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tossawary · 3 years

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How do you prepare for a writing session? I have a terrible time focusing on anything and would love some pointers

My focus has been all over the place lately, but, ahhh, here are a bunch of things that help me personally focus on getting that WIP done:

- Deadlines. Deadlines make me focus like nothing else. If I allowed myself to officially say that my update day needed to be Thursday this week instead of Wednesday, the chapter would come late on Thursday. Having an official update day of the week helps me pace myself.

(Having that day of the week not be a weekend day lets me actually relax and enjoy my weekend, which helps me recharge.)

- Outlines. Having an outline to follow makes it easier to write a lot all at once or to pick up where I left off if I’m writing in bursts. My outlines are a mess of point-form notes with all the plot and character moments I think I need to hit. Sometimes they’re snippets of nice-sounding dialogue and sometimes they’re things like, “Shang Qinghua says something here that reminds the audience of the existence of X plot detail coming up shortly.”

Or: “- Shang Qinghua does Y action. - Mobei-Jun is amused.”

I can dig up one of my outlines for a PINTWILF chapter. I have nearly all of them still, I think. Some of them have very detailed outlines and then some of them were super vague, like, “I HAVE A VISION, LET’S GO BEFORE I LOSE IT.”

I have a notes document with the outlines and a document that I’m actually writing in. Sometimes, I’ll have the side by side on my screen, with the notes document on my left, so I can glance between the two as I write.

(When I do this, I keep a third window hidden, which contains my music tabs and my thesaurus tabs and my distraction tabs. If I can’t see it, it helps.)

Sometimes, if I want one big window, I’ll copy-paste the outline into my writing document, underneath the in-progress writing, separated by a “CONTINUE HERE”. The point-form notes come up one by one, and I delete the point-form notes as I hit them until the copy-pasted outline is gone.

- If your eyes are slipping over the words, change the font and the font size. A large, dyslexic-friendly font like Comic Sans is usually good. Switching fonts is also good for spell-checking.

Shorter paragraphs can also make things seem snappier and catch my eyes better. They can also reveal the beats (plot, character, tension, etc.) of a scene. Once your bones are made clear, you can always go back in and rejoin paragraphs, or elaborate on the beats that need it.

- Honestly, just having massive chunks of free time (yay, being confined to my house) is what has allowed me to write this much. When I have errands or chores or tasks, I try to get them over with before I start writing, because constantly thinking “I need to remember to pay that bill after this” is a focus-breaker. It’s easier to just do it now so I don’t forget later.

Work is left at work! So fun writing time can be fun writing time only!

If I’m hungry or thirsty or need to use the bathroom, I just get up and go do that. Being hungry or thirsty makes my brain uncooperative. It needs energy to do its thing! Get up, solve the body’s problem, take the opportunity to stretch, and then my focus isn’t constantly divided by thinking, “I’m hungry.” Meals and other needs shouldn’t be withheld as rewards! They’re needed for writing!

If my feet are cold, I go get socks. One more distraction eliminated!

On a similar note, sometimes I can’t focus because I feel like I haven’t “accomplished enough” of other things and it feels like I have other things I should be doing. Taking a walk, cooking a meal (or a treat!), or getting a task or chore out of the way can help with that. I have Accomplished Something and now I can write freely!

- Give myself permission to just GET IT DONE and then go back and improve upon it later is a huge help. My writing doesn’t have to be pretty. I don’t have to get it right on the first try. I can go back and make it nice later.

If it’s feeling a little flat, I can come back later and tone it up.

If it’s feeling a little too much, I can come back later and tone it down.

I also don’t have to go back and make it nice later. Projects can be imperfect.

Likewise, it’s good to give myself permission to be direct when I’m writing. “Oh, damn, I need Shang Qinghua to cross the room here,” I’ll say, and it feels like I’ve hit a dead end. How do I write that transition? I write: “Shang Qinghua crossed the room.” Done! Stage directions don’t have to be fancy!

Maybe I’ll add an adverb later on the second pass, but dialogue can convey that he crossed the room carefully (“Are you... okay?”) or angrily (“What is wrong with you?!”) well enough.

I’m also allowed to just use “said”. Sometimes less is more!

- I’m only “allowed” to post one WIP to AO3 at a time. That also helps.

If you have other WIPs that feel like they’re dragged you down, you can just mark them as “incomplete” or “on hiatus”. Feeling accountable to others helps me write, but it also helps to remind myself I don’t “owe” my time or effort to any project if I’m not feeling it right now. People might be disappointed that I’m not writing what they want or that I even have to backtrack on a promise, but their disappointment isn’t really my problem. I’m allowed to change my mind.

Sometimes ideas have limits. Some ideas can become feature-length films and some ideas can become 6-hour mini-series and some ideas are only really worth about a short film (unless you bring in more characters and themes and sub-plots, etc). Sometimes, you have to get the writing version of a seam-ripper, figure out what you’re not vibing with, and come back with more characters and themes and sub-plots to make an idea vibe with you again.

And sometimes it’s good to follow Marie Kondo’s example and go, “You know what? This unfinished fic taught me that I do not enjoy writing fics like this.” Or: “This unfinished fic taught me that I do not vibe with this idea.”

- Sometimes, music is more distracting than anything else, especially when I’m writing dialogue. I’ll turn music off when I need to “hear” the dialogue better. Listening to ambience mix style stuff that goes on for hours can help set the mood and also means I’m not distracted by constantly picking new music.

- Sometimes I wear specific outfits or change into a different outfit when I want to be in a better mood for writing. Usually into a more comfortable outfit. (But sometimes there’s a scene that calls to be written by an author wearing a fancy dress! However, I find very fancy outfits are for very rare occasions.)

Brushing my hair or brushing my teeth before a writing sessions can help me feel refreshed. Sometimes I shower before my writing sessions. I find it relaxing to feel clean. Changing bedsheets or rearranging the couch to my liking can help too. Sometimes, I channel the energy of a bird picking at my nest and fluffing my feathers, for the Best Environment and Best Look! These cleaning behaviors are important for attracting mates and all the jazz, but they’re also good for attracting personal happiness and good writing vibes.

- Rereading comments before a writing session can help me feel pumped.

I answer comments or asks in bunches because most often I prefer to direct my energy towards my writing sessions. I love the comments and the asks! So much that sometimes I want to hoard them forever! But sometimes I need to set them aside so that I can keep making the writing I enjoy.

Sometimes it can be distracting, though.

- Okay! I think that’s everything off the top of my head! Key points for me:

Time!

Preparation!

Comfort!

Environment!

Different techniques will work differently for different people, of course. Sometimes, these techniques work very well for me and sometimes I just get more distracted. Oh, last thing is something I’m bad at, but: if it feels like I really need to sleep, I probably really need to sleep. Naps are my friend.

So are break weeks. Recharging is good.

#marichromatic #ask tossawary

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incoherentbabblings · 5 years

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Bang Bang Go Away Come Again Another Day

Inspired by a few asks I received last month regarding a potential Steph and Joker clash. Stephanie not being higher on the Joker’s shit list despite having been both Robin and Batgirl pre!New52 is such a wasted opportunity. I do wonder what he would have made of her. Ao3 link here!

Stephanie didn’t really know what to do when she looked through the peep hole of her front door only to find the Joker waiting patiently outside, a humorously large gun in one hand.

In hindsight she should have kept quiet and fled out the back door of her mom’s house, dragging Crystal (who was currently upstairs sleeping after her fifth night shift on the trot) with her.

She should have grabbed her bat-com and rang the emergency bell as soon as she recognized the green and purple man in his stupid shoes on her doorstep.

She should have done a lot of things, but what she should most definitely not have done was acknowledge him.

“Hullo?” She called through the door, like an idiot, her tone baffled and not reflecting the correct level of fear as the one that churned in her gut.

As soon as the words left her mouth, she recoiled back in horror at herself. She felt her legs wobble and she curled down. Her head continually banged against her knees whilst she silently swore, because honestly what the actual hell Steph don’t say hello as if he’s the mailman or something –

“Ms Brown?” The Joker’s annoyingly chirpy voice drifted through the wood. “Ms Brown, I want to have a word with you.”

“Uuuhhhh, she can’t answer the door right now.”

“…Why?”

“She’s dead?”

Her mouth had apparently reached a stage where it was running independently from her brain. Her hands fortunately, had caught up with her head, and pulled out her emergency alarm. The others would be here soon, maybe she could keep him talking in the meantime.

“Ah! No, see, that’s the issue.”

And then his grubby hand was poking through the letter box, nails grimy and stained dark red.

“You are very clearly not dead. And I – the Joker –”

“I know who you are.” She interrupted rudely.

There was a slight pause as he processed being cut off so sharply. Stephanie heard her breath shudder out of her like a death rattle while she waited to see what he what say or do next. Swallowing uncomfortably, she slowly moved back towards the door as quietly as she could manage. She was unable to look away from his fingers poking through the slit. Suppressing the urge to kick them, she tried not to physically escalate the situation.

He coughed, and his hand became reanimated once more. She flinched back.

“Ahem. That was rude,” the Joker confirmed. “Anyway, my point is, it is my job, as the Joker, to remedy that.”

“…No thank you.”

He seemed amused by her flippant tone. It was a defence mechanism more than anything. She would always bite back at her father and his gang of losers when they were trying to frighten her, just as she bit back at Black Mask, at Scarecrow, at the whole lot. She tried not to treat the Joker any different.

His fingers continued to flutter through the letter box.

“I know you were Robin.”

“I was a black-haired boy?”

“No, no, no. There was a blond girl for a moment. Remember?”

“Not really.”

She was on the floor now, knees pressed up against her chest and pressed against the left-hand side of the door in case he tried to push his way in. For the moment he seemed a bit defeated, like he actually believed her. The fingers went droopy. Suddenly he perked up again, flapping them frantically, Stephanie tried not to flinch.

“Ah! You’re lying! I know Stephanie Brown was Robin and I know Black Mask thought he killed her and I was so soso so so sososo mad about it but HEY! Here you are alive and well and Batgirl, therefore my title as the defeater of Robins remains unchallenged. Harvey couldn’t do, Roman couldn’t do it, only me! And hey, you’ve been Robin and Batgirl, so I get double dibs!”

His laughter vibrated through the wood of the door and made Stephanie squeezer her eyes shut. Horrid gurgling laughter that seemed to pierce her right to the bone. He withdrew his hand from the letter box, but there was no relief, as soon he began frantically banging on the door. Stephanie silently begged for her mother to remain asleep through the racket.

“Open up Ms Brown! Chop chop!”

“Why would I open the door?” She bit out, pressing a palm against the lock and latch.

“Because the sooner you open the door the quicker it’ll be over… durrr!”

“Just go away!” She cried out, feeling like a small child telling off a bully on the playground.

The banging stopped abruptly, and the Joker sighed. Disappointed with her uncooperative nature, he stomped off.

Waiting for nothing, Stephanie threw herself upstairs. She dashed to her closet, grabbing her utility belt and nothing else, before crashing into her mother’s bedroom.

Her mom was sound asleep under the covers, facedown on the pillows. Like her daughter, she drooled while she slept.

“Mom mom mom mommommommommoooommmmm,” Stephanie slurred, shaking Crystal aggressively. Crystal grunted and flailed her arms, trying to throw her daughter off the bed.

“Stephanie what the actual –”

“The Joker is here… mom, we need to get out.”

Immediately her mother was alert, shoving past her daughter with a near slap to the face, grabbing shoes. She looked a sight without her glasses, drying spit on her chin and in blue plaid bottoms and white t-shirt that read Beauty Sleep in obnoxious glittery fonts.

“Why is he here?”

Stephanie gulped.

“Stephanie!”

“Why do you think? For a cup of coffee?”

“Don’t get snippy with me!”

“I’m stressed!”

“And I’m not?”

“Mom please we need to –”

The sound of glass crashing, the kitchen window downstairs, interrupted Stephanie and she froze, looming over her mother putting on her nurse shoes.

“Shit.” They both muttered.

Stephanie burst over to the bedroom door, shutting it and began dragging her mother’s chest of drawers across. She huffed at its weight, but Crystal got the idea quickly, running to the other side and helping her slide it in front of the door.

“Help’s on its way.” Stephanie promised her mother.

Any residual comfort from that statement broke with the sound of the gun firing around the house. Crystal had gone paler than Stephanie had ever seen her.

Stephanie dared to tip toe to the window, the curtains still closed, and peaked from underneath. They could go through and roll down the eave to a safe distance to drop down. It was what her mom had banged into her about the off chance of a large housefire, but for all Stephanie knew the Joker had his minions milling around outside, waiting for her and her much slower mother to come clattering out.

Her little communicator, the one she had been gripping since she first blurted a greeting to the man downstairs, started to flash amber. A few more minutes.

“Oh, thank god.”

Gun shots burst through the door frame then, some getting wedged in the chest of drawers, some flying through above and burying themselves into the wall. One whizzed past Stephanie’s head, through the curtains and breaking the windowpane. Stephanie wheezed and threw herself back over to her mom, who had remained off to the side, out of range. She gasped and pulled Stephanie close. The two grappled at each other, both trying to position themselves in a potential line of fire in place of the other. The bullets continued to be fired for a solid minute, the room becoming utterly wrecked in the process.

“Ms Brown are you dead yet?”

With her mother in the room Stephanie couldn’t find the nerve to antagonise him anymore. She instead gripped at her mother’s shirt tighter.

“Mom I need to –”

“No.” Her mother hissed, refusing to hear whatever she had planned to allow Crystal to escape.

“Blondies, I can hear you both. This house is not very soundproof.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Stephanie yelled.

“Rude!” Another minute of fire. “How about you come out and your mother won’t die? Just you huh? I mean admittedly with Jason I –”

Thankfully he didn’t get to finish that statement, as with a cartoonish glurk he was abruptly thrown back from the door. Distantly the two women heard him fall down the stairs.

Stephanie gulped but didn’t move. Her mother had her hand buried deep in Stephanie’s blonde hair, stroking it to an almost painful degree.

“Mom that hurts.”

The hand stopped, and reluctantly, slowly, let her go.

“Sorry.”

“It’s good.”

Looking around the wrecked room with the sounds of sirens arriving, both women jumped when somebody attempted to open the hole ridden door.

“Stephanie.” Called Batman from the other side. Immediately both women jumped up and went to remove the collapsing drawers from the door.

The slightly bizarre image of Batman standing in her suburban home (which was utterly and wholly ruined thank you Joker) facing a middle-aged woman in her jammies and a late teen whose hair was half falling out of a ponytail made Stephanie want to laugh.

She didn’t.

“Thank you. We’re fine.” She assured Bruce. He nodded.

“Physically” Crystal interjected. She pushed pass the two to survey the damage. Bringing her hands up to her mouth, she cried out.

“Oh, my poor house!”

Stephanie frowned at the broken furniture and ruined walls. A framed picture that had fallen off the wall of her and Tim and Cass had a bullet in each of their heads. An orchid plant, one she had bought her mother two Christmases ago, lay shattered in the hallway, soil ruining the carpet. Returning her gaze to Batman, she nudged him conspiratorially. He stared back for a moment and rocked on his heels from her shoulder nudge.

Heaving a sigh, he muttered for Stephanie’s ears alone, “I can help with that.”

“Thank you.” Shoving her hands in her pocket, she tried not to look as worried as she felt. “…He knew. About me. What I am and been.”

Would they have to leave Gotham for their safety? Joker knew about the others, was she just the passing fancy that had popped into his head at that moment upon learning the news? Would he grow bored after this? Or was she now forever to be cautious of someone wanting her head on a spike? Someone who knew her name, knew her mother, knew her address…knew everything that mattered? Black Mask was gone. The Joker… he always remained. A laughing phantom.

“Hnn.”

Bruce’s unhelpful response made her hackles rise.

“Did you know he knew?” Tersely, she waited for a quick and solid denial.

No such response came, only silence, and Stephanie felt a familiar lump of disappointment return to her stomach. Her mouth dropped open in a grimace, and she choked on a breath.

“…Well, glad to see my time as Robin continues to be a legacy of a never-ending nightmare.” And then she shoved past, the reality of what had just occurred catching up with her. Her eyes grew wet, and her breathing became shaky.

She managed to whisper, “I’ll see you on patrol later,” and then she walked over to her mother and held her tight. When she looked over her mother’s shoulder, she saw Bruce had left, having no words of comfort to give.

She began sobbing in earnest, and Crystal gripped her close.

#dc #stephanie brown #bruce wayne #can you taste my bitterness at the end huh?#my fic tag

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patriotstudies · 5 years

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How to Survive Group Projects

Group projects have the potential to teach a lot of necessary skills to survive in respective careers, such as:

Networking

Time Management

Project Management

Organization

Teamwork

Communication

Problem Solving

Creativity

Analytical/Critical Thinking

Writing

Presenting/Public Speaking

Decision Making

Improving Work Ethic and/or Productivity

Accepting Feedback

Persuasion/Influencing

There are others, I’m sure, but these are the ones I specifically learned from my experiences in the business school.

However, the problem arises when group members neglect doing their fair share or do not keep their promises, and end up being unproductive members of the group project. So, based on my experiences so far, I’ve gathered some advice for making group projects a little more bearable.

Group Introductions and Dynamics

First, allow everyone to introduce themselves, and everyone should really make the effort to get to know everyone else well. This will make assigning roles easier because you gain a better understanding of their skill set. Getting to know everyone and exchanging contact information will allow everyone to network effectively. During this time, it is important to establish ground rules. You don’t need to create a formal contract, but you need to have a clear understanding of expectations to avoid confusion and conflict later. At this time, you need to create a game plan and assign roles based on skill set, but also take into consideration what roles they might want to take, since tasks can always be shared. It is also important to schedule when you aim to have these tasks completed by, to allow enough time to edit if necessary. I would also recommend setting mini-goals to make the project seem less intimidating from the beginning. This also specifies exactly what needs to be done.

Additionally, I personally don’t believe in the concept of a single group leader. I don’t believe that one person alone should edit, approve, and finalize everything. Everyone should be an equally respected member of the group and feel comfortable sharing their ideas, because it is their grade too. They should have a say in how the final product turns out if they contributed to the project in some way or another. It is important to make sure everyone is included in meetings and chats. People should be encouraged to collaborate. If an idea goes specifically against instructions, don’t shut it down immediately. Ask them to elaborate, and collectively find ways to modify the idea in order to meet project requirements. It may be necessary to dismiss the idea entirely, but try to see if it can be expanded on or modified first.

Also, group conflict is not necessarily a bad thing! If anything, it can be very good because it shows that people are actually invested in the project and are not mindlessly agreeing with the unspoken leader(s). This also ensures that everyone who is unhappy has an opportunity to speak their minds and allows everyone to help improve the ideas if necessary. Group members can also learn how to solve problems knowing that someone has brought a legitimate concern to their attention. However, make sure group conflict does not turn into group hostility.

“There was nothing for me to do, it was already done”

People tend to use this as an excuse to not contribute, when another group member took initiative and completed that individuals’ part for them, due to their own failure or inability to contribute meaningfully in a timely fashion. However, this is not an acceptable excuse because there is always something to do, as a project is never truly complete. The only thing that decides if it is done is the due date. So, here is a list of tasks that anyone can do after at least one section has been written:

Ask if there is anything else you can do

Read the paper and see if you can contribute or edit anything at all, even if the change is minor, such as formatting (font, font size, headings, etc) or general organization (the paragraphs themselves or the arrangement of the sentences)

Work on the PowerPoint slides

Practice your presentation

Additionally, “I have a job and/or other commitments” is not an acceptable excuse to not contribute either. Jobs and other commitments are understandably very time consuming and physically or mentally demanding, but you are still enrolled in the course and are still expected to contribute. The contributions don’t all need to be of equal length, but they do need to be equally substantial. Please contribute as much as you can and to the best of your ability. It doesn’t have to be great, because that’s what editing is for, but it does need to be something the group can easily work with.

General Tips

I’m sure many of you already use Google Docs or some other collaborative tool. I like to place the instructions on the first page after the title page (if necessary for your project - it often is) and highlight the most important parts (according to me - others are welcome to adjust as necessary). I also include notes from previous deliverables if applicable, or professor’s comments from lectures when they were explaining the project in more detail. I also include my own notes for clarification of the instructions and organization ideas. I do this so that everyone is on the same page and expectations are clear from the very beginning. They can read it on their own time, and ask questions later, if necessary.

I also like to include a brainstorming or outline section after the instructions section to help make the PowerPoint and help generate ideas before the actual writing begins. Everyone is more than welcome to contribute at any time, of course. This is just a way to get ideas shared, and build on it. I also include a section for scripts after the actual paper is written, for those who like to have an idea of what to say for the presentation. It’s nice to have these in the speaker’s notes section of the PowerPoint too. I keep it on the document to make it easier to reference specific quotations or analyses in the paper.

To reiterate and clarify, this is typically what a rough draft looks like for my projects:

(Title Page)

(Brainstorming or Outlining)

(Actual Writing)

(Scripts)

Of course, this is just a guideline, not a rule. Feel free to modify it to fit your project or team requirements!

Uncooperative Group Members

Unfortunately, sometimes you’ll just have to deal with uncooperative group members. I create outlines on scratch paper in case individuals do not contribute. This allows me plenty of time to outline, write, and edit. This is because in case someone does not pull their weight, at least my outline is done and that makes the other two processes significantly less intimidating. I also ask other trustworthy group members to do the same. If those uncooperative group members do contribute something eventually, at least you have this outline created to help with editing their portion.

Try to work out these kinds of problems and potentially others before it’s too late, and don’t be afraid to confront the uncooperative individuals. Additionally, speak to or email your professor sharing your concerns. You can do this either individually or as a team. This establishes that you are responsible, and that you are doing everything in your power to make sure others can contribute easily, and they are just not making the effort to do so. You might even get some extra points if others are not contributing.

Keep a project binder or notebook, and document everyone’s promises and actual contributions. This will make writing peer evaluations so much easier and more detailed. Peer evaluations DO reflect people’s grades accordingly.

And of course, always be organized and know how to manage your time!

I hope this post helped! If anyone has experiences or tips/advice they’d like to share, please do so in the comments :D

#college #studyblr #group projects #advice

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thewnchstrs · 6 years

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The Day

*not my gif

Pairing: none...yet

Summary: the reader is head over heels for Sam but doesn’t know how to react around him, even though they’re extremely close so Dean tries to help

Disclaimers: swearing

Word Count:

A/N: this was requested on Wattpad and this is the edited and re uploaded version. Finally a Sam oneshot!!

Masterlist

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My eyelids were shitty curtains.

The minute the sun woke up, so did I. The warm rays of the sun poured through the window in my bedroom at the bunker. I couldn’t complain, really. It was one of the only bedrooms in the half-underground fortress with a window. “The only room with a view,” Dean always said when he came in, admiring the small glimpse into the outside world that just peaked over the grass.

I threw my covers off, hoping for a little more than only three hours of shut eye, but the day waits for no one.

The minute my feet hit the cold stone floor, my skin shook in protest, begging me to lie back down under the safety of my covers. However, I pushed through the cold and made my way to the door, pausing at my mirror standing in the corner of my room.

I took n the sight of me in my wrinkled t-shirt and shorts that were so baggy the only way to keep them on my hips was the string tightly tied to keep them afloat. The curls of my uncooperative hair stood up at odd angles, even as I forced it into a ponytail. I had hair like my mother’s, my sister’s. As strange and unforgiving it was, I’ve come to love it, because Sam loves it too.

Of course, it’s a stupid reason to love something just because the guy you have a major crush on likes it too.

But it’s Sam fucking Winchester.

I always tell myself, “today’s the day, Y/N! You’re going to tell him you like him, if you don’t, you’re going to be stuck in this very spot for the rest of your life! Go get ‘em, tiger!”

I’ve been telling myself that for a good year and a half, now.

It’s remarkable that Dean caught on before Sam. Don’t get me wrong- Dean is by far one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, but I always thought Sam was more observative.

When I’d realized I was still looking at myself in the mirror, mostly daydreaming, I shook my head, finally deciding that I looked presentable enough to eat a bowl of cereal, relishing in the fact that Sam and Dean weren’t going to be back from their hunt for another three hours, at least, meaning I could prance around the bunker without a bra on if I wanted to.

The hallway outside of my door was dark and smelled as it had when I’d arrived that one fateful night three years ago. The smell of gunpowder and whiskey and yellowing pages from the library. A smell that wasn’t unlike the back of Dean’s car. But it’s strange, how smells can change. For instance, the closer I got to the kitchen, the more it smelled like freshly brewed coffee and a little like aftershave. It smelled exactly like-

“Sam!” I blurted, staring wide-eyed at the giant sitting in the giant room at the giant table with the giant coffee cup. Everything looks bigger now as I start to get smaller and smaller.

“Morning, Y/N.” Sam The Jolly Plaid Giant smiles at me before looking back down at the giant newspaper, size 4,000 font.

I quickly crossed my tiny arms in front of my tiny chest and manage a half-hearted smile as Dean, the Jolly Plaid Giant’s equally giant big brother, comes into the room after me. Wishing I could shrink into nothingness.

“Made eggs, Y/N. Or are you sticking to the usual?” Dean asks, scooping eggs onto a plate, little mini suns.

“You know what, I think I will have eggs.“ I nodded proudly as if I’d just chosen to do something heroic.

Dean raised his eyebrows at me, “wow, feeling rebellious today, are we?” He must’ve caught me trying my best to avert my gaze away from Sam when his eyes bounced from me to his brother, and then back to me again. He smirked slightly, wiggling his eyebrows. I glared at him, taking a seat across from Sam as Dean cracked another egg against the hot pan.

“So, the case went easier than expected?” I asked, trying to start up a conversation.

“Not our kind of thing, actually. The werewolf, Dean was so sure was a werewolf, was actually a coyote that was going around and eating people’s pets.” his green-blue eyes flicked to Dean to see if it had gotten his attention, but Dean just shook his head, probably having already heard the constant taunts from Sam about a big bad coyote. Sam laughed under his breath as he went back to reading the words on the paper, scanning the page with intense focus, his eyebrows knitted together. “but I’m trying to find us a new case, you know how antsy Dean gets when we’re off the job too long.”

“I do not get antsy!” Dean shot back, defensively.

“Whatever you say,” Sam smiled to himself and glanced up at me, smiling widely, his eyes searching my face as if there was an answer hidden there he was desperately trying to find. I felt myself grow red, starting at the base of my neck and crawling its way up my cheeks and ears.

“What?” I blushed, self-consciously tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

He hesitated before answering, his mouth moving without any words coming out before he laughed, “nothing, you just- you look really pretty.”

My heart exploded.

Blood and heart tissue flying from my chest and splattering the table, the floor and the walls.

Romantic. Right?

I bit my lip to keep myself from smiling too widely as the butterflies in my stomach did the mamba.

He smiled again and took another sip of his coffee, his attention back to the words in front of him.

From behind us, Dean elicted an irritated groan from the other side of the kitchen, “just make out already!”

Sam’s face heated up just like mine had as Dean clicked the stove off and shoveled the eggs onto the plate in front of me.

But I couldn’t eat. He told me I was pretty.

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The bar was filled with sweaty guys playing darts and gambling beside pool tables. The air thick with the scent of booze. Young girls milling around, either ditched by their dates or trying to find ones. The deeper we got into the bar, the darker the lights became and the more polluted the air was with smoke, so we found a table near the door in hopes of getting fresh air every to often.

We came because of our bad luck in finding cases. The supernatural world had been quietly lately, something more than strange, but we tried not to think much of it, considering this was one of the longest breaks we’ve gotten in weeks.

“Well, I’m going to grab some more beers, be right back.” Sam said, making his way across the bustling room. It was incredible, the way he walked. Like the world would part just for him.

“Hey,” Dean said, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “enough of the googly eyes. And close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.”

I quickly switched my gaze to Dean, “I wasn’t staring.”

“I didn’t say you were staring, I just said you’d catch flies.” He smirked in triumph, bringing his beer to his lips and swallowing the last of it. “And don’t lie to me, I’ve mastered the art of lying.”

“Dean, this is serious.”

After a beat had passed, his eyes widened slightly in realization. “Wow...my God, you really like him don’t you?”

I nodded, staring at my empty beer bottle, picking at the label with the nail of my thumb.

“Why don’t you just tell him?”

“Just, ‘tell him’?“ I said in disbelief, looking at Dean now. “What kind of advice is that? Besides, I’m sure Sam could pick out at least twelve girls in here he’d rather be with.”

“Y/N...you gotta be kidding me. Hey- look at me.” He was nearly over the table now, only a few feet from my face, watching me with intense eyes. I pulled my eyes way from the sticky table to him. “I know for a fact, that Sam likes you too. I don’t know how you two can be so oblivious...He’d be stupid to turn you down- and if he did, I’d kick his ass.”

I nodded, the mental image of Dean killing Sam because he didn’t want to go out with me nearly made me laugh, but as Sam came back, sliding each of us a beer, I knew then what I had to do.

Today is going to be the motherfucking day.

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

I sat in the back of the Impala on the way home, my leg bouncing to the rhythm of the music. I tried to focus on the lyrics but my heart was louder, pounding against my ribcage every time I took a breath.

Sooner than expected, we pulled in front of the bunker, the Impala’s lights reflecting off the stone of the building through the pouring rain.

Maybe I shouldn’t do it today. It’s raining and if we stay outside too long we might catch hypothermia and my toes will fall off which will make me even more unattractive and hopefully I’ll be lucky enough to keep all ten fingers so I can at least hold his hand but if I do lose my fingers then my chances with SamWinchesterwillbeeevenslimmerbecausewhowanttodateagirltheycan’tevenholdhandswith-

The sound of the music inside the car stopped and so did my racing thoughts.

“Well, kids.” Dean began as we all slid out of the car. “I’m heading in.” quickly, he locked the car before running down the steps to the bunker. Sam and I walked side by side, the light mist of rain pattered over us.

Now or never, kid.

We both seemed to take a simultaneous breath before we both turned to look at each other at the same time.

“I have to tell you something,” we said in unison, as if we were wired together. Sam smiled lightly, “you first.”

I took a deep breath before beginning, my heart twisting and my stomach in knots. “Sam, I just needed to tell you that I’ve liked you for a very long time, and by very long time I mean for over a year, like I’ve just flat-out fallen in love with you and every morning since we’ve met.” I blurted, his eyes widening slightly but I continued, unable to stop, even as the rain began falling like bullets around us, this was important. “I told myself that today was going to be the day and I’ve never said it until now and I’m really regretting it because I think about just how long we could’ve already been together and I love how you smile and I love your dimples and I love the way you make me love myself and I love my hair because you love my hair and I love your hair, too and now look at where we are in the pouring rain and I’m scared I’ll get hypothermia and die or lose my fingers which I think would be even worse than dying because I’d be with you every day for the rest of my light but I’d never get to hold your hand-”

“Y/N!” Sam laughed, his hands on my shoulders. I took a deep breath, feeling slightly light headed from talking so quickly. He smiled, brushing a piece of curly hair out of my eyes. He scanned my face with his blue-green oceans and kissed me.

At first, I jumped back, but quickly fell into him, our bodies fitting like puzzle pieces. Every piece of him in sync with every piece of me and together, we were whole.

He pulled back, sooner than I’d hoped. He rested his rain-slicked forehead on mine and looked at me like I was the best thing that’d ever happened to him. He was by far the best thing that’s happened to me.

I smiled, as we laced our fingers together. “It’s about time you made your move, Winchester.”

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prepare4trouble · 7 years

Text

Star Wars Rebels fanfic - Preparation, part 1

Little By Little AU

“Obviously I don’t want you to meet them right off the Phantom and tell them,” Hera said, leaning forward just slightly as she spoke, as though to impress the importance of the discussion upon him, “but you can’t wait too long. You understand that, right?”

Ezra perched on one of the stools at the near side of the holotable, elbows rested on the surface, staring across at Hera and Kanan who, either subconsciously or in a deliberate attempt to put up a united front, had sat together opposite him. He knew that wasn’t the intention, but it felt like an interrogation.

“Yeah, I understand that,” Ezra assured her.

Kanan nodded, apparently satisfied. “I’m thinking, let them settle back in for a while, file their reports, decompress, talk about the mission, take a shower, probably…”

Ezra smirked. “Yeah, get rid of that sulphur stench.”

Hera glanced sharply from Ezra to Kanan and back again, looking as though she wanted to say something, or ask something, but she remained silent.

“…then we’ll call a meeting.”

And then he would tell them, and then everything would change. Until then, he would be able to pretend, just for a few hours longer. He would be able to listen to their talk of the mission, waft a hand in front of his nose as though to dispel the odor that he would claim clung to them regardless of whether or not it was true; Sabine would probably attempt to hit him, and would definitely plan some kind of revenge art, Zeb would get probably make some kind of vague threat, or silently plan the opening gambit of the next prank war.

He probably wouldn't go through with it, whatever it was. Sabine probably wouldn’t make that art. If seemed almost cruel to act normal with them, then turn around hours later and admit that it had all been a lie.

Hera was looking at him, concerned. She had walked into the room with a slight limp from her fall, probably not noticeable to anybody other than himself, but very definitely there. “Unless you have a better suggestion?” she asked.

He shook his head slowly, then stopped. “Actually, yeah. I mean, sure, give them time to get the stench off of them, but can’t you tell them about the meeting right away? That way I can…” he shrugged. “I don’t want to have to pretend everything’s okay.”

He noted Kanan’s frown, and the way that Hera turned to look at him, to gauge his reaction. He knew what they were thinking; he had been doing exactly that for months, what difference did a few hours make? And they were right, but they were also completely wrong. Those particular few hours would make all the difference.

“I just… I don’t wanna lose my nerve,” he added.

Hera nodded. “If that’s what you want,” she said.

“It is.”

Actually, what he wanted was to forget about the whole thing and just continue on as normal, but that wasn’t an option; it had never been an option. The best thing he could do was keep the discomfort to as low a level as possible. It was the third time he was going to have to tell somebody. In theory at least, it should be getting easier.

He had a feeling that theory wasn’t going to pan out.

Hera reached down onto the seat beside her, and lifted a datapad. She switched it on, and scrolled through several pages. “I… finished the data file,” she said.

Ezra frowned, momentarily confused before he remembered the purpose of the interview she had conducted with him earlier in the week, trying to understand exactly what he could and could not see. Hera had spent much of the rest of that day and the following one locked away in her quarters when she wasn’t busy with her usual duties, working on this.

“I’m going to give one to Sabine and Zeb, and then to Sato, and anybody else that might need to know.” She looked up from the device to Ezra. “Assuming you’re still okay with that,” she added.

He shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

Anything that would cut down the number of questions he had to answer had to be a good thing. The less he had to actually talk about it, the better. In fact, that data file might be able to compress the act of telling Sabine and Zeb into one vague sentence and the handing out of a data chip. “So, I’ve got this thing, you can read all about it here. Okay, bye.”

“What’s it say?” he asked.

He noted Kanan’s head turn in her direction too, in obvious interest. Hera looked from one to the other and sighed. She scrolled through to the first page. “It says quite a bit,” she said. “I’ve been trying to think of ways to compress the information, but I think it’s all important, so I decided to leave it. Even…” She grimaced, reading the page. “Actually, I might take that bit out.”

Ezra resisted the urge to reach for the datapad himself. “But what does it actually say?” he asked. Before anybody else read it, he wanted to know. Information about Sacul Syndrome was easy enough to come by, if you knew where to look. He wanted to know what she had written about him.

“The first few pages are an overview of Sacul Syndrome,” Hera told him. “I’ve lifted a lot of it from the data I could find already written,” she flicked through a few pages as she spoke, “so don’t think I actually wrote this myself. The… early onset type, there is less information about that, so most of this is talking about the standard version, but what I could find about your type starts on page eight. Most of it’s just from what you’ve told me, or things Kanan and the med droid mentioned. There’s not going to be any surprises in it.”

She cleared her throat and flicked ahead a few more pages. “That’s here. So I’ve said it’s rare, I’ve talked about timescales, and how we’re not 100% certain yet how long…” She took a deep breath, “But probability, number of years, the progression, how long it’s going to be before you…”

Ezra gritted his teeth. She wasn’t actually telling him anything, and the fact that she could barely even bring herself to talk about it either really wasn’t helping.

“…because eventually you’re still going to be able to see, technically, but it’s not…”

“Yeah,” Ezra said quietly. “I know.”

Wordlessly, Kanan got to his feet, crossed the room and returned with a glass of water, which he set down in front of Hera. She picked it up gratefully and took a sip. She had been obviously upset, probably still reeling from the news, when she had spoken to him to collect data for the file. She had appeared mostly recovered yesterday, when she had taken him on her well-meaning but ultimately disastrous tour of the ship.

He was having good days and bad days, he supposed she might be going through something similar. As, presumably, would Sabine, and possibly Zeb too, though he liked to think that Zeb would at least hide it better. He had to, Ezra shared a room with him, and he didn’t know if he could stand it if he had to deal with that… Which was probably a very selfish thought, but he didn’t much care at the moment.

Hera put her drink down on the table and nodded at Kanan. “Thanks.” She turned back to the datapad. “So, I’ve written a little about what you told me, what you find difficult, what you can’t…” she sighed. “It’s brief, because I know it’s going to change, but that’s what people are going want to know, so I’ve put in as much information as I could, and then questions, things people might ask…”

She still hadn’t actually told him anything. This was taking forever; a long, drawn-out, excruciating explanation of the information she had included, without actually sharing what any of that information might be. He reached out his hand. “Hera, I can still read. For now.”

The words hung in the air as the whole room appeared to freeze, his imagination, he was sure. He glanced at Kanan, who didn’t have that option, and was left with no choice but to listen to Hera’s explanation of what she had written, or transfer it onto an audio-enabled datapad and sit and listen for, judging by the number of pages Hera appeared to have turned so far, hours.

He winced. “Sorry,” he muttered, and dropped his hand to the table guiltily. Hera responded by sliding the datapad in his direction. He hesitated before picking it up to skim the information. He didn’t need to read the whole thing, just get the gist of it, make sure there was nothing untrue in there, and more importantly, nothing that he didn’t want the others to know.

He blinked before he began the usual task of forcing his eyes to focus on the screen. He moved it away from his face, then slowly closer and closer until… nope. He blinked hard a few times and tried again, squinting noticeably, adjusting the relative position of the datapad. He couldn’t… He tried again, a vague sense of panic stirring somewhere within him as one by one, every one of his tricks failed; he couldn’t make himself able to read the font on the screen. He closed his left eye, the slightly worse one, and repeated it again with just the right. He could see that there were words there. He could see that they were black against a white screen, there was no problem with the contrast or the brightness of the thing, he just couldn’t read it.

Well, that just proved the thing he had said to Hera wrong, didn’t it?

He glanced up, feeling heat rising to his face. Hera had clearly noticed that he was having difficulty, but didn’t know what to do; Kanan… he wasn’t sure. He looked mildly concerned, probably picking up on the strong sense of awkward floating around the room.

That was okay. He had been adjusting the font size on these things for months, he could still… he had still been able to get by on the standard size until now, but it wasn’t a problem, he could just…

He pressed the button to load up the datapad’s settings, and hit another deflector shield in the form of the same font size in the settings. He frowned, still trying to force his stupid, uncooperative eyes to do him this one favor. They refused.

That was okay, he had done this before, dozens of times. He could remember where to find the thing he needed. Only, he couldn’t. If he had a few minutes to think; to try a few out and see what happened, that might be different, but he could practically feel both Hera and Kanan’s scrutiny, and it was making things so much worse.

He moved the pad closer and then further away from his face one last time in a desperate, pointless effort to see the screen, just a fraction of a second would have done it, but no.

He slumped in his seat. He couldn't do it for himself. He needed help.

This was it, the beginning of the end. It was only going to get worse from here on out, and there was nothing that he was going to be able to do, nothing but sit back and watch as the view from behind his eyes grew more and more indistinct. He resisted the urge to throw that datapad across the room, and instead placed it down on the table, slid it back in Hera’s direction and got to his feet. “I guess I’ll read it later,” he said, then turned and stalked out of the room.

He hesitated outside the room, not sure where to go, or what to do. He looked around and couldn’t see any noticeable difference in how the world around him looked; the corridor and bulkheads looked exactly the same as they had the day before, and the day before that.

That was what it would be like. The subtlety of it, creeping up on him so slowly that he didn’t notice; until something happened and he did. This was the first thing of many, the first major step along the road, the first thing that he wasn’t going to be able to hide. If he had to pull out a magnifier to adjust the font, that was going to be excruciating. But probably better than having to ask somebody else to do it for him.

Or maybe he would just give up on reading altogether. It wasn’t like he really needed it, and in a few years the ability would be gone anyway, might as well start getting used to it now.

Whatever. On a whim, he turned in the direction of the exit, and just about made it off the ship before Kanan caught up to him. Lost in his own thoughts, the first he noticed that he wasn’t alone was Kanan’s hand on his shoulder.

He turned, brushing the hand away as he did. “I’m fine,” he said. The words came out strangled and angry.

Kanan took a step back, and Ezra noticed the datapad clutched in one hand. He held it out, offering it to him. Ezra hesitated, before accepting it and switching it on. The font had been adjusted to something that he could read, a little larger than he needed, actually.

He switched it off and tucked it underneath his arm. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“Hera did it,” Kanan told him, unnecessarily.

Ezra nodded and turned away.

“Take some time, but then come back,” Kanan told him. “There’s a few more things…”

“No.” Ezra shook his head and looked outward over the desert landscape of the planet. How long would it be before that, too, faded from view? “I’m done,” he added. “For now, anyway. I just want…” he paused, not knowing how to finish that sentence.

He just wanted not to have to do this. He wanted it not to be happening, and if that meant for it just to be over already, he would take it at this point. He would take sudden, permanent and irreversible blindness over being forced to watch it happen slowly. It was a horrible thought, and not one he could ever say out loud, but at least that way he would have some measure of control.

“I just want to be alone,” he said, instead. “You and Hera decide whatever you want, tell me about it later.”

For a moment, he thought Kanan was going to agree, until the older Jedi stepped around, placing himself in front of Ezra, blocking his escape. “We can finish talking about this later,” he said, “but you should be there. In the meantime, I’m not sure being alone is the best thing for you right now.”

Ezra frowned. “I said I’m fine, Kanan.”

Kanan looked unconvinced. “I know,” he said.

Ezra forced out a sigh and shook his head. “I just… it sounds ridiculous, but half the time I still don’t really believe this is happening, you know? Like I know it’s real, and I can see it happening, but at the back of my head there’s still this certainty that it’s not really going to get to the point where…” he broke off and barked a sound that didn’t quite count as a laugh.

“Ezra…” Kanan began. He took a step closer, and Ezra moved further away. He could feel his eyes stinging now with unshed tears, and he couldn’t help but be glad that Kanan couldn’t see them. He turned away from him anyway, it felt like the right thing to do.

“And then something like this happens,” he continued. “And I think, that’s gone now. That’s something I’ll never be able to do again. And it’s going to be like that from now on, isn’t it? One thing after another, watching the world fade away a little bit each day, knowing that sooner or later it’ll all just be gone.”

Kanan’s hand touched his shoulder from behind and rested there, a gentle pressure, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. “It’s still there, Ezra,” he told him. “It’ll always be there, you just need to find another way to see it.”

Ezra shook his head and let out another not quite laugh. Kanan’s fingers gripped his shoulder a little tighter, and for a moment they stood in silence, Ezra looking out over the desert beyond the base, vision blurred further by the thin layer of unshed tears filling his eyes.

“I… found some places,” Kanan said, “on the planet, but away from the base. If you want, I can take you there.”

Still trembling, but curious, Ezra turned and looked at him searchingly. “What places?” he asked.

Kanan let his hand drop from Ezra’s shoulder again and folded his arms. “Hard to explain,” he said. “But they’re nice; peaceful. Places I go when I’m feeling down, and they remind me that there’s still beauty in the universe, and that you don’t have to be able to see to experience it.”

That sounded… he didn’t know how that sounded. “Okay?” he said, phrasing it as a question.

“It’s not really something I can explain. There’s this one place, a couple miles outside of the base, where there’s a stream. Only a small one, obviously, but it turns out not all the water here is underground. And as it runs over the rocks it makes this sound…” He stopped and shrugged. “One stipulation though; no looking.”

Ezra frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t show you that you don’t need to see to enjoy the world while you’re looking at it, it just wouldn't work. We do this, you need to promise to keep your eyes closed.”

“No.” The response was out of his mouth before he was even able to think about it. He felt himself blush. “Sorry. I just mean…”

Kanan shook his head. “I know. I didn’t really expect you to say yes yet. But just know the offer’s there, whenever you’re ready, just say the word.”

Ezra took a deep breath and held it. Would it really be so bad? It might be good for him to… hadn’t he just moments before been thinking about what it might be like to lose his vision fast, rather than watch it fade? He didn’t want that, not really. Of course he didn’t, and he was going to hold on tight to every single sight, treasure and cherish them, and use them up, until they were gone. But that didn’t mean he couldn't start to experience a different kind of beauty. One day, it would be all he had.

But not today.

“Let’s take a walk then,” Kanan said. “Just a normal walk. There’s some things we need to talk about.”

Without waiting for a response, he took off at a quick stroll, heading in the direction of the perimeter. Ezra hesitated, glancing back at the open door to the Ghost, then at Kanan’s rapidly retreating form. He made a decision, and jogged a few steps to catch up with his master, shoving the datapad into his pocket to read later. “Won’t Hera be wondering where we are?” he asked.

Kanan shrugged. “She’ll give us a couple of minutes, then give up and get back to work. She’s used to you disappearing on her by now.”

Their feet crunched slightly on the ground as they walked out into the wilderness, Ezra staying close to Kanan, knowing that his lack of a perimeter beacon was dangerous. Out in the distance, he thought he could make out the shape of the giant spiders moving on the horizon. He shuddered at the thought of them. Two of the tiny dokma crawled purposefully in the opposite direction, but aside from that the world was still and quiet.

“So,” Kanan said after a few minutes, when Chopper Base was a smear in the distance. “Tell me about yesterday. You and Hera, did it help?”

Ezra continued to walk in silence, listening to the sound of his footstep on the arid ground. “There’s nothing to tell,” he said after a while. It had been okay, and for a moment he had almost thought that it was going to be useful, and then it had gone wrong. “She showed me the bumps in the wall,” he added.

Kanan nodded, then as though sensing that that topic wasn’t one that Ezra wanted to discuss, fell back into silence. The sun was high in the sky and the spiders were thankfully far away. The weight of the datapad in his pocket was something that was impossible to block out completely, but he could ignore it for now. Anyway, when things got bad, there was still the audio function that Kanan used on occasion, and Kanan was able to switch that on and off himself using some kind of on-screen gesture.

He added that to his mental list of things that he was going to need to know about one day.

But there were better things to talk about right now, things that didn’t make his heart hurt, even things that felt good. He had had a whole day like that not so long ago, not one completely without setbacks, but one in which for some reason, despite everything, he had been sure that he could cope. It had started with an accidental discovery. “I found Zeb’s waffles,” he said.

Kanan actually stopped walking. He turned to face Ezra as though he could search his face for evidence as to whether or not he was telling the truth. “Zeb’s secret stash?” he said.

Ezra grinned. “Two whole boxes of the things.”

Kanan shook his head in apparent disbelief. “Zeb’s secret stash,” he repeated. “Honestly, I thought it was a myth.”

Ezra laughed. “Me too. Especially after I spent half a day looking for it last week, and found nothing. Then I stumbled upon it by accident.”

“You know,” Kanan told him, a smile spreading slowly across his face. “I like waffles.”

He shook his head. “Nuh-uh. They’re in sealed boxes, as soon as I take one, he’s going to know about it. This is a one-time only deal, then he’s going to move them. So I need to choose the perfect moment.”

Kanan thought about it, and nodded. “Or,” he suggested, “alternative suggestion? Take them all, hide them somewhere else, they become our secret waffle stash, and deny all knowledge if he ever brings it up. Which he won’t, because that would mean admitting the stash exists.”

Ezra laughed. It was perfect, equal parts hilarious and mean. The perfect prank, and as a bonus, he would get waffles. “How did I not know until now that you were an evil genius?” he asked. There was only one problem. “But Zeb would still know, and he’d get his own back somehow.”

Kanan nodded. “Might be worth it.”

He would think that. He didn’t have to share a room with Zeb. “How about this,” Ezra countered. “They stay where they are for now, but when the perfect time does come along, I’ll make sure I share.”

“Hmm,” Kanan made a show of considering the proposal, then nodded. “Deal,” he agreed, and thrust out a hand. Ezra hesitated, momentarily confused, them shook the hand with a small smile.

They walked on in silence, no particular destination in mind, at least none that Ezra was aware of. Once they were a good distance from the base, they turned to the left and looped around, walking a lazy ring around the perimeter. The spiders didn’t bother them, and somehow, every step he took left Ezra feeling a little… not better, but less bad.

They came to a stop under the shade of a large rock formation and sat on the ground for a moment. Ezra stretched out his legs and rested back against the jutting rocks. “So, when I… we tell Sabine and Zeb. You or Hera will be the one to tell them there’s a meeting or something, right?”

Kanan turned to him, surprised. “I… yes, one of us will meet them off the Phantom, if we can. Or get to them as soon after as possible.”

Ezra nodded, satisfied. As long as he didn’t have to do that part himself. “Then, I guess I’ll be hiding out somewhere,” he said. “Not in my room, because Zeb’s gonna go there right after, but somewhere. You’ll call me on the comms when it’s time?”

“We should really have this discussion when Hera’s around,” Kanan told him.

Ezra nodded. He knew that, but that hadn’t worked out so well the first time, and it wasn’t Hera’s fault, it was just easier to do this on his own terms, feeling in control of when and how to talk about it; by the time he got back to the base, the unexpected wave of not-quite-positivity might have dissipated and he wouldn’t want to think about it again. “Let’s just do it now,” he said. “Then you, or both of us, can tell Hera what we decided when we get back, okay?”

Kanan considered it, then nodded. “I’m not sure how Hera will feel about that, but okay,” he agreed. He shifted on the dirt, finding a comfortable position. “So, tell me what you were thinking,” he said.

Ezra ran a hand over the rough ground, watching his fingers leave patterns in the dust. “I’m thinking I’m not going to want to stick around afterward,” he said. He would stay to tell them, but he didn’t intend to hang out for the after-party, share the hugs and see the tears and answer a million questions. And that extended into the rest of the day too, and the night that followed.

Kanan nodded. He had noted Ezra’s tendency to leave when a situation became too difficult, he probably agreed that it was better to have that planned in advance.

“The thing is,” Ezra added. He cleared his throat. “I have to share a room with Zeb, and, well…” He left it at that. Kanan would understand.

Kanan took a slow breath, sitting very still on the ground. “Yes you do,” he said carefully. “And you’re going to have to continue to do so. You’re right, it’s probably going to feel awkward at first, but that’s not going to be made any better by putting it off.”

Ezra tried to imagine the mood in the room that first night. Their ongoing argument about the overnight light level would probably be permanently ended, but it would be replaced instead by… what? Awkward silence? Questions that he didn’t want to answer?

Kanan was probably right; putting it off wouldn’t help. Maybe if he got into the room early, got into bed and pretended to be asleep before Zeb even made it back? He could wake early, when Zeb was still sleeping, and make himself scarce.

“One night,” Kanan said.

Ezra looked at him in surprise and confusion.

“The day you tell them,” Kanan clarified. “I have a spare bunk, you can take that. But you need to go back the next day, or it’ll get more and more difficult to do.”

Ezra felt himself relax, releasing tension that he hadn't even realized he was holding. “Thanks,” he said.

Kanan got to his feet and dusted himself down, patting off some of the dirt that clung to his clothing from the dry ground. “Come on,” he said, “we should be heading back. We can talk more on the way.”

#little by little #fanfic #star wars rebels #swr fanfiction #ezra bridger #kanan jarrus #ezra *really* needs a hug here #like I can't believe I didn't let him get one #but i think he gets one in the next part #if I remember rightly #comments are loved

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cassandroid-blog1 · 7 years

Text

4: Colm Von Getz

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“You’d better fucking keep her safe,” spat Professor Theodore Boxleitner as his cuffed wrists were drawn through the vital scanner. “Someone wants her dead and knew exactly where to find her. They’ll know where she lives too, and I’ll bet they’ll find her wherever you’ve hidden her away.” The Professor sniffed through a broken nose, his thinning blond hair tousled and untidy.

Colm stood, arms crossed. He’d informed Boxleitner of his right—, particularly of his right to remain silent—, many times over the past few hours, but the man remained uncooperative. Not that Colm couldn’t empathize; Theodore was most likely innocent. That was Colm’s hunch anyway, but there was a process to be upheld.

It seemed, for the moment, that the Professor was out of energy. His eyes sank to the floor as the vital scanner finished its job. With a click, his hands were released from the machine, cuff-free.

“It is my responsibility to inform you that you have been injected with a quantum swarm,” said Colm.

“Quantum?” the Professor repeated worriedly.

“It’s perfectly normal, and the name’s just marketing. The swarm is now actively monitoring your blood stream and organs for signs of any nanoagents you may have inadvertently come across. Walk around barefoot in the Stretch at all recently?”

Theodore shook his head.

“We find any mind-altering nanoagents, we’ll analyze them in the lab and see what they’re programmed to make you do. Could end up speaking to your innocence; you never know. Do you use nanobots or nanoagents recreationally?”

Theodore scowled. “Heavens, no.”

“You didn’t seem like the type. You don’t know anyone who uses?”

“Not anyone who’s told me, though I’m sure some of my students have tried. We all experimented in our youth, didn’t we? But I never went near the stuff that could be used to control you remotely.”

Colm nodded. “This is all routine. You understand, I hope.”

“Yes, yes.” Theodore looked to Colm, his overtired eyes watering. “You keep her safe, you hear me? She’s my little girl.”

Colm escorted Theodore to his cell, and encountered no resistance. The Professor’s hands never moved from their cuffed position, the quantum swarm having temporarily suspended that particular motor function. Colm opened the door and Boxleitner walked in without fear or hesitation. Once inside and locked away, his hands were released from their internal holds. He shook them in relief.

“I’ll speak again as soon as possible. Probably tomorrow,” said Colm. “Remain cooperative and your muscles will remain under your control.” He left without a second glance.

It had never been easy, walking away from what appeared to be an innocent victim, now trapped in the bowels of the Directory. At least the Professor was safe, but there was no comfort to be found in these halls. Some swore these lower levels were haunted, and if Colm ever chose to indulge in a superstition, that’d have been the one he chose. The lighting, near to a century old, flickered and buzzed, casting shadows a little bit too anthropomorphic for comfort. The flickering was just slow enough to be noticeable, and many of the guards were transferred away from cell duty after complaining of migraines and cluster headaches.

Colm quickened his pace as the shadows crept, moving towards the elevator that would take him to higher and saner ground.

The clerk on C-Level stopped him as he emerged from the elevator. “Detective, I’ve been looking for you. What is this, the third time? The fourth?”

“Fifth, I believe,” Colm sighed. “What is it this time?”

“Same as last time, sir. I’ve been given very clear instructions, and if you do not follow the proper protocol I’ll have no choice but to inform Director Hisakawa.”

“What, incarceration reports? Director Hisakawa has my audio and video logs. There’s justification enough in there, I think.”

“The network’s down,” the clerk said. Colm realized with a little shame that he’d never learned her name. “Printout copies only.” She handed him a form.

Colm hesitated a moment, then grabbed the copy, crinkling it slightly in his unceremonious grasp. “You know what? This is damned demoralizing. The network’s down? What, you mean the whole net, or just here at the Directory? Considering how much money we pour into the tech here, this should never happen. And then make me relive the potentially traumatic moments I have in my day-to-day by filing a report, when the video and audio is so much more reliable! Really damned demoralizing, and I haven’t had a bite to eat since the previous AM.”

“You can take it up with the Director,” the Clerk said. “This is a police department. If there’s anywhere you need to follow all the little procedures, it’s here.”

“Yeah, sure,” Colm said. “Guess I’ll be in my office, instead of at home with a cheeseburger and fries.”

When Colm reached his office, he was surprised to find his assistant away, but a glance at the clock reminded him of the time. He sat at his desk, mumbling. “Printout copies,” he said as he patted down the sheet to remove what he could of the wrinkles.

The form taunted him, with its many teeny lines waiting to be filled out. They were so close together he could hardly imagine someone printing letters so small. Colm had barely ever written anything down in his entire life! There was a subculture that prized handwriting, but Colm, like most people, saw it as anachronistic and quaint. Nevertheless, the copy sat stubbornly on his desk, the wrinkles not quite gone.

The hollowness in his stomach, which had come and gone twice now, returned for a third time.

“Good morning,” came a familiar voice. Colm looked up and smiled, seeing Setsuko Hisakawa standing in the threshold of his office door.

“The Director of the Directory, as I live and breathe,” he said. “You’re up early.”

“Big day. Official council meeting for the President, so I need to be prepared,” she said.

“You could blow it off like BaltiCorp does, or Scintilla.”

Setsuko rolled her eyes. “Not an option. I have a loyalty to Leonard, and I’m not going to keep Isaksson out of the loop for spite.” She walked over, gripping the fabric top of the chair opposite Colm. “I heard about last night,” she continued. “Out at the university. Watley was downstairs bringing a body in to the morgue.”

“She told you everything?” Colm asked.

“More or less, but I want your perspective.”

“Good,” Colm smiled. He crumpled up the form into a little ball, and threw it into the trash can in the corner. “What is there to say? One of the guys found a signed confession in the target’s father’s desk. He’s a professor at the university, and his office is in the same building the girl was studying.”

“What do we know about her?”

“Absolutely nothing that seems like it could be relevant. She’s twenty-five years old, which is a little up there to be in school. But tell me: how many twenty-five-year-olds are the target of a major assassination job?”

“You suspect the father,” Setsuko said, her eyes narrow with focus.

“No, but he’s in custody, obviously. He loves her, and honestly doesn’t seem capable of that kind of a thing. They love each other fiercely.”

“Yes, but we’ve been wrong about that before,” Setsuko said, and the words stabbed him.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

She looked confused for a moment. “Oh God, Colm, nothing personal. I just mean that in these types of situations it’s easy for people on the edge to confuse love and hate and whatever. I’m tired, I didn’t mean anything by what I said.”

“I did love you fiercely, though, you know that,” he said.

“Yes, I know,” she said quickly. She didn’t want to speak of the past, which was her right, and Colm respected that, but it didn’t feel good to have to pretend a whole marriage hadn’t happened.

“Sorry,” he said. He tried to think of a new subject, and his stomach was crying out for attention. “Breakfast? Places should be opening up about now. I could sure use something greasy and cheesy, dunno about you.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I had a coffee bar on the road in. I’m gonna need to be alert today. I just have one more question about the case.”

“Shoot,” he said.

“How were you alerted?”

“An anonymous call, believe it or not. Voice was scrambled and fucked with beyond the point of no return, but here, I’ll play it for you.”

Colm set up his phone to play on the loudspeaker, and loaded up Case File Audio A.

“I call you as an ally,” the tape began, the voice distorted and gross. “I must remain anonymous for the sake of personal security, but I have come into the acquisition of some troubling knowledge. Tonight, in roughly ten minutes, a girl named Julie Visitor will be studying in Cooper Hall at Bradley University. She will be alone in the room, because all the other students have long since gone to bed for their early morning classes. When it is clear to her assassin that she is alone, and that her father who is a teacher at the school is well-ensconced in his office, this assassin will strike. I do not know who the assassin will be, and I do not know why Julie is a target. I suspect BaltiCorp loosely, but I don’t have any evidence to back that up except that the kill order was sent over a SecureFirm channel. Yes, I know, I have considered that this is a setup for a trap and that I am the real target, but I’m good at covering my tracks and none of my enemies should even know I exist. I will do my best to eliminate the assassin, but my success cannot be guaranteed. Your help would be appreciated, but don’t expect to find me unless I have been killed. Thank you for your service to our nation. I truly respect those who work in law enforcement so long as they are not corrupt. But you have to admit that as lawlessness creeps in all around us we increasingly must fight for ourselves, much as I’d love to rely on the police. It’s just the reality we deal with, I guess. I’m rambling now, and running out of time. Good luck, and goodbye.”

Setsuko shook her head. “What the fuck?” she asked.

“Right?” Colm enthused. “Who the fuck is this guy?”

“That’s a strange message,” she said, not taking her eyes off the speaker. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“But so far, it checks out. And I’m willing to bet anything the body we have downstairs is the assassin spoken of.”

Setsuko nodded. “Makes sense. I guess we’ll wait for the coroner’s report to see who it is. I’ll look into what I can, for what it’s worth. You should go home and get some sleep.”

“I will, but first I have a date with a dead body.”

She smiled. “No tampering with the evidence.” She walked to the door. “Good work tonight.”

“Thanks,” Colm said flatly, feigning weariness. In reality, he was experiencing a second wind, perhaps knowing that he was so close to his buttery, greasy, delicious breakfast reward.

Down in the morgue, Watley stood by the stretcher, observing the body. Colm entered the room and flicked on the examination lights.

“Coroner’s not in for a few,” she said, turning to him.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Colm said, “I’m just going to take a look. Got any ideas?”

“Just from observing, there’s a tattoo on his neck. At first I thought it was just splatter from the stab wound, but it’s a different colour from the blood. Look,” she pointed carefully to just behind the body’s left jugular.

“Malcolm, my old friend,” said Colm.

“What?” asked Watley.

“That tattoo. It belongs to Malcolm Gordon. I don’t know when he adopted that name, or the skin colour he’s currently saddled with, but he’s been on the most-wanted list for as long as I’ve worked here. I bet if you scanned his retinas the words NULL - REBELLION would show up on screen, because Malcolm’s so old-fashioned.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“You’ve heard of Egon Beauman?” he asked, looking over the body with great care.

“Of course I have. Everyone has.”

“A lesser-known fact about everyone’s favourite genocidal rebel is that his eyes kept popping up on our scanners for decades, long after he and his cult had locked themselves away behind the Division. The reasoning before the Division was simple: Beauman was a luddite of sorts and refused body modifications of any kind to aid his anonymity. So instead, his followers, and other people with their own reasons, had his retina patterns copied and pasted over their own. The day after this brilliant little idea the military police at the time arrested Egon Beauman and were very proud of themselves, until they realized they’d arrested ten Egons. Well, they were all released. Post-division, the reasoning for getting his retinas is a little shakier. We’re talking people who read his manifesto and decide he’s really not that bad of a guy, and want to express their rebellion in a way that’s relatively painless and lower risk than arson or burglary. Either that, or they see the eye pattern available at whatever seedy hellhole of a bodymod shop they’re at in the Stretch, and think it’ll be cute with the new glasses they bought.”

“Interesting,” she said. “Seems strange to me people would change themselves.”

“Oh, people have reasons. I’d get rid of my fat if I thought I’d be able to keep it off.”

“Well, cosmetic reasons, mental health, that’s totally fine. But as part of a rebellion? Very strange.”

“It gets stranger,” he said. “We’re in an aluminum bucket floating between nothingness and zilch. How’s that for strange?”

Watley looked at him, confused. “Res isn’t aluminum,” she said. “Aluminum wouldn’t protect us from stellar radiation.”

Colm smiled. “Stranger, and stranger still. If you haven’t detected from my mannerisms and droopy eyelids, or from the lovely sheen of grease I’m sure has accumulated on my hair, I’m very, very tired.”

“You must be,” she said. “I am and I work the night shift.”

“Well, keep me posted, Watley. We get an ID on this guy I’d like to know. My phone may not wake me up, though, but leave a message. I’m off to eat.” He paused, looking at the body once more.

“Your first dead body?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

Before long, Colm was in line at Arthur’s, a common fast food place and, unfortunately, the only one that was open early enough.

“What can I get for you?” asked the young worker, absolutely bored out of his mind.

“Four breakfast specials,” Colm said. “Extra cheese. Throw some onions on there. Three of the specials in a bag, one I want you to just hand to me without a wrapper so I can eat it on the way back to my shuttlecar.”

Hey all, just a note from the author. If you’re terribly confused, this is just a spot that I’m putting my poorly-written novel up online to show it to friends. And though I don’t think anyone would want to steal this, I’d like to make it clear that I am ideologically opposed to the idea of intellectual property and copyright. The story is as much yours as it is mine (and therefore, you’re also to blame for it being so awful).

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