EISNER 2016 AWARD TALK: Huh? What? How is this possible?
I don’t really use my Tumblr these days but here we go:
Yes, I’m sappy. I have to write a formal thanks.
Thanks so much to everyone who supports my work, who talks about colorists in interviews and reviews. For those who voted for me, I don’t understand your kind of crazy but I am excitedly thankful. The nominees are inspirations, too cool for school. Laura Allred, a coloring queen and one of the nicest people I have ever met - I love her. Dave Stewart, an actual Eisner King and again, one of the nicest people I have ever met. John Rauch, his style is so unique and amazingly beautiful. I think he will have many years of nominations and wins to come, I’m glad the industry is finally honouring his amazing abilities! And lastly, Bettie Breitweiser, an inspiration, a kind-hearted person, a friend and ridiculous hard worker - I love her and I really hope to be applauding her in the near future for taking home all the awards she’s nominated for. Thank you for doing all the amazing work you do and thanks for always being nothing but sweet and kind to me, you’re all legends.
And thanks to the readers, writers, letterers, production folk, editors and artists I work with. I think this year’s Eisners show a significant change in the possibilities of representation. I’m looking forward to all of us pushing and then leaning into these amazing new opportunities that will create new voices and give voices to those who previously went unheard. We can do it, we are a wonderful community, I believe in us.
It’s a special time in comics and I am so extremely happy to be involved and proud to be part of it.
And thank you to Declan, he is an inspiration, my advisor, my partner in crime, my everything. Thank you to my flatter who stays up with me through the night helping me with the rough deadlines even though he could be enjoying newlywed life, David Cooper. Thanks to my family who support me endlessly with their love and enthusiasm for what I do. And thanks to the women in this industry that inspire me to be a better person and to be vocal about what’s important to us today not just as creators but as women. I love all of you.
Now let’s get a drink!
it’s a new year and there’s a lot to be thankful for in the past year - even after the upsetting 13/14 season, tito, some of our favourite boys (cachai, cesc, PUYI, pinto, valdes!!!) leaving, our board f-ing shit up as usual, the world cup final, etc - and there’s also a lot more to look forward to, you guys know it. (: if we survived the 13/14 season, we can survive anything.
2015 is a v busy and v important year for me, because this year i have A-Levels. i’ve also committed myself to other projects which i really want to see through, and at the same time there are people i want to spend more time with. so this is me, taking a year-long hiatus from tumblr starting monday (will still be actively pursuing football! just not on tumblr). i’m planning to come back in november or december, but who knows. if you want to stay in touch, there’s twitter and instagram, or message me off-anon for anything.
this is in a way also a goodbye and thank you note to everyone. i’m shy here, i’m not funny, i don’t make good edits or gifs, but thank you for following me and talking to me. even if you aren’t listed here, thank you for making my tumblr experience so wonderful; it has been a lovely three (or two? and a half?) years here. stay safe and lovely and wonderful and healthy, you guys, and always remember to check your sources before posting or reblogging anything!!!!!
bolded are my mutuals, here’s my blogroll and my previous ff, source for photo used here
at the same time here’s a shoutout to the people who’ve made the biggest difference in my tumblr experience. there are constants here who i appreciate so much, then there are those who i’ve only just seen and started talking to this year. you guys are the real inmessionante, and you know who you are (: (continue after the jump)
you’ve been sitting outside of lexa’s room for three hours and twenty two minutes now, and you could go in, because anya’s taken an official statement and even though clarke hasn’t left, you know she wouldn’t mind.
and it’s not like you’re angry at lexa—far from it, because she did nothing wrong; in fact, she stayed alive, which is something you’ll never really be able to thank her for, so. whatever.
you also want to puke and cry and you had already punched something hours before, and you just want to curl up on clarke and lexa’s soft couch and wrap yourself in the throw that smells like her—rosemary and mint and lilacs—and pretend that none of this has ever happened.
except—laura, who is far too good for you always, but especially now, comes and sits next to you, nudges your knee and hands you a cup of coffee.
you grunt your thanks and she sighs. ‘she’s awake,’ she offers.
‘she’s been asking for you.’
you swallow, stare into your coffee—three sugars, one cream, which lexa has always teased you for—and then rub your eyes. you have no idea when the last time you slept was, and suddenly the rush of tiredness seeps into your bones.
‘i’m so tired,’ you admit, then look at laura. you’re sure your eyes are bloodshot, that there are dark circles underneath them. you’ve been crying, you know, so your nose is probably red and in general your face is pale and puffy and blotchy and you don’t even care, because your best friend almost died, was almost murdered by the same man that killed your fiance; lexa was tortured and she was scared and she maybe thought you wouldn’t find her in time, and she’d just gotten married, and you have laura and, fine, your other friends, like clarke and anya and octavia, but.
you don’t know if you would’ve been able to survive if she hadn’t.
but she had, and now she’s in a hospital room that you cannot go into, for some reason, and it’s almost as if you going in would make things feel all too immediate, or like you’re dreaming up what is as close to a happy ending as you’ll probably ever get.
laura pries your clenched hand open and smiles a little when she sees what’s in your palm.
‘this would be a terrible time for a proposal, carmilla,’ she says, and you roll your eyes and your hands hurt and you might cry again, because that’s maybe the most ironic, worst sentence you’ve ever heard, but laura is looking at your with fondness and understanding, and she helps takes some of the messy, bloody stones off your chest all the time.
‘it’s alexandria’s,’ you say, and your voice is rough and choked and quiet.
‘i know, carm,’ she says, then very gently takes it from you. you let her, because lexa’s wedding ring still has blood on it, and it’s just a simple band and you’re almost amazed that it’s still perfectly intact, because her hand certainly wasn’t, according to the X-rays you’d pored over—your brain needed something grounding, something you could quantify and make sense of.
laura, who saves you over and over again when your brain is too messy and your chest feels like wolves, takes a little hand sanitizing wipe out of her purse—of course she has one, of course—and very carefully cleans lexa’s wedding ring with small, whole, unscarred hands, and you love her all the more for the obvious care she has—for you, for your friends, for all the things that keep you going in this world that has been far too harsh to you so far.
when laura finishes, she hands the ring back to you. ‘there,’ she says as she places it in your palm, ‘all clean.’
you bite back something mean about blacklights and how she would be a terrible murderer because she doesn’t really understand how evidence works, but the platinum is shiny and warm against your skin.
‘you should see her,’ laura tries again, gently, and you take a deep breath before you nod and stand.
laura rolls her eyes. ‘of course i’m staying. you’re a disaster right now and someone has to look after you.’
‘excuse you, hollis.’ you act affronted. ‘i have never been cuter.’
‘whatever you need to tell yourself to get through the day, von karnstein,’ she says, opening her copy of the atlantic she had stuffed in her bag, not even waiting for your eye roll.
you know it’s a soft dismissal, and you take a breath and swallow and shake out your hands, make sure to keep the ring clenched in your fist, before you knock once on the door and then push it open slowly.
‘you both look like shit,’ you say, and clarke rolls her eyes with a scoff.
‘pot,’ she says, ‘kettle.’
you want to continue this little insult session—it’s one of your favorite pastimes, especially with clarke, who is creative and also just flat out mean—but then lexa tries to smile a little and it’s pained and kind of weird, and you really try your hardest to ignore her split lip and her eye swollen shut and the bruises on her neck and how swollen her shoulders look, even under her big hospital gown, try very, very hard to ignore the swaths of bandages covering most of lexa’s left hand, the hint of blood still smeared along the beginnings of the flowers on her arm.
your breath comes out audibly shaky and lexa says, ‘von karnstein, don’t make this more awkward than it has to be,’ and you know she’s high, but it’s funny, and clarke snorts a laugh, takes her feet down from where they’d been propped up on lexa’s bed, then stands.
‘i’m going to go shower and grab some food, okay?’ lexa nods, and clarke tucks a wispy curl behind lexa’s ear. ‘i love you,’ she says, and it’s quiet and so heavy.
‘clarke,’ lexa says, and you kind of want to walk out of the room all over again, how gently and seriously she manages to say a fucking name, ‘i love you too.’
clarke nods and squeezes your arm on her way past you, then closes the door, and lexa pats the space on the bed next to her with a pout. you ignore her entirely and stubbornly pull up a chair on the other side of the bed, mostly because then you won’t be tempted to take her hand, even though you have the weird desire to touch her, just to make sure she’s still real.
‘i didn’t die,’ she offers, and she’s quite often terrible at reading people physically, but she’s always been unnervingly good at reading you.
‘you’re such a bitch, alexandria,’ you say, although you’re not really sure why you’re so angry, because really you’re just remarkably relieved she’s alive.
lexa wheezes a laugh, then shifts to try to give her ribs a bit of relief, but her face pinches when she puts weight on her shoulder, so you stand.
‘i got you,’ you say, and help rearrange one her her pillows a little. she doesn’t even start to protest, which is how you know she must be in pain, but she merely nods her thanks.
you clear your throat because you feel tears pricking at your eyes again and honestly, you’d think you’d have cried everything out by now, but she’s small and hurt and your best friend is real and solid and warm in front of you, and she didn’t die.
‘thank you,’ you say, and lexa attempts a shrug before she winces, looks at you, then stares at her hand.
‘i mean, it wasn’t just you,’ she says. ‘i also fought to see clarke’s boobs again.’
you catch her smile at her own joke—weak as it may be—and it makes you smile a little too. ‘she’s got a great rack.’
‘don’t objectify my wife,’ lexa says, glaring at you.
her eyes are a little unfocused and you glance at her morphine drip and see that she’s just probably gotten another dose, which means you don’t have much time, and also that she won’t really remember much of the next few minutes.
‘i would never,’ you say, then sit down on the bed next to her. lexa sometimes seems larger than life, in that immortally reckless, beautiful kind of way, but right now, she is small and young and very human.
you take a deep breath and then reach over and grab her right hand gently, and she looks confused for a moment before you slip the wedding band on her ring finger.
‘one of the nurses,’ you explain, ‘called out like, family for your name when you first came in, and i—uh, i answered, and i kind of panicked when she asked if i was your wife, and i don’t know where the fuck clarke was, so—’ you gesture at the ring, ‘here.’
lexa looks kind of dazedly at her finger and then back up at you, brow furrowed in something between confusion and complete amazement. ‘it stayed intact?’
you shrug. ‘clearly.’
lexa leans back a little and swallows and you see her face pinch and you know she’s about to start crying, and you wish she wouldn’t because it’s going to make you cry, but then a few tears start to fall very dramatically down her cheeks, and yours are messy and you don’t really think it’s fair that lexa can cry like a fucking goddess, but. whatever.
you both just sit and silently cry and at some point you hug her because she’s on enough morphine that she doesn’t mind, and she says something in arabic that you only halfway understand, but you think she’s apologizing for elle.
‘no,’ you say, ‘no. that is not something you ever get to be sorry for, okay?’ especially now, goes unspoken, but she nods like she understands.
she’s lexa, so she most likely does.
you wipe her tears and look her very seriously in the eye and say, ‘we tell no one of this, okay?’
she nods. ‘i don’t want everyone to know we just sat together and cried any more than you do, dr. von karnstein.’
‘you can eat my ass, alexandria.’
‘you’ve been spending too much time with clarke,’ she says, settling back into the pillows. ‘also, i’m going to fall asleep.’
you nod. ‘i’m going to get laura really fast, is it okay if she stays with me in here.’
lexa pries her eyes open to look at you with all the focus she can muster, and you remember in that moment every single reason you love her. ‘yes,’ she says, ‘of course.’
you sigh and nod and by the time you’ve hugged laura silently for a good minute and then walked the short distance back to lexa’s room, she’s out, snoring a little.
‘you look worse than her, honestly,’ laura says, and you raise an eyebrow.
‘if i recall,’ you say, ‘you are the one who always wants to sleep with me. i don’t see that happening with all of these attacks.’
laura laughs and tugs you down on the small couch shoved against one wall.
‘you should rest too,’ she says, patting her lap. you really are exhausted—you feel it pressing against every single one of your ribs—and you don’t have it in you to fight any longer. lexa’s safe and she’ll heal, you know she will, and the man who took away the love of your life is dead, and you’ll have to remember to thank anya later for that particular aspect of the day.
laura’s hands are warm and comforting when she cards them through your hair, brushes back your bangs, kisses your forehead. for once, she doesn’t try to say anything, just scratches your scalp lightly as you fall asleep.
‘oh great,’ you say, walking into lexa’s office and seeing her organizing some files, ‘you’re finally back.’
you fight to keep the smile off of your face but apparently lexa doesn’t give two shits, because she grins. ‘nice to see you too, dr. von karnstein, despite the fact that we went on a double date last night.’
‘don’t call them that,’ you say, ‘it’s gay and gross.’
‘you’re gay and gross.’
‘are you actually five years old?’
lexa rolls her eyes and hands you a file. ‘i’m going to debrief in an hour,’ she says, ‘you know the drill.’
it makes you smile, because she’s back, and she went on her belated honeymoon with clarke—three weeks at abby’s house in aspen, those assholes—and you know she’s been seeing a therapist and sleeping better and— ‘you got your cast off?’
lexa nods and flexes her hand in front of your face. ‘this morning. still kind of hurts like a bitch and i can’t feel my pinky, but—’ she shrugs.
you take her hand in yours and there are two scars straight down the top of it, neat and shiny and healed cleanly, and you can feel the slight remodeling everywhere, and you turn it over and see the lifelines on her palm, uninterrupted by any scars.
‘make a fist for me,’ you say, and she does. it’s loose and she has to do it slowly and she groans a little, but she does it, and she’s going to need a shitload of physical therapy, but— ‘it looks pretty good, lexa,’ you say.
she looks a little taken aback when you use her preferred name, that your tone isn’t teasing at all, and you’d not really meant to, but—
‘clarke didn’t have any complaints in the parking lot this morning,’ she says, and you grimace.
‘you’re disgusting,’ you tell her, shoving her fist into her chest while she laughs. you take the file from her desk with a flourish and stomping out. she’s still laughing when you look back and flip her off, and you’re able to fight a smile long enough to make it out of the door in time, but it hits you in the hallway: lexa’s eyes were clear and green and her blouse was pressed and her slacks were too expensive and dumb, and wedding band was on her left ring finger, forever a little crooked but solid and healed and you’d felt the fissuring there, the strong marrow that had brought things back together again, strong and different and the same, all at once.
Anon, firstly, let me apologize for taking far too long to write this. Like you sent this to me LAST fourth of July and I didn’t manage to write it then, and while I have now, it’s still two days later than the actual day itself and since I had a whole year to do it… well I feel bad. So firstly, I’m sorry, secondly, thank you for sending me the prompt! And thirdly, I hope you’re still here with me and that you do get to read this and that you like it!
I do have to say though I struggled with this one, not being American or having ever been to the US, never mind experienced a Fourth of July there. So that being said, I did do a call for help around the same time you sent this prompt and I got this reply (below) so I hope I’ve done it justice, and thank you to the anon who sent this info my way!
it’s always very hot so people tend to walk around on beaches in jean shorts and america-themed bikini tops. that’s like, such a big aesthetic for the 4th!!! people spend a lot of their time in the sun and on the beach, and a lot of people watch fireworks from a boat on either a lake or an ocean. fireworks, of course. a lot of people have at-home fireworks (that aren’t legal in every state, lots of people even go to another state to buy them) and they set them off once it gets dark. like poppers and sparklers for the kids and roman candles and big ones for the adults, and then usually the city puts on a fireworks show that everyone can come to, bring their picnic blankets and lawn chairs and settle in to see it, and once it gets totally dark everyone snuggles up in their sweatshirts and watches the fireworks together :)
(As always, unbeta’d; all mistakes are nine mine.)
Red, White and I Love You…
It’s hot. So hot. I’m thankful today is a holiday and I’m not required to be in meetings or working anywhere because I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to concentrate, much less wear an inch more clothing than I currently am. My denim shorts kiss my thighs, the frayed strands grazing just a little lower than the intact material, and my loose crop top only just meets the button at my waist. The grass between my toes is dry and also warm, pleasant on my bare feet.
I plop down on the grass with Laura, calmer than I know I and everyone here will be once we’ve been fed. I can smell it from here - hot dogs, burgers - my stomach growls as I hear them sizzle too, faint but recognizable between the lazy pop playlist filtering out from the speakers.
I love the Fourth of July.
“God, I’m hungry.”
Laura laughs at my distress and props up on to her elbows to turn and look at me properly. I hold my anguished look for a moment longer, before we simultaneously break into smiles.
“Yeah you’re wasting away, Jen.”
“I know, I won’t make it!”
We’re laughing still when something ice cold and wet is placed on the exposed skin of my lower back, uncovered by the V cut out of my top. As it - whatever “it” is - meets my skin I recoil and arch my back at the same time, my laugh switching to a squeal.
I hear a triumphant “Ha!” from behind me, that turns into a deep, throaty chuckle.
“Jooosh,” I whine, smiling and swatting at his hand that holds my beer, trying be used as a weapon to erupt more goosebumps on my flesh.
Now that the contact is lost, I’m actually finding that the coolness on my skin was quite pleasant.
He grins and relents, moving the bottle to my hands and sitting down beside me, his arm pressing against my own lightly, the tiny space between us filling with more heat but of an entirely different kind.
“God, I’m starvvvving,” Josh states and I have to clamp a hand over my mouth to stop me from spraying my mouthful of cool beer everywhere.
Laura groans. “You two are officially the same person, congratulations.”
I roll my eyes. “Like you and Steve aren’t just as bad, I’ve been that third wheel.”
Josh looks bewildered at the two of us and I lean my shoulder into him softly. “I literally just said that exact thing before you came back.”
He grins widely before planting his lips on my cheek. His arm positions back on to the grass behind me and I lean against it, my hand moving on to his thigh. I watch from the corner of my eye as we both tip our beers to our mouths at the same time.
Attention: Cream puffs that are returning from the 100 fandom.
First of all welcome back, what a ride with that two part finale am i right? Lexa slayed us right in the feels. my poor little racoon cinnamon role was just doing right by her people……. even though it hurt her…… heart…..one moment please.*dabs tissue to eyes*
Apologies, anyways back to the update. As you know our beautiful leading ladies Elise and Nat are going to be in the upcoming movie Almost Adults, brought to us by fellow Cream puffs Sarah and Adrianna. Allow me to extend our thanks to your many contributions to the fandom.
As much as we all wanted a Negovanman love interest are still grateful for what we are getting. which brings me to my main point. allow me to introduce you to Elise’s love interest.
This beautiful creature is Winny Clarke.
In conclusion Elise is getting with Clarke. Thank you for your attention. *begins to walk off stage* OH YEAH, I almost forgot Steve brought cupcakes for everyone in the back and i thought i saw some magic cookies back there too. ok thanks, see you guys here next meeting.