly at war with one another. RWBY introduces issues that the story should tackle, but the only issues it acknowledges are those attached to the adults. So we have everyone doing a range of iffy things, but only the elders are likely to be punished or (better yet) learn something over the course of the tale. The double standard remains so strong across the franchise that at this point I just want to raise a THE ADULTS DID NOTHING WRONG banner and call it a day. Not because they're actually free of mistakes or even, at times, downright cruelty, but because if our protagonists constantly get that free pass I'm not sure why everyone else can't too.

Anyone for a spot of denial?

But I've now written nearly twice as much as the actual chapter in question. It's time to stop! At this rate I’ll have written the equivalent of five Before the Dawns in my attempt to recap just one. #yikes

Until Chapter Six 💜

#rwby #BTD Recaps #Before the Dawn #mymetas

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weekendwarriorblog · 4 years

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The 30 Minute Experiment - Introduction

You may or may not have noticed that there hasn’t been a Weekend Warrior the last few weeks, and I’m not 100% sure that I’ll finished what I started for a movie column this week, because honestly? Writing about box office and theatrical releases and repertory series has been my only joy about writing a weekly column since leaving the Beat since I’m not making any money with the time it takes to write a column. But we’ll see. Most of the movies coming out tomorrow will be available digitally and On Demand forever so there’s no need to rush out a column I’m not happy with. But that brings us to what I’m doing now and what this is...

Maybe it will be obvious what my “30 Minute Experiment” will be after a couple days, but let me explain. This is something I’ve thought about doing for a few weeks now, and it’s my ongoing attempt to write about other things than movies in the time when there are no movies or at least no movie theaters in which they can play. So this is what the 30 Minute Experiment will be.

Every day (hopefully), I will sit at my computer with Tumblr open and start writing for exactly thirty minutes. I will set a time for that 30 minutes and wherever I’m at when that 30 minute elapses will be where that day’s column ends.

This experiment will have me writing about anything on my mind, but each day will have a specific topic that I might want to write about, and these might be topics where my take differs from you. Some of these topics might be exceedingly personal and intimate and maybe you’ll find out some stuff about me that you never knew before. Who knows? It’s called an experiment for a good reason. Oh, yeah, and the other thing is that when those 30 minutes are over, I will not go back and read over or edit anything i wrote. I kind of have done this before with one of my Oscar pieces last year and my eulogy to my friend William Wolf reminded me that I can really write quite quickly and efficiently when I just sit down and do it.

And that is actually the advice I give anyone who wants to write about ANYTHING. I think I stole this from “Throw Momma from the Train” but it’s true... A writer writes... always. Whether you have anything to write about or not. Hey, I have a penpal in prison who is probably as bored on a daily basis as some of you are quickly getting during the current self-quarantines . I really have to make an effort to write him so I don’t lag behind by months as I did lst year. Usually when I write to this penpal it’s using a similar method where I write him about what I’m going to write him about (or answering one of his previous comments) and when I’m done, I mail it out. I do this because he writes to me, sometimes PAGES of thoughts, in pencil or pen. He doesn’t have a computer or Word or a way to edit his thoughts, and I feel it’s only fair I do the same even though I can type out my letters.

But that’s what I mean. I think we all take for granted all the good things we have in this world right now including spell check and ways to overwork our own writing to the point where we no longer want to ever read what we’ve written. I’ve been there many many times...

Who knows? Maybe I’ll put a call out to people on FB or Twitter for ideas or topics that maybe someone wants me to write about, and I’ll add it to the long list I’ve already created for myself. But the point is that I’ll pick a topic, start the time, and start writing and when the 30-minute mark arrives, it’s done. I hit “send.”

By the way, I set the time on this introduction and I have 19 minutes left!!! So okay, maybe this intro will be a little shorter and I’ll start for real tomorrow.

But I guess I can use my remaining time to talk a little about writing in general. If it isn’t obvious, writing has been a passion of mine for over 25 years. Obviously, i prefer being in a situation where I get paid for my writing (and I sort of am right now) but I also have tried to maintain a weekly movie column for over 19 years even though I only had four places that were paying me for said column during that time. I was hoping to start a new MONTHLY movie column at one of the places where I sometimes write for but that was quickly by all the movies being delayed, and that still seems to be the case. Maybe I’ll even finish the movie column I started this week, but honestly, my passion is theatrical releases, even when it’s smaller movies -- indies, docs, foreign films -- and knowing that all the people I know at my favorite theaters like the Metrograph and Film Forum and Lincoln Center are not working right now just really bums me out more than the fact that I can’t go see movies in theaters.

Believe me, I have PLENTY of movies to watch and write about as far as screeners, although I try to use my evenings after writing my current assignments to relax and enjoy some of the work of others that are trying to keep us all entertained while we’re stuck at home.

Honestly, being stuck at home is not a big deal for me since (this may be hard to believe) I’m not really that social, at least in terms of riding the subway and dealing with my fellow New Yorkers. When I get to the screening room, there’s plenty of friends, colleagues and acquaintances that I love to talk to and catch up with, and I’m missing many of them as much as I did in 2013 when I got stuck in Columbus, Ohio fighting cancer. If you don’t know about this adventure, I might talk about it sometime in the next few weeks or months or however long I decide to do this. Right now, what’s going on in the world feels very much like when I returned to NYC in 2014 and in that case, I was the one worried about getting sick since I had a very weak and new immune system from a stem cell transplant. But more on that later. That’s not really what I want to talk about right now.

Oh, yeah, and if you read this and think “Boy, Ed really likes writing about himself” ... fine, that’s a fair assessment. I mean, I’ve always been a bit of an over sharer in the 25 years I’ve been on the internet, which was the point where I finally declared myself to be a writer and was already writing weekly comic book reviews. Oh, God... just thinking about what’s going on in the comic book industry right now. That’s a 30-minute column in itself. So I have 12 minutes left... what else? I definitely would love some feedback as this experiment continues as well as thoughts on topics you’d like me to cover. I think the worst thing a writer has to experience is having a lack of feedback, whether it’s from editors or readers. Every once in a while, it’s nice to know that someone read something I wrote and it touched them or it made them think about something that they hadn’t thought about before, and yes, even if something I said makes them angry. I always appreciated people reaching out and telling me this stuff. Since I have... 10 MORE MINUTES?!?...I’ll also mention that I’ve been using this downtime to reach out to people I don’t see or talk to as often, just to see how they’re doing during this national crisis. Just seeing how it’s affected so many people both in positive and negative ways has been really interesting to me as someone who likes to analyze people and the human condition.

I also want to use this time to work on some of the screenplays I’ve started developing since that was part of the point of leaving ComingSoon 4 years ago. In hindsight, that may have been a mistake but the idea was that I could use some of my time working on more personal projects like these screenplays. What instead happened was that I was scrambling to find freelance work and struggling to make a living with the piecemeal assignments I’m getting.

To be perfectly honest, I’m still in that last position as I haven’t had a proper full time job in almost two years now, although I had a part-time job most of last year on top of my movie writing stuff.

Who knows how things will pan out after this whole thing is over, but this is a much bigger topic that definitely can wait since we’re nowhere close to the situation in New York right now. Maybe i’ll write a bit more about that in the next few days since a lot of my friends and colleagues from other states and countries have been worried about me. Some of it was for good reason if you knew what I personally was dealing with my ghost town of a neighborhood, but believe me, I’m doing fine. No symptoms, no qualms... just want to get back to some semblance of normal life even though I’m gonna have plenty of time to rethink whether “getting back to normal” would be a good thing in my case. I only have five minutes left so not sure I can get into that idea of “the new normal,” something I know about all too well from my experience with cancer, since that’s 30 minutes in itself, so instead, I’ll say... thanks for reading up to here (if you indeed have) and I hope you enjoy this experiment and don’t find yourself bored by my droning on. The above is what I can write in just 25 minutes so imagine how much worse this might be with that extra five minutes. :)

#TheWeekendWarrior #30MinutExperiment

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write-havoc · 5 years

Text

The Glasswing Butterfly Part 16

Summary: Chuck has never thought of herself as anything special. Just an average beta living her life next door to a womanizing alpha named Negan. But her life, and Negan’s too, are turned upside down when Chuck suddenly presents as omega.

This is a non-zombie AU featuring A/B/O dynamics.

Fandom: The Walking Dead AU

Pairing: Negan/Original Female Character

Status: Ongoing

Contains: swearing, smut

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlist in my bio

“Lose the tie.”

Chuck’s voice makes Negan turn from his own reflection in the mirror to the doorway where she stands. “You think?” he asks. “I’m trying to make a good impression here,” he replies with a boyish smirk.

She walks over to him and lightly tugs the tie loose from his collar. “The button up and jacket is enough. A tie will just look too formal.” She pulls the cloth free and drapes it around her own neck. “And you know those teenagers will want to drop you down a peg if they think you’re too serious.”

“Fuck. You’re right.” He smoothes his hands down his chest as he turns back to check himself out in the mirror.

“Are you nervous?”

He gives her a look. “No.”

She giggles. “Yes you are! You’re nervous about your first day teaching again.”

“It’s not exactly teaching . I’m fuckin’ substituting. It’s more like goddamn babysitting .”

“But you’re still nervous,” she teases.

“My kids loved the shit outta me back in the day. Guarantee those little fuckers at Alexandria High are gonna love me, too.”

“I know they will.” She leans up to kiss him. “You better get going.”

He looks at his watch. “Shit. Yeah.”

“At least it’s only the last few periods today. Start you off easy to begin with.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later, baby.”

With a kiss goodbye, Negan heads out of the house and to the school. The teacher he’s subbing for is one of the English teachers, so he’s directed to her room. As he walks into the classroom before the last bell rings, he sees her sitting at her desk waiting for him. She’s a beta, about middle aged with shoulder length graying dark hair and a few extra ponds around the middle.

“Mr. Negan,” she greets.

He shakes her hand. “Just Negan is fine.”

“Thanks for coming in.”

“It’s no problem.”

She gathers her bags from the desk. “I really don’t miss much work,” she starts, almost apologetically, “but I’m picking up my cat from the vet. He just got fixed and they aren’t open later.”

He immediately shelves the joke on his tongue about hoping her pussy feels better. “Don’t wanna leave him there overnight. He’ll claw your furniture to get back at you when you get him home,” he settles on instead.

“Probably.” She laughs. “I left instructions on the desk for you. Just have the kids read whatever story I wrote down and tell them we’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

“Alright then.”

As she leaves the room, the kids, all juniors, start to file in. Negan writes his name on the board and waits for everyone to show up. Once the last bell rings, he takes his place at the front of the room, leaning on the podium to address the students.

“Alright. First thing’s first, I’m Negan.” He points to the board. “Just Negan. Not Mr. Negan or Professor Negan or whatever. Secondly, if I start swearing, are any of y’all gonna go crying to your parents?”

The students all look around at each other but don’t say anything to indicate they would.

“Good.” Negan walks over to the desk to read over the instructions left for him. “Your teacher wants you guys to read The Yellow Wallpaper so you can talk about it next class. Page 134 in your literature books. I’m gonna read that shit too and I’m a fast fuckin’ reader so if you guys start fucking around before I’m done, I’m gonna know that you’re not reading your shit.”

The kids are taken aback by his language, but it’s refreshing for them to hear a teacher speaking that way.

“Any questions before we get this shit started?”

One boy holds up his hand and Negan nods at him to proceed. “Can we say fuck?”

“Does your teacher usually let you say fuck?” Negan counters.

The boy shakes his head.

“Then the answer’s no. This is still her fuckin’ classroom, so you follow her rules.” He points to another raised hand, this one belonging to a girl.

“Are you an alpha?” she asks.

He chuckles a little at her bluntness. “Yup. I’m an alpha. You got any other alpha teachers here?”

The students shake their heads. It’s not surprising that there aren’t any other alphas here; teaching isn’t one of the fields alphas usually gravitate to. But it never bothered Negan before to go against convention. He was a great teacher and he’s planning on being one again.

“Well,” Negan replies, “then, I’m the only one here. It’s not exactly an important distinction, though. I’m a fuckin’ teacher, just like all the rest of them.” He sits behind the desk and pulls the class’s book out to find the story. “Now get reading.”

The next two periods go about the same; he answers the same “Are you an alpha?” question two more times then gets the kids to read their assignment. The last class, all seniors, reads several poems, which doesn’t take too long to finish.

“Since y’all are finished and we have about twenty minutes left,” Negan starts as he looks down at his watch, “why don’t you just work on homework or some shit.”

One of the boys in the class slowly raises his hand.

“Yes?” Negan calls out to him.

“Are you the Negan than killed the Redhead Killer?” the boy tentatively asks.

As the rest of the students look to Negan for his answer, he lets out a sigh. “Look.” He rubs his hand over his chin as she stands from his chair to sit back down on the front of the desk facing the students. “I’m sure you’ve all fuckin’ seen the articles and shit on the internet. Guarantee you’ve got all the fuckin’ information you can already, so you don’t need the goddamn play by play from me. But I get it. There’s a fuckin’ fascination with crime and shit. God knows I know that. I dodged fuckin’ reporters for weeks and I never once talked about that day with them. You wanna know why?”

The kids all stare wide eyed at him, waiting for him to finish his thought.

“It’s not because I’m ashamed of what I did. Fuck no, I’m not ashamed. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Was it fucked up? Yeah. But I would do anything to make sure my mate is safe. And the law backed me up.” He lets out a breath. “No, the reason I never talked about it was because it’s none of anyone’s fucking business.” His voice is stern, but not angry. “That shit that happened was between me, my woman, and a sick piece of shit that shouldn’t have been allowed to even breathe the same air we do. And now he doesn’t.”

The students all look around nervously, like they’re being scolded.

“I fuckin’ understand. There’s not a lot of juicy shit that happens here in the suburbs. Then this fuckin’ alpha comes in that was in the goddamn news a few moths ago and you wanna know all about it. But I’m not gonna talk about it. Least of all with you kids. They’d probably fire my ass if I did. And I’d like to keep my job, thank you. Especially since I’m gonna be full time next year. So I’ll make a deal. You all respect my privacy when it comes to that particular event in my life and I’ll be an open book about everything else.” He pauses to look everyone over. “Mostly,” he tacks on. “Anything that won’t get me fired, anyways.”

A girl suddenly speaks up, taking his offer to be open with them seriously. “Are you really mated?”

“Yes,” he answers quickly.

“Is she your true mate?” she asks again. “Like-Like they said in the news?”

Negan considers it with a sigh. “It ain’t like the Disney movies, but...” He shrugs a little. “I guess we’re fuckin’ different from most other pairs.”

“Are you sad that she’s not here right now?”

He scrunches up his face. “I don’t have to be around her 24/7,” he answers with some attitude. “That’s one of those Disney shit things. We can fuckin’ be away from each other without falling apart.”

“How much do you bench press?” a boy close to him asks. “Since... you’re stronger, right?” he adds.

Negan snickers. “Fuck, I don’t know. I ain’t a superhero; I’m just an alpha.”

“Do you go into rut?” another voice calls out.

“Shit, you guys are curious fuckers,” he mutters as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, I go into rut, but I’m not gonna go into details, you little pervs. That falls under shit-that-will-get-me-fired.”

There are a few giggles across the room.

The questions keep coming. “Do you have any kids?”

“No.”

“Why not? Isn’t that why you take a mate?”

Negan lets out a little chuckle, though it’s not really with humor. “Don’t you have any alpha/omega health classes here to get all this info from?”

They shake their heads.

Negan is a little surprised by that. He thought that learning about all the presentations would be in the general curriculum. “Shit. That’s kinda fucked up.” He wipes his hand over his forehead, thinking that maybe part of his job here should be to set these kids straight with regards to this. “Mated pairs are just like beta couples. They can decide not to have children if they fuckin’ want. Or maybe they can’t fuckin’ have children even if they want to. It fuckin’ happens. Mates aren’t just fuckin’ baby machines like some people might have you believe. We’re people . We might have stronger urges, but we’re fuckin’ people first. Just like all of you.”

Understanding seems to wash over them, but there is still a sense of confusion there. It’s more than likely that these kids haven’t really had a lot of experience with alphas or omegas, considering this area is more suburban and less populated than the city. This means that they are a little ignorant of how those groups actually are, instead of just how they are portrayed in the media.

When the final bell rings, the students rush out of the room, ready to get home for the day. As Negan gathers up his things at the desk, he hears a soft knock on the door frame. Raising his head, he sees a good looking beta woman, early thirties, in a pencil skirt and a low cut white blouse. Her dark hair falls around her face in waves, though she makes sure to throw it over one shoulder.

“How was your first day?” she asks as she walks further into the room.

He looks back down to his bag. “It was fuckin’ fine.”

“I’m Lara. Lara Kline.” She holds out her hand for him to shake. “I’m another English teacher. My room’s just across the hall.”

He accepts her hand and shakes it. “Negan,” he greets.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had a new face here. And I hear you’ll be taking over P.E. next year.” She gives him a smile and tucks some of her hair behind her ear.

“News travels fast, huh?”

She shrugs. “I suppose.” She takes another step toward him. “You used to teach, right? This isn’t your first go.”

“I taught for about a decade. Quit for about a decade.” He stands fully and swings his bag over his shoulder. “It was nice meeting you, but I got my mate waiting at home for me.”

He knows she’s flirting with him. And if it were a year ago, he’d be all over her. But now? He’s not even remotely interested. Sure, she’s attractive. And she’s trying her hardest to be sexy, if that extra undone button on her blouse has anything to say. But it’s just not doing anything for him right now.

“Oh,” she replies. “You’re mated?”

“Yeah.” He starts to walk out of the room. “See ya later,” he calls back. He didn’t really want to indulge her any, but he didn’t want to be rude. Especially since he’s going to be seeing her quite often sooner or later. Hopefully she got the hint that he’s not interested.

Despite the awkward end to the day, the whole ride home, Negan smiles. He didn’t really do much today, but it still felt good for him to be back in the classroom again. After he pulls into the garage and parks his Challenger, he pats his Harley as he passes it.

“Soon, my girl,” he says out loud. He hasn’t gotten a chance to work on the bike yet, since the weather has been too cold to really do so. But when spring arrives and those first warm days come along, he’ll be out in the driveway getting her road ready.

Before he gets to the door to the house, it opens and Chuck comes to stand in the doorway.

“Did it go well?” she asks excitedly.

He gives her a quick kiss then walks past her into the living room. “It was good.” He sets his bag down on the couch before sitting down beside it.

“Any trouble with the kids?”

When she sits down next to him, he wraps his arm around her and pulls her in closer to him. “Nope. Though I had one kid ask about...” he looks over to her, “that shit.”

It’s obvious to her what he means. “Oh.” She looks away for a moment, then cuddles up to his side. “What’d you say?”

“I told them I wasn’t gonna fuckin’ talk about it. But I said I’d talk about anything else. Which might’ve been a goddamn mistake because they were asking questions left and right about being an alpha. I guess they’ve never learned about us before.”

“Really? That’s weird. My high school was smaller than this one and we had classes on alpha and omega development.”

“Yeah. I don’t know. I guess it’s not in the fuckin’ curriculum here.”

“What if you did it? Couldn’t you get the certification to teach a health class like that?”

He shrugs. “Probably. But if the powers that fuckin’ be don’t already think learning about people like us is important already, they’re probably not gonna change their fuckin’ minds any time soon.”

“Tell them how curious the kids are.” She shrugs a shoulder. “It won’t hurt too ask.”

Sighing, he wipes his hand over his beard. “I suppose.”

That Sunday, Negan hosts a Super Bowl party for Rick, Carl, and Simon. Even if none of their preferred teams are playing (Redskins for both Negan and Simon and the Falcons for Carl and Rick), they can all band together to root against the Patriots.

Negan is a little nervous about Simon meeting Chuck for the first time. Even though he’s been nothing but friendly for as long as he’s known him, Simon is still an alpha. He just hopes everything will go smoothly so he won’t have to cut ties with the man.

Rick and Carl arrive first, naturally, since they live only a few houses away. They end up bringing some snacks, chips and salsa, which they set up in the living room. After Rick and Carl get a quick tour of the house, everyone settles down in front of the tv.

Rick grabs a chip before before commenting on the house. “It’s nice. It’s set up a little bit differently from ours, though.”

“It’s perfect for us,” Negan replies with a look over to Chuck beside him.

“Hey,” Carl cuts in. “Are you teaching at my school now?” he asks Negan. “Someone told me you were there.”

“I substituted the other day,” Negan answers. “Didn’t see you.”

“I’m in Miss Kline’s English class,” Carl clarifies.

“Oh.” Negan chuckles. “I met her.”

Rich laughs, too, like they’re sharing a joke. He has met the woman before, so he knows what probably happened already.

“What?” Chuck asks, picking up on the vibes.

Negan thinks of how to frame the the answer. “She’s, uh...”

Carl jumps right in to complete the thought. “She’s hot.”

Rick shakes his head at Carl’s candor, though he’s still laughing.

Raising her eyebrows at this information, Chuck turns to Negan. “She’s hot ?”

“She’s got nothing on you.” Negan pulls Chuck into him and kisses the top of her head. “You got nothing to worry about.”

She believes him, but it still has a twinge of jealousy blooming inside her. “I’ll keep that in mind.

When Simon finally comes in, with a case of beer under his arm, things are tense for a few moments. Simon is careful not to move too quickly towards Chuck, just in case Negan would take it the wrong way. He truly doesn’t want to cause any problems, so he holds his hand out, allowing Chuck to come to him to take it. Thankfully, once they actually do shake hands, the tension dissipates.

“I’m just gonna come right out and say it,” Simon starts. “You smell like my sister.”

Chuck giggles a little, not expecting that. “Really?”

“You have a sister?” Negan asks. Simon had never mentioned her before now.

“Yeah. She pretty much forbade me from telling other alphas about her. Especially single ones. But since you’re mated now...” He shrugs then turns back to Chuck. “But, yeah. You smell a lot like her.”

That makes Negan relax some. Alphas are usually very protective of their family members, especially their omega family, so if Chuck smells like Simon’s sister, maybe he’ll see her more as family than a potential mate.

“Do I smell like your brother?” Simon asks Chuck, wondering if it goes both ways.

“I don’t have a brother. Or any alpha family, actually. I came from beta parents.”

Rick looks surprised. “Really? I didn’t know that was possible.”

“It’s not common,” she says to Rick then turns back to Simon. “But you smell...” she thinks of how to describe it, “I guess... sort of... safe . At least safer than most other alphas I’ve met. Maybe that’s sorta like brotherly.” She shrugs then looks over to Negan for a moment. “It’s hard to describe.”

Negan just nods, his fears about Simon being a threat thankfully allayed.

As the game gets underway, Chuck tries her hardest to get into it. She was never one for sports, so it’s a little rough going. Usually when Negan would watch football, she’d be doing something on her laptop or iPad, but she’s actually trying to pay attention now.

“Oh, come on!”

“Fuck!”

“You kidding me?!”

Something happened that has the men all upset, but she isn’t sure what. It entertains her, though, seeing them all get worked up over it.

“Not going well?” she finally asks.

Negan lets out a huff. “If that fucker Tom Brady gets another Super Bowl ring...”

“They’re a bunch of cheaters!” Carl adds. “They don’t deserve it!”

Chuck just giggles, wondering who Tom Brady is. When halftime comes around, Negan grills off some burgers for everyone to eat, even though they’ve been stuffing their faces with snacks the whole time.

“How’s Michonne?” Chuck asks Rick as they sit around the dining room table to eat.

He quickly wipes his mouth before speaking. “She’s good. Got a lot of work coming in now after-“ He stops himself from completing the thought. Since she had been Negan’s lawyer during the whole Eldritch situation, her name had been thrown around quite a bit, making her more recognizable. It didn’t even really matter that she never set foot in a court room for that, since no charges were brought against Negan.

Chuck just nods. “That’s good, I guess.”

“She’s a good woman,” Negan comments to Rick. “How the hell’d she end up with your sorry ass?”

Rick laughs. “I don’t know.”

“I still owe her for all the shit she did for me,” Negan adds.

Rick nods. “I’m sure she’d just say she was doing her job.” He turns over to Simon. “So, what do you do, Simon?”

“I own a bar in Charlottesville,” he answers. “That’s where I met Negan.”

“It’s a little weird, alphas being friends, isn’t it?” Carl asks.

Negan just shrugs. “Simon’s never done anything to make me hate him.”

“It’s not always competition,” Simon clarifies. “Alphas can butt heads a lot, but we can be friends, too. Though I wouldn’t have called Negan much of a friend until recently. More like an acquaintance.”

“Just come right out and say I was an asshole,” Negan jokes.

“Not really an asshole,” Simon clarifies. “More like you couldn’t be bothered with having a friend.”

Negan nods thinking it over. “That’s fair. But shit changed.” He gives Chuck a quick wink, letting her know that she had a hand in that change.

Once the game is over and the men are all mad that the Patriots did actually win, they start to bid their farewells.

Before Rick leaves, he mentions to Negan that some of the guys in town run a fantasy football league. “I wasn’t in it this year, but I can introduce you to the guys next season if you want.”

“Shit yeah! I used to love fantasy football. Haven’t done it in years.”

Simon speaks up. “Can I get in on that, too?”

Rick nods. “Yeah. I’m sure they’d accept you guys.”

As Chuck and Negan’s first Valentine’s Day comes around, they plan on a nice dinner together at home. Negan actually has to work during the day, but he’s planning on cooking dinner for the two of them once he gets home.

In between classes, Negan heads off to the teacher’s lounge to grab a cup of coffee. Once he walks in, he hears two female teachers talking as they stand in front of the coffee machine. One woman he doesn’t know and the other is Lara Kline, the flirty English teacher he met on his first day.

“Could you imagine?” the unknown woman continues, both of them not realizing that they’re no longer alone.

“Oh, I imagine it. A lot ,” Lara says with a giggle.

“He is hot. But an alpha? Wouldn’t he be rough?”

“I wouldn’t mind. I’ve always wanted to be with an alpha in rut,” Lara says dreamily. “And he is just perfect.”

“You kinky bitch.” As the woman laughs, she happens to turn her head to see Negan standing in the doorway. “Oh, shit.”

He had a feeling they were talking about him, but her reaction upon seeing him confirms it. He decides not to acknowledge it, though. “Ladies,” he greets then pushes forward to the coffee machine.

The unknown woman quickly leaves the room, too embarrassed to see what Negan might say. Lara, on the other hand, stays rooted to her spot, watching Negan as he pours the coffee into his cup.

“The offer’s there,” she coos quietly.

He flicks his gaze to her. “And what offer is that?”

She takes a step toward him. “I think you heard what we were talking about,” she whispers. “It is Valentine’s Day, after all.

Chuckling lightly, Negan leans forward to place his mouth next to her ear. “The answer’s no. I have a fuckin’ mate.” When he backs away, he sees the smile on her face fall, turning her expression into a scowl.

“Does that really matter?” she bites back.

His own face falls into a dangerous expression. “It’s all that fuckin’ matters,” he growls.

Lara takes a quick step back, her eyes still focused on his as she tries to determine just how serious he is. She’s heard that even if alphas are possessive of their omegas, they’re not exempt from stepping out on them.

Negan, being completely done with this conversation, picks up his coffee cup and turns away from the woman just as the bell rings.

At the end of the day, he decides to stop off at Jo’s office. He knocks twice on her opened door and waits for her to look up at him.

“Negan,” she greets happily. “Come in.” She gestures to the chair in front of her desk.

Negan takes the seat, letting out a breath as he sits back and crosses his leg to rest his ankle over his knee. “I need to cover my ass on something.”

Jo raises her eyebrow at him as she pulls the reading glasses off of her nose. “Alright,” she says slowly. She’s not exactly worried about what he’ll say next; despite not knowing him for long, she trusts him.

Before she okayed Negan to work at her school, she did her research on him. His past work as a teacher was remarkable, and his sudden departure from the field was certainly understandable given his wife’s death. When his more recent history came up, she had quite a bit to think about. It was during their first phone calls that she really made her decision. His attitude was just so refreshing that she knew he would bring something to the school that it has been sorely lacking. That being, a new perspective.

He scratches at his beard before speaking. “Lara Kline,” he starts to explain. “She flirted with me my first day. Came onto me harder today.”

Jo nods, listening to him. “What’d she do?”

“I walked in on her talking to some other fuckin’ teacher about wanting to fuck an alpha in rut. Then she said ‘the offer stands’ or some shit. I told her I wasn’t interested.”

“Do you want to fill out paperwork for it? Harassment claim?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t wanna get the girl in trouble. I just wanna cover my ass. Just in case.”

“I’ll write a memo.” She studies him a moment before letting out a breath. “You know, I legally can’t ask you about your cycle.”

He gives her a smile, knowing where this is going. “I’m aware.”

“However, if you need a few days off now and again...”

“I’m fine talking about it, I don’t give a shit. I’m not gonna get the fuckin’ Alpha League to sue you or anything.”

She shrugs a shoulder. “That’s good to know.”

“Chuck-“ he pauses. “Chuck’s my mate. It’s her nickname,” he explains, knowing it might sound weird. “Anyway, she doesn’t do suppressants so heats come every few months. It can be irregular.” He doesn’t want to get too detailed, but he figures Jo should know. “Last heat was end of November, so...”

“We should expect you to need some time off in a week or two,” she completes the thought.

He nods once. “Probably.”

“It’s not much of a big deal now that you’re a substitute. You can just tell us you can’t come in. Next year when you’re full time? We’ll have to make plans. But it’s still doable.”

“I promise it won’t be fuckin’ distracting.”

“That’s good.”

“You know, the kids really don’t know shit about alphas or omegas.”

“Really?”

“No. They asked me a lot of shit about it. Most of them believe fuckin’ stereotypes about us.”

“That’s pretty unfortunate, I suppose.”

“It really fuckin’ is. I was kinda fuckin’ shocked that there aren’t any alpha/omega health classes here.”

She smiles, figuring out where this is going. “Are you suggesting that we add a class, Negan?”

“I think you should.”

“And would you happen to know someone with the proper certificate to do so?” she asks with a lilt.

He chuckles at her tone. “I know of someone that can get the certificate before the start of next year.”

“Well, I think it would be a great idea, Negan.” She gives him a smile, knowing that the two of them are in agreement.

While Negan is at work, Chuck tries to think of what she can do for him for their first Valentine’s Day. She knows he’s planning on cooking a meal for them, so she decides to make a dessert. Sifting through a bunch of online recipes, she settles on strawberry cheesecake. After heading out to get the ingredients, she gets to work on the dessert. It’s not the most complicated dish, but it’s a little bit of an ordeal because she has never made anything like it before. Once she gets it all done, the kitchen is a mess, but she’s happy with the results.

“That looks fuckin’ good,” Negan comments from his spot by the archway to the kitchen, his voice startling her.

“Jeez” she clutches her chest. “You scared me! I didn’t hear you come home.”

He walks over to give her a kiss. “Just got here. Saw all this.” He gestures around the room with a chuckle.

“I’ll clean it up.”

“Nah. I got it. You go rest up before dinner.”

“You’re the one that just got home from work.”

“And I’m the one that’s gonna make you a nice ass dinner.” He shoos her out of the kitchen. “I want it to be a fuckin’ surprise.”

“More like you don’t want me messing up your kitchen any further.”

He chuckles. “I would never say that,” he says, faking offense.

“Yeah. You wouldn’t say that. But you’d imply it.”

He laughs as he turns back into the kitchen. Chuck takes this opportunity to get ready for the meal. While she was out today, she bought herself a new dress (and some other things) hoping to surprise Negan by dressing up a little.

She pulls on the black sheath dress with a sweetheart neckline and tries to do her makeup. She’s not too practiced on that front, so she settles for a simple eye with bold red lipstick. Her hair, which she usually only wears one of two ways (down or in pigtail buns), is pulled up into a messy updo. It takes a little fiddling with to get it to look like the sexy kind of messy and not the unkempt kind, but she gets it right in the end.

When Negan yells up the stairs that dinner is ready, she’s just about done.

“I’ll be right down,” she calls out. Giving herself a final look in the mirror, she heads downstairs then into the dining room.

Negan is waiting for her by her chair, ready to pull it out for her when she walks through the archway. He lets out a low whistle once he sees her.

“Shit, baby girl. You got all dolled up for me?”

“I tried.” She giggles then walks over to him.

He gives her a quick kiss before helping her to sit down. “You look amazing.” He takes his seat across the table from her. “I shoulda freshened up.”

“It smells delicious.” Once she takes her first bite, she lets out a soft moan. “It is delicious. You’re such a good cook. I think I’m going to gain weight living with you,” she jokes.

He laughs. “I will cook for you however much you fuckin’ want. No matter how much you want.”

“How did you get so good in the kitchen? Didn’t you say you cooked with your mom?”

He pauses a moment before answering. “Yeah. I used to cook with her when I was little. My father...” he lets out a heavy breath, “he didn’t let her do shit. He controlled every fuckin’ aspect of her life. Except in the kitchen. That was all hers and she was a fuckin’ master. She taught me a lot before she died.”

Chuck just nods, not wanting to push Negan into saying more. He had never really talked about his mother much, the subject being a painful one for him.

“She taught you well,” she says with a soft smile.

“I didn’t cook for a lotta years actually,” he continues. “I presented alpha not long after my mom died and my father told me that cooking was ‘omega’s work’.” He shrugs. “That was that. Until I rented my first apartment with a decent kitchen. I picked it back up. Cooked all kinds of shit.”

“Maybe you can teach me. Most of the stuff I cook is just frozen pizza,” she jokes.

“If you want I can.” His lips curl up in a smile. “Or I can just keep on taking care of you. I kinda like it,” he comments with a bite of his lower lip.

Once the meal is eaten, Chuck brings out her cheesecake. “I hope it’s good. I think I followed the recipe right.”

They both sit down with their slices and look up to each other.

“Smells like fuckin’ cheesecake,” Negan calls out before stabbing his fork in and shoveling a big bite into his mouth. “It’s fuckin’ good,” he mumbles out with his mouth full.

Chuck takes her first bite. “It is good,” she comments, relieved that it isn’t horrible. “It’s really rich, though.”

“This is your go to dessert now.” He takes another big bite. “I love this shit.”

She giggles. “I think if I make this a lot we’re both gonna get fat.” She take a generous bite. “And diabetes,” she ads.

“Worth it.”

With the table cleared, Negan starts to pull Chuck to the garage door.

“What are you doing?” she asks confused.

“Your present is out here.”

“Oh? I thought the meal was my present.”

They walk through the door and down the steps to Negan’s car. “This is a little unconventional of a gift,” he starts as he opens the back door, “so I hope you fuckin’ like it.” He leans down into the car and pulls out a dark purple motorcycle helmet, handing it to a bewildered Chuck.

“It’s a helmet,” she says simply.

“ Your helmet. For when I get the bike up and running.” He looks at her expression for a moment, not able to properly decode it. “Do you hate it?”

She gives him a wide smile. “No. I love it! I’m happy you want to include me with all your motorcycle stuff.”

“Shit, I thought I fucked up there.”

“I would love anything you’d give me.”

He chuckles. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. I don’t really expect you to give me anything, though. You don’t have to.”

“I like giving you shit.” He gives her a quick kiss then bends back down to take another helmet out of his car. This one is black, though it seems to be the same brand as hers, just larger. “We can put these on this shelf until we’re ready to fuckin’ wear them.”

After storing away their new headwear, it’s Chuck’s turn to take Negan by the hand, leading them upstairs to their room.

“I got you a gift, too.” She produces a small box from her nightstand and hands it to him.

“You didn’t have to do that shit.” He accepts the box and opens it, revealing two nice cufflinks. They’re silver and black with an N monogrammed on both in a fancy font.

“I don’t know a lot about cufflinks, so I hope they’re okay.”

“They’re fuckin’ perfect.” He wraps an arm around Chuck and brings her in for a kiss.

“That’s not the end of your gift.” She pulls away from him and turns around, pointing over her shoulder to prompt him to unzip her dress.

With a wide smile on his face, he drags a hand up her waist and over to the zipper, pulling it down slowly. “I’m liking where this is going,” he whispers in her ear.

Once the zipper is opened, he runs both of his hands across her shoulders, dropping her dress to the ground. She turns around to face him, placing her hands on his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, putting his hands on her hips and pushing her away to get a good look at her. “Goddamn, baby girl.” He bites his lip as he takes the sight of her in. “I like this,” he groans as he ghosts his hands over her.

Once she left the store after buying her dress earlier today, she had seen a lingerie shop right across the street. It gave her the idea to do something that she never really did before, buy sexy underwear. The nice shop girl had helped her pick out a black lace balconette bra with matching panties complete with a garter belt holding up nude thigh highs with a seam up the back.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Chuck says as alluringly as she can.

Negan runs one hand down her thigh, unhooking the clip from her suspender. He repeats the action on the other side, allowing him to pull her stockings down and off her feet. Still knelt down before her, he lays his hands on her hips and pulls her into him to place a kiss just below her belly button.

Giggling at the contact, Chuck runs her hands through his hair. As she looks down at him, she wonders how she got so lucky to have this man as her mate.

He lifts his eyes up to hers, though he keeps his face close to her skin. “You know how fuckin’ much I love you?” His hands rove up from her bottom to the smooth skin of her back.

She bites her lip to try to hide her smile. “How much?”

He stands, pulling her body close to his as he places his mouth next to her ear. “More than anything,” he whispers.

A small gasp leaves her lips at his words before she can stop herself. “That’s a good answer,” she says with a smile on her face.

She takes her time unbuttoning Negan’s shirt, slowly sliding it off of his shoulders to pool behind him. Her hands run down his chest to his belt, unbuckling it then his pants. It only takes a little push for his slacks to fall down his narrow hips to join his shirt at his feet.

As soon as her fingers brush against his clothed bulge, he lets out a low groan. “Shit.”

She lets out a giggle at his reaction. He’s such a tough, strong man, but the lightest of touches from her can elicit such a reaction.

“Lay down on the bed,” she requests, though her hand pushing his chest makes it more of a demand.

He takes a few steps backwards until he can sit down on the bed, never taking his eyes off of her as she stands in front of him. Instead of carrying out her order to lay down, though, he snakes his arm around her back and unlatches her bra.

“As sexy as this shit is,” he pulls the garment off her then gives her bare breasts a squeeze, “I gotta see you.”

Something about how slow they’re going (or maybe it’s just the Valentine’s Day mood) has Chuck ready to go pretty quickly. That fact driven home even more so by the slick dampening her fancy new underwear. Once Negan takes off her garter belt and drags her panties down her legs, he lets out a low chuckle.

“I knew you were fuckin’ drenched,” he teases.

Her cheeks bloom red as she pushes back on his shoulder slightly. “Lay back.” Once he complies, she removes his boxers, freeing his straining erection. “Looks like someone’s excited,” she teases right back.

He suddenly jumps up, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her down under him.

“Negan!” she squeals as he covers her skin with kisses.

The playful affections turn heated quickly and within minutes, the pair are pawing at each other desperately. It isn’t until his knee slips between hers so he can position himself between her legs that she has a realization.

“Oh my god, Negan!” she yells and shoves him off her.

“What?!” he calls back in shock.

“The condom!”

“Shit, Chuck.” He drags his hand over his face as he lets out a heavy breath. “I thought something was fuckin’ wrong. I about had a heart attack.”

“Sorry. But you really would’ve had a heart attack if we remembered while you were knotting me.” She rolls over to open her nightstand, pulling out one of the omega condoms. “We’re almost out,” she comments once she sees into the box.

“Fuck. I’m gonna have to call the doctor then. And find a new fuckin’ pharmacy around here.”

After making sure that the night’s activities won’t result in any surprises in nine months, the fire between them builds back up quickly. When Chuck nudges Negan to lay on his back, he doesn’t fight it, deciding to do as she says. She crawls over over him to straddle his pelvis.

He can’t help but run his hands over her hips and up her sides. “On top, baby girl?”

“Is that okay?” she asks, his question stoking some of her insecurities that he wouldn’t want her like this.

“Fuck yes, it’s okay,” he answers enthusiastically.

With that, she wastes no time in sinking down onto him. Once he’s fully sheathed inside her, she lets out a soft moan.

“Mmm,” he responds in kind. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

She starts up a slow pace, grinding her hips into his shallowly at first. When he starts to squirm underneath her, desperate for more, she lets out a breathy laugh.

“You’re teasing me, little girl,” he almost growls, but he lets her keep control.

After a few more moments, she finally lifts her hips, sliding herself up and down on him, though the pace is still slow. She finds that, despite wanting to draw this out, her body seems to be picking up the pace all on its own, circling her hips more quickly.

“Oh,” she moans as she moves her hands to brace herself on his chest, giving her more leverage.

“Shit,” Negan hisses as he bucks his hips up to meet hers.

As his knot starts to swell, he has to stop himself from flipping them over and pounding into her. Chuck seems to enjoy being the one in control right now, so he holds himself back to allow her to continue.

Her pace quickens and she throws her head back in pleasure. “Oh god, Negan!”

“That’s it.” He grips her hips tightly. “Cum for me, omega.”

Once he feels those first flutters in her walls, he pulls her down to envelop his fully formed knot, falling over the edge with her. After her orgasm, Chuck collapses onto Negan’s chest, still trying to catch her breath. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close.

“I love you, Negan,” she whispers into his neck.

He gently pulls her face up to kiss her deeply. “I love you, my omega.”

A few days later as Negan is lounging on the couch, he gets a text message from Aaron.

I found a 64 Honda Super Hawk. Needs a lot of work, but I’m going to buy it.

Fucken awesome. That’s a sweet bike.

We can help each other out on the builds.

Shit yea we can. Can’t wait to ride. I got Chuck a helmet so she can join us.

Is it a good one?

Of fucken course it is. I did my homework.

You be safe with her on your bike.

You think I would let her get hurt.

I guess not.

Damn right.

The mention of Chuck makes Negan realize that he hasn’t seen her in a bit. He figures she’s probably working in the office. But then again, she told him she didn’t have anything to do today.

“Chuck?” he calls out as he walks up the stairs. Before he gets to the second floor landing, he sees a quick flash of Chuck hurrying into their bedroom, her hands full with something. “What the fuck are you doing?” Once he turns the corner to enter the room, it all becomes clear.

She straightens up from where she was leaning over, fixing the plethora of blankets she has gathered from every room in the house and piled onto the bed. “I think we need to buy more bedding,” she comments, completely serious.

He laughs. “Is that so?” He walks over closer to her. “We need more than this ?”

Looking down at their completely covered bed, she has a moment of clarity. “Oh god. I think this is every blanket and pillow we own. Why did I do this?” She turns her head to Negan, seeking the answer.

“I think you’re fuckin’ nesting.”

“Nesting?” She looks down to the bed then back up. Chuck knew that most omegas go through a nesting phase when they are pregnant and some will make a nest for each heat as well. It isn’t unheard of for omegas not to nest at all, though.

“I guess now we now your heat’s fuckin’ coming,” he comments.

“I never... nested before, though. I thought I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe it’s cuz this is our space now. Instead of just yours or mine like in our fuckin’ apartments.”

“Hmm.” She fiddles with the blanket that’s balled up on the side of the bed. “Does this look alright?”

He chuckles then hugs her from behind, placing his chin on her shoulder. “It’s perfect.”

“You don’t care at all, do you?” she responds with a smirk.

“Whatever nest you make, I’ll fuckin’ love it.” He turns his head to kiss her on the cheek.

She pauses, thinking it over. “I think we need to go to the store.”

He pats her hip as he moves away, laughing under his breath. “Alright, baby girl.”

“Just one more blanket,” she assures him as they walk down the stairs. “And maybe a pillow,” she tacks on. “Like a body pillow.”

He just shakes his head, already knowing that he’s going to let her buy everything she wants, which ends up being two fleece blankets, one fluffy down comforter, and a body pillow. Sure enough, the day after Chuck gets her nest just perfect, she goes into heat.

Tags: @mypopurribitch @negans-womam @haleyea @ultrahviolent @thedeadwalks @readinginmymeadow @strangeandunusual-83

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thewadapan · 5 years

Photo

I rewrote an obscure Transformers comic from the 1980s.

Creator’s Commentary

It’s 1984. Marvel’s four-issue Transformers miniseries has been a smash hit, and they’re already expanding it into a full monthly ongoing. Marvel’s UK branch is looking to import the book, but they have a problem - the newsagents want weekly issues, and there simply isn’t enough comic to fill those pages.

To meet demand, they bring on Simon Furman to write extra comics weaving into the US material. Because he’s the only one with any idea what's going on, he continues to churn out Transformers stories for almost ten years - with only occasional contributions from other authors.

“Peace” is one such interloper.

Written by letterer/editor Richard Starkings under his “Richard Alan” pseudonym for the 1989 Transformers Annual (which was actually published in 1988), it presents one of Cybertron’s alternate futures. Its exact placement in continuity was contentious - even within the comics’ own letters pages, where the editors (writing in-character as Transformers) gave several contradictory answers to questions regarding its canonicity.

The comic opens when the final Decepticon is killed by the Wreckers - an elite group of Autobot shock-troopers. With the war over, the very-very-tired Autobot leader Rodimus Prime announces that he’s going to step down - letting the Wreckers’ leader, Springer, take his place.

Unbeknownst to the Autobots, not all of the Decepticons are dead after all - the double agent Triton still hides amongst their ranks. In an attempt to incite conflict, Triton suggests that Ultra Magnus would make a better leader. The Technobot combiner team agrees, and an argument breaks out between them and the Wreckers. Whirl argues with Triton, Triton punches Whirl, Roadbuster pulls a gun on Triton, Scattorshot shoots Roadbuster, Sandstorm shoots Triton, and the war begins again.

It’s a grimly interesting story, one forever doomed to remain a footnote in Transformers history. Fittingly for a bot of subterfuge, Triton’s alternate mode was a submarine - at least according to Dreadwind in the letters pages. Marvel UK fanboy-turned-creator Nick Roche much later reinvented him as a member of Squadron X - sworn enemies of the Wreckers in IDW Publishing’s Transformers continuity.

In its most recent reprint as part of the twenty-second volume of The Definitive G1 Collection, “Peace” was left stranded as an afterthought alongside Regeneration One - with the rest of the UK strips being collected across the first twenty volumes alongside their contemporary US material. That partwork was curated by Simon Furman, who still writes Transformers stories to this day - despite pleas from some corners of the fandom for him to just call it quits already.

Richard Starkings, meanwhile, went on to found Comicraft - bringing lettering into the 21st century by pioneering the use of digital fonts in comic books.

I wasn’t alive when most of that happened. My first brush with Transformers - at least, as far as I remember - came when I saw Transformers: Armada’s Land Military Mini-Con Team on the shelves of my local Woolworths (a much-loved now-defunct chain of British department stores). I didn’t get it at the time, but when our birthdays rolled around (or maybe Christmas? I was young; I barely remember any of this and neither do my parents) my brother and I got a bunch of Mini-Cons. Our first brush with Generation 1 would come much later, when we found a knackered Strafe at a car boot sale.

For a long time, my only experience with Transformers fiction came in the form of the cartoons - they didn’t show Armada on Freeview so I missed most of that, but Energon and Cybertron both aired in their entirety on CITV. I had the pack-in comics, and the Armada and Energon annuals - which basically just collected random Dreamwave comics without context. All of which is to say that, at the time, I felt pretty starved for good Transformers stories.

Finding the 1989 Annual in a secondhand bookshop, then, was like finding the holy grail.

I won’t lie. I had basically no idea who any of these characters were, or what was going on. But damn if I didn’t pore over every inch of those pages trying to work it out. And I sure as hell was gonna sign the thing, lest those abominable Firecons paid me a visit to finally incinerate what was presumably the only Annual they’d missed back in 1988.

Years passed. Some movies came out. I drifted away from Transformers for a while after my parents said “aren’t you a little too old for these” one time too many. Well, it was either that or the hordes of overpriced Bumblebees clogging the shelves at the time.

Eventually, though, I was drawn back to the franchise. A Humble Bundle of IDW’s comics and Thrilling 30 Sandstorm was all it took.

For some reason, at some point I decided to start a meme page. I don’t know why. Please don’t look at it. I don’t want to talk about it. Most of the edits I made were atrocious, although I’ll admit there’s a few I still find pretty funny. I actually referenced Transformers a bunch of times. There was this whole thing where I tried to work in a plot, so really the whole thing was much closer to a terrible webcomic than an actual meme page.

Perhaps the most involved reference to the franchise came in the form of a relettering of “The Night the Transformers Saved Christmas”, a 4-page comic originally published in a 1985 issue of Women’s Day. Why did I make that thing? I don’t know. Maybe a little more context would help.

Y’see, waaay back when the first Armada toys hit shelves, fans weren’t too impressed - to say the least. They’d seen pictures of highly-articulated prototypes, only to find that articulation completely absent in the finalised figures. To make matters worse, the first pack-in comic was pretty lacklustre - thanks to the trilingual dialogue squeezed into its speech bubbles.

One enterprising fan (Yartek, now better known as Blueshift) expressed their dissatisfaction by completely rewriting that pack-in comic’s dialogue - reimagining Hot Shot as a deranged, jam-obsessed cannibal. It was an idle joke, but one that tapped into the collective consciousness of the fandom at the time. Its popularity grew to the point where it was even referenced on the license plate of a later Hot Shot figure.

By Blueshift’s own admission, the comic isn’t all that great. Nowadays, the atmosphere surrounding Armada’s launch is but a hazy memory for most of the fandom - leaving the comic’s depiction of Hot Shot looking more like an uncomfortably ableist caricature than anything approximating a real parody.

But I digress. I was barely aware of Transformers when all of this happened. My point is that JaAm was like an abridged series, only presented as a comic, and I thought that was a neat idea. I was looking to make a post that was a little bit different for Christmas Day, and remembered the existence of that old Women’s Day comic. Thus was born “its christmas... so what??”

My process for that one was pretty straightforward. After reading the comic once to get a broad sense of its plot, I went through it again panel-by-panel - blocking out each narration box with an autoshape and adding my own text. Mustard features pretty heavily in it... I guess as a reference to jam? Honestly, I was writing this thing entirely by the seat of my pants and - with the exception of the choice panels I’m including here - it’s pretty unfunny as a result. I’m not proud of it. Even at the time, I felt like I could’ve done better. So, half a year later, I did.

When the mood eventually took me, there was only one option in my head - Richard Starkings’ “Peace”. This time, I took a moment to plan the whole thing out in my head before diving in.

I think my idea for the plot came about simply as a result of Rodimus’ body language and expressions on the second page. I reckon I looked at them and thought, “man, he looks like he’s just caught a whiff of something pretty nasty.” From there, my mind jumped to Triton... the culprit, naturally.

When you go back and read some of the early Marvel stuff, there’s a bit of dissonance between the Furman-esque galaxy-spanning conflicts and the more offbeat “the Transformers crash a wrestling match / concert / car wash” stories written by US author Bob Budiansky. At times, the Transformers could be figures of real gravitas - and at others, they were almost like children.

For both “its christmas” and “PASS” I tried to lean into the latter interpretation as much as possible. As a reflection of that, the dialogue and narration - both written in Times New Roman - are completely devoid of punctuation, capital letters, or special formatting. Well, mostly...

There’s a few instances in “its christmas” where capital letters are used for emphasis.

Roadbuster’s dialogue gets to keep its punctuation, and is written in (I think) Arial, because he’s supposed to be more mature than the rest.

Each comic had one panel which retained some of its original dialogue - the fourth on the first page of “its christmas”, and the fourth on the fourth page of “PASS”.

There’s a couple of instances in the comic where characters use swear words, only the wrong letter’s censored - “sh*t” became “*hit”, “f*ck” became “*uck”. That’s simply an artefact of the comic’s origins in my old meme page, where that was a running joke.

In addition to changing the text, I also made a few visual edits...

I changed the comic’s title from “PEACE” to “PASS” (as in, to pass gas) by chopping up and rotating bits of it.

I changed the credits for “RICHARD ALAN” (writer) and “GLIB” (letterer) to “ME” and “ME AGAIN”.

On the fifth page, I rotated Springer’s, Ultra Magnus’ and Sandstorm’s mouths by 180 degrees - changing them from horrified grimaces to jaunty smirks. That’s why they’re kind of lopsided relative to the rest of their expressions! Honestly, the original version looks pretty strange to me now.

I likewise modified Sandstorm’s and Ultra Magnus’ expressions in the first panel of the final page, and Nosecone’s in the second panel.

I scribbled out the question mark in the little “THE END?” box on the final page. This is the definitely the end; no need to beat around the bush.

The idea to make Roadbuster a butt monkey stemmed from the fact that he was the only non-triple-changer to appear on the first page. I saw that panel with the four of them together and thought “one of these guys is not like the others.” And of course, I knew that he’d be dead in a few more pages.

Once I’d established Springer as a bully, I started to get a sense for what life was like amongst the Autobots - but there were still things I wanted to leave open to interpretation...

Why does Roadbuster hang around with the other Autobots so persistently, when all he receives is abuse?

Is Triton’s fixation on “cred” overblown, or is it the only reason he’s survived as long as he has?

Is Rodimus really past his Prime?

Who’s really the coolest Autobot?

Are the Autobots inherently bad people, or simply products of their environment?

If they’re the latter, does that excuse their actions?

If these are the Autobots... then what were the Decepticons like?

Here’s some other miscellaneous notes...

There’s a single speech bubble on the fourth page where the speaker’s off-panel. In the original comic it belonged to Triton, shouting “HEY!” Here, I like to think it’s Whirl speaking.

In the narration of the second panel, I refer to the Transformers as “car robots” - a nod to the Japanese name of the Transformers: Robots in Disguise series.

Rodimus’ “light their darkest hour” line is, of course, a quote from the 1986 animated Transformers movie. Yes, I’m as tired of those references as you are, but no, I couldn’t resist.

I can’t remember if it was deliberate, but I’m pretty sure “if you catch my drift” was a nod to The Transformers: More than Meets the Eye - where original character Drift stars as Rodimus’ third-in-command.

Speaking of More than Meets the Eye - when it was relaunched as Lost Light, Rodimus got a brand new purple colour scheme. In “Pass”, Rodimus agonises over whether or not to get that same paint job.

“Mucho cred” is kind of a memetic phrase amongst readers of the superhero web serial Worm. I feel like “cred” is one of those inherently funny words (along with “cahoots”), so that was enough to justify its inclusion here. If you’ve somehow made it this far into this post, trust me when I say that Worm is a rabbit hole well worth tumbling down.

“Peace” has a very strong atmosphere. It’s about a group of individuals - who’ve known nothing but conflict for thousands of years - suddenly finding themselves with nobody to point their guns at. That exact same scenario played out decades later in IDW Publishing’s Transformers continuity, where it was explored in much greater depth - but in just six standalone pages, “Peace” presents its broad themes with impressive clarity.

I think we’re very much invited to root for Triton - he’s a real worm, but he’s also an underdog. When characters are created whole cloth in Transformers stories, they’re marked for death.

“Pass”, on the other hand, is about a group of kids who’ve lost all sense of perspective. The most important thing to each of the group’s members is how they are perceived by the rest. They’ve been living under ever-increasing social pressure, and things are finally reaching a boiling point - and people die as a result.

And I say “kids”, but the truth is that I still see these dynamics amongst grown adults today - admittedly without the death. For any given subculture, you’re going to find ingroups, outgroups, and the awkward middle ground between them. If I thought there was a clear-cut solution, I would’ve put it in the comic. But oftentimes - like I said in the closing panels - there isn’t really anyone at fault.

If you fart in public, don’t stress about it too much. Nobody really minds. Just own up. And whatever you do, don’t try to pass the blame - or else...

As one final nod to Marvel UK’s Transformers comics... here are some short AtoZ profiles for the entire cast!

You can follow me on twitter if you want to see more of my Transformers ramblings. The rest of my writing can be found right here on this blog - I recommend starting with Everything Is Red Now, a dumb comic about Spider-Man.

#Transformers #Marvel #comics #The Wadapan #31/02/2019

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l0chn3ss · 6 years

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Tipped Off

Written for @souleaterpolyamweek Soul Eater Polyamory Week 2018 Day 4- Fighting Team

Black Star, Kim Diehl, Maka Albarn | Day 4 Read on FFNET or AO3

On Thursday night, Kim decided to pay attention to her side of the restaurant for once in her waitressing life. Just that afternoon, she'd spotted a discounted Mac in the ads, and with her own laptop on its last breath, it was a deal that she wanted to take. She'd done some math and figured that with a week's worth of extra tips and a punctual paycheck, she could have her prize as soon as Wednesday. She just had to swallow her pride and put on her best smiles.

With her resolve fueling her, she plastered a chipper facade onto her face and approached her next table.

"Hello, my name is Kim, and I'll be your waiter tonight. Can I get you started with some drinks?"

The boy closest to the edge of the booth jumped in surprise. "Sorry, what?"

Her eyebrow twitched, her smile faltered. "My name is Kim. Can I get you guys some drinks?"

"Uh, what's uh, what kind of drinks do you have?"

Before she could answer, the two boys across from her laughed. "Come on, Black Star. She's not that cute."

Kim squeaked, "Excuse me?"

Quickly, the boy closest to the window waved his hand and corrected himself. "Sorry, not you. I meant the girl sitting over there by herself."

Without looking to where he was pointing, Kim continued on as if that blunder never happened. "For drinks, we have Sprite, Sunkist, Pepsi-"

"Pepsi for me," the boy to her right said. He gestured next to him, to the same boy who spoke up before, "Kilik'll have one too, probably." A nod confirmed his order. "And Black Star? For you?"

The one sitting alone on his side of the booth rubbed his head. He was still flustered, still flipping through the pages of the menu in attempts to find the beverages section, but he gave up soon after his friend brought him to attention. The boy, Black Star, apparently, muttered, "Just water."

"Right. I'll be back with that soon."

As she left, she heard them begin to bicker again.

"She's alone. Go make a move, Star!"

"I'm not getting up for that."

"Your loss."

"Shut up, Harvar."

"Seriously, he's right. What's gotten into you?"

"You shut up, too, Kilik."

Kim tapped their order into the POS system, trying to forget about their topic of conversation. It wasn't her first time hearing customers talk about their respective love interests. As a waitress, she was easily mistaken as a prop or a side character to some greater story, and so Kim had heard plenty of interesting things from people who didn't bother to restrain themselves.

She confirmed her entry, then moved onto her next task.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the group of boys growing rowdy again. They dug their fists into each other's heads and laughed as if they had no other care in the world. Rather, they had just one, and that was apparently caused by the not-that-cute girl that they were referring to before.

Kim wasn't curious, but she was very nosy. When she walked back to deliver the drinks, she took a peek in the general direction she remembered being pointed towards. There sat a petite girl, about Kim's age, ash blonde and doe eyed. She'd been at the restaurant for the last hour and a half, surrounded by books and an endless order of coffee and garlic bread for her table of one.

Though she wasn't seated in Kim's section this time, the girl, a regular, spurred a flurry of whispers amongst the staff whenever she arrived. She came every few weeks, sometimes with a couple of friends or her father, but most frequently as a solo diner. Given the amount of time she spent in the restaurant, she must have sampled the entire menu at least twice, and she always offered a generous tip before she left. The staff were always happy to see her, and some knew her by name.

Weirdly enough, Kim was not one of the lucky few with that sort of information.

It was always business and tips when it came to the restaurant. She didn't want to turn it into one of her stomping grounds, especially when she had so much else to do outside of it. Sure, she's made friends here before, but Kim has no desire to be part of the gritty details and workplace drama. It was only her money maker, her bread and butter. Soon enough, she'd be out anyway.

She fought the urge to take another look at the girl, worried that she would be caught in the middle of the act. The group was completely wrong: she was that cute, so much so that the wait staff fought over whose area to seat her in. Kim had been the lucky person last time, and somehow, it was enough to pacify her for the time being.

As she made her way back to the boys' table, drinks at the ready, she hitched her customer service smile back up onto her face. "Here you are!" she said sweetly, "Can I take your—"

"One more minute," a boy interrupted. Harvar, was it?

Kim forced wider. "Ok, take your ti—"

"No, it's fine," Black Star groaned, running both hands through his blue hair. "I'm ready now."

"You sure?" his friend teased, "We can wait."

Black Star looked unamused. "Fuck off, Harvar."

"Right, ok, your order?" Kim tried again, peeved at the interruptions but reluctantly amused, too. She had a natural tendency to poke at others already, and so the group managed to coax a few sarcastic comments from her as they went on, accidental at first, but eventually purposeful.

It took her a while to extract their order of one appetizer and three entrees between their ongoing banter, but each dish came with interesting details, and despite everything, Kim found herself hanging onto their conversation. They were fun to be around, and unsurprisingly, they were as welcoming as if they knew her all along. The group had even managed to get a rise out of Kim, laughing when she hit Black Star on the back of his head with her notepad.

"Come on, stop bothering the waitress, Black Star," Kilik said.

"She's not stopping me, besides, they're plenty of me to go around!"

"We're tired," Harvar said, but his tone suggested otherwise.

"And I'm not."

"But you still won't go up to the girl over there, even after showing me your moves?" Kim jutted her thumb behind her, turning to look as she did and catching the brief movement of pigtails. "Tragic."

Black Star's ears turned red while the others snickered. Harvar held up his hand for a high five, which Kim found within herself to return.

"S-shut up! It's different."

She snorted. "Relatable. But watching you two making eyes at each other is going to make the entire restaurant lose their appetite."

"We're not- I mean, she's not- Wait I'm not- We really are not!"

Kim left Harvar and Kilik to their teasing. All three of them were ballsy; she'd give them that, but they weren't enough to pull Kim away from her tips— at least, not yet.

She slid into the kitchen to report to the line cooks that another one had fallen for the girl.

"God, I want to see what this chick is like."

"Maybe once you wipe the grease off your face," the guy from the back corner yelled, guffawing.

"Ay, Kim, you afraid of some competition?"

Scoffing, she pinned the table's order onto the board. "Please, if Lydia failed, what makes you think I'd be arsed to try myself?"

"Lydia ain't you, though."

Once the food was ready, Kim hoisted the large tray onto her shoulder and crossed the distance again to deliver it; on the way, she couldn't resist the urge to check on the girl for a brief moment before moving on.

"Right-o. Is there anything else I can get you guys?"

"Actually, yeah." Kilik nodded towards the girl. "You can get this fool her number. He still hasn't shut up since you left."

"Well, y'all are the ones who can't stop dissing me!"

Kim raised an eyebrow. "What's in this for me?"

"Satisfaction of helping out a thirsty boy?"

"Peace and quiet?"

"I can't believe you two," Black Star groaned.

She raised an eyebrow. "This is actually kind of sickening, but in a romantic way."

Kim really was surprised that, despite all his boyish charm, he didn't have the guts to talk to the regular girl himself. He'd proven it enough while talking to her, but why not do it once again to the girl who seemed equally as smitten? If it was anything like what he was showing Kim, he should've had no problem.

People were strange.

"No gain, no deal," she said, turning to leave.

"Wait."

Black Star's tone managed to stop Kim in her tracks. She saw a shift in his demeanor, a playful smile surfaced along with a glint in his eye. He leaned forward and put his weight onto the table. "How about my number, too?"

Kilik and Harvar howled with laughter. "Black Star, you sly, sly dog! Leave some for the rest of us!"

Blinking, then cocking her hip, Kim smirked, "You think you can handle me?"

"Absolutely."

"And her? At the same time?"

"Get me her number and find out."

She smacked him upside the head again, said, "Nice try. Drink your water now, thirsty," and left to swoon in peace, out of sight.

Once away, Kim let a true smile emerge on her lips. She hadn't felt her interest build since the first time she'd served the regular girl while she was still new to the job. Both of them attracted her, enticed her.

But, would she get a couple extra dollars if she helped?

Before she could go back into the kitchen, her coworker stopped her.

"Oy, Kim? My shift is ending but I still have three tables. Can you cover? Table 13 and 14 are still on entrees. But table 18 needs her check."

Lightbulb.

"You got it, but you owe me."

"Oh please." Her friend rolled their eyes. "Taking my tips should be good compensation. I got to make the bus on time, so they're all yours."

"Good point. You can leave now."

They snorted. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Not wasting any time, she hopped to the register to gather what she needed. After checking to see if the boys were looking over- which they weren't- she snuck over to the girl's table across the restaurant.

"Hey," Kim said, sliding into the seat across from her, placing down the receipt and hushing the girl's surprise. "I'm not supposed to be doing this, but you know the guy with the blue hair— hold it! Don't look over." She snapped her fingers, commanding attention again. "Come on, you've done it enough tonight. But yeah, him. He wants your number, so can I get the digits and a name to go with it?"

"Oh," the girl squeaked.

Cute.

"I, uh. I know who you're talking about. Hard to not notice… Name's Maka, and let me get a piece of paper."

"That was kind of easy. More than I thought, actually."

Maka blushed and tore off a corner of lined paper. "I mean, why not, I guess."

Kim hummed. "So, he definitely wasn't the only one watching, huh?"

The deepening color on her cheeks confirmed Kim's suspicions. Without looking at the phone number, she snatched it away once Maka's pen stopped and held it between her index and middle finger.

"You're cute, really," Kim said. "I'll be back to collect the bill. Expect a text soon, or whatever."

In no time at all, she was back at the other table, flicking the paper at the boy's head. "I work fast," she put it simply. "Don't forget to leave generous payment."

There was a small sting in her heart that came with helping two people get together, especially when she was feeling a type of way for them both. She didn't stay for long once she was sure that Black Star had taken a look at the contents inside of the paper, only saying briefly who it belonged to, the girl's name feeling strange on her lips.

"You treat her well, you hear?"

And with that, Kim left the table alone for the rest of their time, doubling on the others more vigorously. By the time she'd looked back to Maka's table, she was gone, books and all. Though a five dollar bill replaced her, Kim sort of wished that the person was still there instead.

She dropped it into her apron and decided to forget about it while she cleared the table.

After an immeasurable amount of time had passed, she eventually found herself back at with the boys, taking care of their bill and exchanging a few more words before they left, half-heartedly. The continued to speak in hushed voices whenever Kim came close, and she figured that she may have overstayed her visit. It wasn't a waitress' role to get involved with the customer after all.

"I'll leave you to it then, thanks for dining with us today," Kim said as she dropped off their card and their copy of the receipt.

However, that wasn't the last surprise of the night.

On the line meant for tips, a ten digit number was filled in instead of an amount. Kim snorted, "I would have preferred cash, but whatever."

She was added to a group chat by the end of her shift.

Prompt-

@otpprompts: Person A is at a restaurant with family members or friends when they see someone also dining in the restaurant, but they're alone (Person B). When the waitstaff-person (Person C if OT3) comes back to A's table and asks if there's anything else they can get them, Person A replies "Yeah, that person's phone number," and points to Person B. Cue them actually going up and getting B's number for A. OT3 Bonus: Person C asks if it's alright if they get Person A's number as well and they all begin to have phone chats and group texts. Persons B and C make fun of Person A for "using their waitstaff as a wingman".

Thank you to Alliope, Psychadelicrose, and soundofez for betaing!

#sepolyamweek2018 #se-polyam-week-2018 #soul eater #nessie spills #se polyam week 2018 #se poly ship #blackstar/kim/maka

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onlymorelove · 6 years

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fic: Where Do You Go? (1/?)

Title: Where Do You Go? (1/?) Fandom: Teen Wolf Relationship: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken Characters: Theo Raeken, Liam Dunbar Summary: Theo needs a shower.

(Takes place a few weeks after the Anuk-Ite is defeated.) Rating: T Tags: Post-canon, Character Study, Sharing Clothes, Touch Starvation Chapter Title: “He was pointing at the moon…”

Read under the cut or on AO3. Also, there is a [Part 2].

So where do you go Oh, whenever you disappear I can’t seem to find you when you slip into the night So where do you go I wanna follow you down, down Down where your secrets hide Won’t you let me inside? — Flor, “ Where Do You Go? ”

Being homeless sucked. Because his body was caught in a perpetual cycle of sleep deprivation, Theo usually crashed into an exhausted sleep within a few minutes of his head touching the grey hoodie Liam had left in his truck one day. He hadn’t asked for it back, so Theo assumed he’d forgotten about it or didn’t need it. He wasn’t a thief; he hadn’t stolen it from Liam, he rationalized. He just … hadn’t returned it—yet.

Instead, every night after he parked his truck in a dirt lot teeming with weeds and overgrown grass near an abandoned warehouse or somewhere else deserted, quiet, and therefore more likely to escape the sheriff’s department’s notice, Theo shaped the hoodie into a makeshift pillow, palms smoothing over the precise folds he created, memory flitting against his will to the beta with the earnest blue eyes and the mouth that tipped in a smile with as much ease as it curled in a scowl. No matter how fast he slammed shut the lid on images of those flashing eyes, it was never fast enough—never fast enough to keep out a dull ache in his chest and a sharp dip in his stomach.

Unless he was particularly unlucky and it rained, Theo never slept without cracking the car windows at least a half inch. On some nights a breeze thrust the scent of dew-brushed earth into the car; on others, he dozed off with molecules carrying the smell of heavy, smoke-tinged oak trees slowly seeping in and tickling his sensitive nose. Allowing just a bit of the outside air in kept his throat from closing up with a feeling of claustrophobia.

The unforgiving vinyl of the truck’s backseat didn’t make for the most comfortable bed, but it beat sleeping under a bridge, in a piss-stained alley, or worst of all, in an underground tunnel crowded with memories of slick, iron-tinged blood and a macabre symphony of screams echoing off walls that perpetually pressed in against him, against the boundaries of his skin and his mind—close and closer yet. Stifling. After his years with the Dread Doctors, if he never saw a tunnel again it would be too soon.

When he curled on his side and closed his eyes, pulling a thin, threadbare blanket up over his shoulder, the hoodie’s worn fabric felt soft under Theo’s face. And if, maybe, he sometimes rubbed his cheek against it like a cat brushing against its owner’s legs, well, there was no one there to see him and mock him for doing so. On the cusp of sleep, with his body tucked in and made as small as he could make it, Theo would pretend he heard the thrum of another heartbeat, felt the steady heat of someone else’s chest pressed against his back. Someone who smelled like fresh-cut grass warmed by a June afternoon sun.

If the thump of a deputy’s fist against his car window didn’t force him awake only a couple precious hours into the night, lurid dreams of his sister whispering, “Theo …” while she stalked him on pale, bare feet with the end goal of ripping her stolen heart from his chest drove the sleep from his eyes.

The fatigue, though, remained.

What point was there in complaining about it to anyone? Or even dwelling on it in his own mind? Whatever the Dread Doctors had done to him, he was still a killer. He, Theo, had chosen to kill, and not for reasons any decent person would deem justified. Certainly not the man whose life he couldn’t seem to stop saving.

Survival. There had been a time when he’d yearned for power. For uniqueness. For belonging, even. Now? Mere survival. That’s all Theo needed. That’s all he wanted. A glimpse of blue eyes and a stubborn chin materialized in his head. Liar. Survival might not be all he wanted, but if life owed him anything, it was that, and nothing more.

Sometimes, after Tara had chased him from sleep into wakefulness, Theo buried his face in the grey hoodie he’d kept and breathed, slow and deep, dragging the traces of Liam’s scent that still lingered into his lungs and holding them there until his rabbiting pulse slowed. Until his shaking limbs stilled and his claws and fangs retracted. Until his harsh, panting breaths no longer rent the sour air in the car, and the acid tide that warped and corroded his veins rolled back out. Leaving cold sweat sliding down Theo’s temples and prickling on the back of his neck and under his arms.

But just like the ocean tide it mimicked, the sensation of being hunted; of waiting for icy fingers to scrape his chest, receded only temporarily, always returning. Always.

Theo yawned, jaw cracking, and leaned his side against the fingerprint-smudged glass door to the gas station convenience store. A bell jangled as he stepped inside. Perfume, high alcohol content and smelling of something sickly sweet and artificial—cotton candy, maybe?— hit like a bomb; made his eyes water. Behind the checkout counter slumped a woman with shoulder-length brassy blonde hair and about two inches of black roots. At the sound of his throat clearing, she turned a page in the magazine held in her hands.

“Yeah?” Her eyes never strayed from the magazine.

“Could I borrow the bathroom key?” he asked.

“Not ‘less you plan on getting gas or buying something.” She frowned and twined a brittle chunk of hair around her finger, still without looking up.

Foregoing an answer, Theo rolled his eyes and moved closer, set his forearms on the edge of the counter, and waited. Thickly mascaraed blue eyes finally dragged up his arms, over his chest, stopped at his mouth—even though his skin chilled, Theo licked his lips very slowly and listened for the telltale increase in her heart rate—and traveled on to meet his gaze. Shoving aside how his stomach clenched at this conscious use of his appearance as currency, Theo forced his mouth to curl up in a smile that hinted at things he was never going to give. (He’d tack it to the ongoing tally of his crimes.) “Please.” One word, delivered soft, sincere, and just shy of flirty because of the calculated trajectory of his raised eyebrow.

Bam. Mission accomplished. For his effort, the woman rewarded him with a head tilt and a dazzling smile complete with a flash of yellowed teeth streaked with a smear of purple lipstick. “Sure, honey,” she said, and Theo tried not to flinch when she slid her fingers against his as she handed him the key she’d pulled from beneath the counter.

“Thanks.” He backed away; she wiggled red-tipped fingers at him and leaned forward, making the v-neck of her shirt gape. He didn’t look.

Jade sucked my dick here, proclaimed a snatch of graffiti, complete with a helpful arrow, scrawled in hot pink on the bumpy beige wall of the gas station bathroom, and Theo pressed the heels of his hands against his dry, gritty eyes and wondered if he was back in hell. He worked to breathe through his mouth and minimize the chaos of odors that beat against his nose. The plastic baggie he pulled from his back pocket held a travel size tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush sporting sad, splayed bristles. He brushed as quickly as he could, then spat into the chipped sink, gaze jumping over the brownish spots splattered there. He really didn’t need to know what they were.

Lukewarm water gurgled and spat from the rusted faucet and left an unpleasant metallic taste he couldn’t ignore. But that didn’t stop him from drinking three handfuls of it from cupped hands before he splashed it over his face and let it run down his chin.

He yanked a rough, brown paper towel from the dispenser and used it to dry his face, then tossed it in the overflowing trash can to his left. Sandpaper would have been less abrasive. When he reached to pull out another paper towel, he found the dispenser empty. “Fuck.” Shaking his head, he grabbed several sheets of cheap, thin toilet paper, folded and wet them. Mouth twisted in a grimace, he lifted his shirt and Liam’s hoodie, which he’d layered over it because he’d felt cold, and swiped at his armpits.

He didn’t intend to catch his reflection in the warped mirror, but it happened anyway. He scrutinized his own image with a critical eye. Purple half-moons ringed his narrowed eyes. A few days’ worth of stubble shadowed his chin, jaw, and cheeks. “I look like shit,” he muttered. Head ducked, he sniffed his pits, grimace deepening as the ripe odor thwacked him over the head. I smell like it, too.

Unfortunately, his hobo shower hadn’t done as much good as he’d hoped it would.

He waited until 11:30, when he knew Liam would be in school and his mother would be at work. Dr. Geyer’s schedule at the hospital was more unpredictable, so Theo tucked his truck into a cul-de-sac down the street from Liam’s house and walked the rest of the way, carrying his old, black duffel bag. Everywhere he looked he saw neat, two-story houses circled by trim, green lawns plucked, and no doubt chemically treated, to keep out unsightly weeds.

Though Liam’s mom and stepdad usually parked their cars in the driveway instead of in the garage, Theo didn’t assume they were out just because he didn’t see their cars. Upon reaching the front door, he trained his eyes over his shoulder to check if he’d been followed, by hunters or anyone else. Satisfied he hadn’t been tracked, he focused his enhanced senses on Liam’s home and scanned for heartbeats inside to confirm he was alone, before he lifted the red-hatted garden gnome to the right of the front porch and slid out the extra key he’d watched Liam fumble from there the night before when he’d forgotten his own keys inside the house.

Liam might be impulsive and quick to anger, but he wasn’t stupid. Theo hoped he got lucky enough that if Liam caught his scent in the house once he came home later, he would be fooled into thinking it lingered there from when he’d hung out at Liam’s the previous night. They’d alternated watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns with him staring at Liam while he shoveled slice after slice of Pizza Hut stuffed crust pepperoni pizza into his mouth. Splotches of tomato sauce had dotted Liam’s plush, pink lower lip, and Theo had bitten his tongue, tasting blood, in order to keep from reaching for the messy beta seated tantalizingly close to him and kissing him clean. Control and self-control were paramount; spending time with Liam brought Theo unnervingly near to relaxing his white-knuckle grip on both.

He’d planned to get in, shower, and leave. But his stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten anything yet, so he stopped in the kitchen. The idea of stealing food from Liam, who’d invited him into his house just last night, didn’t feel right.

A long, rectangular kitchen table topped with brown, glossy wood and flanked by a bench on one side and three chairs on the other sat slightly off-center in the large kitchen. Overstuffed cushions called to Theo; he lowered himself into one of the chairs and sighed, his whole body loosening. Hunger pangs rippled through his stomach again. A quick rifle through his duffel bag netted him a snack-size bag of salt and vinegar potato chips.

(Theo didn’t have much of a craving for sugar. Salt was more his speed. Especially salt and vinegar chips. There was just something about the lip-puckering combination of sour and salty that he couldn’t resist.)

At the moment, he could’ve gone for something with a little more protein, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. A few minutes later the bag lay empty on the table in front of him. Theo leaned back in his chair and slid his fingers into his mouth, one by one, the movements slow and precise, and sucked off the salt and crumbs. To his right sat a mostly-empty bowl of what looked like oatmeal with a sprinkle of mini marshmallows. He couldn’t imagine it belonged to either of Liam’s parents. A smile crept over Theo’s face.

Sunlight spilled through the gauzy curtains that hung over the big window at his back, warming his neck and shoulders. His stomach, well, it would be inaccurate to say it felt anywhere close to full. Still, the gnawing emptiness had been appeased by the chips … The kitchen was warm and quiet; Theo’s eyelids drooped. With his eyes shut, he blindly pushed away the empty packet and sagged forward. His crossed arms rested on the placemat on the table, and his head dropped onto his arms. Just five minutes. Then I’ll shower and …

A firm hand gripping the muscle between his neck and shoulder jerked Theo awake.

Theo leaped up, sending the chair he’d been sitting on clattering to the tile floor. A growl rumbled up from the cavern of his chest. Breathing hard, balanced on the balls of his feet, he shot his clawed hands in front of him.

“Dude, easy. It’s just me.”

Liam.

“Hey,” Liam said, voice a touch softer now. “A little less ‘Grrr. Argh,’” he added, “would be good right about now. Put away the fangs and claws.”

Theo forced his claws and fangs to retract, then concentrated on slowing his breathing and his heartbeat. He turned away and righted the fallen chair, then folded his body back onto it, staring down at a dark knot on the surface of the wood table. The chair to his left scraped across the floor. Liam sat; the warmth from his body grazed Theo’s skin, making him want to curl against him and fall back asleep. That wouldn’t be weird, would it?

“Is that—? Are you—?”

“What, Liam? Just spit it out already,” Theo replied, his voice a tired echo in his ears.

“Theo, what are you doing here? And why are you wearing my shirt?” Fuck. Theo dipped his head to peek at his own chest, and almost groaned aloud. Almost. He was so fucked.

A/N: Thanks for reading! What do you think? I would love to hear from you, regardless of whether you like this, hate it, or fall somewhere in-between.

I’m trying to build a habit of writing a little each day, so I was clicking through tumblr on Halloween, searching for a trigger. I stumbled on a post that asked what a character’s favorite candy was—the one that he’d pick out and save for himself. This story’s inspired by that post, which I would love to link to, only I can’t find it. :(

Send me a prompt if you’d like.

#thiam #liam x theo #theo raeken #liam dunbar #thiam fanfic #teen wolf #onlymorelove writes fic

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z-ayact-blog · 4 years

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deannachu · 6 years

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First Meeting

Prompt: A 19 year old is meeting their father for the first time.

Challenge: A Prompt a Day for November: I will be writing one prompt per day for the entirety of November. There aren't really any requirements or limits I've set for myself, but they will be at least 1000 words (I hope) each.

Just two hours prior, Hope thought she had enough problems to last her several lifetimes. Her first semester of her sophomore year of college had just started, and she already had about 100 total pages of reading to do, along with the miscellaneous History assignments and Biology labs thrown in for her last general education courses she was required to take. That, along with working part time waiting tables, had given her the start of what was sure to be the best migraine. She was keeping it managed, however, until she received a phone call from her younger sister, Ellie. When she answered the phone, she was driving back to her apartment, thinking of nothing but dark rooms, cozy blankets, and enough Tylenol to knock out a full-sized horse.

"Hey, sis, now's not really the best time," she answered in lieu of a proper greeting. Just three more minutes, she thought as she made a right turn at a stoplight, almost running over a couple of sorority sisters who decided to stop mid crosswalk to take a selfie. Idiots.

"I'll be quick," Ellie responded quickly, sounding not at all like her usual self. Hope narrowed her eyes at the display screen where it showed the phone call ongoing.

"Ellie, what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" she squeaked. "N-Nothing's wrong," she laughed nervously.

"Then why do you sound like you're about to give me bad news?" she inquired, silently cheering at seeing her apartment complex up ahead. Bed. Darkness. Tylenol. Bed. Darkness. Tylenol.

"It's not bad, per say..." There was a pause. "Dad'sComingToTheHouseThisWeekendWhenYouComeHomeAndHeWantsToMeetUs," she spit out very quickly.

Hope pulled into a parking spot, put the gear in park, and closed her eyes, taking one slow breath. Two. Three. She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to think happy thoughts above the pounding in her brain. Her stomach twisted, both from nausea and now the anger of processing what her little sister just told her. "Ellie..."

"Just wait," she said suddenly, sounding frantic. "You at least owe it to him to meet him. He wants to see his two girls grown and get to know them, Hope."

"I did meet him, Elle," Hope spat, shocked at how much venom filled her tone. "I "met" him when I was born and, when I was two, he suddenly decided you and I were too much responsibility for him and he left because he's a coward."

"He didn't leave because of us-"

"BULLSHIT," Hope shouted, the throbbing in her head growing worse. "He left two days after you were born. He had given mom two little girls, just what he claimed he had always wanted, and once he finally had them he left. You and I have not had one birthday card, Christmas card, phone call, or visit from him since the day he left and now you're claiming that he's sorry and regrets leaving and finally wants to meet his daughters? Nice try, Ellie, but April Fools has already come and gone."

"Hope-"

"I've got a migraine. I need to go." Hope cut her sister off and ended the call, turning off her car and sitting there in the silence for a few moments. She closed her eyes and put her face in her hands, leaning against the steering wheel. The earliest (and probably only) memory she had of her father was her 2nd birthday party, just a few weeks before Ellie was born. She remembered bright lights and bright colors, the warmth of her mother's smile along with her bloated stomach, which she constantly rubbed absentmindedly. She remembers being in her father's arms as she opened a stuffed unicorn doll from a relative in the family. He had given her a snow globe with her favorite Disney princess inside - Aurora. It still sat on her bookshelf in her room with other Disney princess snow globes. Why do you want back in our lives now? she questioned silently.

A sharp knock on her window jolted her out of her stupor. She looked up quickly to see her roommate, Bailey, staring at her with a concerned look on her face. She opened the door and stepped out, looking up at her roommate. Despite being about 6 inches taller than her, Bailey was her best friend. They had known each other since junior high when Hope befriended her on the first day of 7th grade. They were both a little quirky, loving books and games instead of fashion and celebrities like most girls their age. Bailey's hair was long and fine, the color of dark chocolate with eyes to match, while Hope's bright blonde pixie cut and half shaved head contrasted beautifully. While Hope's mother and sister shared hazel eyes, she had dark green ones that she was told she inherited from her father.

"Are you alright?" Bailey asked, clearly concerned. Hope squinted her eyes and shook her head gently. "Migraine again?" She nodded. "Come on, let's go inside. No, I'll get your bag, just go inside and go to your room. I'll bring you some Tylenol and some tea."

"I don't know why you swear by hot tea," Hope grumbled. "It really doesn't do anything for me."

"That's because you don't drink enough of it," Bailey scoffed, rolling her eyes. She led Hope inside their brightly decorated apartment and steered her around a corner to her bedroom. One thing Hope had planned to do today was clean, as her room looked like a tornado had blown through it. Books were scattered everywhere, clothing draped every available surface, and stacks of games were laid atop her Xbox and her laptop next to her TV. Her sheets were still crumpled from this morning but the bed looked inviting nonetheless. She shook off her shoes, stripped to just a tshirt and her underwear, and slid underneath the covers, relishing the softness they provided her skin and her aching head. Her blinds were already sealed against the sunlight so aside from the light pouring in from the living room it was completely dark. She could feel the throbbing behind her eyes and desperately wished it to go away. She heard Bailey's soft steps towards her and opened her eyes, reaching for the pills she was being handed.

"These aren't regular Tylenol," Hope said quietly, looking at the slightly larger pills in her palm.

"It has a sleep aid in it as well," Bailey said, handing her a steaming cup of tea. She could smell peppermint wafting from the steam. "Sleep usually helps headaches. I don't have classes tomorrow, so I'll wake you up later and bring you dinner. You just sleep and get rid of your headache, okay?"

Hope's heart swelled. This is one of the reasons why they were best friends: they just understood each other. Hope popped the pills in her mouth and swallowed them down with a hot mouthful of tea. The two were quiet for a beat before she spoke, "Ellie called me to tell me that my dad wants to meet met his weekend."

Silence.

"But, your dad-"

"He left right after Ellie was born, when I was around 2 years old. We haven't heard from him since. Now, 17 years later he wants to reconcile things with us. Why?" Hope laid on her back and stared at the dark ceiling. "There has got to be some ulterior motive. No one stays basically missing for 17 years and then suddenly wants to reconnect with the daughters he left." She felt Bailey sit on the edge of her bed near her feet. "I just don't understand."

"I can't imagine what you're going through," she said softly. "But the only advice that I can think to give you is that you'll never figure out what he wants unless you let him speak. I'm not saying forgive him. I'm not saying welcome him back into your life. I'm saying just hear him out. You'll be with your sister and your mom, right? So it's not like you're meeting him by yourself in a public place." She shifted her weight, standing up. "I'm guessing he was the cause of this migraine?"

"Most of it. The other part was just the amount of homework I have," Hope grumbled, feeling her body relax and her eyes getting heavier as the medicine worked its way through her body.

"Is any of it due tomorrow?"

"Mmmm no," she replied. "It's all due next week."

"Then stay home from class tomorrow. You have off from work this weekend, right? Just take an extra day. Use it to mentally prepare yourself. Clean your room, play some games, do your homework."

"Yes mom," Hope replied sarcastically, earning a tinkled laugh from Bailey.

"Go to sleep, I'll wake you up later with food." Bailey closed the door and all was silent. Hope's mind wandered but she refused to think about her father. Maybe Bailey is right, she thought sleepily. Her headache had dulled to only a slight ache and she could feel sleep waiting to take her. I should probably hear him out before making assumptions.

The next day she took Bailey's advice and stayed in, e-mailing excuses about migraines and light/sound sensitivity to her professors. They all shot back e-mails wishing her to get better and attached any assignments or notes she would be missing that day. That was what she liked most about her professors: they were willing to help out when they could if students were sick or couldn't make it to class. She ignored her pile of homework, her many missed calls from her sister, and even a few missed calls from her mother. They both texted her back to back, reminding her about meeting their father the next day. Her mom tried to apologize for not calling her directly, as she thought if it came from Ellie it would sting a little less. A couple of times she found herself composing angry messages back to her mother about what she thought about her wanting to meet their father after 17 years, but every time she would backspace until all of the words were deleted. This wasn't something she could talk about through a text message or even a phone call. It had to be in person.

She was going to leave this evening to make the two hour drive home. She cleaned her bedroom and did loads of laundry to keep herself occupied. Cleaning, though not something she enjoyed doing all the time, could definitely be a stress reliever at times. She loaded the dishwasher and lightly cleaned her bathroom, organizing the mess of product bottles that lined her shower and her bathroom counter. Once it seemed like she had done all the cleaning she could do, she loaded up her Xbox and clicked on Netflix, watching more episodes of her favorite show to pass the time.

She had just polished off another season along with a mini frozen pizza and a glass of sweet tea when she noticed the time. She hopped up and hastily gathered the clothes and other things she was going to take home with her just as Bailey walked in the door.

"Shouldn't you already be on the road? It's after 5:00," she questioned, staring at her.

"I got a little too invested in my show and lost track of time," Hope admitted sheepishly. Bailey rolled her eyes and set her books on the counter. There were stress lines and bags under her eyes, perks of majoring in a medical field.

"Are you almost done? Can I help?"

Hope shook her head as she zipped her suitcase. "I'm finished." She grabbed her keys along with her purse, which contained her phone, charger, wallet, and miscellaneous snacks for the road. She hugged Bailey and grabbed her suitcase. "I'll let you know how it goes."

"You better," Bailey jokingly threatened.

The two hour drive home was uneventful aside from almost getting rear-ended a few times by people who were in too much of a rush down the highway. She listened to her go-to road trip playlist the entire drive which always gave her peace of mind. She pulled into her driveway a little after 7:30, right as the sun was setting below the horizon, giving the sky a nice pink hue. Her sister's and mother's cars sat in the driveway and she could see the two sitting on the couch watching TV. Well, her sister was looking down, glued to her cell phone, but her mother was focused on the show she was watching. She stepped out of her car and shut the door, opening the trunk to grab her suitcase. She saw her sister pop up from the couch and run to the door, throwing it open.

"HOPE'S HERE!" she yelled, sprinting down the walkway and slamming into her, all 5'8" of her.

"Ellie, that hug is a little tight," she wheezed, patting her sister on the back.

"Oops, sorry," she apologized, letting her go. "I'm just so happy you're here!" Her eyes searched Hope's face, looking for any sign that she was still mad about their conversation the day before. Finding none, she relaxed, taking hold of her suitcase. "Come on, mom's dying to see you."

"Like she didn't see me last weekend, or the weekend before that, or before that," Hope replied sarcastically, following her sister inside. The house was comfortable and small, with enough space for the three of them. Her mother was allergic to dogs so they never had pets growing up. People always said that Ellie resembled their mother more, but Hope inherited her mother's good eyebrows, her small chin, and her button nose. Her mother's face was lined with age but her smile and her eyes were kind. She pulled Hope into a hug and all of a sudden she relaxed into her embrace. She missed her mother, but enjoyed the freedom she had living in an apartment while going to school.

"Have you been eating well? Getting enough sleep?" her mother questioned after she pulled away.

"Yes mom, I am," she laughed. "Bailey makes sure I don't forget to eat."

"I knew I liked her," her mom quipped. She cleared her throat. "Lunch time tomorrow is when your father-"

"You mean your ex-husband," Hope responded, her tone turning cold.

"-is coming by," her mom finished, narrowing her eyes. "I understand you're mad, Hope, but you still need to respect me. I'm your mother."

"Oh, I respect you," Hope replied. "But not him. I will never respect a man who leaves his wife and young daughters." She turned away from her mother and took her suitcase to her old bedroom and closed the door. A few moments later she heard a knock. "Please leave me alone, Ellie. I'm tired."

"I just wanted to say something," came her muffled reply. She opened the door and came inside, standing with it cracked. "I know you're less than thrilled, but at least try. If not for me, then try for mom. Yes, this is going to be hard on you, Hope, but mom is seeing him for the first time in 17 years. The man who walked out on her. Cut her some slack."

Hope sat on the bed and sighed, rubbing her face, exhaustion creeping in. "Yeah, alright. I promise I'll try."

"Thanks, sis."

Hope woke up earlier than she wanted to and laid there, contemplating just getting back in her car and going back to campus. She felt anger, dread, and anxiety flow through her body. She could hear her mother in the kitchen and her sister listening to a song on her laptop, probably working on homework. Her sister always was a morning person, whereas Hope hated mornings. She was a night owl, through and through. She pulled herself out of bed and grabbed clothes from her bag along with her toiletries, heading to the shower. The warm water loosened her muscles and calmed her mind, if even for a brief moment. She dressed quickly, pulling on her softest and most worn tshirt and her most comfortable pair of shorts. She ran a bit of gel through her hair and blow dried it. She stared into the mirror swiped on a bit of mascara and lipstick, not caring about much else. She didn't want her father to think she had put effort into making herself look presentable for him.

She walked into the living room and sat on the couch, pulling out her phone.

Bailey: So how's meeting your father going?

Hope: He should be here any minute. I really don't want to be here.

Bailey: You got this, H. Text me after. xo

She put her phone down and flipped on the TV, not really paying attention to the channel it was on. Ellie sat beside her, looking tense and nervous.

"He just pulled into the driveway," she said quietly, squeezing her hand.

"Wonderful," she remarked, not making any effort to move.

"Let's go, mom wants both of us in the kitchen." Ellie got up and held out her hand, waiting for Hope to take it. She took a deep breath and grabbed her hand, standing up.

There was a knock at the door, then the sound of the it opening. "You look amazing, Allie," a man's voice came through the house.

"I could say the same about you, Richard," their mom replied. "Come in, the girls should be here in a second."

Ellie and Hope, hands held, made their way into the kitchen slowly, unsure at what they would find. The made it around the corner and Hope paused, letting go of Ellie's hand. The man standing before her posed a striking resemblance to her own looks. His hair had bits of silver woven through it, almost as if on purpose. He was taller than their mom, but not towering. His eyes were striking green, and there was a warm - but somewhat tense - smile on his face. This was her dad. Ellie's dad. The man who had given them life.

Hope clenched her fists, feeling all of the anger bubble to the surface. Her dad must have sensed this because he opened his mouth to speak. "Hope, I know you're angry-"

"I am not angry," she said calmly, though her body was shaking. "I am pissed off. You don't get to just come around after 17 years with little warning. I don't give a fuck-"

"Hope Elizabeth!" her mom yelled, shocked by her language. She ignored her.

"-if you came by wanting to give us money, to apologize, to make up for lost time. You lost that right when you went this long with no communication. So I'm going to ask you the one thing mom and Ellie won't because they want to be civil. What the hell do you want?"

A stunned silence filled the room. Her mom had her hand over her mouth and her sister looked like she wanted to cry.

Her father stood there a moment before crossing his arms. "Hope is right. I didn't come here simply to reconcile with my daughters. Or you, Allie."

"Then spit it out," Hope said.

He sighed before continuing. "I'm in quite a lot of trouble. Gambling trouble, I mean."

Hope laughed, one angry, bitter sound. "Of course. After 17 years, the only reason you'd come back to us is because of money. You don't miss mom. You don't miss Ellie; hell, I don't know why you would, she was only a baby when you left. But me... you had two whole years with me. Was I not enough to make you stay? Was Ellie? Was mom? You had a wife and two daughters who loved you. Yet you chose to walk out on us."

"Listen, young lady," her father said, his tone changing drastically. "Your mother and I were married. We signed an agreement that what we owned together we would share when we got married."

"Right, but that was null and void once you left," Hope yelled. "You left because you loved money and gambling more than us. I see that now. You didn't leave strictly because of us, but the fact that you had two mouths to feed really put a damper on your addiction, didn't it. So mom gave you a choice: your family or your addiction. And you chose your addiction." She felt tears roll down her cheeks and realized she was crying. But they weren't just tears of anger; there was an underlying pain too. She didn't realize how long she had wanted to say this to her father, how long she had had it pent up inside her.

Her father's mouth was in a thin line and Hope knew she had hit her mark. Her mom had sat down while she yelled and Ellie was rubbing her back, though Hope could feel that she was shaking.

"I want you to leave," Hope said quietly, her tone saturated with venom. She knew it was too good to be true.

"This is your mom's house-"

"I would also like you to leave," her mom finally spoke, glaring at her ex-husband. "I thought 17 years would be enough to make you change your ways. I thought you would have settled down and been a father to somebody's children since you couldn't be a father to your own. But I guess I did always have too high of hopes for you, Richard." She stood up and opened the door. "You will never get a cent from me, nor from your daughters. You can come back when you decide that your family is more important than your need for money and your addiction. But now, I would like to have lunch with my daughters."

Her father stared at her mother with his mouth slightly open before letting out a resigned sigh. He turned towards Ellie and Hope and started to say something, but decided against it when he realized they were both glaring at him with tears rolling down their cheeks. "Fine. I'll leave. But it was good to see you girls again. Ellie, you're the spitting image of your mother. Absolutely beautiful. And Hope..."

"What?" Hope snapped. She just wanted him to leave already so they could have peace and quiet.

"It was nice to see you again. You really turned into a strong and beautiful young woman." He stepped through the open door and left, her mom slamming it behind him. She stood there for a second, her palms pressed against the door, breathing heavily. Ellie pulled Hope into a hug, both sisters silently crying from the emotional encounter.

After a time, Ellie spoke up, "I'm sorry, mom. I thought it would be okay."

Their mom turned around and pulled both girls into a hug. Her face, surprisingly, was not wet with tears or contorted with anger like Hope thought. In fact, she looked happier and more peaceful than she had looked in years. "Your father being here, even for five minutes, just proved that we were better off without him in the end. I raised two strong, independent, beautiful young ladies on my own."

They broke apart, her mom kissing both of their cheeks before starting to make lunch. Hope went into the living room with Ellie and sat on the couch in the same spots as before.

"Are you upset I didn't try?" Hope asked, picking up her phone to call Bailey.

Ellie shook her head. "No; I'm glad one of us had the balls to yell at him. I'm proud of you." She smiled before turning on the television. Hope could smell chicken frying in the kitchen as she clicked to her contacts and dialed Bailey's number. She answered after two rings.

"So? How'd it go?" she asked. Hope could hear typing in the background and assumed she was doing homework.

"About a well as expected," she responded, absentmindedly watching some show about vampires that Ellie had settled on.

"Want to talk about it? I'm all ears."

"Sunday night, when I get home. But right now I'm just going to spend time with my family," she responded, smiling at her sister who mimicked throwing up.

"Sounds good. See you then, Hope."

"Yeah, see you then."

#original #prompt #writing #story #november 1 prompt #prompt a day

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mybookplacenet · 4 years

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Featured Author Interview: Jordan Church

Tell us about yourself and your books.: I write erotica. Sharing the inner thoughts and emotions of characters is the ultimate voyeurism. I am a big believer in plot and character development. I want the characters to be as real as possible. Character motivations drive the events and sexual activities. Sex scenes are detailed and graphic. I want to always give a perfect picture of exactly what is happening and why and how and how the characters feel physically and emotionally. While I believe there is way too much shaming out there in the world when it comes to sex and things sexual I also think dirty acts and a sense of wicked naughtiness are wonderful in erotica. I have two degrees and am dedicated to providing the highest quality erotica. Do you have any unusual writing habits? I'm sure my massive intakes of caffeine are quite normal for an author.... Considering the genre I write in it may be considered unusual I often write (type) with people near me in various settings who have no clue what I'm up to on my laptop. When I edit a book I do three complete edits where I read every word. The unusual part is that I also do each one a little differently. In order to better spot errors, even small ones like an extra space between words, I change the font, font size, and type color with each edit. Edit 1 : Times New Roman, 12 point, black Edit 2: Bookman Old Style, 14 point, green Edit 3: Random grab bag font, 16 point, purple Even with that I still miss some errors! What authors have influenced you? The living legend JJ Argus and the other living legend, silkstockingslover. Her works, mostly short stories, can be found on literotica.com. And Stephen King! Do you have any advice for new authors? I'm pretty new myself so advice from me is presumptive at best. However, I can pass on advice I received (okay, some from me as well). That is to be patient. When you write and publish something no one knows unless they are psychic. No matter how good it is it may not get sales. For instance, "Moby Dick", the great classic, after the initial poor first year of sales, went on to sell an average of 27 books a year for 34 years. Once the author Herman Melville died it later became popular and "discovered". And Melville was a successful author BEFORE he published that book! Once someone finds one of your books you, as an author, need to make sure it make them, the reader, happy. The book is for the reader, not the author. That is the mission. Take the time to edit thoroughly, have someone else read it to make sure each little part makes sense to others. Make sure it is realistic even within the realm of the fantastic. Realism is more interesting than having readers say again and again, "That would NEVER happen." If your story loses credibility than you, the author, automatically do as well. Cream rises to the top but can also float up a bit faster if you communicate in all ways -- email responses, blog, web site, and, yes, promotion. What is the best advice you have ever heard? Patience. That so many authors write a book and expect the world to stop on a dime for it. Time and continued effort. Drive quantity while never giving up quality and, if you have to choose, take quality over quantity. What are you reading now? Two Stephen King books (Gunslinger IV and "Doctor Sleep", a Michael Connelly "Harry Bosch" novel, a couple fantasy novels (I recommend Marc Turner BTW), a few history books. I read five to ten books at the same time (same day not the exact same moment) and jump between them as the urge moves me. What's your biggest weakness? Candy. No, wait. caffeine! No, wait, it must be porn! Despite my genre (?) I am, like most people, a total sap for animals (Human Society volunteer) and children. What is your favorite book of all time? There are so many it is really hard to choose. That said, coming most quickly to mind: Mainstream: "The Stand" by Stephen King. Modern classic! Read the book, no movie can do it justice. Surprise maybe: "Japanese Destroyer Captain" by Tameichi Hara. It is just amazing what that man accomplished and lived through and the ending is like a Hollywood movie ending. Just amazing. What has inspired you and your writing style? As they always say, write about what you enjoy. It does make writing even more enjoyable! It is somewhat reverse inspiration because, really, I've read a lot of poor erotica. And erotica that sounds one way in the blurb and then goes in some other direction. And erotica with one good scene possibly but then the rest is mechanical or repetitive and goes no where. And a whole lot of characters that are just names and maybe titles or roles and nothing else -- no personality, no voice, sometimes not even a description! Obviously there are some excellent writers out there and I mentioned a couple already but, overall, there is a lot more bad than good. That inspired me to try to do it. You know, invent a better mouse trap and all that. I'd say my writing style is detailed with a balance of the external (events, action, dialogue) and the internal (emotions, sensations, motives). I think plot is important and conflict drives plot. The conflict in my books is typically a seducer wanting someone(s) who do not want to be seduced and there is the struggle for them to accomplish this, the seductee's struggle to resist, and the seductee's struggle to understand how this is happening to them, why it makes them feel this way, and the new reality it will bring about if they "lose". What are you working on now? Editing "Lesbian Stalker Stalks Again" which is Part IV of the "Lesbian Stalker's Pets" series and writing, nearly done, with "Lesbian Stalker On The Prowl" which is Part V. Also working on "Mother-In-Law's Gift Cards For Lesbian Seduction" which is a free ongoing book (actually it will be 3 or 4 books ultimately) on my web site (https://lesbianseductionfiction.com/) and a couple other projects as well. What is your method for promoting your work? In a sense, making sure the finished product is the best possible. If you stumble across one of my books and find the description intriguing and the genre acceptable then I make sure you will like the content, get exactly what you expect (or more!), and then want to get the other books available as well. I just published my 20th book. If you like one of them you will like (or more than like!) all the rest. What's next for you as a writer? Write write write. How well do you work under pressure? Fine because all the pressure on me is self-imposed and I have no time to argue with myself. I say do it and I hop to it. How do you decide what tone to use with a particular piece of writing? This is an interesting question. I'm not sure that I truly "decide". Each character has motives and intents. They have a plan for their lives or a plan regarding another character. Each character has a voice from age, background, lifestyle, origins, education, intelligence level, and so on. I get a clear picture or feeling for each character, what is driving them, their motives, and then they interact in my mind. Almost like an artificial world set up and left running to see the end results. The inhabitants of this world have no idea they are figments of imagination. They think all these crazy things are really happening and they have strong feelings about it! In addition to the plot and sex almost always at some point I involve humor and maybe an insight or two on society or human nature. This is just the characters being themselves. But I don't try to erase it or edit it out. It can be there and readers can either enjoy it or ignore it as they wish. The insights are brief and don't get in the way. The humor is short when it happens and if it leads to a laugh from a reader from time to time, it is all good. That said (that these are short) there is, admittedly, about a page of dialogue in "Lesbian Stalker Stalks Again", before the sex scenes and events get extremely outrageous and hot, that I find hilarious and hope readers will as well. Author Websites and Profiles Jordan Church Website Jordan Church Amazon Profile Jordan Church's Social Media Links Twitter Account Instagram Account Read the full article

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glowingjunmyeon · 7 years

Text

Lost and Found (an EXO fanfic) - ch.5

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Pairing: Xiumin x Reader

Status: Ongoing

Warnings: Language

Summary: Marion’s life was going perfectly well before it had fell apart. She had moved out from her family’s house to New York City almost a year ago to attend her dream college. She had gotten a small job and had a great group of friends to keep her happy. Then everything went downhill the moment she found out that her father had died. What made it worse was the fact that her father’s bank account was mysteriously empty, leaving her and her family completely broke. Marion suddenly didn’t have any time to go to college anymore or even grieve her father’s death as she thrown into working multiple jobs to support her family. Her happy college days were gone, instead replaced with working at a Chicken restaurant during the day and serving people drinks at a bar by night. It wasn’t until a rather handsome man walks through the Bar doors that lightens things up in her life. He’s attractive, charming and likable-everything a girl would want in a man-until he does something that leaves her never wanting to see him again...but he still wants to see her. Sometimes you live with memories that you wish you could forget, but not always regret.

Marion ran inside the chicken restaurant, breathing heavily as she had run straight out of her apartment to work. A couple of the customers in the restaurant turned their heads to look at her and she just walked past them into the back. She shrugged off her coat and hung it up in the staff personal belonging area before almost jumping when she heard Jasmine’s voice a couple feet behind her. Jasmine was tapping her watch, “It’s 10 o clock, you were supposed to be here 2 hours ago,” Jasmine said, before shaking her head.

Marion adjusted her baseball cap on her head, “Ah-well, you could say I was held back for a bit, but Boss isn’t here yet is she?”

Jasmine squinted, “Nope, you’re lucky because if she had been here I’m not sure she would’ve been too happy with you. Especially after giving you a day off,”

Marion nodded, a bit distractedly. She couldn’t help but let her mind wander to this morning-when she had yelled at Minseok. Jasmine’s voice cut through her thoughts, “How was it?” her friend asked gently.

Marion furrowed her brows, “How was what?”

“The funeral,” Jamine asked with a slight sympathetic smile.

Marion sighed, suddenly feeling dull as she remembered yesterday-the funeral was just yesterday but yet it felt like it had happened a long time ago. “It was depressing,” she said, before walking out of the staff area into the kitchen. Jasmine followed her closely behind, “They really are, all of my blessings to your Dad though,” Jasmine said, softly.

Marion nodded, making her way over to the freezer area in the back of the restaurant. “Yeah, bless him,” she said, her voice rather dry. Right now, whenever she thought of her Dad there was this sort of numbness that had placed itself in her head-it was like disbelief that he was actually gone-like gone forever. She wondered for a second if it would hit her harder later.

She turned around to give Jasmine a look when she heard Jasmine sniff. Jasmine looked at her, “Since when do you wear…cologne?”

Marion froze, looking down at her shirt-it was the plain black collared t-shirt, the chicken restaurant’s uniform and ever since Minseok had given it to her this morning the smell of his cologne had stuck with her. Marion swallowed tightly, “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about,”

Jasmine raised a brow, “Is something going on?”

Marion squinted, “Nothing is going on…really,”

Jasmine pouted her lips before wriggling her brows, “That’s what everyone says,”

It was lunchtime now, the time when Chirping Chicken had the most customers. Marion was at the front today, getting peoples orders. She just gave Jasmine the mini paper of the order from a couple that had just walked in before hearing the bell at the front of the restaurant jingle again. She turned to see a pair of two men walk in, one of the males was taller than the other and wore a fashionable tan colored trench coat with a black turtle neck underneath while the shorter one wore a grey and black bomber jacket with matching black jeans. She watched the two boys walk over to the table in the corner and sit across from each other. She approached them, two menus in hand. She faltered at giving them a smile when she recognized them both from Minseok’s penthouse. The tall one in the trench coat was the model like tan guy and the one in the bomber jacket was the one who was wearing an apron, cooking earlier. The guy in the trench coat eyes widened as he clearly recognized her too, “I remember you,” he said, leaning forward in his seat as he tilted his head, “You’re the one that Minseok brought home last night-you left this morning. I thought you worked at a Bar?”

She blinked, replying instinctively, “I do,”

He looked confused, “But…?”

This had to be a coincidence, right? Marion cleared her throat, regaining her composure. “It’s not important. Anyways, here are your menus if you have any questions regarding the food you can ask me. Our best seller item is our 6 piece fried chicken meal combo that also comes with a bowl of mashed potatoes and cheese covered curly fries,”

She handed each of the boys a menu, not looking at the model boy who was still staring at her. She looked at the other boy, now that she saw him up close she could see his noticeable big eyes and rather attractive heart shaped lips. “What would you like as your drinks?” she asked.

She was surprised to hear his deep voice reply, “Hm…Water, Thank you,” She nodded, scribbling it down and then looked at the model one. He blinked, realizing belatedly that he was staring at her, “Ah-coke. Coca Cola,” She wrote it down, “1 coke and water coming right up,” she said, before turning around and heading to the back before any of them could say anything.

She took the food for the couple that had come earlier and gave it to them before going to the back and filling the cups of Coke and Water with ice for the boys. She heard Jasmine come up behind her, “Those guys are hot,” Marion didn’t need to look to know who Jasmine was talking about. “Do you know him? The one in the trench coat? Because he really looked like he knew you,” Marion rolled her eyes, “No, I don’t know either of them,” Jasmine folded her arms, as she raised a brow, “Was that sarcasm?”

Marion shook her head, walking past her back to the front of the restaurant with two glasses in her hand. As she made her way to them she couldn’t help but notice that the boys didn’t look too far from her age. She placed the glasses down on their table, both of the boy’s eyes were alert as they looked at her. The bronze model looked at her with a slight smile creeping onto his lips, raising a brow as he asked, “Did you and Minseok get into an argument?”

Marion turned to look at the deep voice boy across from him, “Do you have your order ready yet?” she asked.

The deep voiced boy laughed a bit, covering his mouth as if trying to hide it, as he nodded, “Yes, we would like the 6 piece combo meal,”

She wrote it down on her mini notepad, “That’s it?” she asked.

He nodded, “Yes,” Just as she was about to walk away the model boy spoke, “No-wait, Marion!”

She turned around slowly and raised a brow at him, suddenly feeling very aware of her name tag. “Yes?”

He moved his glass towards her, “Do you mind putting some ice in this?” he asked. She looked at him for a moment as she saw his dark eyes glitter with a hint of playfulness as they creased in the corners. She took his glass and walked to the back to the drink area, taking a spoonful of ice and placing it in his glass. She walked back to their table and placed the glass in front of him, “Anything else?” she asked, her voice held a tinge of annoyance.

The model boy cupped his hands around his glass of coke, “Yes, could you tell me if you and Minseok had an argument?”

The deep voiced boy across from him reproached quietly, “Kai,”

The model boy-Kai give him an innocent ‘what’ face. Marion spoke, “Is that what Minseok told you?”

Kai shook his head, strands of his styled black hair falling over his forehead in the process, “No-he didn’t tell us anything,”

Marion furrowed her brows, “Then why do you think that we had an argument?”

Kai looked at her, searching her face with his curious dark eyes, “Well-because he’s been moody ever since you left and he also won’t say a thing about you so,”

Marion forced a tiny smile onto her lips, “Well, maybe that’s for the best,” She said, before turning around swiftly and heading to the back. She could feel their eyes on her as she walked upto Jasmine, handing her the page from her mini notepad of the boys order. “They are staring at you,” Jasmine said, while looking past Marion’s shoulder. Marion replied, “I don’t care, now please go make the 6 piece combo meal, quick, quick c’mon,” she urged so Jasmine wouldn’t stare at the boys too long. Jasmine sometimes had to annoying tendency to stare at people who were attractive. Jasmine scoffed but headed to the back anyway, notifying the workers of the order. Marion tapped her fingers on the counter as she waited. Then she attended the couple from before collecting their plates and giving them their receipt which they paid in extra, telling her that they would come back again for sure. She smiled, waving them good bye as she dismissed them, before returning their plates to the dishwasher.

“Ey! Marion,” Jasmine said, stuffing the tray of food into her hands. “Their order,” Jasmine said, motioning with her chin towards the boys. Marion sighed, almost forgetting that they were here before going to their table hesitantly and placing the tray of food down. She handed out the plates to them and gave them each a spoon, fork and knife with tissues. “Enjoy,” she said, smiling slightly as she saw Kai’s eyes light up when he saw the chicken. She turned and walked to the back, her mind feeling like a big mush as she watched them eat-which was oddly satisfying for some reason before looking away. Minseok was being moody? She couldn’t really imagine it but shrugged it off as she looked down at her thumbs, absentmindedly playing with them. She didn’t hear Jasmine as Jasmine came up next to her, “Wahh-even your hands are pretty,” Jasmine said, with wide eyes.

Marion squinted her eyes as she looked at her, “Seriously,”

Jasmine laughed a bit, taking Marion’s hands in hers, “But really though-they look like…elegant piano hands,”

Marion laughed, it felt so long since she laughed, “Elegant piano fingers? That makes a lot of sense,”

It was Jasmine’s turn to squint at her, “What? It was the first thing that came to mind. And why can’t you just take a compliment?”

Marion smiled a bit, tilting her head, “Alright, alright. Thank you, thank you for your love,”

Jasmine chuckled, reaching out to squeeze Marion’s cheek before glancing at the boys. “You should go, I think they are done,”

Marion looked over at them, noticing their empty plates and was going to get their checkbook but-as always-Jasmine was one step ahead. Jasmine handed it right to her, “Go,” she said, calmly and Marion nodded, heading over to the boys table. “Done?” she asked. Kai and the other guy nodded as she placed the checkbook in between them. “Here you go,” she said, before collecting their plates. Kai took the checkbook and made a slight pout, “Can’t I get a little discount? Considering that I knew you?” he asked, his dark eyes hopeful.

Marion let out a slight laugh, “But you didn’t know me, and c’mon it’s not so expensive, especially compared to the other food in the city,”

The deep voiced guy reached out his hand, “Let me see,” he said, and Kai gave him the checkbook.

The deep voice guy said, “She’s right. Compared to the other restaurants in the city, that isn’t bad at all,”

Kai made a face, “You’re really going to take her side in this, Kyungsoo,”

She almost laughed at how childish the conversation was but bit the inside of her cheek instead. The deep voice guy-Kyungsoo-replied, “If you don’t want to pay for it I can,”

Kai shook his head almost immediately, taking the checkbook out of Kyungsoo’s hand, “No, no, it’s okay. I can do it,”

She collected their plates back on the tray before walking to the back to give the dirty plates to Jasmine. Marion returned to their table, Kai handed her the checkbook.

“Would you like the change?” she asked, as she glanced at it and Kai shook his head. “No but I have to say your fried chicken was really amazing, the cheese fries were also really good too,”

She smiled a bit, “Thank you,”

Kai itched the back of his head, “Yea-er-sorry about being annoying earlier I was just curious to know if everything between you two was alright,” he said, nonchalantly. She thought she saw Kyungsoo’s head move in an almost imperceptible nod.

Marion nodded, “It’s…fine. I just need you guys to do me a favor,” she said, a bit hesitantly. She saw Kyungsoo’s head snap up to look at hers and his big eyes seemed to look impossibly bigger. “Can you not tell Minseok that I work here?”

Kai was the one to automatically ask, “Why?”

She looked at him, “I would just prefer if you didn’t…please,” she added the last word hesitantly.

Kai’s eyes widened, confusion and curiousity clear in his eyes, “But-“Kyungsoo stood up, cutting Kai off as he bowed his head slightly at her, “We won’t tell him, Thank you for your time,” Kyungsoo said before taking Kai’s elbow and leading him out of the restaurant.

Marion was back at the bar, it was her first time doing Wednesday shift in Tom’s place. She hoped that Tom was okay, especially after the motorbike incident that her Boss had told her about. She looked down at the phone in her hand, she didn’t know why she was hesitant to call and check up on him. Maybe because she wasn’t sure if they were on those friend terms yet. He was the one who helped her with her shifts when she started working at the bar and sometimes he even stayed at the Bar during her shifts when he didn’t need to. But if they were on those friend terms wouldn’t he have called her and told her? She shrugged it off, telling herself that she was overthinking it.

She looked out the window, it was dark outside now. During the colder seasons it always got dark earlier especially in the city. She wondered when the first snowfall would happen. As much as she loved snow she hated getting sick, which she got very often during the winter. She sighed, as she watched people walk along the city sidewalks and cars whizz by as they tried to curve past one another. She looked away from the window and at her hands before her, suddenly thinking about her schoolwork at NYU. She had missed so many classes the past 2 weeks since her Dad’s death she thought that she was surely unenrolled now. She ran her hands through her hair as she thought about scheduling a meeting with her guidance counselor to see what she could about it before it got too late.

She swallowed, wanting to think about anything but school right now. Her eyes went to the door of the bar as if she expected someone to step through it right this second. A specific someone. With wavy black hair and a tall tightly muscular frame. With those uniquely shaped eyes as if he had a natural light eyeliner lining them. His sparse but shapely upper lip and fuller bottom lip. She blinked as she realized what she was thinking and almost smacked her hand into her forehead. What the hell is wrong with you? She cleared her throat, deciding that she would just call Tom, maybe that could calm her nerves which were everywhere. She picked up her phone and called his number.

Minseok watched her pick her up phone and press it to her ear. He stood outside of the Bar to the side so she couldn’t see him looking at her from the Bar’s large front window. He saw her sway a bit nervously as she tucked a strand of her long sleek black hair behind her ear. He saw her laugh before biting the corner of her lip as if trying to hide her smile. He couldn’t help but wonder what could’ve been said to make her smile like that. He didn’t want to automatically assume that it was her boyfriend on the other line but he couldn’t help but think it-she just looked so…so happy. The only time he had ever seen her smile was probably sometime during the first time he met her at the Bar. It was impossible not to notice her beauty once you looked at her. She made it impossible.

She suddenly looked concerned as her lips moved quickly as she spoke fast. He locked his jaws, running his hands through his wavy black hair before placing his cap back over it again. He leaned against the building, suddenly wanting to be inside-sitting across from her and hearing her voice. He knew how stupid he sounded, she literally just yelled at him this morning but he couldn’t get her out of his god damned head. He couldn’t believe himself for harming someone-especially like her, every time he thought about it made his head ache.

He watched her for a couple more minutes, taking her in from afar. Noticing the tiny details of how whenever she laughed she looked down for a second and when she smiled she had a slight dimple appear near the bottom half of her right cheek. He suddenly forced himself to look away, telling himself that he shouldn’t be doing this. He was still for a second before his face becoming clear of any emotion, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets and turned to walk the other way.

Thank you for reading this far! Abfuiuaguredj it means a lot to me! :3 I will try updating as soon as possible

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inevitably-johnlocked · 7 years

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You always have such great fic recs! I have a looong cross-country flight coming up and am looking for some multi-chapter fics to wile away the hours in the flying tin can. Preferences in order of priority: *very* in-character (anything OOC kills it for me), slow burn/first time, not AU (ACD is good tho!) Any rating. Have read all the fandom classics so looking for less-known or newish. For reference two of my favorite ever fics are Quiet Man, & Safe Distance. Thank you Steph! You are the best!!

AHHH Nonny!! Sorry I just saw this, so I hope I’m not too late for your cross-country flight! All I saw was “multi-chapter long” and I put it aside to attach to 2 other asks of similar requests. BUT because this is time-sensitive, I’ll give you a few to tide you over! I’m actually working on a TONNE of fic rec lists:

… (essentially I create a new textedit document every time I get a “different” request from others I have) and was going to add this ask to my “long fics” request I received a month or so ago. Okay, so instead, I’ll pull some long fics from my “Fave Fics Ever” List for you that I have so far (I still have 15 more pages of bookmarks to go through, plus all 1000 fics on my FFNet account, so, WHEE. Being meticulous is ridiculous).

It’s hard to choose, so I limited it to my go-to long fics for you that I have ALREADY sorted on my lists you see in that window above there :D I’ve put them in word count order for you :D

TOP 20 FAVE 40K+ w. FICS || APRIL 2017

Goodness Gives Extras by mydwynter (E, 39,629 w. || Fluff & Angst, Case Fic, Oral / Anal, Humour, First Time, Miscommunication, Snark, Christmas) – Christmas time. ‘Tis the season to settle down with a drink, some food and a present or two, and to enjoy the quiet relaxation of the holiday. Instead, there’s a case that drags them all over, missing presents, disappointed kids, angry parents, and a freak snowfall. On top of that John has to deal with Sherlock, who is being even more of a prat than usual. He really shouldn’t have expected anything different. (okay I’m cheating with the word count on this one but it’s so good!! One of my ALL TIME FAVES)

Right Hand Man by SilentAuror (E, 42,031 w. || H/C, Injury, Slow Burn, Infidelity, Mary is Not Nice) – When John’s left arm becomes paralysed after a car accident, Mary asks Sherlock to take him back to Baker Street to recuperate, as she’s about to give birth. Despite the fact that the search for Moriarty is ongoing, Sherlock takes John in and takes responsibility for overseeing his rehabilitation as he adjusts to the loss of his arm. (FAVE FAVE FAVE)

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

The Case of the Vanishing Pants by SwissMiss (E, 44,025 w. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, UST, Homophobia, Friends to Lovers) – Five times John and Sherlock lost their pants in the course of a case.

Left by lifeonmars (M, 45,153 w. || Magical Realism) – John Watson is left-handed. He’s tried not to let it affect his life, but as any Lefty knows, that’s almost impossible.

The Norwood Love Builders by flawedamythyst (T, 47,798 w. || Fake Relationship, Slow Burn, Post TRF Angst) – Sherlock and John go undercover to solve the murder of Joanna Oldacre, but things are complicated by the many feelings John has been repressing in the wake of Sherlock’s faked death and return.

Triage by scullyseviltwin (E, 51,612 w. || Character Injury, Introspection) – Sherlock’s mind goes exceedingly, devastatingly quiet and gray-blank. When he speaks it’s through a thick haze, it’s through molasses, he’s so disconnected from the words that it may as well be the unconscious shooter speaking.

Coventry by standbygo (E, 52,020 w. || Dollhouse AU, First Time/Kiss, BAMF John, Slow Burn, Falling in Love, Case Fic) – “Let me get this straight,” John said, wondering when his life had become a science fiction film. “Some guy orders up a personality, a person, to his specifications, and they program this into a real live person, who has consented to do this, and she goes to this person and acts as his wife, or lawyer, or Royal Marine, or Navy Seal or what have you, and she has all the skills, all the knowledge, everything? Then you say the magic words, and she follows you back to The House, and they erase it all until her next appointment?”

Guilty Secrets by Ellipsical (E, 55,055 w. || Drumsticks, First Time, Love Confession, Self-Sexual-Discovery) – John has a prostate exam and discovers something surprising about himself. Experimentation follows. Sherlock wants to help. They’re in love. You know the drill.

Wars We Fought, Things We’re Not by blueink3 (M, 55,204 w. || Parentlock, Fluff & Angst, Kidnapping, Whump, Post-TAB, UST, Slow Burn, Couple for a Case) – Five months after John’s world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

The Progress of Sherlock Holmes by ivyblossom (E, 62,006 w || Sherlock POV, Pining, Angst, Slow Burn, Infidelity, Sherlock Learns About Himself, Happy Ending) – Sherlock struggles with his feelings for John, makes a mistake, and learns just how important he and John are to each other. Non-BBC Mary / John, but it’s a *complicated* relationship.

Perdition’s Flames by i_ship_an_armada (E, 63,435 w., || Treklock AU, Est. Rel, Genetic Engineering, Angst & Fluff, BAMF!John) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w. || Casefic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit…

The Moonlight and the Frost by CaitlinFairchild (E, 77,289 w. || Case Fic, Post-HLV, Self Harm, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Oral/Anal/Rimming, Romance, Angst, Mary is Not Nice) – John has to somehow rebuild his life in the wake of Mary’s betrayal and Sherlock’s deceptions.

A Case of Identity by jkay1980 (T, 91,009 w. || Fake Relationship, Post-TRF, Case Fic) – John and Sherlock have succeeded in rebuilding their friendship after Sherlock’s fake suicide, but an unusual case puts their relationship to the test. They pretend to be engaged and attend a marriage counseling workshop. Under the pretext of the case, Sherlock turns out to be a master of seduction, and John finally learns he might like Sherlock more than he thought. Slowly, John discovers that he loves Sherlock not only in a friendly, brotherly way, but both men have to fight their own demons before they can think of taking their relationship to a new level… [[I love this fic SO MUCH]]

Shatter the Darkness (Let the Light In) by MojoFlower (E, 109,683 w. || GenieLock, Torture, H/C, Magical Realism) – Fairy tales are for those who remember how to dream; not John Watson, broken and hiding from his bleak future in a beige bedsit. But then he discovers a lamp and finds himself in the dangerous riptide of an enigmatic man whose very existence is unbelievable, murder charges against his sister, and the growing pains of feeling alive once more. {{This is a REALLY great story, which tears at your heart consistently}}.

Breakable by MissDavis (E, 117,627 w. || Established, Fluff/Angst, Depression, Paralysis, Happy-ish Ending) – After John is seriously injured, Sherlock struggles to figure out how to help him, keep himself sane, and maybe, just maybe, get their life back to the way it’s supposed to be. Part 1 of Breakable Not Broken

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate’s charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim?

A Fold in the Universe by darkest_bird (E, 152,857 w. || O-John, A-Sherlock || Body Swap, Crossing Universes, DubCon, H/C, Angst, Happy Ending) – Alpha Sherlock and Omega John are in a relationship. Prime Sherlock and Prime John are not. So what happens when a freak fold in the universe switches one John for the other?

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori (E, 156,714 w. || Hollywood AU, Coming Out, Show Business) – Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world?

#johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #long fics #Anonymous

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thewritersguardianangel-blog · 7 years

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Hi! I have trouble with sentence flow. Like when I write something and read it afterwards, the order of the paragraphs don't really add up. It causes an awkward jumping to one topic to another. Any tips? :)

Hi!

Flow is an interesting concept. Most people can identity good flow or bad flow when they see it, and yet it’s so hard to define the elements that make it so.

There is also the matter of deciding where the problem with the flow is happening, since flow could be referring to several different things. It could be:

1. Sentence flow: How each sentence sounds, and whether or not they make sense in the order that they are in.

2. Paragraph flow: How each paragraph connects to the next, and whether or not they make sense in the order that they are in.

3. Conceptual flow: How each idea connects to the next, and whether or not they make sense in the order that they are in.

And then, for each of those things, there is the matter of whether or not some of those elements need to be there at all, or whether they are just slowing down or confusing the rest of the scene.

I know you state sentence flow, but the rest of the question makes it sound more paragraph or even conceptual. For your benefit and for the sake of being thorough and a little bit Extra™, I’ll briefly go over some tips for all three potential issues. Due to the fact that it’ll probably be long I’m gonna do a Read More.

Sentence Flow:

Every category in the world of writing and writing advice always has subcategories as well. For sentence flow, I’m going to call the subcategories sentence structure and sentence concepts.

Sentence Structure: This is the logical side of how the sentences fit together mechanically. The best example I have seen displaying this concept is Gary Provost’s “This Sentence Has Five Words”:

“This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals–sounds that say listen to this, it is important.”

If you are worried about the sound of your flow, do a simple trick: read it aloud. Does it sound okay, natural? Or does it sound choppy? Are there run on sentences where you have to take a breath?

Besides length, another thing that can cause problems with sentence structure is the actual words used. Avoid using words in a way that causes an information overload: “She picked up the lovely little old rectangular green French whittling knife.” That’s a lot information to swallow all at once, and it really isn’t even that important. But you also want to avoid being too flat: “The ceremonial knife was cool looking” leaves you wondering how and what makes it cool looking. “The ceremonial knife was decorated with elaborate script-like engravings” is better.

Sentence Concepts: Sentence concepts are the messages being delivered by each sentence. Obviously, it is when you put sentences together that you get a story, which means if you want the story conveyed clearly,the sentences have to flow in a logical order. You can’t say “I opened a can of Pringles. I was hungry. I went into the kitchen,” without being confusing. “I was hungry I went into the kitchen. I opened a can of Pringles,” is logical and makes sense.

An example of where writers can go wrong is by doing things like backtracking. Backtracking is what occurs when you justify your statement after you have presented it. For example: “I put a Pringle in my mouth, after having gone into the kitchen and opened a can because I was hungry.” That happens sometimes, but it really makes things confusing when it is an ongoing and consistent habit in your writing.

Another common problem with concepts is fluff. Fluff simply refers to the excess sentences that don’t necessarily need to be there. Ask yourself the purpose of each sentence. What does it serve to do? Advance character, advance plot, foreshadow future events, provide a key detail? As Chekhov says, “Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it’s not going to be fired, it shouldn’t be hanging there.”

Paragraph Flow:

Since you get the general concepts with sentence flow, paragraph flow will be a lot shorter, since it’s basically the same thing on a larger level, once you get the sentences flowing together. Cutting the problems out on the sentence level is a great start to your paragraphs, but now let’s add on a couple more: transitioning and clarity.

When to Switch Paragraphs:

A new character enters the conversation or scene

A new event happens (a knock on the door, a bomb goes off, whatever)

A new idea is introduced (someone introducing something game-changing, fore example- puts emphasis on the new idea)

The setting changes

Dialogue (each time a different character starts speaking)

Time goes forward or backward

“The camera” moves

Whoa, what’s the camera? It’s basically what it sounds like- think about movies and TV shows, and how the camera shows you exactly what needs to be focused on- the person who is speaking, or the gun on the wall that’s going to go off in chapter 4.

Clarity:

Like your sentences, you paragraphs have to have a logical transition between ideas and events, and they also have to be clear and concise, and cut the “fluff.” Now you have to think about this on a bigger level with a bigger context. This isn’t whether the sentence belongs in the paragraphs, but if the paragraph belongs in the scene. Maybe each sentence serves a purpose, but is the correct time to deliver this information?

Another thing that drags the paragraphs with too much information is the placement of your worldbuilding. I have mentioned before in previous questions about worldbuilding that it’s typically a bad idea to put it together in one place. That goes into the over=explaining category, sure, but it’s such a common problem that it merits its own warning.

Incorporating your worldbuilding: (x)

Conceptual Flow:

As I said before, this is the flow of ideas. This is less structural than sentences and paragraphs.

We want to try to be aware of our audience, but not too aware. Think about how your words come across to an outside perspective. You know how A connects to B, but the matter is how much you need to explain that. Over-explain, and you have too many words on the page that are not necessary, and that people will skip it and think it dull. Under-explain it, and you’ve left your reader confused. Use your intuition:

“I was hungry”—> “So I ate chips”

That’s logical and doesn’t need a lot of explanation.

“We are the Smith family” —> “So we planted bananas.”

That does. What does being a Smith have to do with bananas?

Another part of conceptual flow is the way the plot moves within a scene. This goes back to the idea of picking and choosing what information belongs within a scene- what is slowing down the momentum? When you read it all together, does it make sense? Is there any moments where you are “kicked out” of the scene? What is causing the roadblock? Is there anything that is detracting from the emotion?

If you are jumping from one topic to another, you may be losing track of the scene. If you have multiple plotlines going on, you still need to have each scene have its own focus. Even if the characters change the subject, make sure that change comes subtly, and doesn’t circle back around, return to previous subjects, or continue on to more and more. If your sentences sound choppy or irregular, try reading the words out loud to pinpoint the exact problem.

The problem with writing the “stream of consciousness” or the flow of your thoughts means that it is, well, unedited. There is bound to be a lot that you can look back on and see that it was unnecessary or simply distracted because you got to thinking about something else. And that’s okay! That’s what editing is for, and it comes down a lot to just taking a second look and re-evaluating. Editing is well known to be one of the less fun parts of the writing process, so don’t feel bad if it’s tough.

“Flow” in Academic Writing (still has some relevant points for creative writing)

“What Writers Mean by ‘Flow’”

Key Points:

- If the way the sentences sound is the problem, read it aloud

- Check that all the information within the scene is relevant

-Check that everything follows a logical pattern

Thanks for the message! I hope it helps you. Flow is a tough thing to understand, which is why it’s so hard to work with and hard to figure out where it may have gone wrong. But remember:

This is normal! The best way to get words on the page is to write without thinking. Editing can always come after.

All the best,

~Penemue

#answered asks #weeboner #editing #flow #writing tips

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